The Day After...

Early yesterday morning, I woke up with my legs feeling all kinds of ache from Monday's long, hot, slog through the late spring humidity of Birmingham, and decided that I would forego the Tuesday night Pain Train.

At some point during the day however, my legs started to feel less pain, and I thought it might be a good idea to test them out by changing my mind. So I went home, climbed on my bike and rode like crazy to get to the start in time to join the folks who, I learned later, knowing that they had TNPT coming, had the good sense to stay inside their air conditioned homes (and trailers...this is the south) on Monday Or in the case of a few, if they ventured out, only spent a couple of hours in the saddle (instead of 4:40).

As you can imagine this makes the score;

Smart People: 1
Stupid Person (Me): 0

before we even left the parking lot. Sure as a cowpoke chases a chuckwagon, as soon as the first hill (a small one, mind you) came along, my legs had a quick meeting and decided to stage a coup d' etat. I decided that the best way to quell the rebellion was to assure them that the pain would be temporary, so I hurried to the front of the pack as quickly as I could go, and promptly slowed the pace down to a reasonably less punishing tempo. Unfortunately, this could only last as long as I could bluff the group into thinking that I had their best interests at heart, but I managed admirably for a couple of miles. Finally I was unceremoniously booted from the head of the peleton by means of the peleton winding it up and spitting me out the back like a chewed sunflower seed husk.

So I meandered my way up to Old Leeds Road and went home, via Smyer and Shades Crest. Still, a small victory could be found in the very act of getting mounted up and trying to ride...a year ago I would have taken week off to recover from Monday's ride.

That reminds me of my favorite story about the Beast, but I'll have to save it for another day.