A Note from Norman: welcome to part 4 of Masinga's 5 part mini-series of mayhem and meltdowns. Shit's gettin' real.
ENTRY 4 – Three Cries Allowed – Cry #2
ENTRY 4 – Three Cries Allowed – Cry #2
I don’t remember if everyone was wearing rain gear when we
decided to roll out. All I knew was, I
was unsure and I didn’t want to be the newbie and ask what I should do. I fiddle-f@#$ed a ton because I was hoping
my team would postpone our departure and wait for this impending storm to blow
over. I was scared to ride in a
thunderstorm. I was scared to ride on
wet pavement.
Finally, we took off, and me without a raincoat. Too Much didn’t have one on. I could be tough too, besides I didn’t know what I would do with it after I wanted to take it off. Then the rain really started. It was cold. Then the thunder and lightning got more intense. I was terrified. We think we pulled over in Bremer. There wasn’t much, if I remember correctly. My breakfast was a soggy bagel under a pop-up tent. What I do remember is seeing Too Much whipping out rain gear. I’m pretty sure I had the most pitiful look on my face after seeing that.
We got back on the bikes and went on to Tripoli, as the rain continued to intensify. We stood in the overcrowded VFW, where it reeked of dampness and it felt 20 degrees warmer inside. We huddled together. Drank more beer, or in Normie’s case, vodka. What? Where did that come from? It was still extremely early in the day. I may have started to be a serious Debby Downer. I don’t know what when down, but I do know that I got slapped. Maybe she remembers the context, but I remember the action and it didn’t feel good.
We eventually left when the rain let up. I was not a happy Beaver. I’m pretty sure I stopped and cried somewhere in there. I begrudgingly kept churning out the miles, happily skipping the jog over to Oelwein. Why take the route over to a town when we could just continue on the same road? Apparently we missed a party with that decision.
Finally, we took off, and me without a raincoat. Too Much didn’t have one on. I could be tough too, besides I didn’t know what I would do with it after I wanted to take it off. Then the rain really started. It was cold. Then the thunder and lightning got more intense. I was terrified. We think we pulled over in Bremer. There wasn’t much, if I remember correctly. My breakfast was a soggy bagel under a pop-up tent. What I do remember is seeing Too Much whipping out rain gear. I’m pretty sure I had the most pitiful look on my face after seeing that.
We got back on the bikes and went on to Tripoli, as the rain continued to intensify. We stood in the overcrowded VFW, where it reeked of dampness and it felt 20 degrees warmer inside. We huddled together. Drank more beer, or in Normie’s case, vodka. What? Where did that come from? It was still extremely early in the day. I may have started to be a serious Debby Downer. I don’t know what when down, but I do know that I got slapped. Maybe she remembers the context, but I remember the action and it didn’t feel good.
We eventually left when the rain let up. I was not a happy Beaver. I’m pretty sure I stopped and cried somewhere in there. I begrudgingly kept churning out the miles, happily skipping the jog over to Oelwein. Why take the route over to a town when we could just continue on the same road? Apparently we missed a party with that decision.
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