It turns out that if you ride, even when you hate the idea, you feel better afterwards. I am lucky I have some friends that don't judge me for being a moody cuss. Big Worm called yesterday and informed me that we were riding on the road. I know from experience that if I put up resistance, he will just come to my house and prey upon my guilt reflex, so I saved us all a step and showed up. The boys all did their part to get my Wrecking Ball swinging. Ice Berg goated me into a duck sign sprint. Little Ball coached me to the front on the sprints and Worm made a nice pocket of air for me to sit in. Big Jim Slade did his usual "I'm so slow" routine and then crushed me on a few climbs. Everyone brought something to the party.
On the Robot Army front, Juancho and his Munson Patrol Unit have been leaving cryptic messages threatening military action if I am not present on a sugar sand assault soon.
So, I thank you all. It seems as though the chemicals in my brain have stabilized, after all my friends each threw in a hand full of baking soda. Just like Linda Blair after the holy water, I feel as though I am on the mend, (sorry about the pea soup and all that stuff I said about your Mom in H. E. double hockey sticks).