Weekday ride for two

Jan and I took the morning off and hit the bike trail today.  We rode 12.5 miles along the river, stopping briefly to watch the ducks with their newly-hatched ducklings and to enjoy the perfect weather.  After a late breakfast, we rode home, pleased with ourselves for pushing the mile count about twice as far as the usual "let's go for a ride" ride.

My friend Don confirms this counts as a 25-mile ride, which is greatly reassuring to me.  I honestly wasn't sure if two halves of a ride bifurcated by a lunch or museum visit could be lumped together in polite cycling society. 

Because the distance was longer than Jan's usual ride, I picked my Raleigh Superbe for the outing as it would be a bit more in line with a relaxed pace.  It performed beautifully and the Brooks B-72 was very comfortable.  I think it'd be good for even longer rides without discomfort.

Here's the Superbe with Jan's Schwinn hybrid, waiting for us to return from our walk to the river's edge.

Who needs a car?

This charming cyclist thought about taking her car to the hardware store for a quick errand, but decided that with a little preparation, the bike would do just fine.

Those are a pair of hedge clippers in her backpack.  here's a better shot.

Not everyone would feel comfortable transporting a pair of foot-long blades on her back, but this lady saw no problem once the clippers were firmly shut and carefully secured.  I think she was right, but I certainly couldn't fault anyone who decided big-knife-buying was a job for four-wheeled transport.

Hats off to Michael (which I think is an awesome name for either gender) for her brave cycling and for her instant, smiling agreement to pose for a photo!  I love people who are uninhibited and comfortable enough to answer "sure!" to the "May I take your photo?" question.

Bicycling Hall of Fame in Davis!

Davis beat out a half-dozen bigger cities for the right to host the U.S. Bicycling Hall of Fame.  The Hall opened this morning, drawing a large crowd of diverse cyclists.

Davis is a city that loves its bikes, and it's good to see the Hall go to such a deserving location.

 Photos by Sacramentopress.com

Read about the Hall and its opening here and here.

Oh hail no!

It was supposed to rain all day today and I was resigned to getting wet on the way to work.  But when the sun came out late in the morning and looked intent on staying, I decided a rain jacket strapped to the rack would be more than enough insurance.

As it happened, the skies opened up about three miles into the 5.5 mile ride.  Worse than the rain were winds, whipping off the river and slowing me to a near stop.  I parked my bike in my office, dried off and decided to adjust my schedule to ride home as soon as the weather looked milder.

The sun came out and the winds stopped.  But I hadn't been there nearly long enough to feel good about leaving.  The sun stayed out and played among white, billowy clouds.  But I was on a phone call I couldn't leave.  On another call, I looked out the window at the perfect day and decided I'd make a run for it as soon as I was off.

Naturally, it was raining when I got back on the bike.  But rain's not a big deal.  Once you get used to the cold water on your face, it leaves you with mild temperatures and an empty bike trail. I was getting into it and really enjoying the ride.

Then the deluge came.  Hard winds and rain, pounding off my rain jacket and soaking my pants and shoes.  Still, it's just water.

Then I noticed the rain kind of hurt.  Then it hurt kind of a lot. It was hail. A lot of it.  A surprising amount of it found its way into my helmet and pounded icily on my scalp.  A conservative estimate of the number of hailstones that hit my head is in the neighborhood of 67 quadrillion.  It was like a tiny bird with a beak made of ice was pecking at my head at millisecond intervals.

Hail seems unfair, somehow.  It's crossing the line, out of bounds.  As kids, we understood that snowballs were fair but iceballs and slushballs were not.  They were in violation of the Playground Geneva Convention and only the most cowardly resorted to them.  What are hailstones but tiny ice balls?  Not fair.

Creepy nature

I know it's harmless.  I don't care.  These things are super creepy to me.

I noticed it across my lane of the bike trail just a few yards before I would have rolled over it.  I can guarantee that would have been a spectacle.

Two other cyclists stopped while I was contemplating the thing and confirmed two important points: 1) it wasn't a rattlesnake, although this time of year is when they start appearing on and near the trail; and, 2) it's creepy, creepy creepy.

