Yesterday was sixty miles out to Crown Point. There are some fast guys and some guys who puke. I am both, and sometimes neither. Totally depends.

There has been some debate here, mostly internal, concerning the upcoming (as in, happening right now) road-racing season, and whether we shall undertake such pursuits. The resounding murmur has been darkly negative. I treasure my collarbones, and as Mr. Chris so succinctly put it today, "I'd rather spend the money on bike parts".

No shit, man. There's enough for me in our weekly team rides, the occasional Rapha jaunt, some light touring once the weather turns fair, and mine own, gut-wrenching sojurns up Le Col de Rocky.

Cyclocross starts in September, which is just around the corner, really, and at which time I may begin the wholly selfish three-month endeavor of the drenched, bloody, and drunk weekly racer.




Embro