20 Feet doesn't sound too high. It's less than 4 of me stacked one on top of the other. But it was high enough to shatter my ankle and put me off my feet for 6 months. And standing on a bridge, looking down 20 feet into a pitch black river bed, it could be 100 feet.
We rode in to Provo today, or at least everyone else did. I drove the van from our Utahian oasis in Delta, the land of change back into the real world where buildings have more than 2 stories and highways have more than one lane. I also finally got acces to a Chase bank which means for the first time since California I've had access to my own money.
We were met in Provo, after a series of mix ups and turn arounds, by a group of guys in their 20s that run a bike collective where people in town can access a rudimentary bike shop, and have access to spare parts and assistance for a reasonable price. After a dinner of vegan chili and PBR we were able to give a presentation to some locals in the bike community, and set up camp for the night in the garage that houses their collective, or in our case outside of the garage.
Excited to meet people our own age for the first time in weeks, we esily agreed to accompany some of the guys on the most exciting thing Provo, Utah, home of Brigham Young University and the strictest liquor laws in the US, had to offer. We followed them on a midnight bike ride to the middle of nowhere, climbed a few fences and took off most of our clothes, and found ourselves standing on the edge of a 20 foot bridge. It took me a few minutes and a little bit of coaxing, but I did finally jump. Hey, you only ride your bike across the country once. So why not?
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