I know I said it at least one hundred times during last
year’s Transylvania Epic…but I’m done after this one. And I can’t seem to keep my own word. So…instead of being “done,” and instead of
taking my usual “every—other year” timetable…it’s 14 months later and I’m toeing
the line for the Breck Epic. I SWEAR
this will be the last one.
Why Breck Epic?
Well…it’s the final one on my stage race bucket list, and my bros that
did it last year insisted upon coming again this year…so what the heck. I mean…it’s just like the other
ones…unfamiliar terrain, a good distance from home, purportedly awesome
trails…only just take away the oxygen.
Oh…and add a day. Oh yeah…and
about 15,000 feet more climbing. Who the
heck MAKES this bucket list, anyway???
This cool, clear morning finds me in a condo at Beaver Run
Resort, the host condo complex for the 2017 Breck Epic. We arrived here yesterday after a 2-day drive
across a whole lot of country that would have made for a MUCH easier race. After picking up Matt W from Denver
International, we sat in a ton of traffic heading up I-70 and into the
mountains, and Matt is sharing the condo with my wife Michelle and I…with our
other buddy Dave and his family just down the hallway. This is my first non-solo stage race…the
other two were pretty much me and my popup camper…now I’ve got company AND
fancy digs…one is not so good for race-focus, the other, quite good, I would
think.
T-minus one day, and we will see how basically 2 years of
riding 5-6 days per week will pay off.
So far, the altitude is winning, as I spent a good portion of last night
on the floor of the bathroom in between vomitous episodes. I feel better this morning, but I kinda need
some food to put back in me. Then a bike
between my legs to give it a test run.
At least its freakin’ beautiful out here.
DAY ONE
Pennsylvania Creek
I have no idea what to expect, or how my body is going to
react. All I know is that I was nervous
as hell, and the scariest thing to me was the climb on the road right out of
the gate. 2.4 miles uphill with 600
pairs of fresh legs…many of which were attached to lungs that were used to the
9000+ foot altitude. I knew I was headed
for the back of the pack…but how far back would I fall?
And then we were off.
I metered my effort out of necessity, but I was still
redlining…breathing hard, heart racing…and getting passed like crazy. Not good for the brain. Then…finally…mercifully…the top. And…sweet, sweet singletrack. In fact, CRAZY good singletrack. I was in a line of riders snaking down a
buttery-smooth trail and suddenly all was right with the world. I caught my breath and just enjoyed the flow,
finally realizing WHY I was out here doing this…because it is freakin’ awesome.
As the day progressed, I had good and bad patches. The first soul-crushing 3.5 mile climb that
involved a LOT of hike-a-bike, something I had anticipated and actually trained
for (on our tiny excuses for elevation change here in IL)…but MAN is it
disconcerting when you are putting forth huge effort for such little return…AND
getting passed by superhumans on single-speed bikes. After topping out and then screaming downhill
on a section so rough that it didn’t really provide much recovery, I splashed
through a creek and started the whole process over again. This time, however, I found myself breaking a
bit mentally…after all…this was only Stage ONE of SIX. My mindset improved once we got up top again
and I was able to enjoy some relatively level singletrack, and even peaked
higher when I got to see my lovely wife who had pedaled her bike up to the
first Aid Station at mile 14. Super fun,
mostly downhill trail followed that, and the Aid at mile 20 found me relaxing
and enjoying a banana…when suddenly a flying Dave ripped past. I yelled for him to wait up, but there was no
stopping…he was on a roll. I jumped on
my bike and took off after him, eager to ride with a friend, only to have him
say “Bye Mikey!” like 2 miles later when things got vertical again. Oh well…fun while it lasted!
The remainder of the day was actually a lot of fun…a few
minor climbs, but lots of flowy singletrack goodness. I was careful to drink often, as I was leery
of dehydration at altitude, and I was feeling really good when I passed through
the last water stop...rolling right through even though my Camelback went dry
at that exact point…but there was only three miles to go, and I still had my
bottle.
The next three miles were anything but easy, as we seemed to
be travelling UP a REALLY REALLY nice downhill flow trail. It was pretty much torture. With about two to go, I caught up to my
Rbikes teammate and local Palos riding legend Dennis (10X Leadville 100
finisher out trying something new).
After suffering through a couple brutally steep climbs, we were treated
to an awesome downhill finish, replete with huge berms, tabletops, and step-up
jumps…totally charged at the end of a 35 mile day.
