Appeasement is never a good policy if you subscribe to Winston Churchill's assessment of Neville Chamberlain, but manufacturing an excuse to get a ride in is always a good policy.
Yes it had been 10 days since the last ride and the bikes' spokesperson read me the riot act with the oil and dirt-covered teeth of its outer cog right across the calf, two ways and back. Cue the antiseptic and antibiotics on Sunday night. By Monday night were were good to go again.
One week's riding missed and it's a full on bike-on-man revolution.
Only problem was time. A six-day week, one day off, and working Labor Day there was only one chance. Leave early (at 5:30!) on Labor Day and get a quick ride in before Hurricane Isaac's remnants arrive for the duration.
I called Marg to see if Gordo wanted to join, so he could be ready pronto to ride before sunset. Home at 6:05 and ready to roll by 6:10 — that was the idea. Gordo wolfed down dinner and was not going to be denied by warnings of crazed back-to-school drivers, 6 pm traffic, cold winds (it was 70 out, darn it, and we've been used to 85) and incoming rain. The kid obviously likes to ride.
We didn't get but a few miles on the standard Sands Point ride before we ventured off course. We took some off-road trail I remembered by the golf course, but the wild rose thorns were looking like they wanted to bite inner tubes and the place was overgrown, so we doubled back to the main road.
With the cars scooting by madly I decided we'd use the many long — and hilly — side roads to full advantage. Up hill, down dale, grindingly slow and flying fast in the leafy shadows. Not much in between.
For having paddleboarded yesterday for an hour, the legs were surprisingly fresh. Out of the saddle sprints were coming easy ... at least at first. But that was on the easy hills.
Gordo showed reminded me who was KOTM when the going got vertical.
On the first 200 footer he blew by me like the seemingly unending 12 percent hill was a mere bump, while I crawled and grinded my way up.
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