I got back from Andorra and hobbled around on crutches, then a crutch, and then I just hobbled. They let me get on a bike on Labor Day, and I was able to do my September metric. Since I'd missed July and August, I had to restart my P-12.
Meanwhile, RandoGirl got a new job. In Seattle. The RandoDaughter, her husband, and their baby agreed to move with us (well, the baby didn't really agree so much as go along with it ... you know how 18-month-olds are). My company said that I could work remote, so we sold our house and moved into a 100-year-old rental in West Seattle. It has "character."
I've gotten where I feel about houses with "character" the same way that Lou Grant felt about "spunk."
But then, lately I find that I'm becoming Lou Grant. Particularly from behind.
Anyway, all of the moving crap made it hard to get out on a bike. As I said earlier, I'd restarted my P-12 string in September, and was just able to get out and ride my Marcy Jo's Metric one last time the first weekend in December. But January had been tough -- I got sick, bikes were on a truck, the weather was not great, and I had a tricky time getting signed up with the Seattle International Randonneurs so that I could do one of their permanents.
Which is the long way (a very non-Inigo Montoya thing) of saying that it came down to the very last day of January for me to do my monthly metric.
The morning was chilly and damp, with a stiff breeze out of the south. Or, as they call that kind of day here in Seattle, "January." I had signed up for one of SIR's flattest and simplest (or so I thought) routes -- one mostly on multi-use trails, running from near the University of Washington down to Issaquah and back. It was flat, but trails can get confusing and I managed to pick up one or two "bonus miles."
But the hardest part was finding a place to park my car. The official start was a QFC grocery store very near the trail, but when I pulled into the lot there were all these signs proclaiming "90-minute maximum parking," with dire portents promised for those who might dare tarry overlong. So I went looking for other parking, just to find that apparently there is a big problem with people abusing parking places in the University area. Eventually, I parked at the Children's Hospital -- no dire signs evident -- and made sure nobody was watching while I unloaded my bike and rode quickly away. By the time I got back to QFC, it was just after 8 am (my scheduled start time), so I bought a coffee from the Starbucks inside, slugged it down, got my card signed, and headed out.
(Yeah, I forgot to get a receipt. Hopefully the route owner is as understanding as I have often been with people riding my routes.)
Once on the trail, I was shocked at the number of commuters ... a constant stream of cyclists, most with rain jackets and bags, on all kinds of bikes wearing all kinds of clothes, were heading for the University area. It made me feel a little guilty to be riding just for fun, with no laptop in a pannier.
The first trail was the Burke Gilman Trail, which really runs from Puget Sound to Bothell. At that point, the route turns on to the Sammamish River Trail.
The Burke Gilman Trail feels very urban, of course, with lots of road crossings requiring Yields or Stops, but eventually has some incredible views of the top of Lake Washington. On the way down, I didn't get to appreciate these because of the morning mist. But I was able to appreciate some of the huge homes with big boats along the lake.
The Sammamish River Trail stays close to the Sammamish River (duh), and is very pretty. It was also a little flatter and the pavement was slightly better, although both trails are in much better shape that almost any road in West Seattle.
The first control was a gas station at Woodinville about 15 miles in. There, I scarfed some Hostess Ding Dongs and did my paperwork (got the receipt this time!) before heading back out to the river trail. The river kept getting smaller and smaller as I approached Redmond, where I managed to get lost a few more times before reaching the second control -- a Peet's Coffee. Since it was warm and I could sit in a comfy chair, I got a latte and a chocolate croissant here. By the time I left, I could feel my toes again.
The last bit of my southern sojourn was on real roads, which I frankly preferred. Cars were obviously used to bicycles and passed (primarily) with ample space, plus I had a bike lane for the most part. And, since I didn't have to worry about cars crossing the path, I was just able to put my head down and ride.
This road was also obviously a favorite of SIR, who have adopted a mile of it.
I got to the turnaround control just after 11 am, which kind of jolted me. Another 20 minutes later and I would have missed the cut-off time ... on a 100K! Knowing that I would need fuel to power through a return ("Fuel?!" you say. "What the heck was that croissant?!") I ordered a Big Mac and fries and allowed my toes a few minutes to thaw again.
While waiting for my burger, a lady in line asked about my jersey -- an old Gran Fondo long-sleeve jersey from the red-and-black team kit of 2010. She wanted to know if it was for the Gran Fondo that's supposed to be in Whistler this summer. I told her that, no, it was from the Greatest Bike Shop in the World. She asked where I was riding and I told her. She said, "Well, at least it's not raining."
Which I think is a Seattle kind of response. I'd felt raindrops hitting me -- enough so that I had to wipe them off my glasses -- pretty much the whole day. In Tennessee, that would be rain. But not in Seattle. Here, that's just water molecules falling out of solution. Rain is when you get a factor of at least 1000 that many raindrops, and they have to fall nonstop for a full week, so that the hills collapse and your house is full of mud.
As I was leaving the control, I was glad that I wasn't going further south, where Cougar, Tiger, and Squak Mountains are. RandoGirl and I had driven up Cougar Mountain in November when we were in Seattle house-hunting, and it's steep. On that day, the roads were covered with snow. As we both said then, "I ain't goin' back to Cougar Mountain."
By the way, if you'll excuse me for a moment I need to rant. You've got Cougar. You've got Tiger. Why do you name the one between them Squak? You couldn't go Lion Mountain?! Leopard Mountain?! Puma? Jaguar? Cheetah? Geez!
Sorry.
Fueled by the Big Mac (see?), I motored back up East Lake Sammamish Parkway and returned to the river trail. My legs were fierce and my stroke beautiful and effortless ... or maybe it was the 10 mph tailwind. Either way, I made it back to the Woodinville gas station in just over an hour, so that I no longer worried about a problematic flat tire forcing me to not finish the ride in time.
The winds stayed true as I passed through Kenmore (where they make all the dishwashers in the world (not really)), under the baleful gaze of the scion of Crocodile Rock (that's really the name of the store behind this guy ... you think somebody has a bit of an Elton John fetish?). But the winds betrayed me soon after, at first leaving me close-hauled and then kicking me in the teeth. It was only through sheer will and a very real desire to get my ass off of this freakin' saddle that I was able to make it back to the QFC just before 2 pm.
Once there, I got the best $4.40 (tax included) sandwich that I have ever had in my life.
Since the guy who fixed the sandwich -- a fellow named Mike who had just moved here from Wisconsin -- had toasted it, I sat in the parking lot and savored every bite. Then I rode my bike back down the trail to the hospital parking lot -- only getting lost one time -- and found that my car had been towed.
Just kidding. It was there.
The SIR site currently lists 178 metrics. Although I enjoyed this one (as much as anyone can enjoy a ride when they've barely ridden their bike in six weeks), I'm going to try another one next month. And I promise that I'll write a blog about it.
