Back in mid-January, my productivity had hit its usual winter-hibernation levels. So my bosses shipped me off to the Bicycle Leadership Conference, no doubt hoping that the San Diego sunshine would burn off my symptoms of seasonal affective disorder. I mentioned the outcome of the riding I did out there, so I've cut and pasted the ride report I sent back that first night in San Diego, along with a couple of pics.
Opened up my bike case, assembled the Moots, and took the cover off the wheels, only to find both rims smashed inward. Grrr.
Mike worked the hookup for me, and referred me to a great bike rental dude who lent me a spare wheelset. Yahoo! So after a few hours walking to his shop and back, I mounted up and headed over to Ocean Beach. Had a lobster taco at the pier, tested the climbing legs on Point Loma (they failed). Perfect 60 degree day. Ahhhh. Then, climbing up some road that ended in 'o' in the very confusing Point Loma residential section, my chain somehow got jammed, don't quite know how. I tried to shift/pedal out of it, snapped the rear derailleur hanger off (it's replaceable, thank god).
Naturally, i forgot my multitool back in the hotel room, had a pretty incomplete knowledge of where i was, it was getting late, several miles from the hotel, and my bike was quite definitively disabled. So, i hiked up a bunch of twisting residential streets, coasted down the hills in the goofy pro-racer chew-the-bar-like-a-rawhide-bone position, trying to suppress my impulse to pedal, and suck the now-vestigial rear derailleur into the wheel that i don't own.
However, other than Point Loma (lots of hiking up Uphillo drive), and Canon Rd (long downhill that would be a lot more fun on a functional bike), most of San Diego is flat. Walking wasn't going to get me back in time for the reception, so I resorted to sitting on the bike, reaching to the ground with my tip-toes, and kicking along like a Hotwalk. Beach cruisers whizzing by at a relatively scorching 10mph, i kicked along my titanium hi-end Moots for several miles at a jogger's pace.
Other cyclists averted their eyes, either because they didn't want to help, or they saw the derailler hanging flaccid from my bike, and recognized the futility of my sitch. Also, the need to dismount/remount for every uphill gave me the opportunity to practice my cyclocross skills (still have that goshdarn remount hop).
Anyway, that's Day One. Don't cry for me, Argentina, it's still 60 degrees out.