A little bike narstiness
So, there I was, hauling arse against a headwind that'd make a pilot wet his gotchies, when I realised something: the fricking saddlebags? yeah, they kinda add drag. Up ahead, Boss Man was pedalling like he meant it, just like me; but his longer legs and backpack added up to a way better power/streamlining combo, and he pushed through the gale with ease -- comparatively. Mystie and her two-tonne ride were lost somewhere behind. We didn't even know if she was still alive, but bloody-mindedness kept us on track for the ultimate goal: the little point of land at the end of the Lachine arboretum.
Leave no one behind? Forgetit. When you're working your arse like a ten-cent-bandit on a thousand-dollar night just to make it to the finish-line and you don't want to turn side-on to the wind for fear of being knocked right off your aluminium road-hog, you just keep pumping.
But shit, dawg. Gary Fisher makes magical machines.
Anyway, so we finally ended up making it through the wind, out over a rough little track and through a tiny sand-pit (okay, I carried over the sand. Road tyres suck at sand) and won out to the crumbled remains of a concrete dock, where we kicked back with some halvah and a bunch of nuts. And got splashed repeatedly by the choppy choppy surf of Lac-St-Louis. There was a guy out at the very tip who was trying to read. Stoopid. he fought to keep the pages in one place, just to get up and leave after getting completely soaked my a whitehead. Nice.
The ride back was almost idyllic, what with us practically coasting the whole time. But holy hannah, were my legs sore at work last night.
||Gods save the Queen,
One last little note... - 09.21.2006
de-stressing, biking and terrorism - 06.06.2006
Mildly stressed... - 05.29.2006
More crime stupidity - 05.28.2006
Scary stuff - 05.25.2006
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