Ouch

Conventional wisdom would tell you that riding too much is bad. I tend to agree. I get it. The whole rest and recovery thing. It's just really hard not to be on the bike for a long time every day out here. Out here I feel like a normal person and don't wake up feeling like I have 90 year old joints or a fat man sitting on my chest and I want to take advantage of it. I got the typical week after being on a plane head-cold. It never fails. Didn't knock me down enough to keep me off the bike. Just a little lot snotty and choking and gagging on my own mucous at some points, but so worth it. I'm starting to feel the miles. Both in body and in spirit. Everything is starting to hurt. It hurts in what I think is a 'normal' way and that I can handle.

Had my first crash of note out here. I crash a lot. I consider myself somewhat of an expert in that sense. I usually pop back up and am on the bike again before anyone can make a big deal about it. However, this was one of those crashes where I had to sit on a rock and take inventory for a few minutes after and make sure everything was still attached and where it needed to be. I know it was bad because my heart rate went from 140 to 56 in an instant. My bottles were ejected and my glasses were tossed. Wind knocked out of me. Good stuff.

                                  

I hit kinda hard.

New shorts no more.

My front is much worse, but not blog appropriate. Looks like I skidded down a rock face on my belly. Oh wait, I did. Let's just say I won't be wearing underwear for a while.

My shoes have had it and my toes are peeking out.

Oh, my feet. They hurt like a bitch. I'm about ready to cut-off my circus freak toe-fingers.

Not sure how I'm going to turn over a pedal at SSAZ. That's not until Saturday and I still have plenty of more days to inflict pain upon myself. I'll make it. I think. 

Here

                               

What can I say? When the weather is various degrees of clear every day and in the 70s I have nothing to complain about. The S/S has been a blast out here. Can't say that my desert handling doesn't need some work. Scree and I don't get along and I seem to secretly enjoy running out of corners and getting intimate with the plants that bite. It's become a post-ride ritual to pull out the barbs with tweezers and the aid of the unlucky one who has to help me get them out of my back (don't ask).

 

It really is just awful here.

Can't wait to get home.

Camp Arlene

I'm still shocked that I made it here when I did. Considering how bad the drive was to the airport and how many times the plane was de-iced, I'll take four hours behind schedule.

Sitting in Newark and thinking I was doomed

Made it to Denver and was supposed to get to Tucson by way of Albuquerque. However, I missed every connector and they pulled me in Denver and sent me from there to Tucson. When the customer service rep told me they were pulling my bags and went on to say that they couldn't find my bike but found my duffel bag and then proceeded to tell me that this was good news because at least I had underwear, well, I had little meltdown. They found a duffel bag but couldn't find a bike? I must have looked pathetic while processing the news because a pilot waiting for his next flight offered to go check underneath the plane for me. I wanted to hug him. Unfortunately, it was too late because the plane had left the gate. Continue meltdown. As soon as I saw this coming on my flight I was hopeful it was mine...

It was...

First trail fix of the trip...

Never underestimate the power of pink duct tape.

Always sage advice

Can't. Stop. Smiling.