Michelle and Dave’s family were at the finish, and we hung
around to watch Dave and Matt knock out the end of Day One. I think we were all a little shell-shocked
(even Dave and Matt, who had done the event last year), but we all lived to
fight another day.
DAY TWO
Colorado Trail
With Day One under my belt, one would think I’d wake up a
bit less nervous. This was not the case.
And it repeated itself EVERY day. I was still having a hard time wrapping my
brain around the enormity of this endeavor, and, quite frankly, it scared me. I mean…it’s easy to question yourself when
you are faced with 41 miles and 6000 feet of climbing…complacency is not an
option.
I decided, along with Matt, to basically ride from Aid
station to Aid station…in order to break things down for the mentality
aspect. I also counted climbs for the
day…and Day Two would have 7 big ones.
At the start line, I had the distinct pleasure of meeting the gentleman
I had voted for President of the United States in 2012 and 2016, former New
Mexico governor and all-around badass Gary Johnson. Mr. Johnson could NOT have been a nicer
guy…we spoke of his recent completion of the Tour Divide (unsupported mountain
bike ride along the Continental Divide from Banff, Canada, to Antelope Springs,
New Mexico), and I asked if he’d done Breck before…which he had, in 2010. This man is certainly a few pegs up from the
rest of us in terms of things he has accomplished in his life, and it was a
genuine pleasure meeting him. This
slight distraction didn’t alter my focus or my fear…and it was with those
weighing heavier than my Camelback that I rolled off the line for the initial
climb of the day.
5.9 miles and 1234’ later…I was still alive and feeling
better…mostly because I was still alive.
I was able to stay on my bike for most of the climb, which was certainly
a positive, but certain pitches were so steep that walking was actually the
faster option, and I was rapidly learning when to throw in the towel and take
some steps. Aid One came on pretty fast
after a scorching downhill, and was accompanied by a pleasant surprise…a chance
encounter with one Rhonda Garner from New Zealand, whom I had met at the Pisgah
Stage race in North Carolina back in 2014.
Super cool! Once again, I was
passed with a banana half-consumed by a flying Dave, so I jumped on the bike to
ride with him for a few miles. Rhonda
ended up catching us, as did a nice lady from Ohio that I had followed
downhill. Dave and Ms. Ohio dropped off
again when things went STRAIGHT up on the big climb of the day…another 1200+
footer…but in 3.1 miles. Rhonda ground
away and dropped me and a BUNCH of other guys on the way to the lead in the Cat
2-3 Women’s 40+ division…truthfully…it was a miserable experience…alternating
between hiking and pedaling the smallest gear on my bike, but I topped out on
the Colorado Trail at over 11,000 feet, and wound up by myself on a 6 mile
descent down to Aid 2…where I caught Rhonda and a couple others, eventually
passing them and then catching and passing my teammate Dennis…who had started
20 minutes in front of me with the Cat. 1s.
I felt super strong on the last climbs of the day, and was pretty pumped
to have knocked another one off.
Day 3
Mt. Guyot
This one is gonna stick with me for a while. My first DNF in a stage race, and the reason
I didn’t get an “overall” time for this event.
However, mountain biking is a fickle beast, and you just never know what
is gonna happen around the next corner…I’d been pretty lucky thus far…and my
luck ran out.
Another day…another nervous start. Another 1200 foot gain right out of the
gate. Matt was worried about warming
up…I did NO such thing…and each day I was PLENTY warm by ½ mile in…in fact, I’d
usually be breathing hard and trying to calm my racing pulse and get into a
rhythm. Again, I felt strong on the
climb, and actually managed to pass some people on the way up, and, even MORE
surprisingly, I continued my success on the downhill and managed to blow past
some people on the descent. I had
discovered on the first day that somehow I was suddenly fast on the
downhills…something that has never been a forte of mine…but I’m attributing it
to the relatively less-techy trails they have in Colorado as compared to Pisgah
and Transylvania…where there were many descents that basically forced my
unskilled ass off the bike in the name of self-preservation.
The next climb was a KILLER.
