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Posts tagged ‘i like bikes’

Meanwhile in Oregon…

While I’m drooling all over lovely viddy of Italy, the Mt. Hood Stage race is going off. Lyne Lamoureaux is on the story with her usual detailed race reports.

Head over to Roadbikereview or Podium Cafe to read on all about it!

In Italy? The bunch got all lazy today, despite the shortened stage and let the break go 12 minutes up the road. Visconti, the Italian national champion, is the new Maglia Rosa, replacing Cutey Curls. Nothing much notable happened, though I suppose for the Levi fans, there were signs of impending doom in his 23 second time loss. Me, not such a Levi fan, so WhatEVAH. Tomorrow, they do some climby climbing. Never a dull moment there in Italy.

Animal Kingdom

Friday evening as we pedalled our way through Hope Ranch, we saw a family of skunks crossing the road. They stopped, looked both ways, and crossed in a tidy single-file line, just like a childrens’ book. My precious meter pinged off the scale.

And no, I didn’t stop for a pic. This blog would be so much better if, among other things, I actually carried a camera with me when setting out for adventures. Alas.

Today’s ride was all about the critters. First, the dog. Bark, bark. Oh, look, there’s a dog barking at us as we pass. Good thing he’s behind that fence. Bark, bark. Oh, look, there’s a hole in that fence. Here comes the dog. Bark, bark. How do they know that they should aim for the front wheel? Secret doggy senses. Bark, bark, sprint, ears flapping all wild like. Since I’m not adventurous enough to broadside the dog, I locked up the brakes all tightlike and stopped. Doggy looked up with a doggy sort of grin, turned around, and trotted off, tail wagging. That was fun. Woof.

Then, the squirrel. Look, a squirrel. Good thing he’s by the side of the road. Oh, look, he’s going to run into the road. Oh, look, there’s the front wheel. Then, the squirrel changed his mind. Then, he changed it again. And again. By the side of the road, little dude spun his little self in circles. Am I going to run out into the bikey riders’ wheels or am I going to stay out of the way? Ooooh, I can’t decide. Spin, spin. Maybe I should go this way. Spin, spin. Which way should I go? Spin, spin. Good thing he couldn’t make up his little squirrely mind. Dizzy squirrel.

The first Italian word I learned watching the Giro? Caduta, meaning crash. If there’s a caduta generale? The whole field crashes. (There, now you can say you learned something reading blogs today. I’m so on your team right now.) Since the first stage of the race is always all nervylike, you’ll hear Caduta over and over. The Italian cameras linger lovingly over the carnage, and the always excitable Bulba (yes, it’s a national stereotype, but in this case, so totally true), gets all jiggy with the Caaaduuuutaaa! Uh, huh. Anyway, too bad for Z today, leaving the Giro on a caduta. Hopefully, all will be well for him soon.

Which reminds me of one of my fave things about the Italian commentators, Bulba and Cassani. Though they clearly love dearly their Italian stars, they comment generously about the non-Italian riders. Want to know the major results of the neo-pro from Ukraine in the break? They’ll give it to you, along with some colorful story of another. So pro. They all but swooned over Z’s time trial position last year. The kids over at OLN could learn a thing or two. Just sayin’

Pellizotti in Pink? Such a cutey.

Thursday Morning Ride: Live Report

Wednesday, 8.00 pm: Yeah, sure, the 8.00 am RoCo ride. I’ll so be there. See ya tomorrow.

Thursday, 7.56 am: Jen, sitting on the couch, sipping an espresso. Because 8.00 am is far, far, too early. Uncivilized.

9.15 am: Roll out the door. 10.00 am is too late, 8.00 is too early, but 9.00? 9.00 am is just about right.

Pedal, pedal, pedal. Stoplight. Pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal.

9.35 am: Look, there’s Meh-wee-uhn!

U-turn.

Pedal, pedal. Suweet, now I’m not a total loser friend for slacking on the 8.00 am. And I don’t have to ride all by my silly self. I can ride with my silly self and Meh-wee-uhn’s silly self. Two silly selves are definitely better than one.

Life is good.

