I was on the patrol bike today, in the 102 heat, wearing my kevlar, my dark blue heat encasement suit (aka summer uniform), my gunbelt, and my trusty steed the trek mountain bike we use for patrol (NOT my Colnago road bike) and I sat at the base of one of our steepest, longest, meanest hills (not all officers CAN ride up it...and I am the only woman on the unit!) and decided that I would ride up it, and I would NOT do it in mountain bike granny gear. So I thought *HARDEN THE F*C* UP" and up I went. A crew of workers were standing at the top, looking at me like I had just stepped off a space ship.

Funny thing, though, was that I called out on it, in part to make myself do it, and in part to let the other officers on duty that I was tackling THE HILL ON ROLAND. So it went, "312, Neighborhood check." (312 is me). Dispatch says, "312?"...awaiting my location. I pause for dramatics, "I'M OUT ON ROLAND." All this is at the base of this monster hill. Dispatch, who has no idea that this really means, hey everybody sitting in your nice air conditioned cars, I am getting ready to go up this hill, says, "10-4". So I start up. I get about halfway up this thing, spinning hard, blood pounding in my ears, when I hear dispatch say, "312? What was your location again?" I was like, are you kidding me? I have to take my hand off the handlebar, keep pedaling or tip over (and with it that steep I would never have gotten started again), key up on the mike, and say, "ROLAND!" but as forcefully as I say it, I can't quite get enough air in my lungs (the vest doesn't help this process) so it comes out as a squeek. One of the officers listening got on and said, "Dispatch, she is out on Roland. It's a big hill." So I lost some of my street cred.

But I got up it. Then got to whizz down the other side and pedal on to the QT for a slushie. A lady said, "THey make you ride that bike in the heat? Oh sweetie, you are flushed!" I laughed. I GET to ride the bike in the heat!