Some random musings over a mis-spent weekend
We started the weekend on Friday evening the way we start most weekends. Stuffing our faces.
This time, we’d ventured over to Aparicio’s at 18th and Avenue K for some Mexier Tex-mex. They did not disappoint. We hung out longer than usual and eventually wandered over to Braum’s for ice cream. Nothing like a little frozen dairy to warm you up on a cold Texas Friday night.
My original Saturday plan was to take a nice long jaunt on the motorcycle in the morning and sneak in a bicycle ride in the afternoon. However, I woke up to find that 33 degrees really was just as cold as I remembered. So I had some breakfast and went to the 8:00 ride start to harass anyone dumb enough to ride. Which turned out to be Marty and Nick.
I ran a few more errands (I may, allegedly, have visited a guitar store and picked up a new guitar. Allegedly.) before bundling up and joining a crew for an afternoon ride. While there was certainly no shortage of Indians, we had a surfeit of cheifs as well. Yet, somehow, we all agreed to proceed in a generally southeasterly direction. Unfortunately, we seemed to agree to do so at mach 3. A tad quick for my broken self. Fortunately, they took mercy upon me, and we carried on at a more reasonable pace over to Sachse where we dropped George. And Charles.
By the time we made it back to Plano, I was utterly and completely done for. Longest 3 miles in my life back to the house. But, a good night’s sleep, and I enjoyed a lovely ride down to SMU on Sunday morning with Nick and T-Bob. Bob and I may, allegedly, have suggested that the operator and passenger of a black Land Rover were douche bags. Allegedly. On Lover’s Lane no less. I’m pretty sure they were late for church.
By the time we got to SMU, it was really threatening to drizzle. So we bailed. Yup. Turned right around. Well. Almost. T-Bob may have decided to have a “Dude! Hold my beer and watch this!” moment with a curb. He’s only in a soft cast. Heal up quick, dude! With our wounded compatriot in tow, we took it easy back home. It turns out 31 miles were about right for me on Sunday, given the cold and the general level of pain from ambling along with a broken ankle and broken shoulder blade. Amanda, it seems, rode 27 miles. Which, by her account, was clearly 6 miles too far. Perhaps she’ll share her side of that story.
We capped off the morning the best way possible. With a cheeseburger. Not just any cheeseburger, but the sort of goodness one finds at the Twisted Root Burger Company.
I can honestly say the only appropriate follow up to their burgers is a nap. Which I also took.
The experts can say what they will about the importance of diet and appropriate physical therapy following an injury. I’ll stick with some painful miles on the bike and a burger. Thanks.