200 policemen on the Golden Gate Bridge welcomed me back to Hawk Hill yesterday morning after an 8 week absence. Yet a few hours earlier, around 5am, it looked like it wasn't going to happen. The Dragon Boss had been a little feisty with Baleen at midnight, announcing a half hour hunger strike with some shrieks and the 'ol Stiff as a Board routine (where he looks like he's trying to stand as tall as a West Point plebe), and I thought that maybe Baleen could use that extra help at the 7am feed. But at 6am, when he finally fell asleep after an active, audible hour of trying to fill his diaper, I threw on the spandex and sprinted out the door.
It felt great to be back on the bike, but even better to see everybody at the Presidio Gate, where I had fifteen seconds to tell everybody about The Dragon Boss before we rolled out. At the Start, I was yelling at St Nick and Alec Baldwin for their chatty pace, asking if they wanted a cup holder on the handlebars for some coffee. St Nick took off and I followed, but only for a few hundred yards. I lost him at the first turn past the Start, about a mile short of where I used to lose him, and I was alone in the Flats, well behind the hummingbirds, but in front of an unknown group of warm weather riders behind me. Standing still, or crawling along to wait for that unknown group would have been the best option, but your heart doesn't want that, even if your legs do, so I pedalled along until a splinter group of two caught me a little before the Circle. I hung on to that last wheel for as long as I could, looking over my shoulder for that unkown group that I knew was coming.
And come they did, about three of them passing me after the Circle, meaning I hit the top in ninth or tenth in 8.33, my second slowest recorded time, 27th out of 28th, and just barely before Laurent Blanc, another recovering new father. That's a time that would have made me wince a few months ago, but not this time. I had Baleen and The Dragon Boss waiting for me at home.
It felt great to be back on the bike, but even better to see everybody at the Presidio Gate, where I had fifteen seconds to tell everybody about The Dragon Boss before we rolled out. At the Start, I was yelling at St Nick and Alec Baldwin for their chatty pace, asking if they wanted a cup holder on the handlebars for some coffee. St Nick took off and I followed, but only for a few hundred yards. I lost him at the first turn past the Start, about a mile short of where I used to lose him, and I was alone in the Flats, well behind the hummingbirds, but in front of an unknown group of warm weather riders behind me. Standing still, or crawling along to wait for that unknown group would have been the best option, but your heart doesn't want that, even if your legs do, so I pedalled along until a splinter group of two caught me a little before the Circle. I hung on to that last wheel for as long as I could, looking over my shoulder for that unkown group that I knew was coming.
And come they did, about three of them passing me after the Circle, meaning I hit the top in ninth or tenth in 8.33, my second slowest recorded time, 27th out of 28th, and just barely before Laurent Blanc, another recovering new father. That's a time that would have made me wince a few months ago, but not this time. I had Baleen and The Dragon Boss waiting for me at home.
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