Kid Wars: Episode 7: The Birthday Cake.
I think it was my seventh birthday, but I cannot be sure. All I remember was that it was the year in which two very important lessons were learned. These lessons were taught by the same thing (card-carrying member of the overachievers club), but learned by two people: my mother and me.
Lesson #1: Having an affinity for my mother's rhubarb pie - and if you've ever had Mom's rhubarb pie, you know how good it is - my father posed to me a question concerning my birthday cake. "Would you rather have cake, or rhubarb pie?" he asked. This is NEVER a good situation to put a child in, much less a child whose obvious love of sweets showed as much as mine did. The answer was clear, and so my mother learned an important lesson: Never let my father ask me a tough question. My simple answer was "Rhubarb cake!!!!" Well, hey, if one thing is good, then putting that thing together with another good thing can't possibly be bad, can it???? I was young, and did not realize what I was asking.
As the story goes, my mother, now in a frenzy because my father just HAD to go and ask a seven-year-old Fat Kid THIS question, had to search through every recipe book she had in order to find anything remotely resembling the hopes of her youngest son. This was in the days before Al Gore invented the internet, so it wasn't like she could pop the suggestion into her favorite search engine and it would all be well. Her search was tireless, and her efforts finally yielded a recipe she could serve. She was very proud of herself - as well she should have been. I had asked the impossible, and she found a way to make it happen.
Lesson #2: When you get what you ask for, don't ever, EVER complain. Especially if the superhero of the moment is your mother and you're a seven-year old boy. The day came, and I was excited as ever. It was MY day. It was awesome. And every birthday culminated in the best part: the cake! I was going to have a special cake this year: my rhubarb cake. The lights were dimmed, and Mom came out of the kitchen carrying a tray with seven gleaming candles lighting up her proud face and the rest of the room. I could not see it that well....until it was laid down in front of me, and there, on the table was rhubarb upside-down cake. WITH NO FROSTING! (Lesson #2 is also called, "do not deprive a Fat Kid of his frosting")
I do not remember whether I blew out the candles first or not, but I do remember throwing the temper tantrum because there was no frosting on the cake, and all cakes are supposed to have frosting. I refused to eat the cake my mother had worked so hard to make. The cake I asked for. I believe I then remember my father sitting my butt in the chair (never forcefully, but firmly enough that I knew I was not to move my posterior until he said it was ok)and telling me how hard my mother worked to find that cake recipe and that I had to eat it....and THEN, I had to go to my mother (because her preciosu little snowflake of a seven-year old just completely crushed her) and apologize. It was a rather - non-climactic - ending to my birthday.
This story has become one of those "family legends" that have been told a thousand times over the years. Each telling seems to make my mother work harder, and seven-yr-old me that much more obnoxious, somehow, but it's still one of those family favorites that rears its head every once in a while.
But all those out there in Blogland might be wondering: why is the Fat Kid telling us this story?? Because, dear readers: after an absolutely lovely steak dinner (with baked potatoes, zucchini, fresh-picked beats, and mushroom sauce) my mother comes out onto the back deck where we were eating, carrying a tray. On it, as she sings happy birthday, a rhubarb upside-down cake. She learned the lesson well - for frosting she produced a can of Reddi-Whip. It was wonderful, delicious, and more than I could have ever hoped for. I thought I would be ready for just about anything she might try and pull. I was not ready for this. Thanks, Mom. You pulled one over on me.
If I could go back and tell seven-year-old me how to answer that question posed by my father....I don't think I would tell him anything, and I hope he would answer the same way: "Rhubarb cake!!!!"
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
USCG #2 Approved Wearable Flotation Device....
The tale you are about to read is true. The names have been changed to protect the guilty and make fun of the imbecilic.
SO, this past weekend, my roommate and I "kidnapped" a buddy and took him on an excursion that he would never have planned himself. This excursion involved whisking this buddy, herein referred to as "Boo-Boo," off to parts unknown for a "guys' weekend" of camping, fishing, telling stories and other such things. Understand that if we tell Boo-Boo what we're doing, he will say "no," and our plans will all be for naught. This is based out of a desire to help Boo-Boo, who has expressed a strong desire to hang out and do "guy things." So camping it is!
Thursday:
Captain Caveman (me) and Colonel Carnivore (roomie) go and pick up a canoe from Col. Carnivore's friend Merlin. No problems. We go to borrow a vehicle that can fit The Colonel, The Caveman and the Short Bear...it doesn't have the right sized ball hitch to carry the trailer with the canoe. A minor setback. While out, we take care of the fishin license issue (almost forgot that) and we are good to go. We load everything into the vehicle and the three of us are off to a PA State Park in the middle of nowhere, canoe in tow. Mind you, this canoe is lecensed and has been used under the supervision of a current PA DCNR (Dept. of Conservation and Natural Resources) boating and angling official, as currently as two weeks ago. Keep this in mind, it will come in handy later.
We get to the camp, set up Col. Carnivore's giant portable Hilton, and I stay and finish setting up the camp while the other two go out for groceries and necessities. We've scrounged for some firewood and things are going rather smoothly thus far. Boo-Boo, being a novice camper, purchases a little too much food, but not to worry. These kinds of mistakes happen when you're new to camping, besides, he DID do well in purchasing the libations. Kudos, Boo-Boo.
Thursday passes into Friday, and all is good. The first day.
Friday:
The Caveman, the Carnivore and Boo-Boo wake up, and Boo-Boo is instructed as to how to make breakfast over a campfire. Pretty neat stuff. The day is looking nice, and we're now ready to set about the events for the day. We decide a conoe trip is in order. Now, this state park has a good-sized lake (300 acres) so we start paddling around. Col. Carnivore is steering in the back, Capt. Caveman is supplying power up front, and Boo-Boo is in the middle, surveying the scenery and, from what he reports, having a nice time of it. All is right in the world. A three-hour tour (not the same as the S.S. Minnow) finds us hankering for some lunch, so we disembark. Successful trip!
Now, however, we realize that we have to take care of getting Boo-Boo a fishing license, so we all go into town, procure this and a couple small things, and we're good to go. Still, the trip takes a little while, and when we come back, it's relaxing, cook some dinner, and get ready to do a little evening fishing. If you have ever taught a small child to fish, you know how difficult it CAN be. This, while considerably less difficult, was not without a few snags (oh yes, pun intended.) Still, I believe we all caught a little something that night, although small sunfish and bluegill are hardly worth reporting as a "catch." But they're fun to toy with on the end of a fly line. No, I was the only one with the fly rod, we did not tempt fate with this one.
