Tuesday morning meant it was time for another edition of The Tuesday Morning Anti Worlds– an easy, meaningless, non competitive, non group ride on dirt roads and farm roads that doesn’t really have to be on Tuesday but since today was Tuesday it’s the TUESDAY Morning blah, blah, blah…
The non event’s one participant knew the course well, as he had ridden the short 24 mile course which is made up almost equally of dirt and paved farm roads many times in the past few weeks and was fully prepared for the lack of a real challenge that awaited him.
Right from the start the lone rider sort of suffered as the unusually hot and muggy September temperatures and gusting 15+ mile per hour winds from the south/south-west inflicted slight, not all that bad, pain on him. However, once the road pointed north a generous tail wind pushed the speeds upwards of 21 miles per hour, an impressive feat for the big-boned rider off the front on the 29er mountain bike.
With the aid of the wind, the non group’s lead rider easily perched the two, so far below category they’re really not worth mentioning, climbs on the first part of the course, before a deep gravel left hand corner 10.7 miles into the undemanding route briefly marked the return of the westerly winds and the first of two climbs that would force the rider to actually shift a gear or two down while he continued to easily maintain a 44 tooth big ring up front.
Mile 12.75 marked the one and only climb considered high enough to even think about, MAYBE kinda, sorta making it a KOM. With the rider now going directly into the steaming windy ass of the course, he ascended the not at all lengthy climb that topped out at an underwhelming 950 feet above sea level and brought speeds down to a all that slow, for going uphill 13 mile per hour, before starting a screamless descent plunging him a lazy, easy going 50 feet in nearly a 3/4 of a mile before it petered out and became a straight, five-mile, corn lined false flat descent back to pavement.
Once on pavement with the pack nowhere in sight (mostly because there wasn’t even ONE other rider) the rider upshifted for the quick 3.5 miles of pavement back to the start/finish in town where the streets would not be lined with cheering crowds, banners, red kites, or anything even closely resembling such things (due to the fact this was a NON event, and only contained a solitary rider of unremarkable speeds and ability). Unless you call seeing that one waitress that works at the Brass Cafe going into work a “crowd?”
Once across the line (which oddly resembled the small lip of a driveway in front of a house) the sweat soaked, not all that tired, rider casually climbed off of his best used on trails steed, walked in the door, and sat staring at the floor as he awaited the rest of the pack (if there was one) to return from another edition of Tuesday Morning Anti Worlds.
With that the rider’s stinky bull dog awoke from his slumber, waddled into the room and proceeded to lick the salty sweat from the rider.
Note: Not gonna lie, I don’t even know where to begin editing this mess. Ha!