All Terrain

I love unseasonably warm days. They mean that I get to go and play outside, even though it's winter in this inhospitable climate. The forecast for today called for near-record highs in the low 60's, which was pretty ironic since there is still plenty of snow on the ground from last week's storms. After a poor night's sleep I saddled up and rode to the meeting point: the zoo parking lot. I know, weird, right?

Anyway, the roads were damp and grimy, but it was great to have my bike back out on a real road again, actually moving forward when I pedaled. So what if I was getting a giant stripe of grit and grime up my back? I was out on the road again! It wasn't even cold. My new 3/4 length cycling tights and a light jacket were warmth enough. Later I even whipped out my sunglasses, although admittedly it was to keep the mud from getting in my eyes. The temperature was nice, but there were tiny microclimates everywhere. One minute it was warm and humid, and the next it was cold and clammy depending on how much snow was around.

There were 5 of us, 3 men and two women. We weren't out to ride as hard as we could (a guy that we'll call 'Jorge' was on his commuter bike, and 'Pedro' was on a single speed), we were just here to ride so that we could be out.
"What are those growths on your handlebars?" 'Pedro' asked, pointing at my aero bars.
"They're not mine, I swear!" I said.
"Tri geek! Tri geek!" 'Jorge' screamed, pointing at me.
"No, no! Not me! I'm just holding them for a friend! Really!" I yelled for the world to hear.
"Are you a triathlete?" asked the other woman, who we'll call 'Alejandra'. I knew who 'Alejandra' was by word of mouth before I met her for the first time yesterday. She was the only other woman who could keep up with the Big Boys on Saturday morning shop rides. I wanted very badly to hate her, but she was so sweet and cute that I just couldn't do it. Instead, I just wanted very much for her to think I was cool.
"I do triathlons," I said carefully. I hate calling myself a triathlete, especially around roadies where triathlete means "stuck-up douchebag who doesn't know how to ride his/her bike." "But I'm starting to move away from it because I'm such a terrible runner," I went on. "I just have the bars on now because they're so much more comfortable on the trainer."
"Oh, okay," she said. I'd passed the test!

After about 20 minutes the rout passed my house. "Hi Claire's house!" everyone yelled. My house is clearly a family house. Yesterday 'Alejandra' had asked me if I was on the market for a boyfriend since her 26-year-old son was finally about to graduate college and she didn't want him to move back home. I had just told her I wasn't available. "So, Claire, are you married, or do you have a boyfriend?" 'Alejandra' wanted to know after seeing my parents' large house and the 3 cars in the driveway.
"No," I said. It was an either or question.
"How old are you?"
"25..."
"Twenty-five! My son's 26!" she began. "You should..."
And this is where it was my turn to say something. Could the situation get any more awkward? "Got any daughters?" I asked.
A loooooooong moment passed.
One by one understanding dawned on all their faces. "Aaaaaah!" said 'Jorge'.
"Aaaaahhh!" said 'Alejandra'.
A couple of beats passed. "Aaaaaaaaahhhhh!" said 'Pedro'.
"What?" said 'Pepe'.
It was probably the least uncomfortable outing I've ever suffered.

We were riding a rout with undulating hills, which means that I have to work my butt off to stay near the front so that I don't fall too far back when everyone passes me on the hills, especially in this group where everyone kept up with the big boys on the Saturday shop rides. But the damnedest thing was happening, I was starting at the back of the pack and leaving everyone behind on the hills. Again, it's December and no one was riding hard, but still. I was kicking butt! Climbing next to 'Jorge' up a longer hill his breath started hissing and whistling.
"'Jorge', are you working hard?" I asked. I was busting his balls, but also, I wasn't really sure. Maybe he was just breathing hard as a joke. I wasn't working hard at all and I was having no trouble talking.
When we got to the top of the hill, 'Jorge' asked, "How did you get so fast, Claire?"
I knew we were all out of shape, and that "fast" had no practical meaning, but it was nice to hear. I wasn't as fast as I usually am, but everyone else was even slower. Maybe I wasn't losing as much fitness as I thought. "I've been lifting weights," I suggested.
"We'll have to weigh you down!" he said.
"Or it could be all the running that we tri-geeks do in the winter, Jorge." I winked.

