The new service allows you to map turn by turn cycling directions, see the trails and bike lanes directly on the map, and drag and drop points to customize your route. Now you can avoid congested streets and large climbs on your commute. Check out this detailed video of the features. Happy Riding.

at the meeting point, only thirty riders showed up by the normal departure time. I was surprised by the low turnout. a lot of riders must have decided the roads would still be too wet to ride. but in an instant our small group almost doubled. I turned around to see three black escalades pull up to the curb. they were followed by a large diesel powered van and then a black mass of cyclists rounding the corner. it was nearly the entire rock racing team who had come to crash the party. this was unexpected and hell of a day to skip the ride by sleeping in.

while everyone else was silent with excitement and surprise I realized that the team was sans cippo. however once we took off I started collecting a list of who was in attendance. oddly enough I found myself right next to Santiago Botero and Oscar Sevilla from the start. Huff’s old teammates Creed and Bahati were not far ahead but it wasn’t until the first traffic light that I saw Tyler Hamilton and Fred Rodriguez. I guess I didn’t recognize Hamilton without a needle in his arm.

there were more too. Clinger, Sterling Magnell and I think Victor Hugo Peña. however they upstaged themselves with the caravan that was following alongside. the still photographer on the moto was a nice touch. riding amidst flashbulbs next to Botero was a new experience for me. a white minivan that had seen better days rolled alongside us and the tailgate lifted. in the back seats sat two video cameras filming riders. the cameramen looked like they had not been on a bike since they were twelve and appeared to have rolled straight out of the bar moments before joining the pack. they were probably annoyed by any non-pro that would dare get in their line of fire.

clearly it now was rock racing’s ride. it wasn’t long before the pack was really hammering. the pack stretched out so Sevilla, Botero and Creed all singled-up and I was quick to fall in behind them. with the help of the pack we kept it between 33-37mph. we hit a railway crossing with a train’s whistle bearing down on us. the lights were flashing but the italians shouted, “sprinté! sprinté!” so along with everyone else I ducked my head and hit the wet tracks. one of the escalades floored it under the lowering gates too. I thought he was going to hit them but we all got away clean.

the camera moto was in constant contact with the group speeding ahead to find a new position to take photos from and then speeding ahead again. finally I was losing touch with the group so about 14 of us took a shortcut and met up with them again at the pit stop. at the park a short stocky man climbed out of one of the escalades. this was Michael Ball and he was quite a sight. as we rolled out for more punishment clinger came alongside me and chatted me up about my bike. ball used the slow pace as a photo opportunity to get some pictures of himself riding in the group. his von dutch hat was his only helmet – after what happened to leogrande earlier in the week on the PCH you would think he’d wear a helmet.

the pace picked up again as we headed down cornell road. every other lone cyclist our group met gave us jaw-dropping looks from the sight of the support caravan that were in tow killing the planet one mile at a time. Freddie Rodriguez must have been having trouble with his bike because at one intersection some kid was standing holding a new bike for him. when we rode past the kid yelled, “hey freddie! you need this? you need this?” but freddie didn’t stop and the camera moto kept shooting. that’s when the attacks started going off the front.

the rain returned about two hours after the ride. it’s continuing to pour but now it’s raining harder and the wind is very strong. southern california wasn’t made for weather like this and I think I just heard another tree limb fall. it’s way past my bedtime but I’m still wide awake.

there is one such ride on tuesdays and thursdays in hollywood, the Barry Wolfe Ride. this ride is close to my house but I cringe at the thought of riding in hollywood because I usually think of smog, holes and accidental death. I was sure the route would be a tangled mess of traffic lights, exhaust and shit-hitting-the-fan all adding up to a bad ride. I drove over anyway amidst the morning crush and was late to the start. so I drove another mile ahead of the pack and parked in Griffith Park but was still tying my shoe laces when about 30 riders zipped by. shit.

so I started my ride by chasing back on and when I made some crazy maneuver in that morning rush hour traffic I was dreading I suddenly realized I had left my helmet in the car. I was wearing a stocking cap instead and the sensation of fleece on my head had mislead me when I made that quick start. the next thing I thought was, “I hope I locked the car.”

worry turned to laughing because I realized I was pumping 500w on a sidewalk of the overpass of the I-5, and the pavement had seen better days. after two miles of chase I caught up to the ride but not before I had notions that I might have to call it a day and make up my own ride. it really is sickening to be chasing a pack that you can see, but one where your progress is constantly hampered by red lights that you dare not run. I’m making too much of it – the bottom line was I caught up.

