Merry Christmas to me, right? Well, maybe not in the traditional sense, but hey, I’m here, legs pumping, lungs burning, and grinning like a fool – what more could a cycling Santa ask for?
Touched down yesterday and immediately felt the need to christen the local roads. A quick 45-minute thrash and a steady, sneaky climb that ate at my legs worse than any screaming hill ever could. Flat is deceiving, I tell ya.
Ride number two arrived like a sugar plum on Christmas Eve – 24 miles downhill to Sidney, wind at my back like a personal draft team. Easy 21 mph pace, feeling like a supersonic reindeer. The return trip, though? That was more like Krampus in cleats. Same distance, all uphill, wind like a disapproving grandma giving me the stink-eye. It took a whopping 1.5 hours, every pedal stroke a mini-carol of pain.
Just when I thought the Grinch had stolen my holiday cheer, a pickup truck decided to play tailgator. Not cool, Scrooges on wheels! But hey, maybe I should thank them. With adrenaline surging, I powered up the last hill, took the corner like a runaway elf, and left the truck sputtering in my dust. Heart rate hit 172, a Christmas miracle of personal power. Guess you could say I showed them who had the real holiday spirit (and the stronger quads). So yeah, not your typical Christmas Day, but definitely one I won’t forget. Now, where’s the nearest eggnog and cookies? This Santa needs some serious refuelling!
P.S. Don’t tell Grandma, but I might have borrowed a line or two from her carols during that uphill battle. Silent night? More like silent screaming. Just sayin’.
Boneshakerbike 
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