Date: 12.22.11
Location: Sonoma, CA
Ride Day
Alright, so I dont like to poo poo a place after only 24 hours and I was tempted to do this earlier, but I thought I might have some dinner first and a couple of glasses of wine before I started talking shit. So that's in arrears, the wine and the food that is...
What's still way up front of the brain is that Sonoma didn't show me a very good side today. Last night started and ended quite well, with a solo dinner at the bar with my tender "Joe", at the Grist Mill Bar and Grill. It was just me, the chef (who looked like Buddy Hackett) and Joe. I let the chef choose my courses, and Joe had some pretty interesting stories about hitchhiking back and forth across the country in the early 80's. We talked about how you couldn't do that anymore, as I killed a bottle of 2008 Stemmler Pinot Noir.
Today, eh, not so much.
I've been dying for a ride lately. I had high hopes. After all, a nice bike ride through wine country does sound pretty fucking awesome, even to people who don't ride bikes. But it...it..I hate to say it...it sucked. Worst ride of the trip, perhaps in years. The kind of ride that makes me want to never get on my bike again in this area. But I will.
I feel though that maybe I just got a tour of a really really beautiful house on a rainy, cold, foggy day. No way anyone is buying that house on that kind of day.
Now, the weather was perfect. 64 and sunny. But the people, and the condition of the roads, the steepness of the grades, and the potholes and the rocks in the road and the bumpy terrain; they were like a sideways, frigid rain and with a wind that is so cold that you cant even catch your breath. Not that, obviously, just like that.
So I'm struggling up these 15%+ grades and don't have my biggest gear, which I probably should have made bigger by getting a 12/29 in the rear, but I stuck with the 11/25, because I think I am superman. Plus, my rear derailleur is attached only by my skewer, and I couldn't get it to sit just right, which is why I can only get to my 23. I'm two teeth from where I want to be.
So I am trying to climb this ridiculous mountain which raises 1400vft in the first 4 miles in my second to largest gear. On a banana and a bagel and two cups of coffee.
It occurs to me that I know that in St. Helena there is a bike shop by the same name and they are also a Wilier dealer (the brand of my bike) and maybe I'll stop in and see if they have a Wilier hanger that will fit. And if not, maybe they could throw it on the stand and get it to sit right so I get my last gear for the way back.
I go ten miles out of the planned route to visit this store.
Here's why I had to pause before writing this. Because my assessment of that bike store in St. Helena that goes by the town name is, well, allow me to poo poo on it hard.
Three, extremely morbid mechanics who do not raise their heads when I come in, do not talk to one another the entire time I am there, and do not talk to me while I am there, with one exception(later).
So I walk in and by know you know I'm a pretty convivial dude. In fact, my bag is trying to leave a little conviviality residue on everyone I meet.
But this place is a morgue, and there is no coming back from the dead. I really try, but every time I get the energy-suck hand in my face.
Main dude, bulky guy in his fifties maybe, asks me if he can help me. Yeah, I hope he can. I got this problem and I'm traveling across country and do you have a hanger for me.
Nope.
Ok, you think maybe then you can do me a brotherly favor and stick this up on your stand and see if you can get me into my last gear. I'm suffering a bit. You guys have some serious mountains around here. Beautiful, but steep. I smile when I say this.
If I touch your bike then I'm not liable.
Um, Ok. I appreciate it.
He gets it on the stand. The other mechanics are eerily silent. One fixes a girls trike. One fixes a flat. One eats porridge.
Its not your hanger, he says. It's your cable.
Well maybe, I say, but the hanger the main issue. See, these really nice guys in Vegas made one from scratch for me out of, actually, I don't know what, puppies and hooker sweat. My original one snapped in two, but this one works pretty well if I can get it tight.
It's your cable, he says, and then he adjusts it. Its goes into my big gear.
He takes the bike off the stand and gives it back to me, and I say, because the air is super heavy and I'm actually a bit scared, I say, thank you so much, I will come back and spend some money here as payback. I'll stop in tomorrow. Hey, I say, seeing a jersey I like, do you have bibs that match that jersey?
No.
Umm, ok. Well thanks very much. I really appreciate it. He nods. I say thanks again, and remember there are four dudes in here, I get nothing back. Not a single word.
And on the way out, I see a newer model of the exact bike I have. It has the exact hanger I need attached to it. I say to one of the mechanics: Hey, you don't this hanger would fit my bike? It looks exactly the same.
He (pointing at the manager) said it wasn't your hanger. It was your cable.
Yeah...no. It wasn't my cable, well it maybe was my cable because my hanger isn't really a hanger. It's just a piece of medal that thinks it's a hanger. Doesn't even have screws.
I don't know, says the mechanic, he said it was your cable.
So then the manager guy comes back and take a look at it and says "If I gave you that one, I would have to charge you for it."
No. Shit.
I say "Well, maybe here's how we can make this work. I pay you for that one and you take this one, just so you can still display the bike, and then I'll see if I can buy you another one and have it overnighted. I'd be willing to do that just to get my bike fixed and safe." (That's me suggesting I pay for two hangers plus the shipping.)
