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I've always felt a little out of place with road guys – first of all because they're usually all guys (and I noticed they don't take kindly to being outpaced by a girl...) and secondly because I know how roadies feel about triathletes. In the cycling world, triathletes have a reputation for being messy, unpredictable riders, lacking the etiquette of the guys who actually know what they're doing out there. It's like bringing a hillbilly to High Tea. The triathlete's cycling pedigree is unforgivably tainted by those lowly pursuits of running and swimming.
So perhaps I am too meek and apologetic in this crowd. At any rate, I underestimated my cycling ability, and spent most of the 22.3 mile race sitting in one pace line or another, wondering, "When are these guys gonna start riding hard?"
Legal drafting is a new concept for me. Everytime a motorcycle course marshal appeared, I had the sudden panic that I was about to get caught breaking the rules, and then I would remember that in this race, drafting isn't cheating. It's strategy.
I also learned firsthand exactly what those roadies dislike about riding near unskilled cyclists...
About 7 miles in, as I was beginning to realize I should start making an effort to pass people, I came up behind a guy I should've known was trouble. I had seen him riding in the middle of a pace line down in his aerobars, which is dangerous. That should have been my cue to keep my distance.
We approached a turn, one that didn't allow room for error since there was oncoming traffic.
I know how fast I can take a corner, but apparently, Mr. Aerobars did not. He suddenly slammed on his brakes and then lost control of his bike. I was far enough behind him that I had some time to react, but it was hard to tell which direction he was going to end up going, the way he was fishtailing through the turn. I tried to stop quickly, but then MY bike fishtailed, and I was immediately alerted to the fact that I had a pace line right behind me – by the shrieks that were so close it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I did the only thing I could do to avoid front and/or back collision – I swerved left, slicing in front of oncoming traffic (a gigantic pick-up truck, no less) and ended up in a ditch on the opposite side of the road.
Needless to say, once I caught back up to the group (and there he was again, back down in his aerobars, right behind someone else's wheel), I had new incentive to pass and then speed away from them as fast as my legs could carry me.
I ended up taking home another 1st Place beer glass for my collection, but I have to say, today's bigger victory was returning home with my bike and my bones still intact!
Posted by kim 08/06/2011
My summer was spent in the wonderful little village of San Luis Obispo, nestled against the California coastal range, where i participated in an internship at the 'we're too good for Nik' Cal Poly University. Let me just say, SLO rocks! As do all the wonderful people i met there this summer, and I can't wait to return next year.
We'll cut into this little reminiscion with a recount of my last mini-backpacking trip near Sequoia National Park, so i can put in some cool pictures.
A friend from the internship and I headed out after work on friday for a weekend backpacking trip in the Sierra's. We got in late and stayed at a little walk in camp that was tucked waaay up a small winding backroad near the trailhead. This was also the only bear sighting on our trip. We awoke early to find a black bear not more than 50 yards off in the camp area. He wasn't interested in our food though, just beating up the trees around there.
Backpacking in the High Sierras
Today, I experienced the arrival of a storm in a freight train of senses.
I sat in a wooden canoe in the middle of a lake in the Amazon rain forest. In the distance, thunder mumbled and tumbled across the dense land. The sky got darker, the air got thicker. The storm made no attempts to sneak up on me, but rather used a range of pathways to indicate its arrival, in a persistent and relentless manner. It urged me to pay attention to it all, to each aspect of its existence.
In a calm, quiet lake I sat. An unmistakable hush started from far off, moving decisively closer, growing and building quickly into a clamor, a rushing train headed straight for me, through the trees and washing over the green land. I knew it was arriving. I heard it arriving. Then I saw it arriving, sliding across the water from the bank, prickling the surface of the lake as it pressed towards me.
Then I felt it. It hit my skin, it pattered off my arms, it moved in lapping waves around me, gentle yet, but sure. Then the wind. It galloped over the treetops, stirring up excited energy, and swept me up in it. It swiped across the thick drops splattered on my skin, sunk into my clothes, soaked into my hair. It blew my energy around, lashing at my previous sense of calm. The tumbling thunder moved closer, grew stronger, and urged my little boat of surrendered appreciation decisively from the center of the lake to the embrace of the bank.
This was not a dramatic flash of monsoonal expression of Power. This was Power built thick and heavy. Arrival was not simply the first step of Departure. Arrival was the arrival of a guest that stayed and settled into the corner of the couch with its feet kicked up. There wasn't a Departure, the storm simply slowly and imperceptibly faded away after time - a heavy mist snaking away to the heavens and leaving a weighty blanket sitting over everything.
It was a magical experience that colored my day... and it was, I believe, the thickest rainstorm I have ever been in.
Amazon photo album: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.864167170098.2372447.19700757&l=fbd26288a4
Posted by Whitney 06/26/2011, revised 06/26/2011
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