First World Problems

I had resigned myself to riding alone, which is fine, but I was a little disappointed in my inability to rouse my co-workers enough to get them out for a ride. I shouldn’t have been surprised. It was an unseasonably warm and more importantly – dry – day. However those factors often aren’t enough to get one over a hang over. It was New Years and most people would be content to sit at home and recover from the night before.  Matt saved me as I was just starting to get ready. After a few text messages a meet up time and place were agreed upon and I was set.

I had planned on saving my excursion to the roads near Estacada for this day. Yesterday I did the same old route. Out “Dirty 30″ to Sauvie’s, with some tempo thrown in to make it “fun”, then up to the west hills and screamer down Cornell. I’m starting to get tired of it. On the other hand I have yet to explore the rolling terrain to the South East of Portland.

We fought the wind as we worked our way east, first along Sunnyside rd, then a brief stretch of HWY 224 till we crossed the Clackamas. There the traffic died down, but didn’t completely disappear. We’d talk, riding side by side till a car would speed up behind us. At which point one of us would drop back let the car pass and resume pervious position.

A few weeks ago I tried to Buck and Ray-Ray out here, but Buck turned back because it was cold and Ray – Ray and I never made it to Estacada. I didn’t tell Matt, but I was still flying a little blind. I kinda knew the route, but I wasn’t wearing my glasses so reading the street signs before we were right on top of them was out of the question. Still I had a vauge idea of how to get there. Hopefully with enough daylight to get us both home before dark.

Matt’s much faster than me, and a fine cross and short track racer as well, but the dictates of the training season kept the pace firmly in the endurance zone. No attacks came on the hills, the descents were fun, sending us speeding across smooth(ish) roads and past the gates filled with cows, or lined with Christmas trees fortunate enough to escape the axe this year. Town line sprints went uncontested. We just rode. Matt turning a big gear, me doing my damnedest to keep a high cadence. Earlier in the week I was told that I looked like I was “dancing on the pedals”. Progress comes slowly, even when we think we’re standing still.

My blind guidance got us to Estacada where I decided we would take HWY 224 back. Not the prettiest, but the fastest route back into Portland. In Estacada the bike lane along 224 is wide enough to easily ride two abreast. There we talked about how great the riding is here, how sometimes I’m not always into the people, but the environment some how makes it all worth it. But neither of us are from here.

Soon our wide lane was gone, and we were trading long, hammering pulls single file with the hopes of not getting run off by the increasingly small shoulder. After about twenty-minutes Clackamas River Road saved us and carried us back toward my house and then along the Springwater. Which is, after leaving Matt to turn back to my house, where I saw, everything we had been talking about when we started back toward home. With the sun setting behind the West Hills I was caught off guard by a sense of appreciation. Appreciation for all the support the Lady give me, for being able to live in this place, for being blessed with first world problems.