sea of rice and the birth of wind
I'm too sick to finish my tour so I am headed home a day early. I finished almost everything I needed to do that wasn't comedy and I just need rest. I'm sure that many of you are ready to stop stressing out about if I am going to wreck or not. So, let's go home.
Late Sunday night I took a ride across the prairie to enjoy one final sunset illumuniating the foothills of the forgottens. And all from the relative comfort of my pony. I got out into the rolling hills and just strolled among them like I was walking amongst the beauty in the Louvre. Out in the hills there are no stop signs... no traffic... no nothing... just a whole lotta bugs.
If you were standing still, you probably wouldn't see them. They're so small and unassuming, they hardly make a mark. But moving at 40 miles an hour, you see them. Not so much in their natural healthy state, but in a smushed, lifeless state that resembles smeared snot on a visor. On the other side this time.
A few bugs on the visor is pretty common so I didn't really notice them at first. But at the end of the first hour, I had to pull over just to wipe them off of my visor. I couldn't see through them, they were that thick.
The bugs started to strip away the enjoyment of the falling sun so I headed home at a pretty fast clip. It was then, and only then, that the bugs showed me their true entertainment value - They make a great SMACK noise when they slam into the visor. It sounds a lot like uncooked rice falling into an empty pot. In fact, riding through these bastards was like riding in a bowl of rice. The tiny windshield on the pony was so soaked in bug goo that I almost wanted to take off the windshield and have it preserved as is.
The next morning, it was up and at it. I strapped on everything I could and headed out for the perch. From the moment I turned the key... the wind was out to kill me.
First 80 miles.. 30 miles an hour winds. Relentless, brutal and very dangerous. I thought that was pretty bad until..
Second and Third 80 miles.. 50 miles an hour winds. Demons were lashing at me with their tales and the Banshees were screaming so loudly that I couldn't hear the bike. My nose actually started to bleed. I had to stop every twenty minutes just to catch my breath. My arms felt like jello and I couldn't feel my fingers. My gas mileage dropped to 30 miles per gallon and I almost dropped the bike every other mile.
The last 80 miles... The last 80 miles, everytime I stopped, I heard from everyone on earth about the quality of the wind. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on how long it would last, where it was coming from and just how dangerous it was for them in their cars or trucks and how sorry they were for me on my pony. I kept thinking that when I got to the top of the mountain pass, the wind would stop flowing AT me. Certainly wind has to be born somewhere and if you can just get passed that point, there should be a calm. I kept telling myself that eventually I would find peaceful and safe passage, if I just got passed the next mile. It wasn't until I started to see trees that had fallen over from the wind that I started to think about walking. If I had to describe what it felt like to ride in this wind for seven hours, I would have to say it was like trying to walk against the blast of a fire hose when it's opened all the way. Every gust felt like a punch to the gut.
I got back to the perch a little over seven hours after I left the ponderosa. I'm so tired and sick that I can't really see what I am typing here. But for those that wanted to know...
I'm home and I loved every second of it; bugs, wind, rain, illness, casino-quality shows... all of it.
Late Sunday night I took a ride across the prairie to enjoy one final sunset illumuniating the foothills of the forgottens. And all from the relative comfort of my pony. I got out into the rolling hills and just strolled among them like I was walking amongst the beauty in the Louvre. Out in the hills there are no stop signs... no traffic... no nothing... just a whole lotta bugs.
If you were standing still, you probably wouldn't see them. They're so small and unassuming, they hardly make a mark. But moving at 40 miles an hour, you see them. Not so much in their natural healthy state, but in a smushed, lifeless state that resembles smeared snot on a visor. On the other side this time.
A few bugs on the visor is pretty common so I didn't really notice them at first. But at the end of the first hour, I had to pull over just to wipe them off of my visor. I couldn't see through them, they were that thick.
The bugs started to strip away the enjoyment of the falling sun so I headed home at a pretty fast clip. It was then, and only then, that the bugs showed me their true entertainment value - They make a great SMACK noise when they slam into the visor. It sounds a lot like uncooked rice falling into an empty pot. In fact, riding through these bastards was like riding in a bowl of rice. The tiny windshield on the pony was so soaked in bug goo that I almost wanted to take off the windshield and have it preserved as is.
The next morning, it was up and at it. I strapped on everything I could and headed out for the perch. From the moment I turned the key... the wind was out to kill me.
First 80 miles.. 30 miles an hour winds. Relentless, brutal and very dangerous. I thought that was pretty bad until..
Second and Third 80 miles.. 50 miles an hour winds. Demons were lashing at me with their tales and the Banshees were screaming so loudly that I couldn't hear the bike. My nose actually started to bleed. I had to stop every twenty minutes just to catch my breath. My arms felt like jello and I couldn't feel my fingers. My gas mileage dropped to 30 miles per gallon and I almost dropped the bike every other mile.
The last 80 miles... The last 80 miles, everytime I stopped, I heard from everyone on earth about the quality of the wind. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on how long it would last, where it was coming from and just how dangerous it was for them in their cars or trucks and how sorry they were for me on my pony. I kept thinking that when I got to the top of the mountain pass, the wind would stop flowing AT me. Certainly wind has to be born somewhere and if you can just get passed that point, there should be a calm. I kept telling myself that eventually I would find peaceful and safe passage, if I just got passed the next mile. It wasn't until I started to see trees that had fallen over from the wind that I started to think about walking. If I had to describe what it felt like to ride in this wind for seven hours, I would have to say it was like trying to walk against the blast of a fire hose when it's opened all the way. Every gust felt like a punch to the gut.
I got back to the perch a little over seven hours after I left the ponderosa. I'm so tired and sick that I can't really see what I am typing here. But for those that wanted to know...
I'm home and I loved every second of it; bugs, wind, rain, illness, casino-quality shows... all of it.
posted by Daniel Loomis | 7:45 PM
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