Sometimes I go somewhere because someone tells me I should. And since I am disinclined to question anyone's judgement when I don't know a single thing to the contrary, I will. And that's what led me to Gainesville.While the city itself doesn't do too much for me, I enjoyed it mostly. There are several nice pedestrian areas with lots of bars and restaurants. The University of Florida is beautiful, although I don't understand why the frat/sorority houses are so ugly. They look hastily built, and as if someone, too late to the party, came by and said,"It looks like a fucking prison. Add white pillars and hope no one notices."
I also keep in mind that when you have a warm chocolate torte to feed on for four days (St. Augustine, FL) and then you're handed mango sorbet, well that's gonna be a little of a downer. Thats all Gainesville is: sorbet.
The riding was average, but I will have to get used to that, because it's not a poo-poo on any particular city, but a general poo-poo on Florida. It's just flat, and straight, and half the fun of biking, for me, is a change of scenery every once in a while. In Florida a change in direction is a highlight.
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| My view for three hours. Ass-crack included free of charge. |
All of this meant that I essentially sat in the back seat while they talked, and then I played caboose during the intervals. I felt ok, but on the fourth one, they dropped me about 4 minutes into it.
Slowly, painfully slowly, did I watch that tire pull away. They took a bike length from me, and then 4, and then they were spots. It took me 2 more minutes of hammer time to catch up. I was able to recover in time for the last two intervals and hung on. But damn, I have not been dropped from a ride in a very long time, and it's not a pretty feeling.
It's like being kicked in the face and then having to apologize for bleeding everywhere.
That night the three of us went go cart racing. This wouldn't be my first time, but it would be the fastest, the most dangerous, and the most fun. We got there late, around 7:30PM, so we only had time to do two sessions. I ask the guy how fast the carts go. He tells me over 55.
Let me tell you, however fast we went was plenty fast enough. And here's the best part; it was so redneck that this is the briefing we were given before we were given the green light to race:
1. Yella flag means take it easy.
2. Black flag means you're being aggressive, and you gotta come off the track.
3. Don't turn when your braking, cuz you will spin out.
4. Keep you shields down. (meaning the helmet shields).
That was it, essentially. No seat belts, no practice laps, nothing. It was refreshing really. You're a big boy, so don't be stupid, and if you are, don't come crying to us. I liked that part. Usually these things are so sterile due to litigious pussies that they become, well, sterile. There was even a nice big Oak tree just a few feet from one of the corners just waiting for you to give it a kiss. (Video here and at end of this entry)
Today I went for a recovery ride. Not from the hammer ride but from the carting. My stomach, my lats, and my shoulders were sore. Since there were no seat belts, and they were so fast, you had to use your whole body just to stay attached the fucking thing.
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| This is the fucker that made me question bike paths. Again. |
I spun back around and I rolled up to him and the only thing that came to mind was what I said out loud, which was "What the fuck man?" He raised his head and looked like he was thinking the same thing. After I got as close as I dared for a picture, he slithered off.
The rest of the ride I was nervous as shit. I was already thinking everything looked like a gator, and now every stick was a snake. I was glad to get back to sorority row where there was no longer any confusion about the nature of what was catching my eye.
Off to Clearwater Beach tomorrow, to a little bungalow on the water. Looking forward to a swim and falling asleep to waves on the beach.
So, go-carting. I planned on lots of different angles, but the GoPro died. Better in HD:
