Yesterday was a bit of a bummer. It was the hottest and stickiest day New York City has seen this summer, work went less than ideally, my next-door neighbor has bed bugs, and my entire evening was overshadowed by a dull, but definitely present, headache. As one friend, who was born and raised in Brooklyn, exclaimed, "Why does anyone live in this city?" But when asked where he'd rather live, he replied, "Nowhere. That's the problem!" It seems that every New Yorker, no matter how long they live here, has a love-hate relationship with what is simultaneously the greatest city in the world and the one most likely to cause you to die an early, stress-related death.
It was therefore with some trepidation that I headed back out on my bike this morning. The sticky air remained and my legs did not feel entirely refreshed from Day 35's rest, but at least the headache was gone and I hadn't spotted any bed bugs during the night. About one mile in, rounding the tight corner on the southeast bend of the Park (where I have seen at least one cyclist hauled away in an ambulance this year), I heard the whirr of a large pack of cyclists approaching from behind. I moved to the far side to let them pass. As they sped by me in a flurry of blue jerseys, Zdenek commanded, "Get on their wheels!" And so I did.
What happened next was a very challenging, but very rewarding, 10 miles. Zdenek and I rode smack in the middle of this peloton -- around the corners, up the hills, down the descents. It was somewhat nerve-wracking -- all those wheels spinning in such close proximity to one another -- but even more exhilarating. There was only one climb on which my husband sped away (leaving me to feel like poor Kloden on this year's Stage 17), but after a glance over his shoulder and no doubt a feeling of pity, he slowed down and then returned me to the peloton like the good domestique that he is. When we clocked our first loop in the fastest time I have ever posted (by a long shot!), the expression on my face was one of both surprise and thrill. Drafting off one husband is an advantage, but riding in a pack of talented riders is a treat. My little red Giant did not go unnoticed, either: one fellow cyclist rode up beside me to ask if my awesome paint job was customized, because he had never seen anything like it.
When we finally parted ways with our impromptu peloton and continued on our own for an easier 10 miles, I was relieved to see clearly the road in front of me and to not concentrate so hard on avoiding a fatal bump of tires (or worse). This sport may never make a racer out of me. But for 25 minutes this morning, I was thankful to live in New York City. Things may move very quickly here, but it's sometimes possible to keep up.
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