Put a good ride in last week on the new singlespeed road, belt-drive bike. (From now on, called, the road bike.) I went from San Francisco, across the bridge, down through the hellish tourist enclave of Sausalito, then along the bike freeway that skirts just along the water's edge, and up into Mill Valley. From there, I followed the bike routes and paralleled, just briefly, highway 101 and watched the suckers in their cars. Yeah, they are a necessary evil, but still...what a sucker punch. The whole thing.
Anyway, from there continued on through Corte Madera, rolled along the well-apointed streets of Ross, through the adorable bungalows of San Anselmo and then into Fairfax, a happy, hippy rolly-polly town nestled in the golden hills crowned with victorious boughs of manzanita and redwoods. What a lovely place - I loved it. But, feeling full of myself, I pedaled onward up, up the long grinding climb northward. Till finally, I could take it no longer. One gear was getting to be too much. Not trying to kill myself, I thought it best to wander back into town, which took far less time in a tuck along the woefully paved roads, dodging gaping holes and cracks. Once into town, I sought out the local coffee shop with a view and happened upon Fairfax Coffee Roastery - jackpot! I decent cuppa and have something sweet to get recharged. To be honest - it was an ok cup of coffee. Despite the fact that they roast there, or at least have the appearance of one, what with bags of beans stacked on the floor, acting as an ad hoc bench/play structure, it was a disappointing up. Pumped with no dignity out of a standard issues food-service carafe into a paper cup, even though its obvious I'm not going to go ride with it, I sat with my bitter cup watching the town move about. (Coffee hint: if the wand on the espresso machine hasn't been cleaned since 1989, then its probably a crap joint. ) If they had just brewed them one cup at a time, it would have made all the difference in the world in the quality and the presentation. Oh well, plenty of room for a saavy expert to move in and steal the show.
After my coffee and oatbar, it was back on the bike for a liesurely stroll back into San Francisco. Hopped on the back wheel of a well-kitted out guy that must have been in his 60's, but he was sticking the rubber down like a hopped up teenager. That guy could go! Thankfully, he pulled my pathetic, art-school butt all the way to the bridge. From there, it was a trifle to make it up on through the Presidio and then home, where I could rest my weary legs and then watch a race on tv. Not a bad Saturday.