Time to catch up...

So I've been gone for awhile, because my interweb's been down.  Kinda hard to post when you ain't got the 'b in blog.  It's been pretty maddening watching my connection flickering intermittently, much like the olden times of UHF/VHF television.  Except I didn't have any rabbit ears to reposition.  Which was too bad - as a kid I was an expert at catching the strongest tv signal, a skill I honed through my tireless devotion to the daily 'Johnny Sokko and the Giant Robot/Space Giants' afternoon block of dubbed Japanese-imported kids' action shows that played on channel 44 back in the day.

Ah, youth.  Seriously, Google image them - it's why we invented the internet.  You'll thank me later.

Anywhoo, freed from gawking at bike porn and VeloNews comments pages, it's kinda like having a twenty-seven hour day at your disposal.  So I've been riding a bit more.  Haven't been getting appreciably faster, but I'm having fun nonetheless.  And I've been seeing sights I haven't expected:

I've watched a single bead of sweat rock back and forth on the brim of the saturated cycling hat I wear under my helmet, undulating in perfect rhythym to my cranks.

I've seen a tiny Smarte car equipped with not only a hitch, but a four-bike hitch rack.  Granted, the rack itself was unloaded and folded down, but besides the fact that the weight of four bikes would probably tip the mini car back into a perpetual wheelie - much like those old penny toy cars it bore a remarkable resemblance to - the car itself is a strict two-seater!  You gotta be a hardcore cyclist to drive a car that has double the bike capacity than actual bike riders. 

I've seen a rider on a bright summer day struggling up a hill in full-roadie kit - clipless shoes, wraparound sunglasses, Euro-rated helmet, and bibs - but WITHOUT A JERSEY!  Besides the questionable wisdom of displaying the famed 'cyclist's chest', one has to wonder about the bizzaro tan-lines produced by that fashion choice.  Not to mention the fact that it's actually much more comfortable to ride with a jersey on.  People, don't ever ride shirtless.  It just isn't right.

I once rode up to an SUV that was pulled into an overfilled body shop that not only blocked the sidewalk, but the bike lane as well.  Particularly galling was the fact that she managed the last bit of this feat because she was unloading a bike from the back of her 4-Runner.  As I stopped there, dead in my tracks, waiting for traffic to relent so I could pull around her, I said cheerfully, "Well, this is ironic."  She didn't acknowledge me, but her face screwed up like she just bit into an Asian dessert.

I've stared at disbelief at two flat tires I'd simultaneously given myself by hitting a particularly nasty pothole at speed.  I ride like a monkey on a coconut rolling down a steep hill, I'm telling ya.

I returned from a ride once to find my cat feasting eagerly from the jar of chamois cream I'd left open in my early-morning stupor.  One frantic internet search of feline poison-control later, I could laugh about it, but I now make sure to screw that lid back on tight.

Songs to sprint to

Here's nine-plus minutes of delirious, frenzied jangle-rock.  Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Wedding Present:

Kinda like the Byrds meets Dragonforce, ain't it?

My own worst enemy

I'm gonna head back out, I promise.  But right now I'm cursing my own worst enemy.  I headed out early this morning to go on a longish ride with some people from the shop. I'm not by nature an early riser, but I've been trying to get on the bike more, and more saddle time means getting up and out on the road in the dawning hours.  Unfortunately, that also means that I have to execute many small, precise tasks whilst still groggy and half-asleep.

Needless to say, I never pull this off. 

Fumbling into a pair of bib shorts slathered with cold euro-minty chamois cream in a darkened bedroom co-habitated by a light-sleeping wife who gets REALLY cranky if you awaken her a good three hours before her alarm goes off is a challenging way to start the day, I've discovered.  After that, it's a race against the clock - I always have, like six minutes max to get out the door before I'm late - to stuff my jersey pockets with all the sundry items I need on the ride, cram a couple fig newtons in my mouth for fuel, untangle the headphones to the ipod, and dash out the door.  Then the suspense begins: will I discover which vital item I've forgotten to bring by the time I reach my bike in my storage unit? by the time I clip in? a mile from home when it's too far to turn around?

Invariably, it's always something.  My personal favorite is the time I forgot to put my contacts in.  Yeah, that was a good one.  Reached the first stoplight trying to rub the sleep out of my eyes and realized I couldn't focus on a damn thing.

Or the time I forgot my keys, which I realized just as I was closing the security door.  I'm pretty sure Jess heard me banging on the back door eventually but didn't let me in out of spite.  I didn't even blame her really.  I well deserved my forced timeout on the back porch in my team kit watching the sun come up.

Today I realized I forgot my water bottle halfway to the shop.  I actually swore and banged my bars in frustration.  I HATE when I do that.  Hate it.  The ride invariably sucks, no matter what.  Ever try to down a gel with no water?  It's like coughing up a big loogey in church: it's just gross gulping it down.  Even better, though, as I swung back up north I realized I'd left my spare tube and repair kit behind, as well.  Anybody who's ridden with me (or read my last post) knows that I may as well have left my helmet and right shoe at home, so I cut my losses and headed back.

It's still early, though.  And it's my day off.  I can push grocery shopping and all those errands I gotta run back a few hours and finish my ride.  I think I'll just make some coffee first.  And have some granola.  And I'll pull George into my lap.  Hey, there's a new Behind the barriers  video up...

Addendum:  I actually did make it back out later that day.  And of course just before my turnaround point - or in other words the farthest I was from home - I got a rear flat.  At least I found a legitimate puncture this time, but enough is enough.  I've since gotten a new set of tires and have been rolling flat-free.  So far.  :Knocks wood: