As I was driving to the Hamilton YMCA this morning for Chris' B+ ride, I found myself preoccupied with the possibility of being dropped.
The last time that being dropped was a possibility was the last time I attempted a B+ ride. That was years ago. Kermit was still green. I had conventional gearing. I wasn't having any fun staring at the wheel in front of me. I stopped doing it and went off into the hills instead, where I could conquer my insecurities on my own terms.
I wondered about that, too. In May, when Tom became the subject of epic poetry, I wasn't afraid of failing. I didn't worry, either, when Chris and John first dragged me into the snow and ice for mountain biking. Why not? Because I trusted those guys.
Today, Chris is leading, but I don't know who else will show up. Chris won't abandon me, but what if my back starts to hurt? What if it's a bunch of fastboys I've never met? I'll tell Chris to go on with them. I damned well ought to know my way around by now.
As soon as I parked my car on the grass next to everyone else, I realized I had nothing to worry about. The people gathered for Chris' ride were all, at one point or another, in one form or another, Hill Slugs.
Today, John, Jane, Jackie, Ron, Chris, and I were well-matched. We didn't reach the average that the group did last week, but neither did we ever get separated until the end. A few miles from the park, Chris had had enough. The temperature was getting into the 90s at that point, with little shade and a hot wind. "I just have no power," he said. He tried to send us along on our own, but at each intersection we made sure he was with us until he peeled off for home. We didn't quite know where we were, sure, but we didn't want to abandon him either.
A few miles before the halfway point, we stopped at a park to use the bathrooms. When I came out, I said to Chris, "I'm not sure if I was supposed to sit or stand. I didn't look at our average."
As we were getting ready to leave, Jane asked me, "Isn't this the cutest porta-john you've ever seen?"
"Um."
"C'mon! It's even got a half-moon on it!"
"I dunno. 'Cute' and 'porta-john' don't seem to belong in the same sentence."
"You should take a picture; put it on your blog."
"Um." I pulled my phone out.
"Ha! She's gonna do it!"
"You need to be in the picture."
"Show it! Jane and her new John."
Work that porta-john!
OK, it's been duly blogged.
People who don't ride just aren't ever going to understand the stupid, silly stuff we say on the road. Like when, as I faded to the back after a long pull, Jane said, "Laura, you have a huge penis."
Yeah, well, we'll see. If I can average one mph faster without the luxury of stopping in the shade every few miles, then I'll allow myself to pee standing up.
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