You're riding along and then *wabomph*, damn, you're instantly 10 mph slower than you were, cruising crooked because of the force coming at you from the east, now the west, now straight on, and damn, you're sweating, but the wind is so cold, goosebumps, shift down, the winds blowing so hard you can't hear "Zoot Allures" anymore, one of the best Zappa albums next to "Joe's Garage."
Riding in Durango is kind of like that. I did a 32 mile loop yesterday, with the turning around point being where highway 250 crosses the Animas River. There's an overpass where you can jump from into the muddy river. A bunch of folk of Latin origin were relaxing on the surrounding rock drinking some low-alcohol-content-sweet-beverage-type-of-looking things. I sat down, pondered the dirty water while my legs rested.
Hopped back on my bike. I'm pumped. Headwinds the whole way back. No longer so enthusiastic. At the end, felt like I rode at least 50.
On the way back, I think I saw a dead hedgehog about the size of a kiwi and I know I saw a rotten pile of bones and fur of large size (animal unknown) on the side of 550 that was there last time I rode. Don't these people ever shovel their deceased? A decent burial in an industrial crematory at least? Sheesh........
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