To Hell(yer) and Back (Plus 150 Miles)

Finally got my pedals off my bike (with the help of a bike mechanic, his rubber mallet, and some tenacity). Those suckers were tight.

Here I am (far left, holding rented track bike) with Mel and Annabell. Mel's my riding partner, and Annabell (far right) is a fantastic track racer and clinic instructor who sold me her Team Oakland race kit (the one I'm wearing in the photo) for $30 and a $5 Starbucks gift card (she'd moved to the South Bay and joined a closer team). Very nice of her.And here I am below (blue jacket), during the track clinic (this particular lesson appears to be covering how to stick out your boobs):I was surprised to note that the track bike actually fit me well; for a rental, it felt comfortable (except that like all track bikes, it was a single speed with no brakes, which I found tres emotionally uncomfortable, especially riding in pacelines, on this weird slope thing). Not like at the Oakland Ice Center, where the rental skates' blades are so dull that it's like wearing tennis shoes on the ice (no grab - very dangerous BTW, and you can forget about practicing your triple lutz, although it's great training for broomball). The saddle did move from side to side like it was going to almost fall off a couple times though, despite my most diligent attempts to tighten it. That was pretty disconcerting while reaching for brakes that didn't exist. Eventually I did get used to moving up the slope toward the rail to slow down, and the track became a little less scary and even got a little bit fun.

While getting my stuff ready for Sunday's 60 mile ride (I'd spent an hour trying to screw the right pedal into the left crank arm, remembering about the reverse threading, but forgetting to look for the "L" on the pedal, and very nearly stripping the threads entirely) to Danville Peets via Tunnel/Pinehurst/St. Mary's, I realized that I'd forgotten/left my cycling shoes (and shoe covers, for warmth) at the track (an hour away). And it wasn't like I didn't have plenty of time to remember them while Mel's dead battery was getting a jump in the parking lot (Mel's boyfriend Sean, who'd taken the above photos -- thanks Sean! -- had accidentally left the lights on when we'd parked). But fortunately Sean was going back to the track the next day for some sprinting drills (sprinting at the track is his thing - he pukes over the rail a lot, which I admire; I simply lack the discipline to push it to the puking point on a regular basis). So while Mel and Paul and I were finishing our really fun ride (I'd made do with my spin shoes and toe covers -- they only cover half the shoe, but it wasn't that cold), Sean was bringing my shoes to me! I rode home with them in my back pockets (the cycling attire "back pocket" is an amazing thing, especially if you're wearing Sugoi, in my opinion).

OK, so Sunday was fabulous (despite the fact that a certain individual had invited me to join her for Sunday's Pine Flat race, totally out of the blue, by which I was flattered to the nth degree, and subsequently completely devastated when she totally flaked on me; flaking is really mean and she is no longer my hero, and I'm sure this all stems from the fact that I articulated a purely aesthetic preference against tattoos, and I only went into detail because I felt backed into a corner, and why the hell do I have to like someone's tattoos? Was I consulted on this art project? Is beauty not completely subjective? Can't the person who got the tattoo like it enough for both of us? And what the f*ck kind of question is "why don't you want/have a tattoo?")

Sunday was made more fabulous by an evening out at a microbrewery called 21st Amendment, with a guy called Scott, drinking a beer called Golden Doom, during a month called "Strong Beer Month". It had over 8% alcohol, and the waitress gigglingly stamped my "strong beer month" card several times at my request, even though I'd only had one beer (if you fill the card by trying all the strong beers by the end of the month, you get a commemorative glass).

I BARTed back into the city in the early morning Monday (work holiday), to meet up with Mel and Sean. We rode over the Golden Gate bridge to Sausalito, to catch the start of the Tour of California, a pro road race (last year's Tour de France's first and third place finishers were there, and in fact the third place guy is a local). It was really cool. Then we headed out to Nicasio and Pt. Reyes Station for my second Marin ride ever, and a total of 90 miles for the day! I was freezing almost the entire time, so I was hammering to raise my core body temperature. Mel bonked. One of the most flattering moments of Cycling Me history to date!