Dream a little Dream

I am known far and wide for my weird dreams. By weird I mean WEIRD. It is as if while I’m sleeping all the crazies in my head get together and have a party.

I do remember most of my dreams too and yes, I dream in color.

Last night I dreamed I traveled to France to compete the Paris-Nice stage race. Yes I do know it is half over, and I also know if you don’t start a stage you’re out of the race. I also know just any ol’ yay-who can’t decide to go compete in the race. And yes I do know those are professionals.

And I have to say I’m a professional cyclist too. I’ve been proficient at cycling since I was at least 7 years old. My girls, ages 9 and 11.5 are professional. I’m about convinced the only difference between our level of professionalism and their level is they get paid to ride.

Can you imagine that? Can you imagine telling someone “When I grow up I want to be paid to ride my bike.” I wonder really why I never thought of that. I could have chosen an equally brilliant profession like making mud pies.

“Honestly! When I grow up I’ll get someone to pay me to make the best mud pies in the world.”

My 9 year old would love for someone to pay her to play Barbies. She’d have it made.

Before you jump all over me and tell me how hard those cyclists work to be able to do what they do. I know. I know they ride hours every day. I know their bum has calluses the size of Volkswagons.  I know they go faster  on descents than anyone should ever go on two wheels. I know they climb mountains on two very thin wheels.

I know on mountainous descents they have some nasty switchbacks and crashes are no very forgiving.

Anyone up for a bike ride?

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