Drink n' ride; Ride n' drink

The thing about Northern California is that it's November, and we still have organized rides going on. And it was 78 the afternoon of this ride. There might be a thing or two more about Northern California, but I sure was digging watching the sun come up on my drive to Lodi, CA for the Giro D' Vino ride. This ride is a strange beast. There are two lengths: 100k and 50k. Along the route, there are about 4 stops at wineries where riders can taste for free by flashing their fancy pink rideclet (that's my made-up word for the dumb bracelet you get at the rides). Turns out, tasting is more or less free in Lodi, so it was a false draw.

Good morning little smart car!


Well, look what we have here. The bathrooms! Better line up, 60 miles is a long way.
Woodbridge/Mondavi winery -- a cute little ornate something-or-other. I didn't have a ride buddy, so I just headed out on my own around 8:15. This made for an interesting ride. A lot of folks just hung around for a while and the official start was something like 'not later than 9 a.m.' I haven't spent a lot of time at the front of the pack in these rides -- you can imagine who's up there. I'll just tell you: it's the fast people. Lots of men and a few women. I was pretty happy with my speed for the first 50 miles or so, and had fun chasing down some packs of riders, drafting off them, and then hanging back a bit.
Then came the winery stops -- so basically, you ride really hard for 10-15 miles, and then stop at a winery. OR, you don't stop, keep riding, and go chase down other people, all the while comfortably singing out loud because there's no one around.

Except this guy.
This guy rode behind me for lots of miles. He'd speed up, sit about 20 feet behind my wheel, and then drop back. I didn't see him at lunch, but saw him at the last rest stop where he told me to prepare for a big hill. I told him I'd been preparing all my life, baby. No, I didn't really say that. Here he is passing me around mile 55. Why did he pass me? I'll tell you later.

Starting off, with a lovely view of the vino bushes. And some electrical wires, apparently. If I weren't so lazy, I'd edit my photos. Quite a lovely day though.
Meanwhile, at the head of the pack. . . there's no obvious way to get to the first rest stop, so I didn't stop there, kept going. Met a really nice guy who also wasn't on board with the wine & bike combo who had fabulous tattoos and a gigantic iPod (I just have a teeny tiny shuffle).
A couple of guys on fixed gears. I hung out with them a bit when I got to the rest stop. I had to sit a couple of chairs away to make room for their egos.
One of the winery stops. Not a great picture, but there's flags. And a sign or two. I passed by this flag/wine stop; lord knows I'm no stranger to ignoring flags. Especially red ones.
This guy got dropped by his buddy. He made a great show of passing me, but then slowed down so he could eat his almonds. I wasn't sure how big of a breach of etiquette it would be to pass him right back as he looks all sponsored and whatnot. But then, when I was about to run out of water and was ready for some grub, I saw the lunch stop, so I figured I'd just follow him in.
Can you see this? I'll just tell you what it is: a nearly useless lunch spread. I did one ride where the food was amazing, but I can't remember which ride? The rained-out Santa Rosa ride maybe (and NCAC of course -- you should have seen the vegetarian/vegan/gluten free spread!). Anyway. What you see here is lunch after 30 miles of no rest stops. Lots of water (not pictured), great. Apples and bananas, great. And lots and lots of sandwiches. ("I believe that all anyone really wants in this life is to sit in peace and eat a sandwich.") Turkey and Ham and Peanut Butter sandwiches. It was like riding in the Butte, land of mayonnaise and processed cheese.
Then I sat and listened to people talk about how fast they were riding, ask everyone around them how fast they were riding, and chat with the guys on fixies about how they over-rode the route because they missed a turn, and they kept saying they'd "already gone 35 miles" and it was going to be such a long day, etc etc. Now again, I really wanted to interject, but there's something about the male ego that just makes me quietly judge, rather than vocally correct. The rest of us had gone about 31 miles, so their boast/complaint about adding miles rang a little hollow in my already-suffering-from-low-blood-sugar-ears.
Oh, and one of these guys said a couple of times how did didn't need to carry water with him and his body "really stores carbs." No water + "really storing carbs" = looking faint after 35 miles, I guess. After that he said, "That's whats so good about me."

Yeah.

So I ate about 8 apple slices and set off again for the back half -- the hilly half, I'd heard.

This photo I took immediately after a car had passed. Why the heck this rider is in the middle of a road that is not blocked off to traffic, I do not know.

Oh, so I said I'd tell you why that American flag guy was passing me toward the end after he'd been trailing me all day. It's onaccounta my bad genes. My back completely gave out around 50 miles and the last 14 miles or so were a combination of cursing and counting off every tenth of a mile. Apparently either my bike fit is off or the running is ruining my back, because cycling doesn't typically hurt so much. Rather, doesn't typically hurt SO much. That's what I meant.
Stupid running. Stupid back.

Couldn't decide what picture to upload. Typical post-ride self-portrait.
Or the big thumbs up.
I think if I keep working out, I could build up my ego so big that when I flex it, I could knock those boys off their bikes.

Happy November, y'all.