Calaveras

We do need more rain, although from this angle you can't appreciate the low water level of the Calaveras reservoir. Another perfect day for cycling, though. Rainy work days are always welcome. No bald eagle sightings this year; speculation is that they sought better hunting grounds.

It's hard not to run on about the things you love. Cycling, for example. I have inspired a few people to get back on their bikes, while driving others to distraction. One conversation from my holiday visit back east springs to mind.

How do you stay so thin?
I bike. A lot. More than 3300 miles and 178,000 feet of climbing [in 2008]. Pass me that plate of cookies? Thanks.

For the most part, my family members have never been physically active, and I'm not sure they quite believe me.

What happens if you get a flat tire?
I fix it.

It's a lot easier to fix a flat in warm comfort at home, so don't ask why I had procrastinated about a slow leak in my rear tire for months. But when I found a small piece of glass embedded yesterday, I read that as a sign. I knew it wasn't the glass, which was a new acquisition (and thank you, Continental Grand Prix 4000S, for resisting that puncture). Much to my surprise, I found a wire fragment piercing the tube (and, more or less, plugging its hole). I also learned that my neurotic cat finds small children and bicycle wheels equally terrifying, as she fled to her safe haven under the comforter on my bed.

Metcalf

Shortly after I moved to the Bay Area from the East Coast, the following item appeared in the local police blotter:

A woman called to report that she'd just seen a coyote kill a raccoon, and she was concerned about the safety of small pets in the area.

Life is different out here. As we descended the back side of Metcalf Road today, a scrawny coyote scurried across our path and eyed us from the opposite slope. I could still hear the little white dog yapping at us from the property we'd just passed; I'd been relieved to see that this dog could not chase us. Now I realized that we'd probably spooked a hungry coyote and I wondered how things would turn out for that little white dog, chained up in the front yard.

I'm not sure how a relentless gradient in excess of 10% can look flat, but it does in this photo. Can you spot the cyclist making a slow ascent? We've had a relatively dry winter so far - just a touch of green in the landscape. We were blessed with a clear, unusually warm winter day (temperatures in the 60s). I settled into a comfortable pace that was merely two minutes slower than my Low-Key assault on this hill two months ago. Go figure.

I found it surprising when the inaugural San Jose LIVESTRONG Challenge included Metcalf on their 100k route last summer. Dropped chains on the first overpass did not bode well for many of those riders, and more than a few walked up Metcalf Road that day.

Firsts on First

They said the fog would lift at 10. It lifted, grudgingly, at 4.

It was less cold and wet than yesterday, but the mist brought a certain surreality to the San Bruno Mountain Hill Climb. I would hear the finish line before I could see it.

The pack took off at a blistering pace. Yikes! I was off the back in no time, and with adrenaline spiking my heart rate, spinning seemed like A Mighty Good Plan. I caught and dropped another woman from the Cat 4 field before the veil of fog shrouded the rest. Her front wheel came into view briefly near the bottom of the upper climb, but I held her off - to finish: Not Last!

It's important to have goals. Being a late bloomer, I focus on the achievable. Although, this being an official bicycle race, being Not Last was conceivably a stretch goal. I was delighted to be cheered by spectators along the way, enthusiastic children with cowbells, and the encouraging shouts of descending racers as I approached the summit. And with so many familiar faces from the Low-Key Hillclimbs, overall I felt more relaxed and less intimidated.

My first official bicycle race. My best time up San Bruno Mountain. A blog begins.