High culture and discarded underwear....

Wednesday I polished myself up, tucked in my shirt and made sure it matched my pants thanks to previous approval from Upper Management, then pedaled off to eat strange finger (you choose which finger) food with Old Rich People (ORP) and listen to the State Symphony Orchestra of Mexico. The rich music was great and Llama (my mom) would be proud that I took my wife out and got “culture.” Most of my culture relates to this, this, this and this. Saturday, polished again, we went to see Ira Glass. Great show, except an old lady reeking of old lady smell parked in front of us. That overly sweet talcum powder smell that masks the scaled-down-beehive-perm smell makes me a little gaggy just thinking about it.

I woke up pre-dawn to travel to Lawrence for the first of the Fat-Tire-Series MTB Race. Signed up and started getting ready, then was greeted with an hour and half delay to mark the course. Guess I could have slept in. This week I opted for skinny tires to keep from hauling around 5kg extra mud weight for the next 3+ hours. The course was ruts covered with cold soup that just sucked the life out of you. The most interesting part of the course was midway through: a discarded pair of panties in the middle of the trail. I have noted this phenomenon on various rides around the world and wondered, “When do people decide to discard their undergarments either in the woods or car?” If you can shed some light on the subject or have any personal underwear discarding stories please share.