July 6 Brindil bites back

For some odd reason this morning, the motel brew-your-own coffee was very tasty and I drank 3 big cups, plus the rest of an old Pepsi (and skipped breakfast). I guess the wheels were not completely on the ground for the 18 miles to Rose City from the caffeine OD, and I did not stop until I hit an oddly located chunk of curb in town and tumbled from my bike. Luckily, I was able to unclip my right foot from the pedal and only looked stupid in landing on the pavement.

"Yes, here arrives the jacked up Seattle-ite!! Look at his grace and style!"

Better eat, Gary. Details, details... After lunch, I groggily push up and down light hills, along with the remainder of the holiday traffic. Pretty pooped from yesterday. An apple tree provides shade for a 45 minute nap. Still light-headed. Head south on small roads past Skidway Lake, as we return to ag fields near Sterling. Continual traffic into Standish. From Standish to Bay City is a nightmare. Stuck on a narrow shoulder between a rumblestrip and gravel, alternately rumbling me senseless or dragging through gravel. Get a 1" nail in the rear tire near Pinconning that pierces tire and both sides of the tube. Roadside repair. Brindil insists on standing as trucks and traffic pour by 3 feet off my elbow.

I stop and tell Brindil to sit in the cart. She sits for 1/2 mile, then stands again. We stop again. She stands up again. I try to tell her that it is for her safety that she sit. No luck. She's up again. We stop again. As I reach down to make her sit, the queen BITES me! I can't remember that happening before. Now I can feel the frustration of the day all around me. The kids are fighting. Finally, I have to pull down the front net on the cart and close her in, for her own safety. I know it's hot, but it's the only way.

"Ha, ha, ha", I hear her say, "I'll get you back for this!"

"You can always walk, my ingrate", I reply.

We push on, counting miles.

At long last SR 13 splits away from the southbound traffic, and the last few miles into Bay City are easier. At the Fairfield Motel, I crack a jigger of Jack Daniels to celebrate passing 3000 miles today, then go eat lots and lots, washed down by two grande margaritas.

Decompression therapy needed.

This has been a long holiday weekend for the lone biker!