“How do I get in the blog?”

People never ask me that. What they do ask is, “You’re not gonna put that in the blog, are you?”

But I was on the Bahati 100 kits ride, a few miles after Charon had towed a group of 140 riders out PCH from Santa Monica to Pepperdine, and that’s exactly what Nigel de Sota asked. “How do I get in the blog?”

We were right where Piuma starts to kick up, and I said “It’s pretty easy. You kick me out the back like the worn out old shoe that I am, and boom, you’re in.”

Nigel has of course kicked me out the back so many times that he was probably wondering “How many kickings do I have to administer to this old grandpa?” but by then I was off, dashing up the hill on a fool’s errand to get to the top first. Nigel chased.

The first guy who caught me and dropped me I don’t know. But after a while along came Jason Meidhof with two kids, one of whom blew up as they passed me. They caught the leader and made short work of him. The kid who blew, I think his name was Barker, recovered, caught me and dropped me, but then blew up again and so I caught and dropped him. As I passed I offered him some #fakeencouragement as he was pedaling squares.

“C’mon! It’s just around the corner!”

When you are blown, it might as well be a thousand miles away. Squares is squares.

I glanced back and saw Bahati. He was barely pedaling, and catching me so fast that I knew I was cooked. I sprinted hard around the last turn, hoping he wouldn’t catch me before the finish only to realize that the last turn wasn’t. He breezed by and to make it really sting he wasn’t even breathing. Then, triple sting: “Good job,” he said.

When you want to really make it hurt, say “Good job!” as you pass because it means “Good job but not good enough.” At the top of Piuma I dashed off into the brush to pee and relieved myself, I later discovered, in a vigorous patch of poison oak. All I can say is, if you touch poison oak and then you touch your equipment, you are in for a rough patch.

We waited for the rest of the group as this funny burning sensation started to blossom in my shorts, and then we descended to the left-hander at Scheuren. I was ahead and pulled off after making the turn so that the riders who didn’t know the route wouldn’t overshoot it and go all the way to the dead end at the bottom of the steep canyon. D-Mack got his eyes crossed, took the turn too wide, and barely missed plowing into me.

Foxy hit the divots before the turn to avoid hitting D-Mack, ran into the curb and had a bicycle falling off incident. It was a pretty exciting morning.

Back at Giant Cycles in Santa Monica I was looking forward to the pizza, but the 130 locusts who had flipped it at Pepperdine and gotten there a couple hours earlier left nothing but a soggy strip of dead pepperoni. I didn’t complain, though. It tasted bonk good.

Nigel came up to me. “Man,” he said, “I tried to follow you going up Piuma.”

Charon and Rahsaan busted out laughing. “Rahsaan said. “Don’t ever follow Seth,” Rahsaan said. He just goes hard early and blows up and then there’s nothing but pieces all over the road, and if you’re with him you’re blown up, too.”

Nigel shook his head. “I ain’t ever following you again,” he said. “I learned that.” Then he paused. “Don’t put that in the blog.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I won’t.”


END

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