I went out for a 35-mile ride today. The ride itself wasn't anything that exciting—two laps on a local loop with just a little dirt thrown in.
Looking to the east, the Sierras that were clearly visible Friday were obscured by haze and smoke.
The first lap was uneventful; I rode nonstop and with a purpose, but I didn't feel great. The legs were a little dead.
The roads were mostly free of annoying humans. It was still early, a bit cold, and I'm sure a lot of people were busy preparing for the Super Bowl.
On the second lap I saw more cyclists, and everyone up to that point was happy, friendly and waving to each other. On Deer Valley Road I encountered a couple road riders taking a break. One was on the shoulder, the other fat dipshit on a carbon wonderbike was parked right in the middle of the road. Deer Valley is pretty quiet on a Sunday morning but still, you should get your ass out of the road. I rode into the oncoming lane to get around the guy, who had his back to me, and nodded at the other rider who completely ignored me.
I may or may not have made a face, which in turn may or may not have started what came next.
A mile or so down the road I sat up to drink and they caught up to me. They stayed behind me for a while and I could hear one of the guys giving fitness advice to the other. As they passed me I was surprised to see that it was the Michelin Man dispensing wisdom to the small, trim rider. Whatever. I let them go just so I wouldn't have to listen to the guy.
When the big climb came I rode my normal tempo and quickly caught back up to them. Doughboy was frantically searching for lower gears while trying in vain to keep his jersey over the muffin top oozing out of his tights. As I passed he said, "Oh, show us how it's done, big guy."
Not being a "big guy," I really have no idea why he emphasized the phrase or what his point was. I was bigger than his buddy, but certainly a good bit smaller than him. Did he think my mountain biker bravado would end with me detonating a hundred yards later? Not sure what his problem was.
At any rate, I rode a strong tempo up the climb, admittedly a bit faster than I would have without the commentary from sausage boy. When I crested the top they were nowhere in sight. Hopefully the little guy is now looking for a new fitness coach.
This huge pine tree fell a few weeks ago and they have been clearing it ever since. Every time I ride by a little more is gone. Looks like fun.
While I was stopped taking the picture, a guy came out of the house behind me. He hopped in his car, backed down the driveway a little, drove through his front yard, over the lawn, and promptly crashed into his fence. He exited the car, looked at me like this was all quite normal, and went back in the house. Maybe he was jealous of his neighbor's fence that was demolished by the tree? Weird. Hopefully the water filter in my refrigerator sifts out whatever makes the people crazy up here.