I just wanted to get to Scooby-Doo.
In our tired, oxygen deprived minds, we kept forgetting the name of the town (Sibundoy) in which we hoped to arrive tonight and dubbed it “Scooby-Doo”
The riding was slow and tedious but not overly difficult or technical (the name given to the route on the web, “Trampoline of Death”, was slightly exaggerated)¹ or technical. The ride was still exhausting. Despite being so cold, sweat steamed away. I was completely soaked through.
Years of mountain biking made it easier for me than Sarah. Off pavement, I am more relaxed on the bike. The back wheel losing traction during peddling or the wheels sliding before finding a solid surface to grip did not cause me to tense up and the constant jarring from the road did not take the same toll on my body as it did on Sarah. Plus, I did not have a recent fall in the back of my mind.
Despite the physical toll the surroundings were beautiful. I lost track of the number of waterfalls I saw. The clouds moving through the mountains (and through us) created a dreamlike setting.
But we were cold, wet and tired. We just wanted to get to Scooby-Doo and back on pavement. The final climb was disheartening and it was getting dark. I could see the road above and it would turn a corner. When I finally rounded the bend, more road streched out above, leading to another corner. Daylight was fading and our pace was slow. I did not relish spending the night on a cold, damp mountain. Ruh-roh, Raggy!
A cell tower came into view. It was a good sign that we had reached the top. One more bend and Scooby-Doo was in view, nestled in the valley below. We could hardly wait to descend and stuff our faces full of Scooby Snacks.