The title of this post must be read in the same tone that Mel Gibson uses when he screams the word at the end of Braveheart.
Today is my 13th day working, straight, every day. All work and no play make me want to kill the monkeys in my brain.
It happens to also be my 3rd day not using my car. My level of apathy had reached an all time high, and as apathy goes, high is not usually what I shoot for. I set myself the goal to park the car after taking the kiddies mtn biking on Tuesday, and I have held through. I have to admit that it may be contributing to me wanted to kill those monkeys. 13 days of work has made me tired, but riding has kicked my ass.
Wednesday, day 1 of riding, I got about half way to work and thought I was going to die. I’m not sure why but I had nothing in the legs, except maybe lead. I even stopped and checked the brakes when I got to the shop. Of course, I took the KY scenic route around the “death hill.”
Yesterday I got a bit better breakfast and things felt better but still not in the way they used to. Maybe it’s the high volume knobbies I’m running on the Tricross. Speaking of high volume. I got my first flat on the Tricross this morning on the way to work. I had made it two or three blocks down when I heard that noise of absolute oblivion, the pssst, pssst, pssst of a puncture.
As any good wrench would do, I put it in high gear in hopes of making it to the shop before the tire had actually gone all the way flat. I mean, I’m running 38’s at 100 psi. I should be able to get close. I out pedaled my gear all the way through Smith’s and made it to the corner below the shop before I had to walk. Maybe I’ll keep the high volume tires…
This morning’s commute was the first time, in a long time, that I’ve felt free. It was moist and as I rode past all the cars on the Parkway, I felt free. It’s no wonder that bike messengers are such wierdos, they feel freedom every day.
Below is my favorite version of war pigs…