Though sometimes I try to be.
How is that after every single bike ride my right leg turns black? Every time and only my right. These “battle marks” make me feel like I’m a hard core cyclist but I know deep down I’m not. Take today for example. Perfectly gorgeous day in Northern California. It’s 73 degrees. The sun is out. I’m biking through Alexander Valley, enjoying the flowers and the hills and the vineyards just starting to wake up after a cold rainy winter.
But then, on my left comes a pack of cyclists. I’ve never ridden in a pack before. I don’t know what to do. I slow down and smile in my hand-me-down bike clothes. Secretly I’m hoping they don’t a) hit me because clearly I’m going 20 mph slower than they are b) run me off the side of the mountain or c) laugh at me with my blond pigtails and pockets stuffed with essentials such as lip balm, shot blox and iphone.
But they just wave friendly hellos and tell me “I’m okay and have lots of room”. Did I look like I wasn’t okay? Were my white knuckles so blazingly apparent or did they see the line of my underwear through my spandex shorts? Yes, I wear underwear underneath my bike shorts. I am a lady after all!
That was pack one.
I came across pack two while I was stopped near a farm, one foot clipped in and the other balancing on the road. I was enjoying the scenery and eating two energy blocks at my leisure.
ARE YOU OKAY? ARE YOU OKAY? Their shouts echo and almost cause me to lose my balance and topple over.
Suddenly about fifteen cyclists surround me. I shrink back and fake a big laugh. Oh yeah, just enjoying the scenery!
They leave me in the dust.
No big deal.
And so it goes. But I did ride 27 miles!
Lunch was a sunshine burger on a bagel thin with laughing cow cheese and a grapefruit: