Suicidal Crickets!

Opened my eyes at 7:30am and looked at the clock in my floral scented motel room in Keenesburg. The numbers seemed to say, "a rested body is a rested mind, go back to sleep fool! You don't have to check out until 11am." So I did. I woke up finally at 10am after dreaming that I had woken to a skunk nestling in the hay next to me... gross. My throat kinda hurt. Maybe it was because of the Airwick air freshener that shot it's noxious spray every half an hour or maybe it was from gorging myself the night before. Regardless; nothing a little Monster Moca Loca and a quick tooth brushing couldn't fix. I got my act together and locked the key in the room as directed by the Keen Motel's management by 11:00 am on the dot. I was out the door and on my ride.

Thank God/ Goddess/ Universe/ Rupert Everett that today was Saturday. CO highway 52 was relatively peaceful with conscientious drivers, minimal suicidal crickets, only one small snake coiled up on the side of the road, one nondescript dead thing, small pieces of wood, and lots of Blackeyed Susans and corn as far as I could see... which was not far, cause this was some tall-ass corn y'all!

I was honked at once by one of those assholes who likes to honk right when he's passing you. Then I was given a thoughtful two toots from a trucker and then... da...da...da!!!! Just when I was least aware two dogs scrambled out of the yard of a double-wide. I reacted by pedaling my ass off - I think I lost ten pounds in ten seconds and I'm sure that I got even whiter. I could feel them right behind me! Every hair on my body stood up so straight that it hurt when suddenly an elderly woman with snow-white hair passed me in her Buick sedan and I knew I was safe. I didn't even shit myself - I checked.

I was drinking a lot of water: Two water bottles and a Camelbak pouch worth. When finally I reached the Wiggens, CO rest stop. After leaning my bike against the white metal siding, I walked gingerly inside the shop where I bought a Lipton Green Tea and a Rain flavored Gatorade - I was attracted by the color here. I suddenly realized that two fellows (we'll call them Bud and Winston for drama's sake) were getting a kick out of my neon yellow bike shirt and my bike shorts. The attendant (we'll call her Jolene) decided to take her time at coming over to ring me up because she was embarrassed to serve my strange-looking ass.

After downing the majority of my new liquids, I took the liberty of lying down on the picnic bench outside in the sun to rest my weary buns. Then it was up and at 'em. Only 15 more miles or so to Fort Morgan. So I hopped back on trying not to rupture my screaming butt and hightailed it down to County Road Q. Upon reaching a cute little house in the shade of a big Cottonwood, I began to smell the most wonderful odor of home cooking and I was sure that at any moment a jovial woman would burst through her screen door and invite me to dinner, but alas, no. I was forsaken by the fact that what I was smelling was a gigantic onion patch on the outskirts of Fort Morgan.

Checked in to the Park Terrace Inn Best Western where the lovely receptionist was kind enough to direct me to Cable's Grill Pub for dinner. I had the most immense smothered sopapilla stuffed with beef and a side salad and like 50 waters. Then I went to Walgreen's to buy hot compresses for my tired butt. Now it's off to bed with me. Until tomorrow!