It was a particularly cold and blustery day for us getting started out of Whitehorse. After clumsily maneuvering our loaded bikes down the elevator and out of the hotel, we stuffed our hands into our mittens and set off in the search of food. While it was available, McDonald's was too good to pass up, and the novelty of "McDonald's Canada" hadn't worn off yet.
"Ah man, the girls are always going after you," Mark observed after leaving McDonald's. It was only kind of true. One of the girls that took our order had her friend ask for my phone number--but they were probably closer to Mark's age--15. At his age, the girls probably would be too shy to actually make a move, but I was easier to approach as the older, unattainable one I suppose. I was definitely complimented, but not interested. I had my eye set on someone else back home--though she was kind of a long-shot.
But I like the exhilaration of facing uncertain odds. Our whole adventure was sort of a long-shot. How could we even hope to make it all the way to Mexico? I don't know, but we were damned confident that we could--or at least damned stubborn about giving it our best try, so off into the headwinds we two strapping lads went.
|Mark's "Moose Antlers"|