Nice way to work in a Spike Jones reference, btw.

In my earlier comment, I mentioned how the nascent stages of an illness turned me into my evil twin who couldn’t ride a bike to save his life.

The following weekend, even though I still felt somewhat congested, I joined a ride I knew would be tough. I couldn’t stand the idea of missing out on what promised to be an epic time.

I put myself at the back of the pack, certain that I would need to do some serious drafting to keep up. But when I realized that I actually had good legs, I became, well, giddy, frisky — a young Golden Retriever bundled in lycra.

I actually found myself trash talking on the climbs (”Is that all you got?” “I’m gonna box you in, sucka!”). I even emitted what I’m pretty sure were whoops of joy.

I was among friends, my legs felt strong, and the colors were indeed Kodachrome.

Fletcher