5 minutes late??? I rebooted my GPS and recalculated. This time it said 6 minutes late. At first there was panic. Then that shifted to confusion. Then I felt a little rage coming on before starting back at panic. My hopes were so high only to come crashing back down in flames. Where had I gone wrong? I had gone over 480 miles and only stoped once. After the traffic and border patrols I had ridden perfectly (well, Carter and I had...). I had been cruising comfortably over the posted speed limits and had done nothing but lose more time... 20 minutes to be exact. I hated myself for not getting my act together earlier that morning. I was pisssd off at El Paso traffic. I was mad at the guy at the gas station in New Mexico who had to play 20 questions about my bike while I was clearly trying to get back on the road "How many miles you got on that thing?" "How many gallons does that thing hold!" "My uncle's neighbor's preacher has a Harley..." If only I could have some of that time back from that morning I would be set. I realize GPS units aren't exact but I also know they get more accurate the closer you get. I was getting closer and I was getting later. The trend was very clear. At that rate I'd be more than an hour late and arriving at 5am EST didn't sound like fun. I also knew that I had to stop again so it would only get worse. I still hadn't even finished filling up where I was. I knew I couldn't ride much better than I had and there were some complicated, unknown (to me) elevations that last 100 miles. Before I stopped I only kinda hoped I had another 5 hours in me that night. I was at the margins of what was safe. I didn't think it was worth pushing past those margins to be late. Maybe it was denial, maybe it was biology. Either way I had to go to the bathroom. So I went and tried to decide what to do. I decided to do what I do, apparently, when the going gets tough... I quit again.