Cranky for No Good Reason

23 February 2014

For the first time in three weeks the roads were clear, the air was above freezing, the sun was out, and we were on our bikes two days in a row.  We ought to have been ecstatic today.  We weren't.

It's not Winter Larry's fault that we spent a lot of time waiting for flats to be fixed.  It's not his fault that we spent much of our time with one hand on the handle bars and the pointing out potholes.  We did that yesterday too.

Maybe it's because we're not in good enough condition yet to enjoy two days in a row.  Maybe we blew ourselves out yesterday, had too much fun, and were just tired enough not to be our usual, goofy selves.

I'm never at my best on Sundays anyway because I'm usually leading or following some sort of epic adventure the day before.  Today I didn't really hit my stride until we were about 29 miles into the ride.  We only went 34 miles.

My burst of energy coincided with all of us gathered at the intersection of Butcher Road and Route 33.  "Here comes the Macho Mile," I said.

"Macho Mile?"  May asked.

"Yeah.  Everybody knows where he is now and everyone takes off.  The ride splinters into a million pieces."

"Green up!"

And we were off.

"Hey, Larry, remember when this water tower was being built?"

"Yeah.  It took years."

"We've been doing this a long time."

Left at the restaurant -- it's been Ouzo for a few years now, probably a record -- and the group splintered into the wind.

When I get to Halsey Reed I pick one of three songs to get me home.  Today it was Whirly 3.

I was taking my helmet off at my car when Plain Jim came up to me.  "What's this about the Macho Mile?"

"I had to demonstrate," I said.  "Maybe I'll blog about it."