Saturday was wet and warm; Sunday promised to be windy and cold. My alarm woke me up (again... what ever happened to sleeping in?) and I managed to get to Delmar in time for the ride. Soon enough, eleven of us were rolling along, inside the deceptively quiet tunnel of tailwind. To Art's credit, we finished in a tailwind as well. In between was another story.
Michelle said I ride like a mountain biker. The "real" mountain bikers in the group told me that's a compliment. I'll go with that. Seems like the universe is telling me to get out on the dirt more.
We were on parts of the CBRC race course, plus some other cool roads. I'm in this area fairly regularly, but some of these roads were new to me. We turned off of 143 and went through the tiny town of Alcove, with its general store/post office crowding the narrow road. We rose above the reservoir, looking positively oceanic with its rows of whitecaps.
We rose up some cracked tarmac. I was a bit behind the group, and got treated to a Graham Watson-worthy sight of riders climbing the hill while late fall leaves swirled around them.
I figured out that we were doing town-line sprints, after like the third one. I jumped first, into the wind, uphill, feeling sheepish about it, since I thought no one else was going. Sure enough, Doug came around and got me by a bike length or so. Note to self: once you decide to go, go. Another note to self: you probably couldn't have given it much more, since your heart rate was 172.
Mixed in some dirt roads, too. I felt pretty confident. Heck, after my so-so cyclocrossing, "just riding" felt pretty good.
Brownies in the parking lot, courtesy of Kim. I'll burn off those calories... but not in that century next week. I'll have to wait until 2009 for a triple-digit day.
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