the mighty wregor!

(and the semi-mighty wrob)
Yesterday, i traveled more miles by bike in one day than i've ever done before. At least 36. Not that that's so damn impressive, as cross-country bikers do 100 miles a day. But it was my personal best. I'd be willing to wager i was the top biker in Contra Costa County. The whole Bay area? Doubtful.
Oh, wait. I forgot the x factor. This was one day after record Bay temperatures. When i left the house it was around 100 degrees. Now that i think about it, i didn't see one other biker the whole trip.
Okay, maybe i was the top Bay area biker yesterday.
And i did it all to drop off a borrowed highlighter.
My chariot was the mighty wregor (that's a silent "w", and a soft "g"). A Maruishi RX-105. I've had it for less than three months, and as it's a much fancier bike than i usually ride, and maybe one size too small, and i live in one of the bike-theft capitals of the world, i've considered trading it in for a less-auspicious target (and using the leftover money for rent and such). But i bought it from a relative who'd cherished it, and selling it would feel shabby. So i've been marking time, thinking that if i can keep it from being stolen for another few months, it will have been a worthwhile investment. It's an older model, but a bike clerk told me i could get as much as $400...i paid $50, which equals the most i've ever spent on a bike.
Anthropomorphizing vehicles has never been my style, but when mary sold it to me, she asked what i was going to name it. In deference to her, i inverted the bike's previous name (adding a silent "w", of course).
I should also mention that this wasn't just 36 miles in three-digit heat. The route from San Pablo to Vallejo is mildly mountainous. There were numerous up and downs a quarter mile or more, at a 15-degree angle.
I didn't time the journey, but i estimate it took over four hours, with thirty minutes devoted to breaks.
Why would i make this olympian trek, just to drop off a highlighter?
For love, of course.
Not in a cliched way, though! I've a new friend. We've known each other a couple months, and a part of me hopes that we'll fall in love, but that wasn't the point. It was a psychological gesture of balance. As she has a car and i don't, and there's a fifteen-minute drive between us, she's done all the facilitating so far. We're at a tenuous point between lovers and friends, and when you dance that dance, there's always the danger of the latter being eaten alive (that doesn't sit well with me, as nothing is more sacred than friendship). For instance, if she met the man of her dreams today (rich/great sex/on bended knee), and he asked her to get rid of me, i think i know how that would go. She has many hippy affinities, but as a single mom who once dreamed of being a Disney princess, ideals only go so far (if that seems mercenary, she also has more integrity than most, so i imagine that after a year or two she'd send a note my way, just to find out how the asian coeds are treating me).
Anyway, i took this loony trek to Vallejo unannounced. I even half-hoped she wouldn't be home. I had an envelope for the marker, to put on her porch and leave her flabbergasted by not knowing how it got there. Again, this was about balance. Have i written her poems? Sure, but that's not necessarily impressive, as i'd probably be writing poems regardless. I just wanted to ensure that the thought would never pop into some corner of her brain, "Y'know, this bum has never gone two minutes out of his way for me."
As for the trek itself...
It started out brimming with happiness and excitement. With whoops, even. I love higher temperatures. The local weenies had been complaining about this "heat wave", but i was happy to be comfy again. I'd never been on the northern stretch of San Pablo Avenue, and it turned out to be charming. The towns seemed quaint, with nice-looking shops and eateries. I knew this was no lark, though...the biking was hard, even when i was fresh. I knew the heat posed dangers, but i had two bottles of water. All went smoothly, until...
I got to where San Pablo breaks off near Route 80 and the Carquinez Bridge. I headed in that direction...only to discover that bikes aren't allowed access there. I considered breaking that law, but as i'd just spent a week studying for my CA driver's license, i didn't think such audacious scofflawry prudent (or even likely to succeed). I had to backpedal, and the detour added four miles to my trip (plus the 2 it took to fix my mistake). To wind back around to where i'd already been, i had to ascend the highest terrain yet, past a refinery and a spot named "Vista Point". The sense of loneliness was acute, and it occurred to me that it would be a bad (or good) place to die. Eventually a few cars passed me, and i even flagged one down, just to be sure i wasn't going the wrong way. I began taking water breaks...and even breaks just to gather myself. At 70 degrees, it would have been a stroll...at 100, even i was feeling the heat. But i got to the Point, and felt fit enough to take a look.
Then i coasted down to the bridge. A genial group of walkers pointed me to the bike path. I only passed one person the entire span. With the uphills behind me, the final four miles were breezy.
I rang her bell, and even though her car was there, i suspected she might have company, so i prepared the envelope. Just as i was getting ready to go, she opened the door. The looks of semi-amazement she gave me, money can't buy. She refilled my water bottles, and i pedaled away. It was probably imprudent of me to not take a longer break and get more fluids, but i'm contentedly dumb that way.
The shadows had begun to lengthen, so that i was more shaded by trees and buildings. Once i got to the other side of the bridge, i met the same group of walkers, at the same exact spot! We marveled at the coincidence. Then the uphills were upon me, and it was instantly obvious that it would be slower going. I began to downshift three gears as opposed to two...and eventually even four. I generally avoid taking breaks on an uphill, but now...i felt weary, and had an ache from the back of my head down to my butt. By the time i got to the north-south San Pablo straightaway, i could feel the preliminary stages of vision distortion that come with overheating.
Go. Break. Water. Go.
Slowly. At one point i passed a pharmacy, and considered stopping for a sports drink. But i felt like i was in the last few miles, and could gut it out.
I had two breaks of 5-10 minutes. For some of that time, my head was drooped over my handlebars. The water didn't taste refreshing anymore, but i kept drinking.
The toes of my right foot curled around themselves, and the whole foot cramped.
Wait. Go.
I fantasized about the meal i would have. Ever thrifty, i haven't eaten out once in the six weeks i've been here. I would stop for some yummy asian bean curd.
The last hill was almost the killer, because the previous hill had looked like the final one.
Finally, i was coasting down to home.
I didn't stop at the restaurant. A good thing too, as i might have ended up lying on their floor for twenty-five minutes, which is exactly what happened when i got home. As i took my shoes off inside the door, my left foot seized. Then the right again. After fifteen minutes i tried to stand up, and was down again.
Brilliant. What a day. Huge and beautiful.
And i learned something. I learned that no writer who bikes ten miles a day, will ever experience writer's block. During the trek, my mind cranked out at least three worthy ideas, the last of which was a poem dedicated to an amazing womyn in Vallejo. I hoped it might even make her cry.
A day in the life of a lonely fool, being naked for her (and you) as a rule.