Evening Observation

too many energy bars during a bike ride are not conducive to domestic harmony.

Today's Commute

Much more pleasant with a clean drive train.

Making Up in Public

Not having ridden public transportation on a regular basis the past several years, coming back to Muni has opened my eyes to some changes.

The biggest difference is the number of women applying makeup during their morning commutes. I find it captivating. When she pulls out her full regalia and starts primping, I find I cannot look away. I realize I'm staring, and yet I can't stop.

I witnessed my first Muni Makeover a few weeks ago. Ms. Makeover was sitting quietly, doing the muni-stare-vacantly-at-no-one-thing. She sat while I stood and occasionally caught my haggard morning look in the window glass. Ms. Makeover had gotten on at least a stop before me. She was settled in. In my scan of the other passengers, she didn't stand out as an “unfinished project.” She looked like a normal, pretty woman enduring the vagaries of the timeliness of the subway line.

To my surprise, she pulled out a bag. And started darkening her eyebrows. Her face became a little more in focus. I hadn't noticed that her eyebrows were lacking. Ms. Makeover then added some base makeup. Suddenly her skin looked fresher. A little mascara and her eyes appeared. Finally some lip gloss. Her bag of tricks was very very subtle. So subtle that you wouldn't have thought she was wearing make up if you had met her when she got off the train.

What is so fascinating is this the intimacy we're exposed to in this very public setting. Ms. Makeover didn't mind leaving the house in (in her mind) an unfinished state. She didn't mind boarding the train. And she didn't mind sharing with a hundred strangers her process of adopting her public face. It was only important to her what she looked like when she arrived at her destination.

But when I looked at her initially, I thought she looked just fine.

I prefer tailwinds, thank you.

Headwind slog on the commute home. Worked real hard to go 7.4 mph.

On Being Called a Bitch

Yesterday I got called a stupid bitch while on my bicycle. Probably for riding my bicycle. It was my second near miss with a car in the space of 3 miles – both entering the intersection while I had the nerve to still be occupying that space. I used my biohorn to call attention to the situation. One backed off graciously (and looked a little surprised that I was there at all) and the other called me a stupid bitch.

Nice example for your kids, lady.

I considered writing a near-missed connection on craigslist to finish our thoughtful conversation.

Feeling a little Evelyn Couch-esque: I'm older and have more insurance.

I've been driving a vehicle since 1979 and riding bicycles, successfully with cars, since at least 1973. I treat both as non-impact sports and behave accordingly. Thus far, I'm winning the game.

A little math for your consideration: I estimate I put 60,000 miles on my first car, 70,000 on my second and another 70,000 on my last car, and about 2,000 on the current one. Plus odd miles on other vehicles. Let's say 210,000 miles, averaged at about 40 mph = 5,250 hours spent driving, or 218.75 24 hour days.

On the two bikes I currently own, I have almost 15,000 miles. Averaging, say, 11 mph is 1,363.6 hours of riding, or 56.8 24 hour days.

In other words, I am well qualified to assess a traffic situation and determine who is behaving properly and who is violating the vehicle code.

If you're 30 and calling me a stupid bitch for being in the intersection when it is my right of way, you've only been driving for 14 years – 6 of those you were in high school or college and probably not driving too much. Therefore, in the 8 years since you were graduated from college, you'd need to have driven 26,250 miles per year to have the depth and breadth of driving experience that I have.

In conclusion, I'm not stupid bitch for riding my bicycle. I'm a smart bitch.

Thanks for kicking my butt yesterday.

I remember after completing my second AIDS ride and choosing not to do another one (I'll just ride casually and keep in shape, I thought – hahahahahahaha), the subject of Pinehurst Road came up.

My reaction to that was, “I really don't see the need to do that again.”

I've ridden Pinehurst the past two Saturdays.

I have a feeling that I will be riding quite a few hills that I didn't see the need to do again. Kings Mountain Road, the Marshall Wall, etc.

The irony is that Pinehurst was probably the easiest climb we did yesterday. Shaded, a nice gradual grade (except that nasty bit at the top) and fairly little car traffic. I was gratified to have climbed it 7 whole seconds faster this week over last week. Cadel Evans, you're on notice.

I have a theory about hills and perception about the difficulty of them. A rider doesn't remember the last time she has done a hill. She remembers the first time. When she wasn't in as good condition. The beginning of the season or the beginning of her cycling 'career.' Doing a hill for the first time is always more challenging. A rider doesn't know where the top is, whether it's steep at the bottom or if it finishes with a nice wall. Where to give it all or whether to save some for later. Besides being out of shape, the mental energy spent in doing an unfamiliar road or route can be taxing.

Approaching a hill for a second pass puts all that in mind. In her mind, the hill is very long. And very difficult.

And at the top, she says, “Oh, that's not as bad as I remembered.”

But take a season (or several) off. How is that same hill remembered? As it felt the last time she did it. In her glory days. When she pinged up climbs like a springbok on the Serengeti. (Oh, honey, you were never that good). When did this stupid hill get so damn steep?

It's not like she got old or out of shape or anything in the interim years.

As with every sport, cycling has its own vocabulary. Climbs are broken into categories based on length and average grade. Many of the climbs in the Tour de France are (a) off the chart (b) category 1 and 2 climbs. Low number = higher difficulty. Many of the hills I ride are not even on the chart (on the lower end – they don't even rate). Yesterday's ride had two Category 3 and 6 Category 4 climbs.

Ironically named Happy Valley Road is a Category 3. Unhappy. Not Valley. Road. At mile 40. Followed quickly by a Cat 4 starting from a dead stop.

But they say... That which doesn't kill you only drives you to drink. So after the ride we had a nice brewski at some seemingly oddly-placed Hofbrau house in tony Orinda. And gave Coach Phil a bad time about the hills, road surface, cars... Whatever we could think of. Just our way of saying thanks for kicking our butts.

Remedial Education

It looks like we're going to have to do a refresher course before the big Parking Exam this week. People have forgotten how to park already.