Portland. (Denver. Chicago. Kansas City.)

Tomorrow, Portland. Then 24 hours home, then Denver, then straight to Kansas City. Happy effing holidays, right?

I'm not sure how to approach Portland. Truth be told, whatever I say, when the gun goes off I go all hockey mom, getting totally freaked out about how Ben is doing. I feel bad for the other people in the pit that hear me talking to myself and shouting like mad. But after a tough time at the last installment of the USGP, it's time to turn it down a little. I'm going out there to have a good time, drink some good beer, make fun of vegan donuts, and take photos of Barry Wicks for a certain friend. It's supposed to be not-as-muddy Saturday but raining on Sunday, so at least Saturday should be low-key for me. The bikes still have their messy muddy cables from Jingle Cross, though, so hopefully we can make time to recable between picking the bikes up at 9am and the race at 3pm. Vamos a ver.

Then, redeye home, one night at home, two nights in Denver, then straight to KC. I'll be running the Cherry Creek trail in Denver if I can find the time-- looking forward to that.

We have room for one more in our car and for about 3 more in our block of waterpark hotel rooms, if you're still not solid for KC. Lemme know.
...
The windchill was 4 degrees this morning. I woke up at 6am, heard NPR give me that bad news, and went back to bed. But then I got up, threw my cold weather stuff on, put some musher's secret on Molly's paws, and rolled out the door before I knew what was up. Yaktrax, you're my new hero. When I got home, Ben had left a pot of coffee on the counter for me with a note: hot coffee. I love my husband. He is so very thoughtful.