Hitting the Road

In January I bought myself a new roadbike. Old Blue served me well, but he was starting to show signs of age. I thought about overhauling, upgrading and rebuilding a bit, but that would have cost half as much as a whole new, pretty, shiny bike. This was a good enough excuse for me to start shopping.

Me and Old Blue. He now lives on the trainer most of the time.

I saved a paycheck or two and then headed to a local bike store that I dislike a lot of the time – unless you walk in there and say that you want to drop a plop of cash on a bike they look at you like you smell like tripe.

But, the store has a rep for knowing its stuff and it happened to be the only place within running distance of home that carried the bike I wanted (makes it easy to drop it off for tune-ups and then just run home).

At first the bike store dude tried to sell me a $7,200 bike. Granted, I didn’t give him a price range, just what I wanted to do with the bike (uh, ride it). But seriously, I have owned cars that cost less than that.

I wanted to see if he’d match me with the bike I’d sort of already settled on, the Cervelo S2. Sure enough, he did. “But,” he said, “I don’t think we have your frame size. Let me check.”

I wanted the bike NOW. I didn’t want to order it, wait for it to come in and then be built. I was starting to stomp around and get all Veruca Salt-ish.

And then, a miracle.

The bike dude returned and said something magical: “Well, we do have one in your size. But it is a 2009 so since it is old we will give you 30 percent off, because, you know, it’s, like, old.”

This event took place on January 8, 2010. Would I like to save, oh, more than a paycheck on a bike because it was a mere eight days past its prime?

Yes, please!

Got fitted, got the bike home and then didn’t ride it at all. Marathon training was in full swing, we got seven feet of snow and free weekends were spent skiing. I didn’t ride it until the end of April.

Once I got on, though, what a sweet, sweet ride. In 5 weeks I managed to sort of adequately train for a duathlon. Instead of being passed on the bike, I passed people! Lots of them! Mostly boys! Granted, it was a small race with lots of Huffys. After that, the bike stayed stuck to me. My new BFF.

In June I did a century ride that actually had hills. I bonded with the bike over those miles – proud of it for keeping me in the ride. The last 40 miles I did alone in a thunderstorm. The road became covered in worms and by the end I and the bike were splattered with road, mud and worm guts.

I did another du in July – a race that I do just about every year, and PRed on the course thanks to my bike. Minutes came off of my ride time on a 16-mile course. But, then, back in the basement it went. Time to train for another marathon. Sixteen weeks of running only.

Now, I am training for nothing. At least not yet. And the bikes are outside again, right where they belong. I’ve been mostly on the mountain bike but threw the roadbike on the rack Friday morning (well, Bill threw it on … I can’t reach) for a weekend at my parents’ house. They live in an area fantastic for road rides – rolling hills, decently paved, little traffic.

This morning I set out for my first road ride since JULY. July. Embarrassing.

It was freezing. I put on every article of bike clothing I had with me and loaded a water bottle with hot Gatorade (is that gross?) and headed out the door. And then promptly headed back in. My right pedal wouldn’t work and it took me 20 minutes to figure out how to fix it. 

My misbehaving right pedal. How exciting.


 Finally hit the road for a 30-mile winding route and, surprisingly, didn't get lost.I was having so much fun. I forgot how much  great it is to climb, zoom down hills, push the flats.  I ended up riding along the Severn River for a bit and then saw a sign seeking an anvil, of course.  Eventually wove my way back to the parents' house. Clothes are alraedy laid out and Gatorade is waiting to be heated for tomorrow's ride.



In case you need to get rid of your anvil call
301-503-9985.

Today's ride apparently made me lose my head.

Reading Is Hazardous

After a brief hiatus from playing outside I am a much happier person after my trail run this morning. The rain went away and I voluntarily got out of bed at 7 because I needed some sunshine to burn the grumpy off of me.

I did a slow 4.5 miles, avoided chunks of falling bridges raining from the sky and was glad to be outside.

I have a mile on roads to get to and from the park where I do most of my running. Certainly not far enough to drive to the park. This morning I was about a quarter of a mile from home. The light was red as I approached an intersection so I danced around on the sidewalk trying to stay warm waiting for the light to turn. Green came, I looked both ways like my mommy said I should always do, ran off the curb and started to cross the street.

Then,

BOOKMOBILE! ON MY PERSON!

Like, a giant vehicle with books in it, clearly labeled with the Philadelphia library logo.

It blew by me, so close that my arms hit the driver’s side door as I slammed to a stop and tried to protect my brain with my hands.

Apparently bookmobiles are allowed to blow through red lights and turn left on red. The driver almost ran me over as cars from the opposite direction slammed to a stop to avoid a hot mess.

I. Lost. My. Shit.

Have you ever seen a bookmobile get told to go eff itself? Repeatedly? Followed by the bookmobile being told to go home and do dirty things with its mother? Repeatedly? If you were at the intersection of Walnut and Greene at 8:06 this morning you did.

A few seconds later I stopped being The Incredible Hulk and continued home.

When I got home, though, I was still feeling a little bit stabby. I seriously considered calling the library to complain. I am not making this up. I wish I was.

“Hi. Is this the library? You should know you have a (fill in your favorite obscenities here) driving your bookmobile. Goodbye."                                           

Instead, I have decided to boycott reading. That will show the bookmobile.

Seriously, is the mile between my front door and Wissahickon Park trying to kill me? Do I actually need to wear a helmet at all times?