June 13, 2009
The Rain
Let me get sidetracked for one second to say that the town of Lovelock, Neveada is permanently on my radar for one reason; the Cowpoke Cafe. The food was unbelievable there. We ate dinner there when we arrived and started our soggy morning out with breakfast compliments of Trish (the chef at Cowpoke). The dinner was great, but the dessert was a bread pudding that is more addicting than nicotine. I finished mine and helped two others finish theirs. If it were legal I would marry that bread pudding and buy it a house with a white picket fence. If you are ever on I-80 in Nevada you have to stop by and try the bread pudding, and have a meal too.
Lovelock was my favorite stop of the trip so far. After our dinner we stopped in at the Whiskey Creek Saloon to kill some time as we waited for the tiredness from the day catch up with us and force us to sleep. Upon setting foot in the bar a group of about ten local women turned and asked,"where the hell you guys from cuz you ain't from here?" One of the guys I was with said, in a very matter of fact way,"Truckee." (he is an engineer by trade, which explains his answer) It was a great time, though. I am pretty sure that I have said it before, but I truly got lucky in being the mechanic for this group of individuals. The group is so comfortable even tough we have only known each other for a week. Watching the Penguins win the Stanley Cup with Norbert, who is from Pittsburgh, playing pool and listening to Sean, who is from England, and Dave, from New Hampshire, argue about the rules, and Charles telling me how he played at basketball at the Boston Garden are things that I will definitely never forget.
It is the comradery that has formed between us all that made the ride in the rain today feel effortless. I was soaked, the rain was absolutely pissing down while we negotiated the interstate (which is a totally new experience in the rain), but as soon as we got to the hotel and traded stories and basked in our misery, the wetness seemed to dry up, our body temperatures raised, and the weather became a story instead of a reality.
June 12, 2009
Killing Time on Interstate 80
Boredom is a very unique state of mind. I found that while I am bored I try to force myself to do creative things to pass time. Sometimes I try to practice writing with my opposite hand, however that was short lived when after writing a whole page I went back to read what I wrote and there was not one legible word on the page. It looked like I had sneezed ink all over the page. That was enough to convince me that I am a righty and a righty I shall stay. I have so many projects than began with boredom and remain unfinished due to real responsibility. Being bored makes me appreciate being busy.
I have now lost complete control of time as well. I awoke this morning swearing up and down that it was Wednesday. Then I looked at my calendar in disbelief, so I called the operator, because I need at least two verifications to override my gut feeling. She asked where I was calling from and I replied, “Interstate 80”. After a quick bit of awkward silence she came back with her calm, scripted voice and stated, “It is Friday on interstate 80 today. Is there anything else I can do for you today?” I thanked her and bid her a happy Friday. After my instinctual calendar proven wrong, I quickly came to the realization that it is not such a bad thing to not know what day it is. The sun comes up regardless. Tomorrow we tackle another leg through the beautiful
June 11, 2009
Mount Rose
June 10, 2009
People Are Funny
June 9, 2009
Thinking Time
The range of thoughts is pretty narrow. "Pedal...turn left...pedal...shift gears...drink water...man I gotta pee but I don't wanta stop..stop sign...how big of a fine is it to pee in public?..guy walking dog...did he give me a weird look?..does he want a piece of me?..thats right, he better look the other way...sweet a bathroom...hey look, an eagle...that would be cool to fly...I wonder if you can ride an eagle like a horse...horses can't fly...that would be cool to fly..."
Sometimes I try to make up stupid jokes. I often think of who the first person was to tell a joke for the first time. I took a comedic world literature class and the professor mentioned something that sparked this thought, he said, "the funniest person that ever lived has most likely been long forgotten because they probably couldn't write, so we have no record of him or her." None of my jokes are any good. When I am riding up in the mountains, far away from people, sometimes I talk to the squirrels or the trees. I guess I am not selling the beauty of bicycle riding.
Tomorrow we will be riding over the Donner Pass and in honor of that I will leave you with the only cannibal joke I know.
"Two cannibals are eating a comedian and one cannibal stops, wrinkles his nose, then turns to the other cannibal and asks, 'does this taste funny to you?'"