2006 Chilly Hilly

The lycra was out in full force yesterday as the 34th edition of Seattle's answer to Mardi Gras was completed without major incident. Ah, the color, the pageantry, the clacking of bicycle cleats as you and several thousand of your fellow-cyclists are herded onto the cardeck of a Washington State ferry at 7:30am on a cold, rain-threatening morning, aided by the ever helpful ferry staff, most of whom are making more than your dentist. But I digress....

Once safely onboard, it's upstairs to do some people watching, or possibly to wait in the 30-minute long line to the men's room, which on a 25-minute ferry crossing, may be a problem. I forego the chance to relieve myself in favor of the people watching, figuring there will be plenty of Sanikans once we start riding.

It's always amazing to me the diversity of cyclists on these organized rides. This particular ride, known officially as the "Chilly Hilly" is no walk in the park and one is left to wonder if the 250 pound man covered by half an acre of ochre spandex is going to make it up the first hill, or if he's just going to roll his bike to the nearest pub and spend the next three hours downing beers and bangers. For this type of event, image and style are on everyone's minds.

The ferry lands at Bainbridge Island and and as we're heading down the steps to the car level, an older man slips on his cleats, lands flat on his back and bounces several times before stopping. He's up in a moment, shakes himself off like nothing happened and continues to his bike. In this case pride cometh after a fall--inside I know he's wondering how he's even going to manage to get off the ferry, let alone complete the arduous ride.

There is no better part of the event than when we all get clipped into our pedals and start pedalling through town, every rider jockeying for position and hoping that he or she won't be the first to fall, causing a chain reaction of unfathomable proportions. This isn't exactly the Tour de France, but being part of such a large group snaking its way through the city streets is undeniably exhilirating. Less exciting is that after 3 minutes, my partner and I are already separated.

We're able to catch up at the top of the first hill as the crowds thin out slightly and we manage to stay together for the rest of the ride. The course, as its name implies, is very hilly, with several lung-busting elevation gains, and is mostly in shade and on woodsy secondary roads where warmth is hard to come by. We plug along at a pretty fast pace, hoping to distance ourselves from the masses of slower riders, but we're not successful and only end up tiring ourselves unnecessarily. As we're passing riders, other riders are passing us and there's constant bike traffic, especially at the top of hills, which tend to concentrate things.

The ride eventually becomes quite pleasant as a second-wind kicks in and we find a comfortable pace. I hit a course-high of 45+ mph going down a lovely descent, at the bottom of which is a sharp turn, leading to a nice, long beachfront flat, at the end of which is one of the official ride photographers. I try to look calm, cool and collected as pictures are snapped, hoping that for once in my illustrious cycling career I might have a chance to buy a photo where I don't look like I'm getting ready to die. Speaking of photos, another great part of the ride was taking pictures with my camera phone and sending them off to various interested parties. OK, I guess the only interested party was my sister Sue, but her enthusiasm, as always, made up for a lot.

But then it's one more grueling uphill and then a quick descent to ferry landing and a languid crossing to Seattle and the ride home, where I crash into my brother-in-law, nearly causing a fall. We end up at his place where my sister has skillfully thawed out some tasty pizza rolls, as well as "preparing" some other salty treats, topped off by a big piece of coconut cake she had made the night before, as part of a dinner party to which I was not invited. All was washed down with beer and coffee, and before the lactic acid totally got a stranglehold on my legs, I was out the door, getting back home at a little after 2pm.