Obscure film references aside, the past week for me has been dominated by equal parts anticipation and anxiety. I've ridden my loaner roadbike for 120 miles in preparation for the next paceline ride... which, ironically, was cancelled for the second time in a row due to rain. The more time passes, the more my anticipation builds and the more exaggerated my anxieties become.
The Co-Habitant and I did two fast-paced, hilly rides over the weekend - he on his
SurlyCross Check and I on the borrowed
Seven. We went over the same hills where he has previously passed me nonchalantly regardless of which bikes we were both riding... only this time our positions were reversed dramatically. I shot past him while exerting little effort, continued to merrily cycle uphill, and then waited for him to catch up as I sipped water and sniffed flowers.
Of course we expected that a racy roadbike would be faster than a heavier and more relaxed cyclocross bike with wide tires and a saddlebag. But since he is a stronger cyclist than I am to begin with, I thought that the discrepancy would level the playing field between us. Neither of us thought that it would make me this much faster uphill.
The interesting thing is that on downhills and flats there was not much difference between us; it was uphill that the bike really began to matter. This parallels my experience of the paceline ride on my
Rivendell, where it was specifically on the uphill portions that I felt a disadvantage to the others.
But while I am now confident in the bike's climbing ability, this is tempered by a fear not only of its speed on descents, but also of my relative unfamiliarity with its handling. After putting nearly 2,000 miles on my
RivendellI pretty much know how it behaves across a wide range of situations. The 120 miles on the
Seven are just not sufficient for that kind of comfort to develop. I don't mind admitting that I'm plain scared when riding it at 25mph+ downhill - scared of the narrow tires, scared of the carbon fork, and scared of its precise but aggressive cornering. The fear saps away my confidence, making me squeeze the brakes and cycle more conservatively than I am capable of.
Being 100% comfortable with a bicycle is not something I can force; it takes time. My curiosity is a strong motivator to keep riding and practicing, specifically seeking out those situations that still make me nervous.
While the bike is in my possession I've fitted it with my own saddle, which has made it more comfortable to ride long distances. I've also installed my pedals (the narrow
MKS Streams) and
PowerGrips. This looks silly on a bike that is typically ridden clipless, but I don't care: I need to ride it in a way that makes me comfortable. I've also now raised the saddle another 5mm from how it's shown in this picture, which
almost makes it look like the standover is not too high. Almost. The length of the toptube and the handlebar set-up work well for me (the
Ride Studio Cafematched the configuration to one of my own bikes) and it's only the seat tube height that's off. The result is that the bike fits me extremely well when I am riding it, but looks too big when I am not. Ideally, the frame would have the same virtual top tube length, with the actual top tube just a little bit sloped in order to reduce standover. Given the available demo models I prefer this set-up over a smaller frame, because I don't like toe overlap. All in all I feel good on this bike, which is what matters.
I really hope they don't cancel the paceline ride next week; the anticipation is getting ridiculous. In the meantime, all I can do is keep riding.
The second morning at Rio Grande Village I awoke to see the sky ablaze with color - the dawn's early light. Taken from just outside the van at my campsite.
The sun was already up and casting it's rays on the mountainside by the time I reached the top of “my” hill. Soon the entire valley would be filled with bright light. This was the view looking away from the sunrise, Rio Grande Village is off to the right. The glow lasted only a few seconds. I had never seen anything like it before.
This morning I decided to follow the trail all the way to the river. Unusual for this time of year, the Rio Grande was higher than normal. Even at this “high” level the water was only a couple of feet deep. I had been told by several people that on previous visits the river was just inches deep and you could easily walk across it. I was amazed by how rapidly the water was moving along. Quite fast.
At some time this area was flooded, now it is dry and the ground is crackling.
The tenacity of living things is incredible to me. The little “trees” in this “forest” were anywhere from 1 to 18 inches tall. Barely clinging to life in the dry, parched soil. However, there were bits of green here and there.
New growth coming on. Their roots must run deep. There is no surface water here.
Just a short distance from the river, these tiny flowers were growing along the path, a trail trampled daily by many feet. Makes you wonder if everyone tries not to step on them. And why does it have two different colors of blossoms?
These were growing amongst stones where there was barely any dirt. How do they get enough sustenance to survive? The plant is wiry and spindly, almost ugly, but the tiny blossoms are gorgeous.
Later that day I drove over to Boquillas Canyon and walked the short trail along the river and spotted these three canoes.
Distances are deceiving. Everything is much farther away than you think it is.
this the nice meadow that Teakettle Rock is in.
Some views of the Sandia Mountains the other day with a layer of clouds over them. 
While in Corning, we stopped at the Corning Museum of Glass.
We were not there for very long, but what we did see was great. We loved this: 
