Just Jack, Please.

For a couple months now, you guys have listened to me talking about The Ride To Jack and Back. Here's what happened...

I decided to do the short route with some friends who were also riding that day. After the trouble I've been having with my knee, it wasn't worth killing myself on Pulltight. (You know I'm not going to take it easy...) This proved to be an excellent choice. Around mile twenty, very string winds started bringing my average pace down, as my effort level skyrocketed. I caught a guy's wheel, and we traded pulls until the aid station at the Fire Codes Academy, where I ended up waiting about twenty or thirty minutes for Paul to arrive off the long route.

When we headed out, I made a comment to Paul about how I could tell I hadn't really been riding as much as I normally do. I was uncomfortable on the bike, and couldn't seem to exert any power. By the time we got to Shelbyville, I was pretty miserable. The ride from Shelbyville to Motlow was cram-packed with epic whining, ugly-I'm-about-to-cry faces and such. I'm not proud of those 15 miles. I finished though. Even if it was the worst 55 miles of my entire year of riding.

As we crossed the finish, I saw the little Hobbes-it by the road, and he came and snuggled me and told me he loved me... all was right with the world.

Now, the kicker. I had talked about not riding on Sunday, but had decided I should go ahead and at least try. When we arrived at the start line on Sunday morning, we were surprised to hear the ride back had been cancelled in light of impending inclement weather. So... butt saved from the shame of grabbing a SAG ride on the second day? I think so...