98,459 feet climbed.
I confess to mixed emotions on this eve of the completion of a near life-long bucket list accomplishment. I'm not going to get all teary eyed and mushy, but it's hard to believe that we're about to wrap this up. Team McBRAAM had its last post ride dinner together as immediately following tomorrow's ride, SAGMan and Lance will drive off north to their real lives, while I stay on an extra day to relax on Tybee Island with the Party Crasher. (Island Boy somehow always finds his way to an island for R & R, that's how I got my nom de plume.) She suggested maybe we could rent some beach cruiser bikes and tool around the island. Sounds fun, but I'm not sure I will be able to keep up with her.
Today's ride was more of the same. Clear blue skies, perfect cycling temps, 100 (almost) miles of rollers, light breezes, and keeping SAGMan from getting lost in the Georgian pine forests, among which all of the roads and intersections look alike.
Considering how much time we have spent within a broom's reach of all manner of steel chariots, we have had only one clearly aggressive encounter. Lance and I were minding our own business, doing what we've been doing for 26 days, when we got buzzed by a white dually "pick'em up truck". It goes around the curve up ahead, and I notice its brake lights as it disappears from sight. About the time I had forgotten about it, it pulls up beside us, slows to our speed, then the driver floors it. Out of the vehicle's tailpipe comes a huge black plume of exhaust, which promptly envelopes us like the blob that ate New York. The last thing I saw before being plunged into momentary darkness was a Georgian redneck with this completely idiotic and silly grin on his face, framed perfectly in his over-sized passenger side mirror. Jethro sure showed us. Ah well, rednecks will be rednecks.
Which reminds me of one other thing. Not a pet peeve per se, but a feeling shared universally among cyclists that I feel compelled to mention. Vehicle drivers do not need to honk at cyclists when they come up behind them, or when passing. Trust me, we cyclists know you vehicles are there. We hear you. We feel you. We smell you. And cyclists with the little helmet attached rear view mirrors even see you. We are more acutely aware of our vulnerability than you can imagine, and don't need to be reminded of our 3,000 - 80,000 pound weight disadvantage. Honking only makes matters worse. I know that little soft section at the center of the steering wheel is nearly irresistible to mash, but please over-ride the urge. Cyclists everywhere will thank you.
https://www.strava.com/activities/1248261568
https://www.relive.cc/view/1248261568
1 fresh traveler.
2 hot chocolates.
3 weary travelers.
Hotel: Days Inn, 3 stars of 5 (pretty standard room and breakfast).
Restaurant: Steeplechase Grill, 5 stars of 5 (house converted to restaurant, food and ambiance was excellent).
The start of stage 27 was a bit nippy.
Party Crasher suggested a run on Tybee Island. All you guys have been doing is sitting for 28 days ;)
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