Foxes & The Way Home

I did a nice post work road loop tonight. Just a hair over 30 miles. I clocked only about 1:50 of ride time, but it was damn nice to be in the saddle. The weather was a pristine. Warm, sunny with just a hint of breeze. Even though I physically felt like a smooshed dog turd all day, my bod bounced back by chamois time.

I took a small detour off of one of my normal roads today. I knew it would shorten my mileage a hair, but I needed to see something different. I'm glad I did. First I had to slow and wait for two mallard ducks to cross the road. Then as I headed up the climb I saw a fox. No, not a nubile blond in "Daisy Dukes" (no such luck), or 100 mm of plush travel, but a real fox. I think this may only have been the 2nd time in 36 years I've ever seen one. Pretty neat. So for now, my life's "Fox Line Score" looks like this... Fox Forks 3, Real Foxes 2, Nubile Blond Foxes in "Daisy Dukes" 0.

Towards the end of my loop tonight I started having one of those warm and fuzzy ride moments. I'm sure you'll know what I'm talking about. We've all been there. Up since 6:30 a.m, work all day taking shit from the shit givers and now you're stoked to be on your bike doing what you love. You're having a sweet ride, you notice your shadow growing ever longer and pedaling beside you. The temps are cooling off just a bit, your bottles are nearly empty and your stomach is getting hungry. You find yourself starting to think of what sort of grub you're gonna stuff in your face when you get home (rice and beans) or whether you'll allow yourself a beer (no).

All of those things provide some motivation to get you over the last couple climbs and on your way home. The ride was damn good. You pushed yourself, burned some calories and had a good time in the saddle. Sometimes though it's equally as good to experience the satisfaction of returning home to relax, see the ones you love and cook up some tasty food. It never fails that I think all those warm, fuzzy, endorphin fueled thoughts while I'm riding, then I get home and Wifey asks "how was your ride?" And all I can muster up is "pretty good".

Tomorrow is Wifey's birthday. 37 years old. I can't believe she's almost 40!! Holy crap! As my late Grandma Helen would say "it's hell gettin' old!". Just kidding of course. She's not almost 40, she's at the end of her mid 30s! Happy Birthday Wifey! You rock.

Later.