This past week was the RWA® National Conference in San Diego. Because my husband had to be in Los Angeles on business the following week, we thought it might be fun to fly into San Francisco the week before my conference, spend a few days in the City by the Bay, then take the Pacific Coast Highway down to San Diego for conference week. 

I should probably mention that Hubster and I are polar opposites. He’s a Type A sun-worshiping sports enthusiast. I far prefer indoor activities that require little to no sweat. Still, we do our best to compromise with each other. So when we started to see ads for “Biking the Bridge,” I knew he’d want us to do it. 

It was supposed to be a leisurely four-mile ride, about an hour and a half, and then we’d catch the ferry back to town when we were done. Okay. I can do that. Can’t I?

Apparently not. 

First off, a lot of the four mile trek is uphill. Having never owned a bike with speed gears as a youth, I still have trouble figuring out when I should downshift and when I should upshift. (I know, it’s not rocket science, but I totally screw it up every time). And with my bursitis, arthritis, and herniated discs, I experience an awful lot of pain when I overexert myself.

Also, that four miles gets you to the bridge. It’s another mile over. And then three more to the site where you catch the ferry to go back. 

I’m woman enough to admit, I cried. A lot. By the time I made it over the bridge after multiple stops for me to ease my aches and pains (four hours into the ride), I could no longer feel my legs. And because I wasn’t prepared for the trip, I hadn’t applied sunscreen. Remember, I always say I’m the girl who could burn under a 60 watt bulb. Along the grueling trip, I could feel my skin tightening and I knew I’d pay for my negligence within a few hours. It’s been over a week now since this experience, and I’m still peeling from my elbows down to the backs of my hands. Why the backs of my hands, you may ask? Because my hands were curled around the handlebars of the bike for four hours.

When we finally reached the ferry pier, I was ready to kiss the ground. Until I saw the two-hour wait line to “catch the ferry back.” We wound up spending $40 on a taxi instead because I just couldn’t move more than my eyelids at this stage.

I will admit we took some lovely photos along the way. And the views were spectacular. We even saw whales.

My husband was patient with me (for the most part) and when I talk about the day now, he reminds me that I can boast that “I biked the Golden Gate Bridge.” Personally, I’d rather brag I typed “The End” on my next book.

It’s all about priorities, I guess. 

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