Use the Force, Luke

Oh mah gott... It's like Governo and Bernard had a love child.

Warm Christmas Greetings

I just wanted to give warm Christmas greetings to all my readers. It's 5:00 AM on Christmas morning, I have a low grade sinus infection and can't sleep, so I might as well give made props to my readers. So thanks Mom, and thanks also to that special education kid from down the street who found this site inadvertantly by googling "cats microwave boobs bicycle good squishy". Thanks you two, you are the ones who make it all happen.

But seriously... I hope you all can take advantage of the season to contemplate the good things you have all around you, why you have them, and then give thanks for them, and do some nice things for the people in your life. It's not Thanksgiving today, but neither is the holiday supposed to be CrassCommercialmas Day. It is a day for giving, and for showing love to those in our life who stand by us. This time of year isn't just a Christian religious holiday, though that's a big part of it. Even accepting Christ as a mere historical figure, His message of loving one another is a good recipe for building family and social bonds. He analogized the love we should show to each other to God's love for us, thus arguing we should give to each other unstintingly. It's not a spirit that is limited to Christianity. The Channukah spirit seems to be very much associated with giving, with gifts being given for eight nights. For our Muslim friends who are leaving this week for Mecca to perform the Hajj, which is one pillar of the Muslim faith, another pillar is Zakat, or giving in the spirit of charity. So give, be generous to those around you. Or in the words of a another pair of great philosophers, "be most excellent to one another." I'm not trying to get you all churched up or anything here, just trying to clue you in something it has taken me nearly 40 years to learn. In short, you don't build yourself up and have a better life by always taking from people; you become somebody by giving, even if it's just being generous with your time and attention. I suck at this and have frequently found it pays sometimes to have somebody remind me of that, lest I get lost in a huge pile of gift wrapping paper, bike parts, and credit card bills.

Some other tips on enjoying the season...

- Check out some NFL games, with all the parity in the league there have been tons of great games over the last month, with many playoff races hinging on last second drives and time-expiring field goal and PAT attempts.

- Want some good chow to eat while watching the game? You can't beat a bag of clams, which you can pick up in the Giant or Safeway fish section for $3-$5. Soak 'em in cool water with some corn starch for about three hours before cooking - they eat the corn starch, and this pushes the sand out of their digestive tracts and shells so they aren't 'grainy'. Rinse the clams in more cold water after that. Make some chicken broth, throw it in a large pot with a sliced onion and a bottle of decent beer, throw the clams in, and steam them until they all open up. Leave them in for a minute or two longer. If a clam doesn't open up, throw it out. You can eat the clams out of the shell, and have the rest of it with soup. It goes well with a good Belgian blonde ale, like a Leffe; or a northern German Kolsch or Altbier.

- Ride a fixie. It's a great way to pack on the base miles and if you do some hills, to get some strength training in too.

Finally, for all my racing buddies, I'd like to remind you that it's not me that's too fat, it's you poor buggers who are too skinny.



Yes, I'm an anorexia survivor too. Okay, granted, I never really suffered too badly from it. But I was less rotund for a while there, so I could have been suffering from it. So please, you skinny bastids, get over your anorexia.

After all, it will be much easier for me if you simply agree to get fat, than for me to do all those base miles and intervals that I'll have to do to get skinny and fast.

Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas! Now pass the clams...

Frozen Water Bottles

- So you read about me getting dropped on the allegedly easy Saturday ride. (It was only easy for Cat III's). Yeah, that sucked, but I packed it in because I was toast, and damn well didn't feel like trying to sprint to bridge up to catch on to a ride that was going at a pretty tough uphill pace for my fat self. Talking about recent bummers with a local female pro roadie, I mentioned this ride and said "I'm thinking about quitting the team rides for a while, except for where it's just a few guys I can trust to do real LSD. I don't need another hour and fifteen ten beats over threshold, not any time this side of late January anyhow." Her comment in return: "Yeah... sucks when you ride like you know what you are doing." That was the perfect injection of common sense that I needed. Color me slow as mud, at least until February, folks. It's the right way if your goal is anything other than winning the winter training races.

