Large Fella on a Bike

Sometimes A+ Sometimes Bb

Lately I've been in a funk.  A real funk.  Well, maybe an imagined funk, an imagined funk that feels real.

An imagined funk that feels less imagined than not, really real and very funky.

I read somewhere that Change creates a need for more Change.  I guess the idea being that if you start the ball rolling and make a big change, be prepared because as a result of that energy/inertia... all kinds of shit will start changing too, and it doesn't much matter if you want that additional stuff to change or not.

For me, the odd thing is this:
With all the changes I've made and the result of those changes equating to: more centered, more energy, more positivity & feeling healthier [to name just a few], conversely I also feel...

more frustrated, antsy, my ability to want to talk or discuss things has thinned and I generally just want to do shit-not talk about it.

On the flip side, I had some big revelations recently.  Things about where I fit into the flow of the Universe, spurred on in large part due to a great & extremely meaningful phone call with Kent Peterson .

I do know this, of all things: my mind chatters too much & too often.  I need to work toward quieting my thinkpad down.

In other news...

the temp is growing hotter than the space beneath Pamela Anderson's Dupont-crafted breasts.  Dripping hot.  I don't long so much for cooler temperatures per se as much as I long for a place to ride that isn't 100& asphalt, broken glass, dog shit and vacant, discarded Starbucks cups.  That would be NICE.  But it ain't gonna happen here.

Amy & me have resumed talks about a relocation, again.  We are down to 4 places.  I suspect we are slowly reducing our orbit surrounding this topic and something definitive is on the horizon.

Need some veggies, a trip to the bathroom and then off to ride.

In the meantime: I leave you with this...

Drippy Syrupy Glop & Benzholes

NYC=Humidity in July that is.  It's like Apocalypse Now, Deer Hunter, The Killing Fields and Platoon humid around here lately.

But still... I ride.  Like a stinky, dripping pig-boy I pedal.  And pedal, and pedal, and pedal.

What is it that Kent P. calls himself... oh, the Mountain Turtle, right?

Okay, cool...

I wanna be the Urban Water Buffalo.

Yep, the Urban Water Buffalo.

But you know what?  I love this riding stuff... gets under a fellas skin.  Yep it do.

So in other news...

Had my first real run in with bona fide dickheads the other night.  Was riding through the Newport area, right on the banks of the Hudson River this past Friday night [mistake Numero Uno... I have silly things happen almost consistently on Friday evenings around here, like 99.2% of the time] and it was a busy area with all the beautiful people walking around in their fashions and such.  I was minding my business and they seemed to be minding theirs, mostly.

Just after getting past a throng of handsome Yuppie peasant types [their clothes looked not completely authentic, like, perhaps a quick, late night trip to T.J. Max had gone down covertly while the real Yuppies slept] I started hearing something off to my left, from the street.  At first it was some cat-calling type things, and being that I'm not really a cat I ignored them.  But they increased in volume and aggressive tone... I started listening harder as I pedaled along.

Meanwhile, Amy & Chloe had opted out of the ride because Chloe wanted to ride her new Big Wheel at the marina... so the plan was for me to ride solo and eventually meet them back there for a little hang before we all headed home in our various modes of transport [they-car, me-bicycle].

Back to the story... so I started hearing shit like, "Hey look at the fat fuck on the bike!" and something about " ...polka dots... " and then 

BAM!!!!!!

Something hits me square in the back of the head... HARD.  It knocks me forward off the saddle and almost onto the top tube as well as snapping my head all the way front & down, so far down that the front of my helmet hit my handlebars.

Scared [and stunned] the fuck out of me.  I didn't wipe out, somehow... kept pedaling as the folks that launched the missile pulled up beside me.  Figures... white Mercedes convertible with that odd NYC Hybrid Race occupying all 4 seats [think 4 Gotti brothers from that Gotti reality show... that sort of pseudo hybrid race of olive skin, Cubano razor thin beard/mustache, eyebrows and eyelashes that look, somehow, to have about 14 gallons of mascara on them all the time... Italian, Latino, Middle Eastern looking kids in ribbed Wife Beaters with gold jewelry and tats].  They start laughing and continue saying shit to me and then try to pull their car in front of me to block me, fortunately they get a red light and I blow through it, taking off.

I am feeling really bad... dizzy and not sure what just happened but also sensing this isn't over.  And it wasn't: they followed me on & off for the next 30 minutes around the area.  I would cut-n-duck into various parking lots and loading dock areas [Target, Staples and Modell's sporting goods] and finally I hung out in the entrance way to the A&P supermarket, and when I didn't see them for a bit I went back outside, got my phone out of my bag and called Amy while I, finally, assessed the damage.

At first it scared the crap out of me as I put my hand below the base of my helmet and it was soaked.  Thought I was bleeding but my hair was just soaked with sweat.  I told Amy I was going to work my way back to her, slowly [to make sure they weren't still driving around].  She insisted I call 911.  I did, no one ever showed up, par for the course.

As I made my way back to her and Chloe, I rode by the spot where I got hit... sitting right in the place where it happened was a 3/4 full, 2 liter bottle of Coke.  Fucker hurt.

When I met up with Chloe and Amy, I checked my helmet... nice dent in the back of it.  The Benz Boyz were traveling at about 20 miles an hour when they launched it... and I felt it for the next 3 days in the form of a bitch of a sore neck too.

Fun days indeed.

The Urban Water Buffalo rides on though...

Milestone, yeah.

Well, it finally happened.

15.43 miles on one ride.  Yee-Haw!  Joyous Jubilation Abbreviation Titillation Mamacettabulation!

And ya know what?  It was easy as pie.

Figured out 2 BIG things... 3, actually:

1.  My rides have too fast of a pace in their 1st leg, pre-break.  Does that make sense?  Anyway, when I ride I usually come out of the gate pushing very hard [very hard for me at least] and by the time I have a break to hang for a minute [rest, sip some water, etc], I am wasted.  Really quite tired.  So yesterday Amy said to me, "Today, we ride at our pace" [meaning the pace that her & Chloe-on her Piccolo-ride at].  I did, and it became tedious at times too BUT... I could just keep going & going & going.  Honestly, if it weren't for the late hour, Chloe getting cold and Amy saying her sitbones were 'just about shot'... I would have been good for at least 20, maybe 25 miles.  And that is Ridicula-Cool to know and feel inside your brain, heart and body!

2.  If you just ride at a nice, relaxed pace... the miles peel away rather quickly regardless of what you may be thinking.

3.  I love, I mean REALLY love, to ride my bicycle. 

A LOT!!

Get on your bike and ride.

Ok, so that's that.