Your turn to laugh, my turn to cry

You see me here in my refurbished Pendleton wool jersey. The local Goodwill has a seemingly constant stream of Dead Men's Plaid, and I lik to wear it. The frequent problem with same is that it has been shrunk by the Dead Man or by someone in my own household. The arms get small.


Inspiration!

I cut off the now shrunken sleeves, and sewed them on the back as pockets! BIG pockets.
Notice the large Rio Grande valley grapefruits to the left. They are the size of waterballoons. Thanks Stan and BJ!




This is a picture of (my children mocking me) the grapefruit stuffing.




This is one pocket stuffed with 3 of those massive grapefruits. I could have added a regular orange, too. That is some pocket.

This is a very exciting developement. I do not lik the plastic jersey at all, at all. Many (all) of my wool short sleeve jersies are showing the effects of time and...mmmm, my riding style. I have several of these shrunken Pendletons waiting to be new again.






The fashion spread was shot just prior to the family driving to the 1st Birthday of our Godchild, Sophia. I was to ride out Carmel Vally Rd., up and over, to the party (which was near Greenfield) and meet them. Around 56 miles and a low of 37 degrees. A simple plan: if I was too slow, and the party ended without me, they would drive back along G16/CV Rd. and collect me along the way.

A simple plan, but like the best of plans it went awry.

I started comfortably, wearing what you saw. I am a firm believer in starting cold. This allows for the change in core temperature as you warm up. After a short time, I felt too cold. I added standard long-fingered gloves. Things were swell. It got colder, I switched to my Pearl Izumi (c. 1991) Lobsterclaw gloves, and things were swell some more. I stopped at the roadkill turkey and harvested a couple nice wing feathers.



It got colder, and I donned my Filson lumberjack style cruiser coat. This was perfect except that the sleeves are, yes, slightly too short. I had plenty of time to consider potential solutions to this increasingly pressing concern as I pedalled. (I think I will sew in some too-short arm warmers as a sleeve gaiter.) There is no bad weather, only bad clothing. I felt mostly great. So nice to be out on a substantial ride after a several week hiatus. I was well past Carmel Village and traffic was very sparse.

It got dark and colder, and I added a thin wool beanie. I felt great. After a time, the waxing crescent moon threw enough light to give nice shadows on the open flats and hill tops, though in the bottoms the dank oaks, sycamores and boxelders crowded out the light and it was cold, damp midnight. I turned on my blinkie red flashers and did not use my headlight. I ate an apple as I pedalled.

I was reflecting on the coming Full Wolf Moon when the coyotes began. I heard them, quite close, yipping to one another. It sounded like they were calling everyone to gather. I pedalled faster. I crested the hill and pushed down, continuing to push in the bottom. Nearing the next rise, I heard them again coming on. I pedalled steady. The coyotes could go all night at a steady lope, well- so can I. I was feeling mostly great. I heard them again on a long, gradual climb. Turning the corner on top, I did not hear them again.

Climbing past what I think of as the Haunted House, a sway-backed mossy ranch house with gaping windows and doorless openings, I heard the strangest noise. It had to have been a cow (because there are cows on that property), but it was the odd bugle-honking product of big lungs and a looong windpipe. I saw unexpected flashes of (scary!) movement in the road ahead which turned out to be the emergence of headlights from behind reflected in the trees. I'd been riding alone in the dark for a while. I fervently hoped the driver was stone cold sober on that narrow twisty way.



I got to the top of the grade where the wind was blowing unbroken. Added a scarf to my kit, and began the miles-long downhill. Perfect. Swooping, dimlit, solitary Goodness. Weight back, light touch on the bars- who can see the road surface under such light, and with tears streaming? Leaning into the corners, weight solidly in the bike- look ahead at the silver ribbon of road on the other side of the turn. My feet were achingly cold, my toes-wooden.

Miles of runout. Passing the country dogs, who'd start after me with no chance of catching my continuing momentum. I made the turn on the other side of the hills, and came back into cell range to find that the family was on the road looking for me. I'd been flashing my headlight at oncoming cars when I thought it was narrow enough to be warranted, but the roads on that side are wide, and I'd let that practice fall. Several miles later, L got through to me to say they were running out of gas and where was I? I was just past Arroyo Seco Estates, come and collect me. They must have passed me on the road (WTF?) but with sporadic coverage, the call dropped. I turned around and began riding back. I was spent and cold, with nowhere near what I needed to stay out. I called back and left a message to that effect. They were well past me, because L called back later from gassing up in Carmel Village. She was no longer stoked to be driving around windy backroads looking for my (the implication was dumbassed-) self.

I don't know how they missed me. I did not leave the road at all, at all. I used my headlight to flash any cars coming on in spots I felt were low visibility. I had 2 red flashers going. Perhaps I am a ninja. Perhaps L chose just the "right" moment to look for a CD or get a drink. It was a simple plan...

I got back to Arroyo Seco Estates, and in the light of their gated entrance, peeled and ate my last bit of food- 2 tangerines. Wow, they were good. Then I pushed off into the darkness towards the climb up into the valley. My feet were achingly numb, my toes- wooden. I'd sweated enough inside the Lobsterclaws that my hands grew increasingly chilled.

I thought a lot about how being gone to Colorado had caused me to really screw up my clothing choices- coming home, it had seemd so much warmer that I seriously underestimated how cold it could get, and how thin my boots were. I thought about the time that Mysterious B___ S_____ and I rode that very stretch of road and missed the turn up the valley in the dark to end up at Arroyo Seco cold and broken, with nothing for it but to turn around and straggle back to the route- the very first of what became many late night rides involving no lights and mistakes. I thought about how this screw-up is really going to put a damper on my sweetie's willingness to come get me in the middle of nowhere on future rides. I thought about all those other times that simple plans involving meeting up and bikes have gotten off track. I thought a whole lot about chemical hand/foot warmers. I thought about how long it was going to take the family to come back and get me. I thought about whether this all looked familiar, or had I missed the turn? I didn't think about anything.

Finally, one car answered my flashed headlight with it's own flash. I swung around behind the van. Loaded my bike in. Got some hugs. I got in the back. Ate some food, drank some Gatorade, and started in on the beer. My sweetie is Good! We played imaginary GoFish with the boys. My toes warmed up. It took another hour to drive home.