Hot Ride

Pain sucks.

This weekend HoBiscuit and I made the idiotic decision to ride our bikes further than we ever have before by riding from our apartment down to Coney Island. Before we left I checked the distance on not one, but three separate maps to make sure we wouldn’t be going far enough to cause us undo pain. Especially since this was going to be the furthest we’ve ever ridden since we bought these bikes two months ago. According to the maps, Coney Island wasn’t all that far away and would take only 20 minutes by car so we figured riding our bikes there would be easy.

Stupid, stupid maps.

What the maps didn’t show us was the difference between being in an air-conditioned car driving at 45MPH down the street versus pedaling a stupid bike up a fricking ginormous hill under the broiling hot noon-day sun. The maps also failed to take in to account my sensitive nuts, which were so upset with me for the punishment I was putting them through that by mile 6 they had transformed themselves into what felt like tiny, crushed glass and barbed-wire filled sacks of pain.

Did I mention the streets here are bumpy?

And my taint, the part of the body that’s ‘tween your nuts ‘n anus, was burning up like my bicycle seat was made of red-hot magma. It really felt like my shorts were made of sandpaper and my legs were covered in rough bark. I honestly believe that if I wasn’t sweating like a horny teenage boy locked in a small room with a naked Carmen Electra then the hair on my crotch would have burst into flames.

The burning. The burning. Oy, the burning.

Now, since I have a speedometer on my bike I know exactly how far we rode and let me tell you something, maps lie. You see, according to the maps we were only going to go twice the distance we normally ride on the weekends, meaning we would be going about 12 miles. But the truth was we rode over 22 miles on a day where the average temperature was 88 degrees Fahrenheit with 65% humidity! We did 10.75 miles… each way! And the worst part wasn’t even the ride to Coney Island. It’s that we went all the way down there with the thought of a delicious Nathan’s Famous Frank in mind for our lunch only to become so discouraged by the stupendously long lines there that we simply bought ourselves a couple of Powerbars and Gatorades at a nearby Duane Reade for lunch! And then we turned around and rode back home! And we both want to do it again next weekend!

OMG, we’ve turned into health nuts. Someone kill me.