It has occurred to me that I never factor in numbers of any sort, such as, the date, the exact amount of miles we rode, elevation, calories in that brownie I just ate. This bike trip is an opportunity for me to allow numbers to have a narrative, take on another meaning, become the more than 500 calories of pure sugar, and into fuel for that mountain. So I am going to include more numbers (I just ate a brownie and assume it
had around 500 calories, which will fuel me up the climb of about a thousand feet, which is on the shorter end of the what we climb at one in a day.)I've also been hating on Utah. Sorry Utah. I mean it. You are the home of five national parks, and none of them are lame. By that I mean, none of them are just, like, parks where you might eat a sandwich wrapped in plastic with a friend who has a medium sized dog that chases after the frisbee. You have to climb to get to them. While you climb to the spot of your choosing, there are creeks, and it smells like pine, and a little like fruit candy, and all the drivers are polite, and the Europeans on their rented motorcycles wave or flash the peace sign (which is so nineteen-nineties). And you don't feel healed. You feel anointed.
No comments:
Post a Comment