Sunday's are a tough day for training. I should go to mass, I should do at least 25 miles, I have to go to work, peeps need new rides.
Sunday last, I failed all, but the last. I laced up The Brits and sped off for a 'fast' run.
3.71 miles on the muddy trail 34:35.77
What's gonna kill me? I ride a Harley, everyday, mostly. To and from work for sure, rain or shine. Occasionally the gracious, talented, and lovely Miss Dorothy gives me leave to do a ride with some cop and firemen bros of mine, but it's the commute down I-5 in South Orange County that gets my blood running, clears out my sinuses, and tests the old sphincter for Material Condition Zebra.
Today, I'm in lane 3, pacing traffic at around 70 -75, my exit's coming up, I check my six, check my right side, flip on the turn signal, start to ease over and a flash of something in the mirror catches my eye (it's my Angel, I know.....), I hold up for just a moment and a Yaris goes flying by on my right. I check to make sure it's not racing some other maniac before I fall in behind it and follow it off the freeway.
We get to the stop sign at the bottom of the off ramp, and I can see the driver, some fluffly headed twit holding her latte with one hand, the straw with the other, behind the wheel of the Yaris.
Thank God she was able to steer with her knees....
One of these days...
...something like that'll kill me.
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