Pedal, pedal, pedal. Good thing I didn’t want to go surfing today. NeverBetter is bring your rubber ducky splish splash in the bathtub flat. Pedal, pedal, pedal.

9.45 am: KABAM! Spontaneous tubey combustion. At least it wasn’t a slime tubey. (There’s a story for another day…)

This event caused much headscratching. Like um, how the heck did that happen? Several offers of assistance from passersby were made. We thanked them nicely, because we’re always nice.

Meh-wee-uhn goes to work with the tire levers and such.

9.48 am: Problem. Short stem tube, deep-dish wheel.

What to do.

Jen: I think I have a long-stem tubey. Jen digs in seat pack, spewing contents all over. Oh, crap, it’s actually a short stem. But look, there’s a long stem on my rear wheel.

Lightbulb.

Tube swappage commences. My long stem for her short stem. Then we pumped both our tires back up. Actually, I used a CO2. Cuz I’m lazy that way.

Pedal, pedal, pedal.

10.15 am: A few small hills appear. We climb them.

Meh-wee-uhn tries to eat and climb with mixed success. We compare Gu to any number of nasty, unmentionable substances. I think I may never eat it again, actually. I tell a lame story about eating Japanese food at an interview in British Columbia. I behaved. The interviewing committee? Not so much.

10.45 am: Gosling crossing. A pair of leetle yellow goslings crosses the bike path. Mama Goose sticks out her pink tongue at us. And hisses. Nice goosey goose, very nice goosey goose, we’re like so out of here right now.

11.00 am: Meh-wee-uhn looks for the downhill lines on the UCSB bike path. No skin was lost in this adventure.
Jen makes a dicey pass by a stu rocking the cruiser no hands stylie. Do not try this at home.

11.05 am: Detailed discussion of favorite donuts ensues, a sure sign that someone is bonking. Powdered sugar scores high. So does frosted with sprinkles. Mmmm, dooonuts. What’s sugar made out of?

11.20 am: Safe and sound on Cannon Green. What the hell is a Cannon Green anyway?

Meh-wee-uhn waxes philosophical: You see, I think you need to have a fluid ego construction to survive bike racing. I mean, fluid, like an amoeba. My ego is an amoeba.

Meh-wee-uhn stops to think, looking perplexed: An amoeba. So what’s my psuedopod?

Jen laughs too hard to steer bike. Really, I think she should come with a warning label. Maybe we could plaster it across the back of her helmet? Think of the children.

11.30 am: Meh-wee-uhn goes in search of lunch. Jen continues pedaling. Things become less funny.

Pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal. TAILWIND! Wheeee! Pedal, pedal, pedal.

12.00 pm: Weather’s getting warmer. Jen looks for more pockets. Where do they go? Stuffs vest up jersey. Does best camel imitation.

Avoids eating Gu packet. So totally ruined. ForEVAH.

Swoops down descent, checks surf at Burrito. Not even an itty-bitty bit of windswell. Sigh.

Pedal, pedal, pedal. Why’d they put this climb here? Sigh, again. Pedal, pedal, pedal.

12.30 pm: Jen arrives home, dumps pockets on floor. Searches kitchen for donuts.

Finds blueberry poptarts instead. Frosted. With sprinkles.

Life is good.

Like a Fish Needs a Bicycle

More warm sunshiney roads in the hills.
More spring.
More flowers.
More sneezes.
More is good.

Saturday night, we went to see these guys in Ventura.

Crazy fun punk rock mayhem.

Lots of songs from the early 90s. Even, gasp, some old skool ’80-’85 bits. The kids in the pit weren’t even born for some of those songs. But they knew every fucking lyric to every fucking song.

So cool.

The boys on stage have a little less hair and a little more grey, these days. Never too old to be a punk.

On the subject of badass, this finish has to be the coolest EVAH. (And Italian commentators so bring the passion.)

When was the last time someone won San Remo off a solo move? I mean, I know Coppi did. But that was sorta different. This one certainly ranks up there with the 1992 edition where Kelly went all crazy like on the Poggio and bridged to Argentin. Che bello finale!

Trick or Treat


Scarred for life


There’s a bat in my belfrey



Watch out for that rabbit hole!


Cross is hard!