- I have mentioned passing a bunch of complete hotties who jog on the Capital Crescent trail near Bethesda/Chevy Chase most mornings, real early. Weeelll... I was passing by the group this morning and one goes, "Oh, there's that racer." I thought that was pretty cool, notice and be noticed. Not like I'm straying or anything, but a man likes to look. So I was flattered that I made an impression. On the other hand, I was really whizzing along and she may have said "It's that fucking fat racer." So maybe it wasn't such a good thing.

- Think you're a tough guy? Fine. Go here, read about fixed gear 'cross and MTB racing, and then get back to me.

- Time for a shoutout to some great local (D.C. / Mid-Atlantic area) cross-oriented cycling blogs. Chris Nystrom is near the top - strong 'crosser, likes Belgian beer. There's a lot to be said for that. Then there's Gwadzilla. Don't know the guy, wouldn't mind getting bombed and riding fixed gear with him, sounds like my kind of peeple. Howzabout Joe Foley, another strong 'crosser and ramblin' blogger man? Then there's Fat Marc. He ain't fat. What he is, is fast. Someday soon I'll get off my lazy butt and blogroll these guys.

- Also, here's a shoutout for my man, Kevin Dillard. He rides okay, but takes some great photos. He's also the only guy who has captured my "Fat Silverback Gorilla Suffering Like Hell at the Hands of a Vicious Single Speed Cross Bike" face.

Graham Watson captures pro landscapes like nobody else, but Kevin knows how to show amateur suffering at its finest. He's a nice guy too.

- Finally, and maybe most importantly, here's a shoutout for Jonathan Seibold. The lovely Sarah delivered a girl, Willow, last Friday. Feel free to stop by his shop, Family Bikes, and contribute to her college / Colnago fund. I'm sure you'll get lovely prizes in return, like chain lube or a bike or a tire, commensurate with your donation.

And the Big Humiliations...

Dropped on the 'easy' Saturday ride.

I knew it wasn't going to be that easy when we started going up Military Road. And up and up - Military is the prelude hill to our kickass Wednesday morning hill ride, aka the Hell of the North (Arlington) ride.

I knew it was going to be pretty bad when we maintained a reasonably slow speed - if you were tooling along down a flat - going up Arizona and up off MacArthur.

I knew it was going to be the end of me when we cruised up Old Anglers doing about 15. Old Anglers - I think that's the hill we were on - is pretty steep for quite a ways.

And I knew I was finished when we rolled into the far edges of Potomac, MD, about two hours into the ride, went up a long series of hills, and the group started slipping away. After an hour at or over threshold, my legs were popped. I hadn't eaten enough, haven't been training hills in weeks, and haven't really done any hard rides longer than 60 minutes, tempo rides longer than two hours, since September.

Too fat, too weak, too hungry, and to damn slow overall.

The slow, easy, long distance ride, turned into a ride that was easier than the club's hard Sunday ride if you are a true climber, a bit harder than that ride if you are a flatland rouleur. Which, see, e.g. title, above, I am. The pace wasn't that bad, except there was too much steady uphill for me.

Once I was dropped, I realized I was all alone. And lost as hell. With very blown legs.

Now a touring rider or more casual rider would bitch about this. Road racers, however, are expected to eat crap sandwiches, and like it. So I did. My thoughts, in order, were:

1) Well, now I'm f***ed. Wave goodbye to that pack, 'cuz you're not seein' 'em again today.

2) Where the hell am I? Ahh, who knows. Never been here before. I'm in Potomac. Or near Poolesville. Somewhere west and north of Rockville. Hope I'm not too close to Frederick, that will be a long ride home.

