As I was riding up Kings this morning, “through the park” since it was a Thursday, not exactly having a great time in the cold (and just heard the weather report saying it could be 10 degrees colder next week by the way), I was thinking not the most awesome things about climbing that hill. From a practical standpoint, I was thinking it might be time to leave about 5 minutes early, assuming Kevin had others to ride up with, so I wouldn’t be holding everyone back. Once up “on top” it’s not such a big deal; I can suck a wheel with the rest of ’em! And it would be interesting feeling like the fox, with hounds behind chasing up after me. Better that than thinking about when the last time I might do this or that, and spend a lot of time thinking about things I used to do.
Despite having passed that field a few hundred times climbing through the park, I had never given thought to it, not once, until now. I’m now thinking I was probably younger than 12, perhaps 9 or 10, because I’m pretty sure it before I started riding a bike in a serious way. When I think about it, the pre-bike version of me really wasn’t around all that long.