So yeah woke up Saturday morning about 6am to get ready to go race at Hansen Dam. Oh yeah I race, or I should say try to race cyclocross. Felt like shit and of course my kit was dirty, so now I stink. I then load up the old lady all my gear, the old lady's sister and my buddy Mikey. Oh yeah the dog Jake. Well, we get on the road after a stop for gas, and Del Taco at 825am. Race is at 10am. We get there and I am in a piss poor mood from the lack of sleep and energy. I get my number take a cold lap of the course and then proceed to warm up the old thunder thighs. I am starting to feel better. Race starts and I am staying with the pack. We go through the first run up and I pass a few people, go through the next section I hit the barriers and pass one more guy. I am feeling like a god, a fat slow and retarded god, but still a god. The course then goes up hill, I am trying to pass two more guys and they both go down on the inside of an uphill, right, turn. I swing to the outside so not to be part of the pile and I end up going up a steeper section pulling the bike out from under myself and falling straight armed onto my palm. This causes me to fuck up my shoulder. I try to push through the pain but after almost another full lap I realize that I can not control the front of my bike and am having a damn time trying to turn right. You know all that counter-steering stuff depends on the the ability to lean on the inside arm, well when it buckles you lose ya turn. So for my safety and the safety of the others I pulled out. This pissed me off and the first one to get the brunt of my anger is the old lady. Which I know she will read this so I am saying once again for the 5th time sorry sweetheart.
Sunday I get the bright idea that since I injured myself Saturday I should go for a team ride with the old Higher Cadence. It is a faster ride than I was ready for. We go up Brea Canyon and I get dropped, We then make a left on Brea Canyon Cutoff, I get dropped half way up. That is the whole ride. Me by myself, in pain (shoulder), trying to find the pack of 16 or so. We do East West, Turnbull Canyon, and back out Colima to Grand to D.B. Blvd and then back to Brea Canyon. Well I hook up with them around Nogales and Colima. We hit the Canyon, with a awesome pace line cooking along at about 33 miles an hour. I am playing gate keeper, cause I am weak, like Britney's defense about being a good mother. I then flat. No chance, they are gone I didn't whistle loud enough, nor did I want to fuck up their fun of the pace line. I fix it in about a minute and a half. Get going again and now I have the fun of pushing through the canyon as fast as I can (22 mph) to try and catch them. I don't,so like a true idiot instead of taking the easy way out I climb Lemon. I get back to the shop and about fall over. Did mention how much fun it is to try and climb out of the saddle with a fucked shoulder. It looked like the cycling version of the Ministry of Silly Walks.
So yeah just to say this was a really bummed fucking weekend. And with the heat and all the fires here in Socal you know it is just going to be a better week since I would rather go smoke a hundred cigarettes than ride in this air.