It was a little concerning that before we'd even left the parking lot, my left contact declared war on my eye. I managed to remove it (the contact, not my eye) only to discover that it had folded itself in half. I didn't even know that was possible. I put it back in after rinsing my hands off with some of the water we'd taken to drink, looking in the van's rearview mirror. It was no more comfortable now than it had been when it was folded in half, but at least I could see.
After our friends finally showed up, we headed off, and with the wind in my eyes, both eyes were about equally painful. Besides, it didn't take long for the burning in my thighs to completely overpower any discomfort inflicted by my contacts. We had gone a mile at this point, maybe. I'm still no better at riding a bike than I was when we started.
I spent a good portion of the ride drafting one of my friends until he noticed me and decided it was his turn. We must have gone at least fifty miles before we turned around. Actually, it may have been more like four, but who's counting? I was on the brink of death when the two guys with us stopped on each side of the trail and pulled out water bottles. I whizzed past what looked like the icing pattern on Zebra Cakes and slammed on brakes. Dust flew. I turned around. I was right. I walked slowly, straddling my bike, back to my friend. He held out the package. They were squished, but I didn't even notice. With shaking hands, I tore open the plastic, and pulled out the flattened mess of processed sugar.
It was amazing. I try to avoid hugging people whenever possible, but I hugged him then. I was so happy, I could have cried, but that might have been the contact that I had been successfully ignoring for a while reminding me that it was still there and that it wasn't above crashing my little sugar party. Nevertheless, I rode the last hundred or so (maybe closer to two) miles with a smile on my face and the taste of Zebra Cake on my tongue.