My arms are stretched out in front of me. Hammered. Tired. Happy to push through. Water hits my head, falls down my cheeks, runs down my back. I blink it out of my eyes and keep looking ahead. All kinds of different scenes flash by, each matched to different sensations, movements and a curious, excited energy for whatever comes next. Inner monologues on long descents are broken by conversations on the flats with new companions. The day passes by in fragments. Disconnected moments. Partial half-articulated thoughts.
While my mind is still flying through the trails, my body is slow, lumped into a fancy shower in a monastery-turned-hotel. I smile at the strange familiarity of the moment – minus the fancy-ness – habitually washing the mud out of my clothes before riding again tomorrow. Every now and then, words fall from my mouth out loud into the empty room. Little glitches fill the evening, my inner world bubbling over while my actions take on a faulty automaticity.
In the same way the motions of an ocean voyage continue back on dry land, sensations from the trails carry on into the evening. I know these sensations well. It’s Trail Daze. That feeling you get after back-to-back days on thrilling singletracks. It’s been such a long time between drinks, which makes this one even sweeter.