It’s been a week since I got sprung from jury duty and I’m (a) still slightly bemused by the experience, and (2) not particularly interested in diving back into the sewage lagoon of the 24-hour news cycle.
Anyway, the fiber-optic fairies have been scurrying hither and yon in the ’hood, barricading streets and sidewalks; parking trucks, trailers, and arcane machinery in the right of way; digging holes and then filling them up again (or not); cutting gas lines and unplugging cable TV; and like that there.
It seems like a treasure hunt, albeit slightly spastic, and for some spray-tanned Suits in air-conditioned offices it almost certainly is. But for the sunburnt dudes with the shovels it’s hard labor with a side of heat stroke. And for the casual blogger it’s a noisy pain in the brain that takes his eye off the ball.
“Fuck this noise, I’d rather go 10 rounds with the bears.”
Well. Maybe not. Unless you can find me a real little one. Some toddler’s teddy, maybe.
Instead I go for a ride.
Yesterday I’d planned to wind southwest along the Paseo de Las Montañas Trail and through downtown to the bosque, before it dries up and blows away, then come home via the Paseo/North Diversion Channel Trail/Osuna/Bear Canyon route, or take the NDCT through Balloon Fiesta Park and up Tramway.
But NDCT south of the brief stretch of I-40 Trail west of Carlisle was closed for some reason, so I skipped downtown and the bosque and rode north to the Tramway climb, which I hadn’t done in two months.
I usually ride this gradual 5-mile ascent from I-25 to County Line BBQ as an individual time trial, just for shits and giggles, not trying to prove anything. My “training,” if you can call it that, is focused on having fun, testing myself a little when the spirit moves, and not getting centerpunched by some leadfoot “making his day” on TikTok.
A half hour for the distance is not shameful. My best time is 26:37, set four years ago on the DBR Prevail TT.
Yesterday, aboard the Soma Pescadero, I didn’t feel like I was crushing it — maybe a slight cross/headwind, p’raps sloth and torpor, or some combination of the two — so I was surprised to check the ol’ chrono at the finish and see a time of 28 minutes flat.
It seemed familiar, possibly because it was. When I got home and checked my training log to see how 28 minutes flat added up to previous Tramway time trials … well, it was the exact same time I’d ridden back in June, on the New Albion Privateer.
That was weird. What was really weird was that my time for the entire ride — from El Rancho Pendejo to the I-40/NDCT trails, Balloon Fiesta Park, Tramway, County Line, and back to the rancho — was likewise identical to my June outing, which covered the same ground, to the centimeter.
Talk about spinning your wheels to no particular purpose. No wonder I never go viral. You gotta give The Algorithm something to work with.
I mean, like, tik fuckin’ tok, yo.
