Protected by a cold front, hurricane Wilma never had a chance of coming our way. The 20-30 mph winds blowing yesterday were brisk and biting, elevating my hunker down factor to a strong 9 out of 10. In fact, when the call I dreaded came in, the tub was full of hot, coconut-scented bubbles, and an uncracked novel lay on the edge. Monday is supposed to be a recovery day. Everybody knows that.
…Except for that one guy, who only rides on Mondays. For him, Monday is a day for teeth-gnashing and demon bashing. There’s nothing like a catholic who doesn’t go to church to stoke the coals of self-flagellation. With wistful chagrin, I pulled the cork on the tub and watch all that relaxation drain away for nothing. I pull on my purple Joe’s jersey, the stinkenest piece of synthetic clothing on the planet, and start digging for a clean pair of socks.
Like I said, the wind was blasting, and at first we just rolled out to Lake Lafayette like friends, trading the pulls, pushing it a bit, but definitely not racing or even hammering. It was all nice nice. We stopped at the turnaround tree and made some adjustments, watching the wind sheer across the water in marauding gusts. Slipping past the editor, my mouth said-“Let’s ride every piece of singletrack out here on the way back.” Into the woods we rolled. This guy is sick, there’s something the matter with his brain, the part that interprets pleasure from pain. We hit every log, every steep and root-mazed climb. By the time we exited the Cadillac trail region I felt more than satisfied…and then he turned onto the Tom Brown course at the very bottom of the hill and began climbing. This trail is so washed out in places that every pedal stroke is accompanied by a sucker punch to the kidneys. I hung on with murderous intent. By the time we finished we had laced our way through every piece of trail east of Capital Circle. “That was like riding a motorcycle!” he says. “That was awesome, like flying!” he says.
As my wind came back to me and I pulled my overalls on, my senses returned and I discreetly dropped the log I was holding as a potential bludgeoning tool. “Yeah, that was good stuff, thanks man”.
I just have to learn, Monday is no rest day. It’s No Mercy Monday.
Oh, and I saw a Bighorn sheep out there too, no lie!
who’da thunk it?
I ran out of Epsom salts. Besides, this is FL, the place is lousy with coconuts. We use them for everything. Don’t we fellas?
and now my imagination is running out of control!
I’ll send you a coconut shell bikini top, unless S’quatch is still using it.
Hey, I’m Sasquatch, not Balloo.
Sheesh, get a room.
Dude. Be cool. Back me up.
I burn them in the house to keep warm while eating macadamia nuts.
But I don’t take baths. icky, mansoup is all that is, oh, and coconut smellin’-gag
If y’all can stop fixating on me in the tub for one damn second, we could have an equally pointless discussion of bicycles instead.
we have to stop fixating on you in the tub?
I’m no fascist. Fixate away.