Morning after the night before.
2003-06-08 at 11:58 p.m.
(Can I just say, I'm getting really really tired of getting the Diaryland Busy Tone when I try to add an entry? Must be a function of being on the West Coast--all the folks who are doing the 2 a.m. updates are screwing this up! C'mon, folks, get some sleep! I need to update over here!)Well, meant to get in a big fat ol' long ride today, but there was a little bike community shindig last night that went 'til the wee hours last night. Who knew bikers could be such dancin' fools?
No, really, it was biking related--the Bike Transport Alliance or some such thing sponsored a little fund-raising dancing thing last night downtown, so Andrew and I met up with his coworker, his wife, their friends, and our friends Becca and Nicole and headed downtown. It was great. There were some great tracks spinning, great vibe all around (seriously, the bike ride there was probably the most fun I've ever had on a bike--really magical. That sounds weird. But it's my diary, so you'll read it and you'll like it. Or not.)
But it weren't the dancing that made today such a slow day. And I didn't drink too much. Let me emphasize. I didn't drink too much. But someone who lives in this household had a not-so-fun-night.
Poor thing.
I wasn't sure what to do. I didn't feel right going to bed when I felt fine, and here was this poor specimen, this man I loved and pledged to love in sickness and in health, shuddering and trying to put his stomach lining into the toilet. But the bonds of matrimony really only reach so far. So, when by 4 a.m. I'd set him up on the futon with a bucket, paper towels, a platypus full of water, and flannel blankets, I really did feel justified going to bed.
But that still meant I didn't get to bed until FOUR. I'm thirty years old, people. I don't do that anymore.
So you'll understand that I wasn't exactly happy skippy jumpy about hopping back in the saddle.
I did though. I headed straight for Lung Buster Hill again. Got my ass whupped again. Plus my chain keeps derailing when I shift into my lowest gear. This is very very very very not cool. Especially when I'm clipped in, wheezing and huffing, and suddenly the bike isn't responding to my frantic pedaling anymore. I nearly died twice.
So yeah, not a huge ride, only 8 miles, but that included Lung Buster, so I feel justified.
Cowalunga is two months from tomorrow. Eeeek!