It gets dark, we light a fire. Many props to Col. Carnivore, who did most of the firetending for the weekend. Who says pyromania is a bad thing? Friday passes into Saturday and all is good. The second day.
Saturday:
Slow to wake, even though we really didn't consume too many of our ENTIRELY LEGAL libations the previous evening. Breakfast, morning chores at a campsite, that kind of thing. We decide to hit the water for some fishing in the spots we found the previous day. No problem. The Carnivore and the Caveman hoist the trailer about, hook it all up, etc, and we're off. OK, now it should be said here that while boating, we've not been entirely as safe as we could be. We had three people, and only two flotation devices. In our defense, though, the Carnivore used to be a lifeguard, and the Caveman can swim pretty well in his own right. Boo-Boo can swim, and we know we'd give him the two flotation devices (USCG #4 non-wearable flotation device.) So, while it's not perfect, we know we're covered. So, we're fishing in a boat (Boo-Boo DOES learn pretty fast) two of us with spin cast reels, and I with my fly rod (yep, flyfishing from a canoe, I am the master of the silly....again). After not too long of this, Boo-Boo has had enough, and would like to be put to shore. The Carnivore and the Caveman, however want to catch some dinner. "Give it to us r-r-r-r-raw, and wr-r-r-r-igling!" is our motto.
This could be the error. Minus the weight of a third person, the canoe moves pretty fast, now, and we wisk our way across the lake.
And we are suddenly in Mayberry. That's right, Barney Fife, member of the DCNR Seasonal Lifeguard, Angling and Boating Brigade, is there with his high-tech bi-noc-YOO-lars and spots us. Our speedy canoing must be causing too much of a wake. He sends his assistant, Gomer Pyle, DCNR, SLABB, after us in the ONLY GAS-POWERED BOAT ALLOWED ON THE LAKE. Also important to know, because it is the only boat that CAN create a wake in which canoers might have difficulty. Gomer comes over and asks to see our fishing licenses, which we gladly produce. He then says, "Where are your life vests" and we say "We're sitting on them." and point to the USCG #4 Non-Wearable Flotation Devices currently keeping our posteriors from aching on the aluminum seats of the canoe. "You have to have a USCG #2 Wearable Floatation Device for all watercraft." Uh-oh. "I'm going to have to escort you back." Oh, crap.
Now, I am all for the DCNR doing their duty, and I appreciate that it is their job to keep everyone safe. And yes, I get the fact that most boating accidents happen to small watercraft operators. So, ok, we have to go back to port. We offer no resistance to the officer, and do as he requests. After all, we don't want to cause trouble. We're not those guys, ninety percent of the time. So we get back to port. At this point, we overhear the greatest thing ever out of the mouth of Gomer Pyle: "Yeah, I'm going to need backup, these guys are pretty hardcore."
This is when we get to meet Barney Fife for the first time. Barney shows up, and it's suddenly the DCNR Gestapo, because, you know, we're "hardcore." Gomer has decided to put the operator of the vehicle as the Carnivore, and so I am getting all of the stuff out of the boat to bring it ashore. Part of our tackle is a hatchet - in case we catch a snapping turtle - because none of us were going top put our hands anywhere NEAR a beastie like that. Gomer tells the Carnivore that he can go about cleaning up the gear with me while he (Gomer) fills out paperwork. The Carnivore picks up the hatchet and Barney now feels it necessary to assert his aw-thor-i-TIE by lifting up the leg the has the .357 holstered to it, and show off the "piece." It should be stated, too, that Barney's holster was being worn - get this - BACKWARDS!!! Yep, he's a "real" cop (more on this later).
At this point, Gomer insists on seeing a second form of ID, insisting it's required (not true, it was not a motorized vehicle). The Carnivore complies, though - like I said, we don't like to cause trouble most of the time. Gomer is at least nice enough to inform us that we've been civil, and if it stays that way, this whole ordeal will be a lot less painful and he'll be happy. I actually think that Gomer was just ticked at having to take the boat out and be forced from the comfy air-conditioned office. Barney, after all, is all about the business end of things. Him and his backwards .357. Wehn all is done, we're about to pull the canoe out of the way, when Gomer goes and moves it aside so he can back down and Barney (they've switched places now) pulls the boat onto the trailer. I apologize for having been in their way and he says, "It's no big deal, he just has to get to work," indicating Barney. WHAT???? No kidding that he wasn't a real cop before, now he's not even a full-time fake cop????????
The best are the guys in the boat/ USCG #2 Approved Wearable Flotation Device rental station. I go to check on the prices of these things, and Tweedle Dee says "What's going on?" I explain and he says, "I'd have told him to 'bite me.'" I explain that it's probably not worth however much cash, and his partner, Tweedle Dum, says "Yeah, if you wanna go out or anything later, just come see us - we'll hook you up, don't worry about it." He then proceeds to hand me one, saying, "This one got left here a few weeks ago, you can just have it." It has the name "Seth" on the back of it. Nice guys, those boat jockeys. We never went back to see the Tweedles.
Long story short (too late) the Carnivore gets slapped with an $85.00 fine for not having a USCG #2 Approved Wearable Flotation Device...in the same boat the two weeks earlier, marshalled by the same department, passed on a RIVER with the USCG#4 Approved Non-Wearable Flotation Devices. According the Gomer and Barney - who first told us they knew all the officers in the state, and then said they didn't know all the officers in the state - swore no one in the DCNR would do such a thing.
So we went back and consumed the rest of our ENTIRELY LEGAL beverages.
Saturday passed into Sunday, and it was good. The third day.
Sunday, we packed up and took off for home. No incidents worth mentioning.
All in all, a great trip. Much fun had. Good stories to tell. This might become a yearly thing.....and then again, it might not. Not sure on that yet.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid.
SO, this past weekend, my roommate and I "kidnapped" a buddy and took him on an excursion that he would never have planned himself. This excursion involved whisking this buddy, herein referred to as "Boo-Boo," off to parts unknown for a "guys' weekend" of camping, fishing, telling stories and other such things. Understand that if we tell Boo-Boo what we're doing, he will say "no," and our plans will all be for naught. This is based out of a desire to help Boo-Boo, who has expressed a strong desire to hang out and do "guy things." So camping it is!
