Crazy is as Crazy Does
I've realized today that I may literally be crazy. My months of intense cycling, weight lifting, and eating healthy (except for the Coke I just finished) have all come down to the big event tomorrow. It's suddenly the real deal. I will wake at an unreal hour of the morning and bike 100 miles with a bunch of people I don't know, until I finish. Or until the ambulance picks me up. Whichever comes first.

I'm nervous. The most I've biked at once is 56 miles. It hurt. I wonder why I think it's a good idea to do more than that.

Looking at the map of the route, I can't help but see myself getting stuck at that point way out there in what looks like the middle of nowhere. It looks lonely out there. It's the point furthest from the ending point, before the loop heads back towards civilization and ice cream. The point of 'must return', or call 911 for a ride home.

You know, maybe I can live there. I might get out there, pause to catch my breath, and decide I like it at the corner of Nowhere and Where the Heck Am I? Just north of Who-ville, near No Man's Land, east of Void Into the Eternity of Nothingness, almost but not quite at the border of that northern most part of Canada where nothing but frozen million year old amoeba live. Sounds nice.

The friend who was going to tackle this major Feat of Strength (a la Festivus) with me mysteriously cannot attend the event now. We were going to drag each other along through this thing, supporting and cursing each other along the way. Now, I will be pedaling all alone. With several hundred of my closest strangers. Maybe they will like my new home in the galaxy far, far away, too. Do you think they would help me start a new neighborhood out there in Area 51? I don't mind the company, as long as I get to be mayor of the Land Before Time.

I'm excited. It will be quite an accomplishment to complete the ride. I will cross the finish line, dismount my bike, make sure my bum is still attached to me where it should be, stand briefly in victory, then likely fall over, landing in a mushy heap on the ground. I assumed I would no longer need to walk past the age of twenty-seven. So that fits well with my legs falling off tomorrow promptly at the completion of the ride. It will be a proud moment.

I hope to survive and have wonderful stories to tell of my adventure. But in the event that the Sasquatch of the North Texas Wilderness chases me down and devours me while out in his neck of the woods, it's been nice blogging with you.

C.T.