Prologue
I went into the 2009 Central Coast Double (“CCD”) with low expectations. I wanted to finish this ride to keep alive my quest for completing the Triple Crown Stage Race. I felt that my fitness was below last year’s level, which was proven by my slower time at this year’s Devil Mountain Double (“DMD”) and greater fatigue after that ride. Work and family commitments wreaked havoc with my post-DMD training plans. The longest ride I was able to do was a hilly 70-miler, which left me tired. When I learned that the CCD course would be extended from 209 miles to 218 due to government-mandated detours, I realized that my tiring 70-miler was less than a third in length of the CCD. Daunting.
Jeff Gould and I agreed to drive to Paso Robles together on Friday afternoon the day before CCD. I drove and Jeff got us a hotel room across the street from start/finish. Couldn’t imagine a better location. The drive was uneventful. We arrived in Paso Robles a bit before 4:00 p.m. and checked into the hotel.
I changed seat posts on my bike the previous evening from a zero setback post to one with 20mm of setback and hadn’t had the chance to ride the bike with the new post and get my position dialed in. I wanted to ride 8 miles, as my bike computer was at 3,992 miles and I wanted to start the CCD exactly at 4,000. I got on the bike. The saddle felt pretty good, not perfect, but very close and I was tempted to just leave it alone. I was riding along, mulling whether I should get off the bike to adjust it further. I glanced at the road and, as fate would have it, saw a beaten up multi-tool in the middle of the street. Taking it as a sign, I got off the bike, picked up the tool, unfolded its 5mm Allen key and adjusted the saddle. Got back on – the adjusted position felt better. At this point, I needed another two miles to get to 4,000, so I turned up a 10% hill. I climbed half a block, when a dog bounded out of a yard and gave chase. I got up and sprinted. The dog gave up. The dog-inspired detour, however, caused my mileage to exceed 4,000. I returned to the room with computer reading 4,000.1. Bummer.
Jeff and I went to Basil Restaurant to meet Jason, Michael, Alfie, Lisa, Bryan, Sean, and Alexis. Had a huge and fabulous meal. So huge that after dinner I took a 30-minute walk to settle my stomach. If you’re in Paso Robles, eat at Basil. You won’t regret it.
1. Start to Top of Santa Rosa Creek Road
At 5:40, Brian Stark addressed the gathered throng of 174 cyclists, warning us to be careful descending Santa Rosa Creek Road and Nacimiento-Ferguson Road, and we were off. I started toward the front of the field. There, the pace was fast but reasonable and civil. I was riding with Jeff and Sean. Saw a number of people I’d met on previous rides. One guy was on a 70-inch fixed gear. Ouch. About five miles into the ride, as the road tilted up a bit, a gap formed in the group. Jeff and Sean made the split, but I chose to hold back and rode toward the front of the second group.
Once we left Paso Robles, we turned onto Adelaida Road and then onto Vineyard Road. These are great cycling roads, especially Vineyard: quiet, well-paved, mildly rolling, and with great views of rolling hills and pastures. We saw many happy California cows. From Vineyard, we turned sharply onto Jack Creek Road that a few minutes earlier had seen a crash in the front group, amid much brake squealing and cursing. A few more turns and we were on Santa Rosa Creek Road, first flat, then climbing. Serious climbing of grades over 10%. I passed a stopped green tandem, which had broken a chain. The climb was mercifully short, however, and at the top was the first rest stop. The tandem riders fixed the chain and reached the rest stop a few minutes after me.
2. Santa Rosa Creek to Ragged Point
I left the rest stop with the tandem. Mindful of warnings and colorful tales of broken collarbones and bicycles hanging from trees, we descended cautiously, although at the top the descent was not particularly treacherous. Within a mile, the tandem flatted and I continued alone. Soon enough I came to what I dubbed the “Oh Shit!!!” corner – a very steep, sharp, and decreasing radius turn that gave rise to many tales of woe. I managed to negotiate it safely and continued even more cautiously.
The road finally flattened and I rode on alone at a mellow pace, waiting for people to catch up with me so we could work together. Soon enough a group of five caught me. I jumped on as it went by and we rolled into Cambria taking regular pulls. We reached the coast and turned north on Highway 1. A chilly north wind was blowing in our faces, but we worked well together on the flat part of the road, which ran for 22 miles to Ragged Point rest stop.
Unfortunately, I didn’t make it to the rest stop with my group. As we rode past the Hearst Castle in San Simeon, nature placed an urgent call and, though I desperately wanted the answering machine to answer, I pee-led off the group when I spied a porta-potty by the side of the road.
My group was long gone by the time I exited the green plastic cabin and another group was about 150 yards ahead, as I mounted. I chased into the wind half-heartedly, not wanting to work too hard. They gradually pulled away, and I settled into a brisk but comfortable pace and rode to Ragged Point.
3. Ragged Point to Nacimiento-Ferguson
At Ragged Point, California Coastal Range of hills connects with the coast, leading to a dramatic change in the scenery. The road becomes, well, ragged: there are no flat stretches between Ragged Point and Nacimiento-Ferguson Road. Up for a mile, down for a mile; up for half a mile, back down to sea level; up fifty yards and back down again. I was consciously riding slower, but the scenery was gorgeous and it was cool, so I didn’t mind. At one point, as the road pitched up after a lengthy descent, the green tandem went by quickly. I weighed the options: chase and possibly work harder than I wanted but ride much faster than I could alone or continue at my own, considerably slower pace. I put my head down and quickly closed the gap. Within a minute, I heard conversation behind me and, upon glancing back, discovered a group of six riders behind me. They had been on the tandem’s wheel, but let a gap open on the descent and had to chase to get back on. With the tandem pulling I climbed faster than I had when I was alone and though I had to work a bit harder, the effort was very manageable and the draft was definitely noticeable even on uphills. And we took short flat sections and downhills much faster than I would have alone. In no time at all I found myself at Mill Creek rest stop at the foot of Nacimiento-Ferguson climb.
The Mill Creek rest stop offered only natural bathroom facilities: we had a choice of the tree and the cliff. I chose the cliff. The view was the most inspiring of any bathroom I’ve visited in my life. Thus relieved, I tackled the seven mile long Nacimiento-Ferguson climb.
4. Nacimiento-Ferguson to Lunch
Nacimiento-Ferguson zigzags up the hill from Highway 1, going seemingly north-south-north-south and so on for 2-3 miles before heading inland. So, for the first few miles of the climbs you are never more than a quarter mile from the ocean. Views up there are mind-blowingly spectacular. I rode on the wrong side of the road a bunch of time just to get a better look at the ocean and the coastline and to distract myself from the pain. This sucker is 8%+ percent before it flattens a bit when the road finally turns east.
I passed a couple of people on the lower part of the climb, then saw two guys riding together about 50 yards ahead of me and set my sights on them. As I was in my massive 34-28, it took 10 minutes to make up that measly 50 yards. When I finally got within 10 yards, I thought: “Screw it!”, shifted into 34-23, and sprinted up to them. All three of us were happy to have company. Though we reached the first flatter portions of the climb all of us were feeling the burn and, as we were leaving the coast it was getting warmer. One of the two guys fell behind and the other, Richard, and I continued together. There was much headwind and side wind and next to no tailwind, but we were comfortable with the pace and we rode side-by-side talking all the way to the lunch rest stop at Mission San Antonio.
On the way to the mission, we entered Fort Hunter Liggett army base, showed our identification to the guard, who informed us that we were about 40th riders to pass through (great news!) and that we’d have to dismount at the green metal bridge and walk across. Richard and I chatted about all the possible reasons we’d be walking and he told a story of a woman on a bike doing a face plant on the bridge, requiring 15 surgeries. We decided it was liability. Sure enough, the guard at the bridge confirmed it, made sure that we dismounted and walked across. Walking across a metal grate bridge in cleated shoes really sucks. It occurred to me to try walking barefoot, but I concluded that it would hurt more and clopped across.
5. Lunch to Harden Square-Hula Skirts Rest Stop
Lunch fare was make-your-own-sandwiches and fruit, which was fine, but most importantly, they had ice. Now, I like ice much less than the next man. In restaurants I order water without ice and if it comes with ice I scoop it out. This was different. It was 1:30, temperature was in mid-80s and rising, and last year I died in the heat at Terrible Two. One thing I learned there, though, was the sock cooling method. Bring a long sock, stuff it with ice, drape it around your neck under the jersey, and ride. An arm warmer would work just as well. At first, so much ice around my neck was painful, but I got used to it quickly and was very comfortable. Sean was at the lunch stop also, and we left together at conversational pace. We started with a tailwind that quickly became a headwind. We rode side by side for a while, but then I went ahead and pulled for a good long while into a headwind on Jolon Road, picking off riders here and there.
After nearly 13 miles, we turned off Jolon onto San Lucas-Oasis Road, climbed a quarter-mile hill, where I began to flag a bit, as my ice melted down. Once we crested, though, Sean went to the front and set an absolutely searing pace. We were riding on the flats in 25 mph crosswind from the left. I sat at 5 o’clock position in relation to Sean, as he absolutely buried himself for seven miles. I hung on for dear life. At one point when we entered a gulley we had wind at our back for about half a mile. There, Sean was pulling at close to 40! “I want his drugs!” I was thinking.
All good things come to an end. We turned into a headwind again and came to a water stop. I refilled my sock and bottles. Now both of us were feeling the strain of our efforts and we sat and up rode at conversational pace again. Something got into my eye and, as I tried to fish it out, I knocked my prescription glasses off my face. “Car back! Please, please don’t drive over my glasses!” I cringed awaiting the crunch. He didn’t. I rode back to pick them up. Both lenses popped out and I spent several minutes reinserting them. Sean waited. Glasses repaired, we rode on. Then Sean stopped for a nature break at the foot of a hill and told me to ride on. There was a rest stop at the bottom of the hill on the other side, so I rode, drinking and dousing myself generously. My sock had drained again, so did my energy stores. I plodded, so did others. I passed two people, one of whom was walking. “We are still nearly 70 miles from finish and it’s awfully early to be walking,” I thought. I crested soon after passing the walker and sped down the other side. The descent was long and straight, just perfect for a tired rider. And so, I arrived at Harden Square rest stop manned by two women in hula skirts.
6. Harden Square to Bradley
Spirits at this rest stop were fairly low. A number of people were suffering from the heat, a couple of people were sagging in, and very strong riders were talking about taking the shortcut that cut 12 miles and 1,500 feet of climbing from the route. But I was feeling rejuvenated. A banana, two cups of Coke and more ice in my sock and bottles and I was ready to go. Sean said he’d spend more time here, so we wished each a good ride and I set off. After a quarter mile of crosswinds, I turned right to find myself heading downwind and ever so slightly downhill. This felt nice. My ice was working and for a change my legs didn’t have to. I took inventory: legs were pretty good; neck was nice and cold; crotch was fine; brain was in decent shape. I concluded that so far things were going much, much better than I could have hoped. I took my hands off the bars, got out my phone, and called home. Nobody home. Called my wife’s cell – talked to my daughter – she picked up the phone because they were driving and Jessica didn’t want to talk and drive. I didn’t tell her that’s what I was doing. We had a great conversation and I continued riding hands-off at 20-21 miles an hour for nearly two miles. Very relaxing and inspiring.
