My husband said he’d be willing to go around Lake Sammamish, a little bone thrown to me because that’s a pretty short and doopie ride. I was looking for at least 30 miles, so I said I’d just ride by myself. And I didn’t want to do anything that involved my regular commute (yawn) or going around Lake Washington (double yawn, plus you don’t want to be on the Burke Gilman Trail on a holiday weekend). I finally decided I’d ride up and around Kirkland.

So, after doing a couple hours of gardening and lunch, I headed out. While on the way there, I noticed a freshly painted 7 with a circle around it, and I thought, wow, they’ve just repainted the Dan Henrys for the 7 Hills of Kirkland ride. I bet it’s coming up really soon. Then, as I was climbing up a hill, there was someone in front of me
riding even slower, which is a pretty rare event. As I got closer to him, I saw that he had a ride number on his back; even closer, and I saw it said, “7 Hills of Kirkland – May 28, 2006″ on it, and I thought, duh, that ride’s today!

I rode in to downtown Kirkland, along with some slow pokes that were still on the course. I saw a huge knot of cyclists in the downtown park, and I figured that must be the start/finish line. I skipped that congested scene, and as I had originally planned, started up the Market Street hill. There continued to be Dan Henrys even though there was no one now riding along with me, and I realized this must be the start of the ride route.

What happened was that I ended up doing almost all of the Seven Hills of Kirkland, about four hours after the last riders should have left the start line, and starting it in the middle. I’ve never done that ride before, although it has a good reputation. If I had been on top of things, I would have skipped the gardening in the morning and done the ride right for real. I guess this way I didn’t support services for the homeless, but then again, I didn’t draw on any ride services other than the Dan Henrys which you’ll see on the pavement for the rest of the year. Oh, and a sign on one shoulderless road that warned cars to look out for bikes that had not yet been taken down, that otherwise wouldn’t have been out there.

And it was a most enjoyable ride. I also had the ride from the house to Kirkland, and back again, so I got a couple of hills of Redmond along the way. I was surprised, considering that I’ve done a lot of bicycling in the area, how much of the north end of the route was unfamiliar to me. I had never been on top of Norway Hill before, and was most impressed with the scenery and the views. In the past I was a little spooked by the 7 Hills moniker, but I was surprised at really how easy all the hills were. I remember even Juanita Hill being a bit of a slog in the past; this time, while I did put it in the granny a few times, it was mostly spin spin spin to the top, not a struggle at all. I would definitely make a point of doing this ride officially next year. It’s a little early in the year to do the century version of it, but I’d do the classic 7 Hills again, maybe even do the metric century version.

Maybe because there were so few people out there, some of the cyclists started behaving as if they were the only people on Earth. And they weren’t just stopping to look at the cue sheet with their wheels clearly in traffic, they were also changing flats in the bike lane. You don’t have to be an experienced rider to understand the daftness of this on any day, let alone on an organized ride.

But here’s my favorite: after being stymied by eight tired legs, four pairs of dripping shorts, three flat tires, and one broken spoke, we were finally moving along at a clip that was nice enough to feel like we were accomplishing something, but slow enough for the tiny, cold raindrops not to draw blood. Then, on a peaceful enough straightaway, a group of four other riders who had been standing on the side of the road, suddenly remounted their bikes and pulled slowly into the bike lane without ever looking at the fine folks headed straight at them.

I saw the first two members of my group scatter in different directions, one taking evasive maneuvers and the other trying to slow down, but giving up and veering sharply left when he realized that the wet ground hadn’t only decreased his stopping distance, it had erased it. I also yanked my bike sharply to the left, when the renegades still hadn’t picked up speed, and one of them had stopped again in the middle of the shoulder.

As my heartbeat shot up, and I shot forward, one of the fools yelled at me, “Oh my god! Thanks a lot, No Fenders!!” They nearly caused an eight bike pile-up, and never had any idea. Normally I would be more sympathetic of the fender situation, not passing close enough to soak anyone, but I was too concerned with my own mortality to worry about somebody else getting wet.

Besides, calling me No Fenders was a whole lot nicer than the nickname I gave them.