Live Fast, Die Slow and Stay Alive

"Wake up, Ralph" whispered Josh above my tent. "They're making us breakfast."

I wiped the sleep from my eyes, tossed and turned several more times, and like a child on Christmas morning, dashed barefoot into the home of Bud and Kathy.

"You guys want orange juice? How about some oatmeal?" said Bud the legend.

We had a delightful morning breakfast accompanied by genuine conversation with Bud and Kathy. We learned more about our charitable guests. Bud and Kathy had cycled almost everywhere; Cuba, Puerto Rico, Europe, Scandinavia, and most of the United States. Bud reminded me a lot of a professor that was in charge of my trip to India; a man of culture and wisdom. Kathy reminded me a lot of my mother (the name helps too) because of her humor and bona fide joy for life. 

Outside, we all began setting up our tents. Mike had packed all his things premeditatively before breakfast. As Josh and I continued to chat with Kathy, Mike nonchalantly asked Bud where to get water. Alone, he quietly went into the house. A few seconds later I heard a heavy thud followed by a screech of pain.

Hmmm, stubbed toe and a broken vase, I thought. I didn't actually break a sweat, continuing to pack my things and talk to Bud.

Kathy went off to work and I almost completely forgot about the commotion until Bud stepped inside.

As he opened the screen door, I immediatelly heard, "Oh no... Oh no... Is it broken? What happened?"

A few moments later, Mike emerged clutching his hand. 

"I think I broke it," he said worriedly. 

While washing his hands and filling his canteen in the sink, Mike's head bumped a heavy cast iron pan. It fell.

I cannot stress or heave enough praise onto the backs of Kathy and Bud for all they've done for us. Bud drove Mike about an hour north to get x-rayed while Josh and I headed out on the route planned by Bud and Kathy to Chelsea. The plan was for Josh and I to take a slow day while Mike would catch up. Kathy and Bud, you guys are legends.

The rode to Chelsea was just as our hosts had described; scenic and steep. At one stop after a brief climb, Josh and I fantasized about living as farmers in the land of the green.

We had very precise directions... and one stuck out from the rest.

Bud said the evening before after I'd expressed my addiction to Coca-Cola, "Well, there is a little soda machine at the very end of the climb!" he laughed.

I laughed too... but I didn't forget.

As I climbed another hill, the car garage came into view, signaling the end of the climbing. But more importantly... my caffeine. 

Josh and I located that vending machine and enjoyed a nice, cold carbonated beverage. It was all downhill from there.

7 miles of downhill all the way into the beautifully antique town of Chelsea. There, we continued to follow Bud and Kathy's advice, eating at the small cafe with the creaky screen door. I kid you not, I found the best burger I have had in my entire life at the Dixie II's Restaurant. Every single bite was mouth-watering. I was extremely saddened to hear later that the place was being sold in a week for financial trouble. However, I made sure the town of Chelsea knew I had the finest burger of all-time in that worn and petite little place.

Josh picked up the phone at the table as I got back from the bathroom.

"It's not broken? Oh, wooow dude. Long car ride for nothing? Yeah, we'll be here."

Bud drove Mike back to the house, picked up his bike, and then drove him to the top of the long road we took earlier. Kathy was waiting to find us, soon to be followed by Bud. Joyfully conversing again, we awaited Mike's speedy downhill into Chelsea. As he came blasting up to us and nearly running into Josh, we said goodbye to our dear friends.

Unfortunately, Mike was included. Hours after Bud and Kathy left, Mike punched in his ticket. He'd had enough.

A bitter farewell.

We ventured slowly onward to the town of South Royalton where we rehearsed the poor American standard for fixing problems; alcohol. Thankfully, the man serving them, Scott, couldn't have brightened our days up any more. 

Enthralled by our idea to bicycle across the country, he took it upon himself to create his own route through the West for us. Proclaiming to have gone across the country twenty times (he has, his girlfriend was there that went with him), he told us he'd plan out all the best places. 

After two hours of careful planning and pinpointing, he couldn't print it. So, he gave us a brief summary of it. The plan was to cut out North Dakota and replace it (no offense but North Dakota apparently "just straight up sucks") with the Badlands of South Dakota. It sounded appealing. 

Sometimes though, the places with nothing in them are the best places to do something in

On the road to South Royalton shortly before the huge Bluegrass Festival. $25 for a ticket but it didn't pay for for the $60 camping fee. Sorry guys.

We never made it out of South Royalton. 

Mentally drained.