I suppose, in a way, that it was completely appropriate to be feeling up a roadie's legs last weekend.
Actually, I felt up two different sets of legs, and the hard substance that the denim was covering up was foreign enough to have me almost groping. In a totally platonic way, though, and we were all doing it.
It wasn't completely out of context; the season is already under way for those on proper teams and for the Cat 1 and 2 whose legs I prodded, groped, and pushed, their legs are fueling up while their cyclocrossing counterparts have peaked, raced, and sprayed down their bikes one last time until fall. But all in that in-between phase where sitting on a couch for two hours without feeling guilty about it is permitted, roadies, 'cross fanatics, and even those like me who don't fall anywhere on that scale, were collected around a TV on Sunday morning.
Because the Cyclocross World Championships was showing. And because NYC Velo promised yummy baked goods and freshly pulled shots of rich, dense espresso.
Which is why I was in NYC in the first place...for the fourth weekend in a row. But while fun is never lacking in the city, like those times when you've fully given up on finding anything worth dating and something perfect walks in the door and hands you their number, weirdly cool things happen when you're not really expecting it. Like learning how to slip a number to a guy who's attached, what hand-pulled beer tastes like, how hard a Cat 1 can punch, and debating the expected ROI on a Diet Coke. Saturday night, Andy was buying first rounds at d.b.a., and totally comfortable about partying on his dime, I had my first Diet Coke in the city with the guys who purposely mis-pronounce my name when I'm in Boston and are under the impression that I'm about the size of a Pomeranian.
And Sunday, we were back at it; this time I came loaded with vegan peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, Andy with espresso and these giant bombs of non-vegan delicious from Birdbath Bakery. Marco even showed up with donuts, which assured that everyone would be in insular shock by noon.
And on a sugar and espresso high, I even met a few twitter friends, met up again with some Rapha Continental riders, and dropped some cash on a cycloputer [my first!], all before I fought through Chinatown to get on a bus back to Boston. Sitting in an old, slightly dirty, crammed bus, I was wired and tired. Somehow, though, I managed to fall asleep, dreamed of bicycles...and woke up near Boston, where schoolwork awaited [sigh].
...Is it the weekend yet?