Only in Colorado ...
The plan for the morning: head to UC in Boulder, try out my
special-order Terry Ti Fly saddle, and from there call a friend and meet
up with her at Teller Farm. Weather looks good.
I try the saddle, decide that it's a definite "maybe," and buy it to try
out. (They'll let me return it for store credit, as long as it's not
banged up.) What started as a few drops during my test ride had turned
to a heavy drizzle. Bright blue sky, though (wtf?). I call my friend
and confer; we decide to meet up rather than wussing out.
Get to the trailhead; it's windy and a storm is definitely approaching,
but it's still fairly nice out. We start to ride ... and several
minutes in, she realizes that she forgot her eyewear. Oops. Of course,
it's starting to rain again. We pause to put on long-sleeved shirts.
Hers is actually water-repellant, whereas mine is just a wicking
underlayer, and I curse myself for not thinking through my clothing
choices. On we go.
At the top of the first climb, the rain is getting to be mildly annoying
to me, but quite an irritation to someone with no eye protection. And
the foothills look like they're being flooded; we weren't sure if that
downpour was headed our way. We decide to turn around and go back,
making it a 7ish mile loop for us. On the way back, I start noticing
that the rain is kind of, um, painful. Sleet and hail. Goodie.
We get back to the trailhead and start putting away our stuff, at which
point the rain instantly stops. Grr! Both of us had schedules to keep,
so we went ahead and changed, glaring at the now-beautiful blue sky.
Oddly enough, though my REI long underwear top (being used as an
overlayer) was drenched, the jersey I wore beneath it was bone dry.
Sweet! Maybe that shirt wasn't a mistake in rain, after all. My friend
hadn't fared as well, probably because her outer layer didn't breathe
well enough to let the sweat out.
I hope I end up liking that saddle ... after the amount of dirt I
sprayed onto it, I don't think I can return it.
I think I've finally figured out this uphill thing. See, I'm usually
afraid of my legs wearing out halfway up the climb, with my feet
attached to my pedals, and toppling -- so I unclip, meaning I have less
climbing power, and I start panting really hard, and thinking about
having unclipped because I'm afraid I'll have to stop generally leads to
me stopping. Bleh.
This time, I kept my feet clipped in, but dropped into my granniest of
granny gears -- and kept it slow. Yes, I was a slug, but at least I
wasn't a slug turning purple from lack of oxygen. Whenever I found
myself pedalling hard enough to gasp for air, I slowed my breathing
down, and my legs followed suit. Turns out that I can ride a lot
farther up the hill than I think I can, as long as I keep my cool and
don't try to hammer it out. Good to know.
Oh, and Eric is a little nonplussed that I spent money on the Ti version
of the saddle, rather than on the next level down. Ah well.
--
monique