Thursday:
Captain Caveman (me) and Colonel Carnivore (roomie) go and pick up a canoe from Col. Carnivore's friend Merlin. No problems. We go to borrow a vehicle that can fit The Colonel, The Caveman and the Short Bear...it doesn't have the right sized ball hitch to carry the trailer with the canoe. A minor setback. While out, we take care of the fishin license issue (almost forgot that) and we are good to go. We load everything into the vehicle and the three of us are off to a PA State Park in the middle of nowhere, canoe in tow. Mind you, this canoe is lecensed and has been used under the supervision of a current PA DCNR (Dept. of Conservation and Natural Resources) boating and angling official, as currently as two weeks ago. Keep this in mind, it will come in handy later.
We get to the camp, set up Col. Carnivore's giant portable Hilton, and I stay and finish setting up the camp while the other two go out for groceries and necessities. We've scrounged for some firewood and things are going rather smoothly thus far. Boo-Boo, being a novice camper, purchases a little too much food, but not to worry. These kinds of mistakes happen when you're new to camping, besides, he DID do well in purchasing the libations. Kudos, Boo-Boo.
Thursday passes into Friday, and all is good. The first day.
Friday:
The Caveman, the Carnivore and Boo-Boo wake up, and Boo-Boo is instructed as to how to make breakfast over a campfire. Pretty neat stuff. The day is looking nice, and we're now ready to set about the events for the day. We decide a conoe trip is in order. Now, this state park has a good-sized lake (300 acres) so we start paddling around. Col. Carnivore is steering in the back, Capt. Caveman is supplying power up front, and Boo-Boo is in the middle, surveying the scenery and, from what he reports, having a nice time of it. All is right in the world. A three-hour tour (not the same as the S.S. Minnow) finds us hankering for some lunch, so we disembark. Successful trip!
Now, however, we realize that we have to take care of getting Boo-Boo a fishing license, so we all go into town, procure this and a couple small things, and we're good to go. Still, the trip takes a little while, and when we come back, it's relaxing, cook some dinner, and get ready to do a little evening fishing. If you have ever taught a small child to fish, you know how difficult it CAN be. This, while considerably less difficult, was not without a few snags (oh yes, pun intended.) Still, I believe we all caught a little something that night, although small sunfish and bluegill are hardly worth reporting as a "catch." But they're fun to toy with on the end of a fly line. No, I was the only one with the fly rod, we did not tempt fate with this one.
It gets dark, we light a fire. Many props to Col. Carnivore, who did most of the firetending for the weekend. Who says pyromania is a bad thing? Friday passes into Saturday and all is good. The second day.
Saturday:
Slow to wake, even though we really didn't consume too many of our ENTIRELY LEGAL libations the previous evening. Breakfast, morning chores at a campsite, that kind of thing. We decide to hit the water for some fishing in the spots we found the previous day. No problem. The Carnivore and the Caveman hoist the trailer about, hook it all up, etc, and we're off. OK, now it should be said here that while boating, we've not been entirely as safe as we could be. We had three people, and only two flotation devices. In our defense, though, the Carnivore used to be a lifeguard, and the Caveman can swim pretty well in his own right. Boo-Boo can swim, and we know we'd give him the two flotation devices (USCG #4 non-wearable flotation device.) So, while it's not perfect, we know we're covered. So, we're fishing in a boat (Boo-Boo DOES learn pretty fast) two of us with spin cast reels, and I with my fly rod (yep, flyfishing from a canoe, I am the master of the silly....again). After not too long of this, Boo-Boo has had enough, and would like to be put to shore. The Carnivore and the Caveman, however want to catch some dinner. "Give it to us r-r-r-r-raw, and wr-r-r-r-igling!" is our motto.
This could be the error. Minus the weight of a third person, the canoe moves pretty fast, now, and we wisk our way across the lake.
And we are suddenly in Mayberry. That's right, Barney Fife, member of the DCNR Seasonal Lifeguard, Angling and Boating Brigade, is there with his high-tech bi-noc-YOO-lars and spots us. Our speedy canoing must be causing too much of a wake. He sends his assistant, Gomer Pyle, DCNR, SLABB, after us in the ONLY GAS-POWERED BOAT ALLOWED ON THE LAKE. Also important to know, because it is the only boat that CAN create a wake in which canoers might have difficulty. Gomer comes over and asks to see our fishing licenses, which we gladly produce. He then says, "Where are your life vests" and we say "We're sitting on them." and point to the USCG #4 Non-Wearable Flotation Devices currently keeping our posteriors from aching on the aluminum seats of the canoe. "You have to have a USCG #2 Wearable Floatation Device for all watercraft." Uh-oh. "I'm going to have to escort you back." Oh, crap.
Now, I am all for the DCNR doing their duty, and I appreciate that it is their job to keep everyone safe. And yes, I get the fact that most boating accidents happen to small watercraft operators. So, ok, we have to go back to port. We offer no resistance to the officer, and do as he requests. After all, we don't want to cause trouble. We're not those guys, ninety percent of the time. So we get back to port. At this point, we overhear the greatest thing ever out of the mouth of Gomer Pyle: "Yeah, I'm going to need backup, these guys are pretty hardcore."
This is when we get to meet Barney Fife for the first time. Barney shows up, and it's suddenly the DCNR Gestapo, because, you know, we're "hardcore." Gomer has decided to put the operator of the vehicle as the Carnivore, and so I am getting all of the stuff out of the boat to bring it ashore. Part of our tackle is a hatchet - in case we catch a snapping turtle - because none of us were going top put our hands anywhere NEAR a beastie like that. Gomer tells the Carnivore that he can go about cleaning up the gear with me while he (Gomer) fills out paperwork. The Carnivore picks up the hatchet and Barney now feels it necessary to assert his aw-thor-i-TIE by lifting up the leg the has the .357 holstered to it, and show off the "piece." It should be stated, too, that Barney's holster was being worn - get this - BACKWARDS!!! Yep, he's a "real" cop (more on this later).
At this point, Gomer insists on seeing a second form of ID, insisting it's required (not true, it was not a motorized vehicle). The Carnivore complies, though - like I said, we don't like to cause trouble most of the time. Gomer is at least nice enough to inform us that we've been civil, and if it stays that way, this whole ordeal will be a lot less painful and he'll be happy. I actually think that Gomer was just ticked at having to take the boat out and be forced from the comfy air-conditioned office. Barney, after all, is all about the business end of things. Him and his backwards .357. Wehn all is done, we're about to pull the canoe out of the way, when Gomer goes and moves it aside so he can back down and Barney (they've switched places now) pulls the boat onto the trailer. I apologize for having been in their way and he says, "It's no big deal, he just has to get to work," indicating Barney. WHAT???? No kidding that he wasn't a real cop before, now he's not even a full-time fake cop????????
