The last six miles.

Day 8 of incessant cycling/leg work. Not really on purpose either, but I have to get around somehow. I'm just not sure why I'm not driving my van?

So, no plans were made to work out today. In fact, quite the opposite! I planned not to workout for a change. ("Blasphlemer!" You cry.) Somedays you just have to know when enough is enough.

Unfortunately, my day off still involved getting around via bicycling. What's strange is that I could've taken the van into town. I could've paid almost $3 to park it next to my school for a few hours. But how can I justify that when I skipped swimming this morning in favor of catching up on some work? Besides, it's only 12 miles to school from home. That's nothin', right?

I actually rode to the first bus stop and caught the bus so I wouldn't have to worry about being all sweaty and gross at school today. It was when I decided to come home that my cycling bug was pestering me.

So, let's be honest. It's hard not to push yourself especially when it seems like it could come so easily. Coming home, it was 94 degrees, but humidity was very low and there was a slight tailwind. I knew I had to stop by Brian's to give him the loaf of Buttermilk Parmesan Sour bread that I baked last night. (Yum. It was hard not to eat it!)

So I did and he was astounded that I was geared up for cycling. "Haven't you had enough?" he asked. He was holding the bread and kinda' waving it around as he continued, "I have a taxi coming for me in 10 minutes to go downtown." I shrugged and said, "Gotta' get home somehow. Enjoy the bread--we need to fatten you up anyway," and gave him that good ol' cyclist pinch in which I caught nothing but skin.

From Brian's it's only 12.25 miles home by the direct route via the highway ... I could make it home in less than 40 minutes I was telling myself. And so, with only a Camelback stuffed with my day clothes and the bladder filled with water, I decided to race home.

Racing home lasted about 30 minutes. I was cruising a very comfortable 19+ mph the whole time. Then my never-quite-the-same-after-the-skiing-accident-knee began to do the weird clicky thing it sometimes does. Ugh. It never really hurts, but it doesn't feel quite right, either.

By this point, I'd crossed the last bridge and was entering the main cross street towards home. Then I realized what a really crap road I live on. It's 6 miles of crap road. Lumpy, bumpy, jittery, elbow-jostling, hand-numbing crummy road. And makes for a sore bum, too! Almost immediately, I couldn't go faster than 15 mph; I felt like I was cycling through sand. Between bum, knee, and crap road, those last miles were an eternity. In the end, I made it home, got some (fairly) easy miles in, and can call it a day.