I think I prefer the coyotes.

New bike shop in Old Sac

Old Sacramento, the section of downtown restored to its 19th century appearance, just got a promising and vibrant new business.  The family owned Practical Cycle opened this month, bringing rows of shiny rental bikes and a spotless showroom of steel-framed beauties to the busy tourist spot.

If there's any justice in the world of commerce, this business will succeed wonderfully.  They rent easy-to-ride Worksman bicycles in a spot where thousands of tourists pass each day and within a few hundred yards of the American River Bike Trail.  They also sell a variety of Worksman bikes as well as Pedego electric bikes.

Owner Tim is joined by his son Cassidy in the new venture, and the family presents a happy, customer-friendly face to a section of town not previously known for stellar customer service.

As the name implies, Practical Cycles isn't the place to go for an upgrade to your carbon fiber racer.  Tim's cycling vision is more compatible with those of mikespokes -- bikes that will last forever, bikes you can ride in your normal clothes and, as Tim puts it, bikes that will go fast (when you're going downhill).

My office is in Old Sac, and every day I see families dragging kids around from one salt water taffy store to the next, or trying to get them enthused about the memorial marking the terminus of the Pony Express.  I've got to believe that a lot of these families will see the wisdom in renting a few of Tim's bikes (at only $5 for an hour!) and pedaling alongside the river for a spell.

Check out the beautiful Worksmans and Tim's other offerings here.

A bee in the bonnet

So there I was, riding happily past huge bushes of wildflowers, enjoying the sunshine and beautiful day.  I had just finished the section of the Sacramento-Davis ride that takes you alongside I-80 and I was alternating between grooving to the nature around me and freaking out at how much longer this stretch seems when you're not in a car.

I felt something hit my helmet.  That's not true.  I felt the distinct sensation of something hitting my scalp, despite the fact I was wearing a helmet.  Something small -- but with detectable mass -- had managed to achieve the precise angle necessary to enter the air vent over the right side of my forehead and fling its tiny body against my somewhat larger one.

And once on such an intimate basis with me, he was in no mood to leave.  Can't blame him, really.

I'm not a particularly fast cyclist, but it turns out I am a remarkably fast bee extractor.  The instant I felt the impact, I knew it was a bee.  Maybe it was the humongous bushes of wildflowers alongside the path, or maybe it was some innate ability to recognize Apis Mellifera, but there was no doubt in my mind about the identity of my new cranial visitor.

This is not the actual bee in question.  Well, it could be, I suppose.  For all I know, the bee that hit me in the head could very well have had a career in modeling before he met me.  This seems unlikely, so let's say for the sake of moving things along that it is a different but similar bee. 

By the time you could say, "Oh God, I hope it's not Africanized," I had my helmet off and was whomping it against my still-pedaling leg to dislodge Beezer (as I have now decided to name him).  My efforts to jar him loose came to nothing, unless you count dislodging the clip-on blinky from the back of the helmet and sending it scattering across the trail as an accomplishment.

Finally, I had to stop, get off the bike and get serious.  In that moment, though, I realized that I had no idea of how to get rid of this bee.  He wasn't letting go and I wasn't reaching in there to get him.  It was then, dear readers, that I thought of you and how much you might enjoy a photo of this merry encounter with nature.  I abandoned the cause of dislodging the bee and reached into my pocket to retrieve my iPhone.   

Beezer, I now realize, is a very shy bee. He had no interest in being photographed for my blog and took his leave at once.  Come to think of it, it is nearly impossible that he is the same bee who posed for the Wikipedia photo above.  Or, if he is, then the experience left him determined not to repeat it. I have heard such things about modeling jobs and photographers and I am prepared to believe them.

The departure of Beezer did not deter me from documenting the event.  I snapped a photo anyway, using a handy stand-in for the petulant star.  Audience, please note that in this particular production, the part of Beezer is played by Nearby Wildflower Blossom.

I like to think that somewhere in an apiary near Davis, a tiny blogger is writing (or dancing or buzzing or emitting chemicals) to recount the story of his brush with another species.  When you speak of me, Beezer, be kind.