Man this day started off like any other day, just like Bill Murray hitting the alarm clock in Groundhog's Day. Routine is as routine does. Potty and feed the dogs, make coffee, eat cereal, stretch, make/pack lunch, dress (put clothes on, not wear) head out the door, check -work phone personal phone keys, drive to work. Etc... Today was a day that was supposed to be easy and fast, and with my leftover time I would work on Thursday's and Friday's route, you know just to have it done. BS...I want to leave early on Thursday and Friday. It was going so well right out of the gate that I thought it was Thursday and I was happy down in my soul and then I realized it was still only Wednesday, but happy it was Wednesday 'cause Wednesday kills compared to Monday.
'It hit the fan at stop number three today. Then on the way to my next stop, we will call it stop number four, my work truck died. Tits up at 65mph on the Creek Turnpike in the left hand lane. Oops. Put it in N and tried to restart, nothing. Checked traffic and signaled to pull off the road, again tried to restart. Nothing. Dead. If it were a horse I would have pulled out my gun and put it out of its misery. Routine just became a missing person on the 10 o'clock news.
Long story short, Good day became crappy day became #&^%$@^%#$!!!!!!! I became a clock watcher and began to calculate at what point I would have to quit running route drive back to the shop get my car drive home and still have some daylight left for a ride. Priorities! I made it, got into my car and was about six or seven mins into my drive home when to paraphrase Chicken Little the bottom dropped out. Seriously? So now it is raining, and my mtb ride is just a work day dream that was being washed into the gutter. Turn the soul crusher to 11, break out the whine and cheese, I think I'm gonna cry.
Got home. Was about to put on some Joy Division lay on the couch in the dark and create a black hole of depression the likes of which have not been seen or recorded by man or machine. I looked at my phone for some reason and saw that it was 65* and raining. No ____ Sherlock. Wait a min, 65* is warm. So if you add rain, 65* is now cool, not cold, but cool. My work induced rage coma is starting to wear off and I realize that I can ride my bike in the rain, and 65* is well within my manufacturer's tolerances. Oh, what's that? I have a CX bike? A bike that is just begging to be ridden in the harshest of conditions that I am probably not man enough to dish out.
Quick look at the clock said that I had better hurry if I wanted to be back before the dark had a dual-fisted hold on the earth. Leg over the saddle, clipped in, drilling it down the block. Oh crap, might want to let off the gas on this corner with all this liquid on the ground, yeah whetevez... I laugh at the rain, the wet grass, the mud, the leaves on the ground, and all the jealous fools in their metal coffins trying to kill me in a fit of vehicular homicide. Slow it down there Git-r-done dude.
Hate, Rage, Fury, Anger, Madness flowed in my veins. With every pedal-stroke they were broken down into the most enjoyable smooth flowing calm. A calm that can only be gained from the distillation of the negative chased out of the body with the magical powers of the bi-wheeled contraption that we like to call a bike.
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