3) Who cares? I've got enough money for lunch and more drinks (better start drinking more, my legs are completely shot) so it doesn't matter where I am. Head south and east, and I'll get home.

4) Nice day for a ride. Who cares that I got dropped. Oh well, just another bowl of Humiliation Soup. Wish they served cornbread with that. I'd be a happy guy if they did, because I seem to order at least a cup of that soup every week. I could eat some cornbread right now...

5) Hmmm... don't recognize this road. Or the last one. Travilah, huh? Wasn't I on this before? Isn't that like an anagram for "travail"? That would be fitting.

6) I wonder about ........ (everybody I've ever met in the last 15 years). Hey, I've been riding this way for an hour. Glenn Mill? That looks familiar. Better turn toward the sun here. Fall's road? That's sort of familiar.

7) Hmmmm... I recognize this road. It runs to... um, that road by the other road on the Sunday ride. It's taking a while to get there.

8) Man, I love riding on a nice day like this. It's 55 degrees, a week before Christmas, and I'm having a great time. My legs seem to have recovered a bit, it's slightly uphill here and I'm going almost 20, and staying in my aerobic zone. Hey, wonder if I was bonked back there. Or just slow.

9) Ahhh, River Road. Don't know how to get back to town from here on bike-friendly roads, but River Will get me back.

10) Hmmm... Maybe I'm bonking again. Bike's getting all wobbly. Oh no! It's a flat! I knew I should have put the pump on the frame before I left the house. Even thought, "I'll probably get a flat today because I'm not carrying a pump. Crap.

11) That wasn't too hard to fix. Took a while, I was being cautious because I only had two CO2 cartridges and one tube, didn't want to screw it up. Guess I'll turn right on Seven Locks Road here, with a name like that it must go down to the C&O Canal.

12) Hey, is this MacArthur I'm on? Cool. I know where I am. I can get home from here.

13) [While cruising up to the Java Shack] Hey, I can't believe that took 3.5 hours. What a great frickin' ride.


What's clear from all this is the humiliations of being a roadie are insignificant if you love the road. You'll put up with a lot shit sandwiches, in hopes of having a day where you get a little Beluga caviar served up on a tiny cracker. That ride was a little of both.

The Little Humiliations of Road Biking

Road biking, racing and other hard core road pursuits in particular, is nothing if not humiliating.

There are both petty humiliations, and major humiliations. There is another category of humiliations as well: daily. If it's not getting dropped when the selection is made in a race, it's somebody's nasty comment about your clothes, chicken legs, bullock legs, general appearance, you name it. One thing after another. I'm going to list some recent humiliations, starting with tonight's.

- It was cold out tonight, and I had to work late unexpectedly. I couldn't fit my dress shirt under my tight long sleeve jersey, and wasn't about to wear a nice suit jacket on the outside. So I resorted to the only clothing I had at the office which was suitable: a pair of used boxer shorts. I spread them out across my chest and zipped up. They kept me warm, but they definitely had some assitude, a real stench, once they got sweatied up and a little warm. But it beat getting hypothermia, like I got next week. As if merely knowing about doing this little (stinky) trick to stay warm wasn't enough, I then went home and blogged about it.

- Most of my non-Italian bib shorts are two-tone, with a white tank top/suspender portion, black bottoms. I foolishly got all dressed up the day before yesterday, then sat at my desk finishing up some emails, before putting on my jersey. Boss and snarky colleague's comment as they dropped into the office: "Hey dude. Nice girdle." "Yeah. True. Where's the laces?"


- Spalming a big wad of chamois butter or some other balm on the undercarriage in public, just before the start of a ride. "No, I'm not itching my crabs. Really."

"Who told you to use the balm? I didn't tell you to use the balm.
This is the most public yet of your many humiliations."

- Leaving the office, I get a huge smile from this cute girl in the elevator. On the way out to the parking garage to get on the bike, when I sling a leg over the saddle I realize that my man package was inadvertantly adjusted in a rather unorthodox fashion in my most worn out, sheer-est set of bibs, and then I suddenly understand what the smile was about.

