The Tour de France starts Saturday, by the way, and OLN will again be providing saturation coverage. Magnus Backstedt, the “Collosal Apostle” will be out to crush smaller, weaker men.
I will probably miss the start, which is a shame. Feel free to weigh in concerning all things TOUR related. Until July 24, Roadies will be respected here at the BRC.
No promises after that.
Things Juancho may have forgotten about Grand Teton:
The Smell: Brand new outdoors smell for all of us. I’d call it a high country sweet green conifer with mysterious fecal undertones. It’s weird for the outdoors to have a brand new signature smell.
They’ve killed all the roosters and replaced them with coyotes, and the coyote wake-up call isn’t mournful or beseeching, it’s pissed.
There’s not a lot of swimming going on, because the water is so cold it makes your nipples hard and your head hurt from thirty yards away. In fact, the only people who ever seem to really be in the water in the way people should be in the water in the summer are the fly fisherman. If you’re a fly fisherman, and you don’t live up here, well, that’s too bad because the brotherhood is strong, square-jawed, and content.
The Wind: Going from dead calm to whipping frenzy in thirty seconds, or the steady night wind whistling and blowing like it never needs to stop and eventually IS going to blow the top layer off everything.
Marlboro men are everywhere. Cowboys taking your money at the Hardees drive through, just daring you to ask for extra ketchup.
June 24: We’re off the trail and in Boise for a few days. Two glorious nights in Yellowstone, tons of fun with the family. I swear, you have to get away from all the distractions of home and into a small, motorized box to really remember how the Sasquatch family rolls. We roll big. It’s epic country, epic driving, epic conversations, and all-around epic fun up in here, and Dr. Cash $$ just keeps rolling out the dough.
Fuck a budget.
Hey, a little tidbit to share. When we picked up our rig in Denver and turned on the radio, the VERY FIRST THING we heard, all cued up by God, was a Colorado public service announcement about relative power on the streets. The guy lays out, in no uncertain terms, that in these parts pedestrians rule, bicyclists help them rule, and motorists can just get in the back of the line. I promise you that at the end of the announcement, just in case it hadn’t sunk in, the official but laid back sounding guy says, “So once again, the pecking order is pedestrians first, then bicyclists, and then drivers.” And you know he’s just saying that about pedestrians cause he has to. What I heard was, “Bikers Rule!!” Now that’s a state with some appropriate priorities.
Don’t get me started about the fly fisherman…they think their shit don’t stink. Booorrrrring.
Buy a bike out there already.
I need to buy one already, I hear you. Boise is Cross Country Heaven. A flat city RIGHT on the edge of these great foothills with singletrack that runs on forever. You could be sitting with the paper and a cup of joe in Hyde Park at 9:00 A.M. and by 9:15 feel like you were out in your own little wilderness with great climbs and downhills (but not too great) and it’s all out in front of you as far as the eye can see.
I’m going to try and post about our Yellowstone experience before it gets too old, hopefully later today. Right now its on to the city market.
Tomorrow’s ride is scrubbed. The village will burn, heads must roll. Christmas will not come to Ocala this year if I can do anything about it. Cowards, sniveling little children. I’m disgusted.