I was a miserable git this morning, wasn’t I?
Five hours later, and the world looks very different. I’m making the best average speed of the trip down Highway 54, with (whisper it) a bit of a tailwind. The sun is out, it’s not too hot, and all’s well in the world.
My clothes were dry by eleven. Then more rain swept in. I went and lay in the tent, coming reluctantly to accept that I’d have to stay another day at the campsite. I got out of the tent to pay, and a sliver of sunlight broke through the clouds. There were no more black clouds heading in. I packed up my kit and legged it.
As soon as I hit the 54, I felt the wind at my back. My legs were pumping around, easily turning the big gears on the flat, and climbing a couple of gears higher than usual. The bags were helping, acting as sails and pushing me up the road, rather than backwards, for a change. The best half-day of riding of the trip so far.
If Kansas is like this all the way through, I’ll be emotionally, as well as physically, drained by the time I get to Colorado…
I can understand why travel and journeys are so often used (and abused) as a metaphor for life. Today has shifted from frustration to elation in a matter of hours. The highs and lows come quicker on the road, and you can’t really appreciate the one without the other. Which I suppose means that I should be grateful for the frustration. I’m not.
Roll on tomorrow…