I'm sure most of you have at some point in your lives begun the day with a "funny feeling" that something not-so-good was going to happen in whatever you had planned.  Before last Sunday's ride I actually had that feeling.  In fact, I seriously considered calling someone in the group to say that something came up and I wouldn't be joining in on the ride.  After a bit of thought, however, I decided that this was silly, and that I wanted to ride!   So I prepared my bike, filled my bottles, and stuffed my jersey pockets with the usual ride necessities.  I left the house just a couple of minutes late and hit the road to Starbucks. 

It's a six-mile ride from my house to our meeting place in Mira Mesa, and as I do every Sunday on that route I looked for fellow members:  Tony, Al, Raffy, Erwin or anyone else who rides from- or through PQ.  This time I encountered no one, so I made my way alone through the usual back streets of Mira Mesa, which at that hour is not very busy with vehicles.  As always I approached every intersection with caution and slowed to a crawl at each stop sign for fear that the local authorities might be looking to fill their monthly ticket-writing quotas.

Nearing one particular intersection I noticed an older vehicle pass me with what looked to be a more elderly man at the wheel.   He reached the stop sign ahead of me and I noticed his turn signal indicating he was preparing to turn right, just as I was planning to do.  I noticed, however, that his stop seemed unusually long unlike the "California roll" that most drivers seem to practice.  At first I had assumed he had paused to perform some other task inside of his vehicle before initiating his turn.  In preparation for my turn I stretched out my arm indicating my intention to turn right, then slowed as I pulled along side the vehicle.  I did not come to a complete stop, and without losing all forward momentum I proceeded to turn and accelerate in my new direction.  Moments later I was greeted with the blaring of the elderly man's horn!  I suspect he woke up several nearby residents in order to get my attention.  Upon hearing this I heard the roar of his engine as he raced to catch up to me.  Then, through the open passenger-side window came a thundering voice of a man obviously furious with what he had just witnessed!  "I stopped and waited for you!" he yelled.  "You need to come to a stop too, okay?!!"  He was wagging his finger at me as he shouted as if I had committed a major felony and was deserving of prison time.

As I continued on my path looking at the elderly man in disbelief, I was utterly speechless.  I searched my brain for something to say in response, but I could think of nothing!  How do I respond to this maniac?  I was confused, and I was completely surprised that someone this early on a Sunday morning could be so easily enraged by a lone cyclist minding his own business.  I could have easily engaged him in a "pissing contest", but I chose not to, realizing that nothing I could possibly say would appease him.  After chastising me and realizing he was getting no reply from me, he sped off to his destination.  It was then I began questioning whether I actually did something wrong.  Okay, I thought, I didn't come to a complete stop and unclip at the intersection, but I in no way interfered with this driver.  Perhaps he thought that my intent was to continue across the intersection rather than make the right turn, and that maybe that confusion was inconvenient enough for him to justify his little tirade.  No matter what, it bothered me!  It bothered me because I know I did not deserve such an act of aggression.  I spent the last half-mile trying to convince myself that this was just an "angry old fart" who probably has nothing better to do than to bitch at anyone who doesn't play by his rules.  The reality is that he probably feels that all cyclists disregard the rules of the road and are a bunch of "sissies in Spandex" who are just an inconvenience to those on four wheels.  The more I thought about it, the more I concluded that this was simply an angry human being who probably lives a pretty miserable life.

I felt I did the right thing by not fueling the fire.  This anonymous old man has no meaning in my life and I will likely never cross paths with him again, so as is often the case, defending myself with such a personality would have been fruitless and simply a waste of time and energy.  I've learned over the course of 44 years to pick my battles, and as much as I'd like to fight every one of them, I realize that not all of the battles are worth fighting.

Despite this incident and the ensuing flats, detours, etc., that plagued last Sunday's ride, I still came home with a big smile on my face knowing that I had a fun, safe ride with the best group of cyclists and friends a guy could ever have! 

While you were all recently suffering in the hills of Ramona, I had the opportunity to ride my bike in different parts of the Bay Area - something that I have never done before and hope to do again soon!  I managed to squeeze in three very different rides - one in the South San Francisco area, one in Orinda (a small town just east of Berkeley), and another in the Danville / Livermore area south-east of Orinda.  I had the good fortune of meeting two very nice riders from a couple of these areas who also share our passion for cycling.  One took me on a very scenic 30-mile ride through tree-covered paths, past large reservoirs, and along some really nice rollers that tested our legs!  It was a route that I don't think would ever bore me!  Unfortunately, writing cannot do justice to the beautiful scenery I enjoyed, so I wish that I had stopped to take photos of the route.  If you ever plan to be in the South San Francisco area with your bike, be sure to let me know and I'll map the route for you.  I guarantee you will love it!  Maybe I can hook you up with my cycling host, Jim, who was terrific company on the ride. 

