Head down, grit teeth, plod on

One of those days.

I suppose drinking 4 pints of beer the night before a long ride is not generally considered a good idea, but I went ahead and did it anyway. It was our friend Kris' birthday and I really needed to unwind after a pretty stressful week of work (tax season at the private bank...yay).

When I awoke this morning, I had the usual shitty symptoms; dry everything, hangover smell, the works. My legs also ached for some reason. It's not like I did any running yesterday, but they didn't seem to care. Just standing still had the same feeling as being 80km into a ride, that growing, dull pain that shrinks your world to just your body and your bike, and the painful relationship they share.

Rain was in the forecast for the afternoon, but I figured I'd get home before it hit. As I sit here now, 10 minutes after arriving, it appears I was right. Thunder booming outside never sounded so sweet, to know that I'm not stuck out in the open with it.

The wind was coming out of the southwest again. Great. Another 50km of pushing against God's maniacal breath. Unfortunately, unlike last week's bright spirits and willingness to tackle the unknown, this week I was just a miserable wreck. Again, the beer probably didn't help, nor did the sore legs. I was never tempted to give up, but I was a bit of an emotional basketcase, wanting to break into tears whenever the wind kicked up, or simply because the sound of it constantly filling my ears was driving me mad.

This time I made it to the south side of Lake Ontario. That felt good. I didn't make it as far as I wanted (was going to do two loops of the Hamilton Beach Trail) but it was longer that last week which was very rewarding.

While riding, I had expected the rain to come from the southwest, where the wind was coming from. By the time I hit the turnaround in Hamilton though, I saw that the storm had flanked me and was now darkening the skies all across the north side of the lake, my route home.

I'm not sure if the speed I was going could be considered "booking it," but I put the hammer down for most of the ride home.

It hurt.

A lot.

By the time I hit Port Credit, I was done. Legs throbbing, wind blowing against me again (first from the east, then the west...wtf?). I almost cried when I was nailed by a steady breeze turning north on Southdown road. What did I do to deserve this?

In the end I made it home, a victory I guess. Small occasional drops of rain made themselves felt on my bare arms, but I managed to beat the storm home.

I think I'm going to pass out for a while. I hope the dog doesn't shit herself.