I raced to the airport, which, thanks to Summer traffic, was easy to reach. I boarded my plane in a leisurely fashion, ahead of the game. I even got to buy a magazine called bike in which people seemed to spend a lot of time jumping off things they should not jump off while surrounded by gorgeous scenery in foreign places, New Mexico and Utah.
I liked that the advertising featured cool gear photos, and that the one advertising model was not some fashion plate with blonde-dyed hair, but instead a competition cyclist who was the 2005 "24-hour solo" world champion who held aloft a can of something that keeps one's legs from burning, next to a caption that said "cardiac critical care nurse" and "mother of 3".
I still thought to myself that if I were to start a bike club, it would be the Casual Bicycle Club, and that it would promote getting bikes at yard sales and riding them for fun on flat terrain. Perhaps that will be my next yahoo message group.
I wonder, sometimes, if the brain cells I employ reading up on Antoshin's line of Philidor's Defense might be better used saving the world or saving stamps. But in general, I like being able to occupy my mind profitably.
It was an odd feeling to rush to the airport, and then have a weather delay keep us on the ground for 3.75 hours as we waited to fly the .6 hour flight to Austin. But now I've worked, and eaten a slice of pizza, and strolled down sixth street for a little casual exercise, and the absurdity of air travel is a past flight.