One Step Closer
I was at it again today, my friends, out there carting my bike around on the public transportation system that leaves much of El Lay inaccessible (unless you happen to like pedaling between buslines and through the schedule holes). True, I've been exploring because there has only been one car; these are the things that happen when the car that is not mine is a Fiat and has been in for repairs for...a month. It's okay, though, I get extra rides in, and that makes me happy.
You'll see that today the train was overrun by bicycles, if you look in the background you'll see two more, and there was one on the other side of me also. The morning light bounced around in the clear sky like it didn't know what to do with itself without much smog or haze (it's all how you choose to look at things). At the transfer station, I rode in an elevator with a huge man in a wheelchair with his little tiny service dog. The stench of urine only grew as more bodies crammed onto the little car, I nearly gagged on the fresh air by the time we hit the bottom. No. Really. The odor was thick enough to chew.
Running a bit late now, I opted for the express bus, which cost me another buck on top of my day pass (60 cents, but who carries silver in their bike gear?). I don't like the express buses, I prefer the trains, the picture should help you figure out why. On the bus your precious bike gets tossed on the front to act as bumper as you rip along the car pool lane. Once downtown, I feel weird about sitting too far back and would prefer to stand in the aisle where I could at least give chase if some bozo opts to touch my baby in a bad way. When I take the train I can keep my hands on it, use it as a weapon or a crowd parting device as needed. We are a team, my bike and I.
That said, the view of the skyline this morning had me wishing for an actual camera. The driver didn't like my holding the phone up over his shoulder though, so I quit. His flinching every time I composed a decent shot...had me a little nervous myself.
I made it to the posted departure point six minutes after departure time, but since we usually leave late I expected to see folks. I saw no one, but I'd had a day or two off and was feeling pretty good in the pedals, the sun warmed my arms and I started to wonder why I had feared a breeze. (It's been a little windy here lately, and when the quality of your day is determined by what you choose to carry on your back with you for the duration, you tend to opt for the wind breaker.)
Simply gorgeous stuff, and aside from somehow mashing the banana in the back of my jersey, it all went off without a hitch. (Yes, mashed banana in your pocket stays with you all day, too.) Never found my group again, but that was actually a good thing. I have a rage burning in my gut, my friends, and I'd hate to embarrass myself by having anyone I know catch a glimpse of it.
So I took it out on a couple of gals who happened by at the wrong time. I think I muttered "it's on" when one of them blew by me--but if you ask me to testify to the that fact I might have a lapse of memory. Four miles at 18-20 MPH in the little ring, mashed banana oozing down my back and snot covering the backs of my gloves (if you can't figure out how it got there, or why, too bad not explaining--but only because it's disgusting.).
Had a nice chat on the red line downtown with this guy on a mountain bike. He was headed to Long Beach from the valley on his first metro bike trip. He eyed my bike for a bit then started in asking about the frame. Got the same eye from a guy on a road bike (sporting Helen's colors) at the transfer between the blue and green lines.
When folks notice the Madone, I always sort of size them up; my first question is whether they are Lance fans looking for another groupie. Because, that is NOT why I have a Madone. I hate that there is that association and assumption about me when people in the know recognize the bike and then take in my fat ass.
The first guy had that look hardened cyclists get that always makes me want to feed them a sandwich, but the ink covering 80% of his body and his mountain bike put him in a very unique subset of cycling culture. Neat guy. Wonder if I'll ever run into him again in this vast wasteland.
The second guy looked more like an anime freak than a cyclist, and unfortunately, that meant I shut him down harder than necessary. Not his fault at all, and I didn't even know I was doing it at the time. I just remember him moving to stand next to me at the platform, eying my bike. I caught the Helen's logos on his and instantly wanted to talk to him, but when I took him in--his build, his nerdlinger WWII Nazi inspired helmet, his backpack, his oversized clothes--I was filled with rage--bubbling just under the surface. Couldn't talk to him, although I answered his questions as politely as I could manage. Funny thing is, he probably thought I was judging him for being a little tubby or for being an uber-geek; I was, just not in the usual sense.
Helen's sold me more stuff on the way home. I broke down and bought a bike computer, and I hate myself. All that junk is a pain in the ass, when the best thing for you to do is just ride. Still, I figure it's easier than a stop watch, and after the ALC I'm going to be a little more disciplined with stuff like intervals. Limited training time returns, and with it the need to be smarter with what time you've got. Although, if that approach crushes the fun, the bike computer will be crushed under my wheel. I promise.
All in all it was a productive day, and I'm one step closer to the ALC.