A couple of guys caught up to me – it was time to get back to work. I sped up to catch up and started riding with them. We worked well together, taking pulls that lasted as long as our energy resources allowed. We rode quietly, hardly any talking. Three strangers, cooperating, but not socializing. Cycling is strange that way.
As climbs lengthened and steepened, the other guys slowed down and I found myself alone again. I was on Interlake Road somewhere between lakes Nacimiento and San Antonio. It was around 4:00, hot, and my ice was nearly gone. I tried sucking the sock, but that didn’t help, put it in my jersey then in my helmet, but that was of little use too. So, in the finest tradition of This is The Spinal Tap, I stuffed it in my shorts, and it produced a noticeable cooling effect. But my head was still hot and I was almost out of water, so I did something I’ve never done before – I took off my helmet. Oh my God! It was so much cooler to ride without a helmet! I rode bareheaded to the top of the hill, where I put the helmet back on and immediately regretted doing so. Oh well, better safe than sorry and a water stop was less than a quarter mile from the top. I refilled my bottles and sock and started dousing myself as soon as I began descending. Much cooler. Came to an intersection with Nacimiento Road (again?!) and turned left – north, away from Paso Robles. Why, oh why are we going north? Into a headwind? On a gravel-strewn road? At least Nacimiento descended for half a mile, so the cooling trend continued. When I reached the bottom it was cooler and it was also very windy. First on Nacimiento Road and then back on Jolon Road, I spent nearly 45 minutes riding alone into a 20-mph headwind. I like to say that riding into the wind builds character, well, I built a hell of a lot of character on this stretch.
Mercifully, Jolon Road ended at its junction with Highway 101, where I entered the freeway and turned south, the wind at my back. I exited after a mile and another mile later arrived at Bradley rest stop.
7. Bradley to Finish
I ate a hot dog, gulped down a handful of Endurolytes, picked up my light, and refilled the bottles and sock. I asked a rest stop attendant how much climbing remained. He said about two miles up Hare Canyon at 3%, steepening at the top. I groaned. Oh well, 33 miles and one rest stop remained and it was time to ride again. After a couple of miles of tailwinds I turned onto Hare Canyon Road. Sure enough, it averaged about 3%, though a bit steeper for the first quarter mile. By now, the sun was below the walls of the canyon and I rode in the shade into a headwind yet again. Since I didn’t look at my computer when I turned into the canyon I was happy that the road had half mile markers. Half-mile, mile, 1.5 mile – I was close to the top as the road pitched up. Except it just kept going: 2.0, 2.5, 3.0, 3.5 – what the fuck? Well, keep going. The road was pretty enough, it was cooler, and my energy was good, so I climbed and climbed, going pretty fast. 4.0, 4.5, 5.0, 5.5... Finally, the road pitched up, there were two guys cresting, and in another 50 yards, just like that, it was over. At last.
On the other side was a screaming steep and straight descent. Unfortunately, the road was strewn with gravel and the best place to ride was in 12-inch wide tracks that cars’ tires had made. Well, going 50 miles an hour on a foot-wide track just didn’t feel very safe, so I braked a bit and slowed to 45. At the bottom, the wind was at my back for a change, so I got low and went hard. I immediately blew past one of the guys I'd seen near the top of Hare Canyon climb, the other was about 150 yards ahead and going pretty fast. I put my head down and hammered. I caught him about five minutes later and slowed down to ride with him. He was a Lithuanian I’d met at the 2008 DMD. We rode together for a while and talked cycling and hockey. After a while, I wanted to ride faster and told him to get on my wheel. We rode in tandem for a while, but he kept falling back and I kept waiting for him to catch up. After a while I bid him farewell and rode away to catch a guy in white who’d been dangling in front of us for good 5-10 minutes. Finally, caught up and tucked behind him for a break. From behind he looked very fit with well-defined legs. After a minute, I was ready to leave him behind and pulled up next to him. I looked over and saw a guy in his 60s! Holy cow! I was riding hard, going to finish in top quarter of a 218-mile ride and here I was, catching a 68-year old just five miles from the finish. I hope I am as fast as he is when I’m 48, never mind 68 – chapeau! We rode and talked a bit, I pulled for a while, and then he told me to ride on, so I did.
Back to hammering I went, quickly passing three more people, all of whom had left me behind earlier in the ride. This was very unusual, seeing so many people on the road at such a late stage of a long ride. Passing them provided more inspiration to ride harder and I kept going and going.
I hoped to finish in daylight. And though there still was fading light in the Paso Robles sky as I approached the finish, I had to turn on my light half a mile before the finish because I simply could not read street signs and getting lost was the last thing I wanted to do at this point. Approaching the park I heard shouts of encouragement and cowbells. I pumped my fist, very happy with my ride. Jeff was there to greet me. He finished 23d of 174 starters, arriving at 7:40. I was 38th, arriving at 8:28. My riding time was 13:18, total time 14:48, average speed 16.4 mph. In the last 25 miles I raised my average speed from 16.0 to 16.4. Tailwind definitely helped, but legs had something to do with it as well.
8. Post-ride
With Mother’s Day next day, Jeff and I were in a hurry to get home. So, we did a quick clean up, stopped at Jack in the Box (or was it Carl’s Jr.?) and sped home, recapping our rides. I made it home at 1:15 a.m. Didn’t sleep well, but was surprisingly functional on Mother’s Day. When I finally went to bed that night, as I drifted off, my legs felt as if they were still pedaling – 24 hours after the finish.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
2009 Devil Mountain Double
I left with the 5:00 group and took it easy up Diablo. On the descent, the winds were blowing me all over the road. I've never had to pedal so much coming down that mountain there was so much head wind. At the bottom I hooked up with Ken from San Jose, who rides doubles on his fixed gear (though not the DMD) and a couple of his friends and we rode together at a mellow pace toward Morgan Terr. The group gradually grew to about 15.
Once we hit Morgan, some of the guys started hammering up the small knobs on the early sections and I let them go. I was in a group of four, riding medium-hard, working, but not uncomfortable, when about a mile from the top four black cows bounded down from a hillside onto the road. Seeing us, they started running up, 8-10 feet ahead of us. We did our best immitation of cowboy calls to drive them faster, but they climbed at the same speed as our group and there was no telling what they would do. I rode through a fresh cow pie. Yeeew. After a minute the cows had had enough and veered off the road. By the time I reached the top I felt like I'd done some work and it was getting warmer. I was cautiously optimistic.
Phil Hornig, a 6:00 starter, caught me on the bottom of Morgan and we rode together. We let a foursome catch us and the six of us rode through Livermore together. While we waited at a light in Livermore a pair of Webcor guys caught us and as soon as the light changed, the Webcor guys blew off the line and it became a completely different ride. Several people fell off the pace, and I had to dig pretty deep to stay with this group, which I knew was stupid, but there was a mighty headwind and I wanted to have wheels to follow until we turned around and had wind at our backs. It was also stupid to have taken pulls. After results were posted I discovered that Phil finished 2d and another member of our group 8th, re-confirming that I was in over my head.
I let them go once we turned around. Let me say here and now, I hate Patterson Pass Road. Either you have a howling headwind or a slight tailwind. Neither is appealing. I struggled there last year, so I fully expected the same. That's what happened. Somewhere on the climb -- we're talking mile 85-ish -- my competitive juices stopped flowing, I was sweating profusely and felt pretty fried. I realized that I'd have to ride mellow, maybe finish an hour or two later than planned, but with 120 miles to go there was no reason to be a hero, I had no legs to be one anyway, but I wanted to finish -- I did not want my attempt to finish the Triple Crown Stage Race to die with a DNF of the first stage. I crested Patterson and rolled into Mines Rd. rest stop around 11:45. I planned to spend a bit of time at the rest stop taking in protein, caffeine, ibuprofen, and whatever other rhyming performance-enhancing substances they offered. Reasonably recovered, I left the rest stop after 20-25 minutes.
I also hate the first climb on Mines Rd. Just as last year, it was hot and we had a slight tailwind, so I rode in a personal sauna bubble with no relief from the wind -- and at my plodding speed, I certainly wasn't generating any wind chill. Several people passed me on the climb, but I didn't respond. "Ride within yourself and make sure you finish" was my mantra. Once the road flattened a bit and I began the slight descent I felt better and started my espresso-gel-washed-down-with-weak-gatorade regime. Don't laugh, it works for me. I became really good friends with my 50x19 and 50x21, depending on which way the 1% grade pointed. It was cooler, the road is very scenic, and I felt happier. I didn't stop at the intermediate water stop, just shouted my number at the guy manning the check point and rolled on, thereby passing several people who'd passed me on the climb, but were off their bikes now. I grinned. Competitive juices began dripping...
At the lunch stop I ate, recovered, and left fairly quickly in an effort to make up whatever time I would lose on the road by taking shorter breaks. Top of Hamilton lay 18 miles ahead and the climb began in 12. There were a few rollers of varying sizes on the way, but I got to the climb in good shape. Strangely, the climb didn't seem as steep as I'd remembered it, but it felt harder. I decided to employ my enjoy-the-scenery-rather-than-suffer strategy that worked so well last year. It didn't work THAT well this time, but I passed a bunch of people on the way up, competitive juices sped up to a trickle, and, again, I skipped the water stop just before the crest. As I rode past the stop, I asked a volunteer to douse me, which he did. With ice-cold water. That was quite a shock after small doses of tepid water from my bottle over my head, but it felt good and I made it to the top in good spirits.
Has anyone counted the hairpins on the south/west side of Mt. Hamilton? It wouldn't surprise me if it has more than Alpe d'Huez. You get to the top of Hamilton and think you're almost at the Crothers rest stop near the bottom, but NOOOOO. You have to descend for freaking ever with sore forearms and neck. And the damn hairpins keep making you brake. And then you have to climb out of two valleys. No bullshit, I prefer climbing the back of that thing to descending the front.
Finally, made it to the rest stop. Surprisingly, managed to leave at about the same time as last year. But this year I wasn't feeling as perky. I was pretty confident I'd finish and thought I'd get to Sunol in daylight. Sierra was Sierra. A slog and I was cramping toward the top, but I managed to pass four more guys. More competitive juices. Petted the goat, picked up my light and left. I rode completely alone to Sunol. Got there in daylight. Had two bowls of miso. Managed to get to Palomares in the dusk and about a mile into the climb, just around the first set of screaming peacocks, turned on my light.
After that it was a sensory deprivation ride over Palomares, boring burbs that's Castro Valley, 3.5 miles of get-me-the-hell-off-Crow-Canyon-Rd.-those-cars-are going-50+-and-the-shoulder-is-two-feet-wide-at-its-widest, another sensory deprivation climb over Norris (Norris was a real struggle, but, mercifully, it was shorter than I'd remembered), then on to the Marriott. I rode 0.75 mile of Bishop Ranch Rd. with my hands off the bars in a victory salute. I arrived at 9:42, 15 minutes later than last year, but an hour earlier than my most optimistic projection.Talked with a couple of guys I'd met riding doubles last year and then felt very, very tired. Possibly the most tired I've been after a ride.
Once we hit Morgan, some of the guys started hammering up the small knobs on the early sections and I let them go. I was in a group of four, riding medium-hard, working, but not uncomfortable, when about a mile from the top four black cows bounded down from a hillside onto the road. Seeing us, they started running up, 8-10 feet ahead of us. We did our best immitation of cowboy calls to drive them faster, but they climbed at the same speed as our group and there was no telling what they would do. I rode through a fresh cow pie. Yeeew. After a minute the cows had had enough and veered off the road. By the time I reached the top I felt like I'd done some work and it was getting warmer. I was cautiously optimistic.
