La route de jour
I had originally planned to ride long - highway up and over the Malahat, then into Shawnigan L, and back to home, but the clouds were threatening rain.
As in previous posts I had declared myself to NOT be a cyclist, therefore my plan B did not evoke any sense of shame in avoiding a possibly wet, cold and chafing long ride by my lonesome (noting I had awoken Saturday morning too late to link up with my IRC racing posse).
I opted to stay on the south side of the Malahat and brush it's ascent. I highway'd out to Goldstream Park, then took Finlayson Arm Road for my climb (10:20), then rested the legs to the beginning of Bear Mtn Parkway to climb the
Bear Mountain Hill Climb course
I timed myself from the bottom of the parkway (12:02) which is longer than the hill climb route. That climb hurt. I wasn't enjoying the usual searing lung stress nor the usually benign hypoxic hallucinations in the latter part of the course. I was more concerned about not puking on my (to borrow BSNYC parlance) futuristic crabon fribé cycle.
The latter feeling subsided soon enough once at the top, where, incidentally, new monster homes are in the process of Viagara-like erection (the Bear Mtn Project is in the throes of financial difficulty and construction starts for housing require frequent 'assistance' to forego foreclosure) and the manly trades-folk were not accustomed to witnessing a lycra-clad bicycle fashionista, with snot streaming out of his nose, splayed over his two wheeled bike. I beat a hasty retreat downhill, freezing all the way and decided to wander the back roads into Victoria and ultimately ride along the waterfront back to home.
The rest of the ride went reasonably well, my motivation being a large yahmericano in a warm, dry, eclectic java boutique once done.
However, I managed to catch up with an equally clad fashionista cycliste who was riding somewhat uh, slowly and my mistake was to pass him. The game was on! He attacked and looped around me, hands in his drops, nose posed a quarter inch above his stem, and his helmet changed from a dorky Bell pro to the latest in TT aerodynamic efficiency. I let him go as I did not want to wheel suck and then tempo'd after him. He was a true believer in hi-cadence riding and the rate at which his legs were spinning, while impressive, was also hypnotic and I soon became confused and lost sight of my original plan to ride the waterfront at a leisurely rate and conserve some energy for watching the play-offs. I attacked on the uphill St George Terrace area, then dragged my nemesis until the Cattle Point Loop. He chose to not follow me, but continued along Beach. I then rejoined Beach, and saw Mr TT Helmet ahead and went after him again. Ah, the stuff of dreams. If only Bob Roll was there to provide commentary. At Sinclair, I came to a full stop at the 4-way, however by this time the silly antics had played out and my unknown soldier/cycliste had disappeared. I thanked whomever responsible for allowing me the respite from much too hard work and I recovered along the last of my route.
Done. Spent. Tired, even.