Day 1: Costa Mesa, California to Palm Springs, California

Distance: 112 miles
Climbing: 4150 feet

So, I’m sitting by the pool of a really very nice Best Western in Palm Springs (yes, that Palm Springs—you know, where they keep the old people). A lovely ride today. Sunny. Hot (upper 90s). Strong headwind. I averaged 15.3 mph for the ride. I know, that seems like a really slow average, but you have to keep in mind that there’s really no turning out of the headwind. We’re going east, and if the wind is coming from the east, you’re eating it. In my defense, I hit town with one other guy well before everybody else. Plus, it’s Day One, and I didn’t really want to get into my legs or go anaerobic yet until I have some sense of how the old body will react. The first three days are alleged to be a stone bitch.

I rode on an Interstate for the first time in my life. That’s right, two sections of I-10 around where the windmills are in the pass before you drop into Palm Springs. There was also a lot of riding on the shoulders of fairly large state highways. There are a lot fewer riders than I was anticipating. We’ve got 12 total, only 8 of whom are going through all the way to Amesbury, plus a couple of the support group that ride some. The climbs are lovely. I’d like to make slow, sweet love to the engineers that graded the mountain passes of Southern California. Figuratively. Sort of. The climbs are long and gradual and never kicked up that steeply.

I had a lovely visit from Thursday to Saturday with Crystal and Scott. Lovely weather, sparkling people. I'm including a photo of those two cuties along with a piece of my hand with absolutely no permission from them. It's a pretty terrible picture but does a decent job of capturing how I see them. Scott was huge in hauling my ass down from Sherman Oaks to Costa Mesa on Saturday. It turns out my helmet was cracked, and I needed to find someplace to pick up a new one. I wound up frittering away his whole afternoon going from place to place. Kudos to Scott. Sorry for the hassle young man. I owe you one.

Two tangents now. First, customer service is truly an adventure in Southern California, kind of like Alaska. I must be spoiled living in the South, where they still may get everything wrong, but are at least sweet about it. In Southern California, they try to convince you that you’re at fault, and kind of a toolbag for even hassling them in the first place.

Second, I spent all day riding my bicycle to a place where I have virtually no responsibilities. That’s what we call a good day. I feel fantastic. I felt fantastic the whole ride—light and easy, never straining, not even on the climbs. And tomorrow I get up at 5 AM to do it all over again. I can’t wait, and that’s not even sarcastic.