About two weeks ago, Lance Armstrong (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband), Alberto Contador (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my brother in law) and me (no name change necessary) decided to head down to Palm Springs and ride in a small century. To be honest, I wasn't a huge fan of the race. Why? Well, one, the first ten minutes of the ride consisted of pushing my bike with one foot through a series of stop signs and biker congestion. Had I known that the race was actually going to be a scooter event I would have brought my trusty Razor. Two, the first feeding zone, which mind you is quite important, looked like a refuge camp during World War II. Honestly, picture open trucks of supplies, workers throwing water and food at a tired crowd of people and men with no legs crying for their mothers. (Okay, that last part was sort of an exaggeration.)
Anyway, after grabbing some M&M's and glucose water, Lance, Alberto and myself decided to pick up our bikes, trek through a field of sand, cactus and grown men going to the bathroom in order to get out of the mess of people. I will say, once we escaped the war zone the race actually opened up and I became a fan. Oh but wait, there's one more complaint - aren't I just a crabby old woman? I would say my last criticism is a toss up between the ridiculous amounts of lights we had to stop at (did no one mention to Palm Springs that a race would be taking place in their city?) or the fact that when I crossed the finish line I was offered a XL t-shirt. Really, I just rode 102 miles and you are giving me a bed sheet? Why not punch me in the quad and say, "Congratulations!"
Okay, I'll stop. It was actually an awesome day and here's the pictures to prove it.