SSWC '18 Bend: Part One

Keep in mind, before I scooped Bill Nye on the way to the airport, he worked all night, came home, and drank three beers.  Pretty much as soon as we got on the plane, he fell asleep.  A layover with just enough time to walk briskly and make our Zone 4 boarding, and then he slept some more.

Ten human hours after I woke up that morning, we arrive in Bend.

We are at the motel too early to check in, and the desk clerk tells us our rooms aren't ready yet.  We can however build our bikes beside the dumpster in front of the empty offices on the other side of the parking lot.

I feel the sweet embrace of Bend.

Bikes built, room ready, we decide to go check out 10 Barrel Brewing for food (Bill Nye's first food in how many hours of travel and work) on the recommendation of our shuttle driver.  Not the one conveniently located about a mile away, but the one way up on the north side of town.  Dammit.  Some light grub and then back into town to check things out.

We get to where race headquarters are, check out the Crow's Feet Commons bike shop... head over to Bend Brewing.  Pints are $3.50 tonight.  We have found our home.

Then things went sideways.

For me, a lack of sleep and mebbe food.  We run into Agu from the Philippines, and then his pal from Japan.  As the mood got lighter, the skies got darker.  Bill Nye and I were caught unawares.  No lights, no blinkies, and I only had prescription sunglasses with which to see the obstacles in my path.

Meh.  We call it a night and head back to the finest Econolodge in all of Bend.

A lack of food and an abundance of $3.50 beers sends Bill Nye to the pavement in slow motion.  I tell him that we are walking home, his hand covered in blood, and I'm as blind as a bat.  We get back to the hotel room and after some regrettable shit show moments with details I'll share over a campfire only, we go to bed.

Wake up with a dull yet pounding headache.  Go down to the lobby to get some much needed coffee.  Come back to the room.  Blood on the door.   The light switch.  The tub.  The sink.

Bill Nye has turned our room into a crime scene, and he's not moving or making noise.  I check on him closely, and he is very much alive, but we are definitely not making the 9:00AM ride today.  I wonder if we'll ride our bikes at all...