I Love a Parade

Just before Christmas, I went out for a long ride on what was supposed to be a mostly dry, not-too-cold afternoon.

Yeah, yeah ... weather forecasting. Based on statistics, which is one of the three types of lies (right after Little Lies and Big Lies). It's why you dress for a little worse than the weather is supposed to be and be prepared to either head home early or put your head down and harden the heck up.

But that doesn't change the facts that it sucked. I suffered for 25 miles south into the headwind, and then came around about the time that the wind did. Then the drizzle started back up. Then it got colder.

So now I've got 25 miles between me and nice, warm dry home-ness. A big gray cloud started massing over my head, just under the big solid one that was keeping the roads wet and blocking out the sun, and I came to the realization that this well and truly sucked.

Suckity suckity suck suck sucked.

And putting my head down didn't help. The spray from my front wheel just spewed up into my face, as well as soaking my tights and my shoes and my socks and doing a great job of making my toes very very cold, so that the tip of the big toe on my right foot -- where I had gotten frostbite a couple of years ago -- fairly screamed epithets at me, begging to get home and stay home and wait until June before I dared venture out on a bicycle again.

I tried to ignore the toe, but I didn't bring an iPod with me that day and it's a very loud toe.

On Knob Creek Road, about three miles from Theta, I saw a guy digging up his septic tank in his front yard. If misery loves company, it absolutely adores company when that company is stuck doing an even crappier job, and there's probably no task literally and figuratively crappier than digging up a septic tank on a drizzly cold day. I felt temporarily better, and then felt guilty for feeling better.

Stupid conscience. Ruin my buzz.

The climb up to Theta warmed me up, and the run down Sulphur Creek Road was nice. Then I was on Leiper's Creek Road and suffering through another wet cold slog for a few miles, but at this point you begin to think, "Meh. It's less than 10 miles now."

And then, I got to Leiper's Fork, which is less than three miles from home. And I was stuck in the Christmas Parade.

Big dog.

For those that go out there regularly, it's good to see that the General Lee ...

... and Barney Fife's car actually work.

Nothing says Christmas like a Tardis.

I was kind of stuck, since the road was closed, and ended up watching most of the parade. By the time I was able to head on towards home, my feet were even colder. But at least my heart had been warmed.