This blog thing has really taken on a life of its own. I might even learn how to tweet here in the next few days if Justin has cranked up his patience meter and checked his assumptions at the door of what one should know about such matters. Granted I know how to tweet analog style (bird noises and random head movements back and forth), but apparently there is a way to upload this onto the intraweb. I can keep everyone informed of which bridge I will be camping under or maybe how delicious my latest indulgence is tasting. Indulging. Very necessary on a trip of this type. Repetitive motions will take you away from any form of indulgence, but give you an excellent excuse to purchase a doubly glazed donuts in one of those neon lit gas stations. The type where the cashier and the truckers seem to know one another and clothing can only be purchased if you are in need of a Wolf or Unicorn depiction of Colorado. Yes it is true. Mythical creatures are among us in Colorado and I have seen them. Granted it was at the end of a 12 hour day and Iwas suffering from sever dehydration, but the unicorns came to me and led me to a beautiful campsite tucked under three highways. It was a convergence of energy that flowed like the river under their bridges. There weren’t any trolls there, I looked. Just a few beer cans and cigarette butts that seem overly abundant along our highways. That and gloves. I have seen more gloves along our highways than any other piece of trash. It would make an amazing sculpture of sorts to gather the missing gloves and use them as bricks to build the ultimate work of art. The type that would keep the hipsters scratching their heads. It would be titled “lending a hand” or some other such cliche’ that would become tragically comical when paired with a big pile of used gloves. Something so obvious that it would stink. Yeah . . . this is what I think about as I pedal and pedal and pedal. That and the delicious Swedish Fish that have found their way into mouth and are now stuck to my teeth, just waiting for their time to brighten my day with another tasty flavor crystal of synthetic cherry flavoring. Yummmm. I think I can almost work one loose. I have also been thinking about my current arch nemesis. Truckers. I know it isn’t fair to lump all truckers together as I am sure I am simply noticing the minority and not the majority, but if one more truckers buzzes me just for the hell of it, well . . . I probably won’t do anything besides rant on this blog, but boy will I do it with such fervor that the trucker will surely know that he/she has messed with the wrong bike tourer. In fact one trucker buzzed me as I was descending into the Boulder Valley. Now that I have the hang of this Bob trailer I have come to enjoy the speed of the decent. What once was an unmanageable speed has now become what I crave. The problem came up when I did this in conjunction with one of these truckers trying to prove a point. I got the speed wobbles after his dumptruck’s airblast rocked my bike and sent me into a frantic braking/screaming/messing my shorts style of biking that resembled a wounded bird’s mating dance and not that of a bike tourer in control. Bike tourer (emphasis on the “er” in “tourer”). I recovered, checked my shorts and moved on. I learned a valuable lesson. Don’t try prying another Swedish Fish flavor crystal from your teeth when reaching speeds in excess of 50 miles an hour. Although the cherry flavor is irresistible, the speed wobbles are something to be avoided.

Right, you are probably wondering what all of this has to do with anything. It doesn’t, but you are reading it in an almost voyeuristic way. This is basically my dairy and I have little patience to chronicle my adventures in a traditional fashion. The road hasn’t been about what pass I went over or what sustainability means to me. As in most scenarios, it is the people I have come across during my travels that have brought joy into this currently repetitious world. Pedal pedal, eat eat, pedal pedal, eat eat. Somewhere in there is sleep and then the occasional down day. I swear I met god twice in one day. Not god in any sense that you are currently thinking. There were no white beards, sandals or burning bushes, just a drunk old woman who tested my patience and rogue biker who came from nowhere at the very moment that I needed directions. The drunk old lady fit the bill of crazy. She had a bag of magazines, a glass of white Zin and a make up job that would make Elizabeth Taylor proud. There was nothing subtle about her. She asked me if I was busy preparing my thoughts before the presentation and I thought I had communicated in a friendly yet firm fashion to let her know that indeed, I was preparing for the presentation and would appreciate a moment to gather my thoughts. This is when she chose to launch into a story about her kittens. Of course I could only multitask for so long before I had to fake some audio-visual emergency happening in the back. She came up to me after the show and bestowed her kindest compliments upon me, but cornered me as I was eager to chat with the rest of the audience about the show. I helplessly tried to say goodbye to the other guests, but she had me pinned. I eventually gave in and listened to her about how the show wasn’t marketed well enough and how she thought more people needed to see our presentation. My patience was tested, and I wonder where the White Zin lady is today. We parted ways without saying goodbye as my attention was finally drawn to another. When I turned around she was gone, but her glass of Zin was still sitting there with a ring of fiery lipstick. Was it a sign of the second, third or tenth coming? Why was she there? Why am I still thinking about my impatience with a sweet, old, drunk, crazy lady? Why am I craving a glass of White Zin? These are the questions of life.

Updates on logistics. I am in Boulder staying with friends and in general enjoying the down time. Boulder is hip in all the right ways. Young beautiful people frolic with their laptops and talk of saving the world. I seem to be another wheel in this tragic cog, but action is what will save us. I biked with my nephews from the summit of Vail pass. My family means the world to me and to have them along for part of the ride filled me with the energy that sent me up and over two passes that day. Loveland pass was my high point at 12,000 feet and now I am at the low, 5 thousand and change. I got into town yesterday and tonight is the show in Boulder. I saw some amazing music last night that proved that it pays to be a free-louder. There was a concert at a venue where they occasionally raise these large wall panels to let air into the venue. We stood outside and gaped into what turned out to be a soulful performance. There were families gathered around blankets and old men smoking cigarettes. I have lost all motivation to write and I should probably start preparing for the show tonight. Thanks for reading and if there is anything in particular that you would like to read about, make a comment on the blog and I might just take it as a bit of inspiration.

Drew

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