Still numb from my Lawrence of Arabia inspired traversal of the Mojave, I was late to the start of the next morning's ride. Looked like it would be another day alone in the saddle. The plan was to cover 85 miles and arrive in Kingman, AZ just over 3,000 feet higher than where I started.
After a quick stretch at 35 mph downhill on the Interstate, I turned on to Historic Route 66. Wow. The pavement looked like it had last been taken care of in 1966. But, so excited to experience veritable Americana. At least, I was excited for the first .8 miles before my tire went flat. While changing it buzzards started circling and I took that as a less than optimistic sign about my chances that day. Nevertheless, I plodded ahead, thanking Mother Earth for the brief respite from the soul-draining 108 degree days by rewarding me with a relatively temperate 101 degree balm.
Thankfully, in the inevitable yin and yang that is riding hills on a bike, the far side of the pass offered a seemingly endless downhill into a wide open plane. Arms in front, steering with my elbows, and cornering irresponsibly, I raced traffic and relived my time preparing for Ironmans while on my time trial bike. Man, did that feel cathartic. Well, until my tire flatted again in the middle of what felt like a 20 mile wide greased skillet on high heat. For me, right up there with bad customer service, IRS audits, and unattributed retweets, are flat tires. Ugh.
Not much to report in the way of nightlife. Bedtime comes early in this part of the country. It does for me, at least considering what time we roll in the morning.
Thus, for now, thanks to all of you for your Tweets and comments. They mean a lot to me and I wish I weren't too pooped to reply to them all.