I was happy that most of the ride was pretty slow today allowing for some decent LSD. if the ride had been anything more I would have dropped out anyway. this ride was a crazy mix of riders, most of them regulars so there was plenty of chatty-kathy blah, blah, blah. one old timer asked a young hip-racer dude, “have you been riding much?” to which the hip-racer dude replied, “I’m doing 4-a-days.” as if to say shut-the-*&%@-up. the old timer believed him, but I thought his joke was funny.

also the ride’s route turned out to more interesting than I expected and even had a section or two that I would deem manageable but for the most part we were riding in smog and my snobby ass still has a headache. also, I discovered that the pack had some “writers” in it. as in “striking writers.” so I told them I needed a job and asked them if they needed any help around the house leaf blowing, painting, walking the dog, etc. no takers. networking in hollywood is better done on a golf course. well if you’re not going to be walking the line then why don’t you at least ride with a sign!

but none of that is what I want to write about. instead, the only thing worth mentioning was after everyone disbanded back in burbank I tooled back to my lonely parking spot with my helmet still in my car. on the way I passed the Disney animation building. for the millionth time I was stopped by a red light. this gave me time to stare at the six writers picketing in front of the gates. I began to wonder what sorry bastards those six were because they were not cool enough to skip out like the rest of their teams. I know all my writer-friends keep telling me “I took the day off” when I ask them how toeing the line is treating them.

about this moment at this very long light another old timer rolled to a stop behind me. he asked the nearest labor protestor, “anything happening?” in a heavy German accent. the writer just shook his head. wow, I thought. they really were at a loss for words! the light changed and we both rode on. but we weren’t even a hundred feet past the statue of mickey’s magician hat when I was asked for the hundredth time how big my bike was. I wanted to roll my eyes but then I thought of Lance and the trials he faces every day being asked what his favorite color is. so I gleefully replied to the old timer. about ten strokes later he asked me what kind “of motor I had back there” referring to my PowerTap hub. “does it tell you when to eat?” he joked and rode up alongside of me pleased with his deftness as a conversationalist.
, instead he had a winter cap on – the kind with two bills. but I was stuck with him, I was trying to keep my watts down and so I played along. there wasn’t much I had to do because the old timer was doing most of the talking. “yeah cycling’s a good sport. do you race? you look like a racer. No? well, it beats driving. especially with the gas prices! hah! soon we’ll be riding on the freeway! vvvrooommmm!!!!” he made a buzzing sound with his lips to mimic a speeding car. it wasn’t long before he was talking about doping and I wasn’t listening until he said, “but if it wasn’t for those drugs I wouldn’t be alive today.”

now I knew I had better show some compassion. in my new role as bartender i had better speak up and listen to him because he probably meant he had just gotten out of the hospital. “really?” I said. “oh yeah, I mean I’ve been racing 60 years and we had that stuff back in the day too. we all used it, all my friends and me. but right before the race not all the time. we used to drink beer after the races too, sometimes before. back then it was friendly but today it’s all about the money. when Merckx and Pingeon came in they said ‘this is our territory!’” suddenly I was listening – and watching him throw his bars around to pretend like he was sprinting. “I was old by then anyway,” he sighed.

but then in another half mile he was off. “okay, I’ll see you in april!” he yelled taking a hot-route at the next corner. I yelled back at him, “what’s your name?” and he smiled “Hoyst! have a good ride!” and that was that. he had just been telling me that he was heading down to his vacation home in Puerto Vallarta for four months. “my friends and me meet down there and ride. they come from all over… Canada, Germany, Mexico, Belgium. we get in shape… right now I’m 15 pounds too heavy,” he gave his belly a pat. he had also been telling me about his last trip to the Pan-Am games in the old timers class where he had won nine golds. “I don’t do that stuff anymore, I don’t really know why I spent all that time racing anyway.” whether he was a fake or not, Hoyst had charmed me and I was hanging on every word. arriving back home, I can’t find any solid lead on the internet about the guy, the Pan-Am games don’t even have an official page that I can find. but I’ll be keeping my ears open to see if I ever hear him on the road again.