My family ventured up to Northern California for my daughter's lacrosse tournament in Danville, the town recently made famous by its hometown hero, Chesley "Sully" Sullenberger, the pilot who successfully landed his crippled passenger jet in the Hudson River.  It was in Danville that I met up with the head of our MMCC - North division, your old friend and mine, Patrick, or "P2" as we fondly know him!  The change of scenery was nice, and Patrick mapped a great route.  It was like old times, and we managed to do a lot of catching up over our 42-mile trek through some back-country roads similar to Highland Valley, as well as some hair-raising city roads like we the ones we risk our butts on here in San Diego.  The weather could not have been more perfect!  On the route we encountered the usual variety of road kill - rabbits, squirrels, and a skunk.  However, the dead deer sort of took us by surprise.  We also passed a variety of live farm animals and animals of the human variety, also on two wheels.  Occasionally a vehicle would pass us by, but for the first several miles we enjoyed open road as we wound our way past open fields and small farms.  Eventually we would pass through Livermore, a city much like ours complete with business parks, a Costco, a municipal airport, etc.  However, we also rode past a very picturesque winery that Patrick said that he had once visited for a wedding.  As in many places we have ridden, we passed million-dollar mansions and middle-class neighborhoods, but as scenic as it was, it was just plain fun to ride with Patrick again!  After navigating some sketchy, narrow roads, we arrived back at our starting point - the venue where my daughter's lacrosse tournament was held.  It was there that we chatted with one of the local riders, whose daughter was also participating in the tournament.  He talked about the route that Patrick and I thought about doing, but decided would be too much suffering for the short period of time we had!  Patrick referred to it as the Alpe d'Huez of the East Bay.  We decided to save that one for another day - perhaps when more fellow MMCC riders can join in the suffer-fest. 

My last ride was in Orinda, the area where we were staying with some good friends.  They live in a very affluent area similar to Old Del Mar or La Jolla.  The streets are narrow and lined with trees, and the houses sit on large parcels of land.  Some are mansions, and some are smaller ranch houses, while others are more on the modern side.  However, the most distinguishing feature of the area is the hills.  Orinda is ALL HILLS!!!  For the most part you are either going uphill, or you are going downhill.  This is why cyclists ride here.  My friend mapped out a route for me that offered no opportunity for warm-up.  His driveway is steep and his street is steep, so after the fast descent down these two, I had to prepare myself for the first major cross street, a 4% - 5% grade that led me to the only flat stretch of road in that area - maybe 100 yards long.  Then the serious climbing began - first 8% - 9%, then 10% - 12% as it wound uphill for about a half-mile!  I was ready to call it a day, but the winding descent ahead of me was calling.  It was a very technical descent that had me riding the brakes all the way to the bottom.  I did, however, stop to snap a photo.  Then I encountered another short segment of flat road, after which the big climbs and big down hills began.  The road skirted a large reservoir, which distracted me from the pain and suffering I was experiencing.  Unfortunately I made the mistake of not eating anything prior to rolling out.  However, as always, what goes up must come down, and the big descent was fabulous and well worth the effort!  A detour forced me to compete with the local motorists through the narrow, winding roads back to my friends' house, and at one point I unclipped and moved over to the edge of the road for fear that the driver would miss my bright orange MMCC kit and turn me into a fancy speed bump.  After navigating through the maze of streets, my legs screaming for oxygen, I had to climb back up to the house where I started my ride.  I had serious thoughts of calling my wife to come and pick me up, but I figure I had made it that far, and besides, I have never quit a ride!  So after a few more minutes of agony, I crawled back up the driveway (I will now call "Mini Alpe") and breathed a sigh of relief.  I had just finished about 12 of the most demanding miles I have ever ridden!  It's a good thing my GPS had run out of battery power because I would likely have thrown it into the reservoir halfway through the ride! 

Some day I'll be back to conquer more of Orinda and the rest of the East Bay, but for now I'll just enjoy suffering with you guys in our own backyard!