The Barbecue

Last Saturday one of my bosses had a barbecue to celebrate the end of the semester. I was home alone that weekend without a car or date, but wanted and needed to go (needed to make sure they didn't forget me since I had just interviewed for my own job!). My boss, Sandy, lives down beyond Galena and even beyond the posh Montreaux subdivision at the foot of Mount Rose Highway's steep ascent toward the lake. I had ridden the route from behind our house over to the Thomas Creek trailhead and Timberline Drive once before (see my post about it here).

Last view of Lone Tree

The Surly looking uphill

I like how the bike shadow breaks in this picture

Finally, non–burned over landscape

Rocky

Last view of Truckee Meadows before dropping over to the Galena side
It was a beautiful afternoon, but from my house the ride is straight up hill, first through the end of the subdivision, then onto the gravel, strange new in-progress housing division road, then onto the four-wheeler and jeep road that cuts up the hill. It was slow going, especially due to the rocks, mud ruts and, higher, some mud and puddles still. Beyond the fire marks that burned down to our subdivision normal vegetation returns. The climb is pretty steep in some places and steady all the way to the Thomas Creek trail head parking lot, but nothing too special, especially if one were riding a mountain bike. At the top, just a hundred yards from the trail head, I passed a solar-powered sheep wagon and a big herd of lambing sheep. I've never seen any kind of herd before in the Reno side Sierra foothills, it was sort of exciting and apropos since I was going to the Basque barbecue.

From the trail head it is just a nice coast down to Mount Rose Highway. On Google maps before leaving I had deduced that I might be able to cut through Montreaux, so instead of going up the highway, I bombed through the security guard station and was in "the other world." Of course, as soon as I got in, I realized it was going to be more complicated to get out than get in. Unlike most gated subdivisions which just have a gate, this one has a fence completely surrounding the property. However, I didn't want to turn around as I was still coasting downhill. Every time a car came up behind me I thought it would be the security guards coming to chase me down (an obvious threat to public safety), but obviously they didn't care too much. So I got to where I could see a road beyond the fence and (luckily) no house yard I would have to cut through, threw the Surly over and jumped over with no electrical charge or clanging siren and I was free again. How similar a gated community is to a prison.

From the other side of the fence it was a short ride up to Sandy's house. I knew it would happen, but still find it disconcerting the incredulous look and "You mean you biked here, really?" Yes. A bike is made for transportation. It's a beautiful Saturday. It was only a seven-mile ride (although in reality a bit rough and steep, but still amazing, and I saw a herd of sheep). It's not that big of a deal. But soon enough I was listening the flow of Basque around me (I'm going to start learning asap, it was one of my main things I stressed during my interview) and great conversations, a beautiful antique barbecue (which originally belonged to the father of Sandy's boyfriend), a giant filet mignon and amazing other barbecue fixings. Dinner is an extremely important part of Basque life, and the barbecue is an American invention that really fascinates the Basques. All of which made for a great time, but soon enough it was 9:30 and time to go. I considered asking the Basque grad students for a ride home, which they would have happily given me, but it was such a beautiful night (and basically a long coast home), that I decided I would ride. Even though I had lights, I still had to brave the "You mean you're really going to ride? You mean really? In the dark? In the cold?" But I pushed away, climbed up to Mount Rose Highway, and then it was mostly downhill all the way home on a gorgeous starry night. Instead of doing the back route on they way home I coasted down to Thomas Creek Road and wormed through the neighborhoods over to Huffaker/Lakeside.

Why can't biking just be a normal thing that people do? Why does the bicyclist have to brave looking like a social madperson in a world that looks upside down?

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