The best are the guys in the boat/ USCG #2 Approved Wearable Flotation Device rental station. I go to check on the prices of these things, and Tweedle Dee says "What's going on?" I explain and he says, "I'd have told him to 'bite me.'" I explain that it's probably not worth however much cash, and his partner, Tweedle Dum, says "Yeah, if you wanna go out or anything later, just come see us - we'll hook you up, don't worry about it." He then proceeds to hand me one, saying, "This one got left here a few weeks ago, you can just have it." It has the name "Seth" on the back of it. Nice guys, those boat jockeys. We never went back to see the Tweedles.
Long story short (too late) the Carnivore gets slapped with an $85.00 fine for not having a USCG #2 Approved Wearable Flotation Device...in the same boat the two weeks earlier, marshalled by the same department, passed on a RIVER with the USCG#4 Approved Non-Wearable Flotation Devices. According the Gomer and Barney - who first told us they knew all the officers in the state, and then said they didn't know all the officers in the state - swore no one in the DCNR would do such a thing.
So we went back and consumed the rest of our ENTIRELY LEGAL beverages.
Saturday passed into Sunday, and it was good. The third day.
Sunday, we packed up and took off for home. No incidents worth mentioning.
All in all, a great trip. Much fun had. Good stories to tell. This might become a yearly thing.....and then again, it might not. Not sure on that yet.
Thanks for reading.
The Fat Kid.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Ride report: MS 150 Escape to the Lake (Erie)
Now that the big event you've been reading about has passed, it's time to look back and recap the weekend, put some perspective on it, and to show my gratitude for all of you who have believed in me.
First, to my family, who graciously posted the couple of updates on my facebook page to let everyone know how I was doing, a huge thank you. You may not have believed it to be very much, but it meant a lot to me. Secondly (in alphabetical order), to Mr. Ahlers, Mr. Creasy, Mr. Walther, and Mr. Wehler - thanks guys. You made the weekend worthwhile in so many ways. Particular thanks for the aid with my mishap (more later on this). Thirdly, to all those who supported my fundraising monetarily, no matter what the amount, you have my very humble thanks. Your generosity is amazing, your hearts huge. I am in awe of you. Lastly, to all my friends and family who have been supporting me throughout this process - I am grateful to you all. Your kind words and gestures have served to give me the strength and stamina needed to accomplish this task. I don't know if I could have done it on my own. Out there on the road, I knew I was NOT alone, all because of you.
But enough of the sappy stuff - you all want to know what happened, right? I thought so!
Saturday morning, I arrived at the starting gate at about 5:30 AM. The campground was quiet, and a heavy fog was settled over the field where I parked. Generators were running several stands of lights around the area, the registration tent was up and filled with volunteers helping riders get settled in. I quickly found my team leader and got things situated. I handed in my envelope of checks, cash, etc, received my packet o' materials, and all I had to do was get my luggage on the truck and get ready to ride. I had breakfasted, hydrated, had my food ready to go...so I had plenty of time to relax and go about the business of the morning.
As other riders began to arrive (yeah, I was one of the first there, so the parking spot was truly choice) a spirit began to infect the grounds. Laughter rang out clearly at every moment. This was going to be more than a ride...it was going to be a two-day party!! Teams showed up in their jerseys, Xfinity, Roadkill Warriors, Thick Bikes, Champions for MS (my team), Fort Couch Potatoes, and a myriad of other teams, all sporting company logos or special team names - and the miscellaneous masses who just showed up to ride one at a time, or in small groups of friends. I estimate there were about 700 riders in all - from every walk of life, from every fitness level. The DJ started cranking music as teams got together for photos, and the lines for the port-a-potties grew long (as happens with EVERY bike event, I think).
Finally, the sun came up and began to burn off the fog, and we lined up at the starting gate. At 7:30, we were off - a half hour late due to too much fog! The mass of riders went out, each of us trying to make sure we didn't crash and look really foolish right off! Seriously, you'd be surprised how fast one small crash/stoppage can back up when you're just starting out on the ride. I found out fairly quickly, as we approached the first rise of the day about 1.5 miles into the ride. Two riders in front of me, a girl misjudged the hill, and stopped dead in her tracks, forcing those of us immediately surrounding her to stop, too. No momentum left, and the hill being fairly steep (but very short) I was forced to walk the 25 feet up the little rise! At this point, I knew I was in for a world of pain, if I had to walk this early in the day!!!
My friends were ahead of me, and I had to catch up! So at the top of the hill, I managed to shift into top gear and started again, and by the time 5 miles were done, I'd caught my friends again, after a couple of easy descents on back roads at almost 30 mph. We settled into a pace and began to ride. We met up with a couple of ladies from the Xfinity team, and chit-chatted our way through the winding roads. Up and over small hills we went, and I was surprised at something: I was strong. After the first 30 miles, I found myself feeling great, not in the least bit hungry at the second pit stop of the day, having not even had anything to drink. That was at 9:09 AM. Alarms sounded in my head, but my body was telling me I was fine. I sipped some water and gatorade anyway, and ate some. There was more than plenty of food. Fruits, pb&j sandwiches, drinks, protein bars, granola bars, fruit chews - tons of food was there at the support stations. One rider lost a spoke on his wheel and had to get a ride from the "Sag Wagon" to this rest stop, where a bike mechanic was quickly repairing the problem. My friends and I were still doing well, and I felt as fresh as a spring daisy. And I can't believe I just used that term. But, I digress.
The next stop was lunch at 44.5 miles in, and if I thought they had plenty of food before - well THIS blew me away. I rarely get too hungry while I ride anyway, but this was almost too much! I forced myself to eat a banana, drink some lemonade and some water, chow on a protein bar and half a chicken sandwich before I just couldn't do any more...and I took way less than what was offered! It was back on the road shortly thereafter. I was ahead of my two friends I'd been riding with, and the ladies had gone on ahead of me when I rounded the corner thanking the marshalls for their traffic duties and saw a very intimidating hill. You all know how I feel about hills by now, but just in case you missed it, I will borrow a line from Mr. Weird Al Yankovic: "I'd rather dive into a swimming pool filled with double-edged razor blades than" climb hills! Seriously. I got not quite halfway up it and had to pull off to the side to allow my legs to recouperate. It's a bit humiliating....especially when there are other people scampering up at an unbelievable rate. One of my friends passed me.
