Wednesday, in an effort to stay away from caves, ticks, and places where I might be enticed to lying a little, I rode with the Wednesday Night Ride.
Several of my RunnersWorld buddies ride regularly, and I am desperate to do any kind of cross training that works off some calories without furthering the aches to my PF.
Melanie and Bill before the ride. I did not see them again until I was through, and they were on their 2nd or 3rd beer as I came dragging in.
Not sure I am gonna buy into the bike jersey thing, although they do have great pockets in the back to put stuff in. Amanda could sell a pair of thong underwear to a priest with that smile.
My biking partners for the day: Bobby above, and Bronda below.
I am a runner. Not a fast one, just a mid-to-back-of-the-packer, But as a biker, I am a dead-last-of-the-packer. Oh, the nice bikers encouraged me, and told me I'll get better....ya just gotta keep doing it. Something about needing clips. Hmmm.
Is my helmet on backwards?
My take on my slow speed, is the whole dang route was....
Although to probably every othe biker there, the route was a little more like....
Funny, I like hills for running and hate them when I have to pedal up them!
I did have an epiphany whilst riding. A very specific stimuli was instrumental to a dramatic increase in my biking pace.
This dog, minus the chain, plus steroids. A mere 2 miles into the ride, I led Bobby and Bronda past a turn, and down a steep hill. Rather than turn around and pedal our bikes BACK UP a block (I would have surely pushed my bike), we just went down the hill and turned right on a parallel street in hopes of finding the correct route. Bronda spotted Spot first, and I, being a superhero (in my own mind) told her I would keep her between the dog and myself. Now honest to God, I meant I would put myself between her and the dog....HONEST! 
I did steer right toward the dog, playing chicken. Spot never moved, and I bumped him pretty good on the shoulder, and managed a sideways kick with my healthy foot. TAKE THAT, SPOT!
I then pedaled like a skinny chick at a spin class, and got away from the dog. As it turns out, an alternate ending to this story has already been sketched by the above beer ad.
Thanks to Stefanie, who called to check up on us. We were doing ok, but just slow, and rode 23 miles, whereas several of our friends took a shorter ride. One of those friends, Larry, was gracious enough to save Bobby, Bronda, and I a cold Boulevard Wheat. Final touches on a perfect night!
Several of my RunnersWorld buddies ride regularly, and I am desperate to do any kind of cross training that works off some calories without furthering the aches to my PF.
Melanie and Bill before the ride. I did not see them again until I was through, and they were on their 2nd or 3rd beer as I came dragging in.Not sure I am gonna buy into the bike jersey thing, although they do have great pockets in the back to put stuff in. Amanda could sell a pair of thong underwear to a priest with that smile.
My biking partners for the day: Bobby above, and Bronda below.
I am a runner. Not a fast one, just a mid-to-back-of-the-packer, But as a biker, I am a dead-last-of-the-packer. Oh, the nice bikers encouraged me, and told me I'll get better....ya just gotta keep doing it. Something about needing clips. Hmmm.
Is my helmet on backwards?My take on my slow speed, is the whole dang route was....
Although to probably every othe biker there, the route was a little more like....
Funny, I like hills for running and hate them when I have to pedal up them!I did have an epiphany whilst riding. A very specific stimuli was instrumental to a dramatic increase in my biking pace.
This dog, minus the chain, plus steroids. A mere 2 miles into the ride, I led Bobby and Bronda past a turn, and down a steep hill. Rather than turn around and pedal our bikes BACK UP a block (I would have surely pushed my bike), we just went down the hill and turned right on a parallel street in hopes of finding the correct route. Bronda spotted Spot first, and I, being a superhero (in my own mind) told her I would keep her between the dog and myself. Now honest to God, I meant I would put myself between her and the dog....HONEST! 
I did steer right toward the dog, playing chicken. Spot never moved, and I bumped him pretty good on the shoulder, and managed a sideways kick with my healthy foot. TAKE THAT, SPOT!I then pedaled like a skinny chick at a spin class, and got away from the dog. As it turns out, an alternate ending to this story has already been sketched by the above beer ad.
Thanks to Stefanie, who called to check up on us. We were doing ok, but just slow, and rode 23 miles, whereas several of our friends took a shorter ride. One of those friends, Larry, was gracious enough to save Bobby, Bronda, and I a cold Boulevard Wheat. Final touches on a perfect night!
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