Karaoke Weekend at the Suicide Shack…

…community service and I’m still the mack.

It’s sunday morning, 9am, 18 degrees outside. I’m hung over and my voice is shot.
I’m garnishing my first cup of coffee, and I find… I’m out of milk. Crap.
What could make this situation worse?
I know!
I’ll ride my bike to the store.
Yea, that’s the ticket.

I load on some layers, strap on the courier bag, and grab my newly rigid Schwinn singlespeed. First thing I do is splash thru the ice puddle at the bottom of my driveway. Smart. Splatters of water all over me immediately freeze. V-brakes screeching as they scrape ice from the rims. Wind bites right thru my fleece. This might be harder than I thought. The worst uphill is right at the beginning. I charge up it in my only gear, legs aching immediately, jeans cold and windblown against my legs. At least the sun is shining on me. Trying to decide if the gator is better on my neck or over my face. It impedes my ability to gasp for air, so to the neck it goes. I put the hill behind me and settle in to a comfortable pace. Now I wish I had a bigger gear. It’s a long, gradual uneventful downhill from here. Grab some milk at the 7-11, enjoying the brief break from the cold, and I’m back on the road, refreshed. I head for home, thanking mother nature for the only hangover cure that ever works for me – fresh air. Take a brief detour to say hi to the kids at the pond, who already have a fire raging, and are collecting wood to last them thru a long day of hockey. I show off my singlespeed conversion, endure complaints about how the karaoke party was for “grown-ups only”, and bust my ass riding on the ice. I roll back home, where it now feels unbearably hot, strip off all these layers, and settle down in my comfy chair with my hot, milky coffee.
The nausea and dizziness are returning already. I may have to go ride again…

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