Payson, Arizona

Highway 260 may be the worst road for cyclists in the United States. On this 53 mile day, we were banished to the smallest outskirts of what this state considers a breakdown lane. With one lane in each direction cycling through the oddly frigid Arizona temperatures, we were forced into a gutter that caused unprecedented pain and stress. As cars were whizzing by at the speed of death with inches of clearance, we were stuck on a white line littered with bumps and potholes. On this Sunday, the whole world was traveling back home from a weekend of recreational adventure. This meant non stop traffic of RVs with cars in tow or trucks with trailers in tow. Either way, multiple hours of cars flying by and almost hitting you while you try to stabilize your bike in a straight line is awful. Luckily, we granted ourselves momentary reprieves of this madness when we took detours to a lake and then a scenic overlook. Not many fun games could be played while cycling because we had to ride in a strict single file. For the brief seconds of conversation that could happen, we were able to make up clue scenarios for ourselves including name, murder room and weapon of choice. I am Mr. Magenta or Bad Egg Brian killing in the study with a grapefruit spoon. I've officially gone delerious. The immediate problem is that repetitive motion causes insanity. The secondary problem is that I embrace the insanity. Nothing but spectacular things can happen when the first words Ross speaks to you in the morning go a little something like, "stop giggling, it hurts my hangover." Giggling didn't last much longer as we took to the road and immediately realized the pure agony of the road. My bile started an odd squeeky noise with 10 miles left on the day. It sounds like loose spokes that were going to snap so I pulled over but couldn't find a problem. When we got to the host in Payson, I spent about an hour giving it a detail clean, disassembling the head and reliving everything. That didn't fix the problem at all, which didn't surprise me because I know nothing about bikes. I guess it's kind of exciting to ride something that sounds like it's going to blow up any second. The salvation of the day was the best downhill I have ever gone down in my life. The road was a 6% decline for miles that cut through red rocks and overlooked pine covered mountains. I took video for a bit but put the camer away after almost crashing at 38 mph. The hill only made people happy for a bit because the number of flat tires today was absurd. I got zero so this downhill was enough to keep me satisfied all day. I screamed chants of pure joy as gravity dragged me to the base of the mountain. I had a bigger smile on my face than when I got to the St. Louis arch. The natural beauty of the landscape was unreal and I think viewing it was one of the top five happiest moments of my life. So highway 260 is a death trap, nothing is going to get me down.