Cindi Staiger

Just more than three weeks ago, Cindi Staiger's days consisted of almost nothing but pedaling. Her nights, too, were filled with pedaling, not sleep. In Utah, she rode smack through a thunderstorm, battling headwinds that were relieved only by crosswinds. In Colorado, she climbed to 11,307 feet, crossing the Rocky Mountains in freezing temperatures at Berthoud Pass. In Kansas, she outraced combines in 115-degree heat. And in Washington, D.C., she was the first woman to cross the finish line.

Just more than three weeks ago, Cindi Staiger's days consisted of almost nothing but pedaling. Her nights, too, were filled with pedaling, not sleep. In Utah, she rode smack through a thunderstorm, battling headwinds that were relieved only by crosswinds. In Colorado, she climbed to 11,307 feet, crossing the Rocky Mountains in freezing temperatures at Berthoud Pass. In Kansas, she outraced combines in 115-degree heat. And in Washington, D.C., she was the first woman to cross the finish line.

Claudia Folska runs a bike-related company and spent hundreds of hours on bikes over the past year in preparation for a tandem trip across the country. But she insists she's not a serious cyclist. "I'm just a regular Joe who happens to be blind," she says. Folska, 29, is the founder of Santa Monica-based Eyecycles, which pairs blind and sighted cyclists for weekend tandem rides.

Gels put the squeeze on the palate. In a nonscientific blind tasting of eight sports gels, groans and words like "weird" and "yuk" wiped out any idea of second helpings. About the only thing three tasters agreed on was the effectiveness and convenience of sports gels in general. The tasters--ultra-marathoner Jeffrey Vannini, ultra-cyclist Cindi Staiger and marathoner-coach Cheryl Anker-Agata--are all local athletes who buy and use gels.

Around the pothole, over the railroad tracks, through the busy intersection. Seven-year-old Christina Rowles navigated past the danger without batting an eye. Or risking her neck. It helped, of course, that the tiny bicyclist never ventured from the parking lot at the Carson Library on her unusual odyssey the other day. And it helped that Pat Hines stayed at her elbow the whole way.

The guy turning onto Bixel Street from Wilshire Boulevard leaned on his horn and screamed out his window. But Cindi Staiger didn't flinch. At least he wasn't trying to ram her bicycle with his sedan. At least he was hurling nothing more dangerous than invective at the pink-jerseyed cyclist. Staiger, 43, has experienced far worse on the streets of Los Angeles. "I've had food items and rocks thrown at me," said the office manager, who commutes by bicycle from Culver City to Downtown Los Angeles.

The World Cycle Fair, long the bastion of bicycle dealers and exhibitors, will go public Sunday when the Long Beach Convention Center welcomes cyclists and enthusiasts anxious to know more about the latest industry trends. The trade show is expected to lure many of the Southland's recreational riders, estimated by the Colorado-based United States Cycling Federation at more than 50,000.

Night has fallen in southwestern Colorado. At 8:20 p.m. (PDT) Tuesday, Richard Fedrigon, 38, of Chicago, walks out of his room at the Country View Lodge ready to begin his third night in the Race Across America. He has slept nearly two hours, all he's going to sleep for the next 24, and now it's time to get back on the bicycle. A crew of four is ready to follow a short distance behind in a 1987 Toyota van. When Fedrigon hits the blacktop, the van drops in behind him.