My welcome has been worn out. Maybe. Even if it hasn't, it's gotten close enough. My welcome has taken a look over the edge of the precipice. "So you're riding out tomorrow?" she asked. "Yup," I said.
I had a good time, and I drank a lot, and had some fun times with a girl who's pretty fun. But let's get real. Kentucky alone is a ten-day ride. I have quite a few days of riding left in Virginia. There are mountains to fuck around with. As I pedal along, I can see my fat-roll bouncing gently below my manly chest. I need stronger legs, and a dirtier body. I look forward to kicking my way out of these mountains.
I loaded up my Hoopty ATB.
I gave a hug and a smile, and rolled my goofy bicycle across some grass and down off a curb. In the first mile I was humming and smiling and talking to myself. I was cussing silly praises and looking at my knifed-out guidebook pages clamped to the handlebars. This is a bicycle trip. It's funny to forget about riding while you're in the middle of it. I feel healthy, young, and boisterous.