The Kennett’s back in town the Kennett’s back in town the Kennett’s back in towowowown.

Obviously sung to the tune of The Boy’s Are Back in Town.

I’m here in Eugene for the next six weeks to get some serious pain in my legs. Today I started out with the local hardman’s race-ride: the Thursday Nighter. A group of 15 or 20 started out on the one hour ride and I had plans to just sit in and take it easy on my low volume week, by order of Coach Jeannette. But that soon became impossible due to the fast pace and constant gaps opening up in the paceline. It was a fun time, and it hurt pretty good at times.

Another thing that’s been hurting has been my shami area. The area that I sit down on for hours at a time. The area that is subject to thousands of rubbing movements across a hard saddle. The new team O bibs are way thicker than what I’m used to using, which is a very old pair of Lifecycle bibs that have a paper-thin chamois pad (pronounced “shami” so that’s how I’m going to spell it from now on). The old bibs may have multiple stichwork done on ripped areas, they may stink and be see-through from behind, and they may have been cheap and uncomfortable when I first got them. But my shami area calloused up and got used to them over time. And now when my shami area was introduced to a nice new, high quality, shami with thick padding, it said “no way” and has been acting out more than a teenager that just got home after being forced to attend a boring bible camp all summer, isn’t allowed to get their driver’s license, and isn’t allowed to hang out with any of their friends past 9 o’clock on the weekend. It’s acting out alright. Except my shami area isn’t slamming doors, letting out overly exaggerated sighs while rolling it’s eyes, and proclaiming that “no one understands” what it’s going through. No. It’s covered in dime-sized zits and boils.

But enough about my shami area.

I drove down here on Tuesday night with David Well’s after he and my brother raced PIR in portland. I wasn’t sure where I was going to stay in Eugene, but I figured I could bum around for a few weeks at least. The options were Chris and Karey’s backyard tool shed or the couches of Will, Tony, Mike, and whoever else would take me. I was getting pretty excited about the tool shed, but wasn’t sure if I’d be warm enough in there. But as it turned out David W had a room for me to stay in. So no tool shed, no barn with hay and horse manure, not even an uncomfortable couch. Instead I’ve been forced to live normally again.