- Cutting, piercing, pinching, scrubbing, cleaning, disinfecting, splattering rubbing alcohol on, sitting on, crying about, yelping because of, and generally putting up with, saddle sores. Pardon me while I go pinch my ass until it bleeds for a while...

- Riding down the sidewalk the other day after a hard thrash, beating traffic by cutting through pedestrians before hopping off onto a side street. Saying "Excuse me" to a really pretty girl, flashing a big smile, getting a funny look in return, and not realizing until about a minute later that my face was completed encrusted with huge stringers of snot, aka "The Snot Mask." Ick.

- Miscalculating the weather, and giving myself hypothermia. Failing to put the heat on in the truck on the way home, thus ensuring staggering around the curbside parking at home like a strangely dressed drunk guy. Walking square, face first into a wall once inside the house. Then failing to pack enough warm clothes 5 days later.

- Feeling my hubris, and then ripping a huge fart just before going on the Sunday ride. Realizing sadly 5 seconds later, it wasn't hot air making that noise. Standing in line at the john at the 'Shack for 5 minutes, stinking like hell, waiting to get into the can to perform some environmental mitigation. Having the same thing happen a month later. Realizing that if my mileage is up, my entire butt is numb, ergo it's likely to happen yet again in the future, and nothing I can say or do will prevent it.

- Getting poison ivy on a long ride, just before a series of work, church, wife's work and neighborhood-related picnics in really hot weather, necessitating the wearing of shorts on shaved, blistered up, scabrous legs. Considering telling people at church it's leprosy, because then they might not stare.

- Having to wear shorts to work after a race crash, because "I'll be damned if I let all that weeping pus ruin my Armani suit." Being so into the cult of roadie-ing that colleagues' derogatory comments about wearing shorts at my desk, with a business shirt and tie, go unnoticed.

- Flatting five times on one 40 mile ride, 4 of them in the last 3 miles.

- Being unable to inflate a mended tire on the roadside. Oh, I had the tools. I was just lacking in everything else, most notably skill.

- Getting to the end of a list like this, and realizing that basically only non-riding embarassments are being discussed - and that this list doesn't even begin to touch on things like getting dropped on hills, cursing out the wrong guy for a dumb maneuver in a race, blowing the closing sprint with some stupid maneuver, or crashing when taking both hands off the handlebars to adjust the sunglasses.

Yeah, this is definitely the wrong sport to be in if you have a problem with humiliation.

Moldy Water Bottles...

Some random thoughts about random stuff.

- The ESPN Monday Night Football crew is decent, better than most of the ABC efforts over the recent years. Mike Tirico is easy to listen to on the play-by-play, not too intent on inserting himself everywhere, just content to tell you what the plays are. Tony Kornheiser is okay if he's ad libbing and not reading some stupid pre-written commentary. And Joe Theisman... well, he's not exactly subtle, but then if I'd just spent five years in the booth with Paul Maguire and his moronic ipse dixits, I'd probably be a little brain numbed too.

- I don't know what to make of ESPN MNF sideline reporters Suzy Kolber and Michelle Tafoya. Both are pretty smart about football (either could be in the booth), both have nice, sultry voices, and both are very easy on the eyes. Here's the problem though: is a girl who adores football and knows more about it than you hot, or not hot? I'm not talking about inferiority complexes here; I have no problem with a girl knowing more. I'm just asking whether it would be cool to date a girl who moves really comfortably in that men's club, football arcana. It's a moot question for me, but if I was single, I think I'd enjoy having a couple areas in my life where the girl doesn't go. Nothing personal, but I like my space, and I'm not about to take up macrame just to do something the lady doesn't. As I said, it's a moot question for me, but I'd be interested in hearing any thoughts on the matter.

