Tuesday, January 24, 2017

Urban Roadie

It's been raining here so obviously everything is quite wet.  I had plans for the weekend which included a mountain bike ride, but obviously those plans were pissed upon (pun intended) when the precipitation moved in.  By the time Sunday rolled around I was dying to get out on my bike.  Not literally dying, but you get what the hell I'm trying to say.

Tired (already) of road rides from the house, I went to bed Saturday night wondering what the hell I was gonna do.  The Winter Short Track series was kicking off the next day and I usually go heckle/bring the party, but I wasn't about to stand outside in the rain all day.  So I did the next best thing...

I hopped on my mountain bike to attempt a ride down to the Short Track race.

I looked at a map before I took off (both weather and road) and I knew I was in for a shitty day.  More rain moving in plus a bike with knobby tires on the road would be difficult, but hey, what the hell else was I gonna do with my day?  I mean...

Who gives a shit.

I took off out of the house, wondering if I was stupid (news flash, I am.)  Around the corner from the house, I made sure to stop to have a chat with my new horse friends.

They didn't try to talk me out of doing dumb shit, so off I went.  My route into the city was sorta similar to the road rides I've been doing, except that I could ride on the sidewalks here and there which is moar safer.  It was shitty-looking outside, and the closer I got to my destination I knew the rain was gonna start coming down again any minute.

My route wasn't as dangerous as I thought it would be, and I was actually enjoying it.  I kept moving at a good pace but stopped along the way here and there to see the sights.

Eventually, I got close to Renaissance Park and heard a ruckus in the woods.  I was nearing my destination.  I rolled up to the start/finish line and chatted with a few of my bike friends.  It was good to see everyone, but I had to get out to the woods to at least attempt heckling (I showed up, after all.)  I was pleasantly surprised when I saw a good crowd of people cheering/heckling.

I didn't bring the party.  I should have.  The skies cleared up for a bit and it actually turned out to be a nice day.  I got to hang out with some old friends...

And I watched Charlotte's number one bromance unfold right before my eyes...

It only hurts at first, Dicky.

I stayed out there for hours, having a shitload of fun.  I didn't drink any beer though.  I'm not sure why.  I didn't bring any with me, but my friends had plenty.  No one offered and I didn't ask.  I don't like to ask for anything but that's probably not the main reason.

I was worried about being able to make it back home on my bike.

I really didn't need to worry though.  Even though none of my friends out there offered beer, plenty offered me a ride home.  I refused though (just like I would have for beer I guess.)  I wanted to suffer, and after standing around for hours in the woods watching a race I figured I would do just that.  Eventually I snuck out of there and hit the road.  I took it easy for the most part, enjoying the adventure more than anything else.

A little over an hour later, I made it back to the B-43 Worldwide Headquarters.  I was beat, and hungry.  I had a "proper" dinner.

And I finally had a beer.

Not pictured, many more.

It was a good day on the bike (any day is.)  I logged about twenty eight miles, all on a mountain bike (on the road of course.)  Some people might call it training.  Others would call it stupid.

I'll call it a damn fine adventure. 

There will be more dumb shit like this in the future because that's how I do it.

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