Phil Hornig, a 6:00 starter, caught me on the bottom of Morgan and we rode together. We let a foursome catch us and the six of us rode through Livermore together. While we waited at a light in Livermore a pair of Webcor guys caught us and as soon as the light changed, the Webcor guys blew off the line and it became a completely different ride. Several people fell off the pace, and I had to dig pretty deep to stay with this group, which I knew was stupid, but there was a mighty headwind and I wanted to have wheels to follow until we turned around and had wind at our backs. It was also stupid to have taken pulls. After results were posted I discovered that Phil finished 2d and another member of our group 8th, re-confirming that I was in over my head.
I let them go once we turned around. Let me say here and now, I hate Patterson Pass Road. Either you have a howling headwind or a slight tailwind. Neither is appealing. I struggled there last year, so I fully expected the same. That's what happened. Somewhere on the climb -- we're talking mile 85-ish -- my competitive juices stopped flowing, I was sweating profusely and felt pretty fried. I realized that I'd have to ride mellow, maybe finish an hour or two later than planned, but with 120 miles to go there was no reason to be a hero, I had no legs to be one anyway, but I wanted to finish -- I did not want my attempt to finish the Triple Crown Stage Race to die with a DNF of the first stage. I crested Patterson and rolled into Mines Rd. rest stop around 11:45. I planned to spend a bit of time at the rest stop taking in protein, caffeine, ibuprofen, and whatever other rhyming performance-enhancing substances they offered. Reasonably recovered, I left the rest stop after 20-25 minutes.
I also hate the first climb on Mines Rd. Just as last year, it was hot and we had a slight tailwind, so I rode in a personal sauna bubble with no relief from the wind -- and at my plodding speed, I certainly wasn't generating any wind chill. Several people passed me on the climb, but I didn't respond. "Ride within yourself and make sure you finish" was my mantra. Once the road flattened a bit and I began the slight descent I felt better and started my espresso-gel-washed-down-with-weak-gatorade regime. Don't laugh, it works for me. I became really good friends with my 50x19 and 50x21, depending on which way the 1% grade pointed. It was cooler, the road is very scenic, and I felt happier. I didn't stop at the intermediate water stop, just shouted my number at the guy manning the check point and rolled on, thereby passing several people who'd passed me on the climb, but were off their bikes now. I grinned. Competitive juices began dripping...
At the lunch stop I ate, recovered, and left fairly quickly in an effort to make up whatever time I would lose on the road by taking shorter breaks. Top of Hamilton lay 18 miles ahead and the climb began in 12. There were a few rollers of varying sizes on the way, but I got to the climb in good shape. Strangely, the climb didn't seem as steep as I'd remembered it, but it felt harder. I decided to employ my enjoy-the-scenery-rather-than-suffer strategy that worked so well last year. It didn't work THAT well this time, but I passed a bunch of people on the way up, competitive juices sped up to a trickle, and, again, I skipped the water stop just before the crest. As I rode past the stop, I asked a volunteer to douse me, which he did. With ice-cold water. That was quite a shock after small doses of tepid water from my bottle over my head, but it felt good and I made it to the top in good spirits.
Has anyone counted the hairpins on the south/west side of Mt. Hamilton? It wouldn't surprise me if it has more than Alpe d'Huez. You get to the top of Hamilton and think you're almost at the Crothers rest stop near the bottom, but NOOOOO. You have to descend for freaking ever with sore forearms and neck. And the damn hairpins keep making you brake. And then you have to climb out of two valleys. No bullshit, I prefer climbing the back of that thing to descending the front.
Finally, made it to the rest stop. Surprisingly, managed to leave at about the same time as last year. But this year I wasn't feeling as perky. I was pretty confident I'd finish and thought I'd get to Sunol in daylight. Sierra was Sierra. A slog and I was cramping toward the top, but I managed to pass four more guys. More competitive juices. Petted the goat, picked up my light and left. I rode completely alone to Sunol. Got there in daylight. Had two bowls of miso. Managed to get to Palomares in the dusk and about a mile into the climb, just around the first set of screaming peacocks, turned on my light.
After that it was a sensory deprivation ride over Palomares, boring burbs that's Castro Valley, 3.5 miles of get-me-the-hell-off-Crow-Canyon-Rd.-those-cars-are going-50+-and-the-shoulder-is-two-feet-wide-at-its-widest, another sensory deprivation climb over Norris (Norris was a real struggle, but, mercifully, it was shorter than I'd remembered), then on to the Marriott. I rode 0.75 mile of Bishop Ranch Rd. with my hands off the bars in a victory salute. I arrived at 9:42, 15 minutes later than last year, but an hour earlier than my most optimistic projection.Talked with a couple of guys I'd met riding doubles last year and then felt very, very tired. Possibly the most tired I've been after a ride.
2009 Solvang Spring Double
2009 Solvang Double Report
My ride in the 2009 Solvang Double was meant to be a “training ride” for more challenging double centuries that comprise the California Triple Crown Stage Race: Devil Mountain Double (“DMD”), Central Coast Double and Mt. Tam Double. Due to wet weather in February and March and family obligations I just couldn’t get in any long training rides. The longest I’d done was an 85-miler in mid-February. I’d done a lot of intensity work, but minimal endurance. Not the optimal way to prepare for endurance riding, but that’s what the time allowed. So I signed up for Solvang to do a long ride before tackling the DMD.
I left for Solvang late morning of Friday, March 27. Apparently, this is the time of annual northward migration of Painted Lady butterflies. I drove south into their swarm and for an hour from Gilroy on south my car and many other vehicles mercilessly pelted the poor butterflies. Very sad.
I arrived in Solvang, checked into my hotel, and went to pick up my rider number at Buellton Marriott. There, I ran into Jason (Rude Awakening – see his fixed gear ride report) and a bunch of his friends, all from Oakland , my home town. We had dinner together and entertained each other with tales of epic cycling adventures. We noted that it was pretty damn dark by 7:30 .
The ride had open start time from 5:00 to 7:30 a.m. I planned to start around 6:15-6:30 , about the time I started last year, when I finished comfortably at 5:20 p.m. Though then I was in better shape...
I slept badly and was completely awake by 2:30 . I drifted back to sleep, but by 4:30 there was stomping and glomping of cleated feet in the room above and outside – early starters. There was no use trying to sleep, so I decided to start earlier than planned to make sure I’d finish in daylight. I knew I’d ride slower than last year and would need more time to finish. I ate my bagels with Nutella (mmmm) and bananas and rode to the Buellton Marriott for the start. I pulled up outside the hotel, where several riders were waiting for their friends. I struck up a conversation with a woman with a British accent, we wished each other “good ride,” and I went downstairs to get my number marked. There, I learned that ride organizers needed to inspect my bike to make sure I had appropriate lights and that reflective ankle bands were required. Oops. No ankle bands and they were all sold out. I really didn’t want to wait 45 minutes until daylight to get started. I went outside to get my bike. The Englishwoman was the only person waiting. I had a brilliant idea to ask her for her ankle bands, which I’d return immediately after inspection. She balked initially, but I offered to leave my long gloves with her as collateral (no way was I going to start without them in 45-degree weather), and she agreed. Inspection went uneventfully. I returned the ankle bands and reclaimed my gloves, wished her “good ride” once more and was off, band-less. It was 5:45 a.m.
All I had for a front light was a measly Knog light designed for being seen rather than for illuminating the road. My rear light was blinking brightly enough to send one into an epileptic seizure, but that did me no good as I tried to navigate my way out of Buellton toward Solvang. Fortunately, the first few miles were well paved, had no turns, and even my weak light was strong enough for me to barely see the white line that marked the road’s shoulder. I rode just to the right of the line, as I chased riders in front of me in hope of taking advantage of their stronger lights.
As I entered Solvang I was struck by the smells of breakfast pastry baking. I rode for half a mile through Solvang’s lighted downtown, passing through clouds of sweet smells of rolls, Danish, croissants and who know what else was cooking in the myriad of the town’s bakeries. The last bakery in town had a very distinct and recognizable and unpleasant-to-me smell that I hadn’t encountered that morning – John Belushi’s breakfast of champions (http://www.metacafe.com/watch/26266/john_belushi_donuts_of_champions/).
Just outside Solvang, I caught up with cyclists who had good lights and then chased others that were short distances ahead. I kept doing that – catching up with groups with good lights, so I was not riding in the darkness for more than half a minute. This went on for a few miles and the dawn was breaking, when I was passed by a tandem. This signaled the end of the warm-up portion of the ride.
While drafting tandems and fast pacelines, I realized over and over that day, makes fast riding easier, it doesn’t make riding easier. Sure, I expended less energy behind a tandem at 25mph than I would have on my own at that speed, but I probably would have worked just as hard riding alone – only I would have been riding slower. So, off we went, hammering into the rising sun, up and over small rollers, past vineyards and fields of purple heather. As we climbed one hill, the stoker asked, “Are you Vlad?” “Yes,” I replied, surprised. The team was Jason and Lisa whom I’d met at several doubles last year. Suddenly, we had stuff to discuss, what rides we’re doing this year, how our common acquaintances at Solvang were faring, etc., etc., making the ride friendlier and easier. The tandem pulled us (a 10-person paceline) into the first rest stop after riding at posted speed limit for 12 miles. During the preceding 41 miles I made a conscious effort to eat and drink often and was feeling confident and strong.
After a quick refueling and relieving stop, we remounted and were off again. Jason and Lisa did most of the pulling, though occasionally singles – I too – went to the front to offer them brief respites. Our group kept growing, as we absorbed smaller pacelines. Thus, we went until mile 75 or so, when a white van passed us and pulled over at a turnout. The driver jumped out, ran to the middle of the road, raised her hands, and yelled and frantically gestured at us to pull over. It was Deborah, the ride organizer. She angrily told us that she’d been following us for 45 minutes (huh?!), that she’d seen us run countless stop signs (highly likely) and traffic lights (only right turns and slowly at that), and that she ought to DQ all of us then and there, but she wouldn’t do that. She kept saying that she should – but she wouldn’t. She pleaded and cajoled and threatened for us to make full and complete stops and to put a foot down. We nodded obediently and restarted. And we grumbled and groused. I wondered whether she was being a mother or a teacher. One of us promised not to curse or spit in public (this ride organizer last year DQ-ed two people for urinating in public at Eastern Sierra Double), so there was plenty of merriment in the paceline. For the next half a dozen stop signs I’d uncleat and dab my foot at 10-15 mph in sarcastic compliance with the request to put a foot down.
This encounter befouled the paceline’s mood. A bunch of people dropped back either from fatigue or to dissociate themselves from the renegade tandem and its friends, which, after all, led the group through the stop signs and traffic lights. By now, only I and Bill from Walnut Creek remained with Jason and Lisa. Bill is a hilarious guy and a very strong rider. Our small group worked well together into the second rest stop at mile 86.
