Apocalypse La Jolla

Last weekend I took a little road trip down south. I only went 110 miles down the freeway but I might as well have slipped into a portal and taken a trip to Bizarro World. By all accounts La Jolla was nothing short of a seaside bicycle paradise. Took a 60 mile ride and all but 20 of those miles had bike lanes. The ones that didn't weren't exactly mean streets as motorists were so friendly it was truly confusing.

Really? You're going to wait for lil' old me to make a left? Really? Cause in any other part of the world, that move just sets the table for a trip over the hood of a car. But if you do insist, I'll go right ahead.

About halfway through the ride I realized that this bicycle utopia was just a very clever ruse to disguise the fact that the people on bikes are by far the biggest kooks in the Western Hemisphere. Seriously, you could take the snootiest memeber of Velo Club La Grange and even he would think the average La Jolla cyclist's butthole was wound up more than a little tight.

What I'm about to write is a the request of my therapist. She said that writing down a traumatic experience, is a great way to take ownership and turn the tables on what traumatized you is a big step in moving forward with your life.

There I was in La Jolla. Riding along the coast minding my own business. It was about 8:30 in the morning. The Pharcyde was playing on the iPod and the clouds were starting to break. A great sign that the day was shaping up to be very nice.

Then suddenly without warning, the distinct sound of Wagner filled the air and the breaking clouds started to gather once again.

From behind I heard the whir of a giant fan blade and turned over my shoulder to see what was causing a noise not of this earth. I saw a guy on a tri bike. Then I blinked. When my eyes opened three were two more guys on tri bikes flanking the first one. If you are familiar with The Empire Strikes Back, this is what's known as "attack pattern delta."

It didn't take long to realize I was the next target in their sights. The were the cheetahs and I was the hunted gazelle so close they could already taste me.

The only problem was that I was already crusing at 20mph and this pod of triathletes, despite being in a paceline in their aerobars were only able to manage somewhere around 20.1mph which effectively means I was swarmed by the wild beast that is a group of triathletes pacelining in their aerobars.

I can't believe I was just able to write that without breaking down. But I did and now I'm stronger. For I have been in the belly of the beast, looked death in the eye, gave my self paper cuts then just jumped in shark infested waters for a laugh and a swim. I have been through the black hole and came out the other side without fear.

Thank you tri guys for making me afraid of nothing.