There once was a Queen in Idaho
With a penchant for pain, well dontcha know
She put on a race
With gravelly high pace
And we all fell apart like weak so-and-sos.
There’s poetry to riding a bicycle. A rhythm. A tempo. The percussion of the chain as it reverbs over terrain, the…
You. You are a frivolous person. A frivolous person with frivolous thoughts that spin and cartwheel on the front lawn of your mind. Legs flinging, knees bent, your thoughts less perfect with each rotation. Less complete and full.
This gravel is onto you. It’s not stupid. It sees your nerves…
Prologue: Sixtyish mile mark, time unknown
A crunch of gravel, the sharp ting of small stones against bike underbellies, projectile vomited there by irritated and belligerent tires. Bottles rattle in cages. Skeletons vibrate like tuning forks in our soft, beaten bodies. In the key of E-ouch.
“Hey,” I say, looking over…
The tradition lives on with this year’s installment of Fat Cyclist’s 100 Miles of Nowhere. 5 centuries in five days in four states. BOOM!
I’m going to do a day-by-day posts with photos and lots of flair, but in the meantime, this summary will have to do.
So, quick flashback…