Just got back from my first road ride of the year. A little 14.2k out and back, totally flat, no wind. Totally kicked my ass, although I still think I am ready for the spring classics. On Versus. Here is the craig hummer tribute of a recap.
Came home from work. Found the bike. Pumped up the tires and dusted off the saddle. Changed into my bib shorts. Rested. Debated proudly donning my new Fat Cyclist jersey or shamefully pulling on my XXXL Duomax shawl. Picked the jersey for two reasons. First - ironic is the new fit. Second - wearing an oversized shirt to hide your gut it like putting lettuce on a greasy burger and calling it health food. Within minutes the green leaf has soaked up the trans-fat and has now conformed to the bacon-stacked beef like a wet tarp. Truth is, I know I’m fat. The hotties in the SUV’s know I am fat. Why try to deny it. Embrace it, if you can reach your arms around. I’m what they refer to in the cycling world as a warranty-voider, or in gentler terms, a clydesdale. A rider over 200-lbs. Except I am more like those Terra Cotta horses outside P.F. Changs. But I am on my bike and they are not, so stick it.
I walked outside to the chagrin of my children, who were playing with their friends and were now awkwardly shuffling their feet, hoping I would leave. My sweetly non-judgmental seven-year-old broke the silence with a simple question - why is my shirt pink. I thought of the possible answers. In support of Susan and the fight against cancer. To make me look even sleeker. To match my eyes. I finally decided on the simple approach. Because pink is cool. She agreed and I pedaled off.
As disappointing as it may be for many of you, I was not able to get my mapmyride app working on the iPhone, so you will not be able to e-race me. Let’s just say I stayed just out of your reach for most of the ride until the 3k kite, where we played tactical yo-yo before I pipped you at the line in a Thor Hushovd-like burst of speed. Better luck next time.
Now back to reality. I did my standard start-of-the-season out-and-back ride, about 14.2k. I have decided to switch to the metric system, both to make the European circuit transition easier and to make it sound like I rode farther. Fourteen kilometers looks better on the log than 12 miles, or whatever that calculates out to. I’m not good at math and that 9/5ths thing always throws me. During the ride, I gave the nod to three other cyclists who were luckily going the opposite direction. That way I didn’t have to fret about passing them and then throwing up, or getting passed by them and then throwing up. One rider did drop in behind me and was about to catch my wheel before he turned off. He was in the full kit and all. I didn’t realize the cub scouts sponsored a team. I wonder if the neckerchief and scout-o-rama beads create a lot of drag. Maybe it is a training aid. I’ll have to check my dog-eared Webelo manual on that. Either way, I was glad that church came when it did.
All in all, the ride went well. No major mechanical problems, although my bottom bracket chirped like the Cricket in Times Square. It was soothing in a way, like a Yanni aria, but without the dangers of wearing ear buds on your ride and the embarrassment of having a Yanni aria on your iPod. Depspite the overall theme of this post, I actually felt pretty good, especially for the first ride. But that is less interesting. And my audience demands interesting.
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