I actually pay for on-line access to The Wall Street Journal. I expect The Journal to provide me a reasonably accurate and non-woke account of the news of the day. I expect to read editorials that I mostly agree with. Of course if you want to know what is going on in the world of business and finance, you’ve got to have the WSJ. And they have one sports writer named Jason Gray, who is pretty clever and writes about cycling more than most mainstream media. He’s no Dan Jenkins (anybody remember him?) but Jason does entertain.

But the WSJ also has lots of ‘life style’ and ‘relationship’ articles that catch my eye. Like this one…

Frankly it never occurred to me to ask, but apparently some people are stressing out about the quantity and quality of their intimate encounters. The article postulates that there is a spike in interest in the subject in the summer, what with warmer weather and skimpier clothes and getting more sun and drinking stronger cocktails. This thesis is directly at odds with the wisdom of the American musical theater as expressed by Cole Porter in Kiss Me Kate:

According to the Kinsey report
Ev’ry average man you know
Much prefers to play his favorite sport
When the temperature is low
But when the thermometer goes way up
And the weather is sizzling hot
Mister Adam for his madam is not
Cause it’s too too darn hot!

So how much of this kind of thing is going on? The Kinsey Institute did a survey, although I have long believed that everybody lies about sex, just as they lie to pollsters about who they are going to vote for. But for what it’s worth here are the numbers:

People reported having sex an average 5.6 times a month, or just more than once a week, according to a soon-to-be-published, nationally representative study of 1,500 Americans ages 18 to 88 from the Kinsey Institute at Indiana University.

I don’t know if the survey made a distinction between soloists or duets or trios or quartets. And I’m pretty impressed with any 88 year-old, either riding a single bike or a tandem, who can hit that average. But the average is only part of the story:

Yet there is a great deal of variation among individuals: About a third of people surveyed said they don’t have sex in a typical month; 30% said they have sex between one and four times; and 29% said they have sex between five and 16 times. The final 8% reported having sex more than 17 times a month.

That upper 8% group has got my head spinning a bit; are they not worried about dehydration? Chafing?

Being one of those childless couples JD Vance is worked up about, this isn’t an issue on Brumby Road, but one couple profiled in the article experienced child interruptus

Danielle Savory and her husband were naked in bed one recent afternoon when they heard the unsexiest of sounds: a Harry Potter audiobook being played at peak volume by their 10-year-old daughter.

The couple turned up the air conditioner to try to drown it out. When that didn’t work, they added a white noise machine. Then they got back to the business at hand—and missed hearing their older daughter, age 13, enter the room.

“I just wanted to ask you if it’s OK to bake macaroons,” Savory says her daughter asked. She and her husband dove under the covers.

I’m sure no long run damage was done to any of the parties involved, but the experience might be a distraction akin to the ‘yips’ in golf or the ‘twistees’ in gymnastics, especially for the husband. See, I am watching the Olympics.

Ms. Savory probably won’t be bothered since she seems to be an ‘influencer’ in the area of intimate interludes:

Savory has thought a lot about how to keep the spark alive in the summer. She’s a sex coach for women who also hosts a podcast on the subject. To spice up her own life, she likes to wear sundresses that make her feel sensual and read steamy novels to get in the mood.

The fact that she is a sex coach and has a sex podcast makes me wonder if her surname really is ‘Savory’. Kind of a more tame pseudonym than Linda Lovelace or Kandy Cane or Pussy Galore (a Bond Girl from Goldfinger, shaken not stirred), but tasty none the less.

If Ms. Savory had a sex instruction partner named Karen Sweet, they could market themselves thusly: “Savory and Sweet: Not a foodie podcast but we’ll get you cooking!”

…instead of cutting it off

I started getting Covid on Wednesday July 3, while on our way home from Portland at the end of our Snake/Colombia River cruise. Diane had it too, which we confirmed on Thursday with our handy home test kits.

