It's Tuesday around 5:30. I've just got done working a full work day and am now rushing to jam the last few items into my bike bags. There is gear scattered around the front lawn as my friends are doing the same thing.
The sun is starting to set as we finally take those first pedal strokes. The day's work has left us all tired and there's this feeling that the responsible thing to do would be to turn right back around and go sit on the couch, watch some t.v., and sleep in a comfortable bed. None of us are listening to those feelings and every pedal is momentum in the opposite direction.
I feel like I am breaking the rules, escaping, doing something wrong. No one takes off in the middle of the week to ride their bikes for a few hours and then sleep on the ground. Nobody but us.
maybe we're just misfits
A couple hours later and we've made it to camp. It's not much to right home about, not a lot of amenities. It's a ridge overlooking the Virgin River Gorge. There's no water, no toilets, no comfy bed, but as the light dips toward the horizon, the Limestone lights up in a way you can't see from the safety of your couch.
Each of assembles our bed for the evening, makes some not so delicious food, and then we sit around the campfire happy that we didn't listen, that we went out when everyone else was checking in.