[6/1/03]

Today, we rode 51 miles around the lake, the last fifteen miles in complete darkness and an unexpected peacefulness only lakeside homeowners know. At midnight we feasted at Wasabi Bistro.

For the past month, I've been riding more miles on my bike than I drive in my car.

Although it doesn't seem like it because my legs are always tired and the saddle or some other contact point between flesh and machine is chafed, I'm more comfortable on the bike and ride faster.

I rode the mid-week ride by myself this Wednesday, a twenty-mile ride to the end of Alki and back. With Andrew absent I felt relieved not to try to ride fast to keep up or to keep ahead, instead focusing on spinning correctly and using those elusive abdominals to keep from resting on the handlebars. I listened to MP3s the whole way, took Nancy-style pictures (by unfurling an arm wide and hoping for the best), and almost hit a two-year-old darting across the trail while her parents weren't looking.

For the next three weeks we'll ride 100 miles each weekend. The ride, plus pre- and post-preparations take most of each day, although we are getting more efficient: Besides becoming used to the schedule, ride times shorten as we build endurance.

I've ridden 1500 miles on the axial pros. Looking closely at the surface of the tires yields gashes, holes, and one startling tear in the sidewall. Wednesday, after I pumped up my tires, I heard the low hissing of a leak and rotated the wheel to the source, upon which a pressing finger made simple music and confirmed a hole in the tube at the tear in the sidewall. This was the first (proto) flat. A quick patch and it rode out fine—has ridden fine for 120 miles.

We've been riding in an inordinate amount of rain. Even at 10% chance of precipitation, we'll find the rainy spot and ride through it, kicking up spray on the components and frame and our backs. A few weeks ago we got caught in a downpour that saturated our clothes, at which point the water poured out and into our shoes. It was the strangest feeling, to be so drenched that the run-off from my clothes filled my shoes.

That excessive wet penetrated the waterproof grease guarding my freehub innards and deposited grime among the bearings, causing the mechanism to fail. So, I took it into the shop and the guy told me my hub was shit and I was riding on too few spokes and that more than likely he'd have to replace the hub anyway, so why don't I just build a new wheel for $200?—Oh, and whatever the case, it would be two days before he'd have a chance to crack it open, so, here, take this loaner wheel in the meantime.

I was sure that it was just grime. Two days later, he confirmed it. Meanwhile, a defective bead caused two flats on the loaner wheel over the weekend. The mechanic's an honest, generous man, but I get real tired of those mechanics telling me I need to rebuild my new, high-end [insert component] because—and they really say this—one of these days it's going to fail.

This weekend Andrew couldn't ride because he busted a spoke on the Wednesday ride and none of the local bike shops had a replacement. (We sweet-talked our way onto a bus headed downtown and then Andrew carried his bike the rest of the way home.)

I bailed on the Saturday ride, claiming exhaustion after a profound entanglement with a wayward editing project. But today I rode the 51 miles alone.

I rode fast, going 20 or 21 most of the way from UW to Kenmore. Some guy drafted me along that stretch. (You shouldn't follow people you don't know so closely like that without introducing yourself and asking—Pam and I call that a Larry.) You have to slow at a lot of cross-streets along the Burke-Gilman, so I was constantly braking and accelerating. I'd lose him as we accelerated, but he'd catch me again once we were cruising and I'd hear the cacophony of his maladjusted gears as he shifted again and again. At the first stoplight at the north end, I pulled over to let him pass.

The rest of the ride was uneventful and swift. When I look at the speedometer now, it often reads 18, 19, 20 instead of 14 or 15. Sometimes I even go up formidable hills at 10. To me, that's amazing. When you get to where you can sustain 20 mph, then you begin to think of your overall time in terms of how long it might take you in your car. For some reason, that's real trippy.