Girls Rule

Pop.

Riding along, it's not uncommon for a high-pressure bike tire to catch the edge of a pebble or whatnot and launch it off to one side. Or to roll over something that goes “pop!”

I did wonder at a lighter spot on my front tire, trying to puzzle out what I might have ridden through. A patch of sand?

Nope. A stout roofing nail, driven smack into the center of my front tire. If I wanted to do that deliberately, I have no idea how I would make it happen.

We weren't even 1.5 miles into the ride. The route started with a climb, so most of the group was ahead of me. Three of the women in our group stopped. “Go on without me, it will take me a long time to fix this, I'll probably just turn back,” I said.

Nonsense! Let's get this started, where are your tire levers? With four of us sharing the work, we were rolling again in record time. [They insisted I save the nail for show-and-tell, later.]

Down the road apiece, I paused at a random spot when I realized that one of our riders had dropped out of sight. We reconnected, and within moments a pickup truck that had been trailing us stopped just ahead. We were a bit nervous when the driver got out and started walking toward us. “We have to stop meeting like this,” he joked, and then sensed our uneasiness. GPS unit in hand, he was looking for a geocache located somewhere within a few yards of where I'd chosen to stop. I think he'd assumed we were at that spot for the same reason. (No, unless I've somehow developed a sixth sense for finding hidden treasures ...)

We would eventually catch up to a couple of stragglers, but we didn't see the rest of the group until our lunch stop around mile 33. We passed on the café they'd overwhelmed, heading instead for a little local Mexican food. Climbing out of San Miguel entailed going up a steep hill—it was only one block long, but a sign posted along the edge announced it was a 15% grade. (Made it. Just. Whew.)

For us, lunch was at the top (yay!). The rest of the group would climb that on full stomachs.

Our next challenge was to merge onto Highway 101 South and ride the shoulder for about a mile before exiting onto our next lovely back road. Being a bit heavy laden with lunch, we were feeling sluggish. Once on the highway, I quickly found the motivation I needed to move—fast! There were multiple lanes and not much traffic, but the speed was intimidating. As we circled off to continue our route, the bridge we'd crossed loomed high overhead; we paused to gawk at the tractor trailers zooming by. We'd biked that! (Yikes.)

The reward for that stressful mile was a peaceful trip through ranch lands. I thought I'd seen long-horned cattle before today, but ... maybe not.

We lost our fast lunch advantage over the rest of the group when another one of us flatted. Our well-practiced crew sprang into action, this time changing out the tube on a rear tire. When they caught us, the rest of the group stopped to see that we had matters well in hand ... and then continued on their merry way.

For the day, 47 miles with a mere 1,720 feet of climbing. Girls rule.

Just Peachy

A spring getaway? Why not venture out and see more of my home state?

My curiosity was piqued when some club members proposed a set of rides in the Paso Robles area.

The plan was to drive down early enough to start our first excursion around 11:30 a.m. I thought a poor night's sleep spelled doom for my first ride, but I made it. With time to spare.

When you walk into a hotel lobby and pass two bike boxes waiting for FedEx to pick up, you know you're in friendly territory.

Did the gloomy gray cloud-filled sky also spell doom? It was chilly, but dry ... until nearly the end of the ride. Was that, or was that not, a raindrop?
Perhaps. Perhaps not. Blue skies opened up only after we all arrived back at the hotel.

Somehow I rode off the front today, instead of the back. This group was riding at a slower-than-advertised pace. (Which is fine.) The strongest rider got a late start, appeared out of nowhere to catch me, and then sociably kept me company.

This is Central Coast wine country; lots of vines staked on the hillsides, fewer wildflowers than I'd hoped. We cruised through the oak woodland, where I noticed two distinct types (and probably failed to notice more, this being the “Pass of the Oaks”). And the understory of poison oak doesn't count.

When the tracks of more bicycle than vehicle tires streak the pavement, you know you're in friendly territory. But when you pass “Hanging Tree Road” you can't help but wonder at the story behind that name.

Peachy Canyon was the highlight of today's 33 miles and 2,330 feet of climbing.

With modestly sore muscles, I'm hoping for better night's sleep.