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September 13, 2006
my little triumphs
A couple of days ago, I got together for beers with the Texiles. Sweetie had loaned his bicycle to them while another Texan was in town. The Texiles had gone for a bike ride to Mount Tabor (which, is really a dormant volcano and very very small by mountain standards, if you could even call it a mountain at all).
One of them had ridden Sweetie's bike.
Sweetie: Isn't the townie great to ride?
Texile: Oh yeah, definitely. Though hills, any sort of hills, are a bitch.
Sweetie: Yeah. That's a drawback.
...
Anyways, I was thinking about this conversation when I was riding my townie home yesterday. Though I should begin this with: I had great triumphs, hurrah!
I had a hair appointment in the evening, and a tight window of time to get ready for it. So as I'm coming out of the building garage, I'm looking at the bike computer and thinking, can I really make it home in 30 minutes?
I hit the road. The waterfront is crowded with people strolling, running, other bicycles, and homeless people. I am practically ringing my bell non-stop. At several points, I have to come to a stop because people are oblivious and there is nowhere for me to go.
The sprinklers are running in the park, so even though it's in the 80s, people are all crowding into the dry half of the concrete. I slow way down, and then swing into the sprinkler zone, and have to swerve to miss more humans, and as I lean into the curve to head back to the extreme right of the pathway, I slip. First time on the bike. I corrected right away, but it was one of those gulp moments.
....
There are 4 hills on the way home. Some of them are steep, some of them less so, but they're still all hills, and they're still a test for me. They include
- The ramp from the Esplanade to the bluff above.
- From the ramp to the stoplight
- The Holladay-Weidler hill
- The Knott-Graham hill (aka, Matt Dishman's revenge)
I'm neither feeling strong nor cocky, so imagine my shock when I rode right up the Esplanade ramp. I mean, I am a long ways away from having to stop on the ramp, but usually it's a big struggle. Last night, for whatever reason, it wasn't.
Getting to the stoplight was still a struggle. As was the Holladay hill.
By the time I get to Dishman's revenge, I stop at the stop sign and try to recollect myself. Just this last hill. There's even a chance I might make it home under 30 minutes.
As i'm ready to get started, a guy blows past me, grunting, "damn hills, damn hills". I figure he's saying this as encouragement as he looks young and thin and fit and no one to be complaining about Dishman's revenge. But he struggles, rising from the saddle, hammering the peddles, leaning the bike right and left.
I follow, and to my suprise, without trying, I'm in his draft, almost effortlessly being pulled up the hill by his momentum. And the rest of the way home, he's blowing through stop signs while I'm stopping for them. And I'm keeping up. Dude, I'm keeping up!
I did get home in 27 minutes. On my townie 3speed. Admittedly, I was out of breath for quite awhile afterwards, but totally manic too.
