Petaluma

By the time I finished yesterday's adventure, I figured that I was done for the week. My legs were cooked.

But how could I skip a ride that started at a creamery? A ride that promised little climbing?

Our ranks swelled with members of the local club, the Petaluma Wheelmen, and we headed out on Chileno Valley Road. I'd ridden this, in the opposite direction, on at least one organized ride in the distant past.

Little traffic, at last! Raptors above, egrets below.

Also as promised, the roads were in terrible condition.

In the spirit of this week's routes, I missed a turn—totally my fault, this time. Distracted by an Aermotor on my left, I failed to see the turn on my right as I considered whether it was photo-worthy. With wires overhead, I couldn't find an attractive angle for a shot.

When I first started pushing the pedals this morning, my legs protested. [What does she think she's doing? Enough, already! This is not happening.] I'd missed my evening recovery soak in the cool waters of the hotel's pool.

I channeled Jens Voigt: “Shut up, legs!” [They obeyed.]

Content to ride way off the back and admire the scenery, the occasional downhill would boost me to catch the rest of the group. Near the end of the ride, I saw some of them re-mount and push on ahead. Why had they stopped, I wondered?

I looked to my left, and right next to the fence was an emu. The bird, however, was having none of me. It ambled away and showed me its rump.

Today's ride was only 27 miles, with 1,525 feet of climbing; but after yesterday, I figured I'd earned some of the Petaluma Creamery's finest. Two scoops.