Took a spin around La Mesa on the Italian bird today. Yes, my '95 (or ’96) Bianchi is indeed a sweet, sweet ride, and riding her luscious blue frame down the street in my wool jersey, black Performance “Century” pants ($25 on sale -- so you know they're good!) and slip-on semi-loafers, I looked quite the Italian campione, if I do say so myself. The backwards World Champion cycling cap I had crammed under my helmet really tied the look together as well. Unfortunately, the ensemble was somewhat tarnished by the awkwardly angled rear rack ghetto-ly clamped onto the racing bike's rear triangle, the large bulging gray Kangaroo Bagg from the ‘80s attached to it, the creaking noises accompanying any sudden braking action, and the constant fumbling required to coerce cooperation between the retro 7-speed Campagnolo index shifters, even more retro 6-speed Suntour cassette, and extremely retro “Light Action” Shimano derailleur, but I rolled on secure in my style and with great aplomb, happy with the knowledge that I was, if not the fastest cyclist out today, at least the most internationalist in my component choices.
It was a bit nippy out by San Diego semi-arid climatic standards, but it was our first rainless day since I stopped counting many hail-storms ago, and I wasn’t going to miss it on account of a little Winter. Thus I was resplendent in knee warmers and a set of United States Postal Service Cycling Team-issue arm warmers which jived nicely with my understated red-white-and-black wool jersey, the official, limited-release team issue of the Scoiattolo Cieco [Blind Squirrel] racing team, a squadra of one currently directed and fully supported by myself. We’re still awaiting a title sponsor.
Anyway, the Bianchi's drivetrain is a thing of beauty as I've already said, but its gearing is, considering its nearly 30-pound curb weight, ambitious. It does not include a granny gear so much as a Michael Phelps gear. Of course, the beauty of ascending hill and dale on a bike lacking a proper granny gear and packing a few extra pounds is that summiting a hill at virtually any speed at all is an achievement, and thus climbing rates that on my normal bicycle might seem disappointing or even downright snail-esque can seem rather impressive (indeed stupendous!) when performed on my Bianchi. No compact cranks here; you don't so much spin the pedals as exhort them to do another rotation every minute or so until you reach the top of the climb.
Today's parcours didn't call for heavy climbing, so I was able to muscle it over the rollers and coast stylishly on the descents, studiously avoiding potholes and puddles while coaxing the recalcitrant derailleurs into non-grinding alignment. I pedaled along Bancroft Avenue next to the scenic 125 motorway, then up to Lemon Avenue, best and quietest of all the La Mesa streets, and instead of turning right to attempt the tortuous climb of Mount Helix, a route I knew could only result in comically low speeds, busted knees, and lines of cars waiting to pass by, I chose the route less traveled and turned left for a leisurely ride among the winding and mercifully comfortably-sloped lanes which comprised today's scenery.
After such an exertion, lunch was naturally called for, and as every Mexican cyclist knows, there is no finer fuel for a hard day in the saddle than a greasy plate of tacos and a can of sugary Squirt from a taco shop. In fact, in the early days of Le Tour, that's all they ate, besides the wine and cocaine. Upon receiving my bounteous meal from the grinning taco-slinger, who helpfully informed me that I might want to wait at least an hour before attempting to pedal anything after eating his food, I sat down to enjoy my well-earned feast. I fully savored my carnitas tacos and again loaded up the Bianchi to continue what was becoming a one-day classic.
Rejuvenated with the kind of performance that you can only get from tacos, my cadence picked up considerably during the second half of the ride and I even challenged myself to an extension of the route and the inclusion of a considerable climb. A flat very close to the finish did of course hurt the overall time for the day, but provided me an excellent opportunity to hone my roadside mechanic skills as well as enjoy seeing and being seen on the local Champs-Elysee that is Jamacha Road.
A fine day in the saddle and a stylish one at that, thanks to Bianchis, wool jerseys, and carnitas tacos.
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