Pre-Race: I’m up at 6:15 in the morning? WHAT IS THIS? I think the last time I was up at 6:15 in the morning is when I was going to the emergency room with epiglottitis. I have to wake Ti-1000 up because he takes Cinco de Mayo very seriously. He is still drunk. In fact, when we get to Lenny Travitz’s house, it is clear that everyone is still drunk. Except me. The only thing worse than being sober around drunk people is being sober around people still drunk from the night before about to go on a 42-mile bike ride. I think Lenny Travitz, Hamtram, and Ti-1000’s spirits are all lifted when we find The Russian and he admits that he’d actually completely forgotten about the ride until 3AM. That was about 3 hours ago. The Russian is still drunk.

Lower Manhattan: The ride begins with an hour and a half of standing around in the freezing cold outside of Century 21. Awesome! There are two men walking around on stilts talking to people in the crowd. Why? They don’t seem to be advertising anything. They just decided to get up at the crack of dawn on a Sunday, put on their stilts and their velvet Circus Ringleader outfits and go turn some frowns upside down. I tell Grant that I live my life by one principle, and one principle only: Do not do or wear anything that would give a clown on stilts material for making fun of you in a crowd. This is when Grant starts yelling at the guys in stilts: THIS GUY IS A FAMOUS BLOGGER. The men in stilts are impressed, but they do not make fun of me. I realize that talking to Grant is a risky proposition.

As the ride begins the bombardment of horror does not end. We pass a man on the side of the street who…how do I best express this? He is dressed like a baby girl? He is sitting in a giant stroller, licking a lollipop, dressed like a baby girl, cheering people on? Again, not advertising anything. Just decided this was the kind of motivation the people needed. We haven’t even gone half a mile and I want to die. Ti-1000 and The Russian have already disappeared, because they are RACING and they are GOING TO WIN. Fuck them. A radio station is set up at the starting line, and the DJ is asking people where they come from, and he is clearly racist because if you are from, say, Chicago or Israel, he tells you to “have fun,” but if you are from a brown country like Peru or South Africa he tells you to “be careful.”

We have 43 miles to ride today (not including the bike transit to and from the ride), and I actually am so retarded that when we get up to, like, 23rd street I think to myself “this is going so fast!” Someone should put my brain in the garbage, it is worthless.

The Bronx: This is my favorite boro of the tour, if only because it lasts five seconds. Seriously. You cross a bridge into the Bronx, go around a corner, and cross a bridge back out of the Bronx. Fair enough. There is a homeless man in a three piece suit, listening to an Aiwa Walkman, drinking something out of a paper bag, and yelling “GOOD MORNING! GOOD MORNING! GOOD MORNING!” at us as we ride by. He is my favorite.

Dude, it is 10:30 in the morning. What am I doing with my life?

Back in Manhattan: Lenny Travitz and I are separated from the rest of the group, but it’s fine. The weather is getting nicer and we’re riding along the FDR or something, which is pretty (nullus). I spend about twenty minutes trying to decide which group of people I hate more: the group that has taped bumblebee stuffed animals to their helmets, the group that has taped sunflowers to their helmets, the group that has taped cans of Miller Lite to their helmets, or the group (all dudes) that has taped red feather boas to their helmets. It is an impossible choice. Crossing the Queensborough Bridge into Queens we get stuck behind a woman trailing one of those little tents for babies. She has two crying babies in it, and she is working like a fucking dog to cross the bridge. This woman is what is called a retard. What is the point of forcing two kids to sit in a greenhouse tent while you bike them around for 45 miles? I guess that is the magic of parenthood or something, but seriously, fuck that mom.

Queens: We regroup at a rest area in Astoria Park. I haven’t been to Astoria Park in years, and I’ve never been to Astoria Park when it was filled with thousands of assholes in lycra eating bananas and listening to a zydeco band. Lenny Travitz has decided that based on the market research he has performed all morning (i.e. looking at bikers stopped on the side of the road) he is going to open a donut shop, because every donut shop we pass is packed with bikers. Lenny Travitz is still drunk. Grant pulls out his Sidekick and starts sending text messages…to whom? His publicist? I yell “Hey, Paris Hilton, let’s go,” but he does not hear me. Or he chooses to ignore me.

Brooklyn: We cannot seem to shake this old man riding a sporty little recumbent bike. It’s so easy to hate recumbent bikes, but just because something is easy doesn’t mean it isn’t worth doing. Hamtram points at the recumbent bike and asks Lenny Travitz if he can borrow his bike after the old guy is done riding it. “That is your bike” is one of our favorite games to play. It is played by pointing at a shitty bike and saying “that is your bike.” I point at the recumbent bike and ask Lenny Travitz if it is like biking in a mirror. Lenny Travitz rides ahead of us for a little while. The guy in the shitty recumbent bike keeps pace. In Dumbo I get a flat tire. This sucks. Hamtram helps me replace the tube, but it doesn’t really work right. My fingers are bleeding, all of our friends have left us, I have to pee, and my wheel is puckering out like it’s about to explode. Time to hit the BQE!

The BQE (Brooklyn): Riding your bike on the BQE is cool. Seriously.

The Verazzano Bridge: You can see the Verazzano Bridge all the way down the BQE and it is so far away and it is at this point that I am thinking about how at 23rd street I thought we were making good time, and how I am an asshole. It’s 3:30 in the afternoon and all I’ve had to eat today are bananas. I’m getting blisters on my butt (nullus) and my tire is about to explode (nullus). It’s cool to ride on the bridge, or whatever, but at this point I kind of just want to be done, even though being done means being on Staten Island, which is not done at all. Also there is a guy riding a bike with a giant speaker strapped to the back playing reggaeton. Seeing this man reminds me that I have my priorities all messed up.

Staten Island: When you finish the race you end up in this crowded park with a terrible blues-rock band playing, no food, on the northern edge of Staten Island. It’s like, just in case you were wondering if it was worth it to spend the whole day riding your bike all over the place, FUCK YOU. Even when you want to leave this hell park and take the ferry you have to stand in this long line…waiting for…someone to let you…ride your bike another three miles…to stand in another line…while Smashmouth’s “Walking on the Sun” plays over loud-speakers. At this point I just have to give it up to the tour organizers for squeezing as many little FUCK YOUs into an exhausting end to an endless day.

Brooklyn: PIZZA PARTY AND ALSO PASSING OUT.