I went out for a slow ride. Take it easy, Patty, was the mantra. It worked until I hit route 126, then all biking heck broke loose. As I found myself foaming at the mouth, clipping along at 22 plus miles an hour. Having a GPS is good and bad. For now I know exactly how fast I'm going and what it takes to get achieve the next personal record.
I'm an old woman. This competitive spirit was suppose to be gone years ago. Strangely, I'm truly only competing against myself.