With four hard stages in the legs, a recovery ride was on tap today. I generously volunteered to navigate, and let's just say I might not be mapping routes for a while. It wasn't that I got us lost; in fact I knew exactly where we were going. It was more the nature of the roads I chose that brought me the ridicule of the group. Whether it was the thirteen percent climb, the equally steep rutted dirt descent, or the rain (as ride leader, it turned out I was responsible for everything, even factors such as weather that are out of mdirection directiony control) I was in serious disfavor by the time we rolled back to the house, already way behind schedule.
Road tripping seems glamorous for the first twenty minutes, with music blasting, bellies full, and spirits high. Soon enough the novelty wore off and the monotony of the scenery and the drive sank in.
We stopped at a Wal-Mart in the forgotten town of Kennewick, Washington, a slice of America most of us are never exposed to. Land is a little bit cheaper in rural interior Washington than coastal California, and this Wal-Mart seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. When I asked an employee where I could find pillows (the fine specimen I ended up purchasing was of the pink and furry variety) he vaguely pointed to one side of the store and kindly informed me that if I couldn't find them there, they might be in the opposite direction. Thanks for your time, Tony.
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