Protect your junk.

Mensa International

I had an awesome hour long ride this morning. To start my ride, I had one of the most amazing conversations I've had in quite some time. One of those where you're the smartest guy in the room (or in this case, the Kennesaw Mtn. parking lot). And that doesn't happen very often in my world. It was between me and some guy, and it went something like this:

Some guy: Hey, how long are you riding today?

Me: Not very long...maybe an hour or so.

Some guy: How far do you go in an hour?

Me: Not very far...probably about 15 miles.

Some guy: Wow...what is that...about 30 miles an hour?

Me: No, it's a little closer to 15 miles an hour.

Some guy: I thought it was closer to 30 miles an hour.

Me: Yeah, I could see that...but no. It's about 15 miles...in one hour. Which pencils out to roughly 15 miles an hour.

Some guy: Ok, have a good ride.

Me: Thanks.

For all my satisfaction in outwitting the poor fella in the parking lot, things turned south on me in a hurry. Everything was all nice and sunny at the base of the mountain, but unbeknownst to me there was an arctic monsoon going on at the top. Trashman-like conditions. All my clothing was saturated after the first trip up, but I continued for a couple more repeats. By the third, I would've liked to crawl into a corner in the fetal position and cry for a while. But I couldn't find a corner, so I reminded myself of the time The Imposter felt hard and kept on riding. Then I realized I wasn't hard, and I was very uncomfortable. So I went home and decided I need to HTFU.