heartbroken...

It has been a while, dear reader, since I have updated this - your grimy window into my modest microcosm. I must assure you, I have not been avoiding your prying eyes. My shades have been drawn tight during my period of mourning.

My heart, you see, is broken. There is no more anger; there is no more denial; there are no more black clouds loaded with tension, ready to burst forth with tears. There is just sad, silent acceptance.

My Garmin has been murdered. After a short, but exceedingly rich life, my Edge 305 has been laid to rest; its beauty in display and simplicity in interface slaughtered by wanton carelessness. Reduced to a plastic and PCB brick from a shining beacon of information-overload in a dark, dismal world of unknown gradients and cryptic coordinates.

Not only is the backlight dead, Garmin's blood has run all through her screen.

No longer will I be able to dork out after a ride; learning, as my legs still twitch in a bath of lactic acid, that my heartrate ebbs and flows in concert with the undulating terrain of the Mid-Atlantic. No longer will I be able discern the exact duration of a zone 4 interval. No... no, dear reader, those days have passed. And now I enter an age of murkiness, an anti-renaissance, where I must rely on my body's internal alarms and warnings to ascertain the difficulty of a just-consummated group ride.

Sparing you the details of her grisly demise, I will tell you this. No GPS device, no matter how tough the exoskeleton, can bear the overwhelming force delivered by the closing of a Mazda3 hatchback door. My complete disregard for her safety in such a situation has left me ridden with guilt, bereft of hope, and disillusioned with myself. I only hope that time will heal the wound.

Garmin: as she would have wanted to be remembered.

Thank you for your ears and tender understanding in this, my darkest hour.

wuss...

I didn't ride today. I had to deal with my mother f-ing cell phone. The screen broke when I dropped it on the floor. The other option was giving it to a girl - in whom I was less than interested - at a party so she could enter her phone number. Dramatic effect: 1, Razr screen: 0.

God do I hate running errands in Delaware. Nothing is logical, nothing is close together. So much for the efficiency of neo-urbanism. Don't people realize the more roads you build, the worse traffic will get? While I'm driving to the phone store, I'm listening to NPR. They're doing a piece on a recent study released on the worst roadways in the nation. Surprise surprise... Delaware is 40th. That's an F on the Bell curve. I did find this cool map of the study though.

Anyway, the only reason I'm so pissy is because I think I have a sinus infection. We'll see, hopefully I'll make it to the doc tomorrow and get it diagnosed and taken care of. Last thing I want is that shit in my lungs. Still, I feel better than this guy:

See the whole series of photos here.

I did randomly find this picture of me from the ghetto door / oil tank ride at Lodi. It made me feel a little better.

One or two laps from complete and utter collapse.

Rotten out.