Summary: My lights crap out on my commute, so I await my ride home in a small Mexican cantina, where I am the only non-hispanic, one of maaaybe 6 females in the bar, and hands down the only one in spandex and a helmet. It was the most interesting thing I've done in weeks. 
So I was held up at work when a guy came in twenty minutes till closing time, wanting to buy the Stumpy Pro... Um, yeah, I'll stay late and sell you that bike...
I live about 23 miles south of La Jolla, near the suburbs of Tijuana.The two other guys at the shop who also happen to live in Chula Vista (and who happened to have ridden their bikes to work) decide it's too cold and overcast, and call home for a ride. Amateurs.
I hadn't charged my lights, thinking 1) I would only need maybe an hour of light, 2) my commute is only an hour and a half, 3) I'd be leaving at 6, and it doesn't get dark till about 7. Of course, I end up leaving at almost 7:00.
Sure enough, about 30 minutes from home, on Harbor Drive near the Naval Station and the shipyards, my light goes out. I pull into the entrance to the Naval Station and call my husband. As I tell him that I'll be waiting there at the security gate, it occurs to me that about 1/2-mile down the road, just under the 5 freeway, is a little dive bar that plays loud Mexican music. It would certainly be more interesting than hanging out at a security gate, and besides, I could get a beer there. I suggest this to my husband. He says doubiously, "Um, honey, I don't think that's such a good idea... that's a pretty rough place." "Naw! I'll be fine! Just meet me there, OK?"
Knowing that there is no use in arguing with me, he sighs and says he will.
So here's the scene. It's a dark Sunday evening south of Bario Logan. The orange walls of the cantina are well lit by the lights inside, and you can hear the trumpet and accordion music that is Mexicana from a quarter-mile away. I'm on a Cannondale R1000, in full spandex with a pink Pearl Izumi vest, a light on my helmet, and light blue half-fingered gloves on. I dismount the bike and disconnect my light from the battery in my back pocket, as a half a dozen dark-faced men crane their necks in curiosity to see what I will do next.
I walk my bike into the bar, my cleats clicking on the tiles, and rest the bike up against the wall. I turn around to see two empty barstools, and look at the man to my left, "Ah... está ocupado?" I ask him.
"No, no! Siéntate," he says.
Of course they are all looking at me expectantly, so I explain about the light, "Mi luz no funcciona. Acabo de llamar á mi marido, para llevarme a casa, y... tengo que esperar. Es que, se me olvidado cargar la pila," and I smile. They all smile and nod good naturedly, as the barmaid asks what I'd like to drink. "Ah..." I hesitate, not knowing what beer to get. I'm not really a beer person, and I certainly don't know Mexican beer. The guy two stools down indicates his beer, something beginning with an "M." Sure, why not. "Una de esas," I tell her, and she goes to fetch a cold one.
Suddenly it occurs to me that I have no cash, and pull out my debit card. "Oye! Puedo pagar con tarjeta?" She frowns, and tells me sorry, they only take cash... I sigh, and tell her nevermind, when the guy two stools down pokes his friend in the ribs and nods. He's going to buy me a beer. This just keeps getting better and better. The surreal adventure continues.
I sit and have a beer with the guys at my end of the bar. They are all stone silent. I take a deep breath and break the ice, telling them how my light crapped out on me. "Pues... la luz se terminé cuando llegué a la puerta de la base naval. Pude esperar allí, pero ¡es mucho más interesante aquí!" They laugh, and warm up a bit. The man next to me asks me where I work. I tell him, in a bike shop in La Jolla (20 miles north). He nods and glances at the bike.
The bartender looks at me with a blank face and wants to know if I do this commute thing every day. I can tell she thinks I'm insane. I tell her that while I am insane, I don't do this every day.
Soon my husband shows up in his sports jacket and tie, further fueling the surreal nature of the entire evening. He's just come from church, and I note that he made really good time getting here. I introduce him to the guy who bought me the beer and we all shake hands and smile. As I sit finishing my beer, I comment that this has been my best commute ever. I finish my beer, thank them for their hospitality, and head out to the car.