It looked for all the world like we were riding across an open meadow…on
a somewhat muddy, rocky trail, but I could NOT seem to move. The grade was just significant enough to
impede progress without LOOKING like you were going up. There was a major change in scale as well…as
this meadow opened up into a HUGE expanse of tundra…and we were reduced to a
train of ants crawling along a rough-hewn dirt ribbon meandering towards the
sky. I don’t carry a watch or have a
computer on my bike, but I’m guessing this was every bit of 40 minutes of
grinding slog…pushing the bike about 98 percent of the time. Each step was an agony. I was literally taking it one step at a time,
just concentrating on pushing forward.
Nothing I had done could have prepared me for this, with the possible
exception of the 3000+ foot hike Michelle and I had done in Seward, Alaska the
month prior…but at that time I wasn’t pushing a bike, nor was I at 11,000 feet
above sea level. It was, in short,
torturous. There were people at the top
with Skittles, but I was too blown to grab any…plus it was cold up there and I
wanted DOWN.
The trail down was pretty rutted…at times about 8 inches to
a foot deep…which doesn’t leave much room for error when you are pushing 30
mph. Add in a few large rocks…and things
were VEEERRRY interesting. I was rocking
it though…passed about 4 people…had to walk one extremely techy section…and
then it all went wrong.
BANG. It was a sharp
sound, followed by a second of clatter before I grabbed the rear brake, locked
the wheel, and skidded off-trail to the left.
My first glance down I knew it was over.
I yelled “NOOOOOOOOOO” as I took in the carnage…the remains of my
derailleur were tangled amongst the spokes of the back wheel…the chain in
twisted disarray. I climbed off the
bike, flipped it over, and spent the next 5 minutes or so thanking and
declining people that offered to help, while I removed the chain, and strapped
the remains of the derailleur to the frame using a bandanna. I then waited for an open spot, and started
down the trail, using the remaining mile or so of downhill to my advantage (I
even passed two people with no chain, lol).
Fortunately for me, Aid 2 was at Mile 17…the bottom of the hill…and I
coasted right in.
I secured a ride home with a gentleman named Craig who was
manning the Aid for a group of Carmichael Training Systems riders, then hung
out for a while, cheering on Dave, Dennis, and another IL rider Jim…but no Matt
ever showed up. Strange.
It was a 45 mile ride back to Breckenridge through Hoosier
Pass…and when I finally got cell service, I found out the Matt had suffered the
same fate as me…a ripped-off derailleur at Mile 8, lol. Craig dropped me at Breck Bike Guides, a shop
he recommended, and they proceeded to order up a new derailleur and derailleur
hanger immediately, as well as set me up with a Rocky Mountain Element as a
rental for the next day’s start.
I missed out on some more great climbing and the descent off
Georgia Pass, which Dave said was awesome…and now my Breck Epic will always
have an asterisk. Bummer.
Day 4
Aqueduct
Something about Day 4…at Pisgah, it nearly killed me, but at
Transylvania, and again at this event, things really started to click for
me. In keeping with tradition, I was
nervous as hell again before the start…my mornings usually consisted of waking
early, tossing some breakfast down my throat, then sitting on the couch in my
kit staring at that day’s course map and trying to wrap my brain around what
was ahead. Today’s offering was a 41
mile lap out to Keystone, with 6457 feet of climbing. So many YIKES.
Our Washington Street start was a brief pavement foray,
followed by a STEEP singletrack climb. I
had tried to dial back the intensity now that I had been relegated to the Grand
Fondo category due to my DNF the day before, so I was rocking baggy shorts and
my DrunkCyclist jersey…no race kit for this day…and that attitude seemed to
have helped, as I was able to pedal past many of the people I’d been regularly seeing
the first three days pretty easily on this initial climb. The next two climbs/descents look pretty
radical on paper, but have faded into the oblivion that is my memory, not
because they weren’t hard or fun, but because climb number FOUR of the day was
called…Vomit Hill. It’ll be a long while
before that moniker and the climb itself fade from recollection…1.5 miles and
817’ of vertical, much of which was hike-a-bike. It was extremely challenging, and humbling as
well, as the green category leader’s jersey of one of the women competitors
passed me and a whole bunch of others whilst still pedaling…totally
awesome. I brought her back on the downhill
and rode away on the ensuing flat trail, only to have her catch me again on the
next climb…the BIG one of the day.
TWELVE MILES. Yup. 12.
