I thought we were amateurs.

I thought we were amateurs.

Here we stood before the start of the Twilight Gambler bike race on April 28. This was when Carolyn and I began to discover the nuances of an “amateur” bike race – namely, that it’s a bit of a misnomer. First of all, we didn’t train. And as you can see, we missed the uniform memo. We rocked sorority tanks that billowed behind us like parasails. And then, not pictured are our post-race belaugered legs. True to the amateur name, we hauled chunky mountain bikes across the Georgia countryside. Fifty-year olds breezily passed us on their featherweights and told us we could make it.

But was it worth it? Oh. Heck. Yes. We are beasts, after all. Twilight, allow me to introduce you to my dust.