One Weary Princess

The Cinderella Challenge route delivered a clear message to me in 2009: Work on Endurance.
Good thing they shortened the route somewhat this year (no more excursion through industrial parks on the way to Tracy). Good thing that we didn't have the fierce headwind we fought last year. Otherwise, I might not have made it back before nightfall. (No, just kidding, I wasn't that slow.)

The Cinderella is an annual gift from the Valley Spokesman Bicycle Touring Club to women cyclists. It is a rolling festival of women of all shapes, sizes, ages, and levels of ability - about 2500 of them. Most of us are creatively adorned - some in elaborate costumes. A couple of Cinderellas ago, some friends convinced me to join their theme and fasten a feather boa to my helmet. Shocking pink, no less. I didn't play around with stuff like that when I was a kid, and now . . . hey, what the heck? My outrageous headgear never fails to elicit compliments from passing motorists, kids shouting from playgrounds, and fellow Cinderellas with cameras at the ready. People smile at me all day long, and it's easy for my ride buddies to spot me in the crowd.

It was a picture-perfect day, not a trace of a cloud in the sky. It was a tad cold (38 degrees F) when we started, but I learned it is possible to shift gears with stiff, numb fingers by leveraging them like sticks. Braking was more of a problem.

We were cruising along Concannon Blvd in Livermore when a bunch of official vehicles, including animal control, stopped on the opposite side of the road and started crossing toward us. Puzzled, I looked to my right and immediately wished I hadn't. I would later learn that a car had collided with a stray horse early that morning.

An elderly gentleman in robe and pajamas snapped photos of us from his driveway. A cheering section greeted us at the summit of Patterson Pass, and other supporters had chalked messages for their friends along the way and offered us water. I faded after lunch and dropped back (see above, endurance work needed). Stopping and re-starting at every. traffic. light. along. Alcosta Blvd. in San Ramon took its toll on me. I acknowledged to myself that I was Officially Tired and looked at my bike computer - 72 miles. I told myself I only had another eight miles to go, but reality was closer to 14.

Nearing the finish, it took a lot of determination to stop at every stop sign that other riders were blithely rolling through. I glanced in my mirror to check for traffic behind me as I started moving at one of these, just in time to see a police car turn on its lights. Had I stopped long enough? Were other riders getting busted? The car wasn't moving. Then it dawned on me: We were getting a free pass! The officer was blocking the cross street and waving riders through. When she got ahead of me and blocked another intersection, confused (and somewhat panicked) cyclists ground to a halt. "It's okay," I told them. "She's blocking traffic for us!" Smiles and abundant thanks from a pack of weary princesses.