I am all suited up in my purple man-o-tard ready to go for a ride. The urge to crawl into bed for an afternoon siesta is powerful. I find myself in this situation almost every day. I try to ignore all of the useful knowledge out there about “training” and “rest days”. Maybe I can’t get any faster, (if any of my foes, I mean “partners” were reading this they would be praying for it to be true) but discussing riding bikes as exercise really gets me down. I’m no fitness freak, many will attest to that. I like to ride for the vroom,the swoosh, the clinkety-clank, the ratta-tat-tat and to quote a great warrior, the governor of California, “To watch my enemies fall before my sword like wheat in the field”. Any added benefits to health, longevity, and wellness are great, but if I wanted to be a skinny man with low blood pressure I would quit smoking and drinking and go to bed at a decent hour right? Right.
Fuck the nap, I’m getting out there.
Update: Broke chain practicing bunny hops in old Publix parking lot. Replacing a drivetrain is such a fucking nightmare. Don’t bother telling me to “replace everything at once” I already know that. New cassette tomorrow to join the new chain, shifters, and rear deraileur. It could be worse. I could own a boat like my neighbor. I hear him grinding away with the belt sander or some such shit. Not my thing, that’s for sure. “Recreational working” requires some other flavor of demons than the ones throwing the beads at this Mardi Gras parade.
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