I rode to Houston and on to Galveston this week. It was only 300 miles/four hours, but it was the first ride of any real substance I've taken since I returned from my Mom's trip. Funny, but I haven't been so enthusiastic about riding nowhere in a long time.
When I was doing 800+ miles a day on my way to Whidbey Island, the hours in the saddle seemed to disappear faster than a high school girl's virginity on prom night. (When I was in high school, some people of that age were actually still virgins.) When I stopped for the night, I would look at a map, bristle at my accomplishment, pat myself on the back, and sleep like a baby.
My point is that the short ride to Houston rekindled my desire to be on the road. The four hours in the saddle passed like 30 minutes. It's difficult for a non-rider to understand how relaxing a long ride can be. The Alaskapade can't get here soon enough.
