The other parental unit was late. She got home to her cooling dinner at around 7:00. The Cat was already in his cycling get-up when she arrived. He finished a rousing drum drop on Rock Band and the Grimplets belted out the last words of "Dirty Little Secret." Then, it was out to race the setting Sun on Snake Hill.
Considering the apalling results of his long delayed weigh-in, not much was expected of the ride. Just get home before dark, that would be just great. Still, why not give it a solid run--get a good workout.
The blue Colnago cross got the nod just because she's so pretty. She usually makes it tough on The Fat Cat on the steep half mile that starts the route, but her cranks turned round quite managebly. In fact, all the way up she let The Cat have his run of the drive train instead of flogging him with the 39x25. Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, The Cat pushed it the whole 8.57 miles to Masontown.
Despite having had hill and bike seemingly at his command, weight, training loss and cycle choice surely would have put a damper on the time. Nevertheless, why not check it? The Fat Cat expected something crass like 43 minutes; that time had rubbed him the wrong way before. The time of 38:33 was just confusing. Wasn't that around the best time he rode that hill at 187lbs a few months ago on the Cervelo? Can't be! Just getting senile.
On the way back, bumps that used to sap the strenth and send the derailleur into free fall slid quietly under churning thighs. The fact that the uphill little dog sprint went from 15mph to 20mph because big dog joined the fray, was of no matter. The in -the-driveway time was 3 minutes less than the Cat rembered his best being and the Sun was several lenghts back. How bout that. You just never know.