From somewhere - and I couldn't tell you where it is - my legs pull some very strange strength, and after a brief rest in the middle (2, maybe 3 minutes) I was able to make it up the hill. It was slow, painful, and agonizing, but I was not going to let the hill beat me, nor was I going to take a ride in the sag wagon. I eventually gained the top, and found something amazing: my legs recovered their strength ON THE RIDE UP. WHAT? Yep, you heard me. It's about something called "cadence"and it's one of the hardest things to force your muscles to do, in my humble opinion. A friend told me not too long ago, "if you can keep it at about 85 rpms, there's nothing you can't ride." Well, guess what? I found that zone between 75-90 rpms and was able to keep that going up the rest of that climb, and then at the top, too. Sometimes, it means dropping the gears down and going slower, but if you can keep it there, well, maybe even I can ride anything.
The rest of the way was mostly easy going for a while. I caught up to the ladies, and I knew my friend who passed me went on to the century option that was offered (later found out it was a very hilly course, so I'm glad I didn't do it). Afew hills later (we're now into the 60-ish mile range, by the way - the longest distance I had ever done in a day) and one of my other friends caught up to me on a hill. We kept going, and rode most of the rest of the trip together. At the end, the long descent into Edinboro, PA, saw us crossing the day's finish line together. 79.3+ miles done.
THe party continued. Each team had pavilions erected, and we all sat around, meeting one another, congratulating one another, sharing the joys of fellowship, our cause, and of course, a few well-earned treats like beer, snacks, and more beer...unless you were sipping scotch, like me (special thanks to Mr. Irving for that flask!) I set up the tent, grabbed a shower, put my bike away in the gymnasium, and set about relaxing for the evening. I had been through the tough part, now it was time to recouperate for the next day. Dinner, a beer garden, general hooliganism and hanging out with my buddies for a while, and eventually, back to the tenting area for some fun and much-needed sleep.
Innevitably, it rained all night. I snored, driving one friend into the student union, and the tent leaked a little - nothing too serious, but a pain, none the less (guess it's time for more protective coating, huh?) After a semi-restless evening, it was time to get up and do it all again. Breakfast began at 5. I was out of bed by 4:50. All three of us barely made it to the starting line by 7:30, and thus began day two.
Sunday was supposed to be easier than Saturday. The distance was shorter, and supposedly the hills were simpler. But heading into a strong wind is never easy. I managed to find the "sweet spot" in a couple of trains of people, thus avoiding some of the wind for a while as I attempted to catch up with my friends who were ahead of me in the first group of riders. I barely had caught onto this group in the beginning of the day. I eventually did catch them, and we bagan riding together, when it happened. Road construction. Well, a small drainage issue, really. We saw it coming, we were warned about it by the course marshals, and when it came and we slowed down for it, I was a little too close to my friend's back tire, and when he braked a little more than I thought he was going to, a slammed on the brakes and flipped over my handlebars. The most common injuries to cyclists are broken wrists (from trying to catch yourself on the ground) and broken collarbones (from equally messing up your shoudlers as you fall). Somehow, I had a deathgrip on the bike, and it flipped with me (YAY! saved the bike!) My helmet hit thr gound, along with a little bit of my forehead, and the backside of my shoulder as I flipped end-over-end. I finished in a sitting position, somehow, not too much the worse for wear. A contact lens popped out, and was caught in my sunglasses, so I put that back in. My waterbottle was screwed up and worthless. I don't know how or why it happened, but I somehow managed to dodge anything more serious that a bruised ego and some "road rash."
The next 20 or so miles was painful. my back was hurting, my shoulder was hurting. My head started off throbbing, but that quickly went away. The next rest stop (mile 122) was out of biofreeze for my back. Luckily, the lady in charge of the med kit had some other oitnment that I rubbed into my back, and it was all good. I was furnished with a new waterbottle by Chaz of Pittsburgh Pro Bikes (visit their site, please http://www.probikesllc.com/) and I was on my way again. 10 miles left to go, we were told.
The day got colder, the closer we got to the lake, and the winds picked up. But there I was, feeling barely able to hold on, and when the roads eased out. We had been rolling through eastern OH, along freshly chipped and tarred roads, which were taking their toll on me. The roads smoothed out to better surfaces, and I was able to find my cadence again. Shoulder sore, my legs started working as I came into the village of Caunneaut, OH. Policemen, firemen, volunteers, and people sitting on their front porches waved us on, cheered us all, congratulated us, and thanked us as we rode past them. I was smiling. I was happy. I know now how it must feel for the pro racers to come into the finish line, crowds of people yelling and screaming for them. There were a bunch of us stretched out along the route. It would have been just fine to all roll in together. But I had been on the road by myself for most of two days, catching small groups, watching a few others roll by me on hills. Largely, I spent my time just the way I trained: just me and the road. I wanted to finish it that way. I was strong. I still had legs left for this. As I passed one of the last guys in front of me, I told him to "finish like a pro" and invited him to grab onto my wheel (lingo for falling into line and drafting, for the non-cyclists) if he could. My hands on the drops, back bent over, riding in high gear, I pedaled through the last turn and onto a straightaway.
We had joked about finishing with a pose like the pros do: Fleccha with his archery, Cavendish with his cell phone, Contador with his pistol. We joked about posing like these guys as we crossed the finish line. I couldn't take my hands off the bars - Fleccha was out. Cavendish's phone - I never really liked that one. I hate Contador, and besides, it was a cop directing me into the park. I couldn't shoot the cop! That would be bad form! And then I saw him: the photographer. I was alone on the road, the way I wanted. Solo finish. People on both sides of the road...my chance to get a taste of what it might feel like to win a race. I raised my finger, "shot the cop" as the camera started clicking away, the crowd laughing, me smiling wide. Somewhere out there, there's a photo of it.
