Memory is a funny thing. So is experience. Considering I just started truly riding at the beginning of May last year, the term "epic" has gone through a number of iterations on what it meant to me. At first, much of anything over 30 miles was a pretty epic ride. As time wore on, that mileage increased higher and higher until even a century wasn't necessarily an epic ride. In fact I hadn't done anything recently that I would really even classify as being close to epic. Sure I've suffered through a crit now and done my first 100 mile gravel road race, but even those were more about suffering and sucking it up than anything else. Then I rode home yesterday.
Holy crap in a bucket. I'm not sure what the difference was, but yesterday's ride home did nothing short of sucking it big time. Whether it was the head wind out of the south, the heat index being in the 90's, a 15 lb back pack that I would've sworn on a stack of bibles weighed at least 25, or the fact I was tired but still in a hurry to get home. Add any of those elements together or in my case all of them and I had a commute that really sucked for me. Every time I put any effort into the pedals my heart rate felt like it was going to shoot through the roof. My legs were a bit tired, but weren't really the issue. I damn near swung the front derailleur into the little sprocket. Damn, that would have sucked!
All in all, I made it home a big sweaty, ugly mess and hopped in a cool shower. I hate it when you get out of a shower and you're still sweating which is exactly what happened yesterday. We boogied out the door again and headed down to catch the Valley Junction farmer's market. It's typically a great time with some good music and good food. Last night was no exception. Corley got out to dance for a bit, we had our usual BBQ joint and the night didn't suck. An easy to bed baby girl even made it better.
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