What can I complain about next? The other day, right here in this blog, I wailed without gnash the state of the weather here in Chicagoland. I joined the host of winter whiners lamenting the frigid April temperatures. I felt like a child in the backseat, tormenting my father with cries of IS THE WARM WEATHER THERE YET? My answer to my kids, by the way, was always “five minutes”. There is a reason why my 22 year old daughter still rolls her eyes at me when she sees me.
All I had to do was complain. I have that power. After writing that winter whine the other morning, I arrived home from work to temperatures around 48 degrees. Dang.. that’s shirtsleeves weather.
I had to ride. I donned my Under Armor mock tee, capri padded bibs, fleece lined long sleeve jersey, and fleece lined tights. It was after 5 o’clock, the temperatures about to dip. Besides, it’s difficult enough for my neighbors to be subjected to me in tights, much less bike shorts. Likely one of the reasons why I prefer mountain biking over riding the road is the difference in garb — loose fitting shorts and shirt compared to clothing that makes me look like a stuffed sausage.
I also wore fingerless gloves, something I regretted for the first five minutes of my ride. It was colder than anticipated, the temperatures already beginning to drop. My fingers had that frozen feeling, the air rushing over them from my (not so) fierce pace adding to the cold. Five minutes in, I forgot about the cold, my body providing the necessary warming. I reveled in a quiet, briskly paced twelve mile ride — just enough to give me an energy charge better than any energy drink can provide.
Four out of the last five days on the bike. Last night was warm enough for shorts and tee shirt, at least in the woods. I treated myself to an hour of single track.
I am taking suggestions for complaints. This man is the complaint whisperer.