Stupid Hurts

It has been seven days since my last blog post here. I really hate letting StupidHurts go for that long without updates, but I have not been motivated to write lately. Granted I never was a literary powerhouse, but it is nice to keep my site somewhat up to date. It has been tricky lately partially because of the Mono, and since I haven’t been using my camera much lately, I think that my writing is missing a much needed visual component. It is nice to have pictures to reference when I am typing up the silliness that occurs in my day to day life.

My current goal is to quit being so picky about my shots and take more pictures over the next two weeks. Maybe it will help to inspire my writing just a little bit more.

Last Tuesday I took a bicycle ride with some of my co-workers and a few members of the local bicycle club. While getting prepped I met a guy named Franco, we chatted for a bit and I made note of the fact he was wearing a bright yellow leader jersey from the 1992 Tour De France. We slowly pedaled to the edge of town and then Franco took the lead. I followed him patiently for about ten feet before I took the lead and increased the pace. Then I realized something.

I am and addict. And this is now a race.

Just south of town there are several nice rolling hills. We stretched our legs out as we warmed up and steadily increased our speed.

As we got further out of town the road got a bit more interesting. Soon we had a nice ten foot wide shoulder to ride on. The hills began to rise and fall beneath us. The entire time we were pedaling about 19-20 miles an hour and I was thinking to myself, “I don’t normally climb at 20, can I keep this pace up for 25 more miles?” The miles and scenery were flashing by in a quick blur of green and brown at this point. If I were to ride back through I would not be able to point out a single road mark I passed because I was completely focused on each revolution of my pedals.

Then I found a brief reprieve from my efforts. Near the half way point my tire blows and goes completely flat. Normally this wouldn’t have been a problem but I remembered saying before leaving the house, “I won’t need my spare inner tube.” Luckily someone else had a spare. I was almost ready to go when my new inner tube went flat as well. I told the guys to go ahead without me and I would have my friends bring me a spare inner tube so I could catch them on the way back to town.

My friends brought me an inner tube and hung out with me as I got my bicycle prepare to head back into town. When the group passed back by I fell back into the pace line. And this time when Franco attacked my pride forced me to follow,I chose not to draft him but to ride next to him. I didn’t want him to pull me through the headwind back towards town.

We are carrying a much harder pace now and I feel like I am fighting for every few feet. After ten miles I felt my energy starting to wane.We enter town at over 25 miles an hour and I decide to push myself and sprint away from Franco hoping to catch a red light soon to catch my breath before he catches me.

Eventually Franco caught up and told me had a great time and will ride with me again. Then he turns off to go home. Well who do I race now?

The rest of the pack hadn’t caught up with me yet, so I rode back to the shop at a slow leisurely pace to reflect on the warm and fuzzy feeling I had.

Such is the life of an addict.

You may be just a little bit hungry if you have ever purchased a frozen [tag]burrito[/tag], and then proceeded to eat it without unthawing it first. My face still tingles just a little from that stunt.

During my [tag]commute[/tag] home from work recently I pedaled past a [tag]spinning[/tag] class going on in the window of a gym and there was a load of people inside spinning feverishly away on the stationary [tag]bicycles[/tag]. Something just strikes me as being inherently wrong with driving a car to go ride a stationary [tag]bicycle[/tag]. I just don’t have the patience to go no where fast I think. But there here in this window there was easily 30-40 people sweating, pedaling, and staring at me stare at them. All of us probably thinking, “now thats just silly.” Even with all those people in that class I almost never see people actually outside riding their bicycles. I know about the [tag]Birmingham[/tag] Bicycle club, but they are a little to organized for me. Plus they ride almost exclusively outside of Birmingham (which just seems like false advertising.)

Maybe there are only a few people here who prefer blue jeans to [tag]lycra[/tag]. I know there have to be at least a few other really laid back bicyclist types in Birmingham. Unfortunately most of the people I meet are either guys with milk crates strapped their squeaky [tag]bikes[/tag] who more often than not reek of alcohol when we stop to talk. Or elite racers riding $2000 plus dollar bikes that are just dripping with carbon fiber who are more concerned with their split times than chatting it up at a light. (before I get another angry email. There are exceptions to both categories. Every now and then I find a drunk racer)
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But it is fun to sneak up on the racer types wearing jeans and having them sneer at me before I try to outrun them. In [tag]Orlando[/tag] I managed to drop a few. the looks were priceless.

Earlier this week while riding around in the work truck with one of my team mates, he points out the window and says, “did you see that girl?” My response was. “Yeah, her seat is too low, but I wonder what kinda shifters she is using.” It took a bit before he would talk to me again.

[tag]Orlando[/tag]-Hernando

I decided to go ahead and make my first day a high mileage day, probably not the best idea on earth. But then again neither is riding a [tag]bicycle[/tag] 600 miles.

My original route was going to take carry me up state road 441 until I reached Georgia. Unfortunately much of that road is under construction and lacks a shoulder. After an hour of worried if I was going to get mirror checked by a passing car I stopped and spoke with the awesome people of Sun Cycle Center. One of the clerks there had made the same [tag]ride[/tag] in the past and had a slightly more pleasant but little longer route in mind. So instead of shooting for Ocala for the evening. I will Instead be heading through Inverness and picking up a converted bicycle trail that runs to Dunnellon with should be nice since it is glass smooth and has no car traffic at all. Due to the change in plans it does mean I will be camping out tonight instead of staying with some, but after already bending my rear rim to the crappy roads of the 441 I think smooth [tag]trails[/tag] should be worth it.

I had decided sometime after 2 that I was going to stop for lunch at the next place I saw. Sometime after 3 when I finally came to a place I decided I couldn’t really afford to be picky and I should take what I could get. So I figured I could do worse and then cycled into the Colonial Fairways [tag]Country[/tag] [tag]Club[/tag]. Surprisingly enough they actually served me. The food wasn’t half bad either. But I have to admit the best part of lunch was hearing an old lay say “hard penis“ talking about her husband and then realizing I was sitting across from her chuckling to myself.

From there I continued westward until I got a little bit past highway 75 were I found a rarely used dirt road. Here I stopped for a bit and caught a nap, what can I say The miles caught up with me. It was also important I set up my tent once in the daylight first before attempting it at night. A few hours later I was back in the saddle and eventually reached Inverness where after stopping to get one of my favorite performance enhancers [tag]CAFFEINE[/tag]. I picked up the bicycle trail that runs north The trail is perfect: scenic well groomed and really smooth. I was able to turn my headlight off and ride by the moonlight while listening to the sounds around me for a few miles. Once I passed [tag]Hernando[/tag] on the bike trail I pitched my [tag]tent[/tag] and called in a night.
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Daily numbers
Miles:101
Average Speed: 13.6
Top speed: 27.4