/ Be Not Late or Ugly Ever

THIS POST IS SO LONG YOU WILL DIE IF YOU ATTEMPT TO READ IT NOT TO MENTION THE QUALITY

I find it strange how poorly the last 10 years of booze and cigarettes have prepared me for the mental challenge of riding 70 miles, no excuse me, CYCLING, because this is a repetition of mistakes, and physically, I mean what is more grueling than alcoholism? Hair of the dog for the hangover is irish coffee and acetaminophen? What about the hangover you have on top of your hangover? MARRY THE PAIN AND HAVE ITS BABIES. Let's not forget the humiliation. Have you seen the kind of shit cyclists wear?

Still, I proved on Saturday that there is no limit to the respect I have for the likes of Asia and Shari and Sybil. And Matt, too, I guess, but he is a guy, and that kind of pandering will get me nowhere I am interested in going. I am supposed to be going riding next month with Vahid and Sibyl, and I am hoping there is a fence 'cause it's all downhill and I ain't stopping till they stop speaking Spanish.

Oh, don't get me wrong. I didn't go into this with blinders on. I knew absolutely that attempting a 70 mile ride when my longest previous ride was 7.4 was not going to be the same level of personal commitment. I wasn't naive, I gave myself an extra 15 minutes off my normal 7.4 mile pace, and plus I brought an orange. Plus-plus, I understand the importance of weight, so I packed strategically. I only brought one change of clothes. And instead of bringing my laptop, I got by on my PDA with foldable keyboard. I only brought two lenses for my camera. The nintendo ds is about the same weight as my sudoku book so that was a wash. I also saved weight by leaving all my spare tubes, tire repair kit, multipurpose tool and extra water bottle at home. I removed the reflectors, too, because you know, wind resistance.

ALSO-ALSO, I used the internet to map out the route, study the terrain and watch YouTube clips of Breaking Away for inspiration. My study of the terrain produced mixed results, sadly. For instance, the first ten miles were relatively flat and shaded, AS I PLANNED! Don't get me wrong, that particular stretch the first time was a breeze. But when I crossed that very same 10 mile stretch coming back home 6 hours later, it was surprisingly impossible to navigate. Was it because I was going the other direction? Does the barometer drop late in the evening negatively impact air pressure? Could it be that it just seemed harder because of aurora borealis? Good Housekeeping is inconclusive.

On the other hand, I have to give serious credit to my body parts. My legs, for instance, never wanted to stop pedaling. Because every time I took a break they would smite me. It was as if they were screaming, DON'T PUSS OUT NOW OR WE WILL BURRRRN YOU WE ARE READY FOR THIS ARE YOU EVEN ON THE SAME TEAM. And then they would continue to freak out even after I got back on my bike, I guess worried that I might stop again. I did, but only after it was clear they were asleep. It was the motionless done give 'em away. Yup.

ALSO-ALSO-ALSO, sometimes the Seattle-to-Portland 2002 maps do not tell the whole story, especially about how most cars along the route are fairly cool, but motorcyclists are completely and utterly irredeemable, and even though we should be brethren, since our rides are kindred, we are only brethren in the Cain and Abel sense. I get it already, your bike is LOUDER than mine. How about easing off the RPMs, easy rider? I am two tired for this.

PLUSPLUSPLUS, there is so much roadkill you never see riding in your cars. Most of it is god's wee castaways, and it is hard to pedal through the carnage of these roads. I kept a count, and it was the hardest part of the whole ride. Sparrows and frogs and garter snakes and a California quail that was so lovely in her sleep, and plus everything you see as a driver, dogs and cats, their immunization tags still glittering and up to date.

Road closures are what really do the damage. Okay, so the whole reason for riding on Saturday was because it was the Washington State Congressional District Caucus, and I had been elected a delegate (ALTERNATE) and I figured I couldn't show up in my 40 mpg GAS GUZZLAR and also mock the gas tax holiday, so what the hell. But I knew I would have to be careful time-wise, because democracy is for all but it is not for the late. And as I got to 10 minutes til deadline, I realized that the road to my destination WAS CLOSED FOR REPAIRS.

No worries, I thought while worrying, road closures are really only meant for cars, but as I got to the WARNING DANGER signs, I realized this was no ordinary highway works project. THE ROAD WAS NOT THERE. This doesn't even sound nearly as scary as it was. This road was killed. This road was apocalypse closed. This ground is only good for nightmare children tales. DID YOU HEAR ABOUT THE KID WHO WALKED APOCALYPSE ROAD? HE DIDN'T EAT HIS BRUSSELS SPROUTS NEITHER.

I didn't make it!

It is hard to be holier than thou when the doors are closed and locked. It is more like lonelier than thou. BUT! Apparently they were dazzled with my hot green shirt and said, WELL OKAY, I GUESS SINCE YOU ARE SO GOOD LOOKING WE WILL LET YOU COME INSIDE AND TAKE AN ARMPIT SHOWER IN THE MEN'S BATHROOM AFORE THE BIG VOTE. JUST DON'T BE LATE AGAIN OR UGLY EVER.

There is something about being the back up that brings great personal pleasure, but only after you are older and are secure with the size of your reproductive organs, I guess, but I like knowing about myself that from time to time I will be there when absolute strangers need me most.

Still, I decided not to give my little 60 second speech to run for one of the 5 delegate slots to Denver. For one, I was far and away the most tired and least enthusiastic person in the room. Hillary and Obama supporters alike were just flat out devastating in their optimism and awe and inspiration and beauty and volume like the ghosts in the rafters of every high school basketball game ever won in the last 5 minutes here in this tiny high school gymnasium, and also quiet, in the hope that the roads ahead of them will be sidewalks, shaded, unburdened with the souls of wee things lost underfoot, and iced tea and holding hands and all the other longings that filled my pockets when I could take no more, except my leave.

Also, Denver is a lot further than Napavine.