The sun was sunning and the enormous pickup trucks were out to warm their duel 39"s:
Colleen and I thought it would be a great day to go mountain biking.
We were wrong;
We went to Reagan Park in Medina. The mud was like cement mixed with clumping cat litter.
After about 3/4 of a mile we realized we needed to turn back. Couldn't even push the bikes without the wheels clogging up and locking.
I tried rinsing stuff off in a little cesspool, but I only succeeded in making my bike smell like rotten deer meat and feces.
If I stood up and sprinted I could shake most of the mud off of my Conti tires, but the Geax's on Colleen's Karate Monkey refused to shed anything.
So we rode around in a parking lot until Colleen's friend, Suz, finished running. Then we went to lunch in a cafe that was complete with a girl sitting in a corner wearing a purple beret:
Feeling very uncultured and beret-less, I was inspired to read an issue of Wine Spectator. I gave up after the first 30 pages of old guys looking at grapes.
I was talking to Suz about where she was going in the Peace Corps next year, and she mentioned that she would really miss Ohio. I was incredulous.
"I just love the land. How flat and the same everything is. I've been running over this pot hole for four years. My first year it was just a big hole. Then Sophmore year they filled it in, and Junior year it was black and tarry. Now this year it's starting to get a dent in it, and I step on it every day. I'll miss that pot hole."
I stared at her with my mouth open. She loved Ohio for all the reasons I hated it. I told her she should try Kansas.