A little after 9:30 a.m. on Saturday I dragged my bike upstairs and set off to get breakfast. My original plan was to hit McDonalds, wolf down their silicone-based food substitutes and ride back home to spend the rest of my time on the internets. This excursion was meant to test my stamina and warm myself up in preparation for cycling to Cassius's place Saturday night for Dungens & Dragons.

With a little bit of reflection I decided I was going to bike all the way down to my bank, use the ATM and give my hard-earned money to King's Chef. Going from my place across from Colorado College, west to Cascade then south to Bijou where I crossed over I-25 and rode in earnest down old Colorado avenue to 25th street.

The ride was pretty easy for me both ways. Yes I coasted some to enjoy the breeze on my face but I worked my legs like they haven't been worked since Aught-Six. I did a little victory circle around the ATM, got thirty bucks and rode back towards King's Chef. Reason why I took the Bijou bridge instead of the Colorado bridge is the fact that the latter always seemed steeper and more daunting to me. Long story short.

Too late.

I pedalled all the way up and over the Colorado bridge. By the time I reached the fabled King's Chef the joint was fucking packed. People were lined up outside waiting to get in. First thing to go through my head was "Shit. I'm going to be so fucking tired when I get off my bike, I'm not going to be able to stand and I'll start getting irritated waiting to get in!" So I soldiered on, locked up my bike with my Kryptonite New York chain (which always draws attention and comments from everyone) and got in line.

Not only was I in good spirits, I exercised patience with little to no effort and it really was no big deal waiting in line.

Yeah.

Fuck yeah!

Also the goth beauty school refugees walking down the street were pleasant enough eye candy.

Breakfast was steak and eggs with two cans of Dr. Pepper. The counter copy of the Gazette had a headline reminiscent of The Onion, the world's least funny newspaper, because it said something like "Area Woman of Interest". Supposedly the Texas Rangers want to speak with her since she ratted out the Mormon bigamists who were rounded up last week.

While I was eating breakfast I discovered that my dick had gone to sleep. All that pedalling and pressing my perineum against that hard seat numbed it. Seriously this is always frightening but rarely amounts to anything more than thirty minutes of discomfort. The hard stools around the counter at King's Chef didn't help but that comes with the territory at King's Chef.

Also comics section sucks. Why are they still running B.C.? Jonny Hart is dead, may he rot in his hell. Charles Schulz (PBUH) is dead, had a good run, let someone else have some space! One nice thing about the comics section is the fact that the Gazette runs a new strip for two weeks to see if readers like it and folks can comment on their site to say yea or nay.

Next stop was The Compleat Gamer where I picked up a set of D&D dice for the Birdses in anticipation of the game followed by visiting the Birdses to drop off the dice.

Either I was left with a quarter tank when I completed my Caturday morning excursion or the ride east to Cassius's dacha was far more intense than I had expected.

I believe the latter because there are more significant grades going up Uintah and Palmer Park compared to the relative planar consistency of downtown.

I believe the former because a little after 10:30 p.m. I started drifting away something fierce while everyone was searching an underground cavern. All the cycling was catching up with me.

Now I am fortunate that the cool air, constant pressure on my perineum kept me awake in addition to my trusty and brave mp3 player. Honestly when I had left the little suburban block which is host to Cassius's dacha and returned to Palmer Park I was already awake enough to soldier through the night to my humble underground lair.

Riding back was a little scarier for me. Maybe I wasn't as alert as I had thought or people were intentionally passing close to me. Once or twice I flipped someone the bird but all that nonsense was less than an hour ago, I'm back home with Spot's company so what's not to like?

The trip began at 4:10 p.m.. I walked my bike up the grade of Uintah. Now this area of Uintah is quite narrow and hairy for a lone cyclist or any cyclist regardless of number. Fortunately I took advantage of side streets, practiced my breathing and crossed Union. Halfway down Palmer Park I hit a wall which meant I had to get off the bike and walk. By the time I reached the gas-slash-tobacconist on the southeast corner of Palmer Park and Circle I discovered it was only 4:43 p.m.!

Can I hear a hell yeah?

Grades remained steep so I kept walking my bike and studied my surroundings which are usually not much more than a blur when I drive in that direction. At the summit I hopped on and once again encountered the gremin who had been haunting my journey.

I've been getting the gear ratios all wrong which made the ride more difficult in two ways. First I was expending more energy than necessary which made the ascents more daunting in nature. Second if I was already going the top speed for that particular gear ratio the pedals and chain wouldn't catch, I'd pedal wildly for a moment and hope to once again move under my own power.

At 3009 Palmer Park I pushed down too hard, my leg kicked out like a retard and I decided it was time for a rest. For about five or ten minutes I practiced my breathing to reoxygenate my blood and assume my serenity.

The last leg of my ride was uneventful until I had to turn left onto the side street leading to Cass's place but this was easily navigated and I shamelessly coasted the remainder of the way to his house.

I arrived at 4:57 p.m..

Fuck yeah.

Since I was in a sleepy daze I didn't take care to note the time of my departure but I did arrive home a little past 11:30 p.m. knowing this trip was significantly shorter.

Upon reflection I am nowhere near being ready to actually commute to and from work on a regular basis. Sure I could easily take the bus like a schlub with my bike in the front rack. Still it's not the same. Not at all.

Perhaps someday.

Still after a significant hiatus from cycling and continuing to pursue a sedentary and unhealthy lifestyle I suffered no ill effects!

I kinda hope that the game will be hosted at Cassius's place in two weeks. I'd like to attempt this ride again.

Now if you'll excuse me Spot just stood on her hind legs, patted my belly with her paw giving me a look of "Time for bed."

When I run a game I tend to fall into using a Yiddish-inflected accent, Cassius uses the kind of brogue expected of a leprechaun.