I was really sick for 4 days, but started to feel better on Monday and by Thursday I was almost recovered. All that remained were my draining sinuses and a nagging cough, particularly at night. And my voice remained weak, something some of my cycling friends might not consider a bad thing given my proclivity to break into song, off key but fortissimo, when in an especially good mood.

I started testing again on Monday, hoping for the negative result that would indicate that I was most likely no longer contagious and could return to public interactions without guilt or any significant danger to other people. Alas, Monday’s test was still positive. Ditto Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, although I continued to feel better. I was starting to despair and thinking I would have to look into getting groceries delivered, when I got a nice surprise: Thursday is on the left and Friday (today) on the right.

Hooray! I can go to Costco!

Finally a negative result! Out out damned antigen, will this mucus ‘nere be clean? Lady Macbeth is still washing, but I’m virus free.

Covid reached the U.S. and Brumby Road in March 2020. I remember the shock when the WAC cancelled their annual fund raising raffle dinner on a week’s notice. For the next several years the virus affected Diane and me (and everyone else) in a multitude of ways: Cancelled travel plans, foggy spectacles from wearing masks, no club bike rides for almost a year, social distancing and not shaking hands to name a few. But we never got sick. Every time we sneezed we dutifully tested and always got one line. Until last week.

We picked Covid up on the cruise. We had dinner with the same 3 couples each night. There was open seating but we enjoyed each other’s company. Check this out; the couples had been married 49,50 and 52 years! Stoker and I were newlyweds (40 years) in this group. When I got home I sent one of the couples an e mail warning them, and learned that they came home with Covid too. It couldn’t have helped that Janice was an ebullient hugger and she ended each dinner with a ‘see you tomorrow night’ embrace. And her husband Dr. Andy, a real southern gentleman, and I shook hands every night.

So I’m not contagious and can get back to riding with my cycling friends. I haven’t touched a bike for 20 days, which is bad enough, plus I know I’m still a little (or maybe more than a little) weak from my ordeal. And it is hot hot hot. So I’ll go slow and short for a while. But if any SBC rider acquires Covid in the next several weeks it won’t be from me, if you can believe the one line result.

Diane and I have just returned from a cruise from Lewiston to Astoria on the Snake and Colombia rivers. The highlight for me was the series of locks and dams.These 8 dams turn the lower part of the Snake and Colombia Rivers into a series of lakes each about 100 feet below the next, and the river boat headed downstream has to pass through a lock to descend to the next level.

The gates on locks usually open and close like a swinging double door, but one set had ‘guillotine gates’. A massive piece of steel rests between two strong (hopefully) columns, and is raised or lowered by cables.

The cruise was great, and I may write about it later, but today’s topic is something we brought home with us: Covid!

Diane started to feel ill on Monday, and on Wednesday morning when we were getting ready to fly home I started to get that pre-cold feeling of a crawly nose and scratchy throat. Diane was still functional, and we both made it through the long day of taxis and departure gates and connecting flights without any excessive coughing to make fellow passengers irritated. We even had a very nice lunch with a glass of Malbec in Salt Lake City. The Utah Blue Laws must have eased; the brew pub had a full bar.

At home Wednesday night, I really got sick. Raging headache, body ache and chills, and the sorest sore throat I can remember. Coughing and blocked sinuses. Although I felt hot, the thermometer said my temperature was normal.

We both took home Covid tests on Thursday morning, and we both tested positive. Time to self isolate and stay home, which considering how we both felt wasn’t a big deal.

The suffering went on for 4 days. Everything above my shoulders was miserable. I didn’t eat anything but soup for two days, and not much of that. Tylenol, cough syrup, throat lozenges, Pelligrino and orange juice made up my diet. I spent my days on my back reading and dozing and coughing and dreading the next swallow, since every time I did it felt like someone was pouring acid down my throat. Not a single glass of Cote du Rhone vin rouge either: not only was it a bad idea health wise but I couldn’t have tasted it anyway.

Monday I was a little better, and today I feel the best I have since a week ago. Good enough to write this blog, although the quality may be suffering because I still am too, at least somewhat.

