Pilgrimage

I flew down to Boulder today like Icarus on a pilgrimage. The other night I read a romantic account of somewhere holding onto yester-year and all that is right and good in the world of bicicletta's. As many might have felt after taking those prose in, I desired to make my way there. Then I thought I should ride there.

what to wear, what to wear: cold in Estes, 50's in Boulder

Come Saturday and Vecchio's became the zenith of my flight path.

gorgeous Waterford track bike sharing a stand with an equally attractive Richey  Swiss Cross

Campy and high prices

old Colnago. Pretty was in good company

Barely satiated, with countless inquiries, like rocks, unturned, and a myriad of lustful gazes still to be had, I tore myself from the soft focus and sharp sense of what a shop should be and back onto a brightly lit Pearl St. I needed to eat, but the sidewalks were crawling with hipsters and hippies waiting to get into all the good eateries. I kept heading West and remembered an asian street food place. Still had a line, but it was quick, cheap and easy.

"ok. you ate. now saddle up!" 

Rolling out of town it further sunk in how much of cycling Mecca Boulder is. Katie "I was America's best hope to win cx worlds on home turf" Compton rolled down past me, flanked by other Trek riders and I leaped frogged with a Clif Bar rider. I'm sure there were others.

climbing up Old Stage Rd

As I climbed closer to the sun, the wax melted and the wings began to fall off. I pushed up out of Blue country and deeper into Red, as Jeep tours rumbled past me and all sorts of firearms shot off in the woods around me. Strangely enough, it was a comforting realm to return to. So much so that it was at the loudest bend in the road, with high powered semi-automatics discharging on one side and smaller caliber pistols on the other, that I pulled off to stretch my nagging hip flexor and enjoy some tasty balls.

big guns were shot on this side of the road

SUV drivers were shooting handguns 

Through the tiny hamlet of Jamestown, rife with WAMP's (weird-ass-mountain-people), past pavement and over mud and snow, and into a dark place I rode. Literally and figuratively. The sun was setting and my body was fading. As I fought to keep my eyes open the last few miles, I knew that my wings most definitely fell off.

wasn't expecting the road to turn to dirt

just had to grab this when I saw it at Vecchio's. Thanks Peter!