This is what I get for trying to be a New England tough guy.
It was 45 and raining in Tucson this morning. And what's awesome about Tucson is that you only get one day a month like this in the winter. When it rains like this, the streets flood, all the glass comes into the road, and every sane person just takes a recovery day and starts back up the next day.
But it was the last day of the last week of my last block here, and I start driving to training camp tomorrow. I had 30 hours the first week, and 34 last week. I had 30 in the bank already for this week, and if I just got one more normal, run of the mill 6 hour day like I've been doing day in and day out all month, I'd have had over 36 hours for the week, and the biggest week of training I'd ever done. I still felt great, and I couldn't bear the thought of not finishing things off.
So, I greased up my legs, put on the plastic jacket, and met Thom Coupe to see what we could get done. And it was a disaster.
First I crashed riding through campus at like 10 mph. I was turning on wet concrete, slowed down, even took my foot out just to be save, and STILL ate shit like I was riding on an ice rink. Then I met up with Thom, and 30 minutes in he punctured, and didn't have a spare since he and Toby had flatted the day before and got stranded. I gave him one of my two, but in the process of pumping it back up, he managed to rip the valve core out. So then we went to my second spare, and since we were about half way around the loop, figured we'd finish it rather than retracing our steps. Except we only made it 30 seconds before I flatted next.
We managed to get a ride home, with my hot rub totally kicking in once I warmed up a little, adding insult to injury. And now I'm home, warm, full out oatmeal, and out of motivation, and the sun just came out.
Have a nice life, Tucson.