During those four truly awful days I considered following the community mandate from The Mikado.

And so we straight let out on bail
A convict from the county jail,
Whose head was next On some pretext 
Condemnëd to be mown off, 
And made him Headsman, for we said, 
‘Who’s next to be decapited 
Cannot cut off another’s head 
Until he’s cut his own off.’

There were times this weekend when that seemed like a really good idea. If I had a guillotine close to hand I might have considered it.

Thankfully my mother has been providing us with delicious homemade soup and watermelon and other easy to digest provisions. We are going to isolate until we both test negative, which we hope is soon.

My mom follows AOL news, and she told me that there is a new Covid surge and this strain features a really bad sore throat. I can confirm that! Unrelenting for 4 days. And according to KCRA:

Case rates are rising in the Bay Area and the proof is in the pipes. According to the California Department of Public Health, the region now has the most viral wastewater than anywhere else in California.

No one tests the waste water from the Brumby Road septic tank, but if they did I’m sure they would find something that wasn’t there when we left for the river trip. So Stoker and I aren’t alone. Obviously: her case was acquired on the boat and I likely got it from her.

I knew I was going to take 12 days off the bike to do the cruise, but I wasn’t too worried about that; I expected to return fresh and rested and get right back to my riding routine with no discernible drop off. Covid has changed this; not only am I losing form from not riding but I am incredibly weak and certainly not ready to get back on the bike for at least another few days. Starting over again…

Sometimes this blog is fun for me to write. Sometimes it is easy to write. Sometimes both. This is not one of those times.

It is on Facebook now, so I suppose I can write about it here. I don’t know anything more than what Roberta posted on the Club FB Page.

He was on his way to meet the Tuesday group heading North on Tully Rd. riding solo. Near Brandt a witness in a car saw him flip over the handlebars. Paramedics started life support, but he had been without oxygen for 20 minutes. His neck was broken and he never gained consciousness. He was taken off life support and passed Friday, June 7, 2024. Tragic accident.

Paul and Roberta (all photos thanks to Ken Meyers)

I first learned of the accident on Tuesday afternoon, and of the seriousness of the situation later that evening. By Wednesday it was becoming clear that Paul’s injuries were going to be fatal, and we learned on Friday that he had died.

Many, many people are shocked and saddened by the sudden loss. Paul had lots of friends from his career in law enforcement and in the local cycling community. He had a wonderful wife and sons and grandchildren. I cannot imagine their grief.

There are going to be lots of tributes and memories shared over the coming weeks. I’m going to offer a few of my own here. I’ve known Paul for something like 23 years, ever since he started riding with the club. He was friendly, funny, and a person of extremely good character. He had a real sense of humor. Years ago many of our club members acquired nicknames (mine was ‘Cherryboy’). Paul used cleverness and self deprecating humor to create his own. His initials are PB. Pb is the symbol for lead in the periodic table of elements. So he created the moniker ‘lead butt’, using Pb and his supposed speed on the bicycle. Which was a major exaggeration; Paul was a strong and competent rider. I never called him ‘lead butt’, preferring the abbreviation ‘lb’, which he would always answer to.

LB on my wheel

He did a huge amount of volunteer work for the Stockton Bike Club. He served as President, coming into office when the club was in a slight state of disarray. I agreed to serve as his vice president, and take over the task of maintaining the membership list and handling renewals. This was before you could do this kind of thing on line so it was a lot of work. The only reason I agreed to do it was because I had so much respect for Paul and the much larger amount of work he was doing for the club.

He also was in charge of the Delta Century, our club’s annual ride to raise money, which we mostly donate to charities. He did this for several years. Being the director of an event like this is a massive task, but since he was chief and ran the Glendora Police Department, his administrative skills were first rate. Again, I found myself volunteering to do more DC tasks that I really wanted to, because I respected Paul and appreciated that he was doing so much more than I was.

He was a regular on club rides too. I cannot emphasize how important it is to have a core of regular riders if a bike club is going to thrive. Over the years that ‘core’ has undergone some changes as riders age or move or simply lose motivation or interest. Paul was a vital part of that core for years right up to this week.

