I had a meeting in Fullerton yesterday. That’s about 70 miles round trip. Biking from PV through Long Beach to Fullerton is about as urban as you can get, mixing it up with 18-wheelers, negotiating freeway on-off ramps, going from bike lane to no lane …
But here’s the thing. On the bike, you’re never late!
And even though the final miles home up Silver Spur-Basswood-Shorewood aren’t exactly pleasant, there were many, many happy remains of the day.
I stopped to ask a homeless dude with a broken bike if he needed any help. “Nah,” he said. “I’ll get it fixed. I’m just frustrated so I figured I’d sit on the curb and cool down.”
“Okay.” I remounted.
“Hey, man,” he said, sharply. “Is that a wig?”
Probably did 30 standing starts. Who says you can’t get a workout on your commute?
Rode the Coyote Creek Bikeway for the first time, from where it picks up at El Dorado Park in Long Beach to Orangethorpe. So quiet, perfectly paved, peaceful.
Got a great email from Todd Brown at Pedal Industries. He has seen the light and is now commuting to work. Check out his stuff. He’s local and a lifelong bike addict. NOT recovering.
Dinner. No dinner tastes as good as the one you eat after a 70-mile urban SoCal commute.
Smooth undercarriage. For years I’ve scoffed at chamois cream. I slapped some on yesterday because commuting wears your parts differently from regular cycling. That stuff works!
Lots of friendly cagers. Going through Long Beach a guy in a BMW pulled up next to me and gave me the hugest knowing smile. Lugging my ass up Basswood, a Prius slowed to 5 mph, put down the window, and the driver shouted “You got this, man!”
Coffee. When you are stuck in traffic in your cage you are just stuck in traffic. But when I started feeling pooked at about Atherton and PCH, I hopped onto the curb, parked my bike and had a cappucino. Boom!
Dude in the coffee shop remarked about my suspenders. “They aren’t a fashion statement,” I said. “They’re to prevent me getting a misdemeanor citation for public indecency.” He mused. “Belt won’t work?” “Belt won’t hold the pants in place when they get heavy from the sweat.” He mused some more. “You look like Johnny Appleseed,” he said.
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