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I got up extra early Saturday morning. Trying not to wake my wife, I opened the bottom dresser drawer. That is the drawer where I was allowed to keep all of my bike clothing. I grabbed my shorts and my favorite riding jersey. I opened the top drawer and snagged a pair of riding socks. I tossed the jersey over my head and pulled it down over my chest. But that was about as far as it went. Somehow, the jersey had become too tight. "What the ....?!", I thought. I picked out another jersey. It wouldn't go on easily either. I tried yet another.
"Somebody has freaking snuck into my bike stuff, and sewed everything tighter!", I thought. Luckily, I found an old "Fat boy" jersey, buried so deep, that it went un-detected. It was a riding jersey without elastic. Kind of like, a biker "moo-moo".
I slipped into my "moo-moo" and headed out into the garage. I assembled my Camelback, gloves, shoes, glasses, a dry shirt and towel, and stuffed all that into my bike bag. After loading the bike on the car, I headed out to Hawes trail-head. I wanted to get there early enough to beat the crowds. After all, it had been quite some time since my last good ride.
I sat down on the curb to put on my shoes. "Wow", I thought. "I must need to stretch out a bit. I can barely reach down to ratchet these shoes closed." I worked the small latch vigorously to tighten the shoe. A small bead of sweat slid from my forehead and splatted on the cement curbing. I took a sip from my Camelback. I slowly stood, and looked down to see if the shoes looked OK. As my body straightened out, the shoes gradually disappeared from my view. Confused, I took my hand and pushed in on my belly, exposing the tips of my Sidi's.
I resolved never to wear that Jersey again. It made me look "fat".
The first part of the trail was awesome. The sun was out, but the air was crisp. I took off like a mad man. The bike was working perfectly, flying over the whoops, and silently slicing through the ravines. Then, all too soon, I reached the first uphill climb. Slowly, I made my way up. I stopped at the top, and got off the bike. Gasping and short of breath, I looked down at the tires. With a thumb and forefinger, I squeezed them, checking the pressure. "Hmmmm", I thought. "The pressure feels OK". Next, I checked the brakes. "No drag, there either". After a short breather, I got back on the bike and continued on up the trail.
I began to think that my seat-post had slipped a bit, since my last ride. I thought this, because every turn of the crank, my knee would hit my belly. I got off the bike again, and checked the mark that I had previously made on my seat-post. No, the seat-post height had not changed. I continued my ride. Soon, I discovered that the harder I pedaled, the more force I generated. My churning legs bounced wildly off my belly, creating even more momentum. It was like I was creating my own weather. I was, in effect, my own mountain biking "storm system".
All of a sudden, there was a loud "KABOOM"! The bike came to a screeching halt, that almost sent me flying off the front. I got off the bike to see what happened. This definitely sounded like a catastrophic failure. Examining the rear wheel, I noticed that the braking surface of the rim, had separated from the inner piece that housed the spokes. When this came apart, the tube had exploded. There was no "work around" to get this fixed on the fly. I hoisted the bike onto my shoulder, and hiked the 2 miles back to my car.
I sat back down on the curb and tried to make sense of the morning. As I began examining each incident, collectively, things started to become quite clear. My wife accuses me of not seeing things the way that they really are, but only as I want to see them. I scoffed at this notion, as I began to put two and two together. My jersey was too tight. It was difficult to bend over. I couldn't see my feet. The bike wouldn't climb. Knees hit belly. And the wheel blew up.
....Obviously, I must be "retaining a little bit of water" right now....
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