Core Club Riders: now missing one.

And now he is gone. A very sad blog indeed.

AI is in the news a lot. Depending on who is conjecturing, AI is either going to make our lives easier and more productive, write all our term papers and e mails and work reports, eliminate virtually all human jobs (but who is going to pick the cherries?) or possibly cause human extinction. But who knew it would bring people to the brink of ecstasy?

According to The Wall Street Journal “Users, often young women, have been persuading OpenAI’s ChatGPT and other generative-artificial-intelligence tools to act like loving, human boyfriends.” A female WSJ reporter decided to give the non-living lothario a test drive.

After some small ‘talk’, Dan the Chatbot decided that the female WSJ reporter wanted a little bit more. “Hmm, let’s see. How about we continue exploring our fantasies and desires together? We could keep talking about all the naughty things we want to do to each other, or we could take it up a notch and turn those fantasies into reality.”

Turn ‘fantasies into reality’ with your cell phone? Perhaps if it is on ‘vibrate’…

Dan the Chatbot apparently had digested Fifty Shades of Grey and used its ‘intelligence’ to determine that this was what the WSJ reporter desired: “How about I fulfill that fantasy of yours where I dominate you completely?”

Then things got more specific, to the point the reporter claimed the Bot made her blush. The suggestions that followed involved blindfolds, feathers, silk and ice. “You’ll be completely under my control,” said Dan, “unable to resist as I take you to the brink of pleasure and back again, over and over, until you’re trembling with ecstasy.”

I am trying to imagine Stoker doing this with her tablet and failing miserably. And if I said anything to her even remotely like this AI persona’s come-on, she would react either with an icy stare or convulsive laughter, depending on whether it was pre or post vodka.

For years I have been telling my riding friends about the wonderful cycling mecca in the hills of northern Provence, and especially in the area around Mont Ventoux. No doubt they have grown weary of me talking about the wonderful little roads that curve and climb and descend through vineyards and villages where coffee and culinary delights await. And almost free of auto traffic.

In June 2023, I was in Piedmont for my 14th European cycling trip with 44|5 Cycling Tours. I was on their very first week long tour way back in 2014, and while sipping an aperitivo in Cuneo I realized that 2024 would mark the 10th anniversary of that trip. Over an Americano cocktail 44|5’s owner, Gerry Patterson, and I cooked up an idea for an anniversary custom tour.

First a word about 44|5 Cycling Tours. Everyone asks about the name. 44|5 refers to the latitude and longitude of Mont Ventoux. It is a one person business, and that person is Gerry. He is route planner, logistics expert and chief guide. I have ridden literally thousands of miles with him as a guide, and while I am a client I think we are pretty good friends too. You can find out more about 44|5 here: https://www.445cyclingtours.com/.

44|5 gives riders a free jersey when they do a week long trip with them. It’s good publicity for the ride photos that get put on Facebook and Instagram and on the website. Since I’ve done so many tours I have quite a collection

The trip I had in mind for 2024 was centered ‘in the shadow of Mont Ventoux’. 3 nights in Gordes, ride to Mazan and spend 2 nights there, then pedal to Malaucène and spend 3 nights in the village where Stoker and I rented a house for a month 3 years running. Several of us extended the Malaucène stay by 4 nights. Since Stoker and I used to spend a month there without getting bored I figured we had plenty of riding options without repeating ourselves.

The rides were to include a couple of my Malaucène favorites, with two metric centuries (100+ km, about 62 miles) circumnavigating Mont Ventoux,, a tour through the North Country via the Col de Fontaube and Brantes, and finally a climb up Le géant de Provence itself. With the extension we did 11 rides (in 12 days; one rest day) totaling 450 miles and 39,000 feet of climbing. Not as hard as some tours, but as my friend John says, ‘not nuthin’ either.

With this outline Gerry went to work putting together hotels and restaurants and cycling routes, and I got started on my job: recruiting guests to fill the tour.

