The Colors of Spring

I am so sorry to tease with a topic like that and not present pics, but oh, you will understand shortly. And then, you will either be further disappointed, or relieved.

Eh hem! Tuesday I took Tiburon to work with me figuring I'd do an afternoon ride and then go straight to the pet store to help with price changes after close. Around 1 I couldn't sit still any longer. Somehow the ick that has persisted for two weeks lifted and we had a sunshine day. I kitted up, checked my tire pressure, and prepared for some well deserved spin time.

When asked where I'm going I give a default answer of "I don't know." That way no one has any idea of how long my route would take them, and I feel no pressure to complete it quickly.

Yeah I there's a crit I want to try in two months, but whatever it's only entry fees, and if I learned anything my dabbling in mountain bike racing it's that I need to keep riding fun. So much talk of watts, intervals and thresholds takes place in my office I feel sorry for people. Do I sprint? Sure, when I feel so overwhelmed with happy energy that I must. Do I chase that rider up the road? Sure, but only until it stops being fun. Have I purposely pedaled so hard I felt like puking just to practice my suffering face? Yup!

So out the door I go and the warm air feels better than a warm bath after long day. Life is already so good. I know my route, it's an old friend that I want to reacquaint myself with. Little piece of the Tour de Cure from last summer.

There's quite a crosswind going and as always I went out too hard so when I turned into the wind there was some suffering. I ignored my Cat Eye for a while and pushed on. And pushed on, and pushed on. I'm not sure just how bad the wind was, but judging from the struggle it took to chase a rider downhill who had just pulled out of a subdivision I would guess it above 10MPH. Either way, she was bait and she didn't even know it. I overtook her on the flat and proceeded to swing north toward Berthoud. No more headwind, hurray!

A little way across Hwy 66 I had to stop. My kit was bugging me, I wasn't digging my soundtrack, and I needed to hack up a lung. Mental note: go see a doctor stupid, your whole family has asthma, stands to reason you do too. Girly with the both behind the ear headphones passed me and seemed awfully pleased with herself. I kept fidgeting and then got back on my bike. I love it when people don't know they're a part of my game.

I chased girly down and then eased off. It pleased me to no end that she kept looking back at me. Had I not been hacking up so much stuff I could hardly breathe I'd have shamelessly romped on her, but approach and retreat was turning out to be a much more exciting game. Finally I caught her as the false flat we'd been churning on for miles ended. We turned the corner and headed downhill. I shifted gears with a fury and pinned it down the hill. She stopped pedaling. STOPPED PEDALING! Man, I was going to forgive the poor headphone choice because she was on Bianchi C2C and seemed to have a decent pace but no way could I respect that! Here I thought I'd chat her up and make friends, but ICK! So I sailed past her and just to be a show off, pinned it around the corner with the best "future crit superstar" turn I could manage with gravel on the roads.

Around the corner I knew there was a good little hill, steep, but very short. Last August I flailed up it in my granny gear. This time I kept my tookus in the saddle and made it in the big ring, with some to spare in the rear. Conquering this hill meant there was a lovely downhill switchback coming, but not without my bike having a fit. My evil seatpost clamp made the tooth on tooth cracking sound it does when it starts slipping so I briefly pulled over to fix it and got passed by two other riders.

I caught up to them shortly after and we sailed down the switchback together, this time it was a "Look ma! No brakes!" affair. I'm finally realizing fast corners on the bike are like barrel racing on my horse. Sit! Look! Turn! Look out into the middle of the road, you'll end up there. Look tight around the corner, you'll end up there. And if the velodrome taught me anything it's that a bike can hold pretty hard at relatively low speed. I screw this up in barrel races, and on the bike, but I'm getting there. I'm getting there.

Cool, so after those I follow the pair up the steep little hill and I had to stand, but still big ringing it, awh yeah. Go little girl who thought she was too big a pansy to have anything but a triple. I uttered an apology to my rear derailleur when I had to take one last shift (underestimated steep little hill) and the guy in front of me looked back concerned. Apparently he doesn't talk to his bike, let alone components.

At the top of the hill we started chatting and rode together for a few miles. The company was really nice, and I was impressed that I could talk, albeit a little spitty. Looking at the time I turned around a few miles later and set back to work.

As I approached the downhill I insisted on taking miles back, that was now an uphill, I kicked myself. I was going to turn back, but I HAD to chase that girl. Just haaaaaad to! I told myself, "Self, on the way back this will be uphill into a headwind, and you're not going to want to do it!" And Self said, "Don't be such a spoil sport, that girl need to understand that Blue is a speed, not a color!" and so I said "Self, I don't want to hear any complaining when this sucks goats on the way back! I told you it would!" So Self did not complain, rather grunted, yelled, and gritted teeth.

The rest of the way home though, was relatively smooth sailing. Cross and tail winds, awh yeah. So stared at the creek babbling under the road until I nearly veered off it, admired the grass growing up bold, vivid and green amidst the dry colors of winter in the high desert. I was sailing back down the false flat, occasionally hitting the drops and sprinting.

Then as I approached Hwy 66, tired and sprinted out, I saw the true colors of spring. No babbling brook, no baby calf, just bare white as could be, never seen the light of day, perfectly toned cyclist booty. He had parked on the opposite side of the road and was taking cover, somewhat, behind his car door while he changed shorts I guess. I dunno, I was uh, oh don't go off the road HillBill.... So I expect this sort of thing at trail heads, but this was uh, a surprise. And unlike previous adventures with holy shorts, I must say it was the highlight of my ride. Mmmmm, perfectly toned pasty white tookus and ripped legs. Meee-Yow! Okay, not staring, not staring. Oh he caught me staring. Hey, he should know that all of Boulder County is on their bikes when it hits 70 after weeks of 30!!!

So yeah, something, something about the rest of my ride. Went real fast, had a tail wind, idiot in a Prius with a "Create Kindness - Start Today" bumper sticker cut me off with no turn signal. Ummm, lovely toned muscles, mine...his...karma has paid me back for staring at fatty's hole in shorts, and life, life is good.