I completed the STP (again!) the weekend of the 12th-13th, and I thought I'd write a little bit about it. This time, I did it on a sort of poem form. I think it came out rather nice:
Every ten minutes, they came.
Off of the start line, charging ahead, hundreds strong.
Down one hill, up the next, always pedaling.
25 miles, stop, food and drink, back in the saddle.
Thousands of feet going round and round.
Hot asphalt, cars, trucks, be careful!
Gravel in the road, roadkill to the side, someone's missing water bottle.
Watch for glass, people, wheels.
Wheels, ever spinning.
Green countryside, tall trees, gray road.
End of the day, stop, sleep.
Next day, pedaling again.
Up and down the hills, dodge the slow ones, watch out for the fast ones.
Food stop, good time for lunch at 10 AM.
Queue up, wait in line.
Up the bridge, down the other side, across the river, only 40 miles left.
Endless stretch of hot asphalt, bikers in both directions.
Endless line of bikers.
Portland, 18 miles, still that far?
Stop, drink, dunk my head under the faucet.
Shut up and pedal.
Miles getting smaller, one last stop for food.
An ice cream bar never tasted so good.
Pedal, pedal, reached the Portland city limits.
Finally, off the highway. Up a hill.
Down the street, careful, don't go on the freeway!
Up another hill. Cross the red bridge.
Up the last hill, two blocks down the street.
Finish line, big party, cheering crowd.
Finisher's patch, soft grass, shade.
Collapse, water, happy.
I did it. Again.
Me and the rest.
9,500 bikers, a Force of Nature.
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