Donner? Party Of One?

*** continued from previous post ***


I turned that bike back around like it was a hovercraft on ice. Lickety-split. Easy as pie. Quick as the impending collapse of the US economy.

By the time I was finished, and we were headed back in the right direction, I was panting, aching, steaming, and experiencing tunnel vision. I forgot my name for a few minutes. I had a nice little interlude in my head where the days were warm and sunny and the roads were dry and clear.

Then - BOOM - I'm back on the bike in the Rockies being a moron.

I turn half-around to your Mother. "Let me ask you something . . . if we had stayed there too long, and I know you only packed a few crackers because you tell me every 10 minutes or so . . . you'd have eaten me, wouldn't' you? A little Donner Party of one. Amiright?"

Mom sighs. "Just get the bike moving."

Sage advice that. So, without further ado I put the bike in gear and we are once again hurtling down a rainy, dusky, gravel road towards oblivion.

Things do begin to look up though. The track in the road gets better. I can get the bike up to about 35 mph now. The stretches are long and straight with plenty of visibility ahead. I suppose the area is gorgeous, but at this point I could not care less. I'm dead. Beat. Nearly defeated. But I would never admit that to anyone.

Umm . . . until now I guess.

Dang.

*** the journey continues ***