Fruit Cobbler and Bees in Pt. Reyes

Yesterday, Jerry and I joined a small group of riders for the longest ride we have taken in some time. We did a 60-miler from Mike's Bikes in Sausalito out to Pt. Reyes. Beau, a Pos Ped, had organized the ride, and last minute he got eight cancellations, but six of us rode out and it was a great little group.

For some reason, for the last couple of times we have climbed Camino Alto, around half way up I start getting queasy. I think it's just nerves and anticipation of something much worse than it is. I never get these feeling when climbing tougher hills; I think it's because it comes right at the beginning of a ride, I'm not warmed up and again, the anticipation is worse than the reality.

But once we were sailing down the other side, all was right with the world and we pedaled on. After a brief stop in Fairfax to share a muffin with Jerry, we tackled White's Hill. We were slow but steady and it felt just fine.

We were doing the counter-clockwise route to Pt. Reyes, which is my favorite way to go. For some reason, I hate climbing Nicasio Valley Road right after White's Hill, and counter-clockwise takes us through Lagunitas and through Samuel Taylor Park, with its magic bike path. I swear, that path is downhill no matter which way you are going. I love it. I also love the beautiful trees and greenery that surrounds you as you ride that path. On a hot day it is welcome, and on a lovely, breezy day like yesterday, it was simply beautiful to look at.

After the park, we headed up Olema Hill. We hadn't ridden up that hill in a couple of years, and while it was no picnic, without the construction of a couple of years ago, it wasn't bad at all. From there Pt. Reyes Station was just around the corner.

Secret plans were in the work at Pt. Reyes Station. Grady, another Pos Ped who was supposed to join us yesterday but was running a fever, had ordered a fruit cobbler in celebration of Beau's birthday, which was Saturday. Shawn and Mark sneaked off to Cowgirl Creamery to pick it up. They had even gotten "gay" (rainbow) candles. Though it was too windy to light them, Beau, happily surprised, pretended to blow them out, and we dug in. The cobbler was huge, but we managed to devour almost the whole thing. We shared it with some other cyclists who were perched on the ledge with us, eating lunch.

The cobbler was delicious. Very simple, with a few late summer fruits-- berries and pears mostly-- in a very light sauce not overly sugared. The streusel on top was also not overly sweet and we all appreciated its crunch. It was just the way a cobbler should be.

There was no question I didn't need a second helping, but I had one anyway and was sorry once we rode out. Too much food in my stomach coupled with bike riding is not a happy combo for me.

We stopped at the local park which has rest rooms and for the first time, there were actually separate lines for the boys and girls. Usually, people just get in one line, and since the bathrooms are all single-seaters, the next in line just takes whatever is available. A couple of the guys I was riding with told me to get in line with them, but I felt that with all those other women waiting, it just wouldn't be fair, and I dutifully waited my turn in the longer line. I should have listened to the guys, because while I stood in the longer line a yellow jacket must have thought my calf looked delicious and he came for a little snack, and decided he should sting me before he left. It's been years since I've had a bee sting and I've forgotten they can really hurt! With no ice to numb the pain I just had to be stoic.

I'm convinced riding after a bee sting is good therapy. I figure that all that motion gets the blood, and in turn, the toxin, moving, so it's not concentrated in that one spot. Today it itches like crazy, but it's not really swollen, and it's just a tiny red dot.

The last 10 miles or so Jerry and I were riding with spaghetti legs. We were really worn out. Not bonky in the least, just muscle-tired and overworked. The last climb up Camino Alto seemed like it took forever, but once we were coasting down the other side we knew we were almost home. Getting off the saddle at Mike's never felt so good. My new Selle San Marco saddle is doing a pretty good job, but I'm convinced that no saddle, no matter how good, really does a good job after around 40 miles.

Next weekend is a 30-mile ride and a potluck afterwards. Sounds very good indeed.