Sunday morning's are typically reserved for long training rides for many cyclists and triathletes. And for good reason. Wide open roads. Even in our urban/suburban jungle the roadways are pretty lonely on Sunday's (other than the occasional late model Buick LeSabre trying to make it to sunrise service). I can honestly say that out of all my training I look forward to Sunday mornings the most. But not so much this year.
local weather icon, Tom Skilling. Tommy boy doesn't know it but I spend many mornings with my Chicago Tribune iPhone app cursing his name for no sane reason really other than it being some sort of self catharsis. Yesterday morning was no exception. At 6:00am the iPhone said it was 33 but with 15 mph winds out of the west the "feels like" temp was 26. Wait, what? Twenty freakin six! I was all set to hop on my trainer. I had three Letterman's and a Mythbusters waiting for me on the DVR. By 6:30am I could have my tri bike in the trainer-stand awash in the soft warm glow of the TV. Alas, against our better judgement, we decided to head out into the spring tundra. Even the cycling gods were trying telling us it was a bad idea as the top of my valve stem blew off as I was putting air into my front wheel forcing a tire change before I even left the garage. I should have stayed home.
With the tire mishap I missed the tri club entirely and ended up pulling myself through 44 miles of windy, snot making, slap you in the face brutality. I tried to keep a good attitude but the extra effort it took to complain actually kept me a little warmer and I generally go harder when I'm angst anyway. Screw the character building cliches. That ride gets thrown out into the trash can of suck.
Dear spring, get your lazy ass off the couch and get to work. There are trees and flowers that need blooming and grass that needs growing.