My time to write dwindled as break wore on, and so I write now to summarize the final four days of break as accurately and in as much detail as my jotted notes and shaky memory will allow.

Tuesday

The famed Jolly Trolley departed the NOC on Tuesday, and wove its way to Stecoah Gap, where we lingered at 3,165 feet above sea-level before descending down for the trek home.

I am sad to say that this year's Jolly Trolley could not match the jolliness of last year's—but really, what can? Songs were still sung, and mountains were again scaled. Despite two near-accidents, we all returned safe and sound, and so I officially label the ride a success.

Wednesday

Cherohala Skyway beckoned and we answered the call. By various paths, all sixty-two of us wound our way up the thirteen mile climb, lingered for at least few moments and then made our descent back down in weather not nearly as unpleasant as last year.

I found my rhythm alongside Jason and we made remarkable time up the mountain—though not without our fair share of pain. There isn't much to say about the descent. I wore too much clothing, anticipating much colder temperatures and sweat a great deal.

At night, we drove into Bryson City to feast at Guayabitos Mexican restaurant and to swap stories of the day. I cannot recount what transpired afterward—to do so would be to dishonor all that is sacred about UW Cycling, and would break the strong bonds of trust formed during a week of hardship and snacking. I am no fool.

All Else

Thursday passed quietly, designated for many as a day of rest and study, and Friday had us driving to Blue Ridge Parkway where some riders set out to tackle a grueling century, while others—including myself— set out to wear ridiculous cycling garb and ride for a little over an hour before packing the bike up for the remainder of the trip.

We then left the NOC for Madison early Saturday morning and made remarkable enough time through Tennessee, Kentucky, and Indiana to stop in Chicago for a delicious meal and still make it back before nine.

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In the days prior to this break, I felt the same sense of apprehension as I did last year around the same time. I thought that my lack of riding through the winter months would handicap me relative to other riders, and most of my riding companions from last year were knee-deep in life post-graduation. I had some more personal misgivings, too, that I feared would turn the trip from a fun jaunt in the mountains to a week of uncomfortable situations—but I am happy to say that this was not at all the case. Even in the rain, I enjoyed my time on the bike and forged new acquaintances, and my quiet fears were entirely unfounded.

It was a nice break, but I am now subject once again to the merciless toil of school and everything else.

I suddenly remember the utility of training for Spring Break, by way of my tender underside. Too graphic, perhaps, for the casual reader, but it is a remark that must be made.

I am sitting in my bedroom right now, listening to the rowdiest of our three cabins prematurely celebrating St. Patrick's Day—one consequence of an inescapably large climb on Wednesday. My legs are tired, more so than yesterday, after our ride today proved to be an exercise in false hopes and poorly-given directions.

We set out to undertake a moderate climb to the entrance to an old fire road, named "711" (seven-eleven), which we would ascend, briefly descend, and then descend down a better-paved road winding down the mountain. Unfortunately, the directions we followed failed to mention one crucial turn, which led us to first climb the mountain, then climb the other side of 711, and finally descend down a twisting, largely unpaved stretch which we had intended to climb from the outset.

Rain fell occasionally during the ride, but hardest during our final stretch down Highway 19 on the way back to the cabin. Nevertheless, and despite leg fatigue much greater than anticipated, we adopted a strong pace through the pelting rain and made it back in a timely fashion to shower and devour a late lunch.

Tomorrow will be a relaxed ride: the original Jolly Trolley, which will make its merry way along fifty miles of rolling hills and only a couple of short climbs; and will see our group singing songs and enjoying the forecasted 68°F sunny weather. I hear that the weather in Wisconsin has trumped our dismal days here—but it would appear the tables have turned.

* Written on the sixteenth of March.

Although yesterday was technically my first day here, a harrowing drive through the steady rain and fog during the earliest of hours, compounded with little sleep over the last twenty-four, saw my Saturday spent napping, eating, and mingling. And so I woke this morning right around sunrise, ate breakfast with my fellow cyclists, and embarked on the Junaluska ride.

It certainly could have been worse; and in retrospect, the toughest mountain to climb my own trepidation regarding riding up mountain and down: a four-month break from the bike does nothing to instill self-confidence.

But ride I did. We began in the drizzle, and set about navigating the now-familiar eight-mile stretch of rolling hills which lead to numerous routes commonly took by the club. Upon reaching the gas station, I felt as though my legs were jelly and my lungs iron. Unable to procure a passable excuse for turning around, I continued onward.

Amazingly, the ensuing descent bolstered my confidence, and steadied my legs, and I was able to navigate to the base of Junaluska, and stick more or less with the pack for all but the two large climbs, which exposed my lack of fitness all too well. And when the day was done, we returned wet and tired, took hot showers, and ate greasy food at a café down the road, while we checked our emails, and worked on our homework.

I plan to retire for the evening soon, but I was able to start Hard-Boiled Wonderland And The End Of The World—which, despite possessing an odd plot, has thus far entertained me—and had some nice conversations with a handful of people regarding math, post-modern literature and art, sculpting, and cycling—to name but a few topics.

Written on the fifteenth of March.

As promised to the ever-wonderful—and temporarily-Brazillian—Katie, tonight I pick up my pen of zeroes and ones to write of majesty and wonder—and embellishment of claims, as I do not think I'll write of either, nor did I have any intention of writing of such things from my first keystroke down to the following period. In fact, I am presently asking myself about what should I write?, and I do not hear a reply.

As a matter of fact, I have a digital Sticky Note of topics about which I'd like to write in my other workspace on my laptop. I am sad to say that this post does not originate from one of my several jotted ideas. During a time of greater leisure, I intend to write more than necessary, perhaps, about each and every topic.

But these are busy times. In my immediate future, a trip to North Carolina** looms. In my recent past, a hurricane of work rages, and a seemingly perpetual state of movement displaces my sense of time. Has it been ten days since I last wrote? Do not ask me.

* This title originates from the topic we've just started in Analysis, which will pave the way, in part, to Stokes's Theorem. The topic itself is fascinating, but its utility as a band name is also remarkable.

** The same trip as last year, though different in unfathomable ways. I'll be forced to tote my laptop this time; perhaps I'll share the experience as it happens.

I suppose I should apologize for the unsightly math that, up until this point, graced—or cursed, I suppose—the top of the page. Rumors indicate that the frightening juxtaposition of those two theorems caused a few hemorrhaging eye-sockets, one brain aneurysm, and a great deal of scorn for my thoughtlessness and apparent free-time during the mornings prior to my exams. Of course, these rumors could be entirely unfounded, but there's no harm in caution. What follows should at least serve as a buffer between you and the evil statements below.

The past week's flurry of exams made for limited sleep, intense studying, and numerous coffee binges; occasionally spread throughout the day. Fortunately, there will only be two more comparable weeks, one of which is the week of final exams, and the other being the second gamut of midterms. I feel satisfied with my most recent exams, though; and I feel satisfied with the effort I gave in preparing for the exams. If I manage to scrape together some decent grades, all the better.