Monday, April 10, 2006

Confessions of an Addict

Hi, my name is Greyhound, and I'm a train-o-holic.

("Hi, Greyhound.")

The puppy and I went camping this weekend with the YMCA, and it was pretty much the father/daughter event that it was supposed to be. I don't think she noticed my withdrawal symptoms.

I mean, sure, I took my bike, but she did too. It wasn't like I was going to get in a four hour training ride or anything . . . in the Texas hill country . . . in the most beautifully perfect, dry, sunny, meterological nirvana that has ever . . . but I digress.

West of Burnet, we start to see the hills, the rock outcroppings, the lake. I tried not to notice, but it was hardly fair. They talk, those hills.

"Come on, Greyhound. This is perfect. The weather's perfect."

"Shut up and leave me alone."

" The grade of the hills is perfect. The length is perfect."

"I'm not listening. You have no power here."

"You can hammer up one hill and jam in the big ring down the other side. The road goes ever on and on . . . ."

"please . . . leave me alone."

"Just a little bit won't hurt. Just a little ride. It will be our secret. You know you want to."

We pull into the campground, and I recognize a camper from our group--with three high-end road and triathlon bikes leaned against the trees outside. I should have gone far, far away. But I did not. We set up right next door, and the night finished uneventfully--me and the new issue of Triathlete magazine by flashlight, as if it were . . . well . . . a different magazine.

Morning light. Coffee. Steam coming off the glass surface of the lake. "Come on, Greyhound. How far can it be out to those bouys? 250 yards, max."

"Doesn't matter. I can't leave the puppy."

"You could be there and back twice before the puppy even wakes up."

"I don't have my wetsuit."

"You're not soft. You don't need it."

"But . . ."

"You know you want to."

Breakfast, more coffee. Talking with the biker dads. They talk a good game; but, they're awfully big. I suspect they are not real addicts. Probably just recreational users.

Wow, the park has offered the group a guided tour of the cavern and the dad of puppy's best friend will take both girls so I'll watch them later while he cooks. This is my chance. Puppy is safe. She won't miss me; she's with her best friend. I've got 2.5 hours. The biker dads are jumping on their bikes.

And they're off . . . .

Gosh we're going kinda slow. I was right. These guys have fancy paraphenalia, but they just use on weekends and parties and stuff. Don't want to make them think I'm showing off. I'll just grab this wheel up the hard climb.

What? 15 minute break? Five miles and one serious climb? Dude, I'm just getting my buzz. Relax, Greyhound. Don't show off. Be cool. They'll think you're a tri-geek. OK we're riding again.

It would be OK if I open a little gap and then wait for them right? OK, that's not a little gap, but this is fun. Look at this hill. I can stand and hammmer. Bang, bang, bang, bang, . . . . Shift and fly.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Wooo hoooooooooooo.

Just one more. One more. One. Another. Another. . . .

Pull up and stop. The skinniest recreational user is coming up now. I smile and ask, "Wow, this is awesome. How long does this road go on?"

"Uh," (furtive look), "I'm not sure. I don't think we've ever been this far before."

"Oh," (slightly embarassed), "well, . . . . I guess we . . .should probably go back?"

"Yeah. Probably."

Back in time for dad duty . . . after a 3 mile transition run.

1 comment:

Habeela said...

As the newbie to the addiction circle....truly inspiring!