Breaking records and a nice little Thursday, really.

That’s right, after weeks of racing characterized by sickness, forgotten shoes, and underwhelming results, I am finally breaking, no, obliterating world (cycling center) records. A couple of days ago, I was working on my bike with two unusually idle and chatty Swiss mechanics. After marveling at the size of my bike, they declared that I was probably the tallest cyclist to ever come through the center. I was promptly measured and now my name, height, and legacy are forever etched in pencil at the Centre Mondial du Cyclisme, not far from the Indurain, Armstrong, and Merckx shrines. They used the really dark kind of pencil, so even if it’s erased, you’ll probably still be able see the letters a little bit. Yeah, you could say I’m kind of a big deal.

By the mid-point of my ride today I was so hungry that I could’ve eaten at Arby’s, but this little meal felt like the foodie thing to do.
Michael Pollen says we should all be eating more little oily fish, and since I’d never tried sardines before, I didn’t know any better. Actually they weren’t bad, but the bird population of Montreux thought so too and this picnic didn’t last long.

I’ve reached the point in my blogging career where the initial excitement of posting has worn off, and Racechild is beginning to feel like a bad high school English assignment (I know, you would never guess from a post like this). I’ll try and do a proper bike-racer style report after this Sunday’s cross-country marathon.

Probably the biggest slug to ever pass through CMC, albeit slowly.