LifeCycle Training Ride I
Lesson number one: When learning to ride a bike with clip pedals, keep one foot un-clipped when riding through traffic, especially in tourist-infested areas. Like most lessons, I learned this the hard way when a car suddenly stopped in front of me at Fisherman’s Wharf. My feet did not come off the pedals in time and I fell over in a flailing heap. Trapped between SUV and the curb I was stranded, with my feet still clipped to my bike. I'm sure I resembled a tied calf at the rodeo. Luckily, I got one foot out and a fellow cyclist helped me up. Now when I'm in heavy traffic, I ride with one foot out.
After getting situated and sweeping the broken pieces of my ego into a trash can (and changing a tube that mysteriously went flat), I broke into a pace and headed for the bridge. As usual, there was a 10-knot headwind through Chrissy Field. This really makes one appreciate the need for a good riding position. Just lowering your head and torso a few inches drastically cuts your drag. You can really feel it in your legs; it’s just like reaching the top of a hill; the load on your muscles drops and you breathe easier. I dropped my hands into the lower bars and ate up some road.
I recently bought the road bike I'm riding. It's like driving a Porsche compared to my mountain bike. But now, I'm glad I rode my mountain bike up and down the hills of SF. It was bulky and slow, but it made me work for those hills. At the end of Chrissy field, I made a left onto Long Ave for the climb to the Bridge. This hill used to get me breathing fairly hard and my legs would start burning about halfway up. Now I hardly notice it. I turn right and there is the Golden Gate rising between the trees in front of me.
The first trip across the bridge is always fun, mostly because you are trying to miss the oncoming bike traffic. Some of those guys don’t slow down for anything. Either they just feel a lot more confident about their skill, or they are just crazy, or both. However, I know that if I’m going 30 M.P.H., and they are going 30 M.P.H., that means if we hit each other the combined force will equal 60 m.p.h. The railing is only about four feet tall, and it is a long way down to the water. These thoughts make me slow down and enjoy the view. The hills of Marin grow higher. The bridge is funny that way. One minute you are in the middle of a city, and the next you are pedaling through hills and pastures. I suppose its name fits. It really is a gate to another place.
After the bridge, I turn on the road to Sausalito. It's a long downhill stretch, about 1.5 miles. I wait and let the cars go first. Some cars of them are not exactly polite and tend to tailgate. This is bad because if you fall they will not be able to stop in time. It would suck to get road rash and then get run over too. Thus, "I insist, after you my four-wheeled friend."
So I pedal and dodge (tourists) and pedal and dodge until I make it to the bike path. Here you can really fly all the way to Tiburon. So once again, I lower my head and the pavement blurs beneath me. About 25 minutes later, I arrive in Tiburon. I was considering taking the ferry back to the city, but I was having so much fun I had to keep going to Larkspur. Here I made a great discovery.
The road to Larkspur is called Paradise Drive. It is a rather idyllic mountain road covered with trees. Some spots look out onto the bay. The problem is that it is quite narrow, so cars must squeeze by. But now, part of the road was washed away by the endless rainfall of the past months. It is closed to cars, which makes it a cyclist's Paradise. Considering the rain also prevented me from riding, I look at this as either karmic repayment from the universe, God's way of saying "I'm sorry", or just damn good luck --depending on which world view I hold on any particular day. So I pedaled of into paradise with my gears and tires singing…
I arrived in Larkspur joyfully tired. I was looking forward to a beer on the Ferry back to San Francisco. However, I didn't realize that the ferry doesn't run late on the weekends. Today was Sunday. All the other trips I have made to Larkspur were on weekdays, so I was greeted at the ferry terminal by a closed ticket booth. Hmm, what to do? I guess my only way back to the city was pedaling. I was 6PM so I had just enough sunlight left to make it. I bought some Gatorade, clipped in and turned around.
One hour and fifteen minutes later, I was back on the bike bath to Sausalito, with a tailwind in top gear. Pedaling about 65 beats per minute, James Brown was singing in my head I Can't Stand It, I Can't Stand Myself. I have never gone that far before, 50+ miles, so I was feeling pretty good. I turned onto the main drag in town and resumed the rhythm. Downhill on the way to the waterfront I ran a red light. An old man in a minivan yelled at me. He screamed "red light" and shook is fist at me. I laughed and kept going; I was in the groove and nobody was coming. Good god, I'm a funky soul man.
Hey! Up the Sausalito hill I reflected again how much riding that mountain bike helped me. My legs cut that hill like a hot knife through butter and that was after 50 miles. I surprised myself. I don't know if it's because I'm in better shape than I thought or because I riding with a greater purpose in mind, but something happened. Whatever it was, it cut that hill, made me smile, and I scream to myself, "Fuck yeah!!" into the wind as I crossed the Golden Gate again. In the sunset, the amber fog barely scraped the towers as it blew into the bay. The lights were warming in the city.
By the time I reached the end of the bridge night had fallen. I stopped at the shuttered snack bar by the bridge and called Christina. "I'll be home soon. I love you honey-pie." She said she missed me and was a little worried; she always worries when I ride. She worries that I'll get hit by a car or seriously injure myself. As I pedaled home, it made me think of everyone who dies because of AIDS, and how they are missed. It made me think of people who are HIV positive, and those who worry about losing them. I thought about all those who have died because we don’t have a vaccine or a cure.
My legs were very tired, but it was a very-good tired.
