A Medium Thursday

When in a rut, one might as well enjoy that rut.

So I worked on the manuscript for a little while (hooray for technical writing!), then got on my bike. Knowing that Charlie was going to be doing 2 hours in the Watchung hills, I decided to do about 2 hours in the Watchung hills, then meet Charlie, then do his 2 hours.

Normally, a ride like this enables a lot of contemplation, or at least lets me induce some clarity in the usual mental chaos. Lately, though, my damn bottom bracket is making creaky noises to the point where I can't tune out. Which is okay. Not every ride needs to be nirvana.

I could've used a little solace, though. Apparently my legs have yet to recover from the combination of the 3 races in 4 days. If they feel this dead on Sunday, Granogue is going to be not-fun. The name of the game is recovery, kids.

Before meeting up with Charlie, I rode over to Shady Lane in Bound Brook. It's out of the way, but it has a special place in my heart. Until 2000 or so, it was where my grandparents lived, and I spent a lot of time there. In fact, it's where I learned how to ride a bike without training wheels. As I rode by, munching on a granola bar and decked out in my oh-so-pro Rutgers kit, I waxed a little nostalgic.

Charlie took me on a route I'd never traveled before, with some really nice scenery. Someday soon I'm going to have to go back there with a camera, especially Washington Rock, from which you can see Manhattan on a clear day (or so sayeth the Chaz).

Karaoke was pretty good as well. Will had a less than stellar time, mostly because while Eric the Karaoke Guy was singing, some drunken ass-hats moved their song-request slips in front of his. Jay, Ted, Ashley, Lena, and Jen were glowing the distinctly excited and terrified glow of recent college graduates (congratulations, guys!). I sang a little, and I danced a little. I got hungry around midnight, so I went with Dani and Megan to the DunkinDonuts. When I came back, my turn had come up, so I got to sing "Paint It Black" with half of a Croissant-Egg-Cheese sandwich crammed in my mouth.

Finally, the sad truth has sunk in... my femurs are of medium length. Not too short, I guess, but certainly not long enough to give that pro-ish leverage that drives the ladies wild. Check it: