How you feelin'? Hot! Hot! Hot!

Even though Summer is officially a month away in the Northern Hemisphere, the weather in Southern California is doing its best to get an early start.  Traffic is a little busy around my new hill-stomping grounds, so I haven't had that much of a chance to pull over and take some pictures during the grind, but today I did.  I just realized that I'd been putting it off too long, and if I have to look like a fool taking a picture of someone's dog in the front yard, well, I'll just look like a fool.  So, here I am looking like a fool as cars roll over the top of Lida:

 

I usually don't smile so intensely, but I was concentrating on "acting natural."

 

Yeah, how natural can one look while straddling a bike, panting like a dog, and holding a camera in one hand?  At least nowadays I think it's natural to leave the house in skin tight clothing and make funny hand signals at cars which might or might not run me over if given the chance.  The main reason why I took more pictures from the bike trail was the lack of car traffic.  It was no big deal to take one hand off the handlebars and snap a quick picture, because, even if you swerved trying to line up a shot, there was no one around to run you down.  Riding around a public throughway during rush hour tends to make my heart, and nerves, a little jumpier.  So, to be safe, I'll have to stop to take my photos ...grr... and look like a, gasp, tourist.

Yes, I hate tourists.  Even when I'm a tourist, I hate tourists.  Just growing up in a tourist heavy spot, Los Angeles in general, Pasadena in particular, I can spot them a mile away.  So obvious, so out of place, so non-local.  *Sigh*  I know, I know, I'm a bad person for being biased, but when you live near the park where the floats end up for the Rose Parade, and your streets get blocked off while they're moving these things around, and every yahoo from Iowa and their second cousins park up and down your street, I hope you might understand that I tend to tense up at the sight of a tourist.  I once had to drive to Glendale, 15 miles east, to travel to Arcadia, 4 miles west, because of those floats.  Ah well, I'm sure tourists are nice people, even me, when I'm a tourist, but I still have to grit my teeth for half a second when that instance of recognition hits me: loud shirt, khaki shorts, white knees, dark socks, sandals, some kind of hat, and a camera on a strap - Tourist!

So, imagine how I feel when I'm dressed even worse: loud shirt, check; shorts, with padding, no less, check; weird tan line, check; out of place shoes, check; strange hat of some kind, check; camera in one hand, check!  Aaiieee, Tourist!  I'll get over this, I know I can.  Just give me some time.  Mind you, I've been working on this for 14 years, but I think I'm getting better.  Dressing ridiculously in public has been therapeutic, especially when I had skinny little thighs.  Now that I have slightly less skinny thighs, I feel like showing them off (see, I need help, I'm really strange, now will you believe me?), so the shame factor is not there as much.  But trying to line up a shot with a hummingbird and a flower while crouching over a bike?  I need to work up to that level of ridiculousness.

Okay, my next goal is to take a picture of a golfer during his backswing.  I'll have to stop in the middle of the runners' path, climb up a little rock fence, and try to look like I'm supposed to be doing that, all while wearing cycling gear.  I'm already sweating, just thinking about it.  Damn tourist!