Lesson number one: When learning to ride a bike with clip pedals, keep one foot un-clipped when riding through traffic, especially in tourist-infested areas. Like most lessons, I learned this the hard way when a car suddenly stopped in front of me at Fisherman’s Wharf. My feet did not come off the pedals in time and I fell over in a flailing heap. Trapped between SUV and the curb I was stranded, with my feet still clipped to my bike. I'm sure I resembled a tied calf at the rodeo. Luckily, I got one foot out and a fellow cyclist helped me up. Now when I'm in heavy traffic, I ride with one foot out.
After getting situated and sweeping the broken pieces of my ego into a trash can (and changing a tube that mysteriously went flat), I broke into a pace and headed for the bridge. As usual, there was a 10-knot headwind through Chrissy Field. This really makes one appreciate the need for a good riding position. Just lowering your head and torso a few inches drastically cuts your drag. You can really feel it in your legs; it’s just like reaching the top of a hill; the load on your muscles drops and you breathe easier. I dropped my hands into the lower bars and ate up some road.
I recently bought the road bike I'm riding. It's like driving a Porsche compared to my mountain bike. But now, I'm glad I rode my mountain bike up and down the hills of SF. It was bulky and slow, but it made me work for those hills. At the end of Chrissy field, I made a left onto Long Ave for the climb to the Bridge. This hill used to get me breathing fairly hard and my legs would start burning about halfway up. Now I hardly notice it. I turn right and there is the Golden Gate rising between the trees in front of me.
The first trip across the bridge is always fun, mostly because you are trying to miss the oncoming bike traffic. Some of those guys don’t slow down for anything. Either they just feel a lot more confident about their skill, or they are just crazy, or both. However, I know that if I’m going 30 M.P.H., and they are going 30 M.P.H., that means if we hit each other the combined force will equal 60 m.p.h. The railing is only about four feet tall, and it is a long way down to the water. These thoughts make me slow down and enjoy the view. The hills of Marin grow higher. The bridge is funny that way. One minute you are in the middle of a city, and the next you are pedaling through hills and pastures. I suppose its name fits. It really is a gate to another place.
After the bridge, I turn on the road to Sausalito. It's a long downhill stretch, about 1.5 miles. I wait and let the cars go first. Some cars of them are not exactly polite and tend to tailgate. This is bad because if you fall they will not be able to stop in time. It would suck to get road rash and then get run over too. Thus, "I insist, after you my four-wheeled friend."
So I pedal and dodge (tourists) and pedal and dodge until I make it to the bike path. Here you can really fly all the way to Tiburon. So once again, I lower my head and the pavement blurs beneath me. About 25 minutes later, I arrive in Tiburon. I was considering taking the ferry back to the city, but I was having so much fun I had to keep going to Larkspur. Here I made a great discovery.
The road to Larkspur is called Paradise Drive. It is a rather idyllic mountain road covered with trees. Some spots look out onto the bay. The problem is that it is quite narrow, so cars must squeeze by. But now, part of the road was washed away by the endless rainfall of the past months. It is closed to cars, which makes it a cyclist's Paradise. Considering the rain also prevented me from riding, I look at this as either karmic repayment from the universe, God's way of saying "I'm sorry", or just damn good luck --depending on which world view I hold on any particular day. So I pedaled of into paradise with my gears and tires singing…
I arrived in Larkspur joyfully tired. I was looking forward to a beer on the Ferry back to San Francisco. However, I didn't realize that the ferry doesn't run late on the weekends. Today was Sunday. All the other trips I have made to Larkspur were on weekdays, so I was greeted at the ferry terminal by a closed ticket booth. Hmm, what to do? I guess my only way back to the city was pedaling. I was 6PM so I had just enough sunlight left to make it. I bought some Gatorade, clipped in and turned around.
One hour and fifteen minutes later, I was back on the bike bath to Sausalito, with a tailwind in top gear. Pedaling about 65 beats per minute, James Brown was singing in my head I Can't Stand It, I Can't Stand Myself. I have never gone that far before, 50+ miles, so I was feeling pretty good. I turned onto the main drag in town and resumed the rhythm. Downhill on the way to the waterfront I ran a red light. An old man in a minivan yelled at me. He screamed "red light" and shook is fist at me. I laughed and kept going; I was in the groove and nobody was coming. Good god, I'm a funky soul man.
Hey! Up the Sausalito hill I reflected again how much riding that mountain bike helped me. My legs cut that hill like a hot knife through butter and that was after 50 miles. I surprised myself. I don't know if it's because I'm in better shape than I thought or because I riding with a greater purpose in mind, but something happened. Whatever it was, it cut that hill, made me smile, and I scream to myself, "Fuck yeah!!" into the wind as I crossed the Golden Gate again. In the sunset, the amber fog barely scraped the towers as it blew into the bay. The lights were warming in the city.
By the time I reached the end of the bridge night had fallen. I stopped at the shuttered snack bar by the bridge and called Christina. "I'll be home soon. I love you honey-pie." She said she missed me and was a little worried; she always worries when I ride. She worries that I'll get hit by a car or seriously injure myself. As I pedaled home, it made me think of everyone who dies because of AIDS, and how they are missed. It made me think of people who are HIV positive, and those who worry about losing them. I thought about all those who have died because we don’t have a vaccine or a cure.
My legs were very tired, but it was a very-good tired.
posted by Darren at
6:31 PM
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