oh yeah. at the silly hipster bar full of dudes my age grasping at the last vestiges of their youth. basically what i’m doing, and do, in a way that makes me feel like i’m not in on the in joke.


knowing i couldn’t have any fun, real or induced, i followed the bartender’s directions to a prak where i planned to attempt to sleep. note that this was prefaced with the disclaimer ‘i suck at giving directions.’

indeed. i found myself riding along I-70 again, and stopped at some national park. sprawled upon my bike, i attempted to sleep. there wsan’t really anywhere you’d want to put a bedroll. i’d nearly succedded to reach this coveted state of slumber when IT happened.


perplexed, donning rain gear (an insisted gift from mike. thanks, mike), i found myself making a rash decision: remain stationary, or get just as wet progressing my adventure? i fumbled for my keys, but something tugged at my paranoia receptors. something that was in the season for migrating.

plugging along at a blistering 50 mph, cold yet reasonably dry, pleading with the mist driven up by far more confident cage drivers roaring past, a poor, yet suspiciously neatly decapitated specimen was beneath my port side peg and gone before my brain could register what it was. i became immediately aware of what bambi could do to my bike and i.

now, this downpour was described by weather.com or some such as ‘a slight chance of sporadic showers.riiiight. i checked the map on my phone. no way it could be more than twelve miles in direction. maybe this was accurate, but i didn’t perceive it that way. and once the rain itself stopped, i’d still have horizontal typhoons spewed at me by old dudes pulling a fifth wheel pulling some old jaguar or morgan or whatever the fuck that was.

luckily (how is there not an emoticon for eye-rolling?), it let up. more like made way for the Rocky Mountains. yeah, it was dark, but i could sense that if i’d misjudged, i’d plummet to a death from which there would be no indication.

all of these things conspired against me last night. much to my surprise and pleasure, around 730am, quite frozen and battered, i rolled into my destination, denver proper, just 20 miles shy of the 1000 required for me to consider myself an Iron Butt. naturally, i spent some time aimlessly ticking the odometer over.

that’s some shit that makes you grateful for what you have. like an old buddy willing to offer a couch, shower, and an appetite for beer. more on that later. i need a fucking nap.