give up now ...

This lunch hour, after dropping off Sputnik to get his poo-hole fixed, i went spinning up the beach hwy from Santa Cruz. I wanted to work hard on my pedalstroke, tinkling over the lightest of gears in a whipping cream whirl.

A few minutes in, my body started to rebel and i felt that inescapable urge to stretch and pull the body out of its mal-aligned state - freeing up hips and joints gnarled over from a long, too long season of too much racing with not near enough training.

But, I can't be bothered to get off the bike when i stretch ~ so, cruising down the hwy ... cars phfoooming past at 60+ ... i am arching up to the sky, pulling my legs into bizarre contortions - over handlebars, behind the saddle, twisting around toptubes.

... prolly look like some fruity ex-balley dancer trippin on acid and down-dogging to traffic.

Anyway - i was perched over the bike in some weird spinal tap, really trying to loosey-goosey the hip-flexor-glutious-pootious, head down nibbling on Carnac and doing my best to not crash in the remaining 4 mph left of my 20 pedal coast, when ...

Wicks rides by in the other direction.

big, laughing smile on his face. i could just see the thought bubble, 'you looked better in the bee costume, nerdboy.'


ah well. you gotta be "pro" at something.