There, I finally felt warm enough to shed long gloves, knee warmers, and wool base layer. Another quick refuel and Bill and I left with another Jason (Rude Awakening), who was on a fixed Waterford . The terrain out of the rest stop was rolling, so Jason and I didn’t get to ride together. He stomped over short and steep rollers ahead of Bill and me, then we passed him on downhills. So, we played leapfrog for several miles until we turned onto Highway 1 for a 12-mile slog toward the turnaround point at Morro Bay . After a couple of miles a fast paceline flew by and Bill and I jumped on the back. The paceline contained at least two winners of women’s 2008 stage race and was led by their teammates from Fresno Cycling Club. Though two men did most of the pulling the women did more than their share. For some reason, no one came back to the end of the paceline and Bill and I found ourselves drafting in the back the entire time. To which neither of us objected. That said, this paceline had little going for it other than fast pace. There was frequent Slinky effect going on with the line stretching and people letting wheels go, then speeding up back into the draft. So, there was way too much hurry-up-and-wait riding, which led everyone to expend much more energy than if we’d been riding steadily and smoothly.
But we were going fast and not pulling, so Bill and didn’t complain – OK, fine, only to each other. Lo and behold, by 12:30 we reached the lunch stop. I need to figure out better how to do lunch. Concerned that the group would leave quickly, I inhaled a Subway sandwich and washed it down with two V-8s. Well, if you read my report from last year, that didn’t work so well... again. Fortunately, the group rode easily for the first half hour, as I digested, regurgitated, re-swallowed, and burped, and cursed my failure to chew my food properly. I felt bloated and was in a bad gastrointestinal state. And sprinting-and-coasting, sprinting-and-coasting was doing nothing to make me feel better.
Mercifully, one member of the group flatted. The group stopped, but I rolled on, figuring that if I’d stopped they were going to drop me on the climb that loomed just ahead. I planned to climb slowly and try to recover on the other side of the hill while they fixed the flat and caught up, then ride with them again. Bill came with me and almost immediately, we caught up with a group from Cupertino Cycles, which also included – yes – a tandem. We were very happy. Climbing at tandem’s speed we got to rest a bit, then more rest on the other side, as we rode in its draft. Just then another tandem zoomed by – the Fletchers, a couple that races mountain tandems with whom I rode for 40 miles last year and enjoyed the experience. They were faster than the Cupertino tandem, so we jumped on their wheel and off we went. We were going at a fast, but manageable pace, when we were caught by a single rider in green kit and with legs the size of my waist. He offered to pull, but the tandem had a hard time keeping up with him, so we let him go, much to my burpy relief.
We made a brief stop at the Guadalupe Rest Stop, where I refilled my bottles, adding shocking little to their contents. We remounted and were off again. My stomach was still unsettled and working harder did nothing to help that. At times, I felt close to puking, but managed to keep it down. I forced myself to drink, but even the thought of eating was so unappealing that I didn’t bother trying. I realized that what I was doing was dangerous: I was already on the verge of dehydration and was running low on sugar, but eating and drinking more would have led to cookie-tossing, which was not going to make the ride easier. So, I rode like a ticking time bomb. The guy in green who spent more time at the rest stop caught us again and went to the front. There was a gap, the tandem strained to get into his draft, and the paceline’s speed picked up by 3-4 mph. I rode grimly (not Grimley: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A-4b8AjPl1I&NR=1). Bill dropped off and I didn’t even notice. After we turned south, the draft was to the left of the tandem’s stoker, where I parked myself. After another monster pull the green guy came back and said, “If you want me (him) to pull let me into the draft for a rest or you (I) should pull.” I replied, “No to both.” I was in no shape to pull in a crosswind and having the green guy pulling actually made ALL of us work harder. Brenda Fletcher turned and said, “He’s helping us a lot.” I relented and let the green guy into the draft. But honestly, I didn’t see how green guy was helping. Every time he went to the front, he’d open a 10-12-foot gap, the tandem would visibly strain and spend half a minute trying to get on his wheel, the green guy would pull for another minute or two, and the tandem would be left to fight crosswinds again, but now at a lower speed.
After the green guy came back following another huge pull I told him to come around the tandem gradually and, in the words of the London Tube, to mind the gap (http://shop.tfl.gov.uk/Clothing-and-accessories/Childrenswear/Product/Children_s_white_Mind_the_Gap_logo_t_shirt.html). He nodded. We came to a turn and slowed down. He went to the front and just kept going. The Fletchers tried to catch up but couldn’t. We didn’t see him again. I briefly mused whether I was responsible for his departure, but decided that my request was polite and was meant to conserve the tandem’s energy, though it appeared to have had the opposite effect, and I absolved myself of responsibility.
So I was left alone with the Fletchers... and my stomach. I held their wheel for another 12 miles, but with five miles before the last rest stop I was feeling so pukey that I finally had to let them go and ride at my own pace in a bad frame of mind. But as I rode, I reminded myself that this was a training ride and that I’d benefit from it. I also remembered feeling just as badly at the 2005 Davis Double at the same point in the ride, but I took my time at the last rest stop and finished strongly. These thoughts lifted my spirits a bit and, with the wind at my back, my own pace was good 18+ mph, and the five miles passed relatively quickly.
I arrived just as the Fletchers were leaving. I thanked them for their draft and settled in for protracted rest. I had a coke, Advils, a handful of pretzels, a couple of Hammer Nutrition pills of something or other and a banana. Bill and another guy came and left while I was there. After spending 15 minutes at the rest stop it was time to get this thing over with. Just 16 miles lay ahead: a 3.5 mile climb of 4-5%, a 1.5 mile descent, followed by a long slight downhill and a final 6-mile flat drag back to the finish. I figured this all would take an hour or so. Not easy, but fairly manageable.
On the climb, I quickly found myself in my 36x28. I had very little energy, so I turned the pedals slowly. Nothing hurt, but I just wasn’t moving very fast. My heart rate was stuck in mid to high 130s (my recent max is 191) and would go no higher. So I plodded. The climb was not as steep as I remembered and this year there were thousands of California poppies strewn all over the hills. Passing me a man on a time trial bike remarked that it felt as if we were in Oz. I replied, “Either Oz or Afghanistan .” He chuckled and rode ahead. Another person passed me, riding almost with as little enthusiasm as I, and, as I crested, a teammate of the Oz man caught up with me as well. The two of us plunged down the other side. The descent, which I remembered as terribly paved, wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be. We quickly passed the other plodder and hit the flats. Suddenly, I felt reenergized and my stomach felt better. That is, relatively reenergized – only enough to jump on the wheel of two guys on time trial bikes and we were roaring along at 26mph. I told them I’d pull but I’d slow us down tremendously and they didn’t mind my sitting in. After we made the turn onto the final drag toward Buellton, we hit a small hill, where I had to let them go. But the rest of the ride was flat and I had a tailwind, so urging myself on, I fought toward the finish, riding as fast as I could.
I pulled into the finish at 5:20. Almost exactly the same time as last year, though last year I’d started half an hour later. Average speed was very respectable 18.5. I went inside to check in and asked how many people had finished – 12! I was the 13th finisher of 485 people who registered for the ride. Of course, I understood that many, many people started after me, but still, I felt quite proud.
As I sat outside reflecting on the ride, I thought of the huge role our minds play in this sport. I talked myself through a lengthy and gradually worsening rough patch and finished well. I took negative thoughts and turned them positive by thinking of the event as a training ride and used prior experience to get over my blahs. If only I could remember about the power of positive thinking every time I do an interval session… nah, intervals would still suck.
My ride in the 2009 Solvang Double was meant to be a “training ride” for more challenging double centuries that comprise the California Triple Crown Stage Race: Devil Mountain Double (“DMD”), Central Coast Double and Mt. Tam Double. Due to wet weather in February and March and family obligations I just couldn’t get in any long training rides. The longest I’d done was an 85-miler in mid-February. I’d done a lot of intensity work, but minimal endurance. Not the optimal way to prepare for endurance riding, but that’s what the time allowed. So I signed up for Solvang to do a long ride before tackling the DMD.
I left for Solvang late morning of Friday, March 27. Apparently, this is the time of annual northward migration of Painted Lady butterflies. I drove south into their swarm and for an hour from Gilroy on south my car and many other vehicles mercilessly pelted the poor butterflies. Very sad.
I arrived in Solvang, checked into my hotel, and went to pick up my rider number at Buellton Marriott. There, I ran into Jason (Rude Awakening – see his fixed gear ride report) and a bunch of his friends, all from Oakland , my home town. We had dinner together and entertained each other with tales of epic cycling adventures. We noted that it was pretty damn dark by 7:30 .
The ride had open start time from 5:00 to 7:30 a.m. I planned to start around 6:15-6:30 , about the time I started last year, when I finished comfortably at 5:20 p.m. Though then I was in better shape...
I slept badly and was completely awake by 2:30 . I drifted back to sleep, but by 4:30 there was stomping and glomping of cleated feet in the room above and outside – early starters. There was no use trying to sleep, so I decided to start earlier than planned to make sure I’d finish in daylight. I knew I’d ride slower than last year and would need more time to finish. I ate my bagels with Nutella (mmmm) and bananas and rode to the Buellton Marriott for the start. I pulled up outside the hotel, where several riders were waiting for their friends. I struck up a conversation with a woman with a British accent, we wished each other “good ride,” and I went downstairs to get my number marked. There, I learned that ride organizers needed to inspect my bike to make sure I had appropriate lights and that reflective ankle bands were required. Oops. No ankle bands and they were all sold out. I really didn’t want to wait 45 minutes until daylight to get started. I went outside to get my bike. The Englishwoman was the only person waiting. I had a brilliant idea to ask her for her ankle bands, which I’d return immediately after inspection. She balked initially, but I offered to leave my long gloves with her as collateral (no way was I going to start without them in 45-degree weather), and she agreed. Inspection went uneventfully. I returned the ankle bands and reclaimed my gloves, wished her “good ride” once more and was off, band-less. It was 5:45 a.m.
All I had for a front light was a measly Knog light designed for being seen rather than for illuminating the road. My rear light was blinking brightly enough to send one into an epileptic seizure, but that did me no good as I tried to navigate my way out of Buellton toward Solvang. Fortunately, the first few miles were well paved, had no turns, and even my weak light was strong enough for me to barely see the white line that marked the road’s shoulder. I rode just to the right of the line, as I chased riders in front of me in hope of taking advantage of their stronger lights.
As I entered Solvang I was struck by the smells of breakfast pastry baking. I rode for half a mile through Solvang’s lighted downtown, passing through clouds of sweet smells of rolls, Danish, croissants and who know what else was cooking in the myriad of the town’s bakeries. The last bakery in town had a very distinct and recognizable and unpleasant-to-me smell that I hadn’t encountered that morning – John Belushi’s breakfast of champions (http://www.metacafe.com/watch/26266/john_belushi_donuts_of_champions/).
Just outside Solvang, I caught up with cyclists who had good lights and then chased others that were short distances ahead. I kept doing that – catching up with groups with good lights, so I was not riding in the darkness for more than half a minute. This went on for a few miles and the dawn was breaking, when I was passed by a tandem. This signaled the end of the warm-up portion of the ride.
While drafting tandems and fast pacelines, I realized over and over that day, makes fast riding easier, it doesn’t make riding easier. Sure, I expended less energy behind a tandem at 25mph than I would have on my own at that speed, but I probably would have worked just as hard riding alone – only I would have been riding slower. So, off we went, hammering into the rising sun, up and over small rollers, past vineyards and fields of purple heather. As we climbed one hill, the stoker asked, “Are you Vlad?” “Yes,” I replied, surprised. The team was Jason and Lisa whom I’d met at several doubles last year. Suddenly, we had stuff to discuss, what rides we’re doing this year, how our common acquaintances at Solvang were faring, etc., etc., making the ride friendlier and easier. The tandem pulled us (a 10-person paceline) into the first rest stop after riding at posted speed limit for 12 miles. During the preceding 41 miles I made a conscious effort to eat and drink often and was feeling confident and strong.
