Now I remember why San Felasco is so tough. This is the time of year when everything happens. Now that we have saved the free world from certain doom and destruction all I want to do is get back on the two-legged stool and start hopping. Work, ride, work, ride, work, ride- you ride sixty miles and what do you get? Another day older and deeper in lactic debt.
Instead of chaining myself to the bike and computer, instead there are holidays, weddings, conferences, and a steadily increasing selection of baked goods and candy. Why no Christmas candy corn? Tell me that. All of this communal participation! I just want to be the Ted Kaczinski of cycling.
No matter. I made it through the 18th annual Cheaha trip without crashing the wagon. There were some bumps, and I ran alongside for a while, but I managed to swing back into the buckboard like a rodeo star. Mr. Up Early and rarin’ to go- that was me.
We climbed 10 miles of mountain road without nary a downhill on one ride, then the next we drove to the top in a pickup truck and froze our asses off before descending the Thunder Rock Express, which took about 4 minutes. Not the most epic of situations. Some rock climbing on Star Mountain and call it a camping trip.
Now- how to put the pain mask back on and wallow in a schedule of deprivation and suffering?