Little Jorge

It was easy recovery ride day today, so I decided to go meet the Tulane riders over at the nearby Reily Center for their 6:30 am ride. The early morning temperatures are still hovering about the 48-50 degree mark down here on the south side of Lake Pontchartrain, and I'm still dressing as if they were in the 42-45 degree range.  Since I knew we would riding easy and that there was still a significant north wind, I was pretty sure I wouldn't have to deal with any heatstroke-related issues anyway. I had been over at the LBS the night before for a "fit party" and was glad to see a couple of new faces there.  Likewise, the Friday ride included one rider on a brand-new Giant. The ride was pretty mellow, as planned, but still separated on the way back into the headwind.  My right hand kept going numb and the shoulder felt particularly achy today, and I guess it will be another week or so before all those muscles and tendons stop complaining. Pat, who was coming from the Ormond end of the levee bike path, met us on the way out and then stayed with us all the way back where the two of us stopped at Zotz for coffee.  I was already running late but couldn't resist the offer. 

Jorge, some time in the 80s

While we were sitting there a rider in full team kit pulled up and I was surprised to recognize him as Jorge Cardona.  I think he's been up in Massachusetts where he works as a bike mechanic, as I recall.  Jorge (everyone uses the English "George" version) is from New Orleans and did a lot of racing here in the 80's.  He was always really strong and, since he is hearing-impaired, we used to say that he just couldn't hear his legs complaining.  At the time, there was another Jorge, namely Jorge Merle, racing here.  We called the former Jorge "Little Jorge" and latter "Big Jorge."  Jorge Merle is still a very active racer in Houston, and Jorge Cardona, judging by his Facebook page, seems to do a lot of travelling and shows up in New Orleans every now and then.  Anyway, he picked up a drink and stopped to shake hands before riding off down Oak Street.  I'm sure that one of the things that lured him down here is the Oak Street Po-Boy Festival coming up this Sunday. A few minutes later I followed suit, already running forty-five minutes behind schedule.