- If, when you are pigging out, you eat "X" "like popcorn," what do you compare pigging out on popcorn to? E.g., "I was eating popcorn like lobster tails, man, just chuckin' it down..." See what I mean? I can't think of any good similes describing how one eats popcorn.

- Got the road gearing put back on the Surly fixie last night, commuted on it today. A fixie is nice to ride with l0w gearing and all, but after a while, I get tired of going 16, while spinning 115 RPM. Up the gearing a little bit, and I can cruise at 20-21, and stay in a low- to mid-zone 2 (aerobic) effort level with ease. A fixed gear bike is magical under most situations, simply hypnotic; but riding it is like being in a rolling bubble if you can spin out on it, and be going fast enough to get significant wind rush.

- On that topic, let's hear it for SRAM. The Surly is my cross bike, my commuter, one of my two primary trainers, and my light on/off road touring bike. It does it all. Consequently, I have fixed and free gearing for it ranging from 18 to 22 teeth in the rear, and I'll probably pick up a 16 tooth front cog this spring. This necessitates changing chains, and I'm not too keen on friction fit pins. But the SRAM Power Link (or whatever funny name they call it) is sheer magic. Just squeeze the linked bits together, and it comes apart. For a fixed gear bike, you have to get the chainline just so - on a bike with horizontal dropouts (vs. 'track forks') that means you only have a range of three teeth on a properly sized chain - 20/21/22, or 19/20/21, like that. So you need to have a few chains on hand if you're going to be switching all around. (Yeah, it might be possible to use a couple SRAM links to make big changes... not sure about that option). Anyhoo, the SRAM link makes it feasible to just take a chain and cog off, and sling a new set on. I sort of like that.

- Know what else I like? Watching the Bears when they play well and win da Bears way. There's something about football or baseball or hockey when a great old franchise is doing well, and doing so in a traditional manner. The great Yankees teams were all anchored by great center or right fielders - Ruth, Earle Combs, Joltin' Joe, the Mick, Reggie and Mickey Rivers, Bernie Williams and Paul O'Neill. The Montreal Canadien dynasties always had great, great scoring forwards - Jean Beliveau, Bernie Geoffrion, Maurice "Rocket" Richard, Frank Mahovlich, Guy Lafleur, and Guy Carbonneau. As for the Bears, the guy who has always anchored their team, winning or losing, was the middle or inside linebacker. Bill George was a beast in the 1950s and early 60's, and he revolutionized the position. Then came Dick Butkus, the meanest, toughest bastard ever to play the game of football. A family friend claims that Butkus is what drove him out of the game - as an offensive guard, he knew he was finished when he couldn't block Butkus, even with the help of an offensive tackle. Then there was Mike Singletary, who played with unmatched savagery, but who was a consummate student of the game, always in position. Tonight, I'm watching Brian Urlacher, who reminds me of the best of Butkus and Singletary. Urlacher is a smart player, always in position to make the big hit or to stop up the hole in the line, but he is so big and hits so damn hard... There is just something right in the world when the Bears' middle linebacker is the best damn linebacker in all of football, and the Bears are winning. I'm a Giants fan, but I appreciate what the Bears and Urlacher are doing, and I hope y'all appreciate what you are seeing in Urlacher. He's one of three or four guys playing today, who we'll be able to tell our grandchildren about. And they won't believe us, but oh well.

- Hmmm... 14-13, Bears. Time to go watch football. Ride safe, all.

Wussified Achievments

I am about to shock you with a story about a totally wussified achievment that I am nevertheless quite proud of.

I commuted home tonight on my bike. I am quite proud of this.

Now wait, before you break a rib laughing, here me out.

On the ride into work this morning, I noticed my fixie had a little bit of enhanced friction emanating from somewhere in the rear hub. There was enough rub back there, that I had trouble rotating the wheel around at stoplights so that I could start with one pedal high up, for an easier start. I did twenty miles with it like that, but it only ocurred to me to release the rear brake about a half mile from my office. That didn't fix the problem.

