I am not a morning person. I posses the capability to wake up before 10am and have been known to do it for months at a time I don't exactly like the concept. Given the choice I'd much prefer to sleep until at least noon. Although this is my holiday I'm willing to make exceptions for the fact that I didn't stay up into the wee hours of the morning reading a book or talking with friends. I don't expect a truly civilized hour like 9am but I'll accept 8am followed by a leisurely breakfast.

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         I zombied about the parking lot muster until someone responsible finally caught on and suggested I ride in the truck until I was more awake. Which, except for the lack of amenities such as pillow and blanket, was exactly what I wanted. I vaguely recall seeing the line of rear blinkies head out. Vaguely. However, I did the sensible thing and promptly went back to sleep as any sane individual would do.

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         Somewhere near the end of second breakfast, as whistles were being blown and people were being told to prepare to ride, I woke up. Sudden and absolute transition from being completely asleep to being completely awake. I get out of the truck and ask if I can have my bike, I'd like to ride.

         The bike shop boss (who I am now calling "Mom") insists that I have to eat first. As I'm bolting down my fried noodles (because I don't want to be last) she tells me to eat slowly, chew, chew, chew, swallow. The language may be different, the words may be different, but all moms are moms. It's a universal constant. And while pouting or looking cute has been a successful tactic with men since I was a toddler it has never, to my knowledge, worked with any mom.

         Eat. Drink. Rest. We'll drive you to the head of the pack and drop you off so you don't burn yourself out racing to catch up. And, since no amount of pleading that I'm not really hungry or looking pathetic on my part is going to get my bike unracked without her approval I do as I'm told. I even drink a big glass of tea.