50 miles.

37 of them were sandy washboards.
13 of them were filled with a beautiful downhill rush.

It.was.awesome.

My tush is tender. A bruise the size of my hand on my thigh is more than embarrassing.  Partly because I got it when my bike tipped over while I  was treading sand.  Partly because it's so ugly, but who's looking?

The 8 hours of sleep in West Yellowstone in the pouring rain in a tent with my sweetie was priceless...there were no children to wake us from being cold or wanting to explore at 5 am. The air was crisp and inviting.

My mental state might be wavering for even considering such an expedition; but it was exhilarating!!!

And I'm realizing that I really am 9 years behind my husband.  He was in his biking prime when we met...now that he's aged, I'm ready and rearing to go...I want to get a sitter every weekend for the rest of this beautiful weather and go.go.go and climb.climb.climb and get that adrenaline rush that comes from roaring down a breathtaking mountain path with a wall of rocks and shrubs up one side and turquoise rivers below.  I wish his knees and back could take a few more beatings from being on the road.

A climbing trail of mountain terrain (our first 15 miles or so) is nuttin' compared to a level railroad grade of washboards (the middle 30 miles).  I'll take the switchbacks and gravel any day to soggy sand and four-wheeler-ed-to-death 5% grades.  LOL!

I regret shedding my camera that last 18 miles.  Like, I might go  BACK and do it again before it get's too cold JUST go get those gorgeous pictures along Warm River.

But I don't regret pushing my mind and my body to do something I never thought was possible for me.

50 miles.  Bring it.  Again.