The Streets of Willow event with Pacific Track Time got canceled. The gods don't want me on the track until October. I'm experiencing track withdrawal. That said, the street riding is very nice these days.

Summer brings out so many different street aromas. There's the tang of guano in the air when I rider over the Dumbarton bridge. If the evaporation ponds have a good salt build-up, and I ride over the bridge in the afternoon, I can smell the salted guano fermenting on the bay's warm sands.

Coming home from Berkeley in the evening, I smell bread rising, followed by coffee beans roasting.

Now that I'm riding to San Francisco in the morning, I am treated to the aroma of roasting garlic. If I'm a few minutes late, I can smell the addition of fresh tomatoes to the garlic. I haven't had the privilege of riding by just after the hand-picked, chopped basil leaves have been stirred in to the sauce.

Of course, there are also the unique smells of the Mission district. The fish monger sells fish that I would only use for fertilizer. They wash their stall down with what smells like full strength bleach. Then there are the sidewalks where the drunks sleep it off. What a contrast with the exhaust fumes of the cars queuing up to get on the 80 on-ramp.

I sometimes get a good whiff of something when I'm in my car, but the experience can't compare to being on the bike.

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I picked up my track suit from Helimot's yesterday. Putting it on for the first time was an exercise in fighting claustrophobia, it fits like a second skin, only much, much heavier. The suit turned out better than I expected. The workmanship is remarkable. There are little touches everywhere. Loops tucked into the wrist to help me get out of the suit. Elastic material at the back of the collar so that it doesn't constrict my neck. There's one section of the liner at the back that is made of an unusual material - it's pretty, and, knowing Helmut, it has a function as well, I just haven't figured out what it is.

The task at hand is break in the suit and get the final alteration done before my next track day. I wore it last night while folding laundry. I wore it riding today. It is starting to conform to my body, at least, when it is hanging on a hanger, I can recognize my own butt. I feel a little silly riding in a track suit on a street bike. I feel sillier trying to get in and out of it. Lots of squirming, hopping, and grunting.

* * *

I miss the track. I miss that singleminded concentration/determination tinged with terror. I rode home on the highway the other night and found myself in a different space. Hmm, can I hold the rpm to between 5300 and 5800 all the way home? Can I do the whole ride without breaking zanshin? Is a cop gonna appear on my tail and bust me for speeding? Are the cars gonna get pissed off at me for flashing my high beam (once, politely but firmly) to ask them to clear out of the fast lane? I can't say I kept zanshin the whole ride. The bike and I were feeling good when we got home.