September 4, 2006
May 13, 2007
Sunday there was still a little haze in the air (and Catalina was still nowhere to be seen), but it’s turning more into a typical white Southern California “June gloom,” less the yellow-tinted stain of wood smoke.
Temperature was perfect for a good ride, and the overcast did burn off, though the air wasn’t crystal clear. I’m getting a late start getting into training this year; Sunday I got as far as Newport Beach and was glad to turn around. Without doing the math, I’d guess that’s about a 40-mile round trip—not bad, but I know these legs have more oomph in them.
The wind cheats, in case anyone asks. On the southward trip, I was pumping about three-quarters into the wind; as I rode past the big cooling stacks at the Huntington Beach power plant, I cocked an eye upward and was glad to see the rising steam showed a sturdy breeze pushing against me. That meant it would be behind me on the way home.
Heh.
By the time I passed the same stacks on my way back home, the rising steam was telling a different story. The wind had pivoted around and was blowing directly across my path. I’d gone a little further than my legs wanted to, confident in the knowledge that the way back would be easier. The wind pulled further and further around; by the time I hit Long Beach it was in my face.
I must be making sacrifices to the wrong gods.
Temperature was perfect for a good ride, and the overcast did burn off, though the air wasn’t crystal clear. I’m getting a late start getting into training this year; Sunday I got as far as Newport Beach and was glad to turn around. Without doing the math, I’d guess that’s about a 40-mile round trip—not bad, but I know these legs have more oomph in them.
The wind cheats, in case anyone asks. On the southward trip, I was pumping about three-quarters into the wind; as I rode past the big cooling stacks at the Huntington Beach power plant, I cocked an eye upward and was glad to see the rising steam showed a sturdy breeze pushing against me. That meant it would be behind me on the way home.
Heh.
By the time I passed the same stacks on my way back home, the rising steam was telling a different story. The wind had pivoted around and was blowing directly across my path. I’d gone a little further than my legs wanted to, confident in the knowledge that the way back would be easier. The wind pulled further and further around; by the time I hit Long Beach it was in my face.
I must be making sacrifices to the wrong gods.
1 comment:
Now I know what you need for Christmas. . . an odometer.
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