dirty and happy
August 1, 2011
We got a nice sprinkling on the climb, keeping us nicely refreshed.
The skies opened up for the descent, just as I heard that tell tale pinging sound from the rear wheel. Broken spoke. Mark was patient as we were both instantly soaked all the way through. Past our skin.
So, monsoon downpour; dirt clods in my eye, which is still red; giant weeds on the BST east of Dry that are like rabid German cycling fans lining the Alpe d’Huez, except these punch you in the face and legs and leave welts; a broken spoke; and yet.
I love riding my bike.