I spent another weekend in the state that can't decide if it's Middle America, Middle Earth, or the Middle East.
While Colleen was waiting all day for her chance to run 25 laps on a carpet oval, I went to Mohican State Park. The trails were great, the sun was out, and my feet were sweating in my winter riding shoes. That place incredible when it's dry. I rolled about 20 miles of single track before I had to go watch the aforementioned oval running.
After the meet, I witnessed an adult tricycle carrying a load of freshly pressed dress shirts.
After witnessing freshly pressed dress shirts on an adult tricycle, we drove back to the annual Winter Galaland (which I pronounced like a Scottish name, but everyone else insisted was gala land.) I was instructed to dress nice, so I put on my finest Canadian Tuxedo:
At the Galaland, my faith in a higher power was restored. Colleen wanted me to dance to that horrible horrible Journey song that everyone loves, and as she grabbed my hand to drag me to the dance floor, she turned and cracked her head into a pole.
It wasn't a lightning bolt, but there's no doubt in my mind that something intervened to save me from the devil music.
And I won't be getting that frame that I thought I was going to get. This year I'll be racing on something very similar to what I've always raced on.