Decided to get off my fat lardy ass and get a ride in. Good for me, because I’m fat and lardy. Anyhow, I dug out my old Swobo LS jersey from 1999 and packed myself in nice and snug. My new Brooks saddle was on my new NC17 seatpost and ready to be broken-in. Slowly. Keys? Check. Tunes? Check. Water? You betcha. Let’s get ‘er done.
As I headed out I realized it was a nip colder than I thought. -0.4 to be precise. ‘Well, no biggie.’ I thought. ‘I’ll warm up when I’m in the sun and moving.’
The first ice patch that took me down, well… it was a losing fight. By the time I got to the forest’s edge, I was warm enough, coughing up greenish-grey blobs from the depths of my lungs and smiling. At least there was a layer of crunchy snow to cover the ice. Did it just get colder? Yup. -1.6c. Damn… this is gonna suck in a bit. Further along (about 30 min in, to be honest…) I decided to snap some pics, got cold and headed back home with my bronchitis lungs alternately pleading with me and scorning my existence. Begging me to ‘Just stay on the couch and have a few beers. We don’t need to do this ever again.’
Maybe it’s got something there. Maybe not. You can read all my misadventures here. Yeah, I have one of these bleaurgh things too.