Without a more experienced cyclist acting as our unofficial bike guide through the tear-jerking beauty of the Wine Country, I stepped up and led Amy through a short, 15 mile loop from her home on top of Graton Road to Sullivan Road, back to Graton Road, on to Frei, to Guerneville Road, to Hall, to Stafford, to Occidental and back up the hill to her house, where buffalo burgers sat, waiting to be cooked and consumed along with the Sierra Nevada's in the fridge.
The weather was perfect and we praised daylight savings for provinding our new riding slot just before dinner. As we set out, gliding mostly downhill in the 65+ degree weather, bare arms brushing with the glorious breeze, I had a moment of bliss that spread, in big-ass smile form from ear to ear. Just as the joy of riding reached a peak, however, what I may have mistaken as a swarm of locusts came out of nowhere and began darting down my throat for the following 30 minutes of our ride.
Gross.
As poor Amy's nose inhaled what we were sure was a paleolithic-sized moth, several small fly-like creatures lodged their ways in between my teeth everytime I opened my trap to take a breath. My face was pelted repeatedly with the smoke-thick army of monster insects and by the time the attack came to an end, I had swallowed about 7-9 unidentified creepy-crawlies and was left with slimy green and red inards across my face and knuckles- evidence of the battle that late-afternoon riders are sure to face in the glorious Sonoma County springtime.
Super, duper gross. And, lesson learned.
No comments:
Post a Comment