Breakfast Run

Just looked over the report below.  Says the fastest speed was 37.96 MPH.  Obviously the program is smoking crack:
 
Finished Cycle: Jul 19, 2012 8:33:13 AM
Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20120719-0617.kml
Ride Time: 1:36:21
Distance: 22.88 miles
Average: 14.25 mph
Fastest Speed: 37.96 mph
Ascent: 1615 feet
Descent: 1683 feet
Calories: 1786


Went to bed last night at around midnight.  Nothing unusual about that.  In comparison to other nights, that's a little early for me.

Read for just a few minutes, then was out like the proverbial light.  (Ok, out like a soon-to-be-outlawed-everywhere incandescent light.  I'm not sure LEDs ever go out, do they?)

Was wide awake at 2:00AM.  Went to the little bicyclist's room, let the dog out to the little Chihuahua room, then back to bed.  Tossed and turned.  Couldn't get back to sleep.  A friend of mine on Facebook the other day wrote:

"When I was a child, I wanted super powers like flying and super-strength.  Now that I'm grown, I'd like the super power to go the hell to sleep when I wanted to."

I'm with ya, brother.

At 4:00AM I finally gave up.  Grabbed the iPad and headed to the tub.  Figured I'd soak for a couple of hours and maybe, afterwards, be able to grab a couple more hours sleep.

Nothing doing.  Whatever was keeping me awake was doing a fine job of it.  (I'd say it's the ever present worry on how to cover payroll for my company, but, according to the President, since I didn't build the company myself, I should let the government worry about how to make paychecks good.)

 

At about 5:30 AM I realized that it hopeless.  I just was not going to get any more sleep this morning.  What to do.  What to do.

Hey.  I know.  How about play Klingon Boggle!  

Eh.  It's probably better played with other Klingons.

Hmm.  What else can I do?  

Hey!  I could go for a bicycle ride!  Now we're talking!

I suited up, patted the dog goodbye, checked the air pressure on the tires, and off I went.  

I've mentioned before how much I enjoy early morning rides.  I just wish they didn't occur in the, you know, early morning.  The air is relatively still.  There's few people out and about.  It's a really quiet time to ride.  

I've made so many rides down High Street that I can pretty much tell you where just about every mile marker is.  For example, this place is exactly 10 miles from my house:

I keep trying to wrap my head around whatever the Universe is trying to tell me in putting a funeral home exactly 10 bicycle miles away.

A little over a mile further south from the funeral home is Dan's Diner.  Last month I was suffering from insomnia, just like this morning, and I'd headed out to go to Dan's.  Except I left far too early.  Dan doesn't open until 7.  Had to settle for a "not as good" breakfast somewhere else. 

Not this morning, though.  Dan was open for business and I took my place at the counter:

 

The view from the counter at Dan's Diner

Have I mentioned how much I like "dives"?  That show on The Food Channel, "Drive Thrus, Dives, Diners" (or something like that) speaks loudly to me.  (Or it did.  I cut my cable out 2 years ago and haven't watched an episode since.)

Side note:  I had a lady who worked for me who said I reminded her of the host of that show, Guy Fieri.  "Yeah, you look just like him!" she told me.

You've.  Got.  To.  Be.  Kidding.  Me.

Anyway, Nicole -- the morning shift waitress at Dan's -- served up a nice 3 egg omelet, loaded with bacon, sausage, and ham.  Their meat lover's special.  Side of toast and some very buttery grits.  Threw in a large Diet Coke to wash it all down.

The total cost?  About eight bucks.  Holy Anchovy, Batman -- you can barely get out of McDonald's for less than eight bucks for breakfast.

Made the trip back home with the wind at my back.  Tussled with the city buses as I always do.  Showered, shaved, fed the dog, headed off to work.  Where I'm now officially dead tired and could sleep for a week if I could get away with shutting my eyes for two minutes . . .