Sizzle, Sizzle

It was a busy weekend, cycling-wise. As a follow-up to Saturday's blazing Giro ride, Reo and I went over to Loranger Sunday morning for a group ride around the Tour de La course. I had been expecting a modest turnout of six or seven, and was rather shocked to find 15 or 16 guys there when we arrived. Reo looked at me knowingly and said something to the effect of "This is gonna turn into a race." By the time we were half-way through the second lap, his prediction had been totally validated and the group was strung out and hammering over the rolling hills along the "back stretch." I was planning on doing three laps and so had been trying to lay low, since I could almost smell the adrenalin and testosterone in the air. Things were just starting to unravel as we approached the town of Husser, and I couldn't resist attacking one of the steep little hills there. Well, that just added fuel to the fire, and from there to the finish line in Loranger it started feeling a lot more like a race than a training ride. Tim and Jay and a couple others were particularly busy keeping the pace high and by the time we got to the finish of the second lap there were a couple of little groups left in our wake. It was definitely fun, though! After that lap about half the group headed back to the cars, leaving seven of us to do a third lap. It was pretty clear that this lap was going to be slower, since everyone's legs were feeling that last section.

When we hit the really bumpy section, along Cooper Road, Charlie pinch-flatted at practically the same spot where someone else had flatted on the first lap. It classic Charlie style, it took long enough to fix that Reo was able to wander over into the bushes an pick a handful of blackberries while we waited. Anyway, I guess I ended up with about 70 miles Sunday on top of 75 or so Saturday. After I got home I had to run over to the office to print out the final version of the TDL Race Bible and drop it off at Robin's house so he can make the copies and start assembling them. Then I spent the rest of the day emulating the cat by lounging around on the sofa while alternating between eating and napping.


This morning we had a nice easy recovery ride up on the levee. I had received an e-mail the night before from The Donald about a crash that had happened during the Giro ride. It seems that Todd and one of the Tri guys had rolled off the front of the group on the way back along Chef Menteur Highway. Somehow this dead armadillo leapt out in front of them. Todd was riding second wheel at the time and the lead guy was probably on his aero bars staring at the ground or something. Well, he sees the armadillo at the last moment and barely misses it, while Todd, who was on his wheel, just nails it. I should at this point make one thing quite clear. Dead armadillos are hard. Very hard. Hitting one is little different from hitting thirty pound rock - usually with the same results. Todd ended up on the pavement, of course, and later stopped in at the ER to have them put five stitches in his elbow. I think Donald took the Armadillo home for dinner. Last night I had gotten a cryptic little "ditty" from The Donald about the incident.

It started out like this:

Ode to the Mighty Shelled One
(to be sung to the tune That's Amore')

Whennnnnn you're cruising down Hayne, and you feel sudden pain,
armadillo
When you're ridin' real fast, and the street smacks your ass,
armadillo

As you fly, side by side, in your 53, hope that you don't see,
armadillo
Up ahead, hit the brake, what was that, big mistake,
armadillo

There's more. Much more. But I'll spare you for now.