Compelled by a morbid sense of ceremony and notability I plan to ride in the morning to commemorate the “hottest day of the year” ride. Projected high temps of 103 with the heat index approaching 575 degrees means that in a series of nasty days tomorrow will truly be the big hungry bear lurking in the forest. I intend to ride pre-dawn and in the controlled arena of the St. Marks trail.
I am billing it as a little me time with the Fuji Del Rey.
I scramble to adapt my schedule to accommodate not riding and the results are too sad to bother providing a full reckoning here. I have been to every swimming hole in two counties in recent days, worked all night and slept half the days, eaten ice cream for breakfast, and ridden spin bike time trials at the gym listening to music made by people who hate music.
I sat in a sinkhole so brown it looked like a pitcher of tea, with a film of duckweed carpeting the surface, a cloud of mosquitoes in nostrils, earholes, and eyes. That trip, specifically, was most unsatisfying.
I have rearranged my library from genre to alphabetical, before settling on color and size as the preferred demarcation. This was done at 5:00 in the morning before I ran around the block wrapped in hospital green bedsheets and wearing cowboy boots.
I am, in actual fact, crazy from this heat. Crazy ass crazy crazy.
Might as well go ahead and ride.
Oh, and Cupcake and his dear wife Blanche had a baby girl this morning,
Mae Elizabeth Cupcake- please welcome her to the trails.