I joined somewhere around 900 other riders on RSVP this past weekend, for my second time in as many years, and I’m now recuperating in sunny Walnut Creek, CA.

I had intended to write a general ride report, something like, I did last year. Though restricting myself to topics that people find interesting has never been one of my guidelines in writing blog entries – a fact that should be painfully obvious thus far – I’ve decided not to tell you that I had one flat, and consumed 132 oz of Blueberry Accelerade. Nor will I tell you my maximum heart rate (163), the total number of miles (around 195), or other minutiae.

Instead, I’m not going to write that at all. In fact, I started doing a “trip report lite” (30% less boring), but just deleted 250 words of it.

Instead, I’d like to talk about nicknames.

The first – and arguably lamest  – example really wasn’t a nickname, but a description. “Yellow Jersey Women” describes a women who I pulled through one unexpectedly windy section of the first day, but who disappeared before we could learn her way. Yellow Jersey (not her real name) also rode with us the second day and was a nice addition to the group on the second day, when she held up her end by riding in another yellow jersey, though there was an unconfirmed report of an early morning sighting of a white jersey. Tamara was a good addition to the group.

The second was coming up with a nickname for Jeff, which was an undertaking of the utmost importance. I tried out “Georgie” a few times on Saturday morning. Jeff was at the front, doing his best imitation of George Hincapie, spending extended time at the front of the group, while I did my best imitation of a tour team leader – hanging back and not doing any work. “Georgie” stuck okay until we made a stop at a store near Lynden to get some hot food. Jeff stopped for some mac & cheese, decided to add a piece of chicken, and then walked out of the store with an entire roast chicken. So, “Chicken boy” was awarded, though I’m unsure if it will remain sticky over time. Jeff confounded the whole thing by wearing his “Sponge Bob” jersey the second day, which provided some unfortunate competition with “chicken boy” (hmm. Perhaps “Mr. Chicken” or even “Señor Pollo” would be better…), and was certainly a crowd favorite.

There was no obvious choice for Gustavo on the first day. “Guy who can outride me pretty much anywhere” was a bit ungainly, and “somewhat unattentive son-in-law”, while a fair description, lacked the necessary panache. Gustavo solved things the second day by showing up in white calf-height socks, and “sock boy” was awarded at the appropriate time. Through a rather bizarre juxtaposition of the addition of another Microsoft rider, a discussion of the difficiencies of nutrition bars, a 15-minute ferry wait, a felicitously positioned pickup-load of potatoes, and a lack of free time on Jeff and my part to form a band using a specific name, he was temporarily awarded the appelation “groin potatoes”, which is one of the least sticky nicknames I’ve heard of.