“We won’t make it,” Sashimi declared. “We’ll just have to miss it.”
I suggested that we call in, knowing that our culture had that behavior. There was a hesitant silence from everyone else, so I let the subject drop.
It was 10 am and we were only slightly just only halfway through. We passed through San Mateo, stopping at the 19 mile point for a rest stop, eating a quick breakfast.
We passed the Bridge to Nowhere, a steep drop. I observed as others just got off their bike. When I reached the edge, I hopped off and carried my bike the 2 foot drop into the dirt. Behind me, Cuyler with his mountain bike was gearing up for the drop…and minutes later he caught up with me. We were now traveling through a trailer park and warehouse area. A golf cart slowly passed us. “I wonder if they hate us – all these cyclists passing through,” someone commented.
I could tell it was almost time because all our phones buzzed at 10:45 am, warning us about the impending meeting. And here time passed uneventfully as we biked down, reaching East Palo Alto. “Let’s find a shady spot,” someone said underneath the sun that was quickly casting harsh rays on our unprotected skin.
We struggled with trying to contact someone, but I was more vicious and ambitious. I txted a producer who responded. And it was done. We were dialed in on my phone, which was now a defunct no longer made hardware device.