countdown

One week from today, we will stuff seven people and seven bikes into two vans and leave for Hell Week. One very, very long week from today. In anticipation of this event, we have:

1. looked up the mythical Texas open-container laws (it used to be true that passengers could drink beer as long as the driver wasn't participating, but alas, about five years ago the Texan lawmakers turned that from gospel truth into urban legend. Sorry, folks.)

2. reserved a Super 8 in the happenin' town of Oklahoma City (Sarah says: "By the way...I'm bringing wine for all of us for our first night of vacation...wine and the Super 8, a match made in heaven! Texas seems like more of a beer-drinking kind of place, so I figured I'd get most of my wine drinking out of the way before we get to Texas." And Oklahoma is a wine-drinking kind of place? Who knew...)

3. perfected the Velcro system that will affix our cowboy hats to our helmets

4. obsessively checked the Fredericksburg weather forecast eight times per person per day (at this moment it is "fair" and 79º)

5. stocked up on Chamois Butt'r and Bactine

6. compared music collections... Scott apparently owns everything the Suicidal Tendencies ever did, Nate claims Vanilla Ice, and I publicly admitted to still possessing the Paula Abdul cassette which was the first album I ever bought, back in third grade. Although before that I did get the LP (yeah, vinyl) single of Kokomo. Did I have refined tastes back then or what?

So I'd say we're ready. Although none of those six things actually have anything to do with cycling, so who knows if we're ready for that part of it. But I am riding tonight, with Gilby and Andy, before meeting the running group (you know, the ones that got me the stress fracture) at the Chatterbox. My question is, why didn't I think of this before? Fake an injury, get out of running, ride instead, and still get beer! It's perfect! Damn, I'm slow.

Oh, and on the subject of the injury, the boot came off today. I am now living the boot-free life. Actually, I figured twelve hours didn't matter much and took it off last night so I could walk the dog. My calf and ankle muscles feel ridiculously weak just from those four weeks! Which makes me appreciate the plight of the truly injured, the people who are on bedrest for months and probably have to learn to walk again because their whole body has atrophied into a wet noodle. (Cue Dad: "And if you want to avoid that fate, quit that gol-durn bike racing." Not that my dad has ever said gol-durn, but, y'know, poetic license.) Anyway, the good news is I still can't run for a few more weeks, how sad. The bad news is I can't get out of doing lunges in bodypump any more.

But I'm wearing Superman underwear today, so it's all good.

Departure: 6 days, 20 hours, and 52 minutes

First pedal stroke: 8 days, 20 hours, and 24 minutes