The End of the Trail and Other Stupid Decisions

I would like to begin by letting you all know that I am rather silly.  I make many decisions using what at the time seems like impeccable logic.  Problem is, my logic is rather... un-impeccable?  I suppose... from time to time.  And today's adventure highlights that fact.  I began today by deciding I wanted an adventure.  That was my first mistake.  I figured the best way of doing so was hopping on my bicycle.  Now, here is where my logic becomes an issue.

I began considering just how far I needed to ride today... I settled on 20 miles.  I have done it before, and it really isn't that far on a bicycle.  So, I set out on a 20 mile bike ride in the general direction of Augusta.  The weather was absolutely glorious, more like late September or early October than mid-August.  But, being as we live in Kansas, there was one element of the weather that I had overlooked, the ever-present Kansas gale.  I had made it about a mile out before I noticed, but, frankly, I couldn't tell what direction it was blowing from.  You see, Kansas is one of the few places in this world where the wind can blow against you in three different directions at once.  If you don't believe me, try going on a 10 mile run in March.  You will believe. 

Being silly as I am, I did not think about the fact that the wind was at my back as I pedaled south.  I actually thought it was coming crossways (which it was, in fact... remember, 3 directions).  I just assumed I was booking it over flat ground because I am a stud, not because 6'1 cyclists collect wind like a parasail.  And, I was now in the boonies.  No houses, which meant no farm dogs, no cars kicking up dust, and, which mattered very little at that moment, no trees.  So, life was grand as I motored down the road.  Well, save for one thing.  While a 20 mile bike ride makes you feel quite manly, washboard roads remind you (painfully) of your manhood.  That was my only complaint at the time.

My first encounter with dogs proved that I needed glasses.  Seeing three boxers running towards the road, I braked and prepared to defend myself.  Had I been observant, I would have noticed that there was a fence between us, and I had nothing to fear.  After a few seconds of posturing with slobbering, maniacal canines, I realized that all was peachy, and continued my adventure.  I watched kites wheeling overhead (the bird variety, not the kind little kids fly into trees), beheld trumpet vine's bright orange flowers, and loved the weather.  I was in my element.  Until the last thing I wanted to see appeared out of the corner of my vision.

You see, every dog breed was bred for a specific purpose.  These breeds may not necessarily serve that purpose anymore, but physically, these dogs still possess the qualities to achieve said purpose.  Once purpose of dogs belonging to the hound group is hunting.  More specifically, sighthounds are bred to chase down basically anything they see moving (hence the name).  However, since sighthounds are built for speed, they are often reedy, sinewy creatures (think greyhounds, whippets, saluki, etc.).  That doesn't work super well if you're hunting something bigger than rabbits.  Say, wolves.

If you know anything about dogs, you see where this is going.  What I saw coming after me was the tallest of all dog breeds, built for speed and raw power, the Irish Wolfhound.  For those of you that don't know anything about dogs, they look somewhat like this:

Okay, not really.  More like this.



 Fine.  Not like that, either.  But that would have been cool.  Really, more like this, shown with a handler so you get an idea of size.

So, needless to say, I was scared pissless.  The only thing both fast enough to catch me and big enough to do me serious harm.  Luckily, he just wanted to play.  Much like my dog, Thunder, he ran up to the side of the road, and stood there, wagging his tail and whining.  I didn't want to risk him getting under my tires, thus causing a wreck, so I took an alternate route home.

And... there is another decision that COULD have been bad, as highlighted to me by a bad decision that I had made a few nights prior to that.  See, a few nights before, I had been unable to sleep and turned on my television.  What I watched was about 10 minutes or so of "Final Destination."  Yeah... that was a bad idea.  And as I was riding down another road, what do I see?  An old, worndown sign marking "The End of the Trail Ranch."  Well... great.  I was going to die in a freak accident in the middle or rural Butler County.  Magnificent.  I told myself I was being silly.  But as I approached the stop sign, my breaks made an awful squealing sound, waking up the dogs in the yard of a rundown doublewide...

The term "speed born of desperation" had never rung truer.  Despite moving uphill, into the wind, I put on quite the epic turn of speed.  However, I had no reason to do so.  They were the same incarcerated boxers I had seen earlier in another part of the yard.  So, I wasted a lot of energy on an unnecessary sprint.  Go figure.  The next several miles were horrid, battling the wind without any sort of windblock (remember, I said no trees).  I don't why I chose a windy day to ride 20 miles on a mountain bike.  But I did.  And I eventually made it home, without further incident.

I'm not really sure what the moral of this story is.  But I think it might have been one worth telling.