I was going to leave work at a reasonable hour, but those plans fell through. So I found myself leaving the office at about 7:30 or so. On the way out, I checked Weather.com. The forecast was for cold - serious cold, like 32 degrees, with 25-35 MPH wind out of the northwest. Coincidentally, I ride in a northwesterly direction for the entire 11 mile ride. I gritted my teeth, dreaded the cold, and wandered over to the elevators to go down to the parking garage to get the bike.

When I got there, I checked the rear wheel and tried to spin it. I could spin hard, but it would stop after a half turn. That was bad. So I undid the rear bolts with my handy Jethro Tule, which is possibly the coolest wrench/bottle opener combo in the entire known universe. To be truthful, I can't think of any others, so the Jethro Tule wins by default, but even if there were others, the Tule wold rock. But I digress.

I took off the rear wheel, fiddled with the cones to the limited extent I was able, then put it back on. My cone fiddling hadn't heled. This was going to be hard. Pedaling around the garage I noticed it rolled about as easy as pulling 53:15 on reasonably flat ground. The only problem is, instead of going 28, I was going 15. This was going to be bad.

Out into the wind, and the first thing I noticed (beside the piercing wind and heavy traffic) was some snowflakes. This wasn't in the plan. I thought for a moment about calling my wife for a ride, but decided I'd man it out, and started pedaling through the excessively heavy traffic. Turns out the National Christmas Tree Lighting ceremony was held at the White House around 6:00 today, so traffic was well and truly buggered. Nice.

It was hard going. The pedaling was tough and the legs immediately set to burning, and the wind felt like a steady hand pushing back on my chest. I went about six blocks down Eye Street, and found myself in the absurd position of sweating uncontrollably, shivering, and pushing hard on the pedals with burning legs and cold knees. The thought of making the call of shame again crossed my mind, but I kept my head down and kept pedaling.

Eventually I made it across town, past the accidents near Georgetown, and onto the Capitol Crescent. The slight upgrade between the boathouse and Riley's Lock was much tougher than usual, but I just kept my head down. Were those red lights blinking up ahead? Or were tears from the wind screwing up my vision and making me see the car headlights over on River Road as red blinkers?

I started coughing a bit. There was a lot of dust in the air along with the very light snowflakes, and I have asthma. Chunk chunk chunk, went the asthma. It was the deep, belly cough you get when your throat is trying to strangle you. I got an instant back cramp down around my upper kidneys, probably because I'm not eating great in an attempt to lose some weight. Still I kept on. I passed some old codgers on commuter rigs. One said to me, "Adskjbthe. Aonst! Lefflip!" Evidently, I wasn't the only guy who was freezing cold.

Going up the rise between River Road and the old rail tunnel, the asthma cough really set in. The tendinitis in my left shoulder that has plagued me for a week was burning too, but I tried to think positively about it, since that shoulder was the only part of my body other than my thighs that felt warm. Eventually, the coughing got too bad, and I stopped just past the rail tunnel to take two or three hits of my inhaler. That cleared things up, but I had the weirdest feeling in my gut, like it was getting ramped up for some huge coughing fit, but was disappointed that me & Mr. Inhaler just called the show off.

The wind was really bad now, and I started getting some quartering gusts, along with the steady push on my chest. I took off my photo gray sunglasses, since I was going too slow to keep them cleared (15-16) and they were fogging up. Still, I just kept turning over the pedals, legs burning in my impromptu big ring workout.

Eventually I made it up to the two road crossings in Chevy Chase / Bethesda. I passed this Asian girl who was really laboring, said hello, 'tough night for a ride,' and she started going off about it, in a friendly way but really bitching. Yep. Tough night. Wonder if her hub was all screwed up too.

