St. Patrick's Century Ride - A Week Early.....

Rozmo and I did a bicycle ride in the town of Dublin, Georgia today. Because its name is DUBLIN, naturally the town goes all out for St. Patrick's Day. But because many, many, many people go to Savannah for St. Patrick's Day (particularly years like this one, when it falls on a Saturday), Dublin has its St. Patrick's Day-themed events beforehand.

That was a long-winded way of explaining why we did a St. Patrick's Ride a week before St. Patrick's Day. And I'm done with typing St. Patrick's Day.

We spent the night in Dublin, since I had yesterday out of school. It was about a 3-hour drive, so we would have had to leave around 5:00 this morning in order to get there, get registered, unloaded, etc. etc. etc. It was hard enough driving the three hours BACK.

I had one of those long debates with myself about proper cycling clothing this morning. I had two base-layer shirts, a thinner one and one lined with sort-of fleece. I didn't think I needed the fleece-lined one, but that was the one I grabbed out of the suitcase. Fine. Then I debated about the jacket. My usual philosophy is I can stand being cold at the beginning if I'm pretty sure it's going to warm up. Temperatures were supposed to climb into the 60's today, so I initially left the jacket in the car. "I'm tough," I said.

Then I went back and got the jacket, and boy am I glad I did. It did warm up (eventually), but the winds were brutal and NEVER let up. ALL. DAY. LONG. Have I mentioned lately (like in the last sentence or two) how much I HATE riding in the wind? It's probably a very good thing I was unable to donate blood yesterday (iron count was too low); I would never have been able to tap the reserves needed to complete that ride.

The terrain wasn't difficult, and the scenery was pretty. Beautiful blue skies, early flowering flowers, lots and lots of gorgeous horses.

And the wind.

Here's our map from today. If you look near the triangle (indicating starting and, in this case, ending point), you may see some squiggly lines that look like we got lost right at the end. I assure you that's not the case. This time.

The ride was billed as a century (100 miles) with a 55-mile option. We were pretty sure absolutely positive we didn't want to ride the century, but 55 was doable. When we got back to the recreation center where the ride began and ended, we had ridden 47 miles. Being members of the even numbers club, we had to ride around and around the rec center until we had the requisite 50 miles. I made the almost-fatal mistake on about our hundredth lap of saying to Rozmo, "Why don't we go for 60?" Luckily she had a deadline to get back home so she could go to her Supper Club, so she didn't take me up on it.

Whew.

We averaged over 15 mph, higher than I usually do on long rides. The extra exertion required to fight the wind and keep up that kind of average has sapped my energy. On the way home from dinner, I asked Hubby, "Isn't it about bedtime?"

It was 5:46.

Goodnight.

A St. Patrick's Day Long, Long Ago........

I could have sworn I wrote a blog topic about this story, but I did a search for it, and it didn't come up. So I'll just forge on ahead, and if you've heard it before, please forgive me.

My grandmother moved to Savannah after my grandfather died. They had lived there before, and I have an aunt and cousins who have stayed in the area. When I was about 15 years old, my mother and I went to visit her sister (and the cousin closest to my own age) around St. Patrick's Day. I don't know if the trip was planned for St. Patrick's Day on purpose or if that's just when we wound up going. It would be a lot like winding up in New Orleans for Mardi Gras by accident. Or deciding you just have to see Times Square, and you forget to look at the calendar and don't realize it's New Year's Eve.

We watched the parade, and my cousin and I went out with some of her friends that night. There may or may not have been beverages drunk for which we were not of legal age. Probably not, but I believe in full disclosure even if the details are fuzzy.

We were walking down River Street, where a bunch of 15-year-olds had NO business being on or around St. Patrick's Day in Savannah. There was a very drunk sailor literally hanging onto a lamppost as I approached. He slurred, "You've got beautiful eyes...." (I can do this much better in person than typing. I'm just saying.)

That's just hard proof that he was officially drunk, since my eyes are the color of dead grass and are nothing to write home about, let alone beautiful. 

I did as I had been taught and kept my eyes forward and pretended I didn't hear anything. I walked past without acknowledging the sailor's presence.

So when I was about 10 feet away from him, he yelled at the top of his lungs, "BUT YOU'VE GOT A BIG ASS!"

Mortified much? You betcha.

Happy St. Patrick's Day.....

If this shamrock isn't moving when I post this blog, I'm canceling my subscription to Animation Factory. Not really, I need it for school. But I don't understand why it will be animated on SOME things and not others. Stupid clip art. Maybe some techhie out there can explain it to me. But my eyes will glaze over and I will only pretend to understand.

I think about this story every St. Patrick's Day.

My grandmother used to live in Savannah, and we went there fairly frequently to visit her. My aunt and two of my cousins still live near Savannah. One year when I was about 15, we were visiting during St. Patrick's Day weekend, although it was only a coincidence that we were there at that time. We wouldn't have made the trip for something as silly as green beer and a green river and a parade and lots of drunk people. Those ended up just being a bonus.

My cousin and I wound up on River Street on Saturday night with about a gazillion drunk folks. We were walking down the sidewalk, when all of a sudden there was this drunken sailor LITERALLY hanging onto a lamppost.

As I got near him, he swayed out toward me and slurred, "You've got boooooooootiful eyes."

Remembering my home training, I averted my eyes and quickened my pace, wanting to get past this guy as quickly as possible. I was already embarrassed enough to be the chubby, frizzy-haired, out-of-town cousin next to my skinny, straight-haired cousin who lived there. I realize that last sentence lacks parallel structure and I don't care.

So the drunken sailor shut up.

Until I got past him.

At which point he yelled at the top of his lungs, and in a completely sober voice,

"BUT YOU'VE GOT A BIG ASS!!!!!"

I don't remember if I was wearing green or not, but I was scarred for life.