I put you through the ringer?!? Okay, wise guy, who was the one who was cursing the inventor of the bicycle? That would be me. Who was the guy who was about to barf up a lung every time the gradient soared above 3%? That would be me, too. So don't give me this "I put you through the ringer" stuff.

And who was the idiot who picked the route? Oh, yeah, that would be me, too. Hey, at least it was pretty and varied - city and countryside, flats and hills, grassy hills, oaks and redwoods, warm and chilly, all in one ride.

Don't the Boss fool you, boys and girls - he's plenty strong and looks pretty good climbing those grades on his pretty red Palo Alto. (That thing climbs well and descends like a rocket.) I, on the other hand, look like I'm climbing when in the flatlands, but at least my old Paramount looks good, thereby distracting attention from my slug-like uphill attributes. (Downhill is a different story.) Of course, I have never been mistaken for what I once heard a track sprinter with thighs bigger around than some cattle derisively call a "spindly-legged climbing fart."