Columbia, MO

The women’s team wussed out on the ride. As it was pretty windy, I can somewhat understand and chose to view their presence as a generous use of their time, being that they arrived to watch me set up all of my road bikes only informing me of their cancellation after the final handlebar was torqued into place, and remained in the parking lot until I was completely packed up again. Then, I suppose, was indeed the safest moment to emerge from their vehicles to go for a run instead.

Typically, I might feel inclined to pass judgment on such an act, to tell those so called pie-plate pushers to man-up, for instance. But as it is, sitting here in my underwear, in a chair that doesn’t allow my feet to touch the ground, alternating between a juice box and gnawing at the top of a chocolate crucifix, I’m not really in the place to judge.