Theory of the Green Hair.

Almost exactly a year ago, I read an article in the New York Times about internet trolls. For the unaware, trolls are anonymous malcontents that populate internet forums, getting their jollies out of creating havoc.

A reporter tries 'infiltrated' their ranks. Although I generally find these bottom feeders to be sociopaths... the logic that one troll used to justify his own misdeeds particularly enlightening.


The reporter described one conversation:

“You have green hair,” he told me. “Did you know that?”

“No,” I said.

“Why not?”

“I look in the mirror. I see my hair is black.”

“That’s uh, interesting. I guess you understand that you have green hair about as well as you understand that you’re a terrible reporter.”

“What do you mean? What did I do?”

“That’s a very interesting reaction,” Fortuny said. “Why didn’t you get so defensive when I said you had green hair?” If I were certain that I wasn’t a terrible reporter, he explained, I would have laughed the suggestion off just as easily.

Enlightening.

Monterrey, Big Sur, and Naciemiento Fergusson.

Yesterday I went to the state championship road race, in Monterrey.

I've been told that Monterrey, is the only place in the country with a 'Meditteranean' climate... which was explained to me as 70 degrees year round.

Of course, when I was there, it was frigid in the morning, threatening to rain. I mean REALLY cold. My teeth were quite literally clattering. BRRRR. Of course being in shorts and a bike jersey didn't really help matters... so I ended up slathering on some embrocation* and hoping for the best.

*em·bro·ca·tion (em-bro-kay-shun) n.
1. Vaseline mixed with Habanero Peppers, which, when applied to the skin, forces the body to believe it's REALLY HOT out.
2. Ouchie.


Fog Rolling in off of the Pacific - Monterrey in the Cold.


Once on course, I felt pretty good. There were 6 laps, 10 miles each, with a short-ish hill in the middle - maybe a two to three minute climb.

Two to three minute climbs are not my forte. I wasn't going to be champion of those hills.

So my strategy had to be a breakaway from the group - hope to create a separation that the group assumes they can close later... when, hopefully, the group argues amongst itself about who should do the work.

The first lap panned out rather slow - everyone knew that the race wasn't going to be won In any case, with about twenty-five miles to go, a few people went off the front of the pack. I was at the back, minding my own business... but I seized the opportunity. I went to the side of the pack, gripped and ripped, and a few seconds later was off the front. Another racer had the same idea, and followed me.

We quickly got a hundred yard lead, and started taking turns out in front, shielding each other from the wind. After a few turns, the road turned downhill, and we started descending... we had been flying, going close to 30 MPH, and now we were going faster. This went on for a few miles... and as I flew around a corner, I glanced behind me, to see the entire pack chasing us.

Oops.

Well, it's next to impossible to get away from a pack that doesn't want to let you go; the effects of drafting are too great. I resigned myself to getting back in the pack. Oh well, says I... a pack finish is good enough for me... which would've been the case, had the pack not sprinted up the next silly little hill, dropping me in the process.

Bottom line: I attacked at the wrong time, and I'm not good enough at two-minute efforts.

Better to have risked everything and lose, right?






So afterwards, hell, I was in Monterrey, and even though the fog was above, I figured I should go around and about, maybe head to Big Sur, maybe go for a bike ride.

I did.

So here's your reward for going through that drivel: PICTURES. Well, they're supposed to be eye-candy, but sorry, some of them are eye-little-grains-of-sand, what with the weather and all. Some of them are a little spooky, though, I still like them.


Ocean-front Cow Pasture.

Only in California.




Climbing into the Fog.



Spooky bridge.


When I got to Big Sur, it was actually clearing up, and at some point, when you get above 1000' of elevation or so, you get out of the fog, anyway.


Here's the last glimpses of fog.


Looking back at the Pacific Fog.



Another Saturday bites the dust.

Diamond Valley, Rock Creek Road, Sonora Pass

Warning: heavy cycling content ahead...

Well, I raced in the Desert.

My race started at ~11:00 in the morning. It was HOT. HOT. HOT. And it was at altitude. Hydration was going to be a big key, so I kept downing water. LOTS of water.

Feel free to skip the rest of this text and go straight to the pictures. I WILL NEVER KNOW. (Read that as a warning: boring cycling story ahead).

It can be surprising, but racing is very much a team sport; results generally indicate the strength of the entire team. Your teammates might ride in front of you, shielding you from the wind, so that, at some point, you can try to break clear of the pack. When you're off the front, trying to get away, the pack will use it's superior aerodynamics to try to chase you down - and, hopefully, your teammates will attempt to subvert those aerodynamics for you.

One of the many jobs of teammates, both in the race and on the sidelines, is to keep the strongest person hydrated and fed. In my sub-peon-amateur category, this basically means that someone who isn't racing stands on the side of the road and hands up water bottles.

I didn't have a team there, but, luckily, the race *did* have neutral support - which means some volunteer will attempt to hand you a water bottle. Without this neutral support - the water - it wouldn't have been worth starting.

I rolled up to the line - this was going to be a four lap race, 11 miles per lap. We roll out, I stay near the front... Like pretty much everyone, I like to be either at the front (say, in third-tenth place) or at the very back. These locations are calm, relatively energy-efficient places to be.

We went around for a lap, and I was feeling pretty decent. As long as I stay hydrated, I generally do well in the heat; when other people are dying, I can ride away.

But not today.

At the end of the first lap, I had already exhausted one of my water bottles. I grabbed a water bottle from Neutral support to replace it. And I drank.

Blech. Warm Water. In the heat. Suddenly I'm not feeling too well, but I keep within the pack... the pace starts to pick up, and we begin to drop some of the field as we ride over a few rollers.

Next lap, neutral bottle was decidedly HOT. This isn't going well. I drink as much as I can...

A few minutes later my body decides to reject this hot water.

Let me tell you, Gatorade* tastes better on the way down. By now the pace was pretty furious, and, in the field, there were a few big splits. I was in about the third group at that point, just trying to hang on. It's tough after you've just tossed your cookies. But still... going around, up the smallish-hills... all of the sudden I'm in front. I look behind me, and I'm dropping everyone. Without trying, and without wanting to - if I lose them, I lose my aerodynamic advantage. So I slow down.

So do they.

Screw this, I'm going. And I go around, in the desert, by myself, chasing the group ahead of me.

For a ten mile lap.

I fail.

The same group catches me, at the bottom of the same hill.

I drop the wheelsuckers again.

This time I stay away. I catch a few stragglers, but end up placing about 30th out of about 60. Considering the circumstances, I consider it my best result of the year.



So after such a wretched race, what do I do?

Why, go ride the highest mountain road in the state of California, of course! Rock Creek Road, just south of Sonora pass.

I didn't do so well. I'm not sure why, but my lack-of-decision-making always surprises me.

But at least it was pretty.


With all the heat, still snow on the tops...




Looking over Mono Lake at the Sierra Nevada


I'm a sucker for sunsets.






The Moon also rises.

The moon may rise, but the sun is setting on my time in California.