If all training rides were like this...

I'd be happier.

I'd be weaker.

I'd be possibly okay with that... until I line up for a race... and then suffer a slow death.

My window was Saturday afternoon.  No rain (but yet somehow there was), no trails, no options.  Grab the tarck bike and head out into the neighborhood just like I do on weekdays because I lack creativity that much.

Finish the loop, cut through my old hood, past the spot where my old house was but now there is a McMansion there, see my former next door neighbor, stop and talk about all the "progress" going up on both sides of him.  Decide the next part of my route should be the Booty Loop.

Right, left, look for traffic, see my other former neighbor's car in front of his recently remodeled house... swing that way.  Get invited in, handed a beer, given a tour, grab a seat, talk about PMBAR and such.  Mental training.

Realize my window is closing, head over to the Booty Loop.  Two laps and some change.  Bored, I pull out my phone and check my heart rate on the climb.  I haven't seen my heart rate on a bike in maybe two decades.  Hitting the 180s, so I guess I can still do that.  Stupid app timed out before the climb was over... was pushing for 190s, mostly because I used to be able to get all up in them... back in the '90s.

Leave the loop, hit the greenway, the gray clouds above start leaking, head to the only place I actually planned on stopping.  The Spoke Easy.  Get there at 5:05PM and order the beer that I wanted to order Friday when I stopped to pick up an Ass Saver fender but didn't.

Watch people leave the shop.  Watch Greg lock the door.  Be informed that the shop actually closed at 5:00PM.

I should plan better next time although I hope I never have to do this again for awhile.

Finish my beer and head home in time to get cleaned up for "date night."  Not exactly the kinda ride that makes you pull out the squeezy leg bags, but when you got them, why not?  Nothing more romantic than ending date night in squeezy leg bags.

Nothing.