And 1400’ of climbing. At least
it was at an easier grade, as much of it was on a service road. I found a great tempo, and rolled past a
bunch of people on the way up. After a
couple false flats and some fun singletrack at the top, we were treated to the
BEST downhill of the entire week…recouping all 1400 feet in a mere 3.1 miles of
mind-blowing, twisting, jumping, high-speed singletrack. Two guys from Colorado were following me
down, and I asked a couple times if they wanted by, but they said I was doing
just fine…and it was all smiles and high-fives when we bottomed out.
A couple more SUPER steep climbs finished out the day, and I
once again caught and passed Dennis, making up the 20 minute difference in our
starts, so I felt I was riding pretty well.
It was a LONG day in the saddle, however, and felt even longer than the
4 hours, 56 minutes it took me. I was
relieved at the finish, but unlike the
previous two stage races when I knew I had it knocked after Stage 4…I was faced
with not only TWO more days, but also the HARDEST stage of the week on the
morrow…Wheeler Pass.
Day 5
Wheeler
My friends who did Breck Epic last year could not stop
talking about this one. The big
one. The Queen Stage, in cycling
parlance. I knew it was going to hurt,
and I knew I was going to have to work to finish it. Oh…the nerves.
Rollout for the day was different than the previous 4, with
riders seeded by their previous times/standings and taking off in waves of
10. As a Grand Fondo guy, I was told to
just jump into a wave in approximation with the people I’d finished with on the
regular through the week (something that happens quite often in a stage race),
so I ended up doing that…but then waiting a couple more waves to give myself
some cushion, as I was not exactly expecting great things. I ended up two waves behind Katie Compton…the
winningest CX rider in US history and current world champion…just another WOW
in this event…and another reason why mtb is such a cool sport…sharing the line
with your heroes on the daily.
Out of the gate…we climbed.
The severity of the climb is best judged by the fact that the first Aid
station was at mile FOUR…and after that…things got REALLY tough, lol. I was feeling pretty strong, actually, and by
the time things turned into a conga-line weaving it’s switchbacky way up and
over 12,600 feet, I was almost enjoying myself.
Amazingly, I managed to stay positive even through the hour-long push to
the top…although I’m going to have to say incredulity might have played a major
part in keeping out the negative thoughts.
This was beyond the pale…far harder, higher, and tougher than anything I’ve
ever done. My chest was a bit tight when
we got up and over 12k, but it was exhilarating to finally hit the top…the
views of the 10 Mile Range were unparalleled, but I couldn’t very well stop and
enjoy them. I was with a couple of Euro
dudes…I think they were speaking German?...and had a pretty big gap on the next
group of riders, so I just hung on their tails as we navigated the technical
singletrack up on the ridge. Tons of
rocks, roots from the tundra and scrubby trees and some mud bogs made things
interesting, but I kept it upright and moving.
A last little kick to the top, and I felt I was really getting somewhere…then
I realized I was less than 8 miles into the 25 mile day!
As if battling the terrain itself wasn’t enough…Wheeler had
more in store for Mike. After summiting
and looking for the promised bacon and whiskey shots at the top that were
unfortunately absent (at least somebody was there giving out MnMs…), I began
the first descent off the pass. In a
horrible and not-so-fun coincidence from Stage 3…I had a problem arise a short
way into the downhill, when I went slightly off-trail, then heard a hissing
noise that I was HOPING was some grass caught in my gears…but ended up being a
torn sidewall on the rear tire. My
rental Rocky Mountain Element was an excellent ride, and to ensure it was up to
the task, the shop had replaced the worn front tire and tuned it to perfection…but
apparently, it was either an errant rock or a thin sidewall that caused this
bit of consternation…and I was gonna have to deal with it. At 12,300 feet. Oh boy.
Now comes the “don’t let this happen to you” part of the
story. Firstly…make sure when riding an
unfamiliar bicycle, that you understand its nuances fully prior to engaging in
a backcountry race at the top of a mountain range. Like…know how to remove the wheels. My Kona has a thru-axle with a quick-release…simple
enough…but I paid ZERO attention to the absence of such a thing on the Rocky
Mountain. It was a thru-axle to be sure…but
only had 6mm hex head bolts on each side of the bike. I panicked and tried the non-drive side
(which had “tighten” embossed on it and directional arrows)…but I could NOT get
it to budge. A rider heading past asked
if I needed help, and I said “YEAH…I can’t get the damn wheel off!” He stopped, and tried the OTHER side of the
axle, and got it to break free. I
thanked him, grabbed the multitool back, and sent him on his way. Whew.
