Wednesday, March 1

Shit fappens

You know how you won't answer the phone when you don't recognize the number?  Well, three breweries, two hours and five minutes into the Watts Fappening, I had to.


Boppit (my dog frand) was in boarding under Double Secret Probation.  He now has huge kennel anxiety, due in large part (IMHOMO) to the fact that whilst The Pie and I were in New York, he got put into quarantine when he came down with RSV... while boarding... and he didn't much like it.  Drool, destruction, chaos.  This was to be his trial run back in boarding.

So, I had to dip out for a moment, head towards my house to get the Honda Fit of Rage, remember that Watts has my car blocked in, four miles later and I get Boppit.  Run/walk/ride with my bike in one hand and the leash in the other back to my house.  Drop my drool-soaked dog and ride another seven or eight miles to Birdsong.  I expected things to go off the rails... just not this soon... or for the second time.

I was going to start the day riding a Sad Dad™ on the greenway with Watts, but he was running late... and it was drizzling... so I hopped on Zwift.  Pick a ride that was supposedly shorter than sixty minutes but with an amount of elevation that didn't seem possible in that time/distance... but then Watts texts me and he's gonna be even later... so stay on for the duration which was way longer than I wanted... and finally Everest my way into owning my own virtual Trek.  An hour long, not energy-sapping Sad Dad™ was swapped for an hour and forty five minutes of effort I would not be recovering from any time soon.

Watts did show up, the drizzle continued to dampen our initial enthusiasm, and we made our way to Lower Left by ourselves to meet no one.  Eventually, our numbers grew as Dr Mike and Bill Nye showed up.  Then Daily.  Burke.  Jeremy.  Others.  It's Fappening.

To Triple C, which was loud inside and moist outside.  Wooden Robot which was packed with soccer fans and the associated cacophony, which pushed us outside again.  Obviously, this is where I had to temporarily bail with urgency, much to the confusion of Putter and Donald who saw me riding away from Wooden Robot in the wrong direction as they were trying to catch up to us.

I missed out on the long ride through uptown's major league soccer circus to Fonta Flora, and by the time I got to Birdsong, my fake rage and twelve mile sprint had all but wiped out 90% of a decent buzz.  That's where things went slightly more than just off-plan.  Two beers to play catch up, over to Spoke Easy for Miller High Life palate cleansing, across the street to the British Pub... Devil's Logic for closers... sorta.

And then there were four.

Dr Mike and Judge Burke joined Watts and I to make the long haul back to Lucky Lou's to put the final nail in the coffin.  At least we didn't close it down this year.  That woulda made for a long night.

And somehow, after sleeping in and eating sunny side up eggs, Watts dragged me outta my funk by forcing me outta the house to ride gravel bikes in their intended manner in South Carolina.

It was a gooder than most recent weekends, and one that I'll be getting over for awhile.  That was the last short term goal/event/thing to look forward to for awhile, so... now what?


Or fap?

BTW: I'm terrible at documenting these kinda things in the moment.  You shoulda saw Watts's post on Instagram tho.

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