I woke up Sunday with a plan to ride a 50 mile loop in Eastover and Hopkins. Things were going well 2 hours in. No traffic, cloudy and plenty of water. Then I took a wrong turn. Well, I could've backtracked a few miles but I thought I could pick my way through the labyrinthine back alleys. No such luck. I got super-lost for some reason. I asked a kindly looking fellow for directions but was rebuffed. Perhaps he didn't like the cut of my jib (sic. my spandextual super-bulge which awakened long-dormant feelings suppressed from his younger days) or the crook of my raised brow? I soldiered on. It became warm then downright hot.
My 2 bottles were quickly depleted and then it was into survival mode. God, how I began to hate road riding and bicycles in general. I remember somewhere around hour 4 imagining a new type of dildo being invented with two handles on the side for extra grip and control. It could be marketed for men and women, beast or foul. It would be 48 inches long. I would call it The Shaqulator. I chuckled to myself as I knew this was stage one of on-bicycle dementia.(A pig mail box. It displeases me)
(A slanty shanty. Its mere presence soured my humors.)
As the spectre of insanity grew nearer (additional thoughts included "when Redd Foxx died, did he clutch his chest like he did on TV?", "Haiku is overrated" and on and on) I pedaled back into town on Pineview and was comforted by the fact that my suffering would soon be over. 70 something miles later, I rolled into the crib and high-fived Mimi as we shouted in unison "That's the shiz-nit right there!" Then came the vodka! Probably the best Sunday road ride of all time!!! OKTHXLOLBYEZ!(Mimi at 100 percent concentration prepares herself for a post-ride high five. She's such a lil' trooper!!!)
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