Saturday. 35 degrees. I set out to ride 60 miles without unclipping at all. I hope I geared up enough. It’s cold outside. Here’s how the miles stacked up.
- mile 4 – evidently it was so cold the cadre’ of little ‘yipping’ dogs who chase me every day decided not to come out to play.
- mile 14 – the 2 hairy black dogs who like to chase me as I struggle to make it to the top of the hill… the dogs who bark and charge and chase me down the road, knowing I have no energy, no speed, no chance to get away. They were distracted today by a nice little old lady. They merrily jumped and danced as she got out of the car. They bounded up the walk, thrilled to be in the presence of this wonder of a woman. And the rider on the bicycle? I didn’t even exist. Score! No yelling “Hey!” “Go home!” No adrenaline rush. No legs protesting the increase in tempo. Niiiice.
- mile 20 – I watched some guy in a silver sedan run off the road, into the ditch and back on the road. “Idiot.” I thought. “Get off your cell phone.”
- mile 30 – turned around at the half way point. I didn’t even stop.
- mile 45 – every little hill felt like I was climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro. Every rise in the road mocked my pain.
- mile 47 – it’s the hairy dog house. “Will they be out?” “Will they see me?” I top the hill. They see me. I see them charging hard, flying across the yard, hell-bent on my destruction. “Maybe I can outrun them.” My massive speed of 7mph tells me no. Here they come. Faster than I thought possible. All they want to do is chase me down the road, bark and growl, maybe bite my ankle off. I look to my left. A car is passing me. The dogs still come. They don’t see the car. I yell at the dogs who are about eat me for lunch. I warn them. I see the first one disappear on the other side of the car. “Maybe he stopped. Maybe the car missed him.” Nope. The only thing that saved the second dog was he was slower than the first.
- mile 52 – I ride hills that hurt like I’m riding to the moon. They seem to go on forever. 8mph. 5mph. 3mph. The Sherpas don’t come to help. I am embarrassed because cars have to slow way down for me. I am embarrassed because walkers are faster than me.
- mile 53 – ran out of water.
- mile 55 – my legs goes on strike.
- mile 56 – my butt goes on strike.
- mile 56.1 – it’s every body part for itself
- mile 60 – home. I decide I bit off more than I could chew. Tomorrow, my legs will bite me back. They will hurt. More than a little.
In the shower my arms go on strike. I stand there, arms hanging limply at my side, trying to figure out how to get the soap out of my hair.
I think I will lay on the couch and hope my eyelids go on strike.
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