The weather channel can really fuck with your rides. Back in the day when there wasn't a 24 hour coverage of clouds and shit, you just looked up and made your best guess. Today, I mostly hung out wondering when and if the rain would come. Finally a text message from Gaimon;"Fuck it, can you go in twenty?"I've had days where I sat around being pissed off not being able to ride because the forecast was rain, and then it was sunny all day. Now, I'm not the kind of rider who won't ride in rain, and as evidence I present my ride in Perpignan, but I'd also rather not ride in the rain. Either way, the point is that I hate it when technology gets in the way of my spontaneity.
"Out for a couple of hours." That's how the guys who train, the guys who get paid to ride, put it. You can forget any talk about averages or ascension or segments, it's always just "three hours easy," or "just tempo," or something to that effect. I don't know if that's the case across the board, because I am not a pro, but it's the offseason, and it seems to be the norm in this locale.
It's liberating, really. And with the lack of traffic and the wide open roads, you can ride side by side all day and chat, instead of yell into your shoulder. I'm loving it.
Last night I had another delicious experience at Ted's Most Best. I had a pizza, as I am inclined to do whenever pizza is on the menu. Soppressata, kalamata olives and arugula. I didn't finish it, and when my waitress (very cute) noticed I had one last slice left she asked if I wanted a box to go.
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| Elegance on a bike. |
After, at Cutters Bar, I had a few beers with the nicest bartender in the south, in my opinion. Her long, swirling brown hair and her ridiculously cute and bubbly personality did not factor into this conclusion.
She had an unusual name and I asked for three chances to spell it correctly. This is always a fun game. I got it in three and as a reward I got a free shot, which I did not want. I told her I would do it if she joined me. So two shots of cinnamon whiskey were poured, and it was not bad. It was basically liquid Big Red,
and "give your breath long lasting freshness!!" got stuck in my head.
Then, suddenly inspired, I asked for a pen and wrote this on a cocktail napkin:
"When my legs are filling with acid, and my mouth gets that tinny taste to it, and my sweat spray clouds my glasses, and my chest fights for more in than out, it is only then, out of a handful of situations where this is true, that no concern or worry for what lay ahead of me dissipates and all bother is gone.
And when I start to sing, or talk out loud to the pavement and to the cows and to the trees, and I look around instead of just down, then a bike ride becomes a passage to another dimension. My dimension. No invites available."
