Some Housekeeping

The day is fast approaching when I get to see just how out of riding shape I and my bike are. Today I had my first day of Road Cycling; the class was consigned to a quick run down of the syllabus, a questions sesh, and a brief meet and greet. Pretty standard. The class is big, considerably bigger than mountain biking, with about twenty people in attendance. I'm looking forward to some group riding, and the inevitable mishaps that occur because of them. Hopefully there's no gnarly road rash in any of our futures, or worse. I have to admit that I spent the start of the class sizing everyone up and comparing myself to them. It's hard to gauge everyone's ability or experience, but I sincerely doubt I'll be the fastest person. I hope I'm not, anyway. The men are all powerfully built, athletic looking sorts, so assuming they're on actual roadbikes and not mountain or hybrids, they'll all probably be good contenders. A few of the women seem to have some significant experience, or at least the right equipment. It'll be nice not being the only one in span and chams. We all love to dress the part, but techy clothing does not a good cyclist make, afterall.

My legs have been bothering me a bit recently. I suspect that running on the beach did that, although I couldn't say for sure. In either case, they haven't hindered my running much but I worry about whether they'll be able to crank out the watts in a pinch. My bike's as big a problem. I've been meaning to give it some love for a long time now, what with the rear hub rattling in protest everytime I take it out. The chain also likes to scream at me every so often, and doubtless the crank and casette should've been replaced about a thousand miles ago. If my bike were my boyfriend, I'd definitely get in some serious trouble for domestic abuse or neglect. It's with a blend of reverence, apathy, and lack of free time and money that I've rationalized not taking the bike to a shop.

I really can't believe I'm still riding Jonas at all; I feel like I should have him bronzed and hung up on a wall. A loving caption beneath reading, "The Bike I Conquered The Country On", or something to that effect. He's a year old, maybe, and he has six thousand miles on him. Six thousand... God. More than some-many-people will bike in their lifetime, more than some people have traveled, by car even. And it's funny; some people, a lot of people, will think that this makes me a good cyclist. Maybe I am. All I know is that I love it, a lot. The fact is, I'll probably get dropped by guys and girls who've ridden a fraction as much. And I cannot wait; good things on the horizon, not the least of which is Shamrock Half on Sunday.

We're heading out towards VA Beach first thing...well, as soon as Jared gets out of school and gets back to Harrisonburg. From there, it's just a few measley hours 'till we're on the coast and heading towards what I'm told is the crappiest gay bar in the world. I'm looking forward to judging it against what are considered good ones. I've never really warmed to the experience, since I am a terrible dancer and have on at least one ocassion been kicked out of a bar. A word of caution to any of you reading: don't dance with a drag queen when she's putting on a show. They don't like it. That said, it's fun to make out with the ocassional stranger that you usually can't see very well while you're trying not to step on him. It's also going to be really fun putting Jared into that environment. I've let him know that he's going, like it or not.

Ohh yeah, and the running should prove to be lots of fun as well. If I were to make a guess as to what the ranking will be... Jared will beat me by virtue of his longer stride, I will beat Cliff by virtue of my better fitness, and Cliff will maybe not even finish by virtue of the fact that he hasn't trained propperly. In any case, we're going to eat really well. Hopefully Jackie will also join us for the evening, and we can spend the remainder of our Sunday cheering her and Zach on. And getting wasted. I love it when your blood volume is so low that you're slammed after a few beers.

Well, there you go. Life is good and the cotton is high, baby. Now all I've gotta do is make it to graduation. Peace out, hombres!