Problem solved. Wheel off, tire
off, grab spare tube from my pack, go to pump it up to a round shape…and
nothing happens. Pull mini-pump off and
try blowing into the valve…still nothing.
Cursory examination reveals a ½” tear in the tube! Dammit.
ALWAYS MAKE SURE YOUR SPARE TUBE DOESN’T HAVE A HOLE IN IT! Ahhh.
Now I’m starting to mildly panic…I DO NOT want another DNF…especially
for something so STUPID. Plus…I am MILES
away from anything at this point…and walking out would be a terrible option. I beg passing riders for a tube, and about
the third guy stops and says he’s got one.
YES. My HERO! He pulls it out of his seat bag and says “It’s
only a 26” tube, but it will work.”
Gah. Disappoint. But…what the hell…beggars can’t be
choosers. I thank him and wish him luck,
and he departs. I inflate the tube a bit
with my mini-pump, and stretch it over the 29” rim, then slap the 2.3” wide
tire on, grab a CO2 inflator…and hope.
Everything fills up, the tires seats nicely, and nothing goes BOOM. I put all my tools away…start downhill again…and
just PRAY. Stretched to the max thin
tube, hole in sidewall of tire…and about 8-1/2 miles to the next Aid station
where I have another spare tube. Oh…and
let’s just add here that it is EASILY the day with the most sharp nasty rocks.
Totally out of my rhythm, I cautiously descend, then hit
another steep rise that I misinterpret as the second big climb to the top of
the pass. Due to this miscalculation, I
am SERIOUSLY surprised when the ACTUAL second big climb hits…and it is a
crusher. I had just bottomed out, when
Dennis caught me. I told him I’d
flatted, then started up the climb and never saw him again…for a while. The top of what another rider/blogger
described as Mt. Goddammit just never seemed to arrive…and when it finally did…it
was all kinds of awful. The “trail”
itself disappeared into a field of large, gnarly, loose rocks that one had to
pay close attention to lest one find a foot disappearing into a gap and causing
serious ankle damage. As we are walking
carefully across this area…carrying bicycles…the wind is gusting around 40 mph,
some hail and then snow is blasting across our faces…and it’s just damn
cold. I wanted to get down. Period.
Get me off this thing.
And then…there came the DOWN. A friendly local with a LOT more
bike-handling talent then me was at the precipice, and due to the extremity of
the environment and the locale, I actually paused for a moment to have him take
my picture. He informed me that “the
first ¼ mile or so is pretty boney, but rideable if you are good. Then it is a flyer.” Well…I’m not good. I spent that first ¼ mile pretty much riding
from rock garden to rock garden, then getting off and walking through
them. The switchbacks were so steep, I
nearly fell off the mountain trying to WALK down them. Not very high on the fun scale. But then it opened up…and the fun readings
started to peg the meter. I had to ride
with some reservation, given the circumstances of my rear wheel, so I was
choosing the butter lines instead of rolling through the chunky stuff like I’d
been doing earlier in the week…all the while mentally crossing my fingers, lol. This was a SIX MILE downhill…and my arms were
screaming from brake pump whilst flowing along behind a group of about 5
riders. And then we all stopped. Huh?
We were being pointed back up the hill, because apparently, we’d blown a
turn. A bunch of people were like…”no
way…this HAS to be right,” but some of us believed the guys who told us to
spin, and had to HIKE back uphill about ½ mile.
Very not fun…but yet another challenge this day would toss my way. I made it down to the next Aid…FINALLY…and
got myself a spare tube, so at least there was SOME semblance of relief as I
rolled out to take on the final 8 miles.
The final challenge of the day for me…was that I had misread
the map in the morning. I was expecting
a nice downhill for the finish, as all of the previous days had done. I knew I was riding across the Breckenridge
resort, and the right turns made things hard (uphill) and left turns made
things easy (downhill). I swear that
last 8 miles was more like 16. I was
starting to bonk, and just when things started looking up (I caught Dennis
AGAIN, as he’d gotten past me during my course correction), there would be
another short, steep incline. Alas, my
downhill never came, and I was sooooo thankful when the finish line finally
emerged from the woods. Definitely the
toughest day, and probably one of the hardest days I’ve ever had on a bike…I
was shattered. 5 hours, 38 second. For 25 miles.
