I ushered in this weekend with an AMAZING hangover. Probably the most severe morning, midday and night sickness I have endured since I was an 18 year old freshman at Western State drinking McCormicks vodka straight from the “handle.” Yikes, I am not looking to repeat that anytime soon. However, the friends and location of said hangover shall be repeated sometime very soon. My friend and coworker lives in a loft in downtown Denver about a block from Coors Field. The roof is a great place to entertain and the views of the city are unrivaled.
As for Saturday, I skipped the trip to Durango and made the most of the severe temps in Boulder to pedal the bike. A great ride but I was sorely lacking water and what I did have left in my bottles was not just warm, it was hot. Try refreshing your dry mouth and tongue in, according to my watch, 104-degree weather with hot water. It made me gag. So I took the quickest route to where I knew there was a gas station (in Gunbarrel) and went straight for the ice machine. Dumped tons of cold water on my face and neck and I was back, albeit with a massive brainfreeze. Made it home with even deeper pronounced farmers tan lines and then went to Southern Sun for some chillaxing with Connor and one of his buds.
Today we reconvened for a trip up to Betasso. An accomodating Aussie on the trail helped me try to correct my mystery shifts on three different occasions up the first climb. Pardon the cliche but…GOOD ON YA, mate! He had the touch and I was off again – shifting dillema solved. Rode a couple laps and then my stomach started to come to terms with the fact that a carrot and half a banana was all I had consumed this morning. Well, that and the two cups of coffee I had at home and one more with Connor at Vic’s prior to the ride. Can you say “gut rot?”
