Round midnight

(More blog entries from marty)

Okay, 12 hours into this thing, and freshly showered, there is a mystical quality to night riding. The lone beam lights the path, tunnel vision. You see only what you need to see. Up above, at least in the meadows, the stars shine, the Big Dipper hanging low and when you finally see the lights below, it's like a little city.

In the woods, there is quiet. There is dexterity on display. Make no mistake. There are skilled riders under the stars. It takes a boldness to go beyond the speed of fear out there. They wind down greasy singletrack, by trees, past stones, letting gravity do its work.

There is mist and fog, things that go bump in the night. There are songs that go through your head:

- Anything from Pink Floyd's Darkside of the Moon

- Flirting with Disaster

- After Midnight

- A Sousa March

Oh, teammate Hans Bauer did show up. He cycled on a borrowed bike. He put - and I'm not making this up - a Whoopee cushion on his seat. It was, literally, a blast.

Time to try to sleep.

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