|Fernie to Fernie: Day one: Team time trial: check out the sharp pointy profile!|
Day one in Fernie, sleep late, snarf breakfast, check in at race HQ, register, collect goody bag and begin worrying. How the hell are we to get all our gear in ONE duffel bag? All of our bike repair stuff, multiple kits, camp clothing and the miscellaneous stuff like large bottles of Hammer gel. "Crazy Larry" (who we would meet later) was in charge of baggage, which would be transferred from one camp site to the next, and the limit was one duffel bag per cyclist. Unless you had an RV. This was not going to be the last time I thought of the RV option over the coming week.
|view from the top of hyperventilation|
Fernie is a cool town, reminds me of what Moab was 10 or more years ago: bikes and brews in summer, snow-bums and brews in winter. We hung for a while, planned the next mornings kit and agenda, got a late dinner and hit the sack, our last cushy, comfy bed for a week..Seeing roots and rocks in my head as I closed my eyes, I hummed like a mantra, at least it is dry and mostly ride-able, at least it is dry and mostly ride-able..
By the river, our hotel room opened out to the landscape where the fishermen were shuffling about quietly in the grey twilight. Despite being full to the gills, the building was quiet.. and then I heard it. The gentle spray of light rain, building to the sustained crescendo of a true, Rocky Mountain summer downfall. All night it rained, on these lovely dry, dusty, rocky rooty trails.