Doing it all the hard way...

Saturday, January 31, 2015

Grey Black and Brown

Hottie approaching Tapeworm in the Methow..

To everything there is a season. This is the season of base miles. Between trips to the cabin I've tried to squeeze in some long rides. Saturday looked to be dry and I had yet to do a ride on this side of the Cascades without fenders in 2015.

Schedules converged and El Chefe, McWoodie and I rolled out in a fog (literally- but it was dry). We exchanged stories and caught up on what has been happening in 2015.

McWoodie had to catch a flight to the other side of the world so he turned back a little more than an hour into our ride. El Chefe and I chatted and I kept looking at my computer because the fog was supposed to burn off around ten thirty and I was ready for some sunshine.

The fog did more than block the sun it also limited our views and kept my glasses wet. The resulting tunnel vision was kind of depressing. We had hoped to see the scenery. We weren't cold per se, however, we were far from warm.

When the road kicked up we welcomed the chance to get warm. Ironically at the top of the climb we were both hot and cold. The sweat generated on the climb was now getting chilly. I had joked that when we stopped seeing Seahawk flags and started seeing Aryan Nation flags it would be time to turn around.

We never did stop seeing Seahawk flags but we did see this !

Just as we stopped one of the "Eagles" stopped and realized the local youth had been busy Friday night.

El Chefe and I stopped and refueled. I quietly hoped I would warm up a bit. When we resumed our journey I felt cold. El Chefe was also chilled. Seeing the sun was no longer a hope but would be the difference between a good ride and a sufferfest. A hundred miles is a long way to be uncomfortable.

Within five minutes the sun burst through and our Brown-clad bodies were warmed. Twenty minutes later we were again shrouded in fog but we had been warmed and we no longer cold.

El Chefe pulled alongside and in a tone that reminded me of an eleven year old with Playboy magazines in his backpack asked "Do you want to add in some...gravel?" Oh yeah !

Soon we were on gravel and it felt GOOD.

Gravel in January ! !

El Chefe and his El butte on gravel along the river.

Finally when we hit Lake Washington the fog had burned off for good. I even took off my vest for the last fifteen kilometers. By the time we finished we had a hundred miles and tired legs. I had sat on El Chefe's wheel more than I should have but he didn't seem to mind. Thanks bro.


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