biker shit

this weekend i went pedal partying with the Bella Chicks. It's a refreshed team that has hidden talent, balanced maturity, a dash of impetuous strength, and a big swinging love of biking. We went climbing, did some sprinting, pounded away against the lonely headwinds ... good clean fun.

i had to miss a day of it because of work ... which sucked. and now, 'cuz stoopid work won't let me out to play, i'm not gonna even be able to tag along and docublog some of the Giant Starberry rides (frozen food section).

double suck.

- - -

And so, since I can't mix it up with the fast boys this weekend ~ i'll regale with a few shovel fulls to pass the time.

Yesterday I couldn't get out of the office early enough to join in with the locals who singe flesh for lunch out to BoonyDoon hill. Way late, i thought I might as well turn the screws and burn a TT effort to try and catch any nooner-stragglers' charred remains out on Hwy 1.

None sniffed - so I made my way up the wine country hill until the sweet swoop of the descending pack caught my eye and bristled my backside. I hadn't been in the mood for the TT effort out and was kinda grumpy from having to do it. Instead, what i was looking for was a little test of the top-end power after a holiday weekend's 12-hour training bloc with the Bellas.


The kids regrouped as they reintegrated with Hwy 1 to make the southern migration back toward town and the cubicles. Noon rides always have that giddy sense of "hooky" ... that i find a more than a bit titillating.

i love breakers of the norm.


Captain Sadoff and another veteran of the beltway led the group for a big chunk of time. It was a good strong tempo and I always enjoy thinking of those dirt-hawgs of the true-cross world not having a clue what a silky-smooth roadie the Lobster really is.

... makes me giggle.

Anyway, I was revving to throttle the engine but, since I hadn't been with the group out, etiquette whispered that i defer to what the group's inclinations were and not seek to impose my own selfish desires for accelerations. If you wanna play, you gotta pay.

Luckily, there is this Lombardi rider who ... straight up ... only knows one speed ~ ballbusting. They call him "skully" - which, I find kind of hot - he's straight lipped and you kind of think he's snooting down his nose at you unless you take time to notice he's actually just drooling from going 120% ... all the time.

Well, the skully was the first to decide speed was on order and the shenanigans began with his courteous increase of speed. A few rotations later and the pack was in high flight, a herd of wild mustangs galloping mad across windy ridges overlooking the left coast.

Hwy 1 is a busy road ~ two lanes each direction with sight-seers lookey-looing themselves into bike lanes, commuting kaliforn-I-ates disgusted with anything hinting at a slow down to their important lives, and the occassional cheary-hi jogger waving at you and wondering if "that bike riding might not be fun, after all."


The pack's speed rises as riders fall in and out of the rotation - each churning a bit harder on the pedals as the intensity gathers, like a cloud of electricity. There is the requisite CityLimit sprint at the end of this nooner and, for me, it's that time of year to do a first test of the legs. The Skully has been pulling hard for almost a minute. It's the leadout of leadouts. I'm 5 wheels back watching two boys yo-yo in and out of the non-existent draft of a phenom woman named Kat Tobin.

Tobin is tucked tight 3rd wheel behind a good looking college kid who keeps twitching his head, wondering when the right time is to start his sprint around big Skully's leadout express. At around 600meters to the city sign, the dangling boys finally get snapped and it's a little jump around them to latch onto Tobin's wheel for me.

poor guys ... it was painful watching them suffer a bike length off the pace - forever. they were both really digging to stick with the speed ... but, aerodynamics is a cruel bitch and once they were pushing as much wind as Skully in front ... their tickets came due.


Sprinting ~

I am NOT a sprinter. But, i do love mixing it up in the sprints. I love giving leadouts, dancing hard for positions, and the unthinkable speeds careened through corners. I love the discipline of organized drivetrains and the chaotic crushes to the front when that can't happen. It's pure bike racing madness.


I am NOT a sprinter

... but, I sprint.