Today I kinda whiffed on work and did some hill training. I have a road race with some mighty big hills on August 4th.
Anyhoo, I went down to my favorite hill training area, a little south of Corwin. There's a road there; Wilmington, Rd. It climbs a monster hill that is about a mile long and averages about 15% grade. It's got a switchback in the middle where it kicks up to 25%. It has earned the nickname "The Beast" amongst the cycling community in SW Ohio.
Oh yeah, I thought Corwin was the most cyclist-unfriendly community in the world. I have a friend who had a McDonald's Big Mac thrown at his back from a passerby vehicle while riding there. I myself (because I am myself) have had several people share their opinions of my riding on the roads in that area. These insightful criticisms range from "fag!" to "get on the bike path!". There's a bike path in Corwin. But, it ain't got no hills that you can train on. Hoo boy. Don't get me started...
So, today, I'm about half way through my third rep of The Beast and I hear this loud vehicle behind me. It honks at me. I brace myself as I envision the Big Mac special sauce and diced onions splattered all over my back. I've seen Super Size Me, portions are big now, and I'm envisioning the big welt that will result from the Big Mac that will strike my buttocks at high speed.
It's a clunker pickup truck, circa 1978. There's a guy in it and he's holding his big, fully tattooed arm up at me, to signal me something.
As I await his middle finger sticking up at me, I see that he's actually giving me the "thumbs up" sign. Then he proceeds to pump his fist at me as if to say "good job, skinny spandex guy".
Sometimes, the most unlikely of people understand cycling.
Good job yourself, clunky truck guy!
About Me
- Mick
- In 1968, a baby boy was born and his parents named him Michael. As a cute little zero year old, he had a little round nose and made gurgly noises. But, he also had colic which tired his mama out and his grandmother often rocked him to sleep. One night, while doing this, she nicknamed him "Mickey" and that is why people also call him Mick. He grew up in upstate New York in a place too remote to be called anything. There were a lot of bugs and his Dad yelled at him for using too many paper towels. Little Mickey tried to have fun playing war with his friends and shooting BB guns. He didn't apply himself very much in school and he graduated high school Magne Cum Lousy. One day in 1986 he discovered a lump in his neck which he promptly ignored for more than 6 months. As fate would have it, it was Hodgekin's Disease and after months of dicking around with inept doctors, he promptly underwent aggressive treatment involving brutal tests and chemotherapy. This lasted a year followed by many years of paranoia. This is where he learned to suffer and it payed great dividends. Now he teaches 13th grade at a college in Ohio where he suffers daily.
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