After a quick refueling and relieving stop, we remounted and were off again. Jason and Lisa did most of the pulling, though occasionally singles – I too – went to the front to offer them brief respites. Our group kept growing, as we absorbed smaller pacelines. Thus, we went until mile 75 or so, when a white van passed us and pulled over at a turnout. The driver jumped out, ran to the middle of the road, raised her hands, and yelled and frantically gestured at us to pull over. It was Deborah, the ride organizer. She angrily told us that she’d been following us for 45 minutes (huh?!), that she’d seen us run countless stop signs (highly likely) and traffic lights (only right turns and slowly at that), and that she ought to DQ all of us then and there, but she wouldn’t do that. She kept saying that she should – but she wouldn’t. She pleaded and cajoled and threatened for us to make full and complete stops and to put a foot down. We nodded obediently and restarted. And we grumbled and groused. I wondered whether she was being a mother or a teacher. One of us promised not to curse or spit in public (this ride organizer last year DQ-ed two people for urinating in public at Eastern Sierra Double), so there was plenty of merriment in the paceline. For the next half a dozen stop signs I’d uncleat and dab my foot at 10-15 mph in sarcastic compliance with the request to put a foot down.
This encounter befouled the paceline’s mood. A bunch of people dropped back either from fatigue or to dissociate themselves from the renegade tandem and its friends, which, after all, led the group through the stop signs and traffic lights. By now, only I and Bill from Walnut Creek remained with Jason and Lisa. Bill is a hilarious guy and a very strong rider. Our small group worked well together into the second rest stop at mile 86.
There, I finally felt warm enough to shed long gloves, knee warmers, and wool base layer. Another quick refuel and Bill and I left with another Jason (Rude Awakening), who was on a fixed Waterford . The terrain out of the rest stop was rolling, so Jason and I didn’t get to ride together. He stomped over short and steep rollers ahead of Bill and me, then we passed him on downhills. So, we played leapfrog for several miles until we turned onto Highway 1 for a 12-mile slog toward the turnaround point at Morro Bay . After a couple of miles a fast paceline flew by and Bill and I jumped on the back. The paceline contained at least two winners of women’s 2008 stage race and was led by their teammates from Fresno Cycling Club. Though two men did most of the pulling the women did more than their share. For some reason, no one came back to the end of the paceline and Bill and I found ourselves drafting in the back the entire time. To which neither of us objected. That said, this paceline had little going for it other than fast pace. There was frequent Slinky effect going on with the line stretching and people letting wheels go, then speeding up back into the draft. So, there was way too much hurry-up-and-wait riding, which led everyone to expend much more energy than if we’d been riding steadily and smoothly.
But we were going fast and not pulling, so Bill and didn’t complain – OK, fine, only to each other. Lo and behold, by 12:30 we reached the lunch stop. I need to figure out better how to do lunch. Concerned that the group would leave quickly, I inhaled a Subway sandwich and washed it down with two V-8s. Well, if you read my report from last year, that didn’t work so well... again. Fortunately, the group rode easily for the first half hour, as I digested, regurgitated, re-swallowed, and burped, and cursed my failure to chew my food properly. I felt bloated and was in a bad gastrointestinal state. And sprinting-and-coasting, sprinting-and-coasting was doing nothing to make me feel better.
Mercifully, one member of the group flatted. The group stopped, but I rolled on, figuring that if I’d stopped they were going to drop me on the climb that loomed just ahead. I planned to climb slowly and try to recover on the other side of the hill while they fixed the flat and caught up, then ride with them again. Bill came with me and almost immediately, we caught up with a group from Cupertino Cycles, which also included – yes – a tandem. We were very happy. Climbing at tandem’s speed we got to rest a bit, then more rest on the other side, as we rode in its draft. Just then another tandem zoomed by – the Fletchers, a couple that races mountain tandems with whom I rode for 40 miles last year and enjoyed the experience. They were faster than the Cupertino tandem, so we jumped on their wheel and off we went. We were going at a fast, but manageable pace, when we were caught by a single rider in green kit and with legs the size of my waist. He offered to pull, but the tandem had a hard time keeping up with him, so we let him go, much to my burpy relief.
We made a brief stop at the Guadalupe Rest Stop, where I refilled my bottles, adding shocking little to their contents. We remounted and were off again. My stomach was still unsettled and working harder did nothing to help that. At times, I felt close to puking, but managed to keep it down. I forced myself to drink, but even the thought of eating was so unappealing that I didn’t bother trying. I realized that what I was doing was dangerous: I was already on the verge of dehydration and was running low on sugar, but eating and drinking more would have led to cookie-tossing, which was not going to make the ride easier. So, I rode like a ticking time bomb. The guy in green who spent more time at the rest stop caught us again and went to the front. There was a gap, the tandem strained to get into his draft, and the paceline’s speed picked up by 3-4 mph. I rode grimly (not Grimley: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A-4b8AjPl1I&NR=1). Bill dropped off and I didn’t even notice. After we turned south, the draft was to the left of the tandem’s stoker, where I parked myself. After another monster pull the green guy came back and said, “If you want me (him) to pull let me into the draft for a rest or you (I) should pull.” I replied, “No to both.” I was in no shape to pull in a crosswind and having the green guy pulling actually made ALL of us work harder. Brenda Fletcher turned and said, “He’s helping us a lot.” I relented and let the green guy into the draft. But honestly, I didn’t see how green guy was helping. Every time he went to the front, he’d open a 10-12-foot gap, the tandem would visibly strain and spend half a minute trying to get on his wheel, the green guy would pull for another minute or two, and the tandem would be left to fight crosswinds again, but now at a lower speed.
After the green guy came back following another huge pull I told him to come around the tandem gradually and, in the words of the London Tube, to mind the gap (http://shop.tfl.gov.uk/Clothing-and-accessories/Childrenswear/Product/Children_s_white_Mind_the_Gap_logo_t_shirt.html). He nodded. We came to a turn and slowed down. He went to the front and just kept going. The Fletchers tried to catch up but couldn’t. We didn’t see him again. I briefly mused whether I was responsible for his departure, but decided that my request was polite and was meant to conserve the tandem’s energy, though it appeared to have had the opposite effect, and I absolved myself of responsibility.
So I was left alone with the Fletchers... and my stomach. I held their wheel for another 12 miles, but with five miles before the last rest stop I was feeling so pukey that I finally had to let them go and ride at my own pace in a bad frame of mind. But as I rode, I reminded myself that this was a training ride and that I’d benefit from it. I also remembered feeling just as badly at the 2005 Davis Double at the same point in the ride, but I took my time at the last rest stop and finished strongly. These thoughts lifted my spirits a bit and, with the wind at my back, my own pace was good 18+ mph, and the five miles passed relatively quickly.
I arrived just as the Fletchers were leaving. I thanked them for their draft and settled in for protracted rest. I had a coke, Advils, a handful of pretzels, a couple of Hammer Nutrition pills of something or other and a banana. Bill and another guy came and left while I was there. After spending 15 minutes at the rest stop it was time to get this thing over with. Just 16 miles lay ahead: a 3.5 mile climb of 4-5%, a 1.5 mile descent, followed by a long slight downhill and a final 6-mile flat drag back to the finish. I figured this all would take an hour or so. Not easy, but fairly manageable.
On the climb, I quickly found myself in my 36x28. I had very little energy, so I turned the pedals slowly. Nothing hurt, but I just wasn’t moving very fast. My heart rate was stuck in mid to high 130s (my recent max is 191) and would go no higher. So I plodded. The climb was not as steep as I remembered and this year there were thousands of California poppies strewn all over the hills. Passing me a man on a time trial bike remarked that it felt as if we were in Oz. I replied, “Either Oz or Afghanistan .” He chuckled and rode ahead. Another person passed me, riding almost with as little enthusiasm as I, and, as I crested, a teammate of the Oz man caught up with me as well. The two of us plunged down the other side. The descent, which I remembered as terribly paved, wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be. We quickly passed the other plodder and hit the flats. Suddenly, I felt reenergized and my stomach felt better. That is, relatively reenergized – only enough to jump on the wheel of two guys on time trial bikes and we were roaring along at 26mph. I told them I’d pull but I’d slow us down tremendously and they didn’t mind my sitting in. After we made the turn onto the final drag toward Buellton, we hit a small hill, where I had to let them go. But the rest of the ride was flat and I had a tailwind, so urging myself on, I fought toward the finish, riding as fast as I could.
I pulled into the finish at 5:20. Almost exactly the same time as last year, though last year I’d started half an hour later. Average speed was very respectable 18.5. I went inside to check in and asked how many people had finished – 12! I was the 13th finisher of 485 people who registered for the ride. Of course, I understood that many, many people started after me, but still, I felt quite proud.
As I sat outside reflecting on the ride, I thought of the huge role our minds play in this sport. I talked myself through a lengthy and gradually worsening rough patch and finished well. I took negative thoughts and turned them positive by thinking of the event as a training ride and used prior experience to get over my blahs. If only I could remember about the power of positive thinking every time I do an interval session… nah, intervals would still suck.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
2008 Eastern Sierra Double
Eastern Sierra Double
After thoroughly enjoyable rides Solvang Spring Double and DMD I sought to complete my California Triple Crown at Eastern Sierra Double. The ride was in early June and my memory of it isn't so fresh, as seven months have passed since then. This is a brief recap of what I remember.
I drove to Bishop, a cowboy town in Eastern Sierra on Friday. The drive took me through Yosemite. One couldn't ask for better scenery. I stopped several times to look at waterfalls, mountain lakes, cliffs, alpine meadows. There was still snow in the park, creeks were nearly overflowing, and there was much spectacular greenery.
Temperatures in Yosemite were in high 40s. I worried that I hadn't packed cold weather clothes for a chilly ride. When I finally arrived in Bishop at 6:30 p.m. and exited the car I felt a blast of 80-degree, 25-mile an hour wind, which gave me different worries: a hot and windy ride, was I ready for that?
I checked in at my hotel and went to check in at ride headquarters. I picked up my number, route sheet, and other necessary miscellanea and looked for a place to eat. Perhaps ill-advisedly I picked a Japanese restaurant. It was irresistibly convenient, next door to the ride host-hotel. I had tempura and a few pieces of sushi, returned to my room, laid out my ride stuff and went to bed reasonably early.
As is my habit, I woke up in the middle of the night. I turned over and the room started spinning. I lay still and spinning abated. That was weird. I turned back over and it started spinning again. Uh, not a good thing for a pre-double century night. I looked at the clock: 1:30 a.m. I banished my worries and went back to sleep. When I woke up the spins were back. It was OK if I didn't make any sudden movements, but when I turned my head, spins and mild nausea returned.
Do I ride? Is this dangerous on so many different levels -- do I have a brain tumor, food poisoning, would this compromise my sense of balance during the ride? Nah. I didn't drive to Bishop for six hours just to drive back home. I resolved to take it easy on the ride and monitor this condition. I ate my pre-double breakfast of bananas and bagels slathered in Nutella, put on shorts, short-sleeve jersey and arm warmers and went to the start. Cold wind was blowing from the north. It felt like temps were in high 40s. I was obviously underdressed, but I didn't feel that I had the time to return to the hotel to pick up knee warmers. Therefore, riding would have to provide the warmth and drafting would provide shelter from the wind.
