As you may remember, my plans for a family-free weekend only went so far.
1: Get off work
2. Head to The Spoke Easy
3. Drink beer
In the words of Dusty Bottoms, "Sometimes you can over plan these things."
new delivery service. Once loaded and southbound, my unusual lateness (I'm unusually there @5:12) was noted and all my glory stolen. The Gentle Ginger had already beaten me to the soiree with a festive, but smaller, mug of his own.
Beer, friends, more friends, more beer, outta beer, beer run... eventually the plug was pulled and a journey across town to continue the joyous Bike Party ensued. Food, a bar with no roof (or it just felt that way), shots, and some kinda drink I didn't order or need at that point.
I had the foresight to put my phone next to the bed. The Pie starting texting me at 7:00AM. I'm never in bed that late, so no harm/no foul.
Then Nik started texting me. I guess some discussion about going to the mountains the night before was had. I assumed (hoped?) that it was going to get rained out. Apparently there was a window of opportunity.
I felt a bit like Cameron Frye. Ferris wanted to show me something, and I was reluctant to get out of bed and make my mind start living again. It was a struggle. At one point, I went to feed Fajita's fish and spilled the tiny flakes on the kitchen counter.
I stared at them.
This is hard. I don't know what to do. I'm supposed to do something, but I just want to be in bed.
No less than three trips back to the bedroom to grab a pair of socks.
Nik arrived at the ungodly hour of 10:30AM, as he put it, "wet-headed."
We decided to go to Wilson's Creek. Great trails, most of the climbing on pavement or gravel, huge rewards, shorter drive than Pisgah Proper, good Mexican food on the way home.
It was as we were unloading the car that Nik told me the strap on his Mavic shoe was FUBAR. He showed it to me. It was. I informed him that I had spare straps and buckles back at home, the home he had just picked me up from 1.75 hours ago. Heads were scratched, heads that weren't going to hold up to much scratching at all. The car was scoured for supplies and tools.
A toe strap. A solution.
Climbing, climbing, climbing... up the pavement of NC181.
The first descent. My brain was fogged over. The first real effort of the day.
I tried to lift up on the bars and my rib protested loudly. This would be a theme for the day. I will talk about this tomorrow, as my rib is a whole nother topic altogether.
We rode the mini classic loop. Nik tolerated my stream of expletives all day long. He may have had pedal issues. I may have taken a halting stick in the spokes that tweaked one of my 48 pink aluminum rods. There may have been a perplexing crossing of a swollen creek. Perhaps we stood under a tree for a very brief rain shower. We did eventually get back to the car.
But I was warm and dry, headed to get a burrito from Morganton's second best Mexican food restaurant.
Sunday was just a day. Suffice it to say, with nine days of racing over the next twenty, I needed to get some serious shit done. Two bikes to prep, yard work, mass carpet disposal, furnace filter, washing a spring's worth of pollen off a very sticky Fit of Rage, pest control on the ant farm in said Fit of Rage, two trips to Bike Source (one when they were open, one when they were not), Mother's Day, mother's shopping... a month's worth of things to do in one day.
drink shots courtesy of Jon Danger Evans
ride shots gratuitously provided by Nik