Thanks once again for coming on this ride with me, everyone. It has been worth it in so many different ways for me, and I hope you've gotten some enjoyment out of it, too. I'm looking forward to doing this again next year. Who knows?? I might do the century option next year...I may even try and do one of these in another city as well!! the National MS Society hosts a lot of these events all over the country - if there's one near you, I ask you to consider riding it. If riding isn't your thing, that's cool. Please consider volunteering for it. But maybe there's not one near you. In that case, find a charity ride, walk, run - whatever...and get involved. Take part. You'll be glad you did. And maybe next time, we'll take turns pulling through a headwind.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
First, to my family, who graciously posted the couple of updates on my facebook page to let everyone know how I was doing, a huge thank you. You may not have believed it to be very much, but it meant a lot to me. Secondly (in alphabetical order), to Mr. Ahlers, Mr. Creasy, Mr. Walther, and Mr. Wehler - thanks guys. You made the weekend worthwhile in so many ways. Particular thanks for the aid with my mishap (more later on this). Thirdly, to all those who supported my fundraising monetarily, no matter what the amount, you have my very humble thanks. Your generosity is amazing, your hearts huge. I am in awe of you. Lastly, to all my friends and family who have been supporting me throughout this process - I am grateful to you all. Your kind words and gestures have served to give me the strength and stamina needed to accomplish this task. I don't know if I could have done it on my own. Out there on the road, I knew I was NOT alone, all because of you.
But enough of the sappy stuff - you all want to know what happened, right? I thought so!
Saturday morning, I arrived at the starting gate at about 5:30 AM. The campground was quiet, and a heavy fog was settled over the field where I parked. Generators were running several stands of lights around the area, the registration tent was up and filled with volunteers helping riders get settled in. I quickly found my team leader and got things situated. I handed in my envelope of checks, cash, etc, received my packet o' materials, and all I had to do was get my luggage on the truck and get ready to ride. I had breakfasted, hydrated, had my food ready to go...so I had plenty of time to relax and go about the business of the morning.
As other riders began to arrive (yeah, I was one of the first there, so the parking spot was truly choice) a spirit began to infect the grounds. Laughter rang out clearly at every moment. This was going to be more than a ride...it was going to be a two-day party!! Teams showed up in their jerseys, Xfinity, Roadkill Warriors, Thick Bikes, Champions for MS (my team), Fort Couch Potatoes, and a myriad of other teams, all sporting company logos or special team names - and the miscellaneous masses who just showed up to ride one at a time, or in small groups of friends. I estimate there were about 700 riders in all - from every walk of life, from every fitness level. The DJ started cranking music as teams got together for photos, and the lines for the port-a-potties grew long (as happens with EVERY bike event, I think).
Finally, the sun came up and began to burn off the fog, and we lined up at the starting gate. At 7:30, we were off - a half hour late due to too much fog! The mass of riders went out, each of us trying to make sure we didn't crash and look really foolish right off! Seriously, you'd be surprised how fast one small crash/stoppage can back up when you're just starting out on the ride. I found out fairly quickly, as we approached the first rise of the day about 1.5 miles into the ride. Two riders in front of me, a girl misjudged the hill, and stopped dead in her tracks, forcing those of us immediately surrounding her to stop, too. No momentum left, and the hill being fairly steep (but very short) I was forced to walk the 25 feet up the little rise! At this point, I knew I was in for a world of pain, if I had to walk this early in the day!!!
My friends were ahead of me, and I had to catch up! So at the top of the hill, I managed to shift into top gear and started again, and by the time 5 miles were done, I'd caught my friends again, after a couple of easy descents on back roads at almost 30 mph. We settled into a pace and began to ride. We met up with a couple of ladies from the Xfinity team, and chit-chatted our way through the winding roads. Up and over small hills we went, and I was surprised at something: I was strong. After the first 30 miles, I found myself feeling great, not in the least bit hungry at the second pit stop of the day, having not even had anything to drink. That was at 9:09 AM. Alarms sounded in my head, but my body was telling me I was fine. I sipped some water and gatorade anyway, and ate some. There was more than plenty of food. Fruits, pb&j sandwiches, drinks, protein bars, granola bars, fruit chews - tons of food was there at the support stations. One rider lost a spoke on his wheel and had to get a ride from the "Sag Wagon" to this rest stop, where a bike mechanic was quickly repairing the problem. My friends and I were still doing well, and I felt as fresh as a spring daisy. And I can't believe I just used that term. But, I digress.
The next stop was lunch at 44.5 miles in, and if I thought they had plenty of food before - well THIS blew me away. I rarely get too hungry while I ride anyway, but this was almost too much! I forced myself to eat a banana, drink some lemonade and some water, chow on a protein bar and half a chicken sandwich before I just couldn't do any more...and I took way less than what was offered! It was back on the road shortly thereafter. I was ahead of my two friends I'd been riding with, and the ladies had gone on ahead of me when I rounded the corner thanking the marshalls for their traffic duties and saw a very intimidating hill. You all know how I feel about hills by now, but just in case you missed it, I will borrow a line from Mr. Weird Al Yankovic: "I'd rather dive into a swimming pool filled with double-edged razor blades than" climb hills! Seriously. I got not quite halfway up it and had to pull off to the side to allow my legs to recouperate. It's a bit humiliating....especially when there are other people scampering up at an unbelievable rate. One of my friends passed me.
From somewhere - and I couldn't tell you where it is - my legs pull some very strange strength, and after a brief rest in the middle (2, maybe 3 minutes) I was able to make it up the hill. It was slow, painful, and agonizing, but I was not going to let the hill beat me, nor was I going to take a ride in the sag wagon. I eventually gained the top, and found something amazing: my legs recovered their strength ON THE RIDE UP. WHAT? Yep, you heard me. It's about something called "cadence"and it's one of the hardest things to force your muscles to do, in my humble opinion. A friend told me not too long ago, "if you can keep it at about 85 rpms, there's nothing you can't ride." Well, guess what? I found that zone between 75-90 rpms and was able to keep that going up the rest of that climb, and then at the top, too. Sometimes, it means dropping the gears down and going slower, but if you can keep it there, well, maybe even I can ride anything.
The rest of the way was mostly easy going for a while. I caught up to the ladies, and I knew my friend who passed me went on to the century option that was offered (later found out it was a very hilly course, so I'm glad I didn't do it). Afew hills later (we're now into the 60-ish mile range, by the way - the longest distance I had ever done in a day) and one of my other friends caught up to me on a hill. We kept going, and rode most of the rest of the trip together. At the end, the long descent into Edinboro, PA, saw us crossing the day's finish line together. 79.3+ miles done.
THe party continued. Each team had pavilions erected, and we all sat around, meeting one another, congratulating one another, sharing the joys of fellowship, our cause, and of course, a few well-earned treats like beer, snacks, and more beer...unless you were sipping scotch, like me (special thanks to Mr. Irving for that flask!) I set up the tent, grabbed a shower, put my bike away in the gymnasium, and set about relaxing for the evening. I had been through the tough part, now it was time to recouperate for the next day. Dinner, a beer garden, general hooliganism and hanging out with my buddies for a while, and eventually, back to the tenting area for some fun and much-needed sleep.
