We were headed down to Lake Placid to train for a weekend in May. Before we had even left, with the bikes loaded on the back of the car, I backed up into my aunt and uncle’s car. I smashed my wheel and completely bent my pedal crank arm. Idiot. That meant that I’d have no bike to ride for the weekend in Lake Placid. We hated the bikes we were riding—both of us were on bikes that we bought because they were on sale, not because they were the right bikes for us. We won’t make that mistake again. We had purchased a new bike for Kathryn a few weeks earlier – she’s riding a Trek Equinox 7.0 WSD So, the only logical decision would be for me to buy a new bike as well, right? Off we went to check out the selection in Lake Placid…

I left my IronMan swim with a completely false sense of security. It had just finished the swim of my life, managed to get to the transition zone without slipping or pulling a muscle or tearing anything pushing off the sand. I found my bike clothes, got ready, and headed out feeling pretty good about the day so far. Going out of transition, I see everyone waiting for me at the side of the road. They cheer, I smile, I wave, and it is over. I’m past them in a flash, knowing I won’t see them for another 3 or more hours. All is well. I’m headed down the first hill out of town just about to head around the corner and go up another. And like almost all of my training rides, I hit the same damn pothole at the bottom of the hill and my drink flies…