Category: cycling

Days well spent.

~ Lkvy ~ Leave a comment

It is with immense satisfaction that I share Snorkelling Cat in its final form:

The frame turned out exactly as envisioned. As far as cross stitch projects go, this one is on the simple side. The handmade frame elevates the finished piece as a whole. It now hangs before the room known as the pain/crafting nook.

I started my day with toast. I love toast. But an hour post-toast, I found myself in the saddle with my shoebox-mounted laptop in front of me and a pool of sweat below. It was the last race of Zwift Racing League: City Showdown, and the final time I’d race with the RIOT ladies this year. This week, we raced in a world that serves as New York City, but with a futuristic touch. A part of the course takes you over the city on glass pathways. Or maybe it’s plexiglass. I don’t know what the material is meant to be, but the point is:

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Imagination.

~ Lkvy ~ Leave a comment

Six weeks into my sabbatical, the Question of the Day remains unchanged.

What do I want to do today?

First, I’ll have some toast. While seemingly everybody I know needs an hour or two before eating anything, I wake up excited to eat toast. I have access to oatmeal (instant and delayed), apples, yogurt, eggs, and a whole bunch of other unconventional breakfast foods, yet every morning, I feel in my heart — and stomach — that I want toast. Options concerning breakfast do not overwhelm me.

Toast moves me.

As soon as those two pieces of toast are inside of me, the day unleashes its torrent of options.

In real life, I’m the least likely to choose this one.
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Older but stronger.

~ Lkvy ~ Leave a comment

Having experienced virtual racing, I can’t believe there are more people who film themselves suffering on a trainer to share on social media than there are people who blog.

I had my second-ever virtual race and the first with “the wolves” on Tuesday. Thankfully, the roomie wasn’t home to witness my thousand faces of agony. My pores opened like floodgates, and within minutes, a small lake had formed underneath my bike. This went on for 72 minutes.

In the videos I mention, riders often forgo the jersey due to comfort. What remains of their attire looks like a futuristic lederhosen, thanks to the cycling bib and chest strap heart rate monitor combo. The willingness to allow people to watch you, in sweat-soaked bibs, make the same faces women make when giving birth, is not the level of exhibitionism I can partake in.

With TikTok and Insta stories, are people just getting lazier about writing? Am I out of touch?

No. It’s the children who are wrong.

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UK? Because I am.

~ Lkvy ~ 1 Comment

Once upon a bright and sunny day in 2018, Yann and I found ourselves before the door of a residential building in Arles-sur-Tech, France. I had the key — previously hidden behind the green shutters of the window to the right —in my hand. I had yet to meet the person to whom this lodging belonged. This stranger had hung the black Reynaud-Bray tote I’d abandoned at the Toulouse-Blagnac airport a few days earlier off the doorknob to make it easy for Yann and me to know which place to rob.

Lucky number 13.
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