At the start, I saw the cast of regulars: Tom, Chris, Lisa, and a number of others I'd seen on my first two rides. It was good to visit and reminisce, which allayed pre-ride jitters.
At 6:00 we were off, with only faintest signs of dawn visible over Nevada mountains. I went with the second group, which was going pretty briskly, but at a sane pace, led by a couple of mixed tandems. The first group went out so fast that its blinky lights soon disappeared in the distance. We rode south and east of Bishop through Owens Valley. It was dark and breezy, but the pace and the temperature were reasonably comfortable. After approximately 30 miles, we arrived at the first rest stop in full daylight. (The first rest stop was the site of first disqualification -- someone was thrown out for urinating in public at a rest stop located across the street from police and fire station.) A few bites of this and that, refill the bottles, find a suitable group and off we go.
After completing the loop through Owens Valley we began climbing out of Owens Valley. I rode with Tom, who was astride his bamboo Calfee, on which every rider we passed commented. It is a fascinating bike that Tom bling-ed out with wheels built on gold Chris King hubs. Nice. After we crested, Tom slowed down to wait for his friend and I jumped on the wheel of a passing tandem. Time for serious wheelsucking. I wheelsucked for a long time until we started climbing toward Mammoth Lakes (8700 feet elevation) and the tandem dropped back. I caught up with a guy on a Cannondale. We were climbing at about the same speed with similar efforts and ended riding together until mile 175-ish. Bill is a Berkeley HS teacher and we found we have lots in common. Miles of incredible scenery passed quickly. We rode through alpine meadows with giant spring flowers in full bloom, past snow-capped mountains, mountain lakes... Vast vistas of Nevada mountains were constantly to the east. Lunch was at Mono Lake. Can't beat that.
I felt relatively fresh by lunchtime. We all had over 100 miles in our legs but pacelines were going at speeds in high teens and most of the climbing was behind us. We still had a major climb up Sagehen Pass to 8400 feet.
The tandem arrived at lunch stop a few minutes after us, so we made sure we would leave with them. Ahead lay a tedious stretch of nearly an hour of riding on highway 395 toward Sagehen. Our paceline grew to about 12 riders, we had a tailwind, and most of the people took turns pulling. Time and distance passed quickly and we turned east off 395 and began the long drag up Sagehen into Nevada. Sagehen climbs and dips and false flats through high desert. We rode through arid pine forests and fields overgrown with brush. Vegetation was completely different from what we had seen just 5 miles to the west. Distance and altitude were taking their toll. Sagehen never seemed steeper than 6%, but everybody was in his/her lowest gear, no one looked fresh, and we all wondered when would finally crest.
Crest we finally did. There was a rest stop at the top and the crest, though beautiful, was disappointing. After a brief two-mile descent, we had about 20 miles of rollers in front of us. That and 20+ miles of road with 2-3" wide expansion joints. Or were they cracks? Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Very unpleasant. We'd get half a mile of smooth asphalt, then Thump! Thump! again. Each time I had to decide whether to pedal over a crack or stand and coast to save my hands and butt, then sprint to get back on the wheel ahead of me. Energy sapping and demoralizing. At least I was running 25mm Michelins... The tandem was hammering on downhills and flats. My biggest gear was 50x13, not well suited to closing gaps at 35mph, yet that's what I found myself doing several times, as riders left yawning gaps and I had to go around them to catch back on. As we rode, Bill and I estimated our arrival time in Bishop. We figured around 6:30, maybe 6:15 if we were fast and efficient.
At 3:30p.m. we pulled into a rest stop at Benton Hot Springs. I was pretty well spun out and it was finally warm enough to remove my arm warmers. Wind was blowing at ~25 mph -- toward Bishop. As we left the rest stop, the tandem assumed its rightful place at the head of the paceline. Again, I found myself spinning at a frightening rate. With an 11-tooth cog I could have taken a nap behind the tandem, but with a 13 I was working my legs off just to stay in the paceline. After about 5 miles, "psssssst," said my rear tire. "What?" I asked. "Pssssssssst" it replied, "I'm going flat, you fool." "Flat!" I called out loudly and pulled over, glad and sad. Glad because I'd get a break and sad because I would have to ride 23 miles alone on a flat, boring road. I pulled out a giant staple from the tire, replaced the tube and remounted.
Riding behind the tandem I hadn't realized just how strongly the wind was blowing. I was now all laone, expending minimum effort, and riding at speeds in low 20s. Thus, rather uneventfully and very quickly, I was blown back to Bishop, arriving at 5:25. The tandem group had arrived at 5:10!
Headspins continued off and on for another month before finally abating, but never on the bike.
After thoroughly enjoyable rides Solvang Spring Double and DMD I sought to complete my California Triple Crown at Eastern Sierra Double. The ride was in early June and my memory of it isn't so fresh, as seven months have passed since then. This is a brief recap of what I remember.
I drove to Bishop, a cowboy town in Eastern Sierra on Friday. The drive took me through Yosemite. One couldn't ask for better scenery. I stopped several times to look at waterfalls, mountain lakes, cliffs, alpine meadows. There was still snow in the park, creeks were nearly overflowing, and there was much spectacular greenery.
Temperatures in Yosemite were in high 40s. I worried that I hadn't packed cold weather clothes for a chilly ride. When I finally arrived in Bishop at 6:30 p.m. and exited the car I felt a blast of 80-degree, 25-mile an hour wind, which gave me different worries: a hot and windy ride, was I ready for that?
I checked in at my hotel and went to check in at ride headquarters. I picked up my number, route sheet, and other necessary miscellanea and looked for a place to eat. Perhaps ill-advisedly I picked a Japanese restaurant. It was irresistibly convenient, next door to the ride host-hotel. I had tempura and a few pieces of sushi, returned to my room, laid out my ride stuff and went to bed reasonably early.
As is my habit, I woke up in the middle of the night. I turned over and the room started spinning. I lay still and spinning abated. That was weird. I turned back over and it started spinning again. Uh, not a good thing for a pre-double century night. I looked at the clock: 1:30 a.m. I banished my worries and went back to sleep. When I woke up the spins were back. It was OK if I didn't make any sudden movements, but when I turned my head, spins and mild nausea returned.
Do I ride? Is this dangerous on so many different levels -- do I have a brain tumor, food poisoning, would this compromise my sense of balance during the ride? Nah. I didn't drive to Bishop for six hours just to drive back home. I resolved to take it easy on the ride and monitor this condition. I ate my pre-double breakfast of bananas and bagels slathered in Nutella, put on shorts, short-sleeve jersey and arm warmers and went to the start. Cold wind was blowing from the north. It felt like temps were in high 40s. I was obviously underdressed, but I didn't feel that I had the time to return to the hotel to pick up knee warmers. Therefore, riding would have to provide the warmth and drafting would provide shelter from the wind.
At the start, I saw the cast of regulars: Tom, Chris, Lisa, and a number of others I'd seen on my first two rides. It was good to visit and reminisce, which allayed pre-ride jitters.
At 6:00 we were off, with only faintest signs of dawn visible over Nevada mountains. I went with the second group, which was going pretty briskly, but at a sane pace, led by a couple of mixed tandems. The first group went out so fast that its blinky lights soon disappeared in the distance. We rode south and east of Bishop through Owens Valley. It was dark and breezy, but the pace and the temperature were reasonably comfortable. After approximately 30 miles, we arrived at the first rest stop in full daylight. (The first rest stop was the site of first disqualification -- someone was thrown out for urinating in public at a rest stop located across the street from police and fire station.) A few bites of this and that, refill the bottles, find a suitable group and off we go.
After completing the loop through Owens Valley we began climbing out of Owens Valley. I rode with Tom, who was astride his bamboo Calfee, on which every rider we passed commented. It is a fascinating bike that Tom bling-ed out with wheels built on gold Chris King hubs. Nice. After we crested, Tom slowed down to wait for his friend and I jumped on the wheel of a passing tandem. Time for serious wheelsucking. I wheelsucked for a long time until we started climbing toward Mammoth Lakes (8700 feet elevation) and the tandem dropped back. I caught up with a guy on a Cannondale. We were climbing at about the same speed with similar efforts and ended riding together until mile 175-ish. Bill is a Berkeley HS teacher and we found we have lots in common. Miles of incredible scenery passed quickly. We rode through alpine meadows with giant spring flowers in full bloom, past snow-capped mountains, mountain lakes... Vast vistas of Nevada mountains were constantly to the east. Lunch was at Mono Lake. Can't beat that.
I felt relatively fresh by lunchtime. We all had over 100 miles in our legs but pacelines were going at speeds in high teens and most of the climbing was behind us. We still had a major climb up Sagehen Pass to 8400 feet.
The tandem arrived at lunch stop a few minutes after us, so we made sure we would leave with them. Ahead lay a tedious stretch of nearly an hour of riding on highway 395 toward Sagehen. Our paceline grew to about 12 riders, we had a tailwind, and most of the people took turns pulling. Time and distance passed quickly and we turned east off 395 and began the long drag up Sagehen into Nevada. Sagehen climbs and dips and false flats through high desert. We rode through arid pine forests and fields overgrown with brush. Vegetation was completely different from what we had seen just 5 miles to the west. Distance and altitude were taking their toll. Sagehen never seemed steeper than 6%, but everybody was in his/her lowest gear, no one looked fresh, and we all wondered when would finally crest.
Crest we finally did. There was a rest stop at the top and the crest, though beautiful, was disappointing. After a brief two-mile descent, we had about 20 miles of rollers in front of us. That and 20+ miles of road with 2-3" wide expansion joints. Or were they cracks? Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Very unpleasant. We'd get half a mile of smooth asphalt, then Thump! Thump! again. Each time I had to decide whether to pedal over a crack or stand and coast to save my hands and butt, then sprint to get back on the wheel ahead of me. Energy sapping and demoralizing. At least I was running 25mm Michelins... The tandem was hammering on downhills and flats. My biggest gear was 50x13, not well suited to closing gaps at 35mph, yet that's what I found myself doing several times, as riders left yawning gaps and I had to go around them to catch back on. As we rode, Bill and I estimated our arrival time in Bishop. We figured around 6:30, maybe 6:15 if we were fast and efficient.
At 3:30p.m. we pulled into a rest stop at Benton Hot Springs. I was pretty well spun out and it was finally warm enough to remove my arm warmers. Wind was blowing at ~25 mph -- toward Bishop. As we left the rest stop, the tandem assumed its rightful place at the head of the paceline. Again, I found myself spinning at a frightening rate. With an 11-tooth cog I could have taken a nap behind the tandem, but with a 13 I was working my legs off just to stay in the paceline. After about 5 miles, "psssssst," said my rear tire. "What?" I asked. "Pssssssssst" it replied, "I'm going flat, you fool." "Flat!" I called out loudly and pulled over, glad and sad. Glad because I'd get a break and sad because I would have to ride 23 miles alone on a flat, boring road. I pulled out a giant staple from the tire, replaced the tube and remounted.
Riding behind the tandem I hadn't realized just how strongly the wind was blowing. I was now all laone, expending minimum effort, and riding at speeds in low 20s. Thus, rather uneventfully and very quickly, I was blown back to Bishop, arriving at 5:25. The tandem group had arrived at 5:10!
