Frozen
Two weeks ago on March 10th, I put my best boy scout like mannerisms on (like I have for every Friday night for the past month) and started to prepare for my Saturday ride. I packed some portable snacks, I cleaned and refilled my water bottles, I made sure my gear (gloves, shoes, helmet) was all in the bag by the door, and I gathered the clothing for the ride into a neat pile. (Ok so it's probably not a neat pile-but my mother reads these and I am trying to keep up a good image.) As I got ready I was listening to the weatherman call for SNOW at 500 feet above sea level. I had just flown back from a week in Vegas and was shocked as to how cold it was in the Bay Area. Ready to go, the only thing I could do was hope it would clear up and warm up and try to recover from being in Sin City for the past five days.

I woke up at 6:00 am that Saturday (rides start at 7:30ish) and went outside to put my bike in the back of my truck. When I lifted my bike into the back of the truck I noticed the water-that I had so efficiently placed in the cage the night before, had spilled-over a little. After I looked closer, I realized that the water had frozen and expanded during the night-pushing the top of the squeeze bottle opening. After I realized the physics of the frozen water, I turned around and headed back to bed. I missed my first group ride. The day actually turned out to be dry enough for a ride-but it never got above 40 degrees for my brave/purple teammates. 

Knee Warmers and Shoe Socks
Frustrated with myself, I went to the bike store to remove any future excuses. In past rides, I had a jacket that caused me to drip sweat from the sleeves while I would be numb from my knees down to my toes. Not having the right gear stinks. I bought a long sleeve jersey and some other stuff. I bought more lycra, not shorts or pants, just a piece that goes from my thigh to my calf and socks that go over the shoes with a little cutout to allow the cleat to fit through. As I was packing my new goods into the ready bag for my next ride, I noticed that I did not have a single item of clothing that was made up of natural fibers/fabrics. I have lycra shorts and knee warmers, wicking material jerseys and socks for my cleats that are worn on the outside. And the colors — everything is a shade of neon. I feel like Punky Brewster when I get dressed in the morning. Hands-down, golfers have a better fashion sense then cyclists. This is what happens when skinny people are in charge. 

Busting in Vegas
The following Monday, I was back on a plane to Vegas for four more days of work in a counter productive environment. It was $35 a day to work out at the Venetian hotel. There is a 24hour Fitness three miles off the strip. It only cost 16 dollars to take a taxi there and back, but getting a taxi on the way back took 45 minutes. So I broke down and paid my casino gym fees. I then proceeded to help myself to as much fruit and water that I could hide/carry in my towel to make up for the outrageous fee. True to its desert heritage—water is expensive in Vegas. So after being in Vegas until Thursday of last week and not being on my bike for almost two weeks-I am happy to report, I successfully rode 45 miles last Saturday.

45 Miles with hills-no problem, cold weather-no problem, monster trucks with no bike lane-no problem, wind in the face-problem.
Our last ride was around the Almaden Reservoir in South San Jose. It was a beautiful and fun ride with some slow rolling hills and a couple of good climbs. The weather was in the 50’s, which is warm enough to ride but not warm enough to feel your toes. There must have been a monster truck rally or something to explain the number of lifted trucks whizzing by on the narrow roads. It was my first ride out in the boonies- saw some sheep, one wild turkey and lots of llamas. The views of the reservoir and the green hills were amazing.



The last two hours of the ride, I experienced my first strong headwind. I was surprised as to how much wind can affect you on a bike—there were points that it felt like I was peddling up hill but it was just the wind working against me. You would think that with all my unnatural fabrics, I would cut right through the wind, but alas, my round state of being blocks/catches its fair share. My coach who is about 5'3" said she would lead the pace line to break wind for me, but after five minutes of giggling and noticing very little difference, I took the lead spot. I may not be fast up the hills but when it comes to breaking wind—I am the champion on and off the bike.

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