Looking like Carnival Time

After dogsitting last night at The Mom's place, I was up at 5:30 a.m. to ride the commuter bike home in time to change and get out to the Saturday Giro ride. Broadway Street, where most of Tulane's frat houses are located, was still going strong. There were lots of students wandering around, including one who was standing in the middle of an intersection with his pants down around his ankles. His friend had both hands on his shoulders, trying to keep him upright, I suppose. You would think that for the $33,000 or so it takes to send your kid to Tulane, they would at least teach him how to drink!

As I rode out to the Lakefront down Carrollton Avenue, there were literally hundreds of people out on the neutral ground, where they had obviously spent the night, staking out their terriroties for tonight's Endymion parade that starts at 6 p.m.

The weather was nice today and there was a pretty large Giro ride group. I was surprised to see The Great Balded One, as Kenny B. calls him, in town to join us. Frank had gotten up at 4 a.m. to drive in from Brookhaven, MS, and just barely caught the group as it was heading out down Lakeshore Drive. The group seemed a little less animated than I would have expected, given the nice weather. Perhaps it was because I spent most of the headwind section along Chef Highway safely tucked in the back of the pack. When things started to ramp up for the sprint at the turnaround, Frank ended up towing me off the front, and then looked back and said "where to we sprint to?" Good question. This is one of those sprints that kind of ends whenever the rider in the lead eases up!

We do a sprint on the way back down Chef Highway as well, and since I was feeling pretty good, I moved up near the front finding myself on The Howard's wheel. Howard glanced back at me and patted his butt - the universal sign for "get on my wheel." He immediately accelerated around to the left and pulled us past everyone, pulling off about 100m before the Goodyear sign (aka the finish line) and motioning for me to come around. Man, if I had leadouts like that all the time I'd be the guy Mario was pushing into the barricades at the real Giro.

On the return trip down Hayne Blvd., Brett Reagan and I traded pulls way off the front as the pack rode in at an easier pace. Afterward, Tim, Charlie, Frank and I rode downtown with the guys who were taking the ferry over to the West Bank, dropping them off and then heading upriver on St. Charles Avenue where folks were already waiting on the neutral ground for the noon parades, still a couple of hours away.

Later in the day, after running some errands, eating a broiled catfish po-boy al fresco at the Saltwater Grill, and walking the two miles over to The Mom's house to walk her dog, I took a little 10-minute nap. We were walking back home through Audubon Park and Tulane, when I discovered that The Wife had tricked me into agreeing to go to church with her, which I swear I don't remember, probably because I WAS ASLEEP when she asked me! So we walk over to the little chapel at Tulane, which is a pretty laid-back sort of arrangement where they swap out the crucifix for the star of david depending on who's using the place that day. The priest walks in with mardi gras beads around his neck, and I immediately have this image of the guy, dressed in all his robes and stuff, in the middle of Bourbon Street yelling "show your tits" to the girls on the balconies. I guess not much of that catholic grammar school and high school religion really stuck!

So right now I'm sweating out the not-quite-live scoring of The Daughter's meet on the University of Illinois' website and looking forward to tomorrow's ride on the Northshore, hoping we can get in 75 miles or so, with 30 or 40 at a good pace. Oh, wait. The meet's over and Iowa won! Finally a good meet. Even better -- The Daughter won Beam!