Weekend update

But you've already used that as the title of another post, some of you are thinking. Well, hush. It's descriptive, it's Monday, and honestly... what difference does it make? It's not as if anyone's actually going to go back through the archived postings and become confused if two of them have the same title.

Speaking of being confused, maybe someone can explain something to me (or at least provide a non-obvious explanation). When an Amber Alert is issued, we learn the general circumstances under which a child has gone missing. We learn the make, model, and color of the vehicle, that it has a dent in the left rear door, and that it has a bumper sticker reading "My kid beat up your honor student." With a bullet hole in one corner. We learn what the suspected abductor was wearing, down to the team logo on his ball cap, and that the child was wearing pink. Pink t-shirt, pink capris, pink tennis shoes.

Am I the only one who sees it as being rather disingenuous to omit the race of the child and/or that of the suspected abductor from their description(s)?

Yeah, yeah... I get it. The radio station doesn't want to risk being accused of perpetuating this or that racial stereotype. But if I'm supposed to be on the lookout for the child, wouldn't it be useful to have me looking for a white guy pulling on the arm of a black child, if that's the case? Sure, knowing that they're traveling in a clapped out, '90 Accord is helpful, but there are just so many of them smoking around the metroplex.

I'm just sayin'.

But I digress

With my bloodstream full of anti-inflammatories, I've officially lowered the Foo Irascibility Advisory System threat level to a more manageable yellow. I didn't go out for any significant training miles on Saturday, wanting to ease back into riding to see how the ol' C3-C6 would tolerate it. Instead, Turtle and I went out for a pleasant hour of tooling around the immediate neighborhoodplex. It was a bit windy (and what Spring day in Texas isn't?), so we agreed that I'd ride ahead, double-back, and repeat. That way we'd be sort of riding together, but I wouldn't have to ride at her pace, and she wouldn't have to push herself beyond what felt comfortable for her. 15 miles for me; 8 for her (though I'm sure she'll correct me if I've remembered it wrong). Lunch at Subway.

Sunday morning, it was time for Dawn Patrol and a metric century with St. Bob and Squirrel Bait. At 63 °F, the temperature was nearly 20 degrees warmer than when we started our ride last weekend, but the stiff southern wind and overcast skies made for a gloomy sort of day. That was good news for us, because it made for a good training day. The homeliness of the day kept a lot of the usual runners and wobblies inexperienced cyclists away from The Rock, and the wind made us work—for half the loop, at least.

Nature break (a gratuitous double entendre)

I think it was after our fourth loop (~36 miles) that we made a brief stop for potty breaks and energy bars. As I munched on a Blackberry Sawdust Clif bar*, a squirrel with a very puffy tail boldly scampered up to me. It sat up on its haunches and watched me intently, eyes bright and whiskers twitching.

"Hey, SB," I called to Squirrel Bait. "Your little friend's back."

"Ew! Make it go aw—"

She didn't finish, instead stopping to watch the squirrel. Sensing the potential for a handout, it had cranked the cuteness up to Full and would have batted its eyelashes at her (if it had any).

"Aw... he is kinda cute, isn't he?"

The squirrel puffed up its tail and shook it to signal its excitement and a desire to be our best friend. I broke off a chunk of my Clif bar and tossed it in the squirrel's direction, and it leapt into the air. Time slowed, Matrix-like, so that we could fully appreciate the back flip with full twist the squirrel executed before snatching the crumb from the air and landing in a graceful crouch on the sidewalk.

"Go, Neo!" I said, genuinely impressed.

The squirrel was busily munching its chunk of chewy energy bar, but spared me a glance and seemed to wink conspiratorially.

Meanwhile...

St. Bob had been on the phone, checking in at home. There was a smallish emergency that was going to cut his ride short—and Squirrel Bait's, as well, since they'd carpooled.

To make a long story a bit shorter, I ended up going off on my own so that I'd be sure to get in my metric before my lovely bride started looking at the clock and worrying (as she is wont to do). I considered going for some extra distance, but by the time I'd finished my seventh lap, I'd had enough of the wind and the racer wannabes and gave that a miss. I ended with 65.5 miles at an average of 16 mph.

Later in the day, I got a call from St. Bob who wanted to be sure I'd made out okay, finishing on my own.

I don't call him St. Bob for nothing.

He told me that when he and Squirrel Bait finished their last lap and returned to the parking lot, the park maintenance guy who had tried to help Bob with his mechanical problem last week was there. He asked about Bob's bike problem and whether they'd had a good ride, just making conversation.

Finally, he asked if they'd seen his squirrel, and it turns out that the bold little critter I'd fed isn't just some random rodent. Her name is "Sylvia".

Who knew?