Who’s Reaching Out to Capture a Moment

This was what it looked like when I went out today.

And this was what it looked like by the time I got back.

When I find whoever it was that had the idea of dialing up a huge headwind after I had pedaled myself 37.5 miles downrange—to come rushing at me, arms flung wide, to welcome me home—I’m going to open a can of whupass and use it to top up the 55-gallon drum I’ve got ready to pour into a bathtub of medieval, which is where I intend to hold that party under until the bubbles stop coming up.

Other than that, it was a great ride. Oh—that, and the rear brake pad rubbing on the new rim for about 2/3 of each rotation. Little things. But the brake pad can be realigned.

Just once, would it kill the weather to cooperate with one of my routes?

(Incidentally, if anyone has a shred of doubt left about whether I’m a major whiner over little baby troubles on bike rides, have a look at this description of a real ride. It’s exciting times this month over in the boot-shaped peninsula called Italy, which is standing in for the Tour de France this year, since the Tour has decided to invite only second-tier riders for the July rides around that country. Today’s stage, after a difficult set of climbs yesterday and before a rough mountain stage tomorrow, was 95 miles long, in the rain, with about 15,500 feet of climbing. That’s how real cyclists roll.)