Strawberry Fields Forever

Just when you think you have seen it all, some new stupid human trick packs a surprise.

Soquel Avenue is four lanes; much of it, a boulevard. A couple of miles from the end of today's ride, I was attentively approaching an intersection in the bike lane. The signal had just turned green, and the cars were starting to roll. This is a perfect set-up for the dreaded right-hook crash: without signaling, a driver suddenly turns right in front of you.

Two motorcycles were also approaching, and saw no reason to slow their pace. One veered left, splitting the left-most lane to pass the cars. The other veered right, splitting the bike lane with me. Nothing about that maneuver was legal. There was no time to panic; he was gone in a flash.

That moment aside, it was a day of uncommon beauty. Nothing marred the saturated blue of the sky—no fog, no cloud, not even a contrail.

I started out with some friends who planned to ride only part of the the 100km route, and later caught up with another friend at the final rest stop. Notable riders along the way:

• A guy on a large-wheeled unicycle, holding a cell phone to his left ear and chatting away. I guess if you are coordinated enough to ride a unicycle, you are coordinated enough to ride a unicycle, talk on a cell phone, and probably chew gum at the same time.
• A group of five women wearing jerseys that featured purple peaks and flowers across the front. Posing for a photo, they formed a mountain range.
• A rider stopped under the redwoods along Hazel Dell Road, re-inserting his seat post ... with no saddle attached. There is a story there, and it is not a happy one.

On the way to lunch, I flew past a few riders on a nice downhill. I do not understand why it is even possible for me to pass other riders who are tucked into their most aerodynamic posture on the bike, but ...
I pass them, nonetheless.

Climbing into the park for lunch, one rode up to me. "How fast were you going?" he asked. I checked my bike computer and gave him the answer. [44 mph.] His girlfriend rode up, saying "She's not the one who passed us." [No one passed me. Mystery woman was, therefore, faster than the speed of light.] "She was wearing gray shorts." [Have you ever seen gray shorts, apart from the Radio Shack kit?] Whatever. I have nothing to prove; I just happen to go downhill fast.

The end-of-ride meal was served about five miles before the actual end of the ride, and it is not to be missed—for that is where we gorge ourselves on the ride's eponymous strawberries (and chocolate ganache). The cruel joke was this: They eliminated the Tustin Grade, but Aptos High School is set high on a hill. Two steep climbs separated us from the food; many cyclists dismounted and walked. With any luck, I consumed fewer calories than the 2100 I burned today ... but, maybe not. A bit more climbing than the old route—overall, 3400 feet and 65 miles.

Plenty of time to get home, cleaned up, and then wow the neighbors with the best way to check out the solar eclipse (sans l'équipement spécial): Shadows.