Sixty-five miles a day, on average. Sometimes, if it was supposed to get hot or the wind was due to strengthen, we rode out of camp at the first hint of daylight. Which means our cell phones started chirping at about four or four-thirty a.m. That gave us time to pack our stuff, strike the tents and be finished with breakfast before the sun got up.
After you rise early and spend half a day pushing yourself across the plains, through tiny towns, and up and down sandhills, sleep becomes very precious.
The local librarians encouraged us to make ourselves at home.
One of them said, "You look like you need a little nap. I know a quiet place....." She hauled beanbag chairs out to the bookmobile for me.
Maybe she knew that six hundred hungry cyclists give a nice little boost to the town's economy. The locals want us to be happy, and they want us to come back another year.
When we weren't riding or sleeping, we ate a lot
and played games.
We celebrated Merrill's birthday by sleeping until 6 a.m. and eating ice cream cake.
There was lots to smile about
and sometimes we made other faces,
especially after the rain soaked us and hail bounced off of our helmets and bare legs.
But wet cycling shorts, hail and headwinds didn't dampen our spirits for long.
Ride with me next year!
(Thanks to all my favorite photographers who contributed their work to this post,
and to John who held things together at home while we played.)
1 comment:
Wow, I am SO impressed! Sorry, can't convince myself to join you next year. Coffee?!?!?
Diane
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