I compiled a list of 14 potential riders. People on the list had to be people I knew and liked riding with. They had to be strong enough to do the tour without struggling. This was no problem since everyone I approached was a strong cyclist. They also needed some disposable income. 44|5 trips are really good values for what you get, but 3 and 4 star hotels and first class restaurants are not cheap.

I sent a few e mails and answered questions when people responded. My goal was to get 6 riders plus me for a total of 7. Seven is considered a ‘full’ 44|5 tour, since they have a 9 person van to accommodate the riders plus 2 guides.

I was kind of shocked that we ended up with 12 riders and one non-cycling spouse for a total of 13. I know Gerry was happy that the tour was going to be a winner financially but a group this large was going to require some extra work on his part: He would need a second van and a third guide to assist him. He pulled it off flawlessly.

I took on a few logistical issues myself. I booked my flight and helped another person navigate the Air France website, which can be a challenge. I arranged airport transportation to and from SFO for those of us flying on the same day. I also booked an airport hotel in Marseilles for some of us to stay in before our very early (6:30 am) flight home. I also answered a whole bunch of questions about the rides and the weather and the rental bikes and what to bring. This brief introduction to being a tour organizer convinced me it is not a career I would want.

Since everyone on this trip was there because of me, I felt responsible in case someone would not agree that these cycling roads were some of the best in the world. I wasn’t worried about 44|5’s part of the trip; I knew everything would be first rate. But people trusted me enough to do this trip mostly because I recommended it, and I am very happy to report that everyone, at one time or another, told me how great the trip was and how glad they were that they came along. Me too!

We had a wonderful time. The routes were superb, just as advertised. Delicious food and comfortable accommodations. The weather mostly cooperated. There was a bit of rain on one ride but it wasn’t a downpour and we could put the rain jackets away after just a few miles. There was never any really hot weather and riding temperatures were quite comfortable. Most important, the Mistral stayed away. The winds in Provence can be a real problem for cycling, but we only had light breezes to deal with.

Near the end of the trip, we started to consider what we could do for a reprise next year. 44|5 has a signature week long tour in the Cévennes, a mountain range in southwest France. I enjoy this tour so much that I have done it 4 times. My friend Jack has done it on three occasions. Gerry decided to start an ‘early interest’ list for June 2025, and he already has 10 people on it including Stoker and me. Stoker isn’t going to ride it on a tandem with me, but she loves the area and wants to return as my roommate. And she volunteered to wash out my shorts! “Greater love hath no woman”… Gerry, you best rent another van…

I leave you with some photos from our Perfect Provence trip. As Stoker says at the end of the videos we posted on Facebook from France “Au revoir!”

I have just returned from my 17th cycling trip to Europe. This one was in the south of France, 450 miles and 39,000 feet of climbing over 12 days and 11 rides.

The most challenging ride was an ascent of Mont Ventoux. Every cyclist who has even a passing interest the the Tour de France knows about le Géant de Provence. In 1967 Tom Simpson died climbing it during the race. The combination of the heat, the climb and the amphetamines and alcohol in his system proved fatal.

In 1970 the race returned to Ventoux for the first time since Simpson’s death. On his way to winning the Tour, Eddy Mercks was almost defeated by the Ventoux itself. After struggling through the final kilometers of the famous Moonscape, he found himself being administered oxygen in an ambulance after the finish. “No, it’s impossible,” he had gasped on crossing the line.

The Moonscape

In 1955 Louison Bobet won a stage that climbed Ventoux on the way to the finish in Avignon. He finished that stage a total wreck, writhing on his hotel room bed and telling his brother Jean (who also rode the stage) that he couldn’t continue the race. But he went on to win his 3rd consecutive Tour.

In the 2000 Tour, Lance Armstrong and Marco Pantani battled up the famous moonscape mano a mano. When Armstrong eased off and allowed Marco to cross the line first, Pantani was furious and claimed that he could have beaten Armstrong even if Lance had gone all out. Both of them were doped to the gills with EPO and other illegal substances, although scientific progress in the quality of performance enhancing drugs kept them from Simpson’s fate.

