Saturday's Ride

It certainly felt that the tires were particularly awesome.  Brand new, tacky, slick Pro4s in black.  New equipment always gets more credit that several weeks of training on a heavier bike, or a thoroughly cleaned drivetrain, or a crazy schedule with exactly the right sized window of open time for a good ride or even an unusual eating day.

What ever the reason, the bike surged ahead at the slighted provocation.  The wheels spun up to speed and stayed there with suspicious lack of effort.  Explanations veered far afield of possibility:  hit by a truck and instantly killed, the transition to heavenly reward was seamless; tire diameter had been reset on the cyclometer; a fierce but unfelt tailwind had developed; wings?

Stopped by the shop and despite being very busy, everyone said hi.  Returned to my bike to find two guys with Euro accents admiring it.  Perhaps it would be best to call home for a ride and make every effort to conserve the high.  It might last until tomorrow's training race...

Or not.  Apparently, when the cycling gods reach down and caress one's thighs, the appropriate response it is to ride until the touch fades.  Bask in the glow and pray for more divine intervention.