Getting passed

I managed a strong (for me, at least) ascent of Gates Pass this morning, though it was via the admittedly easier-to-climb east side of the ramp. I haven't been up there on a bike in a half-dozen years. My last attempts at the climb were in late 2010, but they ended in humiliation when I found I couldn't make it any further than the parking lot of the International Wildlife Museum.

I'd like to say today's ride was some kind of triumph of blood glucose management in the face of diabetes, a sign that I'm getting over my valley fever, and hard evidence that I'm finally returning to form. Or maybe that I'm finally getting some form.

Actually, what it really was is that I was riding along the rollers on Camino de Oeste and had to take a leak. The closest restroom I could think of was at the top of Gates Pass and when you've gotta' go, you gotta' go. So I sucked down a GU packet and up I went.

I only remembered later, after having relieved myself and descended from the pass, that I'd pedaled right past the baños at Feliz Paseos Park.

Oh well, I'll take my motivation where I can get it.

Lost and found

I've never been a particularly skilled technical rider. I can't rail turns, I don't really get air, and drops and steps frustrate me to no end. Nevertheless, I was floored by what a klutz I was at the Sweetwater Preserve this morning. I went right for the Lost Arrow Trail, hoping that my reduced bulk would be like a rocket assist on the climb.

Nope.

Sure, I felt strong, but I started with the dabs on some of the early, barely-rocky parts and things just devolved into a series of near-bails from there. I couldn't blame my lung cavity (which might be on its way out anyway), the side effects of my diabetes meds (I ate enough to bonk-proof myself), the slack angles and limousine wheelbase of my 29er trail bike, my recalcitrant cleats, the winds, or the wildfire smoke. I just had no flow whatsoever.

I checked my records when I got home and found that the last time I'd ridden the more technical parts of Sweetwater was in January of 2011. Apparently, and without realizing it, I've spent the last 18 months becoming a fire road specialist. So now, in addition to my relentless pursuit of cummuting miles, I'm going to try and re-learn how to ride a mountain bike on actual mountain bike-type terrain.

Off the back

So, I'm commuting home on this fine, 101° afternoon and another cyclist comes up beside me. He was wearing street clothes and was on a pretty nice bike with more than a little bit of carbon on it. But rather than his kit or his ride, what I really couldn't help but notice was that he had a bamboo back scratcher - like you get at Pier 1 Imports - sticking out of his back pocket.

This man is a genius.

I had, not 30 seconds beforehand, nearly dislocated my already permanently separated left shoulder in a futile attempt to snake my arm under my messenger bag to scratch a little itch in the exact center of my back. This is to say nothing of the potential yard sale of a crash I could get into by riding along with one arm nearly inextricably bound behind me. I also happen to experience this particular sort of frustration at least a couple of times each week and, on one occasion, I stopped, removed my frame pump, and got it all up in there to deal with an especially maddening itch.

Anyway, I shared with this guy that I thought carrying a back scratcher was an excellent idea and that I wish I'd thought of it. He casually replied that he sometimes almost forgets to bring it. It's apparently that crucial to him.

I keep back scratchers all over the house so that one is always close at hand. I have one near the couch where BeanSS and I watch TV, one near the bed, and yet another right here by the computer. I even have a metal, telescoping, bear claw shaped back scratcher on my desk at work. I am now giving serious consideration to slipping another one under the strap that secures my frame pump to my bike because, well, a man's gotta' do what a man's gotta' do.