I wasn't in the mood for Bovine, nor really pushing that hard this morning. We have a 4-year-old birthday party to attend at 10am, so I was looking for a quick (short, not fast) spin to loosen up the legs. I debated whether to leave a little early or a little late from the normal 7am Sunday departure as to avoid the FOG Dwellers, but opted for camaraderie over efficiency. Luckily, the FOG group was thin this morning, only Murray and Scotty B, and I was able to convince them into the Alpine climb to Ridgecrest and back.
About 100 feet into the Bolinas/Fairfax climb, I let the boys know that the pace needed to slow and we could ease into the 35 degree weather. No complaints were issued and we spun up to the golf course. We were treated with two big, black-bushy-tailed coyotes and more than a few deer, one with an enormous rack (I love big racks). Scotty B gets the award for the eagle-eye, spotting a coyote from 100 yards away at the top of the hill.
The climb to Azalea Hill was pleasant, with lots of chatter and the elevation warmed us up nicely. As we rolled over the summit, I proclaimed, "Take it easy on the downhill. We are on the wrong side of the hill and may see some ice." No sooner did I finish my sentence when we hit one of the 180 degree S-turns and my rear wheel slid out from under me. Thankfully, decades of being a clutz has trained me to fall like a champion. I stuck out my fat rump, broke the fall, and then slid - still clipped in - chest first. My hip took the brunt and the Breezer came out unscathed. I lucked out to slide on the non-derailleur side, too. I'll have a sweet bruise on my left hip, but I popped right up and pedaled the hematoma into a proper strawberry.
The water at the Dam was flat as a mirror. And it was strange to hear the water running so strongly through the falls. We skipped Ridgecrest due to time limitations and fear of further ice. And I was homeby 8.40am with 2,000 feet of elevation under my belt. Good day.