Headspins continued off and on for another month before finally abating, but never on the bike.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
2008 Devil Mountain Double
"Only insane people ride the DMD" I've always thought, as I read riders' stories of this 206-mile ride with over 18,000 feet of climbing, done sometimes in hailstorms with snow on the ground and at other times in heat waves with temperatures over 90 degrees. In the early years of the ride, I saw DMD course arrows on Pinehurst and Skyline, roads where I ride often, and just shook my head. As years passed and the course changed, the arrows faded and the ride faded from my consciousness.
After riding myself back into shape in 2007, I decided to tackle the California Triple Crown -- 3 double centuries in a calendar year. I looked at the calendar and picked the "easiest" three: Solvang (late March), Davis (late May), Eastern Sierra (early June). Family commitments ruled out Davis, and I was left with an unenviable choice of Central Coast (late May, hilly and windy), Terrible Two (late June, hilly and hot), Mt. Tamalpais (early August, hilly and hot), or Knoxville (early September, not too hilly, possibly hot). Knoxville became the choice by default. The difficult part about doing Solvang, Eastern Sierra, and Knoxville was the rides' timing. I had to be in shape for a 200 miler in March, for another in June, and another in September. I preferred to have them closer together so I could use each double as a training ride for the next. I needed to come up with an alternative.
I had a fabulous time at Solvang. I rode it very fast (for me -- 19.3 mph) and finished feeling fairly fresh. DMD was scheduled for April 26, far enough from Solvang to recover from it, but close enough to use Solvang as training. Thus, the plan was born: Solvang as a training double for the much hillier DMD, the ride for the insane.
Chapter 1: Not the DMD!
"So, what are doing for an encore," asked my friend Gary after I finished regaling him with the tale of my ride at Solvang. I looked at him and smiled enigmatically. He waited a few seconds and repeated the question. I smiled again. "No," he said, "you're not doing the DMD?!" I smiled and nodded.
There were four weeks between Solvang and DMD. I planned on doing 60-80-mile weekend rides and a couple of hilly 130-milers before DMD to get ready. But my daughter got sick, then my wife, then I felt as if I was coming down with something. Between illnesses, work, and family commitments, the only serious training ride I was able to do was a 120-miler over Mt. Diablo and Morgan Territory Road 10 days before DMD. This 8-hour ride left me exhausted and made my knee hurt. The knee problem and apparent lack of fitness left me concerned about my ability to finish the DMD. Concerned enough to consider not starting.
I agonized for the better part of 10 days whether I should ride. Finally, I decided that I am in good shape from Solvang, I would eat and hydrate better than I had on my training ride, I would ride wisely and not go with super fast groups, and I didn't have to finish if my knee started to scream at me. Not finishing was not an honest option -- one does not start epic rides thinking of bailing out.
On Friday, April 25, I drove to ride HQ at San Ramon Marriott to check in and to pick up my number and route sheet. I wanted to have everything on the day before the ride so I wouldn't have to stand in line at 4:30 a.m. to pick up the number and then spent the next 15 bleary minutes cursing, as I poked myself with safety pins trying to attach the number to my jersey. I preferred to do the poking and the cursing in the privacy of my home. I picked up my number and route sheet, went home, pinned the number on my jersey, and set my alarm for 3:30 a.m. I would start riding with the 5:00 a.m. group.
Chapter 2: Good Morning!
I was so anxious about DMD that I couldn't fall asleep. Then, I woke up in the middle of night and couldn't go back to sleep. End result: when the alarm went off I'd slept a grand total of three hours. After a bleary-eyed breakfast of two bananas, a hard-boiled egg, and a bagel with peanut butter and honey, I threw my bike, shoes, helmet and other stuff in the car and drove to San Ramon. En route, I called Jeff to arrange a meeting at the start. Arrived at 4:30 to see people taking bikes out of cars and milling about. I got out my bike, put on my shoes and helmet, and rode to the hotel entrance. Congregating there were over 100 cyclists, many with their lights on, greeting friends and chatting with family members who accompanied some of the riders to the start. There was an excited buzz in the air. I met Jeff and his wife. One of the ride organizers made a few announcements, reminding us to obey traffic laws and not to ride stupid, and at 5:00 sharp we were off!
Chapter 3: And We're Off!
One hundred and twenty single bikes and one tandem sped through dark streets of San Ramon to the foot of Mt. Diablo, a 10.5 mile climb to 3,849 feet. We hit the lower slopes of Diablo in the dark. I told Jeff that I would be vying for lanterne rouge prize and he flew off. In the dark I lost sight of him quickly. Ahead of me -- red tail lights; behind -- a river of white head lights. The peloton snaked up the curves of South Gate Road, as a spectacular dawn began breaking. We hit an inversion layer at around 2,000 feet. Air temperature rose, but almost immediately we were hit with a cold wind. The wind gained strength as we gained elevation. I rode and talked with DMD veterans about what this wind meant for the remaining 190 miles. The consensus was a long day of head winds. Eventually, this social climbing brought us to the last steep pitch -- 150 yards at 16%. We were all still pretty fresh and this section, the steepest of the day, did not present any problems.
I saw and talked to Jeff, who started the descent before me. I ate a bit, refilled my bottles, and began descending. As I rode down, I wondered whether I'd see the 6:00 group of fast riders. Sure enough, about 4 miles below the summit I saw about 20 guys/gals racing up the mountain. I hit the inversion layer again and felt warmer, but when I reached lower slopes of North Gate Rd. it became so cold that my feet started shivering.
I rode through Walnut Creek in a small group at a very civilized pace. No one felt a need to hammer with a 4-mile climb up Morgan Territory Road in quickly rising temperatures that lay just ahead and with 154 miles still to go. On Marsh Creek Road, just before Morgan, the tandem caught me, so I jumped into the group it was pulling and enjoyed the draft for a couple of miles. The group broke up as soon as we hit Morgan. I rode at a medium pace on the flat part of Morgan. Then we hit the notoriously horrible stretch of pavement that lasts the entire four miles of the climb. At this point, a couple of faster riders caught up with me and I went with them. The climb has a couple of downhill dips and descending in a group at a high speed, with everyone trying to pick his way around minefields of gaping potholes, was a fairly terrifying experience. At 9:15, we reached the summit of Morgan -- the second rest stop. The leading riders of the 6:00 group arrived 5 minutes after us. More food and drink, sunscreen, and I began the descent.
Though Morgan Territory descent into Livermore area is one of the most exhilarating I've ever ridden, I decided that I would descend conservatively. No reason to crash out of a double century. Whether it was conservative riding or others' superior descending skills, but a couple of people were gaining on me on the lower slopes of the hill. One rider said "Hi" as he went by. I looked at his number and saw "Smith" in big bold letters (numbers had riders' names). Above it was "Sean" in smaller letters. It was Sean Smith from Serotta Forum, with whom I exchanged e-mails after the Solvang Double. "Sean!" I said loudly, "I'm Vlad." He was with the 6:00 group. We rode together and talked for a couple of minutes, but I didn't have the legs to ride with him and told him to go ahead. He said there was a group coming behind us. We waited for them, and the eight of us sped toward Livermore into a headwind. We were cautiously optimistic that this headwind coming from the east would be a tailwind on the westward climb of Patterson Pass, notorious for howling headwinds.
We rode through Livermore together, then Sean pulled ahead. No one was interested in going into the wind after him, so he rode alone. We never lost sight of Sean, but no one in our group was keen on chasing him. So, he was alone off the front about 100 yards ahead. Finally, on a slight downhill, someone took a flier and bridged to Sean, but no one went with this guy either. We rode past green hills, happy California grazing cows and horses, and windmills. Turned south, then west onto Patterson Pass Road. Yes! a tailwind! At the next roller we finally caught Sean. We rode together for a while, but when the road pitched up I found out that my legs weren't so fresh. So, I downshifted into something very small in front and big in the back (36x29) and spun. Sean and other fast and fit guys rode ahead. After 5-10 minutes I reached the "Oh my gosh!" false summit (OMG because when you look up the road from the false summit and see the climbing that remains you say, "OMG!") and water stop. More refueling and re-sunscreening. Felt pretty comfortable climbing the rest of Patterson. Descent into Livermore is pretty unremarkable -- welcome, as are all descents, but straight and the views were not memorable.
Chapter 4: Ugh...
I crested Patterson at 11:30. It was getting hot. I tried to eat and drink well, but rest stop fare was not appetizing and, aside from Gatorade, I hadn't previously tried any of the drink mixes ride organizers offered and was reluctant to experiment on my gastrointestinal system in the middle of a hot and hilly double century. Around mile 85 I began feeling hot and bloated. We were on flat and boring rural roads southeast of Livermore. Light to moderate traffic. Mentally, I was not in a happy place and was riding ever slower. Eventually, I made it to Mines Road rest stop at mile 91. Mines Road (San Antonio Valley Road after the road crosses from Alameda to Santa Clara County) is an amazing, picturesque road that runs from Livermore to San Jose over Mt. Hamilton. It's ~52 miles from Livermore to the top of Mt. Hamilton. At the rest stop, I refilled my gel flask and bottles. Ate a little bit of fruit and set off. After the rest stop, the road starts climbing up the side of a canyon. It's very pretty this time of the year, but the rest stop did not make me feel better and I was not paying attention to the scenery. I was still in that not happy place. It was hotter, I was climbing a 2-mile, 7% hill, feeling bloated, sweating profusely, flies buzzing all around me, and to top it all off, my knee started bugging me. I pulled out my baggy with Advil, took 4 without dismounting (god forbid I should get off the bike), washed it down. I was in 36x29, but no longer spinning. Plodding. Thought that I may be in good century shape, but in lousy double century shape.
Eventually, the road levelled off. I was able to ride faster. Faster speed brought relief from the heat from air movement. Advil took effect and my knee felt better. My mood improved. I noticed many cyclists were going in the opposite direction. Dozens and dozens of them. Couldn't figure out who they were -- no numbers or wrist bands indicating they were part of an organized event -- but it was good for the brain to see so many people on bikes on this very remote road. So, now feeling fairly chipper, I pulled up to the water stop at mile 103. Water stop crew said the riders going the other way were doing the Mt. Hamilton Challenge, a 118-mile ride that starts and ends in Santa Clara. I thought if I were doing that ride I'd be done in 15 miles. I was just half-way through. The steep back side of Mt. Hamilton and Sierra Road (y'all have heard of Sierra Rd.?) lay ahead. Dumped cold water over my head, which was wonderful, took on more liquid and gel, and pressed on.
With flatter terrain and feeling cooler, I picked up the pace and rode as aggressively as my legs allowed -- my brain no longer hindered me and the bloatiness abated. I reached the rest stop at Junction Cafe at mile 115 before 2:00.
Chapter 5: Ahh, the Scenery!
Jeff was at the rest stop, looking pale. He was having GI problems. I ate a bit of a turkey and ham sandwich, which I didn't find appetizing. There were two massage tables set up for any rider wishing to take advantage of a free massage. But I was afraid I'd pass out or cramp or wouldn't want to leave the rest stop if I had a massage so I opted not to have one. The tandem pulled into the rest stop a few minutes after me. I heard the captain declare that if they made it up Hamilton they would finish the ride. He was willing to push the tandem up Sierra Rd. I also overheard that Hamilton climb started at around 6-mile marker and lasted, relentlessly, for 5 miles. The sixth mile would be flattish. I decided to take some Perpetuem drink in one bottle, water in the other, and filled my gel flask with a mix of vanilla and espresso flavored goos. Jeff's stomach seemed to settle and we left together. We rode together until the first significant roller, where I had to let him go. Knowing what lay ahead I needed to ration my energy. Riding through San Antonio valley alone was really nice. This time of the year, it is an especially beautiful and serene place. The surrounding hills are still green, there are numerous streams running through the valley. Wildflowers are in bloom. More happy California cows and horses grazing peacefully. Very little motor traffic. A happy place.
