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.
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