Fat boy on a little bike (the Winded-but-not-out-of-hot-air mix)

I completed my first sanctioned bicycle race: the U. S. Brompton race here in Minneapolis.  Six miles of pain wrapped in a suit with a tie and a jacket to make the whole 85 degree endeavor just that much sillier. I've never raced in anything, but the Mrs signed us up and today dawned hot and windy as we waited for a front to arrive.

Calhoun Cycle put on a nice party for  the silliness that is the Brompton race.  We showed up and were told how to place the bikes (folded) and where to stand for the Gran Prix styled start.  I am a slow runner but a fast unfolder; this afforded me a 10 second start ahead of those who were more able to race their bicycle machine faster than I, i. e., most of them.  I then managed to find myself utterly winded before even starting the race and giving those faster than myself an advantage.

Those who were able to graciously take my offering then leapt to a start, never to acknowledge my gift, as they left without saying a word.  I then decided to take a winded, though uneven course through the race to make sure that I never interrupted the cads that denied thanking me for my gift as the sped by me two or three times as I rode the course.  Lacking the proper hydration, I searched for a Bloody Mary or a Gin and Tonic, yet none were offered on the torturous course that I found my self upon.

Nearly an hour later, I did manage to "finish" it the parlance of the boors that ran this event, with nary a proper drink handed to me upon completion of this savage of courses.  A mere paper cup of water was all that was afforded me.  The offense was immense, and I decided to assuage my indignity in a proper pint elsewhere...

As I was awash in the less than proper juices of the most heinous of physical events, I was summoned by the none other the Knight of Belgian Zymergian efforts, Sir Lanny.  My darling wife and I were than able to dine in the most of affable company of the fine nobleman and his family and to restore our constitutions away from the most of the windswept and overheated  public that we were able to espy whilst dining.

Whence after the rabble dispersed, we then were able to find our way to the Nipponese house of respite and dined on the "candied spiders" and foreign ales that proffered until the sun lowered its demonous self below the trees and we were able to find our way home without being treated like some Christmas Pudding.

Over all, a day of splendid adventure and sport, but one I would like to not repeat.  The years I've spent in the Raj were enough, thank you very much...

 Your host is number 103.  Number 123 won best-dressed (surprised?) Courtesy Calhoun Cycle

Forward motion supplied not by my faltering legs, but the power of my suck...  Courtesy CycleTC.com