reassemble the old pink-tape-on-the-handlebars aluminum road bike and head out the road to malaga. then up into the hills. there's a lot of elevation to be gained today but the pitch and scenery changes constantly. worry when the very first section of hill sends me retreating into my smallest gear, 39/25. it's a long way to the top and there's steeper pitches than the one i'm on. it's good to be back in the orchards up on the hillside. even though it's saturday, there's still a few workers out pruning. Getting passed by the few trucks out on this road, both pick-up trucks being driven by guys in cowboy hats with a girl sitting in the middle of the bench seat and beat up orcharding work trucks. my dad was right about not needing the knee warmers and wind jacket i have stuffed in my jersey pockets. so much for spring; it's summer here. pass the church and head up over stemilt hill. at a primitive parking area a cluster of fellows unload their four wheelers for an afternoon of fun. they bemusedly glance my way as i glide past and i smile at how bike-racer get-up is an anomaly on this paved-but-sandy back road. at the top, the road doesn't climb any higher and i'm sad to head down the other side and again towards town. A truck passes me and the dog in the truck bed turns to bark. picking up speed and the truck takes a long time to pull away from me. scream down a nice descent overlooking the valley and wish, as i have on this section of road many times before, that there wasn't a hairpin corner approaching. glance at the speedometer-- 42mph, then 46.5, 48.5. can i hold it? can i break 50? decide that my first time on the bike in six months is not the ride to be attempting to set speed records so i settle for 49mph and sit up and brake for the corner. then back on a bigger road and ten minutes of downhill tedium where i spin out my 53/12 at around 32mph and so mostly coast back down to the valley floor. back in the residential area and people are out enjoying the day, lounging around their trucks, visiting, doing yard work. dodge one truck that's paused in the middle of my lane while the driver leans out his window and chats with someone standing outside. over skyline hill which is still harder than i ever expect it to be. decide to jaunt up #2 canyon rd. my dad often tells me when he rides up it on his commuter bike so i think i'll just spin up to the top quickly before returning home. struggle. gain new appreciation for my dad. hear echoing reports before i pass a handful of dudes shooting hand guns at the gun club. in breathless calm and hot sun as i tack back and forth at four mph across the narrow road i am unpleasantly reminded that i haven't showered since tuesday. the unfortunate side affects of not training for a week. the top. desperately suck at my waterbottle; i've been torquing on the handlebars too forcefully for the last mile to be able to drink. know that from here i can be home without a single peddle stroke. but if i merely wanted to sit i would have chosen a lawn chair rather than my fi'zi:k vitesse saddle. brake heavily until i get down to the canyon starts to level out. the gun of choice seems to have shifted to the rifle as i blow by the gun club. back on wesern ave and i know exactly when to stand up for the jarring dips in the road. home and pull the hard boiled egg i had in my pocket out, wipe off the sweat, and return it to the fridge. mom's bemused.