R16 67 Not all Crashes are Bike Crashes

Washington!

Our homestay in Washington was lovely. There was a big, grassy backyard, and two showers, one in a basement (preferred by me). Our hosts were lovely, though I believe they had just adopted a cat? Or a puppy? So we had to be vigilant about the door.

So, there I was, happy to be done for the day, and nearly done for the week, and, well, drunk. I was hanging out in the front yard, when El Cap walked up with a couple bags of rotisserie roasted chicken. "Hell yeah," I was thinking.

The Deb and the Dale were out partying and getting massages and enjoying all the fun of Washington, and somehow, El Cap got it into his mind that he had to cook dinner for us. Had to. Now it is important to keep some things in mind:

1. I had been drinking. 
2. He had been drinking (nothing else to do while waiting for us). 
3. I don't remember most of this. 

There I was just happy as a golden retriver to see him, just ready to slobber and smooch my hunky boyfriend, when all of a sudden, it was fight o'clock. He was pissed. (In the past year, I have come to learn that fight o'clock is kind of a thing, when ole boy has been day drinking and feels put upon or not understood, but I did not understand it in this moment). 

All of a sudden he was yelling at me, all the while he is pulling chicken for tacos. He was mad that we took so long. He was mad that he was bored. He was mad that he didn't know what was going on. He was mad that he wasn't having any fun. He was mad that he wasn't appreciated. On and on. We were ridiculous, childish, fucks, and he should just go home now. 

I can't articulate to you the amount of surprise I felt at this. It was literally like I had showed up dressed for a cowboy theme party and instead found out it was a sci-fi space horror movie. For one, I always assumed that El Cap was pretty good at self entertaining. That he could make is how fun. For two, I was way too drunk to be dealing with all of this. For three, it had been an emotional week for me, with a lot of yelling at me, and people being disappointed in me, and me being disappointed in myself. 

I am not proud to say it but I started to cry. Yes, more crying on ragby. (That's two for 2017, ride out included). I was crying, and trying to get out of this fight as quickly as possible. I tried apologizing, I tried leaving, I tried arguing back. There was no getting out of it. So I cried as I pathetically tried to set up my tent. I cried as I showered. I snuffled and winged all the way through my evening routines. It was all just too much. Too, too much. 

Eventually, El Cap calmed down. And I calmed down. And I ate something and things started to look a bit brighter. But it turns out, me and El Cap wouldn't be the only unhappy couple on the Maury Povich Show that would be Washington, Iowa. 

Pochy and LB had also had a rough day in the riding and romance department, and as their mutual friend, I was called in to help them talk it out (for which I am honored). We sat in the grass, near the devastation that was my tent and gear, and tried to work on using our words (why is it so hard to communicate?). LB and Pochs love each other so freaking much, but, as with all of us, sometimes they just speak different dialects of that love. 

After a lot of heartfelt marital counseling, they went off to continue the conversation and I went off to try and prepare myself for our last day on the road, and you know, actually dry out a bit. 

All around me, I could see other beavers hanging out with the dog, setting up tents, having laughs. I hope all of my drama didn't damper the fun too much. I slept fitfully that night, and early in the morning, I watched as riders started pedaling off into the dawn. One more day and it would all be over. 

What more could happen?