I love adventures. I love creating surreal situations, ones that people walk away from saying, "Wait. Did that just happen?" Did some blonde cyclist girl in spandex just come in here, speaking Spanish, and get Pablo to buy her a beer? Wait. What?
So I was held up at work when a guy came in twenty minutes till closing time, wanting to buy the Stumpy Pro... Um, yeah, I'll stay late and sell you that bike...
I live about 23 miles south of La Jolla, near the suburbs of Tijuana.The two other guys at the shop who also happen to live in Chula Vista (and who happened to have ridden their bikes to work) decide it's too cold and overcast, and call home for a ride. Amateurs.
I hadn't charged my lights, thinking 1) I would only need maybe an hour of light, 2) my commute is only an hour and a half, 3) I'd be leaving at 6, and it doesn't get dark till about 7. Of course, I end up leaving at almost 7:00.
Sure enough, about 30 minutes from home, on Harbor Drive near the Naval Station and the shipyards, my light goes out. I pull into the entrance to the Naval Station and call my husband. As I tell him that I'll be waiting there at the security gate, it occurs to me that about 1/2-mile down the road, just under the 5 freeway, is a little dive bar that plays loud Mexican music. It would certainly be more interesting than hanging out at a security gate, and besides, I could get a beer there. I suggest this to my husband. He says doubiously, "Um, honey, I don't think that's such a good idea... that's a pretty rough place." "Naw! I'll be fine! Just meet me there, OK?"
Knowing that there is no use in arguing with me, he sighs and says he will.
So here's the scene. It's a dark Sunday evening south of Bario Logan. The orange walls of the cantina are well lit by the lights inside, and you can hear the trumpet and accordion music that is Mexicana from a quarter-mile away. I'm on a Cannondale R1000, in full spandex with a pink Pearl Izumi vest, a light on my helmet, and light blue half-fingered gloves on. I dismount the bike and disconnect my light from the battery in my back pocket, as a half a dozen dark-faced men crane their necks in curiosity to see what I will do next.
I walk my bike into the bar, my cleats clicking on the tiles, and rest the bike up against the wall. I turn around to see two empty barstools, and look at the man to my left, "Ah... está ocupado?" I ask him.
"No, no! Siéntate," he says.
Of course they are all looking at me expectantly, so I explain about the light, "Mi luz no funcciona. Acabo de llamar á mi marido, para llevarme a casa, y... tengo que esperar. Es que, se me olvidado cargar la pila," and I smile. They all smile and nod good naturedly, as the barmaid asks what I'd like to drink. "Ah..." I hesitate, not knowing what beer to get. I'm not really a beer person, and I certainly don't know Mexican beer. The guy two stools down indicates his beer, something beginning with an "M." Sure, why not. "Una de esas," I tell her, and she goes to fetch a cold one.
Suddenly it occurs to me that I have no cash, and pull out my debit card. "Oye! Puedo pagar con tarjeta?" She frowns, and tells me sorry, they only take cash... I sigh, and tell her nevermind, when the guy two stools down pokes his friend in the ribs and nods. He's going to buy me a beer. This just keeps getting better and better. The surreal adventure continues.
I sit and have a beer with the guys at my end of the bar. They are all stone silent. I take a deep breath and break the ice, telling them how my light crapped out on me. "Pues... la luz se terminé cuando llegué a la puerta de la base naval. Pude esperar allí, pero ¡es mucho más interesante aquí!" They laugh, and warm up a bit. The man next to me asks me where I work. I tell him, in a bike shop in La Jolla (20 miles north). He nods and glances at the bike.
The bartender looks at me with a blank face and wants to know if I do this commute thing every day. I can tell she thinks I'm insane. I tell her that while I am insane, I don't do this every day.
Soon my husband shows up in his sports jacket and tie, further fueling the surreal nature of the entire evening. He's just come from church, and I note that he made really good time getting here. I introduce him to the guy who bought me the beer and we all shake hands and smile. As I sit finishing my beer, I comment that this has been my best commute ever. I finish my beer, thank them for their hospitality, and head out to the car.
I love adventures. I love creating surreal situations, ones that people walk away from saying, "Wait. Did that just happen?" Did some blonde cyclist girl in spandex just come in here, speaking Spanish, and get Pablo to buy her a beer? Wait. What?
