Grumble, grumble, pace, pace

For the worst cycling days, think hot, hilly and headwinds. I had all of that today, along with about a hundred bugs that splunked off my forehead as I made my way to Healy. To say I’m grumpy would be putting it mildly.

Some days go like this. Some don’t. Performance wise, yesterday was the best day I’ve ever had on my bike. I devoured the terrain from Fairbanks to Nenana and only stopped for water twice. I didn’t even eat much – it was just me and the hills, and my legs felt stronger than ever.

But today was just a stinker from top to bottom. I didn’t get much sleep last night because helicopters and planes were constantly flying overhead to fight the huge Minto forest fire to the west.

I camped on a set of abandoned tracks deep in the bushes, and though there was no possible way a train could take the rails, I kept having ugly dreams of a locomotive light screaming through my head. It’s kind of hard to get your forty winks that way.

About the only thing that went right today was my laundry. With $2.75 in quarters and a single serving of Tide, I managed to wring the Sasquatch stink that had clung to my clothes for nearly two weeks.

The only drawback was that the Nenana laundromat had Christian talk radio locked down as their station of choice. I couldn’t even find the cord to disconnect the speaker. God wires in mysterious ways.

Tomorrow I need to make up my mind if I’m going to Denali National Park and then on to Anchorage, or just ducking back east and taking the Denali Highway to Paxson. We shall see.

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