The Power of Social Media.

I gotta get me some of that social media stuff. I think they sell it by the case at Costco.
 
I did a little experiment to see how a Facebook post would increase the traffic this blog sees. Bam! Activity immediately spiked to triple the normal readership, topping the all-time charts at seven whole readers a day. This is especially surprising since I don't have any Facebook friends to read my posts, which one would think would stifle social media's impact. No so. SEVEN unique individuals took time out of their busy days to navigate to this blog, before realizing this site has nothing to do with puppies that look like Kanye and quickly redirecting to resume surfing porn sites on company time. I want to thank them personally for their consideration, but please understand if I choose to refrain from shaking hands.
 
Pumped up by my newfound media dominance, I kitted up and went for a ride on Thursday. Outside. On a road bike. In Alaska.
 
No studs. No tights. Not much in the way of Roubaix fleece. A little wool here and there, but nothing out of the ordinary.
 
I'd been keeping my eyes on my usual routes, waiting for the temperatures to rise, the ice to recede, the rain to stop, and the roads to dry. Sounds picky, I know, but wet rides in near freezing temperatures won't do much good for my season. When the stars lined up, I gave my trainer the one-fingered salute and rode off.
 
It was glorious.
 
I didn't push extremely hard, but ended up working more than I did in Texas. I snaked across South Anchorage and climbed up Upper Potter, not setting any records in the process. It wasn't about going fast. It was about going. My front tire was a little on the squishy side, making all of the new cracks in the hairpins on the descent just that little bit more fun. I saw a few people out and about, and they were all smiles. Maybe it's because it's spring in southcentral Alaska and everything gets better from here. Maybe they were amused by the fatty wheezing his way down the road. It really doesn't matter why they were smiling, because I was going.
 
I highly recommend it.
 
Klutzy would be a generous way to describe my riding style, even after the miles in Texas. I still don't have the casual fluidity of someone who has been riding on the road for months. It will come. Eventually I won't miss every clip-in, slipping off the pedal and throwing myself over the bars with the grace of a drunk seagull. Eventually that will settle into a reasonable 50% success rate. I won't react to every crack in the pavement as if it's a high voltage line. My arms will relax, my knuckles will gain a little color, and I will absorb just enough of the bump to ensure the wheel goes out of true and the tube gets a pinch-flat. Relearning these skills takes time, and honing them into a fine edge of ineptitude is an art. I'll get there.
 
Because I'm going again.

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