This guy has it all. Fresh air. A job. He gets to ride his bike all day.

Not me. When Maslow kicks you down the pyramid you realize some things.

You can’t pay the light bill with a bike ride.

In spite of two weeks of sporadic to non-existent riding I feel like I’m keeping it together. I told Squatch last night that I put my pants on every morning expecting them to not exactly “go on” and yet they do, quite easily in fact.

Curious, considering the lack of attention I am paying to what goes in my “reward me” hole. Yesterday for example: 20 oz of Starbucks House coffee- black, ham and cheese croissant sandwich, pasta salad, 4 cookies, two chicken tacos eaten while running through the Charlotte Airport, and two celebratory ales when I arrived home to a dank, moldy, slimy-covered Tallahassee.

Is it the constant stress? The wasting disease? Squatch suggested cancer. That Squatch! He is so funny. Cancer- ha ha! I told him I thought it was because I was getting old, and beginning to shrink. At ten years my senior, and showing no signs of shrinking, he debunked that theory out of hand.

Whatever the reason I will take it. When life slows down and I uncork the whoop ass, I hope it still has some fizz.


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