That’s right. I am supposed to writing about the combined 80 miles of single track we rode this weekend, and celebrating the return of a hometown boy to his ancestral ride grounds, but stupid Osama Bin Laden had to get one last lick in and steal my thunder. How many networks called to find out what gear I was in when I finished the 57 mile beatdown at Santos? None, that’s how many.
Will his wickedness never end?
I’ll let the din die down and then we will turn our attention to bicycles again.
I guess the US got in the last beatdown, huh? That’s as close as I’ll come to flag-swaddling and celebratory hooting.
It’s not 80 on the trail, but I did 50 on the road Sunday, including a core-chilling pit stop at Emerald Sink. Sunscreen for the upper arms next time I wear the sleeveless jersey. Ouch.