The Triple C (cont.)

Yes, yes, I know everyone wants to hear about my birthday racing weekend, but first I need to finish up the telling of the Triple C biking/camping up in Cheeseland, because some very important lessons were learned at that time. To wit:

1) ENOUGH WITH THE DAMN SHORTCUTS ALREADY!

The rest of the clan planned to do a 99 mile ride on Sunday, following the general route for the Dairyland Dare. I’m not sure why (crazy) they decided on that distance (crazy), though it undoubtedly has to do (crazy) with their overall sporty mien (crazy) and dedication, which I apparently do not have (not crazy). But we started out on the same roads until I got the brilliant idea that I would “take a little road” that clearly just “jogs right on over to County Road Z”, thus putting me back on a path towards our meet-up point. Naturally, soon after I turned onto Far Away Lookout Point Road, I discovered that my clever little shortcut actually consisted of a steep hill that was 4 miles long or so. And to make matters worse, I wasn’t 100% sure that following this road would put me on County Z, as that part of the map was a little unclear – so I could wind up going up this f*)&ing hill, then have to go back down and go back up another equally heinous hill. Yes, yes, I know that was essentially the point of the weekend, but there’s no reason to torture oneself, right? Anyway, eventually I did get to County Road Z, where I discovered another key truth in life:

2) Any place that claims to be a “general store” is on a par with godliness and should be treated as such.

So I’m biking along, having discovered yet another new version of hell, because CR-Z is about a 20-mile shot south.....and there’s a 30 mph headwind the whole way. And as we all know, in Tasha’s Hierarchy of Suckiness, wind is public enemy #1, edging out false flats for the top spot. As we can imagine, I’m moving along at a snail’s pace, so much so that when I finally get to a 4-way stop and a black-and-white dog comes up to plod along next to me, a) we’re going at roughly the same speed, and b) I’m too slow for even him to bother “chasing,” as he looks at me and then ignores me. This could have something to do with the fact that I tell him “go ahead – I’m too tired to even try to sprint away, so pick an ankle” – and where’s the fun in that?

But right after the 4-way stop, on the right is a somewhat rustic-looking frame building that desperately needs a coat of paint, but that also has the magic words on a sign: “Bar and General Store.” Hmm. I’d like to pretend that I had to contemplate this for more than a few seconds, but no, I did not. Deciding that an icy cold Coke would be just the thing, I carefully prop Sálome on the stone wall out front and go up the ramshackle stairs to clop on in........where I’m greeted with a sight that’s like manna from heaven. A beautiful room with glossy wood floors, bleached cattle heads on the walls, all sorts of old memorabilia, and the requisite mahogany bar for me to walk up to (I never did find out if there was actually a general store there somewhere). But first, I just stand there in awe and wonder and profound appreciation.

Local sitting at bar: "You look like Dorothy after the tornado!"
Me: "With the winds out there, I certainly feel like it."

I clip-clop on up to the bar and ask for a coke, expecting to have a can shoved at me, but instead it’s poured into a tall frosty mug, basically forcing me to sit for a spell. Which I do. Though my presence seems to have rendered everyone silent, since no one’s speaking. In my usual subtle way, I try to make sure it’s not really because of me:

Me: "So, umm, I hope I didn’t suddenly put a damper on things, since it got so quiet – feel free, talk amongst yourselves."
Local woman: "Nah, we’re just relaxing anyway, it was already pretty quiet."

Whew! I find out that the bar is going to have its 100th-year anniversary party this summer, and then the older woman next to me mentions the crappy weather we’ve been having and how she’s trying to get her gardening done, so we start talking gardening....

(an hour later)

By the time I leave (which I figure I need to do since they keep telling me about the “really big hill that goes on forever” I’ll have to tackle given the direction I’m going in), I’m feeling like Norm from Cheers, having shared stories with my new best friends, having laughed, cried, rallied to laugh again.....you get the picture. I just hope I have the address right, and they all get the invitations to my next barbecue.....