On The Commute: “Brought to you by Nyquil”
I woke up this morning feeling like shit. No better way to put it. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was to go into work. The second to last thing I wanted to do do in this world was to go into work sober and the third was to ride my bike in the cold for an hour sober. Notice a trend? I took a generous shot of Nyquil. Straight up. No ice. I looked on the bottle to see that there was no alcohol in this mix. For the love of alcohol! Not that pressed to go all Kitty Dukakis, so I close the medicine cabinet and continue. A side note: Terpin Hydrate DM has an alcohol content of 40.0%. Sadly this firewater is no longer available.
I ready myself to go. My heart isn’t in it today. Actually it’s still in bed. Probably where I should have stayed. I decided to ride the Cannondale. It’s lighter than my mountain bike and will allow me to not work as hard, though jumping from bike to bike takes a little adjustment.
It’s chilly out. Best thing for a cold is wind chill. Oh well, at least I went with a moisture wicking layer, so when the sweat does come it’ll be greeted with luxury accommodations.
Not too much going on with this ride. I see my usual cast. Jerry the Crossing Guard, the mom with the beautiful smile on her morning walk, and the Onion Man. I saw this guy a few months ago walking with a bag of onions. I now see him every morning with his red bag. I don’t think it’s handcuffed to his wrist, but it’s hard to tell looking at a glance. I think he sells them on the black market.
It’s cold. What’s new. Tis the season. My nose starts running pretty much on cue. Clear the left nostril with a rocket, clear the right. I notice that with the torpedo bay empty, there’s still action. I go to wipe away the excess and my black glove has a crimson tint to it. Nothing worse than having your capillaries bust when your on the bike. I didn’t have a tissue handy to wad into a stopper, holding my head up was out of the question and pinching the bridge of my nose is a hard task with bulky gloves on. Maybe I need to ride with a “cutman” (Some old salty guy with Q-tips and Vaseline adorned with a towel and bucket of ice.). I initiate the “suck and spit” technique. Not a pretty sight, but effective. I didn’t know how much blood was covering my face. I pictured Laurens Ten Dam in last years TDF when he wrecked on his face, came out of the ditch and was covered in blood. Great look for racing, not so much for your average commuter.