Leggs: The Sequel.

Gabby messaged me on WhatsApp: “Are you riding this morning?”

I tell her my thrilling plans for the morning: go to Uniqlo to try on a pair of linen pants, then drop off some empty cosmetic containers at the MAC store for recycling.

Wait a minute… While I technically have plans, they are the sort I’d be happy to ditch. I always have plans: it’s the whole point of my To Do Journal. It’s been my best defense against couch potatoery. It is also why, after more than a year, I still haven’t defeated the Demon King Ganondorf in Tears of the Kingdom.

The cover of this journal features a foiled print of Hokusai’s The Great Wave. Inside, there are 176 pages of lined paper, 1/3 of which are filled with assorted things to do. Big and small. Essential and absurd. Here’s a sampling of plans I’ve jotted down since starting this journal last September:

• email Opa
• banking
• JST connector for RC battery
• blog
• mini cheesy gnocchi w/mushrooms
• get flowers!
• email flower lady
• magnets… how do they work?

The only essential plan I had for the weekend was purchasing travel insurance, and I’d already taken care of that.

The mall can wait.

As Gabby met me at my place, I was able to show her my garden (80% green leaf lettuce at this point… if any locals want free lettuce, hit me up), and my lack of chickens. Although the landlord has been working on the spot to the left of the garden for a few weeks. I don’t know what he has in store for that square of dirt, but I’ve just texted him this mock-up:

Since I couldn’t offer Gabby a potbellied cat to hold up, I presented to her my crocheted pride and joy: Shroom Guy.

Then we were off! Gabby’s swanky road bike was in the shop being worked on by Burger, so her backup was a $400 bike she’s named “Red” on Strava. Before we met up, we announced our cycling outfits via WhatsApp. I warned her that I would be wearing my “slightly ugly” bibs to relieve her of the obligation to find something nice to say about them.

I was not counting on being introduced to a bunch of other roadies who had also stopped at Mosi Bakery Cafe & Gelateria on W Saanich Road. While wearing my slightly ugly bibs! These bibs are an indescribable pattern of grey and sage green. I bought them because they were on clearance for $50 and had cargo pockets: perfect for stuffing with the $200 I saved by not buying better-looking bibs.

Much to the security guard at the Centre of the Universe’s chagrin, three more cyclists joined Gabby and me on our forbidden ascent of Observatory Road.

To be fair, there is a sign before the first parking lot, 2/3 of the way up the climb, stating that bikes are prohibited. In our defense, we are cyclists; therefore, we don’t think road rules apply to us.

Actually, I was under the impression that the last 1/3 of the road was closed to cyclists during the week. Now that I know better, I’ve crossed the Observatory Road off my list of favourite hill climbs.

But that’s okay, as Mt Doug is my new darling: the road is currently closed to vehicle traffic while the city replaces the telecommunication tower at the summit. Until some wiener cyclist hits a kid or dog (or worse yet, a puppy) while ripping down the road, spandex warriors such as yours truly are welcome to wow pedestrians by passing them thrice before reaching the top.

That’s what Matt and I did yesterday. After baking a failed batch of chocolate chip cookies, I un-fucked the second batch in time for Matt’s arrival by stirring extra flour into the already-formed dough. I’d made what I believed at the time to be the grave mistake of fuelling myself with two large tuna melts. I was hoping that by offering Matt cookies, they’d bog him down and I’d beat him up at Mt. Doug. I was successful the first two times. The third time, I trailed a few metres behind Matt until about 100m from the summit when I came within a metre of his rear wheel. As soon as I attacked, he responded to my attack and surged a few meters ahead. To say I had nothing left in me would be a lie: I still had those two tuna melts sitting in my belly, about to get pushed up if I were to throw down any more watts.

Matt won that one handily, and on a gravel bike equipped with a rear rack and fenders. I was stoked that he’d responded to my attack, as it made for a more thrilling interval training session.

Later that night, I checked the ride data on Garmin Connect and noted that my “Performance Condition” (an analysis of my pace, heart rate, and heart rate variability relative to my baseline fitness level) was above average for the entire ride.

Those tuna melts were performance-enhancing after all.

Ed via WhatsApp this afternoon: “I think running is a millennial midlife crisis.”

He’d sent me that after I’d actually spent the last three days cycling–not running. For Gen X, Ed claims their midlife crisis is cycling, hence the origin of the term “MAMIL” (middle aged men in lycra) and for Boomers, it’s boats or cars, which holds true for my Boomer father. My father has owned at least fifteen different cars since I’d graduated high school, including four cars at one time.

I didn’t run on Thursday either! I was on my bike by 7:45am, heading downtown, to let a large man stuff his gloved fingers in my mouth. Earlier in the week, I noticed a tiny white bump on my gum at the site of one of my implants. Is there a complication with one of the implants? Even after getting my mouth x-rayed, the little bump prodded, and a percussion test, the dentist couldn’t say with certainty that everything was a-ok.

I’ve been asked over the course of my dental work why I wasn’t going elsewhere for my dental work when new “teeth” weren’t reappearing in my mouth as quickly as expected. The first reason is that I’d also suffered damage to my jawbone, and I was also dealing with the onset of perimenopause, thus complicating the process. The other reason is that while dentists are a dime a dozen in this city, dental specialists are, as Ed likes to say, “rare as hen’s teeth.”

My best guess is that it’s a bone spicule that’s working its way out of my gums.

I dropped by MEC afterwards to see if Yann had cycling plans after work. His plan was to meet up with Burger and another guy along the Galloping Goose trail at 6:45pm. I mean,

I know we’re only about a week away from the longest day of the year, but it still seemed a little late. This wasn’t going to be a basic waterfront loop, either. We were to do the Yann Special: Liberty Drive to the top of La Bonne road, with a compulsory mini detour to Sooke Hanger Drive to clamber up a pile of rocks and whack some bushes to blaze.

I refused to climb all the way to the top and instead provided some background dancing à la Angine de Poitrine while Burger took rapid-fire hits from a joint.

When the three of us reached the end of La Bonne road, a motorist who had followed us to the top stopped and got out of his car to give us a long lecture about “sharing the road”. At that time, there were four road users: Yann, Burger, Me, and that guy. It was like lecturing three people to not eat all the food at a buffet.

73km and almost four hours later, I rolled up to my place right as the sun was setting.

And everyone cheered.

PS- I made it to the mall today AND went for a run to sweat out the mall in me. That was three more things to cross off in my To Do Journal.