Back on Black, or do they make a 10t for the front?

It's been a long, long time, living in the flat lands, then realizing that the gearing of yor ain't no good for my nearly 4 decade old legs, since I've attacked either the Fig or Black Mountain. Okay, the Fig was just a matter of coordination, but I have avoided the big Black a few times since I've been back. "No, no, no, ain't gonna go with the 39/23," I'd whine. But I'm on break, and I dumped a load in a new group with compact gearing, so there is no excuse. So, when the two who get paid to do what I pay to do say let's do the Black, I'm all in.

I must admit, I want to see how I fare against the argyle clad L. Euser (that's what his argyle sticker says on his bike, even though saying it fast is a slam of sort) on the big black. I know I won't match, but he will at least push me to the limit. And, he so much reminds me of ol' corndog McNeil (I must get a hold of that guy some time). I thought maybe the similarity would bring back my 23 year old legs.

Rolling out was cool and easy. Lucas wants to put an effort up Park Hill. No prob. I push it with him, though I suspect that he has the rev limiter on a bit. Ken, well he's feeling sluggish. That explains yesterday. And to boot, I think it is making him cranky. That boy can sure drop the f-bomb.

After the effort, we ease up to save it for the big one. It is clear as can be in front of us, the big white ball on top of old Black. And if I knew how to work my camera phone (don't use it lose it kind of thing), I'd have a great shot to show. Turn left, hit the dirt at Turkey Flat, then up, up, and away. Ken says adios muthas. He's still feeling the pains of a wreck in Fresno a few weeks, and says he is only going up to 5 points, back down, and one more shot up, leaving the rough and tough stuff for us.

Well, Lucas plays nice, or is playing with me, and we swap point up to five points. I put in an effort, he comes by and probably puts in less of an effort. I feel like I'm his measure, but it is all a sham. Turn left at five points and straight up. I was told that a 34/23 is like a 39/26, but it feels as though I am stuck in the big chain ring. But hey, I got Lucas on my wheel, things are going well. Ol' McNeil used to have a hard time with me when things got really steep, maybe Lucas is the same way. Yeah, right. I stick with him for a while through the ups and downs across the ridge, but that ends, and the buck thirty fly weight flys away with a couple of miles to go. Hey, stuck with him for five miles, not bad. Now it is time to drag my ass up the uber steep pitches until I get to the big white ball. Make the turn for the ball, and put it in the big chain ring for show. Wait, not spectators, just a smiling Lucas looking like he was out for a coffee shop ride.

At the top we take in the view. Snow capped Sierras to the East, Cuesta ridge to the west, good stuff. Now down. Not the funnest descent, cuz it is dirty and bumpy. For Christ's sake, there are water bars on that paved road. Fun on a mt bike, but not on the skinnies. Lucas and I take turns running off the side of the road, but we finally make it do to our sprinter friend who thought he might have to do another run up to five points.

Rolling in, Lucas says "another effort?" How can I resist him? Plus, my fragile ego won't let me say no. We pace it into Santa Margarita and get some sugar and caffeie for the last hump home. Only eight to go, so one would not think that one would need another effort, but apparently Jonny V. has his argyle boys on a mean regimen. So, rolling up the back side of the grade, Lucas looks at me and says "one more time big boy?" Once again, how could I resist? However, me legs don't like it. They shut down when we sat down to enjoy our Coke in SM. He dances up the back side of the grade, and I do the white boy shuffle. Ouch.

So, 5 hours in the saddle today, and I'm committed to the Fig tomorrow. Some people kick back on their vacations; I'm not so smart. But when I live in vacation land, and I have legs that will get me around some of the purdiest country around, I can't imagine a better thing to do than to spend hours on end suffering in spandex. So fig, here I come. And Lucas, I ain't gonna let you get away tomorrow (unless you want to).