I'm going too fast.

If you know me, and you probably don't, you know I ride mountain bikes.  I ride mountain bikes on the dirt.  I ride on the road.  I ride on bike paths.  I ride bike paths to get to the dirt.  It's a blast, and riding keeps me healthy.  At least, it makes me sore, which I assume means I'm healthy.  I was sore when I was fat, but it was a different type of sore.  It was "I can't get out of bed without pain" sore.  It was "I can't walk very fast because I'm fat"sore.
Now, my hips are sore because I just rode 39 miles up a mountain on a singlespeed.  My knees hurt when I do squats and leg presses in the gym.  But, I think its a good sore.  It means I'm moving - living.

Now, if you know me, and based on what I just wrote, you might think you know me a little better, you know I'm slow.  Not "I ride the short bus" slow, but physically slow.  I used to race my high school friend David to the car.  You know, a couple of teenage kids running out of the mall to see who can get to the car first.  Kind of what I did with my dad (who always beat me, even though he was in his 50's when I was 8).  Anyway, David would always beat me.  Badly.  He would beat me by so much the car would be running and the heat was hot.  Not an easy feat for a '69 Cougar.  I tried the intramural thing in the Air Force.  Softball - I was the catcher.  That's where you put un-athletic fat kids when you have to play everyone.  When I went to Texas, I tried flag football.  The squadron didn't have much of a softball team, and the cool thing was to play football (this was Texas, after all...) Somehow, I made the team.  Maybe it was my willingness to play whatever position someone didn't show up for.

But I still remember my crowning glory.  In slow-motion.  Our team had just scored the go-ahead touchdown to win the game and put us in the base championship.  It was an extra-point, and I was the tight-end on the left side (where you put un-athletic fat kids when you have to play everyone). When the ball was snapped, I took off, as only an un-athletic white kid can (I was 24 at the time and, looking at pictures, impossibly skinny).   I'm sure the play was designed to put the ball in someone else's hand.  In fact I'm sure of it.  I'm sure because everyone else was covered, and I was not.  I was open not because of my superior athletic ability.  I was open because I hadn't made a play all season.  In fact, I don't think I had touched the ball. Ever.  So I'm running down the left sideline, with no one in front of me. I turn around, and somehow, the ball is coming toward me.  NFL Films couldn't have covered the play as well as I remember it.  The ball floated gently into my hands, and I was in the end zone.  I remember the ball was laid out in front of me, just like the pros.

I remember Ash, our quarterback shaking his fist at me.  YES!

So, I find it funny that, years later, I'm riding up a ridge on my 14 mile lunchtime loop.  The trail I ride is multi-use, which means I have to dodge horse-poop and old ladies in sensible shoes.  Don't get me wrong.  They hold races on this trail - it's not easy.  The ridge I'm riding up is the last bit before I get back to work. 

I had done the full loop, and I'm beat. Physically spent.  It's hot, and I'm nearly out of water.  Normally, I'm slow, but this day I'm slower. Six miles per hour is what the bike computer is telling.

So slow the computer actually says 'hurry up'. 

There are a couple of places where the trail dips downward, but it's generally an uphill slog.  I'm coming up on one of these little dips, and I coast down the trail. Up ahead, I see a couple of old ladies in sensible shoes.  You usually smell them first - the WalMart-perfume is a dead giveaway.  I hit the brakes and call out 'on your left', just as I always do.  The lady in the rear, who is obviously out because her friend made her, is picking her way through a stone in the middle of the path.  As I call out, she whirls around, and her eyes get BIG. So big I can see them behind her much-to-big-for-her-face sunglasses.  She turns, and runs to the nearest tree. 

She hugs it.

She hugs it like the earth is moving and if she lets go, she'll go flying into space.  As I slowly pass, I call out thanks.  The lady in front acknowledges me.  As I get down the trail, I hear the lady in back say:

"Those mountain bikers come up on you so FAST".

I guess speed is relative.