Residential Ramble

Despite being a holiday, the ride pickings today were slim. And given that the leader for the ride I chose was feeling under the weather, the ride was not as advertised. [Sigh.]

Nonetheless, there were diversions. Like the young woman who showed up on a mountain bike (a “guest” rider) who insisted on twisting the straps of her large (tote-bag-sized) purse through her handlebars. “How long will the ride be?” she asked. I gave her an estimate; another rider joked that we'd be home before dark. She turned back before we'd traveled half a mile (all for the best, I reckon).

I've passed this somewhat eccentric property many times, never noticing (till now) that two Aeromotors are on display. Not surprising, I suppose, given the array of distractions to see there [motorcycles, rusting farm equipment, an antique car].

Instead of heading for the (scenic) reservoirs, we meandered through residential neighborhoods. One of the benefits of riding with a long-time local leader is discovering new places. Just as I was wondering where we were and how we would safely cross the freeway, we popped out onto an interchange-free overpass at Lean Avenue that was entirely new to me.

A few of us had biked to the start; returning home, two of us were stopped at a traffic signal when a driver rolled down his window and leaned toward us. “Watch out for that Mustang, he's been all over the road,” he warned. I'd passed that distinctive black-and-gold car with caution as we'd approached the red light. It wasn't clear where he was headed, having stopped short of the intersection, straddling two lanes. Was he planning to turn right? Or go straight? [We waited for him to head down the road—straight—when the light turned green.]

Then there was the guy riding his bike, hands-free, while playing his guitar. That takes some real skill, but I was glad we were traveling in opposite directions.

With the extra miles riding to and from the start, a reasonable (but very flat) 32 miles—only 320 feet of climbing. Not much labor for the day.

Page Mill Pests

One of the downsides of being a slow climber is being pestered by bugs. Gnats. Little flies. Big flies. Sometimes the bugs eat you, and sometimes ...

There was an old lady who swallowed a fly
I don't know why she swallowed a fly ...

She swallowed a fly because the annoying creature flew into her mouth as she was crawling up another hill on her bicycle, gasping for air. [Didn't turn out so well for the fly, but I suppose the cyclist got a little extra protein.]

I haven't climbed Moody or Page Mill in years. I wondered if I could make it up Moody. [Yes.] Was it as grueling as I remembered? [Yes.]

As much as I wanted to descend the far side after reaching the end of Page Mill, to climb back up West Alpine, my ride buddy and I just couldn't bear the flies. With agricultural areas over there, we feared more of the same (or worse). My legs were done, anyway.

I suggested that we should descend straight down Page Mill, to make our ride a little longer (and to avoid plummeting down Moody, not one of my favorite descents). We ended up climbing 2,480 feet over 27 miles, which was enough. Maybe even more than enough.