The forecast was only 30% rain, but the sky was overcast. With our luck this was as good as a flash flood warning, so we brought full rain gear. We had also planned on taking our tandem, but after buying a zillion dollar set of wheels for it I found a crack in the bottom bracket. Now we had this pair of wheels that cost more than a full set of tires for my pickup truck, and our aluminum tandem frame was not worth much more than a bag of coke cans at the recycler. Fortunately it was warranted and a new frame was ordered, but it was not in, so we were back to riding singles.
The first 10 miles went pretty quick and we pulled into the first SAG area still a little chilly from the foggy overcast. There had been no rain yet, as well as any wind. I will take hills to wind any day. At least with hills there is an attainable goal; reaching the top. With wind it�s just a constant struggle and no relief. Today we had hills. Susan hates hills. She curses them with every breath while she pedals up them, and she was beginning to sound like a sailor. As we rode over the rolling terrain she was still grumbling when we pulled into the Crooked Creek State Park for another break at the 25 mile mark.
The fog and clouds had long ago burned off when we rode out of the Little Mountain community and I was starting to think a slight breeze might be nice; not wind mind you, but a light puff of air just to stir the humidity. One nice thing though, when you ride to the top of a mountain you do get to ride back down it. The last 23 miles were primarily down hill. Yeah, it was broken up occasionally by a few rollers, but it was mostly down and that was nice. And Susan finally stopped using 4 letter adjectives and verbs to describe the day�s recreation. As we pulled into the last SAG stop she was actually smiling. You gotta love these times together.
As we rode down the last hill I could not help but marvel at how nice the weather was, and how pleasant the last 20 odd miles had been. I should have known better. Fate. She always abhors a good thing. Even Susan was whistling and singing when we started our last mile or so, but then we hit the finishing hill. It rose up in front of us like tsunami. Not really, but Susan hates a hill, even a small one. I could hear her back there making noises like a Tasmanian devil chewing on an old shoe as we reeled in that last mound. When I looked back I could see a dark thunder cloud with lightning bolts shooting out of it floating over her head. It slowly dissipated as we turned into the parking lot and rolled up to the truck.
As I loaded up, Susan checked us in at the registration table. When she got back she told me there were ten more riders out on the route. I couldn�t help but think, Wow! We�re 329th. We�re getting faster!
This story was actually more fiction than truth, and was a chance to poke a little fun at my riding partner. Because to tell you the truth, nothing much really happened on this ride. No rain. No wind. No mechanical failures. Just me and Susan riding a Saturday away and enjoying ourselves; however, Susan does hate a hill.
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