Photorgy

I've recently taken a deep look inside my soul and discovered that the gaping hollow void in my spirit from whence my breathtakingly genius blog entries ordinarily flow has been plugged up like Rapunzel's shower drain. At first I was bewildered at this phenomenon, but after some serious peyote use and an intense vision quest I can now attribute this cloggage to the fact that the Tour of California is dead and gone - at least until next February - depriving my amazing literary talents of any appropriate subject matter in which to take form. Nevertheless, after some serious cocaine abuse and a few all-nighters in a Newton crack den, I have come across one idea: since it seems that all of the "cool" kids are posting photos of their rides, I guess I'll go ahead and follow suit.

Behold, the outskirts of Boston!


That's just some lifeless trees and a waterfall that we always ride past. I've probably seen that thing like a thousand times, but there was something very special about today. That special thing is that we stopped on the side of the road for a natural break, and I stepped in a large pile of dung! While I can't be entirely certain of the species that left me this gift, laboratory analysis has narrowed it down to either dog, human, or sasquatch. Personally I feel that the sasquatch hypothesis may be a bit far-fetched, but who am I to argue with DNA tests? In case you need a visual, I stepped in the sasquatch dung right


I'm assuming you've probably never been unlucky enough to have to scrape abominable snow crap from all of the nooks and crannies of a bike cleat, but just trust me. Not fun.

After that point the road turned upward and we started to climb. When I say that, however, please realize that I'm now firmly immersed in Boston cycling culture, and due to the unabashed flat-chestedness of our beautiful state, "turning up" usually means "rising approximately 35 feet in elevation." In this case, that's exactly what it means:


Yes, that is a "climb" in Boston, a/k/a/ a "speed bump" to Vermonters, a/k/a/ "the Swiss Alps" to Rhode Islanders. Fast-forward thirty grueling seconds of pedal-mashing, swearing, and weeping, and we finally crested the Alps and "descended" the other side. The descent was followed by approximately two additional hours of bicycle riding, during which time I accidentally flung my camera on the ground while doing 45 mph (on the flats - I'm really fast).

After nearly smashing my little camera to bits, I decided I'd better be a tad more careful, so I have nothing else for you except for this:


That speck in the filthy white winter jacket is Natan, racing through Wellesley Center on the way home like a mud-encrusted comet making its way around the sun. Wellesley Center is a weird place: a tiny college town inhabited almost entirely by female students, and the makeup of the Wellesley retail community reflects that fact very much indeed. All of these little strip malls are crammed full of very conservative and very expensive clothing stores, punctuated by the occasional ice cream shop.

Anyhow, more pedaling followed, and soon I was home where a new friend was waiting for me in front of my garbage cans.


Our friendship didn't last long however, as he appeared to be only using me for my recyclables, but c'est la vie I suppose.