Today we rode with Tony - the cyclist we met last night - for the day. An exceedingly skinny dude with a disproportionately bulky bike. But he can keep up! We rode through some desolate, hilly desert terrain... nothing like a swig of hot water from your canteen to crush your moral. But there's also nothing like an 11 mile, 6% downhill at the end of the day to lift your spirits. We parted with Tony at his Mountain Home motel - he is off to the Boise beat poetry scene. We were going to bike 23 miles further than Mountain Home, but it was close to sunset and ALL FOUR OF US got flat tires at the same time, near a lonesome church on the outskirts of town. We took that as a sign from above that we should call it a night. We camped on the church property without asking (they don't usually mind about that), ate our canned beans with tortillas and hot sauce, and washed it all down with PBR tall-boys. A beautiful sunset from an innocent swing set. We'll take care of those flats tomorrow morning. Let's just stare at the desert sky tonight...
Wayne's got it right: married a rich lady, no kids, retired at 44.
The ironing is delicous.
Our desert bicycle gang.
The goat-head puncture fiasco.
Setting up camp outside the desert church.
No comments:
Post a Comment