Dave and I went for a short but hilly ride today, from our house to & around the PV golf course and back. Tired, grumpy, and just wanting to get home as directly as I could, I foolishly decided to brave 190th Street, rather than snake around through some other streets to find a different way back up to our house.
Note that the hill portion of 190th up to our street has a 14% grade.
After getting about 3/4 up bad things started happening (almost falling, hyperventilating, walking the rest of the way til it was flat enough I could actually get clipped in and pedal without falling, etc). The highlight was when we were trying to cross the intersection at a crosswalk and I couldn’t get clipped in, and I was worried about the car behind me trying to make a right turn, and I was VERY FRUSTRATED and I yelled a string of expletives (in my “Army” voice, mind you) that I really ought not to reprint here.
I also yelled at Dave (I’ve forgotten exactly what I said, something along the lines ‘I’m never listening to you again when you tell me to use the crosswalk’).
At that moment, I also really, truly empathized with Mel and her dislike of swimming, with me feeling the same way about bicycling, and I wanted to fling my bike to the ground; except then I felt guilty towards Rocket Bike, which doesn’t deserve the abuse, and which I truly do love especially when I get to swoop down a long gentle downhill.
Note I apologized to my bike before I did to Dave — which, yes, I did do, once we met back at our garage.
(In my defense I will say that I’ve only done I think one small bike ride since the Solvang debacle. And we ran Thursday, Friday AND Saturday, the latter being a modification of the medium nasty hill loop. However, I think I need to review my tattoo post, especially the ‘whiny wuss’ part.)