These were the words I asked the girl who lives in my house on Tuesday, regarding our possible attendance at Wednesday’s bicycle race.
Of course despite the fact that the above image would be exactly what we were to look like, I was afraid that the chance of us seeing some friendly Orangoutangs would be slim.
What our plan was, was to drive to San Jose (that’s the city in California that’s full of computers) and then ride the long and twisty to the hill top finish.
Neither of us had any idea where we were going, but as we jumped on our bikes and rolled into the middle of the currant of yellow jacketed and helmet mirrored race enthusiasts, we figured at some point we would find out.
Though the climb was a reasonably short one, it was filled with enough challenging grades to inspire Demonika to curse my name at least twice;
Even still, it was a beautiful ride on what turned out to be a gorgeous day, so eventually I was forgiven;
Once we got to the mini tent city high atop the rolling hills of the South Bay, we stopped by to slap hands with the aforementioned Dave ‘I’m not Bob Roll’ Towle, where he presented us with our passes;
We locked our bikes up and fell headlong into the food table in the VIP tent, where I was confronted by a bunch of cops doing the same thing;
Once we had our fill, we ventured out into the throngs of the commoners;
We knew when the choppers were upon us that we were ether under siege, or that the race leaders were just a matter of minutes away. Apathetically, I elbowed my way through the crowd which resulted in probably the worst shot shot of the victor I could have hoped for;
That’s Chris Horner’s front wheel and nose which are both a fraction of a second in front of his back wheel, all three of which were about ninety seconds in front of second place Andy Schleck. To say Horner put the screws to the rest of the field would be like saying the neon yellow bicycle jacket industry is doing only pretty good for itself.
As a side note, I would like to point out the fellow in the lower right hand corner of the shot wearing the Rock racing ensemble. The entire day I desperately choked back the urge to approach him and say “oooohhhhhh.. So you’re the one who bought that kit.”
We wandered back up to where our bikes were stashed and to see what food was left, when we crossed paths with some of our friends from the dfL;
Ner-do-wells, every last one of them.
By the way.. The individual on the far right of this shot is Pamela. She’s becoming known far and wide for her skills behind the camera. If you’d like to see her documentation of the day, please visit her Flickr set.
I took note that Brad had made the ascent while wearing his fancy Levi’s bike pants, and due to the outstandingness of his package, I was inclined to document;
It’s like a damned Tom of Finland drawing.
The race was over, the crowds were thinning out, and the sandwiches were gone. It was time that we pointed our bicycle machines in the direction of away and stepped on the gas. The day had turned out to be a beautiful one, and I took in the grandeur that I had previously only seen through crossed eyes;
Screaming around a final corner, and with tears streaming across my face, who should I run into again but Brad and Dan. It turns out they missed their turn and we’re in the process of climbing back up all the goodness that I just came down.
Lucky for all of us I had two final cans in my bag, which we shared in a circular fashion;
I was itching to get home though, and after swinging by Devon and Yafro’s house to eat and walk their cat;
I skedaddled back to my fortress where I made the final few tweaks on my bad, bad new speed cycle;
As most folks are aware, this project has been a while in the making. I am very happy to say that after a few final trials and tribulations, she’s finished and ready to roll. I would like to also say that without the assistance of Handsome Kemp, C.D, Captain Coffee, and of course Lanolin, this bike would be little more than a twinkle in my eye.
It’s with that that I sign off for the weekend. If Jesus comes back tomorrow, I guess we won’t seeing one another on Monday. Or we will, but we’ll all be in Hell.
Assuming the rapture was a miscalculation however, then may you all have your own sorts of adventures in spades.
Either with Orangoutangs, or without.