I was going to the Monday night club ride yesterday but the strangest thing happened. It all seemed to start last Sunday when we had a beautiful day for the club's annual anniversary ride.
A whole bunch of us aging spandex hamsters showed up to ride bikes around and ruin our jerseys from the inside out with pizza. I finished the day by completing a metric century on the way home. The next couple of days I rode in all kinds of wet weather before dragging myself
kicking and screaming to a corporate "wellness fair." It really wasn't really as boring as I thought it was. A bunch of other "healthy" type businesses sent paid employees to peddle their gel packs, artisanal coffee infused candy, and bank accounts (five financial services companies at a Health Fair, go figure).
In the meantime, I was the only volunteer. The rest
were not privileged to have an attitude.
I covered that.
There were several vintage bikers around and we had a convivial time talking about old gear and the smugness we gain from riding steel right past all the broken plastic imitations on the roadside.
After sleeping like the dead Saturday night, I explored a couple of hours in the Yankee Springs trail system. The Hunq handled the single tracks just fine despite what I thought was a screwed up derailer. I realized later that it was merely a loose screw in the shift lever causing me to shift erratically and fret. I was just looking at the wrong end of the cable. So it did make for a lot of bike stuff and mileage over strange territory. By the time I got away from work Monday and was thinking about the club ride, a Martini made more sense.