I spent the morning glued to the Tour De France. Sorry, its summer, and the fact that I have my first few days where I am not running all over the place, I got caught up in the days events. I am finding that after our outing with Team Columbia High Road we are following the racing a bit more closely, there is a connection. Finally, after the mornings stunning break away success, I decided to get my butt out the door to ride my final solo training ride for awhile, and headed out the door to accomplish the 30 miles in the already hot sun. Yuk, hill sprints in the muggy sun...
So I head to Pound Ridge via Martha's Stewart's place (Griddle Ridge Rd) and just as I get to the GR turn off on 22 I notice a flare burning in the road. I can hear a truck bearing down on me, and I am holding my line to make the left turn, and next thing I know I am run off the road into the flare (which btw was on the right shoulder). So in my surprise I utter a few choice words too loudly as I wait for the tires to pop from the heat of the flame and sharpness of the wire and the guy in the truck slams on his brakes and starts backing up. As I try to avoid him he sends me into the Men Working Sandwich Board and starts yelling a few choice words of his own that I really care not to repeat as they are too painful on many levels (discriminatory on three fronts). I notice that he is even with the island in the road, and I see that there are some men who were working standing at the corner watching, and I see that the woman in the car behind him has stopped and is watching and listening so I take advantage of the situation and bolt left onto Griddle Ridge. The guy in the truck slams on his breaks again, like he is going to turn around and pursue me, only to find the island there. So he guns it and takes off down 22. I see him slam on his brakes as if he was going to head up the side road that would cut me off, but so does the lady in the car, who decides to stay with me until I get to the end of Griddle Ridge and 121 (a good few miles), where she stopped, and turned around despite the guy changing his mind. I learned a good lesson today and remind myself how stupidly lucky I was to have those witnesses in place at the right time. Sometimes defensive driving means that you have to let the expletives live in your head and not sneak out. Keep your eyes on the road and your hands on the bars...(not sure what my hand that was making a turn signal did as I tried to avoid the flames, and tires, and truck...or if I did anything other than yell)
On another note, the rest of the ride, I managed to be true to my workout. Sprint up each hill by shifting up a gear and picking up my cadence, not my butt of the seat (30 seconds or the top...if the top was manageable than the top it was).
Tomorrow, hopefully a quiet ride in the other direction!
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