It was cold riding alongside the frosty swamps this morning after a week in sunny (and hot) Solvang. (At least for us 70s and sunny is hot. My forearms are peeling.) We had a great time, and rode lots of big (and small) hills– even Mt. Figueroa– which was a ten mile climb beyond category, or so they said. It was my favorite day, since there was no traffic at all. The first few days were a challenge, as I hadn’t realized that I had some old post traumatic accident issues– the day we rode on Highway 101 to Jalama Beach with the wind, the roaring semis, and a bloody dead deer nearly did me in, but I got better. I hardly took pictures because we didn’t stop for them, this was, after all, a training camp, and I also never visited a winery. (Same deal, we rode swiftly past a gazillion though, and they looked beautiful.) It is lovely country, and it was pretty neat to ride hard and harder each day and know that I was capable of more than I had thought. The folks with us– from Canadian Ironwomen to an English downhill racer were inspiring. As usual, while it was nice to go away, it’s always better to come home to family and dogs and springtime and my own bed and coffee cup. (Also, please excuse the odd format– I am such a Luddite that I cannot figure out how to resize phone photos…)
