Some pics later, but sometimes biking goes all wrong, or all right.
On Saturday I biked my buttocks down from the Alamos to Santa Fe. I was delighted to find that it was exactly 2 hours and 36 miles, not the 45 I was expecting. The ride starts at my house at 7200 odd feets and hits just below 6000 at the rio grande crossing and then crests above 7000 feet at the city limits before dropping back down into Santa Fe at just below 7000 feet. It was a good road ride. A very nice antidote to the very cold snowy morning that dawned in Los Alamos after a full day of snow on friday.
The first 10 miles are a very fast downhill, followed by 10 miles of rolling terrain and then a nice grind upward for 10 miles with the last 6 or so punctuated by little walls before getting to caffeine and food in downtown Santa Fe. I had done this rides in bits and pieces before, but never all at once. Good stuff. Like I says, pics soon. I was a bit undernourished for this ride, but I held it at the edge of bonking for the last 10 miles or so, including attacking the Mur de Bishops Lodge and the Mur de Santa Fe CityLimits on the way to my stunning solo victory on the ronde van santa fe.
Delightfully I was able to witness a pickup truck getting pulled over by the coppers just after buzzing me north of Tesuque Village. I am not sure why he was pulled over. I am almost certain it was NOT because he violated the 5 feet passing zone rule in NM, but it was cool nonetheless. Instant Karma
Elena met me in Santa Fe, we grabbed a nice lunch and coffee at Garcia st. and then visited the hipster shop, new of a nice BRAIN write up, and got a stylee evil cycling hat. We donated some paychecks to the whole paycheck and returned via the auto on home for a nice dinner.
Ok, Ma you can stop reading here.
Today, sunday, dawned pure and sunny with a steadily rising thermometer. After the eggses breakfast and proper caffination, I took the MTB up the nasty Quemazon hillclimb, with the intention of hitting the up Quemazon, down pipeline and around perimeter and on home loop.
I did the first half of the Quemazon trail climb smoothly and then near disaster struck. I nearly pulled a Herbert (for you knoxvillans). As I crested a small rise with a sweeping right hand turn, I was focused on the trail ahead, ignorant of the burnt and half fallen Aspen tree pointing directly up the trail. I did not see it at all. I just felt it as it pushed into my left shoulder a bit, broke, pushed in more, broke and then did it again. Ouch.
At this point the ride was no longer better than a poke with a sharp stick, it was exactly on par.
All told, my jersey was not ruptured and I did not seem to be bleeding much. I took stock, moved the offending 15 foot long spear off trail and thought a bit. I was exactly 2.5 miles from home, 2 miles from the hospital and still in cell range. Pretty good considering.
The bad is that I was alone and up a fairly gnarly hill climb from the trail head. My shoulder hurt a bit, there seemed to be a bit of a puncture, but again, no bleeding, I had full range of motion and I felt I could ride. So I rode on down the trail. It was steep and rocky and slow going, but I took no chances and cleaned the eazyklean sections and walked the rest. Just keep moving and I will be OK I thought. My stomach was hurty, but I was not in shock. My shoulder hurt but I was sitting at home a mere 30 minutes later surveying the damage.
Damage was one slightly bloody jersey sans holes, one swolled up 5 mm deep puncture, one big scratch/bruise and one mini tree bite mark. Good thing it was a brittle burnt dry tree, or I fear it would have been pretty ugly.
I cleaned it well, dressed it and decided I did not need another emergency room trip. So we went off to a neighbors house warming party. It was alright.
We bailed out a bit early so I could watch Paris Roubaix on the TV. The depths of the bad bike day was revealed as I turned on VS and saw a hockey game in the first quarter. Turns out the TV schedule was on east coast time putting me 2 hours late for the start of the festivities. Crap. No obvious rebroadcasts either. Crap.
Now the bicycling day is officially worse than a poke with a sharp stick.