Back on the road again, I turned left out of my dad’s house and begun the journey from Alexandria to Blaine for the Fixed Gear Classic. It’s raining, its grey, it’s cloudy, it’s cold. It has been all week. All I’ve wanted to do is sleep, yet I’ve found the will to get out of bed, pack the car, and move on towards the first race of the season.
Driving down the 94, I see all the familiar towns. There’s a little town called Freeport, where I remember playing basketball in about 5th or 6th grade for a private Lutheran school, where the opposing team dug their fingers nails into our backs on numerous occasions. If I remember correctly, I threw a basketball at one of their faces and gave them a bloody nose and was put on the bench the rest of the night. I remember because of the smiley face they have on their water tower that stands right next to the interstate. I vowed to never go back to that wretched place again.
I packed my car horribly. My science of placement so nothing rubbed or made noise must have been fogged by packing in the rain and at 10pm last night. The spokes of my road bike rubbed together making a high-pitched creaking noise over the course of the drive, and of course were too far back in the car for me to reach back and move them around. I took my punishment. Lesson learned.
It was quick, almost painless, and now I’m lying in my dorm bed for the next few days, hoping the track dries, and the sun might decide to shine. Can’t ride on the track unless it’s dry, so keep your fingers crossed. I might as well build my bike up while I wait…