“I’m Here to Kick [Butt] and Chew Bubblegum…”
“…And I’m fresh out of kick.”
(Maybe that’s not quite exactly how it goes?)
Actually, I’m not.
I have, in fact, somewhat been rocking the mileage this week (not the mad typing skillz, though, for some reason). Also, to a lesser extent, the speed. I am not as fast on the ‘cross bike as I am on the road bike, but I still manage to be pretty fast sometimes.
13ish Monday, nothing Tuesday because I was in the most horrible funk ever, 30ish Wednesday, 28 Thursday, and I’m looking at another 12 – 20 today depending on the weather and how committed I’m feeling and how organized I manage to be in terms of A) installing the new brake pads on the Mighty Moto; B) arranging my accessories in a portable format; and C) actually getting out the door on time. (WRT weather — I put in ten miles in a thunderstorm last night, so I figure I’m full up on Rule 9 for the week.)
Riding in the thunderstorm was actually pretty invigorating. Okay, so the giant forking bolts of lightning that crept ominously closer were occasionally a tad on the intimidating side — but the air was super warm and the rain was chilly, which made for nigh-perfect riding conditions (especially since the wind on the squall line had thoughtfully blown most of the day’s pollution away).
Of course, the fact that I’m feeling all confident and cocky and like I should maybe go put on my big-boy pants and spank out another 20 miles in the big ring is probably predictive of some massive failure come Sunday. We are going out to engage the Gravel again.
“We” meaning a bunch of the RCCS guys, not just the Mighty Moto and the meek myself.
DD has qualms with me riding crazy stuff alone, and I suspect gravel counts (especially after I told him the story of my super-awesome bunny hop from last Saturday).
Basically, he is entirely too aware that I get caught up in the adrenaline rush and do dumb stuff, and then do even more dumb stuff once I shake off the first dumb stuff. I am, after all, the same guy who sprinted right into a curb at something like 25 or 30 MPH, fractured a tibia, got up, went to work, got back on the bike, rode home, and then did a good ten miles or so a few days later because I refused to miss Bike To Work Day for anything in the world. Admittedly, at the time, I only vaguely suspected I had broken something — that was confirmed almost a year later, heh.
The crash in question was entirely a solo effort: just me getting caught up in the thrill of flight and doing something stupid (this, by the way, is why I will happily ride a motorcycle as a passenger but will not drive one: I know myself too well, and I am certain I would get caught up in the moment, do something stupid, and die). Thus, DD prefers that I ride with friends when road (or lack thereof) conditions make ‘stupid’ even more possible. That way at least someone is around to talk me out of getting back on the bike before the ambulance comes.
Fortunately, I am allowed to ride mild singletrack alone — probably because I am still rather chicken on the singletrack, though now that I’ve committed to making myself ride it much more often, I am becoming less of one. Also probably because all the singletrack I routinely encounter is in a popular city park where people will undoubtedly hear me crashing through the trees and into the creek and will probably fish me out and try to rescue me unless it’s one of those ‘runoff warning’ days.
Anyway, I fully expect this week’s awesomeness stream to dry up just in time for me to embarrass myself this Sunday.
And now I need to go arrange my waterfowls in a linear array.