Innevitably, it rained all night. I snored, driving one friend into the student union, and the tent leaked a little - nothing too serious, but a pain, none the less (guess it's time for more protective coating, huh?) After a semi-restless evening, it was time to get up and do it all again. Breakfast began at 5. I was out of bed by 4:50. All three of us barely made it to the starting line by 7:30, and thus began day two.
Sunday was supposed to be easier than Saturday. The distance was shorter, and supposedly the hills were simpler. But heading into a strong wind is never easy. I managed to find the "sweet spot" in a couple of trains of people, thus avoiding some of the wind for a while as I attempted to catch up with my friends who were ahead of me in the first group of riders. I barely had caught onto this group in the beginning of the day. I eventually did catch them, and we bagan riding together, when it happened. Road construction. Well, a small drainage issue, really. We saw it coming, we were warned about it by the course marshals, and when it came and we slowed down for it, I was a little too close to my friend's back tire, and when he braked a little more than I thought he was going to, a slammed on the brakes and flipped over my handlebars. The most common injuries to cyclists are broken wrists (from trying to catch yourself on the ground) and broken collarbones (from equally messing up your shoudlers as you fall). Somehow, I had a deathgrip on the bike, and it flipped with me (YAY! saved the bike!) My helmet hit thr gound, along with a little bit of my forehead, and the backside of my shoulder as I flipped end-over-end. I finished in a sitting position, somehow, not too much the worse for wear. A contact lens popped out, and was caught in my sunglasses, so I put that back in. My waterbottle was screwed up and worthless. I don't know how or why it happened, but I somehow managed to dodge anything more serious that a bruised ego and some "road rash."
The next 20 or so miles was painful. my back was hurting, my shoulder was hurting. My head started off throbbing, but that quickly went away. The next rest stop (mile 122) was out of biofreeze for my back. Luckily, the lady in charge of the med kit had some other oitnment that I rubbed into my back, and it was all good. I was furnished with a new waterbottle by Chaz of Pittsburgh Pro Bikes (visit their site, please http://www.probikesllc.com/) and I was on my way again. 10 miles left to go, we were told.
The day got colder, the closer we got to the lake, and the winds picked up. But there I was, feeling barely able to hold on, and when the roads eased out. We had been rolling through eastern OH, along freshly chipped and tarred roads, which were taking their toll on me. The roads smoothed out to better surfaces, and I was able to find my cadence again. Shoulder sore, my legs started working as I came into the village of Caunneaut, OH. Policemen, firemen, volunteers, and people sitting on their front porches waved us on, cheered us all, congratulated us, and thanked us as we rode past them. I was smiling. I was happy. I know now how it must feel for the pro racers to come into the finish line, crowds of people yelling and screaming for them. There were a bunch of us stretched out along the route. It would have been just fine to all roll in together. But I had been on the road by myself for most of two days, catching small groups, watching a few others roll by me on hills. Largely, I spent my time just the way I trained: just me and the road. I wanted to finish it that way. I was strong. I still had legs left for this. As I passed one of the last guys in front of me, I told him to "finish like a pro" and invited him to grab onto my wheel (lingo for falling into line and drafting, for the non-cyclists) if he could. My hands on the drops, back bent over, riding in high gear, I pedaled through the last turn and onto a straightaway.
We had joked about finishing with a pose like the pros do: Fleccha with his archery, Cavendish with his cell phone, Contador with his pistol. We joked about posing like these guys as we crossed the finish line. I couldn't take my hands off the bars - Fleccha was out. Cavendish's phone - I never really liked that one. I hate Contador, and besides, it was a cop directing me into the park. I couldn't shoot the cop! That would be bad form! And then I saw him: the photographer. I was alone on the road, the way I wanted. Solo finish. People on both sides of the road...my chance to get a taste of what it might feel like to win a race. I raised my finger, "shot the cop" as the camera started clicking away, the crowd laughing, me smiling wide. Somewhere out there, there's a photo of it.
Thanks once again for coming on this ride with me, everyone. It has been worth it in so many different ways for me, and I hope you've gotten some enjoyment out of it, too. I'm looking forward to doing this again next year. Who knows?? I might do the century option next year...I may even try and do one of these in another city as well!! the National MS Society hosts a lot of these events all over the country - if there's one near you, I ask you to consider riding it. If riding isn't your thing, that's cool. Please consider volunteering for it. But maybe there's not one near you. In that case, find a charity ride, walk, run - whatever...and get involved. Take part. You'll be glad you did. And maybe next time, we'll take turns pulling through a headwind.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
T - 84 hours....
Yep, about 84 hours from now, my alarms (I need more than one) will start going off to get my lazy backside out of bed for the hardest two days I will have ever spent on a bike. Oh, some of the hills will be simple, I'm sure, and some will offer me a lot of difficulty. But the overall distance will be the toughest couple of days I've ever spent in the saddle. And it's almost here.
With that in mind, I'd like to share something with you about the team I'm riding on: It's called "Champions for MS" and the idea is that they pair each rider up with one individual who happens to be afflicted with the disease. THe rider rides for that person. My person is Maureen. We've been in some contact, and I realized just how much my battling with hills is like her battling this disease. You can either give up and take the easy path, or you can fight, keep going, do that hard thing, and accept that you may go slow and you may even lose some days, but you keep getting back up and trying again.
Maureen has been diagnosed now for about 9 years. She walks with a cane, and sometimes needs a scooter. She works as much s she can as a nurse, but even that is pretty light duty, and not a lot of hours - a couple days a week for a private practice that gives her only a few hours each day. Two yorkshire terriers keep her busy, too. She does as much as she can for as long as she can. Every day is an uphill battle for her.
And I complain because I get to choose whether or not I attempt a hill. Maureen doesn't get to choose her hills.
I also wanted to take a moment and say a very public thanks to all those who have been so gracious as to donate to this worthy cause. Thank you for believing in me and supporting me. I know that some of you really don't understand this obsession I have with riding, and to many of you I'm "that crazy guy I know who's really into biking for some odd reason," but your support means the world to me, as it has throughout this 3-year long adventure I've been on.
