I blame Jamie’s friend Diane, who said that biking around Stanley Park was a must-do. I blame Diane’s husband Mark, who sent me several emails asking if we had done it yet. I blame Jamie for listening to them. I blame the bicycle rental company that risked a lawsuit by taking my money and putting a helmet on my head.
For god’s sake, man, I haven’t ridden a bike in 40 years. Jamie probably hasn’t either.
Yes, the ride was on mostly flat ground. And, yes, the scenery was everything that was promised. Maybe even more. But anyone who knows me knows I have no ass. None. And, unfortunately, it is physically impossible to comfortably ride a bicycle 13.7 miles when you have no ass.
This was not a good idea. No matter how beautiful it was.
Early in the ride. My ass has not yet realized that it made a promise that will be very difficult to keep.
Mid-way through the ride we stopped at a beautiful little restaurant called the Tea House. We each had a glass of wine. I also had a glass of whine.
Note the expert manner in which we are able, toward the end of our ride, to mask our pain and pretend that we are having a delightful afternoon in the woods.