Big Bikes

Bad Food/Writing Day

Some days you go out hard and the next day you pay for it, it's recovery time. Yesterday I went out too hard, today I have nothing left. In the morning I rode an hour of trail on the way to work with IBC teammate Kevin. Commuted to work on the Superfly. Then rode some more trail post-work with a few people. But all that may be a story sandwiched between way too many photos to distract you from the fact that sleep deprivation has turned my brain into an object that resembles petrified dachshund poop and that I cannot put two words together, um...for another day. That sentence plummeted to destruction faster than a drunk college kid on a brakeless fixed gear with a snapped chain going down Mission Hill at 3AM. That one wasn't much better. I give up. See you tomorrow.

Oh yes, the photos.
I started off the day with a large Dunkin Donuts coffee with a shot. I was sweating from my Superflyin' Commute, so the woman behind the counter easily convinced me to go iced. First time this year. Must be summer already. The coffee did the trick, kick starting my brain enough for it to provide a bare minimum of functions. This is the part where my brain should be telling me the funny functions it did actually perform...nothing.

Ok...still nothing.

Never mind.

Word on the Needham Streets was that McDonalds was giving you a second Big Mac for a penny when you bought the first one at full price. I offered to split the deal with someone...if they bought the first one! Ha! So funny, get it? Because they would pay the FULL price and I would pay a penny. That is so funny. I am peeing myself. Wait, I do that when I'm scared and when someone says "Thom Pee!". It sounds the same as "Thom P.!". Honest mistake.

Truth is everyone I tried to convince to do this thing with me wanted both Big Macs for themselves. Bastards. Then it was coffee time. Bryan and I went on our daily Man-date to Starbucks. He went for the much more reasonable prospect of Fresh City, but for some reason retreated, coming back into Starbucks to tell me he would enter into the heart attack pact with me.

I did it, got the two. All with the idea that I would give my "extra Big Mac" away. But it went horribly awry. After one Big Mac I felt fine, it was delicious. Bryan sat to my left, looking at naked pictures of Abe Vigoda on the computer, he told me to stop being a pussy and eat my second one. He told me he was feeling fine. I did it. I Quickly did not feel fine. Far from it. Bryan wasn't far behind, he too was feeling the awful sugar headache thing, the gurgling tumult in the gut.

Why? Because it was there. And so was the other one.

The one-two punch to the stomach the 540* calorie a piece sandwiches delivered sent me into a comatose state. I shambled around the shop like and extra from The Thriller Video until I offset the fat and sodium tsunami with a Venti Coffee (with a shot) from Starbucks.

Crap food, crap post, I'll have photos and stories of all the crazy trail riding up tomorrow.

-t

* I posted this originally last night, for some reason the clock for my blogger posts is screwed up, and I realized today that it looked like I double posted for Wednesday (isn't this fascinating?). So I re-posted, losing Zencycle's comment about the fact that the Big Mac has 540, not 450 calories. That was actually me doing the thing I do where I transpose numbers. And yes Zen, I felt pretty much like I was going to puke.