After that, I was in Bethesda, crossed under Wisconsin and down the Georgetown Branch to my truck. Riding down the gravel, in the shelter provided by heavy brush, seemed a relief, though I know the wind was probably only mitigated down to a steady 15 MPH. I got the bike mounted up on the rack, and myself into the truck, and I was on the way home.

But wait, my bike commute doesn't end there.

I was really groggy driving home. I didn't feel great. But I figured I was on the downhill side, so it was cool.

When I got home, the Churchies (a church prayer group that meets at a neighbor's house - taking up every single frikkin parking space in the neighborhood) were all in, so I had to park a block away and walk my bike over. I threw my sweaty jersey and vest on, along with my backpack, and started fumbling with the bike. It semed to take forever to get the bike off the truck, get the front wheel mounted, and start pushing to the house.

By the time I got to the house, I was shivering so hard that it was like convulsions. With each convulsion, some new part of my body, not previously heard from, would go into a 5 second cramp.

I staggered up the steps, fumbled for the keys, got the door open and shoved the bike in. As soon as it was propped against the wall, I returned outside - shambled and shook my way out, really - to pick up the mail and a parcel that had been left on the doorstep. I got that stuff in and literally started walking into the walls, and having what felt like a convulsion.

That's when it occurred to me - I was hypothermic.

Had I turned on the heat in the truck on the drive home?

I'm not sure.

As quick as I could, I staggered upstairs, stripped off my clothes, got into the bath, and turned the hot water on. Within three minutes, I was soaking in a deep tub of scalding hot water.

It was probably burning hot, but I didn't know, and didn't care. My hands, feet, and ass were so numb, I had no idea how hot or cold it was. All I know is that the shivering stopped after a couple minutes, and my skin went from that dark red / purple shade that indicates extreme cold, to that bright red / pink shade that indicates too durned hot.

It felt good to sit there in the tub and soak up the warm. I read a couple chapters in a book I've been reading, and nearly dozed. After, I got dried off with a really rough towel (no fabric softener, thanks, I like 'em rough and absorbent) and slung on a flannel T-shirt and boxers, and went downstairs for a dinner of a leftover hamburger, and a piece of leftover birthday cake along with sugar free ice cream. That wasn't enough, I was shivering a bit, so I made a little popcorn too. I'm just about recovered now, two hours later, and I'm drinking some lovely warm tea, and savoring it, as much as I'm savoring my choice to stick it out tonight.

So that's my lame-ass commute that I'm proud of. It wasn't a race win, it wasn't a long ride, or a fast one, but it is one of the toughest physical challenges I've had in a long time. I'm proud I didn't crap out, because it would have been so easy to do, but instead I chose the much harder choice and feel better for it.

It's a small victory, I guess, wussified by the standards of a lot of hard core riders, but I'll take it. For me, it was a pretty big hurdle.

That's it for now. I'm going to bed. I still don't feel right. Bet I sleep well, though. As long as I can get all the way under the quilt, and at least one of our two cats cuddles up with me, as an auxiliary space heater.

Sorry

I haven't been saying a lot here lately because it's been too damn cold to type stuff.

You know the weather has turned cold when you have to put your Gu2O in the microwave for two minutes and heat it up to boiling, so it will be merely cold when you go to drink it 45 minutes later.

On this morning's ride, I reached for the water bottle, and came up with a lovely water flavored slushy.

Oh yeah, that really helped the asthma.

On the plus side, it does help with weight loss. Each of the huge slugs of unidentified lung mass that I coughed up after drinking the frozen water, which is known to some scientists as "ice," weighed nearly 4 ounces. So I lost at least a pound just coughing.

I'm going to try this more often, though I'm tempted to put gin in the water bottles, to reduce the pain of this particular diet. Maybe a little vermouth too, and some lemon. Sounds awful, I know, but I need to preserve my health and strength, if for no other reason than to continue serving you, loyal readers. Matter of fact, I'm going to test that mixture right now. Anybody seen my olives?

Bottoms up!