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The Dalton Highway: Exhausted beyond belief

May 10, 2012

I am not sure that I have conveyed how tired, beat, miserable, cold, and wet I was on last years ride from Prudhoe.  It was a miracle that I pulled it off.  Sometimes when I think about that ride, I just shake my head in disbelief.

When you lay down to nap in the dirt next to a road, a mosquito’s feast and you don’t care, that is tired.

When you sit in the mud under a tree, rain poring down and you fall asleep, that is exhausted.

When you drape a piece of plastic over yourself, huddling from the rain and cold, feeling triumphant that you beat the rain, that you “out smarted it”, that is desperation.

When you ride for hour after miserable hour in the dark, in the cold rain, barely able to balance the bike, legs burning with every stroke of the pedals, praying for an end to this torture, that is tough.

When you pull into the middle of the lane, purposely cutting off an 18 wheel truck, refusing to budge from its blaring, angry horn, that is madness.

When you wake up in your tent, rain still coming down, 700 miles of Alaskan wilderness to go, and you are half paralyzed from Parkinsons, that is reality.

When you stand alone on a mountain top, happily eating peanut butter and candy, washing it down with water, that is hunger.

When you say to yourself: “I am too tired to ride, too tired to walk.” But you shuffle forward, not willing to stop, dragging yourself, dragging your bike up the next hill, that is determination.

When you ride against the wind for day after day, convinced that it must stop blowing in your face sooner or latter, that is hope.

When you do all of this for Parkinsons, that is Doug’s Wild Ride.


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One Comment
  1. It’s beginning to dawn on me what a poet you are. Thanks, Doug.

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