Day 7. General Grant.

The next morning at the hotel, the theme of the day was: I'm going at whatever pace I damn well feel like, thank you very much. I turn on the television, lay around a bit, do some e-mail, and leave, maybe 8:30 or so. Maybe 9:00 - I'm not paying much attention to what I'm doing.

Even after the seven tacos the night before, I'm still hungry. My rate of calorie expenditure is exceeding the rate I can eat. So I stop when I pass the only store in town, a drugstore. I figure I'll grab some protein bars or something. I get five.

As I'm finishing the first protein bar, I vaguely recall something.

I've already eaten, at the hotel.

Hmm. In fact, less than an hour prior, I had eaten four danishes, three muffins, two bagels, two bananas, two glasses of orange juice, a hard boiled egg, and a partridge in a pear tree (OK, I'm making that last part up, the feathers got stuck in my teeth and I never finished it).

I reluctantly decide that perhaps I should only eat one more protein bar.

Since today was a sightseeing day, I drove up to about 7,000 feet to take some pictures of a tree called 'General Grant'; the second largest tree in the world. I take my time, take some pictures.

I saw a bigger tree yesterday.
Tiny? Miniscule? I would be embarassed to call this tree 'big'.



And then I decide to go on a bike ride.

Already being at 7,000 feet, I abandon my car, set up my bike, and start down the hill. Since I haven't been sweating, it's much, much less frigid. I'm almost comfortable. After an hour or so of descending the mountain, I stop at 1500 feet.


Right beside this tree, next to a farm.

The theme of the day: go at my own pace. Right now the pace is slow. I take off all of my ultra-winter gear that I've used for the descent, and pack it into my pockets. My jacket sleeves unzip, my extra wool jersey comes off. I take off my hat and roll it into a cylinder. I have a Clif bar, drink some Cytomax, and begin to head up the mountain.

At my own pace.

Which is now as hard as I can ride.

2000.

After a week of riding, I may not be physically 100%, but mentally, I'm fully recovered. I don't stop to take pictures - all the ones you see here (save the General Grant) are from the saddle, grinding up the mountainside.

3000.

For my last ride, I'm going out with a bang. My previous days were about five hours each, slow, endurance rides. This one's going to be a hair less than three - and I'm going to get my three hour's worth, if it's the last thing I do (on my trip to California, that is).



Whew, almost didn't have the camera ready in time.

When I push past 4000 feet, I look over my shoulder. I'm a sucker for the road-snaking-up-the-mountain picture.




5000. Some snow.
6000. Quite a bit of snow.

I make it to the top, I take a few more pictures. I load the bike into the car for the last time, and call Gary.




That night we went out for Pizza. He ordered a slice. I ordered a pizza. He ate his slice and one of mine. I ate the rest.

And left hungry.