Sunday Spin

It’s light by 6:30 in the morning these days and if I wake up by then on a Sunday morning, I can’t really get back to sleep so it’s onto my bike, why not?

Today I sampled what I’m pretty sure will be the route for the Taco Truck Time Trial; I think it’s going to work out great. Turns out it’s just about 13 miles, with a few decent climbs, especially right after riders hit the third truck stop. (I’m thinking of putting a bucket at the top of Graham Hill with a sign that says, “Welcome to the Chunderdome!” Anybody who pukes into it earns a few extra seconds of bonus time. Or maybe not.)

This morning, anyway, was a sweet little spin: the roads still pretty empty of cars, a bit of overcast burning off as I warmed up pedaling, too. Following the admonition never to pass up warm bread on a chilly morning, I hit the Columbia City bakery for caffeine and butterfat, and enjoyed pretending I was in some little French village having my croissant and café halfway through my ramble through the campagne. Or something like that.

I rode along Lake Washington Boulevard feeling superior, in my army surplus wool pants and Converse All-Stars, to the lycra-clad squids heading out for their morning training rides. But good for them; they’re on their bikes, even if they drove their cars to the place they started from. And even if they didn’t.

I tire of comparing myself to others and then denigrating them for being different than me; it’s a losing battle, anyway. What I really enjoy is just letting random thoughts cycle through my head as I cycle through the city.

This morning, for instance, it struck me that in the film we saw last night, Juno, all the characters revealed a sympathetic side of themselves, even those who seemed like stereotypes at first. All who ride the Taco Truck will too.