Easily the most entertaining spectacle of this past week was to watch the snow in my front yard melt faster than it accumulated there in the first place. Itook a perverse, sick pleasure in watching that snow die. Melt, white devil, melt! Oh, snow, I love the taste of your tears!

Right after Iwas done licking the tears off my front yard, the realization sunk in that springtime means time to get off my couch and into the great outdoors. Time to get into some sort of shape.

And the timing couldn't be better, as hundreds of men and women will jump on stationary bicycles Saturday at Century High School for the Great American Bike Race. Thousands of our community members will be donating money toward the fight against cerebral palsy and spurring on the riders. And me, I'm a rider.

Before Ijump on that exercise bike for 25 minutes, though, Ithought Imight want to start biking around town this week so Ican stretch my legs a little and ultimately achieve my primary goal for the bike race:Ride 25 minutes; don't die.

Biking to Best Buy on Wednesday to get the new Silversun Pickups disc was my offical first bike ride of the year. Ifirst had to wrestle my cruiser bike out of the tiny crawlspace beneath my house without ripping the handlebars off. Check and mate.

I jump on my bike, clicking my heels on the way, and take off. Wind whipping through my helmet, Ican't help but notice the beauty of the world around me. Children playing in their yards. Sun shining above us. The hustle and bustle of traffic. Everything is as it should be, and Iam out here, in the middle of it all, getting some fresh air and needed exercise. Life is brilliant.

Two minutes later, and Ican't breathe. Ithink Ihave a cramp. Should Iturn around and go home?This was the worst idea ever. These bicycle shorts are killing me.

Ican't remember. Are the lower numbers on my gear shift the ones for going uphill or downhill? Iknow Ishould be watching where I'm going, but Icannot figure out this gear-changing mechanism and … oops, ran over a squirrel.

Arriving at Best Buy, Ican't help but notice there's no bike rack for me to lock my bike to. So Ido the only sensible thing:Throw a blanket over it and hope no would-be bicycle thieves are clever enough to look underneath.

Riding back home was worse than the first half of the journey. The downhills have now become uphills. Small children are now playing on the sidewalk. Squirrels are chasing me. And my legs feel like cooked noodles. All muscles have given up. My legs no longer want anything to do with me.

Four or five hours later, Iand my bike limp into my driveway, my dog Boof staring out the window at me with pity in his eyes. You know you're out of shape when a basset hound pities you.

If you're looking for some weekend entertainment, be sure to stop by CHS for the Great American Bike Race, and watch this columnist fall asleep on two wheels.

(Reach columnist Kelly Hagen, sore legs and all, at 250-8259 or kelly.hagen@bismarcktribune.com.)