Another kind of tour.

It's been a busy week. I'm preparing for a move, getting into my fourth week of school and gearing up for a couple of shows before Austin. But its always a good idea, in my opinion, when you feel you're totally in over your head to go right on and expend that little extra of your time and energy on frivolous F-U-N.  Soooo, last Saturday I tagged along with John and his pal Steve to the Tour De Palm Springs. 

Let me just say that the whole production was quite lovely, certainly, but the thing I liked best about the T de PS, if you will, was not the sprawling desert scapes, nor the veritable smorgasbord of people and their many wheeled contraptions, it wasn't the pelting sand in my face during the first 45 minutes of the ride,  neither was it the threatening crosswinds at speeds of 30mph or more. All of these are a mixed bag of things that I am more than willing to appreciate for various reasons. But what I came to love and be most proud of was finding out what is my maximum level of suffering endured on any given day. 

That's right. I don't pretend to be in great shape. I only like to believe that I can do anything (within reason) that I put my mind or body to. And here's the thing about that- I'm not sure I've ever really tested my theorem. That is, until last Saturday. Don't misunderstand me, I give myself copious measures of credit for picking up and riding 65 miles with a couple of serious cyclists on a Saturday morning, when I'd just as soon spend the time watching Parks and Rec in my pj's, waiting for my caffeine headache to get me out of the house. But honestly, my breaking point came sooner than I hoped. 

Round about mile 52 we found ourselves on the last leg of the ride, pumping up and over some bridge surrounded by all these people barley scooting, breathing their hot exhausted breath, cruising on to the finish. All the while I'm seriously about to loose it. I had to burn my last match and pass them on the incline just to keep my wits. And shortly after that... I was done. I rode the last few miles in tears. Seriously. I was overtaken by the tension of needing to finish the course for my own dignity and the honest to God fury for having been duped into such a harebrained, cockamamie idea of fun in the first place. 

And the reason it was my favorite part? It was like being shoved face first through that tiny window of humility that I rarely spare the time to even look through. And that stuff is good for me and that's the truth. Also, it was good company and pretty scenery and I did finish so the victory is mine. Here are some photos.

b-fast of champs

my view for most of the ride

pit stop!

steve looking regal