Day 44: Saratoga, WY to Rawlins, WY (48 miles)
The Man and the Machine
I'm much more of a creature of change and I ordinarily thrive on a sense of disorganization that somehow makes sense to me in my head. As such, it's been a bit of a change to live on such a regimented life the last month or so while biking. At times, I feel like I'm just as plugged in as a machine. Everyday follows a pretty predictable pattern:
As such, one of the true joys for me on the trip is the ability to goof off in the morning. To wake up and say "It's only 40 miles today... I'm not going to tear down my tent yet.". I woke up and looked at the lake, talked to some fishermen and kids on bikes, made myself coffee, talked some with MB and just took it easy for 3 hours. I even waxed poetic and came up with this metaphor. It's these type of things that makes me feel human again, which is somewhat refreshing.
As such, I was enjoying my easy day of riding from Saratoga to Rawlins. 48 miles is chump change to us and I pushed through the first 40 miles with no problem. In Sinclair, I was biking along some railroad tracks that ran oddly paralell inside the road. I saw a piece of debris which I adjusted to miss and my wheel fell into the track, grabbing the wheel and tossing me and my bike down to the ground. I was scraped up and bruised and disoriented.
At this point, the machine stopped working. Bike stuff was not business as usual. I was hurt and Trixie's front wheel had a wobble. I made it into town when I realized I didn't have the right tool to adjust the spokes and straighten out the wheel. Panic. The machine's broke.
Of course, the machine can't handle this. There's no amount of drilling or regimen that can prepare you for the unexpected. At this time, only adjusting your mind and dealing with the problem as a person can work. I tried to adjust the wheel some with some tools that didn't fit well and adjusted the brakes enough so that the bike would roll. I knew there was a bike shop 2 days away that I should be able to get to. I wrote off the incident, ate some Thai food and drank a beer. Could there be problems? Sure. Would the routine be different the next two days? Maybe. But, I need to keep going. And so we move on.
I'm much more of a creature of change and I ordinarily thrive on a sense of disorganization that somehow makes sense to me in my head. As such, it's been a bit of a change to live on such a regimented life the last month or so while biking. At times, I feel like I'm just as plugged in as a machine. Everyday follows a pretty predictable pattern:
- Wake up
- Tear down my tent and put away my gear
- Change into biking stuff
- Eat food, not in a way in which I ask myself what sounds tasty today, but in the pure fashion of "How many calories do I need to consume to get to the next place I can consume calories and what's the most efficient and economical way to do so". It's more like putting gas in a car than dining.
- Bike
- Eat food
- Bike
- Enter town, figure out where to stay
- Talk to folks, who generally ask the same 20 or so questions ("Where are you coming from?" "How long is your trip?" "What's your favorite thing so far?"), to which I generally have the same response.
- Setup camping things
- Sleep.
As such, one of the true joys for me on the trip is the ability to goof off in the morning. To wake up and say "It's only 40 miles today... I'm not going to tear down my tent yet.". I woke up and looked at the lake, talked to some fishermen and kids on bikes, made myself coffee, talked some with MB and just took it easy for 3 hours. I even waxed poetic and came up with this metaphor. It's these type of things that makes me feel human again, which is somewhat refreshing.
As such, I was enjoying my easy day of riding from Saratoga to Rawlins. 48 miles is chump change to us and I pushed through the first 40 miles with no problem. In Sinclair, I was biking along some railroad tracks that ran oddly paralell inside the road. I saw a piece of debris which I adjusted to miss and my wheel fell into the track, grabbing the wheel and tossing me and my bike down to the ground. I was scraped up and bruised and disoriented.
At this point, the machine stopped working. Bike stuff was not business as usual. I was hurt and Trixie's front wheel had a wobble. I made it into town when I realized I didn't have the right tool to adjust the spokes and straighten out the wheel. Panic. The machine's broke.
Of course, the machine can't handle this. There's no amount of drilling or regimen that can prepare you for the unexpected. At this time, only adjusting your mind and dealing with the problem as a person can work. I tried to adjust the wheel some with some tools that didn't fit well and adjusted the brakes enough so that the bike would roll. I knew there was a bike shop 2 days away that I should be able to get to. I wrote off the incident, ate some Thai food and drank a beer. Could there be problems? Sure. Would the routine be different the next two days? Maybe. But, I need to keep going. And so we move on.
I just went back to read this while working on something related, loving the line batshit crazy people
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