I didn't ride a single mile this week.

Not a one. Which is disappointing, even though I know I spent my time doing more important things, like passing my midterms.

The worst part is that I don't miss it as much as I used to. In Omaha, if I couldn't ride for more than two days it produced almost physical pain. But here in Chicago, I'm getting bored of the bike path already. It's the same thing day after day - perfectly flat course that would be perfect for doing some intervals if it weren't so crowded. I'm always dodging rollerbladers and some jerkoff on a Huffy wearing sandals inevitably tries to hang on my wheel. Or worse, a messenger races me. I'm also a little disillusioned with the path after some guy got into a fight with me because I was too close to his rear wheel after he cut me off in a crowded slow zone going 20 mph. He rode right on my wheel, insulting me the whole way, trying to make fun of my Italian national team jersey (he said, quote, "Look at you in your guinea national jersey. I bet you don't even speak any Italian." Which is, 1. not true, I do speak a good bit of Italian, and 2. completely nonsensical. What does that have to do with anything? Also, he was riding a Bianchi and didn't speak any Italian, so according to his criteria, he is more in the wrong than I). He told me I was fat, I told him he was an aging, washed-up, chest-thumping alpha male who should take solace in the fact that he can still pass the soccer moms cruising down the Chicago bike path on 26" tires. I've never been so close to actually getting into a fight in my life.

The worst part about that incident was that it really diminished the bike path for me. I have had a thousand great experiences out there, but this guy wiped them all out in two minutes. The shine is off the apple for me. Hopefully I'll get in a few good rides this weekend in Omaha (I get in Friday and leave Tuesday, I'm looking for a bike if you've got one you're not using for the weekend) and it will rekindle my love for the sport.

In the meantime, I'll have to console myself by hitting the path here in Chicago and looking for that Bianchi guy so I can shove a stick in his spokes.