What goes around...comes around.

And around. And around.

I figured out where to do flat 17-minute long intervals this morning.

The Polo Fields.

In a city full of fools, I was the only one crazy enough to be out there today, rain pouring down. It was just me and the birds. Crows. Little white cheepers. Even a red tailed hawk that insisted on flying away every time I rode by... and then coming back to very same spot on the fence. His spot.

Around and around I went. For 17 minutes.

It was a bit like being a goldfish in a bowl. The little tower was a surprise every time (Ani Difranco anyone?).

I learned which way the wind was blowing by the 5 beats my heartrate would vasilitate between. 153 with the tailwind. 158 with the headwind.

On the way home, a little boy wearing a yellow rain slicker and galoshes holding his dad's hand brought traffic to a hault on Geary as the two entered the crosswalk. The garbage truck happily honked as the little boy waved his little hand.

It was a great day to ride.