A race day begins at 5:10AM. Gear goes on right out of bed:
cushy spandex shorts, removable leggings, lightweight overshorts,
electric lime longsleeves, orange fleece vest, and a
bright yellow-gold windbreaker. Stretch, tea, meditate, eat, bathroom, pack the
bike, do sit ups and pushups to prime the metabolic heater, then push off. I
wear the yellow leader jersey today, and every day. I *own* it… literally. I
bought it online; it has special fabric that reflects headlights. I wear that
jersey because, weather and car-required chores permitting, every day is race
day.
If you caught any of the Tour of California buzz, you
probably heard about the peloton: what they call the
pack of cyclists in a bicycle race. A week ago I’d never heard the word; now
it’s everywhere. And now, when I launch my 1994 Mongoose Hilltopper
into the first leg of my 14 mile course, *I* am the peloton.
I fly down the opening hill, hollering like the Michael J Fox-voiced dog as he
fords the icy stream in The Incredible Journey: cold-cold-cold,
cold-cold-cold-cold!!! That’s one nice thing about my peloton,
I can yell and sing with unwitnessed abandon.
The race route transects Petaluma from southwest to
northeast corners. I work my way through Westside streets, presenting smiles
and greetings to the occasional onlookers. At Washington and Main, I strip off
the windbreaker while waiting in the left hand turn lane with the cars. Then
it’s down the Boulevard as the sun peeks through gaps between buildings. Buenos
dias! I’m cranking it, cruising at 20 mph in the slow
lane (the new 3 lane-plus-bike lanes configuration won’t be installed until
later this year.) But I’ll never ride the sidewalk (false sense of safety), and
I don’t worry about blocking traffic because, as the saying goes, I *am*
traffic! (BTW, motorists, it’s safe and legal, the right way to ride.)
I pass the Stinger Sporstwear
time/temp sign: it’s 32. Cold-cold-cold, but the core is toasty, with thick
snowboarder gloves protecting my fingers. As my “sponsor” Pat Landrum (of
Healthy Community Consortium/ Petaluma Green Lane) says: “There’s no such thing
as bad weather, only bad equipment.” When I reach Industrial Avenue behind the
auto mall, I’m rolling my spandex leggings down to my ankles while I pedal,
wasting not one precious second. Over the freeway, one outstretched neon arm signaling
a turn into the left hand turn lane. I finally roll into the office. Thirty-five
minutes. I shower, and I’m at the computer by 8, buzzing with energy.
At workday’s end, I ride out into golden light, swirling up
fallen plum blossom petals, a hint of cedar smoke on the wind. I sing to my peloton, “Oh what a beu-ty-ful af-ter noon! Oh what a beautiful night. I’ve got a
wonderful feeling, everything’s goin’ all right.”
Retrace the route back into town, wringing out the accumulated stresses of the
work day. Downshift for the Lombardi’s hill, passing through the fragrance of
tomorrow’s sourdough loaves. Then the sprint for the finish line, that glorious
downhill stretch from Washington to B, passing cars with ease.
I turn right at D, winding down, through quiet narrow
streets, enjoying the diverse architecture. I visit my plot at the McNear Community Garden and pick a bag of lettuce for
dinner. I stop a few minutes along the Thomspon Creek
Trail to chat with friends Dusty and Mike. Home before dark, though I’ve got
the gear for safe night riding, if needed.
Professional bike racing is cool, and I look forward to the
long-running success of the Tour of California. But who needs to make occasion
for racing or touring when the joy of bike commuting and shopping awaits you,
every day of the week? When I wake to the news of exploding mosques in the Middoil East, news of a president whose confessions of our nation’s
oil addiction ring cynically hollow, news of melting glaciers and gridlock and
obesity epidemics… there is no better tonic than to leave the car at home, and let
my breakfast power my next trip.
The Tour d’ Petaluma happens every day. Today, our peloton is small, but it will grow. Won’t you join in?