seen on my ride

Today: Twenty-two solo miles, Chileno Valley Road. A spot I know all too well. Felt better on a bike -- even with an ugly headwind and no one to draft -- than it did on foot. And the water -- I can't remember if it always looked like this or if we have the recent rains to thank.

March 23: An easy, pre-race 12-miler on the Monterey Bay Coastal Bike Trail. This is what pristine, pothole-free, traffic-free, I-can-see-the-ocean asphalt looks like.

And this is what love looks like:

Let me rephrase that: Love, plus a stupid pose.

March 2: Fifty-seven miles, the first half-ish of the Wine Country Century, for which Karen is training (her first century). And since friends don't let friends train alone, I tagged along. Which meant that in typical Karen-and-Michaela-are-serious-cyclists fashion, there was a poached egg stop in Monte Rio.

There was also a shit-you-skipped-the-turn-onto-Green-Valley-Road-and-now-we're-standing-in-front-of-this-scary-gate moment.

Who decorates with a chainsaw?

And just for the record: Green Valley Road is a bitch. I almost made it to the top, but by then I was breathing so hard I thought I was going to have a heart attack, so I did the walk of shame.

Ugh. Determined to go back and conquer that stupid hill. I'm just biding my time (and strengthening my quads and glutes and lungs).

Feb. 3: Thirty-one miles, the cheese-tasting route from downtown Fairfax to the West Marin creameries to Samuel P. Taylor State Park and back to Fairfax. Apparently, I will climb seven (seven!) Category Five hills for cheese -- that's how much of a glutton I am.

I really wish I had a photo of Karen riding in front of me, a wedge of cheese shoved into her jersey pocket.