Type Two Fun

  (Note to reader: I typically try not to swear in my posts but in this particular piece it’s necessary.  It captures the essence of the moment.)

  Looking back at it, he was too clean for me to trust him.  His bandana looked like it had been pressed and his beard could have been drawn on.  His clothes did look ragged, but I bet he bought them like that.

   Kevin and I met in the hotel lobby while we were getting ready to roll out for the day.  He was doing a short bike tour to some small town in Nebraska, where his family would join him.  He had a pretty slick looking set up and had just come from where I was heading, or so he said.

   I asked him about my route for the day and he told me it was great—great roads, great views, everything was great.  Kevin was a liar.

   For the first ten miles or so, the ride was similar to every other ride out of town: light morning traffic, cool temps, and legs that weren’t sure about today’s ride. When I linked up with Highway 52, I noticed something different from my previous days in Colorado—there wasn’t any shoulder.  I normally don’t care about that but the quality of road was garbage, too.  Because of all the cracks, bumps, and debris, I had to ride further into the road than I like.  

   I am pretty comfortable riding in traffic, but the harvest season is not the time of year to be hogging the lane.  Eighteen wheelers, carrying monstrously oversized farm equipment, dart up and down the highways trying to earn their keep.  Most of the farm equipment doesn’t actually fit on the flatbed so a piece of metal or a tire bigger than most cars hangs off the sides.  Even when I have a shoulder to ride on these beasts can be dangerous, so take that shoulder away and it makes for a stressful day.  

   In hopes of better riding I turned off the main drag and found a road that ran parallel with the highway that had almost no traffic.  For about 7 miles, it was bliss. That’s when things started to go downhill, and I’m not talking about the road that continued its steady climb toward Denver.

   The first transgression towards my Colorado bliss was the smoothly paved road turned into a fine soft sand road.  For those who have been following on instagram and facebook, you know I have spent lots of time on country roads.  I will usually take my helmet off and enjoy the gentle cruise. I took my helmet off but I didn’t enjoy a gentle cruise this morning.  

   Sybil’s narrow tires and heavy load couldn’t handle the silt, so she constantly slid out from underneath me.  I never went down but there were a few close calls.  

   For the most part, this was just a nuisance.  It made it where I had to pay close attention to the sand to find the best route because staying in the car tracks didn’t always work. I would get comfortable for a bit and start to relax and then my back tire would slide out.  

   Like I said, this by itself was a nuisance, nothing more.  The problem was that this drastically slowed me down.  It slowed me down so much that the horseflies had no problem keeping up, landing on me, taking a chunk of flesh, and then flying off!  The miserable little bastards were even able to get me through the bike shorts, which was their preferred region for feasting!

  So, the next seven miles went something like this: Mark is riding with both hands on the handlebars.  Horsefly takes a bite of Mark’s ass.  Mark swats at horsefly. Mark loses control of the bike and nearly lays it down.  Repeat. 

   It’s easy to see why I was ecstatic to be turning on to a paved road.  When that glorious moment came, I stopped, put on my helmet, and thought the worst of it was behind me.  

   It only took about a hundred yards before I started wondering if this was actually an improvement.  The pavement was rough, cracked and every ten feet there was bump that jostled my undercarriage in a way that it shouldn’t be.  

   This sucks. I thought and let out a deep exhale.  I just tried to make the most of it, but it was difficult when every half a second my leather saddle was being rammed up into my nether regions, as if the last two thousand miles hadn’t been enough abuse on my kibble and bits.  

  “ERRAAAKKKK!!!!!” The sound erupted next to my left ear.

  I nearly leapt off my bike.  I shifted my hips and shoulders from the left side of my bike to the right as I looked up and back trying to see its source.

   “ERRAAAKKKK!” It sounded again.  

   A sharp short wind passed by my left shoulder.  I swerved all over the road trying to get a glimpse of what was over top of me.  Then I saw it. 

   A beautiful bird of prey flew fifty feet over me.  Its head was crimson and its flight was effortless.  

   “ERRAAAKKK!” It cried again.

   “It must be hunting.  I love being out here experiencing nature and getting to observe these raw moments that most only see on TV,” I said to myself.

  I relaxed a bit and followed its shadow over me. 

  Wait.  Why is its shadow over...

  A flap of its wing slammed into my helmet and it darted off before I could even see it.

   “ERRAAAKKK!” 

   “Hey!!! Fuck you, bird!!”  I yelled back and swerved all over the road.

   “ERRAAAKKK!!” It yelled back.

   This time it crashed into my helmet with its talons.  I felt my helmet begin to lift a bit as it tried to grip the helmet’s plastic shell.  

  “Leave me alone, god dammit!!” I yelled and shifted my body from side to side trying to get another look at it, but all I saw was an empty sky.  

   “Erraaakkk!” The bird’s response sounded softer and a low hum of a vehicle began to approach. I couldn’t help but wonder if the driver saw the attack or just me swerving all over the road and yelling at the sky.  The car passed and I began to relax again.

   Harder than before, the bird crashed into my helmet again.  

   “ERRAAAKKKK!!” It taunted.  

   About a hundred feet off the ground, it flew in front of me for a few short seconds.

   “Fucking go away, you piece of shit bird!”

   Yup.  Experiencing nature.  Soak it in, bub.  Soak. It. In.  

  As abruptly as the onslaught began, it ended with no clear sign.  Which is good because I began to run out of nasty adjectives to describe the bird and found myself relying on words like  “despicable” and “vindictive.”  In the end, the bird flew away with a stronger and more colorful vocabulary and I rode off with a new perspective.   

For the next thirty miles, I only had to deal with my saddle ramming into my manhood every few seconds and the oppressive hundred and three degree heat.  All things considered, not a bad morning.