Can’t drive 55

But I can bike it. Just barely. Yesterday’s bike ride down to Chatham turned into four and a half hours in the saddle, with breaks for carbs in Kinderhook and Chatham. (To a cyclist or a runner, this whole Atkins thing is bemusing at best and dangerous at worst. Carbs are my fuel.) Took a longer route to get there than last year, and so was faced with about 10 miles more than I had wanted to do. Happily, I found a sort of a short cut to the Albany Post Road (Route 9, as we know it now), and was happy to choke on dust and get run over by a’holes if it only meant a flatter ride home and about five fewer miles. Here’s how messed up I am, and why living with me is no ant-free picnic: My goal for the day was 50 miles. In Chatham I realized that I was headed for more like 60 — and I didn’t have 60 in me. So I cut over and suffered along the “flat” route, and when I got home, the computer said 55.00 exactly. And I was disappointed that I hadn’t done 60. Even though my goal was 50, and I beat it by 10 percent. I’m not a well man.

But I am a beardless man. After about 8 years of foreswearing the blade — be it single, double or the devil’s own triple — I have rejoined the non-faceless masses. Been thinking about it for a while, and realized that I had to do it before my face got any more tan. My little Queer Eye makeover didn’t quite bring on tears, but no one but me is used to it yet. I’m beautiful underneath, by the way, my dimple is back in full evidence, and my greatest fear — that I had no chin — was based on a me that was about 25 pounds heavier. A little odd to get used to the feeling of wind on my face, and now I’ve gotta use lots more sunscreen.

So, today, a comparatively easy 29 miles, city streets with minimal hills, no roadkill to speak of and a very civilized rest stop at the Latham Starbucks for iced coffee and lemon-flavored carbs. Amazingly, not sore at all, though my body wasn’t begging to do hills. Well, in truth, the butt is just a tad sore, so I may have to do some icing tonight. (Doesn’t it seem like “ice my ass!” would be a good new epithet?)

Pictures from the dance recital are starting to pop up over at my Fotolog site. More to come!