Ya know, few things suck more than being sick on a gorgeous sunny, 82 degree, last Sunday in August in the Pacific Northwest. I mean we ride all stink'n winter long in rain and low 40's just for these days - days you roll off the porch for every ride; days when your kit is as near nothing as possible: shorts, jersey, socks, shoes and helmet; days when motorists are low stressed enough to actually concede you part of the road; days when morning rides finish at the cafe or afternoon rides at the pub.
Woke up in the middle of the night to a throat that felt like it had a five-alarm blaze going off in it, fever and the fear that this was going to mess up a week of training for the Everest Challenge. Was really looking forward to a couple wonderful lazy hours on the bike Sunday - nada.
After spending the morning catching up on sleep robbed night, turning down an afternoon ride with Hammer and trying to sooth a throat en fuego, I decided to rob a few issues from my winter reading stash - issues of and articles from Rouleur and Cycle Sport horded away for those crap winter days when a 90 min. ride on the fixie is all your extremities can bear, dark falls at 4:30 and you're rationing your pub nights to save your pocketbook and liver.
So I find myself reading articles about the Spring Classic in the cold and wet of Belgium - the Hell of the North, the pain of 25% on the final climb of the Mur de Huy - somehow it mitigates the insult of all this sunshine pouring down from a perfect azure sky.
But then all that blue sky reminds me of those chopper shots of the coast travelling along the Ligurian Sea en route to San Remo in la classica di Primavera, Milan-San Remo, and a realize on a sunny Sunday in August - Sick Sucks!
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