Monday Monday

Monday morning: Do people forget how to drive after taking a weekend off? Like the guy on my left, who accelerated only to brake hard (in surrender) as he pulled even with me. By gosh by golly, a bicycle can descend a hill at the speed limit and the right place to change lanes is behind it. [Just like a car.]

The rest of my ride to work was less eventful. I like it that way.

A lucky green signal at a major intersection afforded me the chance to route through a local park. I paused to smile at two pairs of ducks and their broods. The pesky Canada geese were nowhere in sight, but they are still resident.

I dawdled on the way home. It was the headwind, I tell you. Another routing variation took me over a freeway on a neglected bike/pedestrian bridge, littered with fallen leaves, trash, and blotted-out graffiti. It would make sense to use this bridge regularly, but I prefer to avoid it. If it were my neighborhood, I would take a broom to it.

Completing four consecutive round-trip commutes (interrupted by a weekend), I was curious about my average speed (mph).

	Morning	Evening
Day 1	13.1	11.5
Day 2	13.9	12.8
Day 3	12.8	10.8
Day 4	13.0	10.5

I am pretty consistent in the morning; the air is still and, after the initial climbs, my route is principally downhill. Which means, of course, that the return route is ... uphill. Not to mention, into the wind.

Trading my steel bike, with its rack and pack, for my unladen carbon frame on Day 2 made quite a difference—especially in the uphill direction.

Weight matters. Even for slowpokes, like me.