the sunday breakaway streak

Yup, true to my predictably unreasonable and stubborn nature, I did that Chinese Bakery Ride again this past weekend and DID NOT GO TO THE CHINESE BAKERY. It’s a work in progress okay? [And by “it” I mean “trying new things and being more sane.”]
My excuse - like Mike’s last time - was that I needed some good coffee. Sunday morning, having left around 10am, I put myself in that stupid situation where I was battling joggers, bike commuters, and [the worst of them all] rental bike pelotons up the Westside Highway to the GW Bridge. My initial giddiness acceleration turned first into careful maneuvering around joggers deaf to the world around them courtesy of their iPods, then gradually into crawling along at 5mph behind three chubby tourists who clearly haven’t been on a bicycle since 1995. A third of the way up the Westside Highway, I, as usual, gave up. Though always hopeful that it wouldn’t take me over an hour to get over the bridge on a weekend morning, I again accepted that this would never happen.
Tired of weaving around things, I hung a left when I crossed the bridge, towards River Road, the nemesis to my flimsy thighs. 9W is awesome for relaxing, long rides, but like Derrick and Cassidy informed me, I wasn’t going to get any better or faster without experiencing some pain. And frustrated at getting dropped so easily on any climb, I had mentally resolved to climb those two motherfucking hills this weekend. So I can eventually not be such a pussy [I mean that figuratively].

I did it. I mean, it wasn’t pretty, but I did it. And by “wasn’t pretty,” I mean that my jaw was sagging, I was wheezing, and the only thing that got me up that mile long climb was the fact that there was a woman in front of me in a red jersey and armwarmers, who I resolved to keep, if not within three bike lengths of me, at least within sight. Weaving through the potholes, we both edged our way up the hill, almost at the same speed. I stayed behind her, and though I was convinced she would drop me, I miraculously maintained the same distance behind her for the entire climb. We both spun in our saddles and climbed out of the saddle and avoided the gaping holes in the pockmarked road. And before I knew it, we were done.
Maybe it was that red-jersey-ed woman, or maybe the it was the exercise-induced dopamine jumping around in my brain, but the climb seemed shorter this time, and I didn’t feel like I was going to die within the next 5 minutes. I even had this ridiculous thought like maybe I could climb some more. I ate a banana, wondered what I would do next, and then the peloton caught up.
Mike, Doug, and Francesco had met up with a few others the past two Sundays or so to do some faster rides. The first time, Mike and I had left at the same time, but riding solo, I had gotten a faster and earlier start. Pollo, who bumped into me first at the bridge, then into the guys sometime later, joked when he saw me later that day that I was in the breakaway. I had hoped for a repeat performance this week, but given my crawl up to the bridge, assumed that Mike and Co. [this time joined by David, who races for FGX Racing] were way ahead of me. Not so. My breakaway streak continues...!

I stuck around chatting to them for a while, and feeling ridiculously proud that I was able to do River Road solo, felt adventurous enough to try the Chinese Bakery Ride on the way back. The guys headed to Piermont [...then Nyack, and College Hills, and out into some alternate universe somewhere which translated into 7 hours of riding], and I headed west to Tenafly. Feeling drowsy, I figured coffee and a second breakfast was in order at Cafe Angelique.
It hit the spot. Then I hit a climb. And halfway up the first hill, I started to realize what a stupid thing I had done.
Coming off of a week of no riding, I was doing the hardest ride that I’ve ever done. River Road remains a challenge that I’m determined to conquer, but there was really no need to torture myself and do the Chinese Bakery climb on top of all that. While mentally I felt great, my muscles were just barely keeping pace. In fact, they were pretty much ready to call it quits, and I had a longer climb waiting for me.
Yeah, I considered it. I considered the shame involved in getting off and walking up. I weighed how no one would probably see me or know, and then thought about how embarrassed I would feel afterwards. I tried to cheer myself up that hill, and when that didn’t work so well, tried playing pop songs in my head. I thought about how I’d never done this much climbing on a ride before, ever, and how even if I had to walk the last few feet, it would be enough. But by then, there were only 10 feet left of the climb and though the grade was steeper, it felt more stupid to get off at that point. I remembered what Fritz said once, about the climb on River Road: “Just don’t ever get off your bike.”
When I got to the top, I wanted to almost cheer, or do Contador’s victory pistol thing, or even Andy Schleck’s cheerleader thing. I danced a little in my head, then coasted back onto 9W, over the bridge, and through the city. I was dead tired, but hadn’t bonked or otherwise tipped over in sheer exhaustion. All signs of a bike ride done well [although some might argue that a bike ride done well should always include vomiting mid-climb and legs so sore you can’t move after you get off the bike].

