Randomness is generating within my head nearly every second I’m riding. But it’s during my longer road rides that I truly acquire some post-worthy subjects. Unfortunately, I’m out there for so long I typically forget them by the time I’m at the computer. This time I was lucid enough to capture these tidbits just before slipping into a Nutella induced coma.

Ballet crotch

Stopped into Boccato for an espresso, just to create a pre-ride ritual other than my usual taking a long-assed time to get out the door. I was greeted by Rob (co-owner, but the best owner) with a, “That’s one serious looking outfit. Nice ballet crotch too!” Nothing like having everyone in the place looking at your cod-piece, but that’s the beauty of wearing your kit in public. People can’t take their eyes off your package. Virgina (barista extraordinaire) however ,was unmoved managing to avert her eyes from my protuberance, crafting my shots as well as a mini fruit tart thing. Sweet!

Cycleboredom | Boccato Goodness

Wanted: Working HR monitor

I pretty much haven’t recorded a single mile or calorie this entire year as both of my Polar HR monitors batteries have died. And since these were purchased before Polar got their heads out of their asses, I have to send them back to base camp because the batteries aren’t user serviceable.

Regardless, I’m really starting to need one as my ego (cycling brain) is writing bigger checks than my legs can cash.

Case in point: Came upon another sartorially exceptional cyclist such as myself riding a Colnago. As he slotted in behind me, I picked up my pace slightly. It didn’t take long for him to That lasted a few hundred meters (metric is pro), until you could hear a distinct pop, then a horrific crack.decide that I’m not going fast enough for his HR to begin to register actual exercise, so he passed. Of course I immediately jumped on to his wheel in order to maintain the extreme level of pro-ness we were both exhibiting. That lasted a few hundred meters (metric is pro), until you could hear a distinct pop, then a horrific crack. There I was, 1/4 of the way into my ride, and I was cooked. Plus I also realized that I was starting to act like a pathlete by jumping onto his wheel, and that’s a Cycleboredom no-no.

I also need the timer to tell me when I should drink. I used to pull out the water bottle every 10 minutes, and the gel every 20. Now I’m completely forgetting both. I didn’t drink anywhere NEAR the appropriate amount of fluids for the ride. And the fluids I did managed to consume were hydration hole-digging diuretics. I’m a smart one I am.

Cycleboredom | Gettin' It

Staring down Johnny Law

While rolling through Old Town Alexandria, an impatient driver tried to overtake me as I came to a stop sign. I dutifully paused, then as I accelerated I looked back to stare down the car who essentially was trying to cut me off due to their impatience. Surprise, surprise, it was an unmarked police cruiser. From that point on, he stayed a respectable distance off my wheel as I stopped at each sign. Thoroughly enjoyable.

Cycleboredom | Buzz Brioche

Bringing it all back

Since this post has gotten completely out of hand lengthwise, and I can’t see how anyone could read the literary equivalent of bleaching your eyes, we’ll continue using bullet points.

Cycleboredom | Buzz Making Double Illys

  • Big Hill: Another reason I need a working HR monitor was that I was diverted to a different, longer, steeper, more relentless hill (yes, those exist in Alexandria), and I dove deep into the red zone of the fitness pool. I needed saving. Probably shouldn’t have done that. Still nowhere near where I was in ’05 where I’d repeat this hill/effort multiple times on a 50+ mile ride.
  • Buzz Stop: Was so tired on the way back that I had to stop for Euro-supplies. Hit up Buzz for a breakfast brioche and a double Illy. For once the Illy shots didn’t taste like I was drinking them out the ass of a dead rhinoceros.
  • Blonde Vision: On the Navy Annex parking lot hill I was having visions. Well, I typically have visions on this hill, but this one talked. She was blonde, and dressed in a magnificent tan/brown outfit with fantastic brown FMBs. She was walking up the hill, waiting for me to pass when I gasped it would behoove her to go since I was essentially crawling. Asking me how far I rode, I immediately lied my ass off saying I had no idea, “prolly 50 or so”. Of course she knew I was lying since men always exaggerate in the presence of beauty. She was nice enough to continue saying something about how she’d be tired doing 50 miles and finishing off on a hill. Thank you, FMB-wearing, out of my pay grade, pretty blonde girl, for allowing my man-charade to go unchecked. (Sorry, no pics. But I’m pretty sure it happened…)

Cycleboredom | Cheers