Came home the usual way today — along the river, through Butchertown, up the Beargrass Creek Trail, and over Baringer Hill.
The BCT was unusually quiet — just a Mom sitting near the Spring Street end, watching her two little girls ride back and forth (I thought that was pretty cool, and the older one looked really happy to be riding!). I sailed along in peace, contemplating ... well, not really much of anything. I'm more of a do-er than a thinker.
Partway down the path I spotted a couple of Mallard drakes. They were being Scenic, and I found myself looking at the scenery a little too long — at which point, That Little Voice said something like, "Ay! Pay attention, ya schmuck! What if another cyclist came barreling down the path right now?"
It was a valid point, so I pulled myself together and concentrated on the path ahead.
For a while.
As I was approaching curve at the bottom of the climb back to street grade, I spotted an interesting plant and turned my head to look at it — and then a second later I heard the clicking of freewheel pawls and snapped out of my reverie.
A guy in a blue jersey and black shorts came whipping around the corner, much as I am wont to do, and said something like, "Hup!" I think it was one of those, "Thank God you looked up and didn't plow into me" sounds. I, of course, immediately felt like a Grand Champion Jerk, because I was doing the very think that not moments before That Little Voice told me NOT to do.
Needless to say I kept my eyes on the prize the rest of the way home.
I didn't put in any extra loops around Cherokee this time — I needed to get my butt home and do some cleaning and work. I'm planning to get some extra mileage in tomorrow morning, if I can haul my heiney out of bed early enough.
And, of course, because it's a good idea to keep the carbs coming, I ate a cupcake when I got home.
I don't know about you, but this is why I'm fat* ;)
*For values of fat. I don't mean any offense to people who are actually heavier than I am, and especially cyclists. I have a lot of respect for guys who have the balls to put on lycra when they're bigger than Lace Armstrong, let alone bigger than me (and I'm a fairly lean-looking 175). I'm just fatter than I ideally want to be, in the long run. But it's cool, it's coming off a little at a time.