About a bunch more riders, and pushing over 8 millions bucks raised, another one is in the books. A couple memories will stick with me:
- The lady who rolled in late-ish Saturday afternoon, totally bonked, who dismounted and collapsed on the grass with a look of abject despair. I told her that there was a measly 13 miles of flat shade ahead and that she had it beat. She looked up, considered my words of encouragement, and barfed down her jersey.
- I didn't get into a fight with the train people, which is good, because I can't imagine duking it out with a guy in a vest, bow tie and conductor's hat. Worse, if I lost, I would have been beaten by a guy in a vest, bow tie and conductor's hat.
- Never, ever give cowbells to students who've been in the sun a couple of hours. They don't exactly turn into a handbell choir.
- Hocking has horse flies the size of Cessnas
- Studying the weather radar on my "smart" phone and thinking that we were going to thread the needle, that the rain would just miss us, and 30 seconds later getting douched and having my skin blasted off by raindrops the size of draft beers
- And, most of all, this will have been the Year of the Portable Turlet. We were blessed with twice the number we had in the past, so it took my good man Brooks, a true artist whose medium is blue water, and I some out-of-the-box and in-the-parking-lot thinking, but we managed to get them situated in such a way that hopefully people didn't leave thinking that the main architectural theme of Hocking College was plastic crappers. On a per capita basis, there were probably more commodes in that parking lot than indoors in some of our townships.
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| To paraphrase Cousin Eddie, the shitters weren't near full, though I did resist asking my wife if she had checked our shitters. |
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