Almost ready to roll

Picked up Rocinante from the bike shop today, all shined up and with that good bike shop smell of grease and polish. Tomorrow we'll go out for the first time in more than a year. Presuming I can find my gloves and my cleated shoes -- the ones that make me walk like a duck; and I need to make sure the cleats are clean and still in working order. Nothing worse or more embarassing than falling over because one's feet get stuck. I know -- I've done it.

I don't think I'll dig out the spandex shorts yet, till I get to a point where I won't look like an overstuffed sausage. For the record, I seem to have lost about two pounds in the last few days, not enough to really count. Still, I've been walking the treadmill the past few days, and remembering that exercise is not a pretty thing -- though I'd rather be tired in my basement, where I can simply step aside, than 40 miles out on the highway. At least that's what I'm telling myself. So I walk the treadmill and read the biking magazines.

I'm actually beginning to recall why it was I used to like this so much.