Hit Me, Byyyy… That Much

Our sundowner ride was a refreshing way to end a 13 hour day in the car. Emigration Canyon is popular ride for Salt Lakers. The climb was crawling with riders, groups, males, females and triathletes. Shortly after the ride we arrived at Miss Kotval’s palace, where she and Nate had coldski’s and gin-tonic’s waiting for us. We enjoyed the view westward of the valley, but Craig could not believe the amount of development that had occurred in Park City since his childhood ski adventure days back in the 60’s. Development changes landscapes and makes people rich. It didn’t take long for Kotval to ask Craig, “Can you stand him for more than, like 10 minutes?” To which Craig responded with silence.

“He’s unrelenting,” she added.

"I relent," I rebutted. We chatted, played with Pow-dog and Buster and slept peacefully. The peace would relent in the morning.

Instead of riding with us, Kirsten sent us up to old PC, down Main Street and up to Deer Valley. The Royal climb was filled with vistas of thin air and empty green slopes. All that was left was the descent back to the homestead and saddling up for the leg to Nebraska. About 2 miles from home, I did just what the Safety Buffalo (aka K-dog) and balding Benji would have wanted – I took the lane. There was no shoulder so after accelerating up to speed in the lane I pulled to the right to let an aggressive driver pass. She was on my tale and I didn't want to hold her up.

Only problem is as soon as she did pass, she made a hard right, forcing me to make a right with her, braking hard and bouncing off of her passenger door until the pavement gave way to dirt and I lost my front wheel. I reacted by throwing my right leg over the bars and wound up jumping over my bike as it hit the deck for the first time in its two year life. Rather amazingly I landed on my feet and took it into a dead speedplay cleat run to the black Audi, irate at the either oblivious or malicious driver. She stopped and I approached her driver window letting her know she just hit me (not in such polite terms). She responded in denial, asked where did I come from and said she didn’t even see me. She passed me, swerving around me on a narrow road and turned right in front of me. Didn't see me, my ass.

After cursing her out, I was pounding with adrenaline, as was Craiger, so we rolled away, there was nothing left to say or do. I picked up my banged up bike and not long after, there she was. She had followed us, was trying to take our picture with her phone and was veering into the bike lane, forcing us to brake and swerve to avoid her. Hello? Psycho bitch! I turned around on a two lane road to ride back to Craig and she pulled a U-ee, stacking up lines of cars and city buses as she did so. Twice. She was hunting us down (on the road at the top picture) so we split up, Craig back to the house and me up into Kotval’s hood. We made it out of there, barely, in time to shower for the majestic drive through southern Wyoming and into Nebraska.

I must have slept half of the drive. But what I saw of the Continental Divide, the Red Desert, and the Snowy Range was impressive. A stop in Rock Springs, Wyoming was enough to convince us that we were blessed not to live there. Much the same feeling we got when we rolled into North Platte, Nebraska to have our "supper" at the Whisky Creek Steakhouse Grill and Saloon. What a cultural experience that was. We were the only two men (on honeymoon) out together. The restaurant was filled with families, robust adults, well mannered children, and a few courting couples. Absent were any same-sex tables, any blacks, any Mexicans (not even in the kitchen or bussing tables), or any other non-anglo, non-Christ loving persons. The pulled pork, the briskets, coleslaw and bake beans (that’s twice now!) were tasty and filling. The Hampton in was calling our name and we got a king bed to share and prep for time trial practice on Saturday morning.