Bless me father for I have sinned. It's been 3 weeks since my last ride

Just like I said, I've been slacking. In mid-june we lost our dog Parker to cancer, which made it hard to get out. Then I had 2 weeks of travel for work. I spent a lot of time these past few weeks eating and feeling sorry for myself.

Last week I went on a trip to London which took the entire week. One thing I noticed was all the people commuting to work by bike. In central London, the cyclists were dodging cars that I was sure were trying to run them over. It was
insane! At home we have bike lanes that cyclists stay in and cars stay out of. In London, lanes are only a suggestion. The host company we were visiting has an amazing campus, including a bike shop on site. The estimate of bike commuters just for that company is 500 strong. I was inspired by all the bike commuters I've seen. I thought I might even get on my bike again.

So it was July 4. I hadn't ridden in a few weeks. It was 90 degrees. The wife bailed, saying it was too hot. She didn't want me to go because I'm old, out of shape and, of course, fat. (Copy editor's commentary: I never said any of that.) So she gave me a time limit. The dog likes to sit outside in the sun. We let him out but set the stove timer so he doesn't get too hot. So, like the dog, she gave me until 5:30, if I'm not home I'm in trouble. It's hard to think of myself as a dog who doesn't have sense enough to come in out of the heat. Not for my wife however. (Copy editor's commentary: If he wasn't writing this blog he would admit that he's like a dog that doesn't have the sense to come out of the heat.) I have a friend that explained to me that my fat is like a fur coat. When I'm out in the heat, to me it's like being 15 degrees hotter. What is it with these people?

It was hot like the devil! I thought I was dying. 105 degrees? Oh yeah, it was 15 degrees hotter to my fat ass. So I was jiggling my gelatinous belly around St. Paul and I looked at my watch... Shit, I was going to be late. I now had to ride like the devil to get home before the wife called the insurance agent trying to collect. I got home just before the timer on the stove went off (Copy editor's note: There was no timer), but my penance was that I was overheated.

Maybe there is something to what all those skinny people tell me. I'm still happy I got out. And my wife is happy I'm not dead. In a ditch.