Really though, it’s fun, and they’re nice.
Thursday I drove into the parking lot, grabbed my bike off the rack, pulled up my “Big Girl Pants”, slapped a grin on my face and prepared for my weekly shelling.
Miles fourteen and fifteen are either spent by myself or in a blinding anaerobic frenzy trying desperately to hold Jim’s wheel, as he was nice enough to circle back and pull my sorry ass back up to the regrouping point.
The rest of the thirty mile (or so) ride has been a craps shoot this year ranging from getting hopelessly lost in the dark with Marc and bumming a ride back home from a nice auto mechanic named Doug, nearly holding on and almost finishing with the group, to this week’s adventure of just peeling off at the regrouping point and taking in the scenery of the beautiful back road loop that Irene showed us on the Wednesday ride.
This is where things started to get fun.
As I ride along, minding my own business, I saw this little fella and picked him up to have as a riding buddy.
Something that I generally don't freely admit is that I'm afraid of trains. I don't really know why. I think it's because they're big, loud, looming and unstoppable. I've ridden trains and been fine, but I tend to regard trains as some people regard skydiving. "The ride is fun, but scary as hell." wierd, I know. So, if you're ever around me and hear a train, you might see me get a wide eyed fixed stare at the big metal monster - now you'll know why.
Anywho, moving on to the end of the ride that swooped through a valley of rural Pawling's forrested hills, I could hear the water in the streams pouring and rushing. Everything was crisp in the cool spring evening, the smells, the sounds, the colors of the green pastures and twiggy forsythia blooming in profuse canary yellow explosions.
The end of the ride took me past a part of the Appalachian Trail that cuts through a farmer's field, and for some reason I think this is so cool! this area is linked to NYC by train and to miles and miles of endless wilderness by the AT...it's as if anything is possible here, choose a mood and go.
As I circled back to the shop, I didn't see the rest of the group so I assumed that they hadn't arrived yet. I looked at my computer, twenty-eight miles. I might as well make it an even thirty so off I went down the road, lost in my own little happy world with my new little monkey buddy sticking out of my jersey pocket, when I hear someone yell from fairly close proximity, "HEY!" Simply put, Jim road up from behind and scared the shit out of me.We finished up and ended in the parking lot as the other riders were getting ready to leave. It's now that I realized that I missed riding allot more than I thought over the winter.
This was kinf of a milestone week. Sea Otter is this weekend, and as many people know, the Sea Otter and I do NOT get along. Every year for the past eight I swear and vow and stamp my feet as to be adament that I am not Not NOT going, and every year for the past eight I find myself in the dusty, windy, sunny monsoon that is the Sea Otter circus (that is an accurate weather description, by the way) hauling my bike across the Laguna Seca racetrack and standing at the top of either the downhill or dual slalom courses, both of which I love to ride, but both of which have it out for me.
This year I'm not there. I'm safely three thousand miles away, and feel some strange insane guilt about not going. Anyway, I'm dubbing this last road ride as my "Anti-Otter" ride, and my new little buddy, meet Mr. Non-Otter (than) the Monkey.
