October 9, 2009
levi’s gran fondo | miles 0 – 25
We rolled our bikes across the grass, walking with the steady stream of cyclists. A voice told us the time and talked about the course. I didn’t listen. The voice said to make sure we started with the right group, “be conservative” he said. We steered our bikes through the crowd and found a spot in the intermediate group, “top 35%,” the sign said. It was as far back as we could get.
People shuffled, straddling bikes. Cleats clicked in and out of pedals. I munched on a cliff bar, more anxious than hungry. The count down started, “…three, two, one, go.”
We waited.
The helmets in front of us started to move forward. My left foot clipped into my pedal, my right foot pushing off the pavement I rolled forward, slowly. Twenty minutes later, I lifted my right foot from the ground, toed my cleat in, shifted my weight and heard the familiar snap.
For most of the first 17 miles we occupied one lane of the road, handlebar to handlebar, helmets as far forward and backward as we could see. People stood on their lawns ringing cowbells and whistling. The pace was easy. People laughed and chatted, everyone was in good spirits. We weaved through the crowd and looked for a group, trying to read skill and speed as the mass moved down the road.
As the miles clicked by the pack thinned out. With the exception of the number of riders things were unspectacular and we reached our first rest stop after an easy climb and long descent.
When on a long ride there is nothing better than peanut butter sandwiches. We fueled up and rolled out.
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