Humidity and Yogi
The following is partially a reflection of how much I loathe the Gulf Coast, but mostly it's just plain true. Deal with it.
Mississippi humidity is nasty, and not in a good way. It slathers you like airborne lotion as soon as you walk out the door. You're left coated in a residue that could only be duplicated if you rolled around the floors of a porn theater for a few hours. In the shower, you scrub and scrub to the point that the blood begins to flow, but you never get clean. You are tainted by it.
Tennessee humidity is more subtle. It slowly wraps you in its loving embrace until it eventually squeezes the life out of you. You're cruising along one minute, with everything ticking along, and then little by little your strength ebbs and you collapse in a panting heap. You tell yourself that this has never happened to you before, and you usually last much longer. The only thing left is to pedal squares home surrounded by a cloud of shame and regret. If I had to choose between the two, this is the choice I'd make.
I hope I never have to acclimate to humidity again for any extended time. I grew up in a place with humid summers, and just accepted it because I didn't know any better. Now that I've spent the majority of my life in arid or semi-arid places, I don't want to go back.
Today's ride was a little disappointing. I found it on Strava, which I hate almost as much as humidity and only use for finding routes in new cities. The profile looked more impressive than it was in reality, and I got stuck in a traffic jam on an one-way, one-lane road as tourists gawked at a couple black bears. Black bears don't really interest me unless they consider me a food source. Sure, I take note of them when I see them, at least until I figure out how we can each do our own thing in peace, but I don't gaze at them with wonder. I save that for brown bears. Up close, it's hard not to be impressed. At the very least, you need to make a show of being impressed, so as not to offend the tender sensibilities of the bruin in question.
But I digress...
The climbs that looked so promising in graph form proved less than satisfying, and the remained of the ride consisted of a false flat not steep enough to encourage me to push harder. In fact, while I was spooning with humidity for the whole ride, she could never seal the deal before darkness fell. I finished with a general feeling of "meh", knowing that I gave it a shot, but the pieces didn't fall into place this time around.
Sticky and a little crusty in places, I stopped for a burger and beer and said a silent prayer to the gods of meat and microbrews that they would hang around in my system longer than many of my recent meals. Maybe the worst of it is over.
Tomorrow we will see...
Mississippi humidity is nasty, and not in a good way. It slathers you like airborne lotion as soon as you walk out the door. You're left coated in a residue that could only be duplicated if you rolled around the floors of a porn theater for a few hours. In the shower, you scrub and scrub to the point that the blood begins to flow, but you never get clean. You are tainted by it.
Tennessee humidity is more subtle. It slowly wraps you in its loving embrace until it eventually squeezes the life out of you. You're cruising along one minute, with everything ticking along, and then little by little your strength ebbs and you collapse in a panting heap. You tell yourself that this has never happened to you before, and you usually last much longer. The only thing left is to pedal squares home surrounded by a cloud of shame and regret. If I had to choose between the two, this is the choice I'd make.
I hope I never have to acclimate to humidity again for any extended time. I grew up in a place with humid summers, and just accepted it because I didn't know any better. Now that I've spent the majority of my life in arid or semi-arid places, I don't want to go back.
Today's ride was a little disappointing. I found it on Strava, which I hate almost as much as humidity and only use for finding routes in new cities. The profile looked more impressive than it was in reality, and I got stuck in a traffic jam on an one-way, one-lane road as tourists gawked at a couple black bears. Black bears don't really interest me unless they consider me a food source. Sure, I take note of them when I see them, at least until I figure out how we can each do our own thing in peace, but I don't gaze at them with wonder. I save that for brown bears. Up close, it's hard not to be impressed. At the very least, you need to make a show of being impressed, so as not to offend the tender sensibilities of the bruin in question.
But I digress...
The climbs that looked so promising in graph form proved less than satisfying, and the remained of the ride consisted of a false flat not steep enough to encourage me to push harder. In fact, while I was spooning with humidity for the whole ride, she could never seal the deal before darkness fell. I finished with a general feeling of "meh", knowing that I gave it a shot, but the pieces didn't fall into place this time around.
Sticky and a little crusty in places, I stopped for a burger and beer and said a silent prayer to the gods of meat and microbrews that they would hang around in my system longer than many of my recent meals. Maybe the worst of it is over.
Tomorrow we will see...
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