I'm always surprised that it's Aerith and not Ariel. I guess that's what happens when you let your angel-obsessed roommate name your video game characters.

·

I had to do a fair bit of Dremeling to buff out the wear that the Tamster had worn into her temporary ring. My biggest concern is the rhodium plating normally used over the white gold. It will wear out a little no matter how mild a compound I use.

Ideally the ring is supposed to be returned in an unworn condition. But come on. We just got engaged; she can't not wear a ring. Hopefully they'll take it back.

In the meantime the replacement came. And guess what, still a touch too big. Crap.

·

"Hey Ciclismo! This isn't a race!" I belted out. I mean, the guy just shoved himself into the wheel-sized gap in front of me. And I was drinking. Could've taken me out—not cool.

A good bit later, the pace got hot and the pack got antsy. We were approaching the kilo and I was stuck in the back. And it was Ciclismo himself that found all the holes and made his way up with me in tow. In fact I could've contested, if I were willing to make the same kinds of moves this guy did naturally. But of course, by nature I hesitated.

It takes a certain frame of mind to be a good pack racer. That guy had it, I don't. In fact, I've just come to terms with the fact that as much as I love to ride hard, I really do hate racing.

·

I dunno what it is about getting 'On your left-ed' that makes me want to chase offending cyclists down. Even when I am supposed to be doing zone 2.

I know... typical.

·

We haven't made it past River Drive when the storm hit us hard. We got soaked all the way through. Worse, lighting was coming down in perfect sync with thunder. They were that close

We turned around and crossed the large, empty parking lot—at the time it felt much larger and much emptier—that led back to the path. I cringed each time I heard the thunder clap.

Seriously, we feared for our lives; lightning strikes have been all over the news lately. Fortunately the office building across the path (the very one the parking lot served) wasn't locked this Sunday morning. We got in and waited the storm out.

Bonus: this building has an inter-lobby restroom. Good to know for the other type of emergency.

····

We went to the mall to get Tammie's ring finger fitted. The one I got was too big, but it's a risk I had to take to keep it a surprise.

After getting measured, we went to a another store for a second opinion. Why not? There's a whole bunch of jewelry stores at King of Prussia, and it's the only reason we made the trip.

It turned out that while I overshot her ring size by two full sizes, she would also have done so by one. Tiny fingers.

·

We ate at Twenty Manning for Tammie's birthday—which is actually tomorrow, but we decided to celebrate on a Saturday night.

Over dinner I told the Tamster that I had four birthday presents for her. After ordering dessert I handed them over, one by one.

The first was buried deep in a gift bag under layers of fancy tissue—a Rival rear derailleur. I explained that I'm rebuilding her LeMond with SRAM (which she likes) instead of the existing Shimano components (which she hates). She asked why it was oily, and I explained that "It's... uhm... used."

Next I passed her a box that contained a strand of beads. Mind you these are fancy beads; not the cheap, plastic type. I told her that I would make either a necklace or a bracelet, or return them for different beads if she so chooses. "Do you want them? Yes or no?"

"How about this? Yes or no?" I asked as I handed her the third present in a similar box. But right as she opened it, our waitress walked over and peeked right in. "What is it?" Tammie asked, distracted.

I tried to respond with as straight a face as possible, which was quite hard when our waitress was eyeing me so keenly. "It's a diamond ring," I explained... to the both of them.

And the fourth present? There was no fourth. It was just a decoy.

·

I just caught up on two weeks of back-logged posts. It was quite a marathon. It's a good thing I take notes to remember a little something from each day; but then again, that may be why I pushed this off for so long.

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Tip: when Google Maps says to drive towards 276 South, it's not actually telling you to get on 276 South.

It's actually offering a helpful point of reference, like the cardinal directions (west) or geographical landmarks (Atlantic Ocean). Unfortunately, when you cannot tell that you have been driving towards 276 South for the last several minutes, you might actually try to get on it when the ramp comes around.

We wound up driving a 90-mile circle around the city of Philadelphia, arriving thirty minutes late for an hour long practice crit. Lesson learned: I'm highlighting towards from now on.

·

From the rooftop deck we watched the aftermath of the accident.

We were downstairs when we heard the screech, the bang, and the blaring horn that kept on blaring as if someone's dead forehead was pinned to the steering wheel by a dislodged car seat. At least that's what I imagined as we tried to catch a glimpse from the dining room's westward windows, and then from the south-facing office. Let me rephrase that: at least that's what I hoped not to see.

Moot point: we couldn't see a thing, so we went up to the deck.

We were a bit excited, but in hindsight it was just because the sound of the horn filled our apartment. Imagine your fire alarm or the security system going off unexpected.

