In Slow Motion

It's time for a bicycle race report.

Sunday morning I awoke at 6am - hoping others in the household would share in my excitement of driving for an hour down to Santa Cruz to ride a bike around in circles in dirt and mud and grass and gravel while feeling like you're going to throw up - and get up at out of bed promptly as well.

But no one would get up.

Every 10 minutes or so for the next hour, I tried to shake them awake. But no dice. Morgan mentioned something about having "just fallen asleep" and the 12 year old told me to shut up. It wasn't until something like 8:23 am that we were finally on the road. The junior having missed his raced, not caring, and refusing to wear his coat.

Once there, I promptly plopped myself in the middle of the inner grass area on a red camp chair and ate my crumpet and tea. And surveyed the environment. And watched all the women warming up.



Wait a second. Why are they warming up now? Don't we have like 3 hours till our race starts? Is there something that I don't know.

Why are you getting on the trainer now? I asked one of them as she was setting up her device near my camp chair. Because that's how it's been for me this week, she said. I need it. And then another one came over to ask me if I'd pre-ridden the course yet. No, I'm still eating my breakfast I said. Well you better get out there, she said. You NEED to pre-ride it. It's REALLY hard she said.



I will, I will. I said. But first a nap.

And then I laid down on my blanket. And rolled myself up in it. So no one would know it was me. But then someone stepped on me. Because he wanted money for a bagel.

After my breakfast nap, I decided to go over and watch Morgan's race start. So I did. But the race was behind schedule and it was boring. So I left.

I could still see all the women warming up ferociously as I wandered around.



And then I decided to go over to the run-up to see what was going on over there. So I did. And on the way over I saw Sabine. And she was still in her street clothes. Drinking something out of the back of her car. And I felt better. About not warming up yet. Because I wasn't the only one.

At the run up they were drinking wine out of jugs. And beer. And they were drunk. Already. And then the men's race came through a few times. But it was boring. Nobody smiled. So I left.



By this time, there was still an hour left till my race. So I thought I'd go get dressed for it. So I went back to the inner field and put my outfit on. While wrapped in my blanket. And then decided to go to the restroom to see If I could see in the mirror if my outfit was see through. And if it made me look fat.

And then I went back to the field and had two bites of a turkey and cheese sandwich. And I saw a glimpse of one of my kids running by. And my old friend Jenny showed up. And she registered and then we went down to the rest room again.

By this time, the races were running even more behind, and we still had an hour till our start. So my friend and I decided it would be good to do a few pre-ride laps. And so we did. And we chatted and commented on the terrain. It was a nice course. Nothing too horrid. Except for the soul sucking muddy grass.



And then we went back to the inner grass area. And I drank some water. And then it was time to race. And then we raced. And then we were done.



And then it was time to relax.

Towards Durango

A few weeks ago I left Oakland, in a truck, with a sleeping bag, some bikes, some clothes, a bit of food, some high heeled shoes, some beer and a husband and Jacquie Phelan.

And no kids.



We drove for a few days into the desert. Towards the Mojave. And stopped during the night when we got tired. And slept on the roof of the truck. Well, Morgan and I slept on the roof. Jacquie slept on the ground. With her banjo.

In the mornings we woke just before the sun rose. And boiled some water. And made coffee and ate berry pie for breakfast. And were serenaded by a banjo.



And then we drove some more. Through the desert into Arizona, where we stopped. In Flagstaff. To see Joe. Who so graciously allowed us to stay at his house for a few days. While we rode some trails. And drank some beer. And had coffee with Cosmic Ray.

And the shaman held Morgan's hand.



On the third day we rode. And I tried to keep up with Jacquie Phelan and Joe Murray and Morgan on their single speeds. But half way through the ride, I gave up, and drank a few beers while we rested. And slowed down a bit. And ran with my bike on my back a few times on the way down. Because the boulders were so big.



On the fourth day, we rode through the fields while thunder and lightning chased us. And we hid in the Aspens. And dodged the deer. And the turkeys.

And Jacquie Phelan mooned me.



On the fifth day, we left Flagstaff and drove some more.



Through the desert. And into New Mexico. By mistake. But we'll blame that on Joe, because we were following him. We made our way into Colorado towards Durango. Where we dropped Jacquie off at her friend's house and bid adieu to Joe. And Morgan and I made our way to a house in the woods.

