Sunday, 6:00am. The alarm goes off.

Anyone know how to get the iPhone alarm to play a song?

It’s training ride day, and the only real prep fail is the most important meal if the day. I didn’t almost forget to eat breakfast… I learned from yesterday. I didn’t forget to put a new box of almond milk in the fridge, I was on that yesterday morning. And yet somehow, I neglected to remember that I ate the last of the granola.

Well, that’s what the stash of Clif bars is for.

I forget to turn Map My Ride back on when we roll out of I. Martin. Did I really ride 30 miles if the GPS doesn’t record it?

And, as always, I have to bail on the ride early. Solvang is in two weeks, but so is the SAT.

Instead of turning around, or bailing out at Ocean Park, I returned to the madness that is the Venice Beach bike path. Can someone please tell me why joggers, with a perfectly decent path of their own, need to run, two abreast, on a path marked BIKES ONLY? I’m not buying illiteracy, there’s a graphic of a bike accompanying the text.

Wow, these are luxury problems.

I have food to eat, a job I love to go to, and a safe place to ride my bicycle.

You’d never know how happy I am on the bicycle from reading all this whining. I want you to hear these whines as the whizzing of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune as they go zooming right past me.

How do I share the joy? How do I bring this happiness to your door? How do I get you to say yes when I ask:

Wanna go for a ride?