Grades submitted. Held a Zoom meeting this morning for a student employee. We talked for about 35 minutes, which was four more than I wanted to keep the student on the call. That was my fault. It usually is. Now I’m trying to get my email under control. Inbox Zero isn’t happening anytime soon, but I’m hoping to get to Inbox 30 or 40 before this time next week.
It’s a whole thing.
Anyway, one more meeting this week, a long one, on Wednesday. And then on to other things.
We went out for a ride, Saturday. This was the 25 mile time trial. I’d like to think I was going fast on this road. I never go fast on this road.
That’s seven miles and change into the route. By then we’d gone … lessee … roughly all four of the cardinal directions and we’re getting buffeted my breezes and gusts from three of them. About eight miles from there we finally got a tailwind, and for a good long while it felt like a real bike ride, like I knew what I was doing, like I could make the bike, and maybe the road, do anything I wanted. I bunny hopped both rails of a railroad crossing without trying hard. The wheels were humming in a most satisfying way. I was hitting false flats and was still able to accelerate. It was an immensely satisfying feeling, one of the reasons you go out and do this, a feeling I’d have more if I was in just a bit better shape.
And then, suddenly, it was all gone. I didn’t even notice the moment it changed, for it wasn’t even a moment, it was just a different thing. Well, then, as I turned back into the headwind, I resigned to trying to at least pedal smoothly over the last few miles. My lovely bride was up the road and gone. Fueling gone wrong once again, I figured. At mile 22 or so, I saw her taillight ahead of me. About two miles later, I caught up to her, which shouldn’t be happening, considering. She’d bonked. Fueling gone wrong.
It was her second intense workout of the day.
Later in the day, the sky turned into these odd colors.
Then, today, I went out for a ride at around 11 a.m., because it was still mild. Mild meaning mid-80s. One of my apps blipped and thinks that, for a quarter of a mile, I was doing 230+ mph. I was not riding 230+ mph. I did, later, record a third of a mile at 27 miles per hour, which I haven’t done in a while, and, sometime after that, a 20 mph mile, notable only because much of it was up a slight incline and that’s where I decided it was too hot to keep going. Eventually, you’ll get too hot and mess up somehow.
It was 92 degrees when I got back to the house. Calling it was probably the right idea.
We’re going to have three days of 90s in the row here in the middle of May. The seasons mean nothing anymore.
I’m still living in the happy memories of our wonderful Irish vacation and sharing extra videos that we didn’t get to at the time. Enjoy. I still am!
This is the last week of this feature. (For now, anyway.) We are going to spend it all looking at the majesty of Malin Head, the northernmost part of Ireland.
