Loop de Loop

We returned to the neighborhood we visited last week, this time tracing a pair of loops instead of a pair of dead-ends. I looked forward to a peaceful climb through the redwoods on a hot early fall day.

I didn't expect to share the road with a steady parade of cars heading up Black. But then, if I wanted to avoid the single-lane controls on Highway 9 and the beach traffic on Highway 17, I might drive up Black to Skyline, too.

A driver coming down the hill in a white pick-up truck reinforced the stereotype by blaring his horn. Because he doesn't like cyclists? It made no sense, we were going up the hill in the opposite lane. Similarly, he leaned on the horn again when he returned to pass us as we were still climbing. One cyclist in our group put a positive spin on it: If they're honking at you, at least you know they see you.

Having completed our first loop, we circled the Lexington Reservoir. The water level was alarmingly low, and it will get lower still. [Keep watering those lawns, people.]

At some point in the Eastern Sierras, my bicycle started putting out a loud creak with every rotation of the crank. “Is that normal?” my fellow cyclists would ask. Post-ride, I sought out a recommended mechanic at a bike shop in town. He no longer worked there, and the shop didn't have the right-sized part (bottom bracket) in stock. [Why is this so hard?] I had better luck at a second recommended shop in a nearby town: Not only did they have the part, they fixed it on the spot and applied our club's discount without my asking for it—they saw the affiliation on my jersey.

Taking stock of the day: 20 miles with a mere 2,520 feet of climbing, one quite happy cyclist, and one quiet happy bicycle.