From our new vantage point it took a few moments to realize there was nobody in the car. The white sedan just sat there like that, polluting the air with noise from the wrong side of the street. Cars just went around it; foot traffic stayed clear. Eventually the firemen came and disconnected the horn.

So strange. I don't know one person who'd get in a wreck and just abandon their vehicle like that.

·

Interesting to note: the street cleaner only does Lincoln Drive up to the block directly to our south. It pulls a U at our intersection.

····

No Drives today. I had to stay in and wait for the Tamster's cross frame to arrive via FedEx. It's the last attempt and I'll be damned if I have to make the one-hour trek to Primos. I would.

·

"You need to get your teeth unsharpened," the Tamster suggested.

That's because I'm currently going through the second week of the worst canker sore I've had to date. I get one every couple of months. It started as a minor cheek bite while working on a lamb at the Mainline's Mediterranean Grill. It's about the size of a dime, no kidding.

I have considered getting my fangs—my canines are extra-canine—filed down. My only apprehension is that... well... then it wouldn't be me. Kinda like a nose job.

·

It didn't take long to figure out which rider reeked like a taxi cab. It was actually pretty obvious. It was the one with the rotten-looking running shoes bungeed to his rack. The very one who was consistently followed by a gap.

·

We were on the Vino Velo route waiting for the Vino Velo ride to come by. Normally we'd try to catch the start at The Art Museum, but we had a late start. Fortunately, the route comes through our neighborhood on its way out. The ride tends to be sketchy at the first few miles anyway.

When we set off I said, "Try to get some speed in right away. They'll be coming in hot."

On Germantown Avenue, "Any time now."

A few moments later, "Maybe they're taking it easy. Big race tomorrow."

Several moments more, "Where the hell are they? We couldn't have missed them."

And finally, "What time did we leave?"

····

Halfway through the ride, I still shot the occasional glance back. I dunno why.

·

I just blacked out part of the ride. Before I knew it I was already on McCallum, without any recollection of climb out of the valley. I couldn't recall any thoughts that might've engrossed me. And my legs didn't feel the aftermath of the steep grade.

I guess—depending on how you look at it—that's a good thing.

····

"All done?" I asked the plumber as he made his way down from the third floor. He had been working on the drain on our rooftop deck.

"We'll see... the next time it rains," he replied.

Hmmm... that's not a very reassuring response.

·

Since we were running a little late for Greentree, we rode in the Wissahickon instead. It was fun, except for the part where I had to untangle my girlfriend from her bike. That wasn't fun.

·

I started gathering components for the Tamster's cross bike.

It'll be a modest machine with mostly house-brand spec: Scattante frame and fork, everything above the top tube will be from Sette, and the rest are hand-me-downs from her old LeMond—though I'm switching out the triple with a single.

It should come in under a decent 22 lbs. Until it's done she can run around with my twenty-five pound dumbbell, put it to some use.

····

The next project will be the LeMond; it need's a powder-coat (pink), a new used Rival group, and wheels. It'll be pretty nice when it's done—I'm still trying to figure out how this bike will be different than her current main roadie.

·

The Drives—I guess I must've looked hurried, because a motorcycle tried to pace me down Henry Avenue.

I was near the shoulder, minding my own business, when the guy rode up to me pointing at his rear wheel. But when I attempted to grab it, he sped up. From his mirror I may have looked close enough, but I was a bike's length away—completely out of the draft.

Still, it's the thought that counts. Thanks to the motivation, I made it to The Bridge in less than fifteen minutes—just in time to catch the Bs.

·

Is it weird that I check out other men's legs?

The Tamster may think so, but I don't. It's part of an innate mental excercise; I see a fit-looking guy, wonder whether he's a cyclist, and then check the legs to confirm. Often I am right. It may have to do with the way they carry themselves or the way their body has tanned.

Ironically, whenever female legs do catch my eye, my first thought is 'she must ride'. Why? Because she shaves.

·

My current state of mind:

While watching The God's Must Be Crazy, I frequently found myself wondering if the terrain was something I could manage on my mountain bike.

·

If you're at a BYOB and your server performed a proper wine presentation, could you decline the bottle? Even if it's spoiled?

Just wondering.

·

A moment on the trails:

Goddamnit. I've been through this section like twenty-five times now. It's getting dark. I'm getting tired. And I'm sick of putting my foot down.

And so I did it. Just like that. Easy peasy. Funny how things work out sometimes.

·

I rode six miles of trails late this morning. I put my foot down countless times and walked about a dozen. Still, I'm getting much better.

Though the Wissahickon's network of trails is rather extensive—I've actually only ridden a quarter of the park—I've been sticking to the same three mile out-and-back routine for the last couple of weeks.

