The puzzling news was received from Rich at 4:21 this morning in the form of a photo embedded in an email with the subject line "Toast."
Some would speculate Page's kind assistance in fiddling with Rich's equipment to determine it was, as she reported, "still functioning," had somehow turned his Garmin to toast. But who could be certain? And what would it matter?
What matters is no satellite time.
Today's ride was well attended and very dark all the way to the parish line. No orange, but making a return appearance after a noted absence was Woody. Also present was HL, but he seemed to be in Papa mode. By the way, you may get a photo today from Rich depicting Vega receiving a thigh massage while splayed out on the asphalt.
Although unknown to me until later, Randy had a flat early on and, I presume, changed it alone in the dark. Near the country club a group heading east went by and screamed something derogatory, "crazies," I think. But I know we weren't acting any crazier than usual.
The ride was fast but pleasant enough with no surges to speak of and everyone working most of the way out and back. I got a little stressed at one point when the group spotted a cyclist maybe a half mile up the road which some thought was Woody, who had started back before everyone else. The effort to catch the lone rider, which indeed turned out to be Woody, had us doing 26/27 into the wind for an extended stretch.
Daylight savings time starts this Sunday so I should feel safer on Tues/Thurs mornings for a while. Actually I witnessed some evidence of riders being safe, or at least courteous, this morning. An oncoming cyclist cupped his hand over his headlight as he passed us. And then from our group there were the resounding cries, when appropriate, of BOAT SODS.