You know it is spring when ...

the birds are singing.  Robins are singing well before dawn searching for a mate.  Meadowlarks (my favorite bird tune) call to each other as I pass them by.  Are they warning each other about the funny looking dude on a bike?  Or are they looking for a mate too?  I heard several blue jays raising a ruckus in the yard two days ago.  I walked outside and saw six in one of our pine trees.  What were they so concerned about?  I looked down and a hawk was having a blue jay for lunch.  It was a lot like Puddy Cat though as there were only feathers laying about by that time.

It is also spring when the number cyclists I see out and about skyrockets.  Today was a warm day and I  saw more than a hundred riders.  Contrast that to Tuesday when the weekend's foot of snow was down to six or so inches.  Only two other riders that day during my 25 miles.

Daffodils are ready to pop out.  Perhaps tomorrow for Easter!  Of course, spring means spring cleanup around the yard and gardens of the house.  There is lots to do pruning last year's perennials and raking out the leaves thatwe  let lay in the garden through the winter.  Robin talked tonight about hiring someone next year to do it.  Only because her knees were talking to her.  My legs were talking to me too today but that was after a hard set of interval training and then straight into the yardwork.  Take a break next time, Tommy D!

I did some spring training in California and Arizona.  Three weeks of warmer cycling suited me just fine.  Although, I still needed tights and long sleeves in the early morning on the coast AND in the SoCal desert.  If it would only be so cool when I am in Indio in six weeks.  I met some former CR riders and it was good to catch up with them.  Also my buddy Joe from high school who may join me for the first few miles of the CR ride.

Another sign of spring--six more weeks until the next batch of CrossRoads cyclists takes off from the Manhattan Beach pier.  Robin and I will be there to support them during the next 48 days to Boston.  It is hard to believe that it has been eight years since I took off from the pier for the first time.

Tom Massoth and I in Newport Beach (above).

Jim, Ira, and I near Marina Del Rey.

  Near Camelback Mountain in Scottsdale.

From our friends' home in La Quinta, just four miles from where we lay over in Indio.  Could it look any moredifferent from what we think of as Indio?