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Friday Group Ride #15

By almost any ordinary definition the season is spring. The Spring Classics have begun. Spring training is on the minds of cyclists and baseball fans alike. Some schools are on Spring Break. Snow has...

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A Season of Atonement

Oh, the feel of spring, as my legs come back to life. Finally, the grip of winter has gone and my legs wake from latency. The tightness in my tendons eases as that the cold north wind turns to a warm...

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Friday Group Ride #59

Despite all the hullabaloo surrounding the Contador verdict and the Armstrong retirement, I really, really, really needed to focus this week’s Group Ride on something cycling-related, rather...

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The Slop

I am naked. In the basement. Stuffing my shoes with newspaper. My clothes are in a heap by the washing machine. There is a drop of water dangling from one of my ears, like a pearl earring. It starts in...

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In Betweens

Here in New England the spring has not yet sprung, but a recent week of summery warmth turned everyone out of their houses in shorts and t-shirts, maniacal grins plastered across their pasty mugs, such...

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Friday Group Ride #141

The deleterious effects of Hurricane Sandy notwithstanding, fall is normally my favorite riding season of the year. The cooler temperatures mean I can go farther, faster than I do in the oppressive...

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A Day of Reckoning

Finally, spring is in full swing in the midwest after what was an agonizingly long winter. For cyclists, spring brings hope like no other. It’s a fresh start. More time to ride in better weather and...

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Friday Group Ride #172

  The email came in from Coach Peter, a digital ray of sunshine at the end of a rainy spring. The final baseball game of the season, the one they added as a “fun” add-on for the boys after a relentless...

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The Metamorphosis

I was a cockroach. We were all cockroaches, which is probably why we didn’t notice. We all looked alike, terrible, scurrying between snow banks and subsisting on postage stamp glue, our brown carapaces...

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Friday Group Ride #15

By almost any ordinary definition the season is spring. The Spring Classics have begun. Spring training is on the minds of cyclists and baseball fans alike. Some schools are on Spring Break. Snow has...

View Article

A Season of Atonement

Oh, the feel of spring, as my legs come back to life. Finally, the grip of winter has gone and my legs wake from latency. The tightness in my tendons eases as that the cold north wind turns to a warm...

View Article

Friday Group Ride #59

Despite all the hullabaloo surrounding the Contador verdict and the Armstrong retirement, I really, really, really needed to focus this week’s Group Ride on something cycling-related, rather...

View Article

The Slop

I am naked. In the basement. Stuffing my shoes with newspaper. My clothes are in a heap by the washing machine. There is a drop of water dangling from one of my ears, like a pearl earring. It starts in...

View Article


In Betweens

Here in New England the spring has not yet sprung, but a recent week of summery warmth turned everyone out of their houses in shorts and t-shirts, maniacal grins plastered across their pasty mugs, such...

View Article

Friday Group Ride #141

The deleterious effects of Hurricane Sandy notwithstanding, fall is normally my favorite riding season of the year. The cooler temperatures mean I can go farther, faster than I do in the oppressive...

View Article


A Day of Reckoning

Finally, spring is in full swing in the midwest after what was an agonizingly long winter. For cyclists, spring brings hope like no other. It’s a fresh start. More time to ride in better weather and...

View Article

Friday Group Ride #172

  The email came in from Coach Peter, a digital ray of sunshine at the end of a rainy spring. The final baseball game of the season, the one they added as a “fun” add-on for the boys after a relentless...

View Article


Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.

The Metamorphosis

I was a cockroach. We were all cockroaches, which is probably why we didn’t notice. We all looked alike, terrible, scurrying between snow banks and subsisting on postage stamp glue, our brown carapaces...

View Article
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