A 30-mile dirt road ride with roughly 5 feet of elevation gain should not be a big deal. And it’s NOT. Unless you’re a fat moron, recovering from an ankle sprain, who has been on his bike exactly 3(?) times in the past four weeks and waited until the hottest and windiest time of the day to ride his bike.
But, that’s what happened; c’est la vie.
I waited a bit too long to get started—having got caught up watching footy on TV—and by the time I got out to ride, the unusual fall heat and wind had really kicked up. 50 pounds ago, I wouldn’t have been bothered by such a thing, but these days my 48-year old skeleton layered with multiple layers of thick, sweat including blubber makes it bothersome indeed.
Add in that this soccer season has taken a toll on my collection of water bottles (thanks B), I found myself rolling under the hot afternoon sun with just two small bottles filled with water that soon became as warm as a fresh stream of Trump-bound urine from a Russian prostitute.
Despite all the layers of blubber and poor planning, I got 30 pain-free miles in, got a sweat on, and took some pics. Then later that night Wifey and I went out with some great friends for food and drinks, and I came home with a large head of garden-grown cabbage.
Footy on the TV, a ride, friends, beers, and pizza. I’ll call that a good Saturday.