VROOM!

Yesterday we did a loop ride, down the old 94 and back up 805. I was doing okay. It's a windy road and the sun was killing me. In spite of my sunglasses I still could barely look ahead, and I will confess that sometimes I had to just point the bike and hope I was on the right line. I REALLY couldn't see on some of those turns. I did okay, and was coming near the end of the windy part. Then...eeps!

I was doing a turn down a hill that got tighter--and blinder--as it descended, and a Border Patrol guy in his truck pulled STRAIGHT out in front of me! AAAAHHHH!!!! In my head I had my husband's old observation: "You can't brake in a turn, you have to just ride it out and hope." I got really close to the tail of this agent, I swear, but I was trying to just hold on and not hit my brakes and stay upright and not, you know, reach out and unscrew his license plate or anything hostile like that...he floored it when he realized what he had done and took off. I was still concentrating on coming out of the turn and up the hill on the other side, so I didn't care where he was (as long as it wasn't right in front of me). Once I was on the straight I tried to relax a bit. Oi. I'm really going to need to practice emergencies in turns.

We went up the 805 to Cycle Gear, and this guy in a Caravan or Explorer or....some big SUV-truck thing, I don't know, it was black...didn't check for me and totally cut me off. I hope he liked that little bit of precious road he took from me. He didn't even seem to SEE it, though, so it couldn't have been that important to him...but whatever. I ride defensively so I saw him coming before he was on me, and I dropped back and out of his way. The truck went right by in front of me and up the outside lane. Nick was livid, though. He roared by on his big ol' black motorcycle to follow this guy. For what purpose, I don't know. But without Nick as my wingman I was suddenly panicked. There I was in the middle of 805, no rider behind, no one to block lanes for me so I could get over...and I couldn't put my hand up to my Chatterbox so that I could bring him back. Help!

In absence of all other options, I just kept riding.

It only took about a minute, though, before I heard this voice in my helmet: "Can you still hear me? I'll drop back to you. I'm sorry..." Ah, crisis averted. My big black escort was behind me again, and all was well.

Except it happened again, leaving Cycle Gear!! Ahhh!! I made a turn that he didn't make so he had to wait for a light change so he could jump traffic. Unfortunately, *my* next turn was onto the freeway. AUGH! So I just kept telling myself, "Motorcycles can ACCELERATE! Merge! Merge!" I did a couple of merges myself (yay me!) and then my wingman was with me again. He's quite thunderous, and makes quite an impression when he arrives on the scene. The huge black bike, the pipes, the black leather gear, the sleek black helmet with the tinted visor...it's quite impressive. Me, not so much. But his presence on the bike is something to aspire to. :) Anyway, I had my wingman back and we got home without incident.

Yesterday's ride, 63.2 miles. One break, but not because I needed it. :)