Thursday, June 13, 2013
The look on my face should say it all. The heat was so intense when I walked out of the house at 8:00 O'Clock in the morning it felt like someone whacked me in the ear with a switch. Now, 8 hours and 18 degrees (99) later it was time to go for a bike ride.
Why? Because-- that's why. There are people who own bikes. There are people who are cyclists, then there are riders. Riders ride. Besides, after being released from my air-conditioned cell I craved the suffering. I needed the immediate and all-consuming presence of effort to blot out the day's tedium and confining press of the Dockers asking me, "Don't you think it's time to go up a size?"
So out into the streets and woods we rolled, Joey and I, posing for this shot while we played cat and mouse with a questionable vehicle in a questionable location. I spared you the midriff, which feels more like a mostriff, and the plunging neckline of my sleeveless gown.
The air smelled like burnt toast, and when we stopped to address a flat, the sweat ran unbroken from the gutter under my helmet.
I like these summer rides for one thing. They prove I am meant to be in this saddle.