Now That's What I Call Music Vol III

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Forgive me Father, it is some time since my last confession.  Last time we chatted I was in Ocean Cove eating raw eggs.

Into The Valley (FRIDAY)

Just a reminder that the majority of my group lives with Parkinsons.  If you think it's just a bit of a shaky hand do some reading on it.  On Friday they rode 90 miles and climbed over 5000 ft...the toughest ride of the trip by a country mile.  The fact that they did it all is impressive, but they did it with a smile and not a word of complaint!  Over the years I have seen plenty of riders finish that day in considerably less style.

We ended in Mill Valley, just a stone's throw from The Orange Gate Bridge.  Our motel sat beside our nemesis - US101 - which, by then is 5 lanes in either direction and busy as hell.  It was as charming as the location suggests but everyone was too bollocked to care.  On the plus side it features a surprisingly good Indian restaurant...good by UK standards and bloody brilliant for the US.  

Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car (Saturday)

Approaching Mill Valley we noticed a marked change in the sort of cars we share the road with.  Suddenly far fewer pickup trucks, far more premium German cars and absolutely loads of Teslas.  If the whole of Merica bought Teslas like San Franciscans, Elon Musk would be an even richer twat than he already is (he wouldn't be a bigger twat because he reached terminal twatness years ago).

Saturday morning started with the ride over the bridge and it is impossible to overstate how cool this is; even in the truck it is a thrill very time.  I sat in Presidio Park waiting for them to come past and suddenly found myself living in the future.  I was dimly aware that WayMo had driverless taxis operating in SF but had no idea that they were everywhere.  In 10 minutes I saw at least a dozen, scuttling around with their sensors spinning.  I felt like someone in the early 19th century seeing a car for the 1st time.  Its creepy and someone should put a stop to it.

Airport (Saturday)

In San Francisco our group expands from 13 to 28 with arrivals throughout Saturday and Sunday.  The 1st airport pick-up on Saturday was while the group were still riding so I sent them simple instructions - don't break down and don't fall off while I'm at the airport.  Bang on cue one of them rode straight into the door mirror on a parked car!  She did the decent thing and rode on despite being in some pain and time will tell whether she has cracked a rib.

I have now been to the airport so many times that the traffic marshals have given me a reserved spot at the kerbside pickup and invited me to the staff Christmas party.  With so many flights to meet it was inevitable that one would be screwed up and I ended up collecting people from a badly delayed flight at almost 11pm.

An Englishman In New York (Saturday)

A high spot in an otherwise trying day was a visit from some local friends from tours past who drove over to meet me.  We went to the 'English' pub down the road - a brave but misguided effort to replicate an authentic pub atmosphere.  They had tried hard and even employed a genuine Yorkshire lass behind the bar but it takes more than a double decker bus and a red phone box to cut the mustard.  The final give-away was the menu which offered Shepherd's Cottage Pie...a contradiction that any true Englishman would spot in an instant.

Sunday Bloody Sunday (err....sunday)

A rest day so, naturally, I worked my socks off.  Bikes to mend, laundry to do, bikes to be built, arrivals to be met from the airport, mid-ride accounts to update, arrival meeting to prepare for.  Fitting in a few cold beers wasn't easy but somehow I managed.  In an hour the aforementioned meeting kicks off and I feel like a drill sergeant facing a new batch of conscripts who need licking into shape...fast!




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