I hate winter, and other stuff.

I don't think there are quite the words to describe how angry I am at winter. I know it's useless to be angry at winter. I know this in my brain, but pissed I am. It sucks. I'm sick of trying to turn on sidewalks covered in snow and ice; I'm sick of turning a corner into a bitter chilled wind. I'm sick of all the wheezing. I get hot and bored on treadmills. (recall that unless it's precisely between 45 and 65 degrees, I'll pretty much bitch constantly when I have to run)

Now that I've got that out of my system...

This is an Xlab Saddlewing system. I got it for Christmas from Sweet Baboo, and mistakenly called it a flatwing in an easier post. This scrumptious little toy mounts behind your saddle and holds two air cartridges, two spare tubes, two extra bottle cages, and has a little hook on the bottom so that you can rack your bike pointing out, which makes it easier to make your getaway at T1.

When I did my two half-irons last year, I carried my spare tube (1) and cartridge in an empty water bottle in one of my two forward bottle cages. That left only one for fuel, and yes, I have an aerobottle, but in 56 miles this means I have to stop and refuel. Hopefully, the results of having this little baby is that I can cruise right through aid stations on the bike with a big smile and, "no, thanks!" it also means I can carry my own concoction of Nuun or Heed or whatever I choose to use that day and not have to mix it while coasting down the road.

Now if I could only figure out how to pee without stopping...

I would also like to share with you two cool pictures that I wrote about much earlier but only just now unpacked:

How cool is this? I never saw my Dad on a bike in my entire life. I came along late in my parents lives, relatively speaking, and never saw my Dad do anything more active than bowl or play golf. Apparently, though, he ran and cycled when he was younger. Who would ever believe our parents were ever this young, except when we see this stuff?

These picture was taken, I think, by my mother when my Dad was about 25 or so, around 1957.