Lobster Boy  

I broke the bicycle out of storage, gave it a thorough spraydown with WD-40 to slough off the winter rust, hopped on and rode across the Williamsburg bridge into Manhattan. About a quarter of the way across the bridge I remembered that I forgot to bring water. About halfway across the bridge I remembered that I forgot to inflate my tires. About three-quarters of the way across I remembered that I'm a horrifically out-of-shape fat loaf. But it was mostly downhill from that point so I was pretty much okay. Once I got finished running my errands (including buying a Kaiju Big Battel ticket for Saturday's ground-breaking NYC battel), my poor ass was so bruised from the rock-hard bike seat, my thighs were strained like two stretched hams, and my arms had been baked a bright, sunburned pink. For something that's so good for you, it sure feels pretty Goddamned bad. I also had a mild case of heatstroke, leading to dizziness, confusion and forgetting to update.