I'm afraid of my hair dresser.
The Saturday before last, I had an appointment and decided to ride my bike instead of driving to the salon. I had no idea how long it would take, but I decided to give myself 3 times the amount of time it takes to drive there. Normally it takes me 20 minutes, so I gave myself one hour. But I knew if I was late, Donna would be mad, and being her first appointment of the day, her whole schedule would be thrown off...
Donna's kind of tough -- she likes to ride Harleys. Actually, she likes to ride on Harleys, a self-proclaimed biker chick. Her boyfriend does the driving. I've been going to her for about 10 years -- she knows how to cut curly hair.
At nine o'clock I was ready to go -- my appointment was at ten. Why did I decide I needed to walk the dog around the yard first? Sometimes I think I like to pile the pressure on...
When I finally got on my bike, I rode as hard as I could and when I hit the first hill I never noticed when driving my car, I started to worry. How long would it take me to get to the end of this road? In my car, it only took five minutes. But that's driving about 45 miles per hour! This could take a lot longer than I thought! There were a few more hills that I never remembered when driving and I was getting hot. I kept pushing and kept worrying. I hit Rt. 151 and realized I normally drive 55 on that road. What was I thinking?! Why did I imagine it would only take one hour? Why did I take that extra 6 minutes to walk the dog before I left?? And what if one of the cars whizzing past me trailing a motor boat pops me and I end up a grease stain on the road? Keep pumping, keep moving. And more hills I never remembered.
Finally I hit the rotary and knew I was more than half way. Should I stop and check the time? Maybe call the salon and tell them I'll be late?? No time to stop. JUST KEEP GOING!
Finally, I pulled into the salon and looked at the time on my phone -- 10:00 on the nose! Unbelievable!
I pulled off my bike gear before I walked into the salon. How on Earth did my hair look after being in a helmet for an hour? Worse, it was wet when I left the house! It was probably molded into the shape of my helmet... There's nothing worse than entering a salon looking schlumpy. It's like not cleaning the house before the cleaning person gets there. You just don't do it. It turns out, actually, my hair looked pretty good after being in the helmet. Go figure!
Donna was standing behind the counter when I got there and I acted all nonchalant. Then I saw my face in the mirror. After all that huffing and puffing, I looked like a boiled lobster (or lobstah depending on your home town). I raced off to the ladies room to splash cold water on my face for a few minutes. Until I explained my bike ride, I think the other patrons in the salon thought I had a serious disease or had fallen asleep in the tanning booth...
An hour later and a half later, I slapped the helmet on my wet again hair (Why bother drying it?!) and headed for home. The ride home was much more relaxed and didn't really take much longer....
Liam called during the ride, so I pulled off the road and sat on a bench to talk to him. He was at work, bored, but getting ready to ship out for Iraq later that day. His line was that he thought Iraq would be like going to the beach but without the water.
When I got off the bench I was covered in inch worms -- the ones that have been devastating all the trees around here. Some fellow bikers passed by and asked if I was alright. Yup, just taking a break and talking on the phone.
Total miles = 23
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