The Bee (reprise) – August 27^th, 2001, somewhere in the middle of Utah Mile:     246 Ouch!  Dammit!  Ouch!  Something hit me.  In the face.  In the little open spot between the top of my sunglasses and the top of the opening in my helmet.  We're talking a height of less than 0.5 inches.  A total area of less than 6 square inches.  I'm hit!  I don't know what it was.  But it was painful.  I put my finger up to the spot to see if I can feel anything (remember I have my summer riding gloves on).  It comes away all wet.  I wipe it off, feel up there again, it's all wet.  Lots of fluid here.  The only thing I can think is that it was a rock and I'm cut.  I can't tell the color of the liquid, so I can't be sure, but it looks dark (yes, my gloves are black).  I know I'm stopping in about 7 miles for a scenic view.  I'll wait until then to figure out what it was that hit me. Mile:     248 Screw this.  I can't wait.  The pain is too excruciating.  My eye is watering like crazy.  The pain is so pinpoint and intense I can't concentrate on riding.  I pull over to the side of the road, the 'rents next to me.  Yard off the helmet, off with the glasses, peel off the bandana, ditch the gloves.  Not sure I want to look at it.  Ask Mom what she sees.  Her response?  "It's still there !!"  What's there?  That's right boys and girls.  Here, on Highway 30, in a state of over XX square miles, with a population of over 2 million people, some little piss ant bee finds me.  This does not bode well.  I wipe him off my face (after many unsuccessful attempts).  I find the stinger.  For now he's gone.  Six square inches!!!!!  How did he find me?  Or better yet, how did I find him?  Well, it's a mistake he won't repeat.  It cost him his life.  Pop some oral Benadryl.  Apply some topical Benadryl.  Time to move on.