It's raining on the Tour riders right now.

At home, I can't pay for cable. In Colorado, I wake up to Phil Liggett describing the "nosty" conditions in France while the sun here brightens the mountainside. Crisp and clear and blue. Another perfect day.

I rolled out off my couch cushion bed to find that my roommate Dino, retired military, had already brewed up some coffee so black that my suspension fork could stand up in it. He's one of the senior representatives from RacersandChasers.com. Dougie Fresh, another winner, much younger, made the mistake of snapping him with a towel on the way down to the hot tub last night. The scariest thing I've seen in my life was Dino, slowly and quietly walking toward Doug. No words, no hurry, no mercy. I don't know if Doug made any noise, because the rest of us were screaming with laughter. And keeping a safe distance.

Speaking of learning the hard way, check my Big Bear blog post for the ten reasons I switched to singlespeed, then come back here for number eleven.

11. I am not the brightest bulb in the lamp.

I've spent several hours dreading this mountain the same way I fear Dino's retributive towel. With one hard gear, I have to walk way too much of it.

Oh, wait. I consistently chose the wrong ratio on a shifter bike, and, even though I switched my rig, my slow learning curve rolls on. There is a way to change gears on a single. Huh duh.

Bryce, the 17 year old wunderkind on the team, called his dad, who barely had time to nip into their bike shop before he caught his flight out of So Cal.

I haven't seen it yet, but apparently I now own a rear cog with 22 teeth instead of 18. For my non cycling friends reading this, that means I have to pedal more, but since doing so will be somewhat easier, there is a greater likelihood that I'll be actually riding this course instead of trudging it.

Robert, team organizer and series promoter, in between herding all of us, also is getting his laps in before he competes in the pro category tomorrow. I asked him how he felt about his race. Having done this for years and years, he's not wound up at all. "I've learned not to worry. It's just a race. Once the gun goes off, I just need to perform. That's all."

Yeah, well, you're fifteen years younger than I am, and you live above your parent's garage, and your best leg years are still to come.

For me, being here is an experience that, even if it does come my way again, is a gift so ineffably sublime that I'm desperate to put in my best, cleanest, fastest effort.

Someone hung a skull on one of the trees crowding the creepy steep drop on the back side of the course.

I was self conscious about the black powder dirt that I rolled in a few times trying to get down it. Some of the guys on the team have already decided to dismount ahead of time. I respect their caution, as I don't heal up so fast anymore, either.

However, I can ride it, and plan to, at speed. The whole course feels like that to me; a final exam of every skill I've painfully and grubbily acquired.

In September, all my children will be in elementary school, and I need to get a real job that pays actual money. I don't know how much I'll get to race, or even train. For me, then, tomorrow is graduation day. Four years after I borrowed my husband's bike, I get to ride my own on the same course as our nation's Olympic athletes.

And, while it shouldn't be a surprise, I feel like someone just shortened that course, just for me, due to my soon-to be-installed easier gear.

Nationals: a gift that keeps on giving.

I wonder what Santa will bring tomorrow.