In The Cathedral Of Saint Donny The Revelator

Morning weigh-in: 168#, 10% BF

 

Pretty good weekend, pretty good...

 

Friday night I hit the towpath despite the rain; I did a shortened out-and-back, turning around at the mud pit that is Freemansburg, but I did get in about 20 miles total. I was a drowned rat within minutes of starting but I had a great time -- right clothes, right gear, yadda yadda, my biggest issue was, as always, visibility. Conditions were actually better on the towpath (except at Freemansburg), than they were last week: the rain had flattened down all the freeze-thaw stuff, and the surface was actually hard and fast. I finished the ride by 7:00 or so, was showered and out the door again by 7:30.

 

Scooted over to Which Brew, where I met Joe & Cindy for a beer -- they were having dinner, but I was meeting my friend Greg at Porters, 8:30 dinner reservations so I couldn't stay long. The gossip is all about the double-secret training regimens we all may or may not be implementing, and as the winter winds down the intrigue is starting to get thick. Talked bikes with Joe, went across the street and talked more bikes with Greg, whisper whisper gossip gossip, we're like a bunch of old ladies but it's gonna be a fast, fast year... Excellent dinner, caught a bit of the band and then went back to WB but Joe & Cindy were gone. Jammed out to local drummer Ryan's band (Ryan: yet another biker) and then it was bedtime.

 

Saturday I overslept, but made it -- barely! -- to early morning yoga, a nice solid vinyasa class. (That is a great way to start the day.) Breakfast at the Coffee Exchange, hit the gym for my last "super-hard strength workout" before the start of the season.

 

I went out a bit early, maybe 6:00 and it was back down to Which Brew for dinner. There's a definite Saturday afternoon crowd there, and it was actually packed. I was there too early for the dinner specials so I just hung out and BS'ed, then ordered (and ate) an entire artichoke pizza -- I guess I should say we're not talking full-size pizzas here, maybe just a bit bigger than bar-pie size, but still.

 

Ticket To Heaven: The last time I ate a whole pie at Which Brew, I got involved in a conversation with a dude who's not quite a regular there, but everyone knows him. Fit guy, runs, and he's pretty OK but I think he's a little slow, and he has a tendency to monopolize your conversation, mostly talking about his running -- I ended up talking with him again Saturday for quite a while. The guy's harmless and I give him credit, he'll talk to anyone, which is good because it makes things easier if we all do our share of socializing instead of having one person trapped...

 

Before my friend Vito retired, he'd make me help him with the computer stuff at work, and when I' get exasperated he'd laugh and say that he was my ticket to heaven, in that I was stocking up on good deeds. That dude was talking to some girls next to me, and I think one of them was a bit uncomfortable so I used that phrase, and told her that her time with him was "her ticket to heaven." I think she was a little relieved to hear it, mainly because she was not trapped by herself with some crazy stranger...

 

(Actually there was a bit of crazy talk, which amounted to his version of "guy talk" to me, and which I won't repeat here but it was a real eye opener.)

 

But like I said, I give the guy credit, and I have to say he's paying attention: I once mentioned the name of my employer and he remembered it that Friday, and back on that Friday he mentioned a band he liked (Gov't Mule), and this Saturday he brought in a CD to loan me. I gave it a listen, not really my cup of tea (sort of corporate blues-rock) but there was one song I dug, "John the Revelator." It's an old song and a good one, but I have heard better versions.

 

Anyway, a lot of talk about a short night -- I was home by 9:00 or so.

 

Sunday was another early morning yoga class, ashtanga this time, and pretty strenuous. Brunch after that, then I met my friend Joe for another Sunday afternoon river ride. It was cool, maybe in the forties, and windy, but the sky was an awesome blue, like a big bell jar without the Sylvia Plath connotations, or maybe some giant cathedral. River Road was flooded in some areas, and in others it was iced over or torn up by the winter, so we had to go slow (the wind didn't help, except when it was at our backs). It was a long ride, maybe 40 miles, but not fast or strenuous at all; we even stopped to check out an old cemetery and found some pre-Revolutionary graves. He and his girlfriend were having a pot roast for dinner and he invited me to join them, but I actually had my own pot roast leftovers to finish -- besides, I didn't want to drive all the way to the Poconos, where they moved, just for dinner. I got home, inhaled my pot roast, and did the "laundry nap" thing for the rest of the afternoon.

 

I'd call that 2.5 days seized, and well seized.