episode 159: I'm not alone because the TV is on yeah...

On paper day three looked like an easy day. 60 miles of long flat road, with only two short climbs along the way. The problem is on paper, usually never translates into reality. In reality we were faced with a mind numbing ride across the high desert of Oregon, in sweltering heat, battling a brutal head wind. Where as the previous days rides were strewn with candy for the mind and soul, beautiful views, technical descents, day three was something else altogether. Long, hot, and hard. I thought the folks in PA were the experts of chip and tar, but to be honest, on this stretch of road, Oregon was the chip and tar champion of the world.

The mile markers lining the road never let you forget how far you had gone, and how many more miles of soul destroying headwind you still faced. By mile 30, I wanted nothing more than to be off the damn bike.

Later I would tell Diane that this stage of the ride was like setting up the rollers in the kitchen, firing up the oven to about 150, and then opening it, and starting to ride.

And for all our effort, for our energy and suffering what was our reward? Paulina, Oregon, population 13. Probably one of the last small towns in the world. The entire town centered around the general store, and we couldn't help but partake of the couch on the front porch ourselves.

As I sat in this small town, I was just cooking in my own sweat. No showers, no real method of cooling off. Oh the hose in the back yard was cold, but short lived. Eventually I would roll out my therma rest and slip under one of our support vehicles to try and find some shade, I had no earthly idea why this town was a stop on our tour. I feel asleep as I was sure my brain would cook, and bleed out my ears.

Then he came to town. The cowboy, spurs jingling, carrying his guitar as if he had just escaped from Rodriguez's El Mariachi . He pulled up on the porch and began to let loose a wonderful litany of ranch songs and country songs, pausing only for a laugh, and perhaps a little story. Truth be told, I think that country music is the devil's music, and the reason for the current decline of western civilization, but I also was entranced by this man, and what he sang, and the passion he poured into it. At first I thought it was trucker 'stache envy, but then I realized it was his passion. During the over two hours he performed, I only recognized one song: "ghost riders in the sky", which I think I have as Mojo Nixon cover of on my MP3 player.

As the show ended, and hearty handshakes were had, I began to walk back to my tent under the dark starry canvas that was our sky. I looked to Jerry, the tour leader and said, " you know as I laid under the truck this afternoon sweating my ass off, I really wondered why the fuck we choose this as a stop. Maybe I'm too suburban, maybe I'm soft, but I was pretty miserable, now, now I understand. That was amazing. " Jerry smiled and replied, "this is the real west, that was something you likely never see again in your life." Jerry was right, and I was incredibly appreciative for the show that the cowboy had given us.

can you smell that? That's cross in the air. Did a little run with E-town and Monkey last night, pulled Big Ugly and B Bike out of the basement, hell even commuted on to work on Big Ugly today. Cross bikes just feel good. They are made to make you feel fast, even if you are like me, and not so fast. Oh, It's coming, yeah it's August, and still a while away, but it's coming for sure. I for one, can't wait.

respect.

fatmarc