Just got off the phone with Tiger and Lance. They're kind of my go-to people for advice on self-induced adversity. Don't get me wrong, I still fully expect a fairy tale adventure absent of dragons and heavy on happy endings. But a couple of days ago I found myself standing on top of a workbench clutching my Back-up Bike in a death grip. It was clamped upside down to a vise by the seized seat post, and I was pulling up like a madman, abdominal one-pack threatening to shred and heave, Ed and Caleb torquing the bike side-to-side, trying to get the tiniest of movements started before the frame snapped, and I thought

I don't have to do this.

No one's making me do this.

I'm doing this trip for fun, right?

These are dark thoughts to entertain on the eve of a bike trip featuring the exquisite pleasure of dragging a 17-ton sledge containing Chernobyl parts from the Pacific to the Atlantic, asking people to tell glowing stories. Can't wait to see how they react.