Soggy Bottom

There was a moment yesterday when I pictured myself hanging out at some underwhelming strip mall out on Capital Circle for the rest of my days. If Joe were to move his operation to some such place, then many of us would work to make that strip mall home, but I don't want to go anywhere. It is too early to know what might happen, but life will be changing for the time being, and we all know change is bad-except in the White House.

I came off the couch last night around 7:30 with a serious case of the willies, or maybe it was the heebie jeebies? I don't know because I am not a doctor. Intending to take a day off the bike I stacked and sorted the mail that piled up over my vacation and made plans to stack and sort the subsequent piles again later. I placed all of my riding clothes (disgusting!) in the washing machine to soak in a Borax & white vinegar cocktail, and then I nervously ate a handful of tiny Heath bars.

The stress was catching up to me. What will happen to the shop? What will happen if Obama doesn't win? I know from experience that this line of thinking always leads up to images of myself eating cat food in the park as an old man so I grabbed my piss stinking shoes and gym locker funky helmet and burned rubber for the trail.

I have Mystery's 10,000 watt headlamp and I have barely used it, so I strapped that thing on and rolled out for lap 4 of Munson/Twilight in the last 3 days.

I hate that trail. I love that trail.

As soon as I clipped in and entered the forest I felt better. My legs felt like they were being pressed in a vise, but my mind felt as light and refreshing as a gin and tonic. I rode in the dark for most of a lap, but needed the light for the last 30 minutes or so.

Tunnel vision, charging into the darkness, my standard approach.

Juancho