Miles for Mammaries

The Susan G. Komen Nashville Ride for the Cure is coming up in just a couple of weeks (April 18th), and I will be cycling the long track, which is a half-century (50 miles). This event is (obviously) to raise awareness, and more importantly money, for breast cancer research, mammograms, etc. etc. Really, we cyclists just like to think that there's some reason we're out killing ourselves on the slopes of some hill somewhere.

Anyway, it's for a good cause—after all, the world would be a much sadder place without breasts. I'm trying to raise at least $100 before the event, and would love to have your help. You can donate online through this direct link. Thanks for the help!

P.S.: alternate titles for this post could be "Pedaling for Pillows", or "Biking for Bosoms", if you prefer.

Biking down the Natchez

I biked 60.3 miles down the Natchez Trace on Saturday with a couple of friends, and boy are my legs tired! Ha ha ha!

No, really, it's flatter than some areas in Nashville (read: my house), but we still did over half a mile of pure elevation in the course of the ride. It was my first time out on the Trace, though, and it's very pretty. Seems like it'd be a fun place to go out and spend the day. Minimal traffic, stunning vistas at the scenic overlooks, etc.

But man, after 60 miles, those pretty, old-growth forests on either side of the road start to get boring. Oppressing, even. Like they're starting to bend over the road, leering at you as you struggle vainly to find the last few calories of glycogen stored somewhere, anywhere, in your muscles so that you have the energy to keep the pedals turning over the next hill.

We really enjoyed ourselves, actually, but we did come to the conclusion that every professional cyclist (and many an amateur) is a total masochist. As my friend noted, "They enjoy going to the dentist."