"North Woodstock", I said sleepily from my tent.
"Yeah, it's pretty far", Mike said,"...about 70 miles."
"What. Did. You. Say?" I said with emphasis on each word. My "ignorance is bliss" logic has been well-known but still, about half the time for Mike's own pleasure, he spills the beans on the distance.
Mike giggled inside his tent.
"Fuck you," I said through clenched teeth.
...........…………………
"Are you going to do the basketball tournament or the 70-mile bike ride?" asked Brandon.
We were sitting in his car in a parking lot. It was raining and the asphalt was shimmering. Idle cars sat all around us. Brandon Devitt, one of my best friends from home asked me what I'd been thinking.
"I dunno," I responded.
I was doing average in the 2 on 2 basketball tournament, better than the anxiety-ridden games in high school. But even in my dream, I could remember the nervousness as I had an easy layup, directly under the hoop. I missed.
I turned in my sleeping bag, freezing cold. I tried wrapping myself as deep within the blanket as I could. It felt like my head was splitting. I was thrust back into the dream.
We were doing pretty well; the game was tied. My old teammate from High School, Tykie, threw me an alley-oop. I leapt up, inside the old gymnasium from my adolescent days. The crowd was packed and cheering wildly. "Don't miss," I thought to myself.
"Dude! That's my head!" I yelled as I felt the toes from Mike's foot curl around the sleeping bag holding my throbbing body and aching head. As Mike was rolling up his sleeping bag, he accidently stepped on my cranium. Pile it on, then. I already feel like shit.
It took a few hours for the cold to go away and to work the strength to get up. Pam and Conrad were serving breakfast at eight and I knew if I made it another hour, I could buy more Advil and consume it as we ate.
And just like a crack addict, I shakily thrust the two capsules in my mouth at the table.
Half an hour later, I felt no better and the seventy miles looked especially daunting. Thankfully, the guys agreed for a shorter day and a stay at a motel in the last populated town before the Appalachian Mountains intervene.
With money seemingly dissipating into thin air, I forked over another $25 for the room. Screw it, I need to get better... then I'll make a budget. Yeah... sure thing. I just need to spend money on opportunities to learn rather than the luxurious non-essentials. I know this. But damnit, those showers and that Coca-Cola really hit the spot.
Mike hit the road first today after waking up around 5am. He slept out in the open as opposed to setting up his tent. He flew into our goal of Fryeburg... and kept going.
Eventually, he decided to come back to the hotel. Not after he saw what lay in store for tomorrow, about a 3,000ft. climb up into the not-so-distant Appalachian Mountains. Hopefully I'm good to go.
Today's ride was very lackadaisical. We all rode Route 302 directly to Fryeburg as opposed to the "scenic route". However, once Josh told me that a local cyclist told him there was nothing really to see and that 302 was safer, I took his advice. I stopped after ten or so miles to relax and read within the public library at the town of Bridgeton. The locals were very kind.
Once I learned Mike was already at Fryeburg, I kicked it into high gear. But, I still stopped for some scenic areas.
At the present moment, we're slobbing it up in Fryeburg and I'm feeling better. If I still feel terrible tomorrow, I'll get it checked out. Either way, it'll work itself out.
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