Yesterday, Layne, Calli and I rode up the Matterhorn. Okay-- really it was Matterhorn Drive in Alpine, but there is a dang good reason why it's so named.
It was the perfect day for a fall ride, once the temperature topped about 40 degrees or so. It felt so good to be riding outside after too many days on the trainer.
We headed into Alpine, and our recently-turned-mountain-goat friend Calli said, "Let's ride up my parents' road." Up we went.
Layne hasn't really ridden in weeks. I've been putting in 40 minutes a couple of days a week inside (alternated with the self-imposed near-drowning excercise I jokingly call swimming.) Neither of us like to climb much to start.
I did all right. I stuck right by Calli's side and she actually got me to slow down and take the tortoise approach (vs. my typical hare). It was painful and I told Calli she was fired as the navigator for future rides.
Layne didn't fare as well. He swears his bike can't go slower than 10 mph. He made it to the top, but he was 90% ready to puke. I felt so bad for him (on account of the fact that the reason he hasn't had time to ride is that he is so busy working hard so that I can stay home). To my discredit, I was a little bit happy that he'd burned out-- he was a much more manageable beast for the rest of the ride. (Meaning Calli and I could almost keep up with him.)
Nice to see he's human.
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