He looks at me and says "I can get one. I'm a dealer" and then he has himself a nice hearty self-satisfied smirk and chuckle. "Plus I can't sell this bike if I give you the hanger."
And I say "Well, do you think you'll sell this bike in the next couple of days? I mean, how often do you guys sell out your Wilier frames?" And I meant this in genuine interest. Trust me, people do not just walk in out of the blue and buy $7,000 bikes.
"I could sell today." He points to the only customer in the store. "That guy could buy it."
I personally guarantee you that bike will still be there in a month, and I'm being really optimistic on his behalf.
And at this I have had enough. "Hey, look man. I was just trying to get my bike fixed. Your a bike shop and a Wilier dealer. I thought you could help but maybe I just caught you guys at a bad time or something. I'm just trying to figure out a way that I don't die on a descent. But I'm getting a lot of opposition, and.." and then I trail off.
I will say I left with my day ruined. I can't help it. It's a serious character flaw that I don't have a defense against the energy suck. I tried and I tried to let it go but I could not. I try to be the change I want to see in this world, and the world fart bombs me.
I did not notice the mustard smell to the valley any longer, and I did not see the beautiful yellow pastures of flowers flowing amidst the brown, empty vines full of anticipation for the spring sun, or the blue sky above. I cursed and I yelled and I told Sonoma to fuck itself. Pretentious little fucker.
I saw rocks and potholes and 55mph tractor trailers and no less than 5 cyclists who came toward me and failed to respond to my friendly wave of the hand, and one guy in a white pickup who I had a few face to face words with.
It maybe wasn't until my braised lamb shank and my five tastings of red wine and my house-cured meats and my six selections of goat and milk cheeses at the "Girl and the Fig" in downtown Sonoma with my bartender Amy and her hint of brogue and her friendly smile, that I felt those things melt away a bit.
I am almost whole again. Sonoma has a few more days. I dont walk away easily.
Date: 12.22.11
Well maybe, I say, but the hanger the main issue. See, these really nice guys in Vegas made one from scratch for me out of, actually, I don't know what, puppies and hooker sweat. My original one snapped in two, but this one works pretty well if I can get it tight.
Today was all drive, pictures, drive, pictures day. And I don't know how they manage to do it, but the Japanese really are everywhere besides just Japan.
It was a sunny day, so the views were perfect and also, quite cluttered with other people. I cant imagine what it would be like to come here in high-season, must be a train wreck.
I can't even wrap my head around what it must have been like to come across this part of the country on horseback and crest that ridge of the Grand Canyon, or peer down into Death Valley. I have this image of two cowboys and one turning to the other and saying "god-DAMN-it, Larry! What was wrong with Austin again?"
The drive here was beautiful. I've done the same route once before, in 1995, when I moved from the east coast to Los Angeles, but I must have done it in the dark, because I would have remembered this. The last 30 miles before Vegas, coming on Route 93, is like driving through a mini Grand Canyon, and you can't help but lose your breath.
Barking at goats will keep you safe. Pocket that one, you may need it.
Date: 12.13.11 AND 12.14.11
Today, Sedona picked a fight with me. It was 40 degrees, windy, and rainy. I was going to ride no matter what, but I could have done without the rain. The roads sucked. The scenery was, eh. The red rocks are out of this world, but thats only about the last three miles of the ride.
But the uppercut that laid me out, and I have had enough of it, was the drivers, specifically the ones long in the tooth.
Seconds after I get home, I lose my shit. And I get it on video, and I'm keeping that one in my pocket. And I feel much better.
I was nervous, like prom night nervous, as I drove towards the start and I saw that fucker staring down at me. It was spreading it arms and beckoning me to bring it and it had not just the element of surprise, but the goliath angle as well.
Four very inquisitive deer met me at the top, and also one dude named Phil, who was coming from the other direction, and the two of us hung some serious brain on the way down. I took some genuine chances, given that the drop off on most of it was hundreds of feet into rock. And yeah, I thought of Woulter Weylandt and those images from last years Giro D'Italia.
I stop and take some videos and I mash this up into a little ditty that I try and upload to youtube five times. Five times because wi-fi is proving to be a sturdy opponent on the Exodus. The wi-fi at the guest house succeeds in uploading the pictures almost instantaneously, but falls asleep on me just minutes before the video is finished. Typical passive aggressive lover behavior.
Date: 12.6.11
Yeah, I did walk down to my garage every once in a while to peek in at those two beautiful black beasts sitting there. My beasts. Even though one, I never drove.
But I remember that my jeans fit me too tightly and I remember what his dogs smelled like when they nosed me awake in the morning. If you dropped me in Bozeman right now, I could guide you to where he lived and I could tell you that the back door probably still doesn't open all the way. The color of the boat was green and chrome. I remember the icy, clean water dripping from the mouth of the fish while I held it for a picture. 
