Day 72: Beta vs. lone wolf

When I met Ben and Phil, the two men who inspired me to go on a cycle tour down the coast, I asked what the most difficult part of the journey had been. Both answered: the hills outside Crescent City in Northern California. My touring book showed that the hills outside Crescent City were beyond 1250 feet in a quick ascent. Yikes. I wasn't looking forward to that.

As I was headed toward the first hill, I was plugged into my iPod shuffle playing some sort of power-tune like Jesus Built my Hot rod (secretly one of my favorite songs on the planet). I stopped just before I began the climb to remove my jacket. A man on a bike, pulling a trailer appeared and we started talking. His name was Cauhtemoc, a seasoned bicycle tourist. Together we climbed that hill, keeping good company and enjoying the vistas and the trees though the Redwood Forrest. He taught me to just enjoy the journey, and just keep pedaling, the top of the hill would come soon. We camped that night in Klamath (where we saw a black bear) and spent the next three days together. We climbed several large hills that good company made easy. The lessons learned about relaxing into my hill climbs, made it easier to climb on the rest of my journey. And even now, climbing isn't intimidating.

This morning, I attempted something new. I joined a cycle pack. Or tried to join a cycle pack. A local bike shop organizes a weekly ride. Today's ride was a leisurely 70 miles down the coast to Dana Point, inland to Santiago Canyon, and back to Newport through the Back Bay. Mistake number 1: I was late getting there, so I met up with the group at a cafe 20 minutes into the ride, where someone was changing a flat. By that time, introductions had been made, alliance formed. I was an outsider already, and my giant custom no name touring bike, among a flock of thousands of dollar roady bikes, confirmed me as "other." As some of the pack pulled away from the cafe, leaving the flat there to finish the job, I pulled out too. Though I was trying to assert myself as one of them by keeping within the group and being friendly, the people who were behind me passed me, closing the pack. I followed for a couple miles, but soon lost the pack as they flew up a few hills on their uber light road bikes. For a couple mile I still thought I would catch them, but came to realize I was on my own. Nothing wrong with that, I make for good company. I followed the route down PCH to Crown Valley (nice big hill) then up to Alicia and onto the Aliso Creek trail. At Cook's Corner, I turned around and flew back down the hill and home to finish off a 48 mile ride.

Around mile 30, as I was slogging up the slope paralleling El Toro, I had this thought: Why am I so slow? Is it my bike? Or is it my lackadaisicalness? Just as my brain was trying to figure out if lackadaisicalness was actually a word, a woman on a bike passed me, going slightly faster than I was going. I looked at her bike. It was an old Specialized with a rock fork and nubby tires (which would naturally slow her down on the pavement). My brain: Nope, it isn't the bike... I don't think I am built for speed.

Last night, I made magic in my oven. I left a pot of beans with a ham bone and some vegetables in over night covered, baking at 275. Amazing, it ended up as a kind of cassoulet, all the flavors melded together. Yum!