Back in the saddle?

Fighting the raw instinct of 99.8% of every fiber of my body which were telling me in no uncertain terms to TURN AROUND! GO HOME! THE WIND IS GOING TO BLOW YOU INTO AN ONCOMING SEMI!, I got back on my bike today and actually rode it.

The Silver Surfer hadn't been down from the hook in the garage since November when I, unbelievably, rode it 62 miles to eat a sausage. Could that really have been ME?

I honestly don't remember being THAT scared and freaky when I first started this cycling thing a year ago. Nervous? Heck yeah. Not confident riding in traffic situations? AbsoDarnLutely. Heart palpitation, sweaty palms, crippling panic attack scared s#!tless?

Lucky for me that .2% that was keeping me from blacking out and rolling into a fetal position on the side of the road to do some groaning or practice cubing prime numbers was also listening to the words of encouragement from my co-riders and telling the rest of me to knock it the hell off, already.

So I don't guess I'm ready to quit just yet. I'm confident that next time it'll only be 98.3% of my fibers warning me of the menacing danger of not being able to unclip my shoes. Then 96.7% and before I know it there will just be a whisper of doubt. Which will be much more acceptable than the blaring throb of today.