Words fail...

I sorted myself out this AM and caught a Caltrain to RWC, climbed Jefferson fortissimo, but it was 8:50 AM and I was pretty sure that it was too late to
catch the Googlers coming down the Skyline Route. I decided to go backwards as
far as Edgewood to see if I could find them.

Happily they came cruising along, and I rode with the bunch to Foothill, then
with Xton to Homestead and Sunnyvale/Saratoga.

Checking the "listserv" - which is ancient mariners speak for "Google Group" - I saw this had been "dropped" on me by the young lady being escorted down the peninsula by the hard men of the peleton...

OK, that was about the most humiliating experience ever.

Though I appreciate your chivalrously taking shifts babysitting me as
I rode 17.3 miles behond you.


Thank god I was faster than the alto velo dude, but then he is
probably like 70 years old and 300 pounds, so not a big
accomplishment. Thankfully, after a little oatmeal, my legs came back
and I was able to race all the riders on my path on the way back to
school, leaving me with one nano micro mini half of a shard of ego.


I think I'll hit the pool and see if I can overtake some old ladies to
cheer myself up.


F

Perhaps I will go out and have a sixer of Sierra the night before the next ride she decides to attend. My buddy Troy Evans can attest to what I can "drop" on anyone who tries to draft my wheel after a night of carousing. Fragrant it is not!

Followup from Scott Crosby

you better be, as I am generally the only one allowed to make fun of
murph, particularly involving his grim refusal to rock anything other
than a pre-war webcor/altovelo kit, which is a mite threadbare, if you
must know.

Guilty as charged, I did wear my older pair of shorts which are clearly no
longer passing the "Spandex lightbulb translucency test" without a pair of
khaki shorts over them. Into the dustbin they go.