Re-Arranging The Deck Chairs

On Friday night, I took the kids over to play pinball at a local pinball hall in Alameda. One of those places where you pay $5 to get in and you play as much pinball as you want for as long as you can stand it, while chewing on giant gumballs and without needing to haul around a pocket full of quarters.

Which is fun for kids. And nostalgic for parents. And smells like B.O. and stale pee, but doesn't serve alcohol.

Every 10 minutes or so, I'd stumble outside to the back parking lot, to breathe some air. And clear out my ears from all the ringing. And sit at the card table. And eat some soggy pizza. And drink wine from a dixie cup. And talk to washed up old punk rockers in their mid 40's who still wear converse high tops and hang out in pinball halls.

Who knew Reno had such a big punk scene back in the 80's.

At one point, during mid laugh and dixie cup toast, I saw out of the corner of my eye, some dude ride by on an xtracycle. And for a quick second I got all happy. But then I remembered. That I'd been laid off. The day before. And my stomach started to hurt.

What a buzz kill.

Just like that boyfriend who dumps you in high school, the one you still like, that you hadn't quite gotten your fill of yet.

You still like him but you sort of forget him for a little while because you haven't seen him for a few days. But then, he appears out of nowhere. And messes things up by just walking by. On his way to gym class.

And you have the urge to just go over and kick him in the ankle.

And you think about how you're going to draw a mustache and a tail and a mullet on his picture from last years yearbook. With lipstick. And then pin it up next to the office. And in the girls bathroom.

But you don't. Because deep down, you do really like him. And all you want to do is hold his hand again while riding on the ferris wheel at the fall "nut festival". And for things to go back to normal.

What can I say. Except that I'll always have a crush on xtracycle. And hope they can make it happen. And that they can survive through this mess. Because it really is a good idea. Long bikes and such. Radishes and freerads and snapdecks and footsies and so forth.

Me - I've already had my mid life crises, so there's no reflecting and navel gazing this time around. I know what I want and need to do. It's onto the next thing. And on my own this time. And back into the bread line.

Oakland's Finest Fish Tacos And A Radish

Yesterday...

I grabbed one of those looong bikes from the warehouse to ride down San Pablo for some fish tacos.

It's one of my favorite things to do at lunch - hop on a Radish and cruise down the street to get something to eat. Sometimes I take my time and ride around the neighborhood and check out the "ladies of the night" to see what outfits are trendy that week and nod to the locals as I sip my coffee and cruise around trying to decide what to eat for lunch.



But yesterday, I knew that I wanted fish tacos. So I headed on out, straight down the boulevard, to the local taqueria.

It was warm out and so I'd worn a short sleeved t, shorts and flip flops to work. And I had my new hat on. And there I was, cruising down the street on a looong bike, one handed with my new hat on and not having a care in the world. Even the bus driver waved at me as he passed by.

And knowing that my fish tacos would fit nicely in the back, snug and upright in them Freeloader bags, and how I could still ride one handed on the way back sucking up my horchata through a nice wide straw, waving at my peeps made me all the more happy to be out.

So I slid up to the front of the shop, gracefully dismounted and quickly popped the lock through the triangle and around the tree. And off I went. Inside. For fish tacos. For eight minutes. And when I came back out. She was gone.

Mother fucker.

Just like that. Gone. Poor little Radish. Off on the ride of her life. Out there somewhere on the streets of Oakland. Or in someone's yard or alley. Or maybe delivering the goods. Or up on cinder blocks, behind the fence. Maybe wheels off. Snap deck torn off. Or out on the black market.

Somewhere out there.


And no one had seen anything. No one I asked, who'd been outside at the time had even noticed. Heads shook slowly from side to side.

Nothing.

And so I walked back to work. Down San Pablo carrying my fish tacos, sucking on my horchata with my new hat on. Down the street, past the ladies of the night. Past the church that promised to save me. Past the library with the bus stop in front. Past the old grocery store where the old timers hang out. Past Pizza Nation. Past the liquor store where the drive by started at. And I got the nod. And I nodded back.

And I went back to work and sat at my desk and ate my fish tacos and called it in. And even the guy who answered the desk phone at the OPD, the one who gave me the instructions about how to file a report online, sounded genuinely sorry about the stolen looong bike.


So if you see her, let me know. Don't try and steal her back, just say hey. Give her a snap deck a little stroke. Nod as she cruises by. Drink a horchata in honor.