As I type this, it amuses me once again that two of my favorite things to, writing and riding, have only two letters of difference. Despite that, these activities are mutually exclusive. I’ve tried writing while on a bike trainer, but it doesn’t work. Such exercise requires lower brain engagement than writing requires.
It’s the middle of June and I’m not ready for Ragbrai. My endurance remains as strong as ever, so I’m not worried about that part. This is the issue: I have about four weeks left to prepare my delicate hindquarters for the rigors of Iowa, and of that time, I will only actually have 18 days during which I’ll be able to get on my bike. This assumes I won’t get sick at any of my appearances prior to leaving for Iowa, and that the weather won’t be abysmally wretched on any given day when I could ride. It also assumes I’ll be able to spare the time from writing.
In short, my heiny is gonna be mad at the end of July. Sure, I’ve been able to get out on my bike a few times a week for 10-15 mile rides. It could be worse. I have a 3-day, 90 mile ride adventure planned for the few days before I have to ship my bike to make sure it gets there in time (which is why I don’t have 5 weeks left). All is not lost. I can totally do Ragbrai, and I’m not worried.
Okay, I’m worried a little. A trifling smidge. Just a dollop of concern, really. Like an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. There’s more of gravy than of gra–er. Um. *cough*