I made a critical mistake. In bailing on a planned ride, I said, “I forgot I made a plan with my mom.” It was true. I’d committed to helping my mother with a project. She lives two miles away. I had put her off a few times already. But you can’t invoke your mom in an excuse when you’re a grown person.
Apparently, mom jokes then consumed the witty banter of the ride in my absence.
But of course, these are the people I ride with, and what they enjoyed so much last week found its way merrily into the texting to-and-fro of planning this week’s ride. All of this low-level abuse I absorbed cheerfully. As a grown person, comfortable with his choices, it would be churlish to deny them their mirth.
But then I bailed on this week’s ride too. We woke to rain and temps in the high 40s, not the absolute worst, but also not how I wanted my day to start. The original plan was a dirt ride, but soft trails don’t like knobby tires, so a road excursion was suggested. Someone said, “Should we just bail?”
I said, “My mom thinks so.”
But as it went, everyone else was up for clipping on a fender and heading out the door. Ugh. I sipped my coffee. There would be heck to pay (Hell Toupee?), but when it comes to heck, I have deep pockets.
Later in the morning, while busy not chewing on the sand kicked up from the tire in front of me, the dog and I went for a walk. I began to consider my current attitude vis a vis shitty weather. My writing alter-ego is Robot, a name I took from something my brother used to say about me riding during the winter. Whenever anyone wondered if I didn’t get cold, out there pedaling around in the teens and single-digits, he would look at them blankly and say, “Robots don’t feel cold.”
I was tough then. Young too. My kids were small, and I had to take whatever saddle time I could get. Maybe I was pushing my limits, but I sorta had to. The truth is never nearly as glamorous or cool as you wish. And maybe you have to let certain facets of your reputation go, once they stop serving you (i.e. when the coffee is hot and the couch is comfortable).
48F and rainy. My mom didn’t think it advisable.
This weeks TCIF asks, do you ride in the rain? If you do, how low do you go, temp-wise? Are you as tough as you used to be? Tougher? Also, how does your mom feel about all this? Is she as utterly indifferent as mine, as long as the shelves get hung, and the blinds in the living room get fixed?