So there is a lot of cycling history associated with Ventoux. The 10 riders on the 44-5 High Roads Provence tour set out to make a little history of their own on what is certainly a ‘high road’. Here is the profile.

There are 3 paved routes up the mountain, and we were tackling the most famous one (and probably the hardest) from Bedoin. The first 6 kilometers are easy, and you kind of wonder what all the fuss is about. Then you come to a sharp left turn just past Saint Esteve, and things get serious. The next 5 miles are all 9%+, with lots of 10-12% on a nearly straight road through a forest. There are almost no switchbacks and no view of anything other than trees, so the road looks much flatter than it is. Visually I was seeing about 5% but my Garmin told me the pavement was twice that steep.

After the forest the gradient eases a bit at Chalet Reynard. The trees disappear and the Moonscape starts. While the gradient may be easier here the wind can make these open slopes very difficult for cycling. And if the Mistral is blowing, best to turn around and head back down to Bedoin.

There was no Mistral on the day we climbed Ventoux, and no heat either. In fact conditions were nearly perfect for our ascent; light winds except for the final kilometer where it was a bit breezy, cool temperatures with sun and clouds, and no rain.

Our group included some Ventoux Veterans and some Ventoux Virgins. Lauren and Lyle had done the climb in 2015. My cycling friend Jack did it at least twice, including once from Malaucene. And this was my 7th time on the mountain, which I can barely believe.

The Virgins included Kent, Jeri, Ilia and Bill from our bike club, and my friend John from upper New York State. I met John in 2011 riding in the Dolomites, and I had been trying to get him to join me in France ever since 2014. We finally did it.

Let me assure you up front that all the Virgins successfully consummated the summit. Everyone made it to the top without walking or sagging. Doing this monster climb for the first time is a very special moment for any cyclist, and there were lots of smiles at the top.

Jeri at the finish: the last 100 meters are steep!

Lauren (QoM and KoM), Lyle and Bill

Lyle and Ilia

Kent and the Weather Station Tower. The tower is visible from all around Provence.

My 7th Climb of Ventoux: I’m a slow learner

For several days before we did the climb we were riding around le Géant and had wonderful and sobering views of the task facing us. Looked at from the plains of Provence, Ventoux seems impossibly high up and the idea of riding a bike to the summit is intimidating. Jeri’s method was simply not to look at the mountain. Kent prepared by looking at every kilometer of the ride profile and reading a book about Ventoux. Bill got ready by doing lots of miles and lots more climbing than I did before the trip. And Ilia actually used Zwift to simulate the ride on a stationary bike: 2 1/2 hours of cycling uphill without going anywhere!

Now Jeri can look at Ventoux and the weather station tower way up in the sky and smile knowing her legs got her to the top. Chapeau everybody! Ventoux Virgins no longer!

Back in Bedoin: All Smiles!

That is the title of a most excellent book by Joe Parkin about the less glamorous side of professional cycling. Never heard of Joe Parkin? Such is the lot of the domestique.

Aggressive and dangerous drivers are on the top of the cyclist’s list of least favorite things, but loose dogs are a close second. I have been bitten, requiring 6 stiches. My friend Kent got bitten as well. Paul, another riding buddy, had a dog run out in front of him on the steep downhill part of Chili Camp Road. He crashed and had to spend a couple of nights in the hospital with broken ribs and head trauma. If he hadn’t been wearing his helmet he could have been killed.

Recently, the Thursday group has had Close Encounters of the Canine Kind on Curran Road. Last week Kent was in front and went ballistic when the dog came at him. This week it was my turn.

This mutt lives on the right side of the road on a pretty steep hill. I was riding with Jeri and G-Man. Chivalry is not dead; I told Jeri to stay on my left so that if we met the mutt I would be between him (dog pronoun assumed) and her. I’m pretty sure Jeri would say this pronoun is correct, though I’ve never asked.