After about an hour, 'Jorge' lead us into a jogging park where I had never been before. The roads were closed to traffic, and there were a lot of walkers and dog walkers about, and they all said the same thing to us: "Ice ahead!" I was beginning to get the hang of this biking over ice and snow thing; all you had to do was slow down a bit, hold on tight to your handlebars, and come at it in a straight line, and you would be to the other side in no time. But then we hit the ice everyone was talking about: a quarter mile of sloppy, slippery, watery ice covering the trail. We slipped and slid down the slope on our bikes. Then my back wheel slipped out from under me. "SHIT!!!" I screamed as I clipped out at the last second. "Excuse me," I said sheepishly as my bike went down under me. It's not ladylike to cuss.
"Nice save," said 'Pedro'. He was talking about me not breaking my hip.
After that, one by one we started walking our bikes. It was slow going: ice is hard enough to walk on when you're not wearing cycling shoes, and my bike kept slipping as I pushed it. I was behind because I was the first to fall off, and so I tried to mount a couple of times to catch up, but every time I pushed down on the pedals the back wheel spun and the bike stayed in place. When we finally reached the end of the ice, I tried to clip in. It was impossible, I must have gotten shit in my cleats. I tried stepping down with all my might on the pedals, but there was no way. I stopped and checked my cleats, and they were jammed full of ice. I stood there poking at it with a stick until the stick broke.
"Stomp," said 'Jorge'. So I stomped, then I tap danced. Finally we dug the ice out of my cleats with 'Pepe"s knife (who carries a knife on a bike ride?!) and we were able to ride back out of the park.

"Have you ever been mountain biking, Claire?" asked 'Pepe' when we were back on the road. I said I hadn't. "You should really give it a try. It'll help you with your bike handling skills on different surfaces."
"Are you suggesting, 'Pepe', that my bike handling skills on that ice were lacking?" I joked. "Does this have something to do with my aero bars?"
"I'm just saying that you should get into it now when you're young and broken bones heal quickly." Now why would I want to get into something just for the broken bones?

After our little ice capades I was getting tired of our adventure. I'd had enough of daring and excitement. I had dirt in my teeth, my feet were frozen, and I was beginning to wonder about the brand new digital camera that was sitting in my back pocket now that the back of my jersey was soaked. We rode for another 45 minutes through places that looked familiar from when I was a kid, but I hadn't seen in 15 years. I had absolutely no idea when we would be home, and so every minute dragged on. Finally we reached a place I recognized: I'd been here before, recently! Sure, I'd been lost at the time, but I'd been running, so we couldn't be far from home. In fact, I'd been lost on this road twice. Two weeks in a row I'd set out to do a new rout that I'd found on mapmyrun.com, with directions in my pocket. Each time on this very road (some 10 miles into my run), the directions had fallen out of my pocket somewhere along this road and I'd had to find my way home along hilly, windy streets I'd never seen before without the aid of directions. This road was bad luck. AND it went over a huge hill.

As we started to climb the hill, something felt funny in my bike, like maybe there was something stuck to my wheel. I looked down, but it's so hard to tell if you've got a flat while you're sitting on your bike. I don't flat very often, so I'm a little slow to catch on when I do have one. Everyone was half way up the hill before I screamed "FLAAAAAAAT!!" at the top of my lungs and they sent word up the line. I had known that I would get a flat today. The melting snow had washed all kinds of shit into the road, I just couldn't believe it was happening now, just a few miles from home. 'Jorge' and 'Pepe' helped me change the tube quickly. For the first time today I was getting a good look at my bike, and it was FILTHY. There was dirt, filth, and grime spattered on every surface and crevice of the whole bike. Great, now my bike would be ruined along with my brand new digital camera. 'Alejandra"s face was covered in grime, and I suspected mine was too. I had hardly hit my water bottle all morning and I was hungry and thirsty. 'Pepe' found the offending piece of glass in my tire and handed it to me. "I'm afraid to look for more because my hands and the bike are filthy. I'm afraid I'm going to put more in than I'm going to take out." We all held our breath as the cartridge filled up the tire. "I'm waiting for the tssssssss," 'Pepe' said.
"I'm waiting for the BOOM!" said 'Jorge'. "There's nothing more insulting than that!" Phew, I thought it was just me who managed to load my tubes wrong and wind up pinching them when I pumped them up.

We were back on the road in no time, but now I was nervous. Flats always take away my mojo, and this street was bad luck. I still climbed to the top faster than everyone but 'Pepe', but as we were riding down the back side I hit a bump and my pump came out of my saddle bag. I tried to turn around and get it, but I couldn't get my bike moving back uphill in the big gear I'd been riding downhill. Finally 'Pepe' was able to find it, but now I felt like a real dick holding everybody up. I hate it when I can't solve my own problems and other people have to help me. Stupid bad luck street.

Right: That's not a 5 o'clock shadow, that's all the road grime on my face. Please ignore the helmet hair.

I got home without event, though. My camera was fine, and I was able to use it to take pictures of how filthy I'd gotten.

In the end I rode a whopping 35.81 miles in 2 hours and 21 minutes, for a SCREAMING average of 15.2 miles per hour. To be fair, that included the quarter mile traversing of the glacier in Breakheart Park. But still, I can't wait to get back on the roads again for real! How long till spring?

Left: my filthy legs. I am not wearing anything around my ankles, that's just the sock line. My feet are red and blotchy because they're frozen.