I had done 4:56 for 41 miles the day before. Ugh.
Just. One. More.
Day.
Day 6
Gold Dust
I FINALLY hit the starting line without exorbitant amounts
of stress and/or concern about finishing/surviving. The LAST day was to be the easiest, a mere 30
miles with a paltry 3800 feet of climbing…and a super-fun singletrack section
to boot.
Since I was basically out of the “real” race, I decided it
was time to have fun and ride with my buds.
Dave had been doing well, and not only was he still IN the thing, having
finished each day, he was close to the podium for the Clydesdale class (riders
over 190 lbs). Matt had been finishing
consistently, but was in the same boat as me, having DNF’d Day 3. I decided we should all ride together…so Matt
and I started with Dave in his 10 person wave.
I ended up with the holeshot, and hit the woods with a full
head of steam, my legs responding well to the immediate climb. Then I realized something was amiss…my back
was SOAKING wet. It would seem that my
Camelback hadn’t closed properly, and was now leaking all down my back and into
my shorts…unacceptable. I had to stop
and pull off, told Dave I’d catch him later, and had things back in order just
as Matt went by, so I jumped on his wheel.
Because this WAS Breck Epic, and even the easy days are not very easy…this
climb was 9.5 miles long, much of it in steep singletrack. I passed Matt and then made my way through
traffic and caught Dave, but keeping all of us together quickly proved to be an
impossibility, as everyone’s climbing pace was different…plus, there were a LOT
of people on the trail. I decided to act
as a domestique to Dave, and pull him around the course for the day…fun for me,
and hopefully good enough for him to make it up to the third place spot in
Clyde. He stayed on my wheel for the
most part…I had to wait for him on a couple of steeper sections and areas where
we were passing slower riders…but we made it up, and then the fun began. We ditched our Camelbacks at the first Aid
station, and in typical Dave fashion of the week…he took off without me
downhill. It took me about a mile and
half to catch him, but after that, we enjoyed the hell out of some sweet, sweet
singletrack, followed by a long 7 mile gravel road climb back up to Aid 2,
where we grabbed some PBR handup beers, before the FINAL DESCENT.
Dave was riding with caution, I was riding with a degree of
elation. I wasn’t sure when I came into
this week if I’d prepared quite enough to knock this out, and I was happy and
proud to know that I’d done it. The
final miles ticked by quickly, and before I knew it, Dave and I were
high-fiving across the finish line. Matt
was only about 5 minutes back, and Dennis had finished about 18 minutes in
front of us. Our other IL brethren Jim
came across and celebrated his FIFTH finish of the Breck Epic…baller. A couple bites to eat…and then straight to a
bar…which is how things like this SHOULD end.
Wrap-up and Retrospect
My Kona never did get fixed…a miscommunication caused the
necessary parts to end up in Ohio when they needed to be in Breckenridge…so I
rode the last three days on the rental Rocky Mountain Element. Contrary to this being a point of
consternation, I was quite happy with the performance of that bike in relation
to that of my own. The 120mm of travel
was juuuuuust a bit more plush, and I felt it helped in keeping the rear wheel
on the ground when climbing over chunky rocks…so it likely saved me some
additional walking time. I picked up my
newly repaired Kona before heading home the day after the race.
This experience would not have been NEARLY as fun without
Matt, Dave, Dave’s family, Dennis, and Jim…plus the addition of Mike G and his
two boys who stopped by on their way home from California…and, of course, my
lovely wife Michelle, who spent the week doing yoga, visiting her family,
hiking, biking, standup-paddleboarding, and knocking off her first 14,000 foot
peak on the day I finished the race.
Every night we had a blast out at dinner, and it was really great to
have someone to drink with after repeated days of SERIOUSLY earning a
drink! Certainly a highlight of my trip.
The Breck Epic itself.
Just…wow. So well put together,
so well-organized…and in a truly world-class location. The trails were quite simply some of the best
I have ridden in 29 years as a mountain biker.
The routes were challenging…but after each and every day, you could not
help but express how much FUN it was…even if you were puking on your shoes an
hour before. I set this race as the final
tick on my bucket list, and I’m so happy I did…now I can be DONE.
So…yeah. That’s
it. I’m done. Retired.
Bucket list complete.
Until somebody comes up with something dumber for me to try.
