Surrender: A Day in the Life of a Cycle Tourist
Some days, you just gotta throw in the towel.
The day’s intensity ratcheted higher like a rising guillotine blade. 99 degrees. 25 mph headwinds with gusts. Nothing except barb wire fences whistling in the wind for 80 miles in front of us.
The “town” we’d just passed through, Mosby, consisted of two houses, one abandoned with a roof caving in. A rippling series of long rollercoaster hills spelled our doom in thousands of feet of elevation still to climb that day. And there we were, two specks on the ocean of the plains, beat down and buffeted, with nary even a cell phone signal to be found to even complain online.
Good thing I have a blog and can do it later.
Sometimes, the warrior’s path is to push on, head down into the morass, battling our way to victory. We all are stronger than we think, both mentally and physically, and toughing it out can make you stronger and better equipped to handle future adversity. Small challenges and tests will often make life’s tougher obstacles seem easier in comparison, and I’m occasionally circumspect enough to cherish the pain afterward.
This, however, was not one of those days! While we wake up with tired bodies every morning, on this day our legs hung like lead pendulums churning away in a thick soup of blasting hot air. We’d pushed through scorchers before, yet this total feeling of exhaustion was like a crashing wave trying to drown us.
Only 25 miles in, with 50 to go and the temperature double that, we found a rest stop in a fancy new building in the least-populated area of Montana. Why they put it there, I have no idea.
However, the cold, filtered water was delightful (in comparison to most water in the plains tasting like warm dog farts). The hard slat benches to relax upon in the air conditioned space made it feel like Cleopatra’s palace.
I sat and relished the cold air and took on the unofficial and unpaid Greeter of Road Trippers for awhile, chatting with each new arrival. "Heyyyy, where ya headed? Seen any stores to the east of here? No?”
After much deliberation, we listened to our tired bodies and scoped out a spot under a picnic structure in the far corner of the parking lot. Baked brown earth lay on the other side of a sagging fence; semi trucks pulled in and out every so often, but we chugged frosty water, threw down a tent footprint and sleeping pads and lay on them with sticky backs. Our Truckstop Hilton provided shade, solace and relief from blasting winds and it felt good.
We’d done enough pushing through adversity for the day - there would be plenty more of that to come in future days. For now, a concrete pad and picnic table in the middle of nowhere Montana felt like a warm hug from Grandma.
We reclined, napping and reading, for the afternoon, then justified carrying our emergency backpacking meal by gobbling it up for dinner. Dessert was a 180 degree lightning show crackling in the distance, the rumble of semis thundering behind us. (Why must trucks leave their engines running nonstop without sharing their AC?!)
Next day, after absolutely terrible sleep thanks to constant semi traffic, we rose early and vanquished the remaining 50 miles on another 100 degree day with fresh(er) legs. It was a good reminder that while usually we press through biking and life doing things even when it’s tough, some days where we crack shouldn’t be misconstrued as weakness.
Instead, it takes a different strength to accept our lot and deal with struggles one day at a time in a way that builds cumulative success. And, for us at least, that’s what it takes to ride through barren countryside all the way across this giant country!
