Tuesday night in the Newark Metropolitan area typically finds a small group of riders collecting at a church on Polly Drummond Rd. Not by chance, this church butts up against some of the most manicured singletrack in the region. The aim of these riders each week is to carve this non-technical singletrack as fast as possible until, one-by-one, each pair of legs is shot. This ride, dear reader, has been refered to as the "Tuesday Night Titans" in the past. I like to think of it as the Tuesday night Re-Todd ride, as Ex-Presidente Todd is the fearless leader.
Nonetheless, tonight, I found myself lining up with others to chase Ex-Pres around the steamrolled singletrack. This was against my better judgement as I'm fighting some strange sore throat thing (a thing the Dr. said was not strep, not mono, not tonsilitis but likely allergies. So then she gives me a new allergy drug and says try this. And then she prescribes a light round of antibiotics. "I thought you said I wasn't sick Doc?" She says, "it's just in case your inflamed throat is infected." Here's to strengthing the antibiotic-resistant bacteria!). In hopes they'd leave without me, I set about tighting my chain which, in fairness, has been popping off way too often.
Well, they waited. And my chain tension was fine. And it was time to roll. I admit, my legs were feeling ok, though my head wasn't in the ride. Each time I swallow, you see, pain shoots through my throat. Not pleasant, and not good for concentration. And 50 minutes into the ride, this takes its toll as my front wheel finds a nice rut to play in, and goes on its merry way off the outside of a turn. Thigh, meet the cold, hard ground. Shin, meet the bike frame.
My ego is bruised more than anything, and I took it as a sign to go home. When in doubt, leave it out. Now it's time for a little recovery. Don't worry, the Doc prescribed this too: