I was feeling pretty good about making my 6000 mile goal for the second year in a row a few days ago. I'm not the fastest or the best hill climber, but I can ride a long way. But out on a ride today, I ran into one of my riding buddies, Pete. We chatted as we rode along and he said he was 20 miles from his goal and he had it planned out that he'd hit it as he pulled into his driveway. His wife, three daughters and mother would be waiting with champagne.
9000 stupid miles. And what's worse is that he is still employed! He commutes to work almost every day, but that's only 7 miles round trip. I know he takes long lunch hours and does a serious hill climb (59 times, he said) and often extends his ride home by "going the long way".
Anyway, I rode along with him, took a short cut to his house, took his picture as he hit 9000 at his driveway, shared in the champagne and have e-mailed him copies of all the pictures I took, including one I made it into a small poster, worthy of Lance after #7.
I'll get over it by tomorrow, but now I'm feeling a bit like a slacker. Mrs. Slim seems a bit proud of me for hitting 6000. I don't think I'll mention Pete to her.