I came home, plopped down on the bed after my post-ride-shower-that-will-always-feel-better-than-even-the-most-awesome-bubble-bath, and fell asleep after reading the last few sentences of Bill Strickland’s newest book, Tour de Lance. Though I don’t remember it, I’m sure I dreamed of bikes and the Schlecks, Contador on the Col du Tourmalet, and a road bike that just might fit.

the chinese bakery ride

I am an expert at not doing things that one is supposed to do. I don't mean things like getting to work on time [although sometimes I have trouble with that], brushing my teeth on a regular basis, or showering more than once a week. I'm talking about that rack full of awesome designer stuff you're supposed to ask for at that hidden, hole-in-the-wall thrift shop, or the espresso beverage that's not on the menu but is the thing to get at that hip cafe. The little things that aren't so much found on the Internet as are transmitted by word of mouth among the super cool and in the know. Instead I tend to march to my own somewhat oblivious drummer, resolute in my determination to remain, as ever, not hip.
Which I'm perfectly content with, mostly because being "hip" lends itself to a predictability that I find boring. Hip-ness teeters all too often on the brink of unsubstantiated hype, consequently devolving into an "Emperor's new clothes" scenario where the food isn't that great, the drinks too expensive, the clothes really sort of meh, but you hang out there because you're supposed to until the next hip spot draws you away. Perhaps a little too suspicious for my own good, I watch and wait out the hype. I order what I want to because one secret, menu item shouldn't carry a cafe, or browse the displayed clothing because the semi-secret stash in the back isn't a fair measure of a store's worth. So [perhaps predictably in its own way] at Bunbury's for the first time a few weeks ago, I chose the blueberry muffin over the Bunbury bun [my choice later met with howls from Mike], and continued the stream of "shit you're just not supposed to do," this past Sunday on the much-talked-about Chinese Bakery Ride.
A route that Brett, Andy, and Mike discovered last summer, it's a path that turns off 9W and heads west to Tenafly, NJ. The pit stop of choice being, obviously, a Chinese bakery called Cafe Savoy that's actually run by Filipinos. Since knowing the aforementioned trio of cyclists, I had been subject to numerous emails and twitter posts displaying giant $1 baked goods and bad coffee. They talked about that ride and how much they liked it, both online and off. I had whined that I wanted to go since 2009. The considerable climb out of Tenafly kept the ride just out of reach.

But sometimes, a bike shop owner comes back from a mid-day ride in gorgeous weather and feels generous enough to offer you a road bike for the following day unless that customer that was interested in borrowing one comes around. So you count down the minutes, desperately hoping that said customer won't show, and internally cheer when closing time comes around and you didn't have to make that offer of a bike you want to ride to someone else. Then you get up the next morning, hesitant about leaving because it's actually pretty cold out, then end up forcibly dragging your boyfriend out of bed because you have a frigging road bike for once and you want to do a ride. You know, the one that you've wanted to do for over a year now: the Chinese Bakery Ride.
Across the bridge and on 9W, we rode down the familiar route, then eventually made a left turn around the third or fourth traffic light. The road narrowed, SUVs squeezing in between us, and as the road seemed to roll out and down beneath us, our bikes picked up some frightening speed. With the handling skills of a newbie commuter on crack, I conservatively rode my brake the entire way, but even so the bike was rocketing down the descent. Mike flew down ahead of me, crouching down and picking up more speed while I tried not to get myself run over by a car. I briefly remembered the 2009 Jens Voigt Faceplant, then pushed it out of my brain trying to concentrate on positive thoughts like Pomeranian puppies and bunnies in paper cups.

We made another left at the base of the hill and rode on flat yet somewhat badly maintained roads, passing by Pollo's old shop then into the center of Tenafly. The Chinese bakery appeared to our right, but Mike, hungry for decent coffee, led us to the train station which housed a traditional cafe - Cafe Angelique. I peeked inside, standing on the tips of my cleats to get a good look at their array of baked goods over the heads of parents with their children ogling the gelato case, then put in an order for an Americano and something to munch on. Mike ran inside and a few minutes later returned with two steaming cups, an almond brioche [for him] and a wheat-free "energy cookie" the size of my face for me.
It was delicious. Gooey and oat-y and full of raisins and cinnamon, it totally hit the spot and i ate that entire thing, only relinquishing a small corner to Mike [and only begrudgingly so]. I wanted to pull my armwarmers back on and doze on the bench after I was done, but it was getting cloudy and colder. We climbed back on our bikes.

We coasted 50 feet, then all of a sudden we were climbing. And I was like "holy shit."
The climb out of Tenafly [it's different from the way in], requires cresting a small but fairly steep hill, then riding up another longer one. It doesn't feel as long as the one on River Road, but it's steeper, requiring some work out of the saddle. Still uncomfortable with the whole concept of spinning my way up anything, it was nice to mash a little, and there was none of that feeling that I was going to puke up my lungs. The fact that the road didn't twist and turn helped a little bit too; you could see there was an end to it. It wasn't easy, but I felt like I did okay when I got to the top.
The ride back was uneventful, a tailwind helping us on the way. I was actually somewhat surprised at how much I liked that climb, and told Mike I'd do it again, maybe even head up to the Palisades Marketplace, bust a U-turn there, and head into Tenafly on the way back. And because I always do the things I shouldn't, thus skipping the Chinese bakery after which the ride was named, there's at least one reason to go back.
...Although...that wheat-free energy cookie was pretty killer...