I wasn’t out of the neighborhood before I stopped to check my tire pressure. I added about 10 lbs all the way around to be safe. It made no difference. I stopped behind KMart to make sure my brake rotors weren’t rubbing. They were perfect. I grunted along towards the Cadillac trails and stopped in the middle of the best single track to eat a Lara bar. That made just the tiniest difference. I capitalized on this trickle of juice and turned my ass right back for home. I was bonked before I strapped into my chamois, flat like Stanley, all cashed in.
I barely ate today so that might be it, but after the longest streak of good rides in my life I forgot what it was like to feel that bad. I have seen the bottom of my tank plenty, but only after chasing some of the local trail hounds or traveling many miles under the seven hills summer sun. Today it was overcast, and a brisk 85 when I left the house.
I blame Pisgah. I left it all on that mountain and I still haven’t gotten anything back. I expect some dividends. You can’t go that hard, and persevere that much, and not become stronger for it. Another hot meal and a good night’s sleep and I will be all right. I say it all the time and I will say it again, nothing sucks like a rest day.