practically deserted. Both ways.
And that was at 4:15, practically the same time yesterday that I was shaking my head at the roadie who couldn't climb a hill. Of course, the rain had a lot to do with everyong staying in, and the threat of dropping temperature didn't help either. I felt like I literally rode through the front coming in on the way home. Crossing Sheffield it was like hitting a physical wall of 50 degrees. Not cool.
Interestingly, I did have a chance to practice the "Good for you" approach instead of yelling obscenities back on the street. Strangely enough, it was fairly unsatisfying. Funny, but still not as guttural as a good "Hey, fuck you!"
Current beer-scale: 2.1 (gotta let it breath every now then)
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