The look on my face should say it all. The heat was so intense when I walked out of the house at 8:00 O’Clock in the morning it felt like someone whacked me in the ear with a switch. Now, 8 hours and 18 degrees (99) later it was time to go for a bike ride.
Why? Because– that’s why. There are people who own bikes. There are people who are cyclists, then there are riders. Riders ride. Besides, after being released from my air-conditioned cell I craved the suffering. I needed the immediate and all-consuming presence of effort to blot out the day’s tedium and confining press of the Dockers asking me, “Don’t you think it’s time to go up a size?”
So out into the streets and woods we rolled, Joey and I, posing for this shot while we played cat and mouse with a questionable vehicle in a questionable location. I spared you the midriff, which feels more like a mostriff, and the plunging neckline of my sleeveless gown.
The air smelled like burnt toast, and when we stopped to address a flat, the sweat ran unbroken from the gutter under my helmet.
I like these summer rides for one thing. They prove I am meant to be in this saddle.