A few more miles
After lazing off yesterday (well, actually, just couldn’t make the time fit the need to ride), I finally got out today despite the cold and the rain. Did a more reasonable 13 miles (compared to last Saturday, when I did nearly 20 miles for the first ride of the season, and getting in the saddle the next day was painful). The rain was come and go, and in fact I soaked myself from the inside with sweat, but I was warm and that’s all I care about. Right now, the wind has kicked up and they’re predicting snow for tonight, so it’s unlikely I’ll go out in the morning. At this pace, getting up to where I need to be for Bike the Boros seems unlikely, too. We’ll see. I got my MTA bike permit, so if it comes to it, I can take my bike on Metro North. I’ve got a jones to make this work, but the damn thing starts at 8 in the morning, which either means an expensive overnight in Manhattan, a somewhat but not entirely less expensive overnight further upstate (where are the fleabag motels when I need one?), or a very early rise followed by a long drive and several train rides. The last option won’t happen. As it is, getting back after 42 miles will be exhausting, and that “42” is entirely misleading. That’s the length of the course. Depending on where you’re coming from, you may have to add 5-7 miles just to get there, and then they do a nasty trick of having the finishing festival several miles from the ferry, so that after you’ve gotten your legs all nice and cold and filled with lactic acid, you have to bike to the ferry and then, once in Manhattan, bike back wherever it is you’re going. So the whole thing is looking like a massive logistical challenge to me. But I’m still jonesing, because I would love to be able to say I’ve biked through all five boros in a single ride. Hmm…
Speaking of miles (and this is as much of an aside as is possible), I wouldn’t even mention this if someone else hadn’t brought it up earlier this week. I’m not the anniversary type, but I will just say that Friday marked 20 years since I swore off demon rum. Or at least since I swore it off for the last time. There’s nothing about being sick and hung-over that I have ever missed, and since I discovered the joys of the world’s best olive oil, I can still get a kick out of Napa Valley.