Pre-Barton Fall Lovliness
It hasn’t rained as much as I would have liked, but I’m prepared to attack Barton with teeth bared.
The leaves are diving from the tree branches in droves now, forming big piles along the side of the road. Add water and you have a mushy leaf-slush I like to refer to as Raisin Bran. It’s dangerous. Unless you’re on a ‘cross bike. You’ve been warned.
Sal isn’t sick but he did just go to Fred Meyer and buy a lifetime’s supply of cold medicine. But he’s not sick. Not at all. Not even a little bit. Got it?
Sal’s not sick (not even a little bit!) but I still rode alone today. Dusky pink and mud on the trails near Sellwood Park. I took a corner too fast and ate shit fantastically. My black fox glove slid on snot-mud as I put my bad arm down to break the fall. My left rotator cuff is still completley fucked, but that’s neither here nor there at this point. You don’t pedal a bike with your left rotator cuff, now do you?
It still hurt to go down on it.
Later on a gravel straight away I pretended to be fast and practiced sprints.
I can’t sprint. But I can make a pretty “sprinty” face. EEeeeee! and Oooooooh! Face twisted in a permanent “argh”.
If I get points for facial expressions than I will definitely win!
At my local diner I pulled my bike in quietly and leaned it against the front bench. Other bikes go outside on the bike rack, but the chef is in love with mine and so, somehow, John the Owner has granted me exception. My bike rests inside.
I drank a spiked coffee drink as slowly as possible and read the paper. A woman was walking with her 6 year old son near the ocean when a sneaker wave stole him away. His uncle went in after him and was never seen again. The boy’s body was found but he died in the helicopter.
This is why I don’t read the paper. I stared blankly out the window and John the Owner came to ask me if I was ok.
I’ll race my bike tomorrow, and it will be important.
But not that important. You feel me?
If you missed the Halloween Race Report you can catch it on the Wend Blog where it lives a comfortable life eating bon bons and sitting by the fire.
I’ll see you at the gravel pit.