My favorite morning ride is a fast cruise down Route 1, around the Rockland "rotary", over the hellaciously corrupted pavement of South Main Street and across the smooth wide stretch of Rt. 73 past the airport to the sharp corner in South Thomaston, where old men in pickups talk baseball and lawn mowers over breakfast sandwiches at the 'Keag store.
The store is named for the Weskeag River, on whose shores it sits, and the owners and employees got so tired of all the various mispronunciations of its name (logical though they were) that they appended their sign to read "'KEAG STORE (Pronounced 'Gig')"
It's a perfect turnaround point, because there's a port-a-potty on the wharf if I need it, and I can race myself back home to try for a negative split.
Warm sun, donuts, cigarettes, landscaper trucks with trailers, birdsong, mulch, 43 minutes going, 40 minutes back, 17.0 m.p.h.
On the bike I feel like I could do anything in the whole fucking universe.
I will do everything I can to ward it off, but if I do somehow die on the bike, know that I was as happy as happy gets.
The store is named for the Weskeag River, on whose shores it sits, and the owners and employees got so tired of all the various mispronunciations of its name (logical though they were) that they appended their sign to read "'KEAG STORE (Pronounced 'Gig')"
It's a perfect turnaround point, because there's a port-a-potty on the wharf if I need it, and I can race myself back home to try for a negative split.
Warm sun, donuts, cigarettes, landscaper trucks with trailers, birdsong, mulch, 43 minutes going, 40 minutes back, 17.0 m.p.h.
On the bike I feel like I could do anything in the whole fucking universe.
I will do everything I can to ward it off, but if I do somehow die on the bike, know that I was as happy as happy gets.
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