The pain, part two.

I collapsed on the lawn when we reached Shelby's house in Philly. We rode seventy-eight miles on a day when I wanted to give up at thirty. I kept telling people that yesterday was the hardest day of the entire trip. I was so dehydrated that I woke up with a headache today, and proceded to black out on my way to the bathroom. I woke up from an interesting dream and found myself in the hallway with carpet burn on my forehead. I threw up, sweated a lot, and then laid down on the tile for another nap. I thought that I was having a reaction to pain killers, but we confirmed that I hadn't taken enough to knock me out, and I laid down on the couch until I felt ok.

I have a really high pain tolerance, which my dentist will confirm. The problem is that I'll often keep going on the bike when I should probably stop. I noticed muscle spasms early in the day, but we had to keep going and I powered through them. There were many times when I should have rested and drank Gatorade, but sometimes you have to be a diesel and keep climbing because the psychology is your sole motivation. It always hurts later on.

I figured out why we saw all of the rich folks yesterday: we rode past Willmington, Delaware, the geographical location of all that is wrong with America. Sound familiar? That's where you send your credit card payments! It's also the city featured wistfully at the and of Fight Club.