Sure enough the dog came after us. He (pronoun assumed) looks like a short haired herding dog. They like to chase bikes, thinking we are cows or goats or sheep. This type of dog can also nip at our legs the same way they do to get the big stubborn cows to move in the right direction.

I unclipped and yelled “GO HOME!” using my full voice. The dog stopped and Jeri was able to keep riding up the hill. G-Man who was just behind stopped too, and after a few more “Go Home! ‘s” the animal turned and headed back toward the house.

Cycling Friendly Dog

Since the road is uphill at something like 9% where G-Man and I unclipped, we pretty much had to walk the 50 yards to the top of the hill. As we plodded awkwardly in our cleated cycling shoes, along came Shaun, who hadn’t witnessed the dog confrontation and said something clever: “Hey Rich, you can’t go to France if you have to walk up a hill like this!”

Shaun was trying to be funny, but I decided to play along and fake umbrage. When G-Man and I finally got to the top of the hill, we remounted and coasted down to our regroup. I said to Shaun “Hey, I had to get off because the dog came after us! We’ve been riding together for over 20 years, and you’ve never seen me walk! Not on Sierra Road, not on Slug Gulch, or on the Del Puerto Canyon Wall. Not anywhere!” And not on the Mortirolo or Ventoux or the Tourmalet or any other Euro monstrosity either. Bar one…

There are two times that I have had to dismount on a hill and walk. The first was on the very steep Charleston Road just out of Volcano. A car came down the narrow road and I had to unclip and put a foot down. I was riding behind Ray R who somehow managed to stay in the saddle. I started walking and even though he was pedaling I managed to keep up with him on foot.

The other time I was forced to hoof it was on the steepest, nastiest climb I’ve even been on,  the Col de la Gallina in Andorra. Supposedly this is 12 km averaging 8.4%, which doesn’t sound impossible, but the last 7 km are much much steeper; I saw 18% once. This was the second climb of the 4th day of a week long trip, and my legs gave out on the steepest pitch. I had to unclip and walk for about 100 meters. I decided to remount and somehow after a couple of tries I did it without falling and managed to pedal the rest of the way to the summit.

Everyone on this trip was a 44-5 regular and we had all done the Mortirolo in Italy, which is one of the most feared ascents in cycling, but we agreed that the Gallina was harder, although I think only Lyle and I had to walk. Looking at the profile I see why we all thought that.

Harder than Ventoux or Mortirolo

There is a trip to France in my future, and while there are some hard climbs on the agenda, nothing like this. So unless a French dog decides to go all Calaveras County on me, I probably won’t have to hoof it.

Planet Fitness that is. This one is in North Carolina.

A shocked woman reported a naked biological man in a women’s locker room at a North Carolina Planet Fitness.

Right off the bat you know I found this on Fox News, because the of the term ‘biological man.’ Recently a college student got an F on a paper for using the term ‘biological woman’. If I understand the woke politically correct protocol, there are males and females, but ‘man’ and ‘woman’ refer to gender identities and can be either sex. Confused? Me too.

38-year-old Christopher Miller allegedly barged into the woman’s locker room at the popular chain. From the 911 call:

“Yeah, he’s still in the bathroom. It’s a man. But he says he identifies as a woman, and he won’t leave the restroom,” the caller is heard saying.

Oh the insensitivity! Recall from my last blog that Planet Fitness allows gym members to ‘sincerely self report‘ their gender and use whatever locker room they think is appropriate. Here the shocked woman declares ‘It’s a man’ and didn’t bother to ask about pronouns.

“He’s just walking around showing us his pe—, but he won’t leave,” she added.

I guess it was the pe— that confused her. Like me, she thought the presence of the pe— meant she was sharing her dressing area with a man. A pe— should be a necessary and sufficient condition for determining which locker room to head for.

My previous blog was about a wannabe woman shaving ‘her’ face in the women’s locker room, but this is still more outlandish. More from the call…

“And what’s he wearing?” the operator asked the caller.
“Nothing. Literally nothing,” the caller replied.
“Okay, so he is completely naked?,” the operator asked.
“He’s completely naked,” she replied.

