Linda said i should blog today about how i refused to wear a camelback this Sunday on my first long group cross ride in Marin with a bunch of very experienced riders because i didn't want to look like a dork. She said I should write about how i brought only one small water bottle that i put in my back pocket, and how i when I rolled up to the meeting spot in Mill Valley, I counted 24 camelbacks. I told Linda I would not write about how i didn't refill my little water bottle at the first and last rest-stop for the next 3 hours. And how with the heat and dust, and more heat and dust, and much guzzling from my small bottle of liquid, how i ran out of water. Or how the inside of my mouth turned to paste and my lips stuck together for the last 1.5 hours of the ride, how i felt like a lost soul in the Sahara tipping my water bottle above my outstretched tongue waiting for a trickle of moisture to fall, how i went up to a perfect stranger in the group and asked "culd oo pleath por son waffer in my boffle?" and how i would not let him stop pouring and how that wretched lukewarm, piss-colored liquid was like heaven on earth. I said, no, i wouldn't blog that because i would sound like a dork, which i am.
Monday, September 18, 2006
water!
Linda said i should blog today about how i refused to wear a camelback this Sunday on my first long group cross ride in Marin with a bunch of very experienced riders because i didn't want to look like a dork. She said I should write about how i brought only one small water bottle that i put in my back pocket, and how i when I rolled up to the meeting spot in Mill Valley, I counted 24 camelbacks. I told Linda I would not write about how i didn't refill my little water bottle at the first and last rest-stop for the next 3 hours. And how with the heat and dust, and more heat and dust, and much guzzling from my small bottle of liquid, how i ran out of water. Or how the inside of my mouth turned to paste and my lips stuck together for the last 1.5 hours of the ride, how i felt like a lost soul in the Sahara tipping my water bottle above my outstretched tongue waiting for a trickle of moisture to fall, how i went up to a perfect stranger in the group and asked "culd oo pleath por son waffer in my boffle?" and how i would not let him stop pouring and how that wretched lukewarm, piss-colored liquid was like heaven on earth. I said, no, i wouldn't blog that because i would sound like a dork, which i am.
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7 comments:
and i didn't read any of it.
you are mean
Funny how in trying not to look like a dork we become even dorkier.
We've all been there. Glad you survived the sahara to blog about it.
dork if you do
dork if you don't
you were the cutest dehydrated dork out there...
Whoopsy!! I think X bunny said it best.
I have found a lot of folks in California riding around without water bottles. I don't know how they do it -- they must just ride from watering hole to watering hole.
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