Day 62 - 40 miles (2,430)

Certainly an easier day than yesterday.  And hopefully an easier night. 

Once I was able to get cell phone service again I received texts and Facebook messages wishing me luck sleeping in  a drainage ditch. Some people commented that I was so "strong." This was not a matter of strength or perseverance; it was necessity. I had run out of daylight and biking at night is exponentially more dangerous than cycling during the day, and a cardinal rule I am not willing to break. So the drainage ditch was a must. Plus, I wasn't too worried.  In the end, I was secure. At one point in the night though the winds shifted. So instead of being insulated from them, they were now blowing straight down into the ditch and knocking my tent into my sleeping face. It was less scary and more annoying. 

So I continued on my way towards somewhere that wasn't here. I eventually found myself entering into the far Northeast corner of the Grand Canyon. The Vermilion Cliffs. They were stunning. Coming over the crest and seeing these sheer rock faces painted in stripes of pink and red and grey was astounding.

And being able to drift into them without so much as a crank was also amazing. I also found myself crossing the Colorado River on a small pedestrian bridge. It's amazing to see how a river can cut through solid rock through what we humans call patience and perseverance. Something I know I am lacking in. 

I know people are quick to counter and point to this trip as an example that I do have these qualities. And I agree; however there's the question of my head space. I often get so frustrated with wind, sun, and the sheer number of miles that I am facing that I often scream at the landscapes around me. I pick up rocks and toss them into the vast emptiness or against other rocks because I am so frustrated that my speedometer reads "6.5 mph" when I know it should read "12 mph." 

I need to have more patience with myself and with this trip in general. I need to stop stopping to have my tantrums to just keep cranking. I will say though that today I had an eerie moment where in a stretch of vast loneliness and up hills I screamed out to whomever was listening a very loud "FUCK YOU." Nature responded by sucking all the air out of my voice and my proclamation went nowhere. It was as if my voice died right in front of me. I was humbled. I meekly sat back on my very small bike and headed towards the millennial giants known as the Vermillion Cliffs. 

Nature is in charge out here. I'm just a tourist.