Too much about me

No poem today. It's late, and I need some sleep. Another race tomorrow.

Observation:
Tis fits better in the "me" section, but that seems to be full, so I'll talk about my race today here. It was in Clear Lake, and my observation would have to be that the course is awful. Almost every corner is incredibly rough, there are huge speed bumps and potholes on the back stretch, and the streets are too narrow to move around in the group adequately. Maybe I'm just complaining because I started in the back, but it made it almost impossible to have a decent race. I spent a lot of energy sprinting, braking, sprinting, and braking, and gradually made my way into the lead group. It was impossible to ride my bike normally, since itmnever really felt like both my wheels were on the ground. So many bumps... People were losing bottles off their bikes due to the massive bumps. Wheels were rubbed in front of me because there weren't any decent lines through the corners, and all in all, I thought it was a terrible venue for the state championships.

Exercise:
Write a letter to the teacher who gave you a hard time in gradeschool or high school.

Dear Mrs. Van Slyke
Turns out I didn't need to be pumped full of medication after all. I know it would have made your job easier if i would have been sedated in the back of your room rather than constantly talking (and correcting you), or reading books when I wasn't supposed to. And it just so happens my parents did a great job, no parenting classes required. I guess what I'm curious about is this: why is your husband so much cooler than you. When he fought my English class he seemed pretty willing to consider me almost as a peer, giving me honest recommendations, and not once sending notes home to my parents. Oh, and his wrestling posters were way more interesting to look at in the classroom than your teddy bear collection.

Me:
Where was I? I think we had left Zion? If so, then we were headed to Mesa Verde. We drove until 11:30, passing by a couple of campgrounds that proved too expensive to warrant a stay. We really liked campgrounds run by the forest service or the Bureau of Land Management, since they were generally between ten and fifteen dollars and well-maintained. We passed on two campgrounds that were around twenty dollars a site. I don't understand how they can justify charging that much for a forty-foot square patch of ground. When you think about it, fifteen dollars is a bit pricey as well. So we rolled in, set up the tent by midnight, woke up a few hours later, and left for Mesa Verde. Or rather, we started heading in the appropriate direction. During the ten minutes of driving I realized we had yet to eat a "real" breakfast. Now, peanut butter and jelly are fantastic, but I felt like treating us to some pancakes, so we stopped by a cafe and grabbed a menu. It was expensive. The only thing on the menu that looked in some way original happened to be the pancakes, which was convenient since that's what we wanted. They were sourdough pancakes with authentic maple syrup. They were $6.50 (I only mention this fact because it comes into play in a bit), and they were delicious. We shared three, and upon seeing Rebecca's face when she took her first bite, I promptly gave her some of my half, saying I would be more than happy with more peanut butter and bread in the car. At the rate I eat, I only get to taste the good stuff for about two seconds anyway, so it makes sense to give most of it to her. She gets more out of the experience. Then we remembered the bakery counter at the front of the cafe. We ordered a mini macaroon ($1.50) and a chocolaty raspberry-y crumbly cookie-y bar ($2.50). We then told the cashier where we had sat, and he said our total was $15.50. I had our last fifteen dollars with me, but Rebecca had some quarters in her wallet (in the car), so she went and got that to fund our first real breakfast. In the moment I was a bit confused why we were being charged so much, but not certain enough to dispute it. So I talked to the guy about wrestling while Rebecca went to the car. Apparently when someone hears your from Iowa State, it becomes obvious you know something about the sport. So I said the name Cael Sanderson a few times in order to sound like I knew anything, and when Rebecca got back we paid and left. I figured even if we had been overcharged, I would just consider the extra a tip. Because after eating that chocolate raspberry concoction, I was definitely in the mood to leave a tip. It was amazing. In case it ever becomes relevant, the name of the place was Absolute. I guess they thought the vodka shouldn't have all the fun with the name.
Anyway, we went into Mesa Verde, got to the visitor's center, and it turned out there was a tour leaving for Balcony House in thirty minutes, followed by one of the first not-sold-out tours of Cliff Palace at 12:30. We bought tickets for three dollars apiece and headed out. Ou first tour was led by a bubbly girl ranger who was thrilled by the sound of her own voice. She wasn't unamusing, I suppose, but let's just say she wasn't nearly as entertaining as she thought she was. She did things like asking us to pay attention to our surroundings as we walked down the path, then asking us what we noticed. When people said the names of plants, animals, etc, she asked, with a quite proud and self-amused smile on her face, if we had happened to notice the giant canyon. Well, of course we had. Nobody wanted to state the obvious, but most people chuckled like they were supposed to. But the sights were beautiful, the pueblos were as interesting as ever, and the tour was good over all. Highlights included climbing ladders on the cliff face, crawling through a small opening in a pueblo, and the screaming infant drowning out whatever "clever" things our tour guide was saying.
The next tour was scheduled for 12:30, which was an hour away yet, so we got there early and waited around at the beginning of the trail by a kiosk in the shade. At one point we even heard the person inside the kiosk (which sold water and maps and stuff) say it was a good place to wait until the tour. By the time 12:32 rolled around we got concerned and went down the trail a ways, only to find a sign saying to wait there for the ranger. We had missed our tour. We went back to the kiosk and shared our woes with the lady there, and were told to wait for the next ranger and see if they'd let us on. We did, but before the 1:00 tour rolled around, the person from the kiosk found us and gave us some tickets that had been abandoned with her. It was so nice! Then our ranger showed up, told everyone that had missed their tour (we weren't the only ones) they were welcome to join.
This tour was awesome. The ranger was knowledgable, interesting, and concerned for us. He had us sit in the shade whenever possible, and was fantastic about sharing his oponion about what certain things meant in a historical context. And the best part was that it didn't seem to be idle speculation. He knew his stuff. He used terminology from my anthropology textbooks, and had pretty decent evidence for his conclusions. All in all, it was fantastic. From there we moved on to the Cedar Canyon trail, which took us past Spruce Tree House for some more pictures. We finished the three mile hike, got in the car, and took a winding road to our last house of the day. At that point I was falling asleep on my feet, so Rebecca drove a few hours as we headed toward Great Sand Dunes for the next day.