The Morning Shift
Ten years ago, if you told me I would be getting up at 5am on a Saturday morning to go ride a bike for four hours, I would have sprayed the rye and coke right through my nose and all over my cigarette.
Sure it would be great to go out at a civilized hour, but in order to get in a good long ride and still keep the peace at home, some of us need to get up with the chickens and hit the road before our former selves would have even gone to bed. And if you think that’s a little twisted, it gets worse – I actually enjoy it. I think it’s an illness that runs in the family.On Saturday morning rides I always have good company, the traffic is light, and when I get back the offspring are still happily glued to Saturday morning cartoons, completely oblivious to my four-plus hour absence.
Last weekend was one of those perfect rides. It was a perfect size group, and perfect weather, including a perfectly ridiculous lack of wind. But Shit Happens even on the perfect-est of rides, as was demonstrated by Kevin who flatted (thank God) shortly after launching one of his dastardly attacks mid-way through the morning.
The only regrettable part about riding that early is the inability to develop razor sharp pro tan lines of any consequence whatsoever. But compared to a monster rye hangover or coming home to find your bike in a dumpster, that’s a pretty small price to pay.