I'm being methodical. I can gauge how I'm coming along by doing the same technical sections that scare the shit outta me over and over. Making a climb that I didn't the day before can be encouraging—I get psyched.

And so far I am psyched.

····

At the Greentree practice crit, a Verducci rider came up next to me and said, "You should try and stay in the draft."

I politely explained—that is, as polite as yelling into the wind would allow—that I got pushed out of my spot.

A moment later, I wished quick enough to respond by asking 'What's a draft?'

·

I was relieved that the evening was pock-marked with thunderstorms. Though I was willing to go on my normal Wednesday evening ride, my legs weren't quite up to it. I think my recovery ride on the trails earlier this morning wore my legs out.

Two hours on zone 0.5 for a total of 6 trail miles. Should've felt like a massage. Perhaps I need to come up with a different way to quantify efforts on the mountain bike.

Or perhaps I'm wearing out a different muscle group, which means my roadie legs are fine, which means I just need to HTFU.

·

There was a police officer eyeing the Impreza when I went to grab the last of the grocery bags from the car.

Good. This was my chance to find out what Philadelphia Public Works had in store for Lincoln Drive; they had just plastered signs for a 6am–6pm street-parking curfew for the next three weeks. It'll be fall by the time they're done with their work.

"Hey," I greeted.

"Hey."

"What's the deal with street parking around here?"

"Public Works is coming in," he replied.

"Any idea what they'll be working on?"

"Nope. No idea," and then he points at the sign "Starts seven-eight."

"I know, short notice," I complained. "That's already tomorrow."

"That's today."

I looked at my watch. "Nope, tomorrow."

"Today's seven-eight."

"Oh." Good thing he didn't give me a ticket.

····

Trader Joe's discontinued their house-brand chocolate soy milk. I'm back to WestSoy. Lame.

····

The Drives: for the second week in a row, Maria caught me on my little ring. I got yelled at.

·

I called Performance Bicycle's customer support when I received shipping confirmation for two duplicate orders.

"Did you click on the submit button twice?" the person in my phone asked.

"Nope. It's not like me to do that," I replied sternly.

What I really wanted to say was 'Look. I know how the Internet works. The problem is on your end,' but of course I was polite. After all, she has my money.

After listening to her key and scuffle for a few moments, and then scuffle and key some more, she announced "You clicked twice."

"Oh."

"We already shipped them," she furthered. "You sure you don't need two of each?"

····

In case you wonder, I don't always shop from PerformanceBike.com. Sometimes I go out of my way to support the neighborhood Performance retail outlet.

·

Halfway through the bottle, I noticed the water tasted a little funny—as in mildly sweet and slightly fragrant.

I screwed back the lid and shook the Nalgene bottle with vigor. It foamed well—not good. I removed the top, stuck my finger in, and found the inside of the container slippery. Yep, it's soapy water. Blech.

Perhaps if I didn't have the habit of downing half-a-bottle at a time, I could've prevented this sooner.

·

I think I may have been confusing French toast with omelets. After a few failed attempts, I had success with the former by skipping the milk. Next on the list: unsalted butter.

I guess I could just look up a recipe, but I'm the stubborn type.

·

Didn't really do anything Fourthy...

Got up late, made omelets, watched a daytime movie (Shattered) since it was raining outside, then made lunch.

Eventually we went for a ride; but just Ambler backwards.

·

I got lost in the valley formed by the Wissahickon. I didn't know I could lose my bearings so easily on a narrow park defined by a creek. I even thought I crossed the water without knowing it; I should've paid attention to the direction of current. Even now I'm still not certain which way it runs—I think it runs south.

My one hour recovery ride turned into a two hour trek. At zone 0.

····

I made it back in time to go on a real bike ride with the Tamster. Getting on the road bike was real awkward. I almost took myself out trying to mount it; it felt as if it was broken.

·

In today's mailbox: a Netflix envelope stuffed thick with three discs. I found this odd, until I checked the flip-side—the original mailing flap still is attached. Crap.

Sure enough, the titles inside are the very ones I sent out yesterday. Guess we're hitting the theaters this weekend.

·

The Drives. I arrived at 6:33 pm—just late enough to avoid the dreaded A-group, but early enough to catch the B-group. Or so I thought. There was no one at Falls Bridge except a lone Tri State Velo rider.

"I thought there's supposed to be a B," I asked.

"There is," his reply. "What time is it?"

"Thirty-three after."

"Shit."

We rode halfway down West River Drive to try and get on the main group; but when they came by, they came hot, and I couldn't clip in fast enough. I eventually caught up to a straggler who explained he was waiting for the Bs to come around.

"There's about forty of them," he said.

"Great."

·