Holy Crap. It’s real:
Right now my prized bike is sitting in a truck covered by a blanket and being driven on some highway between here and Florida. At least she is in good company with all of the other tri bikes (and let me tell you, Boulder people have some tri bikes that cost more than my car). I hope she is not intimidated by the fact that they all have fancier wheels, color schemes and gadgets. Let’s face it, she is a bit mainstream and plain. Just like her owner. At the end of the day (HATE that expression, but it fits here) it’s not the sword, it’s the swordsman, or something like that.
Yesterday was the second to last ride I will do on my bike before Ironman Florida. I’m using my road bike for these last few rides. I passed a herd of buffalo as I went out for my short one hour, 15 minute ride. Maybe I have dementia, but I can’t remember growing up in Maryland and seeing buffalo roaming around. I have to say, it’s damn special.
Another thing that made all of this Ironman Florida stuff seem real? These came in the mail yesterday:
Yes, I am hoping my family and friends who are spectating will honor me by wearing these shirts. I hope they are not mistaken for construction cones.
And guess what? My little Sam turns 16 today. I cried. He cannot be this old. I remember when he was just a pinto bean in my uterus.
Tell me one thing you did or saw this weekend.