Today was the last day that we were going to be riding in Colombia. The last day we’d be sleeping in tents, cooking outside, falling asleep when the sun went down. Yes there are probably some mystical and metaphysical elements of our journey that should be discussed: the importance of connecting with nature, experiencing other cultures, etc. etc. But you know what stands out the most from this day? The thing that will stick with me forever, long after any trite or half-baked investigation of transcendence has been thoroughly washed and rinsed by modern life? The descent. It was UN-BE-LIEVE-ABLE.
We lost over 8000 feet in 20 miles as we hurtled down a ribbon of just-rough-enough two track. I’m talking about the kind of descent where your cheeks hurt from smiling. I am talking about skipping down the road, drifting turns, airing rises, jockeying for position, hooting, hollering, ripping and roaring. It didn’t matter that Benedict got two flats. It didn’t matter that we’d be facing a punishing climb at the end. It didn’t matter that Batman vs Superman is a multi-million dollar turd, or that a failed human might be come our next Commander in Chief, or that no matter what you can’t shove a square peg in a round hole.
“This was as in-the-moment as in-the-moment can get, but perfectly extended like a reflection caught between two mirrors. Call it catharsis, call it a reward, call it what you want. I call it perfect.”