Why do I post the shit I do?
I've long kicked around the idea that cyclists are both sadists and masochists. They inflict the pain on themselves and then enjoy the pain thus making them submissive to their own dominating personalities. Fucked up thinking? Probably. Am I right? Probably.
Anyway, I decided to roll out the road bike that's been collecting dust in the garage for about 5 months and give 'er a go this weekend. And while I know that a 45 mile ride is a pansy ass ride for a lot of people, those people haven't been off the bike for 4 weeks for medical reasons, and they haven't quit dippin' this year and packed on the el bee's either. Anyway, somehow 45 miles sounded...um...fun? Weird eh?
So here's the low-down; I was set to hook up with a guy Saturday and take the bikes to Skiatook, drop the car off at a restaurant, ride back to Tulsa to meet a group of people, then turn around and ride back to Skiatook to eat breakfast, and then of course turn around and ride back to Tulsa while his kid took the vehicle back to Tulsa and take up the roll of SAG should anyone need help. (It was a very mixed group of riders.)
· Problemo uno: We start late and the wind at 7:15 a.m. is already a steady 15 mph out of the south and we're of course heading south. So no warm-up, just get on the saddle for the first time of the season and put the hammer down. We had 45 minutes to make it 15 miles which meant we needed to average 20 mph into the wind and uh...we didn't make it. We did however make it 14 miles before we meet up with the group.
· Problemo dos: ME, I'm the fucking problem. I was already fucked up in the head from the initial southbound effort and thought I'd just cruise with the wind at my back for the ride back. But nooooo, two fuckers in the group had to break away and up the pace. Well if there's one thing my fat ass has got it's a fucked up idea that I'm racing everybody, so click-click go the shifters and bam I'm on their tail for the next 12 miles at an astonishing 21 mph. Now I never take the lead, I just sit back and wheel-suck all the way to the restaurant. Am I really fast enough to hang with these guys? Hell no, but I CAN handle the pain. (See I told you I'm an S&M guy.)
· Problemo tres: Breakfast. I thought I'd pre-planned a way to ride-n-eat a somewhat healthy meal that wouldn't cause problems on the final leg of the journey. Here's the plan: two eggs, wheat toast, maybe a taste of the hash browns, and eat only one of the three beautiful slices of bacon on the plate. Well fuck it's not humanly possible to walk away from tasty bacon so I down it all and would've licked the entire plate clean if I hadn't been in a public place.
· Problemo quattro: We have to go southbound again except now its 90 degrees outside and the wind is at an admirable 25 mph. That's the kinda wind that just pisses you off my friend. So angry I give it my all in hopes of just getting it over in an hour, which I do but it was all I could do to keep from getting another view of that knot of bacon that was at the back of my throat. So I finished, gutted, thirsty, hot, and with a stomach that was extremely volatile. I could've shit thru a screen and left no discernable fecal matter behind.
As usual I've got no idea why I'm putting a weird tale like this out on the WWW. Maybe it's just my cheap ass way of having some cathartic therapy; but I really don't understand why I do some of the things I do.
Maybe later in the week I'll post again about the Turkey Mtn. ride I did that night. Sicko.