The Training Condudrum and an Epilogue

The problem with steadily training to get faster? You get faster. Then you run out places to get faster to.

My commute home from the 10-stops-too-early Caltrain station only took me an hour and 35 minutes last night instead of my previously regular time of an hour and 40.

It also now only takes me 25 minutes to ride from my house to Sand Hill, instead of my slow poke time of 30 minutes.

At this rate, I'll wind up in Napa when all I really wanted to do is simply ride to San Francisco on a Saturday afternoon.

* * *

For those of you who followed my guessing game of hints with the BF for our weekend adventure three weeks ago, we had a grand ol' time.

On our 5 and half hour ride from Paso Robles to the coast and back.


(This picture is such a visual mind f**k. It's actually a reservoir, with the Pacific ocean out in the distance. And lower in altitude. )




This is what I really thought about the ride. In the freezing cold. Paso's coldest weekend on record, in fact. Evidently Isaias didn't have the same thoughts.

Yes, that's my middle finger.

The next day we did "Tour 1" at Hearst Castle.

Many boys fantasize about this sculpture.

I'm sure Randolph Hearst was not an exception.

This sculpture reminds me of someone I know when he's gone a bit too far and a bit too fast for his own good on ride. Eh hem. I bet this guy didn't have a girlfriend to pick him up at Robert's market though.