Speaking of adventures - I've now been informed by a lot of people that I should probably change the title of this blog. They tell me I'm no longer fat. Well, I simply couldn't change it now - but just so you all know the tradition of the Fat Kid:
It started with my college theatre troupe. We have chairpersons in charge of certain elements of the production: lighting, sound, costumes, props, and most of all, the set. Two set chairs before me, there was a guy in charge of the sets whose name was affectionately given as, "The Fat Kid." I think at the time, he may have been...gravitationally gifted. The title was bequethed to a slightly less chubby kid, when he took the position, and again when I held the position. Thus, I am Fat Kid the Third...it's really kind of a mental state of being rahter than a physical description, although I earned some of that, too.
So no - I'm not changing the title. Once a Fat Kid, always a Fat Kid. But don't you worry....I don't take myself too seriously (you know - in case you had a hard time keeping up with that fact)
I will try and work out some way to keep you all posted during the ride this weekend, and maybe even *gasp* post some pictures. There will be status updates available...
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
With that in mind, I'd like to share something with you about the team I'm riding on: It's called "Champions for MS" and the idea is that they pair each rider up with one individual who happens to be afflicted with the disease. THe rider rides for that person. My person is Maureen. We've been in some contact, and I realized just how much my battling with hills is like her battling this disease. You can either give up and take the easy path, or you can fight, keep going, do that hard thing, and accept that you may go slow and you may even lose some days, but you keep getting back up and trying again.
Maureen has been diagnosed now for about 9 years. She walks with a cane, and sometimes needs a scooter. She works as much s she can as a nurse, but even that is pretty light duty, and not a lot of hours - a couple days a week for a private practice that gives her only a few hours each day. Two yorkshire terriers keep her busy, too. She does as much as she can for as long as she can. Every day is an uphill battle for her.
And I complain because I get to choose whether or not I attempt a hill. Maureen doesn't get to choose her hills.
I also wanted to take a moment and say a very public thanks to all those who have been so gracious as to donate to this worthy cause. Thank you for believing in me and supporting me. I know that some of you really don't understand this obsession I have with riding, and to many of you I'm "that crazy guy I know who's really into biking for some odd reason," but your support means the world to me, as it has throughout this 3-year long adventure I've been on.
Speaking of adventures - I've now been informed by a lot of people that I should probably change the title of this blog. They tell me I'm no longer fat. Well, I simply couldn't change it now - but just so you all know the tradition of the Fat Kid:
It started with my college theatre troupe. We have chairpersons in charge of certain elements of the production: lighting, sound, costumes, props, and most of all, the set. Two set chairs before me, there was a guy in charge of the sets whose name was affectionately given as, "The Fat Kid." I think at the time, he may have been...gravitationally gifted. The title was bequethed to a slightly less chubby kid, when he took the position, and again when I held the position. Thus, I am Fat Kid the Third...it's really kind of a mental state of being rahter than a physical description, although I earned some of that, too.
So no - I'm not changing the title. Once a Fat Kid, always a Fat Kid. But don't you worry....I don't take myself too seriously (you know - in case you had a hard time keeping up with that fact)
I will try and work out some way to keep you all posted during the ride this weekend, and maybe even *gasp* post some pictures. There will be status updates available...
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Riding, riding, riding, riding, riding......
OK,
The last week or two have been a madhouse in the life of the Fat Kid. With this ride coming up in a week (The MS 150, for those who want to maybe - I dunno - donate for a good cause or some craziness like that), I have been riding a whole ton. What does "a whole ton" mean? Last weekend, the Fat Kid put in 150 miles on the bike. 50 miles a day for three days. It was intense, because, as I'm aure some are aware, I have never done any kind of effort like that. It was pretty cool - even if I do say so myself.
So this weekend, more concentrated effort to get ready for next week. Two days, minimum 60 miles a day. Yep - trying to get up to 120 miles over two days, hopefully a little more! So today's ride was great - took a swing through the north hills, courtesy of a rider I met while out on the road. Got in my 60, though, so tomorrow should be good. We'll see if I'll be cooked by the time 60 roles around or if I could go for more. Hopefully, I'll be still able to push the pedals around... That would be, in a word, HOT.
And speaking of hot, The Fat Kid went and did something awesome: I bought a new "girlfriend." Now, for those who are not cyclists, "boyfriend/girlfriend" usually refers to your bike...because we spend more time with the bike than we do actual people - hence, the relationship with the bike. So, the new girlfriend is lighter, faster, and incredibly hotter. No, I still climb hills very slowly, and sometimes I have to stop halfway up. It kinda sucks. No, scratch that, it sucks a lot that I just can't get it right for climbing hills. But I keep trying, and will likely try again on the hills tomorrow. But on the downhills, on the flats, and on pretty much everything but the climbs, guess who just got a bit faster?? THIS GUY! Seriously, the difference in the old and new bikes comes out to a lot less weight to push arouns, thus about 2-3 mph.
Don't look now, but with a little time, the Fat Kid? You might see him in a race sometime.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
The last week or two have been a madhouse in the life of the Fat Kid. With this ride coming up in a week (The MS 150, for those who want to maybe - I dunno - donate for a good cause or some craziness like that), I have been riding a whole ton. What does "a whole ton" mean? Last weekend, the Fat Kid put in 150 miles on the bike. 50 miles a day for three days. It was intense, because, as I'm aure some are aware, I have never done any kind of effort like that. It was pretty cool - even if I do say so myself.
So this weekend, more concentrated effort to get ready for next week. Two days, minimum 60 miles a day. Yep - trying to get up to 120 miles over two days, hopefully a little more! So today's ride was great - took a swing through the north hills, courtesy of a rider I met while out on the road. Got in my 60, though, so tomorrow should be good. We'll see if I'll be cooked by the time 60 roles around or if I could go for more. Hopefully, I'll be still able to push the pedals around... That would be, in a word, HOT.
And speaking of hot, The Fat Kid went and did something awesome: I bought a new "girlfriend." Now, for those who are not cyclists, "boyfriend/girlfriend" usually refers to your bike...because we spend more time with the bike than we do actual people - hence, the relationship with the bike. So, the new girlfriend is lighter, faster, and incredibly hotter. No, I still climb hills very slowly, and sometimes I have to stop halfway up. It kinda sucks. No, scratch that, it sucks a lot that I just can't get it right for climbing hills. But I keep trying, and will likely try again on the hills tomorrow. But on the downhills, on the flats, and on pretty much everything but the climbs, guess who just got a bit faster?? THIS GUY! Seriously, the difference in the old and new bikes comes out to a lot less weight to push arouns, thus about 2-3 mph.
Don't look now, but with a little time, the Fat Kid? You might see him in a race sometime.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)