Not Quite Canadian Hospitality

Just a couch and a road ride.

That’s all my friend Munny was hoping for. After all, last summer for a whole week he put me up, fed me gourmet meals, and took me on some stunning, epic rides in his hometown in Whistler, Canada.

Munny flew down to California last week to get away from the deep snow and frostbite. He’s a full-time firefighter, but somehow finds time to train as a pro adventure racer. He was pining for some long, warm miles on the road bike, and a little time with American friends. And, I was on his list for the central coast wine country segment.

The problem was, my husband and I are in the middle of a home improvement project, in the painting stage to be precise. And for the first time since we’ve lived here, we were going to have to get a hotel room to spare our last remaining brain cells from the toxic fumes. The burnt crème custard walls looked great, but they reeked.


Munny

Turned out there was just enough space for Munny in our hotel room on the squeaky little roll-out bed in the corner. He didn’t complain once, despite my husband’s violent punctuated bouts of snoring.

The next morning at a cafe, I broke Munny the news that not only would we NOT be riding road bikes, but he’d be borrowing my heavy free-ride bike to join me as I zipped up my favorite rocky trails on my super light race bike.


Marla and Munny

“We’ll ride dirt today,” I announced. “The vineyards do make pretty road riding, but I’m kind of in the mood for some trails.”

He muttered something about low-intensity road miles and taking pictures of rolling fields of grapes, but nodded politely and sipped his coffee.

“That’s okay. It’s still California, eh?” he conceded.

Munny did a great job hammering up the climbs on my beefy free-ride bike, although his training schedule forbade it. I kept reminding him that even though he was lugging around those big downhill tires, the Maxxis stuff still has lower resistance tread patterns compared to other brands.

“You’d better clear the next loose climb!” I’d cajole him from behind. “ I always make this section! Of course I’m not supposed to try right now, in my condition.”

When we got back to my place, all I could find in our second-hand harvest gold refrigerator were two bagels: one fresh onion and one very stale blueberry. Without hesitation, he opted for the blueberry. I just shrugged and dropped the pair of dry, half-disc husks on his plate.

Crazy Canadian, I thought. I would have chosen the onion.