55 miles. Embracing the detour.
It is always extremely difficult to peel away the blankets in a hotel room. I swear, they put black out curtains on the windows to trick you into staying longer. And it usually works. Especially if McKinley has anything to do with it. Worst. Ralleyer. Ever. (ok, you're not, but this statement needed embellishing for effect). So after breakfast I follow suit and crawled back into my bed for another half hour. Man I love classy hotel rooms. And curtains made of trickery.
Today, Kentucky gifted us the most amount of waves in one day on this trip. Not sure if we were looking extra awesome in our spandex, and helmet head, or everyone was just feeling extra chipper on this day of rest, but EVERYONE waved at us, from cars, front porches, gas stations, and tractors. Kentucky still rates high in my book. High five, Kentucky!
The dog chase continues. I stunned one furry beast in his tracks with a squirt of my water bottle. Success! Nice try, Kujo.
Today I felt like cow pie all day, or in other words, like a massive, steaming pile of shit. The climb up Big Hill was a long, gentle grade. But I still had to pull over mid-way to not pass out, vomit, or have a heart attack. And snap some photos of the Kentucky valley, of course.
And the pattern continued all day. Anything I ate bothered my stomach, so I didn't eat my usual mound of junk to sustain my energy level. Towards the end of the day, whatever was going on with me subsided. I scarfed down a pot of mac and cheese and a whole can of peas. And a fruit cup. I'm back in business! I really dodged a bullet there, phew.
Tonight we pulled in to some Inn that looked like a haven for meth addicts, so we forked up the extra cash for a classy room at the Best Western, where I cooked my dinner and spilled it all over the table.
Ahh, another day in the life of a bike tourist.
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