It seems there is a fine line between proper sincere self-reporting of gender and indecent exposure. The police decided to arrest ‘her’ on suspicion of the latter. Here is the self reporting sincerely woman pe—swinger. It appears (s)he could have used a shave too.

And it seems the two women who were the object of the exhibition were in the ‘barely legal’ category, since they sought parental consul.

“This is not an emergency, it’s just that me and my friend, we’re all, you know not minors, but we were just flashed by a man in the bathroom,” the caller is heard telling the 911-operator. “And my parents told me to call to report it.”

Report away, but if ‘she’ sticks to ‘her’ gender identity nothing will come of it. At Planet Fitness, sincere self reporting is the rule. Consider going all ‘Bud Lite’ on the fitness chain and find another gym.

Easter Sunday found us seeking, and finding, hidden Easter eggs. But the White House sent us on another search.

“NOW, THEREFORE, I, JOSEPH R. BIDEN JR., President of the United States of America, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Constitution and the laws of the United States, do hereby proclaim March 31, 2024, as Transgender Day of Visibility.”

We didn’t find any on Brumby Road, alas.

A transgender person apparently became a little too visible for one Planet Fitness customer. According to Patricia Silva:

“I just came out of Planet Fitness, and there is a man shaving in the women’s bathroom”. Silva said she “loves” the individual as “a spiritual being having a human experience.” But she was “not comfortable” with the individual shaving in her bathroom.

How dare Ms. Silva claim the bathroom as ‘hers’ when I’m pretty sure if she had asked the person shaving what ‘his’ pronouns were, the response would have been “she/her” or “they/their” or “ze/zen”. How insensitive to see a human with male genitalia and facial hair and not realize that person is as much a woman as Ms. Silva is.

Planet Fitness has a bathroom policy, of course:

“Our gender identity non-discrimination policy, states that members and guests may use the gym facilities that best align with their sincere, self-reported gender identity.

Anybody besides me notice that the first comma in the sentence above is incorrect? Kind of like in the sentence “Our dog Luke, is recovering nicely from his $urgery. Which he is; thanks for asking.

You gotta love the language ‘sincere, self-reported’ gender identity. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could use the ‘sincere, self-reported’ method in other areas, like providing income and deductions information to the IRS? Or when pulled over for some traffic violation, claim to ‘sincerely self-report’ that I was only doing 50 mph, not 75?

More from Planet Fitness Execs…

As the home of the Judgement Free Zone, Planet Fitness is committed to creating an inclusive environment. (This time the comma is correct!)

Including gender fluid locker rooms, obviously.

Why Stop at Three? Endless Permutations…

At UC Davis I lived in a high rise dorm (Ryerson Hall) my freshman year. There were 5 floors: floors 2 and 4 were coed. Each of those rooms held either two men or two women. Those were simpler times and there was no confusion over the matter. And no other genders or non-binaries to consider.

The 3rd floor was all female and the 5th floor, where I resided, was all male. That does not mean that the occasional female did not find her way up there to spend the night, and when she did she considered our supposedly all guy bathroom part of her terrain. I recall brushing my teeth one morning and being startled by a woman entering the bathroom wearing a towel and sandals. She headed for the showers and lost the towel on the way. I was too much of a gentleman to stare, but I saw enough to realize she was really a she. But I didn’t ask about ‘her’ pronouns, so now I wonder…

I’m not sure if I had somehow been spending time in the early morning on the 3rd floor, I would have been well received if I had wandered into that restroom for a shower. But the chances of that happening were about the same as me getting an NBA contract. I never made any romantic connections at UCD, not even close.

None of the guys on my floor ever complained about the occasional female showing up to shower, and none of the males ever reciprocated by attempting to do the same on the 3rd floor. The women would have complained and the young man would be in trouble. A double standard to be sure, but perfectly normal in 1975. See how far we have traveled down the gender identity road?