Steven, Masinga and I left the beef stick regroup. We heard Guttenberg was another 4 miles away, but that was according to a local, who can never be trusted with mileage or timeage. We were in a group of ladies, rolling towards town. It was a bit stop-and-goey as cars passed us, then had to wait to pass again, and we had to slow down too.
We were riding through this, all with our heads in the game, when from our right, usually the safe side, came the terrifying sound of a roaring engine and crunching gravel. We all startled, jumping and simulteneously preparing for the impact of another cyclist, car, and road, not necessarily in that order.
It turns out, a HUGE DICKHEAD in a black Jeep had decided we were just taking way too long and he was special and important and was driving a Jeep so he would just skip all the rules of the road, and safety, and common sense and just drive the route on the gravel shoulder, scary the bejesus out of every cyclist and several motorists.
I may have yelled an obscenity.
As we were recovering from that unnerving event, we saw there was a party going on along the left side of the road, and in the middle of it, of course, were the Mayor and Too Much. (I will let Too Much tell the tale of their arrival at that party. It is very funny, but since I wasn't there, you won't get it from me).
We were moving along at a clip, and with all the traffic and the cars coming in hot on going the other way, the ladies were in no mood to try to stop and join the guys. "We're rolling," I yelled and saw them hop up and make for their bikes.
Soon after that the road took a precipitous dive down hill, through the bluffs, and the river spread out before us. The road was narrow here, lined with shady trees, and there were cars and bikes everywhere. Lots of cyclists were trying to turn left to get to a look out spot for pictures. All the while cyclists are careening down the hill at upwards of 40 miles an hour.
Needless to say, not my favorite final mile. As we got into town, the cars were stacked up, stopped, trying to get to whereever they were getting. Bikes were streaming by on the left and right of them.
I couldn't help but notice a certain black Jeep sitting there, stuck in traffic.
Again, there might have been some not-so-lady-like language out of me as I rode past. I wasn't the only one hollering into his window, let's just say that.
We did a bit of a scramble and turned towards a side street into Guttenberg, skipping the official route for a more beaver-ish trip to the river.
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