Met someone from my tribe today; John was from Wales. “I have two weeks to bugger around,” he said.
Both of us commiserated about the hills and the heat. “At least you have a tailwind,” I said. “I don’t have a tailwind,” John quickly countered. Then he said like a pirate, “Arrrrgh! The blood crosswind must have her hooks in both of us!”
John had a unique bicycling fashion style which was not at all similar to my fluorescent, wick-away spandex. He gravitated toward the more casual plaid shirt with easy access ventilation up front. While his attire did not appear to breath too well, I tried not to look too closely.
With the sun beating down on both of us and softening a patch of tar at my feet, John said he was having a good time, and he was off.