The road turned uphill at mile 6.5 marker. Mindful of what I'd heard at the rest stop, I knew that this wasn't yet Hamilton. But the climb went on and on. After climbing for better part of a mile at 7% now I felt pretty miserable and thought that maybe this was it, The Climb. And the farther I climbed the more I thought, this was it. As I was coming up to a left turn, I saw a SAG car approaching from the other direction. Just about to ask the driver whether this was Hamilton, I looked around the bend and saw that I was cresting and that I'd be going downhill. Not Hamilton yet. Drat.
A too-short descent, followed by a quarter mile of flat and the road reared up again. I saw Jeff unclipping and heard him asking a SAG driver for water. He said he was OK. Certain that he'd catch me in a few minutes, I told him I'd plod on and shifted into the now familiar 36x29. Official line is Hamilton is 5.5 miles at 8%. I think the actual climb is a bit shorter, unless you count the long roller I had just ridden. I settled into an unpleasant, but tolerable cadence of 60-65 rpm. The grade felt about how you'd expect an 8% hill to feel after 128 miles. I stood up occasionally on hairpins and steeper stretches, but mostly I sat and pushed. My speedometer read 5.2, 5.8, 5.4, 5.7... Fairly quickly I figured out that at this speed 5.5 miles would take me an hour. "OK," I thought, "I feel all right, I'll just keep plodding at this speed and if it takes an hour, it takes an hour." I realized that my choice was either to stare at the road for an hour or take in the scenery and enjoy this climb. I chose the scenery. It was spectacular. Since you gain elevation quickly at 8%, almost immediately I saw amazing views of surrounding hills and valleys, soaring birds, running streams, grazing cattle, wildflowers, and ponds. If a place can be described as inspirational at a point two-thirds through a double century, I was there, in a happy place. The road snaked behind me and below. I kept looking over my shoulder and down the hill for Jeff, but did not see him. On the way up I passed a few riders on bikes and others resting in the shade by the side of the road. This inspired me to keep going and vow not to dismount. I kept climbing higher and higher, feeling as if this were an epic Tour de France stage, but where were the fans lining the road, screaming encouragement, running next to me and pouring water over my head -- and, more importantly, pushing me up the mountain?
The grade relented around mile 2 marker and I shifted into my 36x26 -- woohoo -- and sped up to 8.5 mph. In half a mile I reached a water stop, where I was greeted by a volunteer energetically ringing a cow bell. I smiled broadly as I pulled in and said, "MOOOO!" More cold water over the head, more drink and gel, and off I went. Though the road seemed steeper out of the water stop, I felt cooler and climbing seemed easier. I felt as if a load had been lifted. It had been. I left my helmet at the stop. For a millisecond, I considered continuing bare-headed (it felt so good), but turned around to retrieve the helmet. The next half mile of climbing felt as tough as the lower parts. I was back in my lowest gear. But I was somewhat rested from the water stop and inspired by the fact that I was almost at the top. This part of the climb passed relatively quickly and I was at the top. There, I realized that I would definitely finish this ride. By successfully plodding up Hamilton, I had come upon the strategy to conquer Sierra. Just plod at 5mph. Be patient and pace yourself and you'll make it. As I plunged down Hamilton, I felt confident in this game plan.
Chapter 6: Down And Up
I hadn't been on the south side of Hamilton in 12 years and had forgotten just how long that road is. I remembered one valley in the middle of the mountain out of which I would have to climb. There are, in fact, two valleys and the climb out of the lower valley was two miles long. Hello 36x29 again! I received an unpleasant surprise as I climbed that two-mile hill: Both knees started to hurt. I gulped down more Advil and continued. To get over the hill and the pain sooner, I rode faster, so this climb ended fairly quickly. I continued the descent to the next rest stop, about two miles above Silicon Valley floor. More gel and drink, and half a banana. Talking to one of the volunteers I learned that Sierra Road is a stair-step climb, so there would be places to "rest." He also said that the next rest stop was only 8 miles away. "Pish," I thought, "I'd be there in no time." But as I rode toward Sierra I realized that its 3.5 miles at 10% at 5 mph would take good 40-45 minutes, so it would take me over an hour to get to the rest stop.
Approach to Sierra is flat and residential, then you make a turn east toward the hills onto Sierra and you see the climb. It's impressive. I could see two residential blocks that looked as steep as the very top of Diablo, then the road turned left, and who knows what lay ahead... "OK, let's do this," I thought, as I shifted back into 36x29 and stood up. I paced myself up the first two blocks and around the turn, where the grade relented. I sat down and plodded. When it got steeper I stood. When it got easier I sat. I passed a few people riding and a few people walking. More grazing cows and eucalyptus groves. It was hard but definitely doable. About a quarter mile from the top I saw two riders, one passing the other. As I went on at my pace I caught and passed the slower one and was making up ground on the second. I passed him about 40 yards from the summit and was pulling away when he began to sprint (!), the fool! Showing that I was no smaller fool, I sprinted too, even as I shouted: "Don't do that!" But he put in another dig, which I matched (proving that I was the bigger fool). He relented and said disgustedly, "fine, you can have the KOM points!" Embarrassed for both of us, I shifted into the big ring and sped away to Pet-the-Goat rest stop half a mile away. More caffeinated gel and goopy drink and off I went.
Chapter 7: Time Trial, Baby!
I rode away from Sierra in the big ring, happily thinking that even though 46 miles lay ahead I was as good as done. I encountered a couple of steep rollers that humbled me back into my 36 -- as in: "whoa, this is steep and it hurts, time to shift out of the 50" but I felt good and rode aggressively. The descent of Sierra/Felter Road is quite steep and we were cautioned to look for a sharp right onto Calaveras Road, so I braked more than I would have liked, but it was good not to miss that turn. Calaveras Wall is just a tenth of a mile, but it is steep and is longer than I'd remembered it. As I stood up in my granny gear, I felt cramps coming on. I convinced myself to pull up and dance on the pedals and that warded off the cramps. Over the top and it was back into the big ring and off to the races. I could smell the barn, uhm..., the Marriott, and even though I had another 40 miles to go I felt I had the legs to ride hard.
Calaveras Road traces the ridge next to Calaveras Reservoir. More lovely green hills, cows, birds, flowers, lots of slight rollers, snaky curves -- a perfect road for aggressive riding. No cars, a few bikes going in the opposite direction -- I had the road to myself. With 5 miles to Sunol, Calaveras begins a two-mile long, fairly straight descent. It was great fun. There was plenty of daylight. I knew I would make it to Sunol before sunset and set a new goal: get to Palomares Road in daylight. The ride from Sunol to Palomares is through Niles Canyon Road, a narrow and very busy road. It would be great not to have to ride it in the dark.
The first two of the five miles that remained to Sunol, the grade of Calaveras was taking care of my speed. I was going steadily at 26-32 mph, depending on the terrain. After I crested and descended Calaveras Dam I had three miles of flat into Sunol. The scenery was so pretty and I felt so good that I went into time trial mode. I put my forearms on the bars, got as low as I could, and went for it. I smiled giddily, as I hammered toward Sunol with decreasing mileage markers flying past. It was still plenty light out when I reached the Sunol rest stop. Volunteers offered soup and hot dogs, but I didn't want to mess with my caffeinated gel and Perpetuem diet that was proving successful and was in a hurry to get to Palomares before dark.
Chapter 8: Cycling by Braille
I spent less than 5 minutes in Sunol before hitting the road again. As I started off I discovered that my right knee had tightened up during the rest stop and pedaling was uncomfortable. I was also riding downhill into a headwind, through a canyon with a full creek running through it, and it was getting dark. The temperature was dropping quickly. I wished I had put on arm and knee warmers in Sunol, but didn't want to stop there. I reasoned that I'd be climbing in a few minutes and that would feel warmer. I resolved to stop at the top of Palomares climb to get dressed. The ride through Niles Canyon was unpleasant, but mercifully short. I got to the bottom of Palomares in daylight. The southern end of Palomares is in a deep canyon. A peacock was wailing. Frogs and crickets were singing their songs. It is quite dark there, but there was enough daylight to ride without headlights. I had turned on my tail light back in Sunol. "Let's see if I can make it to the top of Palomares without headlights," I thought. I felt good enough not to need my 29 for this climb, using my 26 only for the steepest parts and 23 for the rest. I turned on my headlight with about a mile left on the climb not because it was too dark for me to see the road, but I was concerned it was too dark for drivers to see me. I reached the summit of Palomares, got dressed (knees felt much better with warmers on), turned on my helmet light and plunged down the northern side of the canyon. This descent is completely straight and though it was dark, with my light blasting through the darkness I felt safe going 40mph. Not smart, but safe.
At the bottom of the descent I switched back into time trial mode and passed two riders along the way. Feeling strong, I continued to ride hard all the way into Castro Valley and turned right onto Crow Canyon Road. Crow Canyon is bad enough in daylight. In the dark it's downright scary. Many cars traveling in both directions at 50+ mph, blinding each other and making a cyclist difficult to see, and an extremely narrow shoulder to boot. This was the only place on the ride where I felt unsafe, though Niles was no picnic too.
It was getting close to 9:00 p.m. and I set a goal to get to 200 miles before 9:00. Mission accomplished -- I hit 200 miles at 8:58. The next goal was to get to the finish by 9:30. Desire to get off Crow Canyon as quickly as possible led to me ride harder and, finally, I turned right onto Norris Canyon Road. I exhaled, relieved to be off Crow Canyon.
Norris is a two-mile long, stair-step climb, then a descent into San Ramon. A quarter mile ahead I saw a cyclist's tail light. I made him my target and engaged in a low-speed chase. You can only make up ground so fast as you chase in 36x29, you know. I chased and chased, making up ground at a snail's pace to the sound of whirring gears, frogs' croaking, and crickets' singing. Eventually, the rider disappeared. I looked up and, thanks to light pollution from San Ramon, saw the outline of the hills and realized that I was just a couple of hundred yards from the top. Excited that I was about to crest the final climb of the ride, I accelerated and went down, down, down the other side. I rode fast through housing tracts and saw the tail light again. I sped up and chased the guy all the way into the parking lot of Marriott. I got to within 20 yards of him, but couldn't quite catch him. When he saw me, he ran into the room where we were to check in to make sure he checked in ahead of me. Funny. I would have been satisfied with unclipping my foot first.
I went inside and checked in at 9:27. The man at the desk told me that 70 riders were still on the course. Ouch. That's a lot of riding in the dark. Ate two of the four kinds of pasta on offer. Delicious. Picked up my ride jersey and started driving out of the parking lot just and the tandem was pulling in. I gave them a congratulatory honk and went home.
.
After riding myself back into shape in 2007, I decided to tackle the California Triple Crown -- 3 double centuries in a calendar year. I looked at the calendar and picked the "easiest" three: Solvang (late March), Davis (late May), Eastern Sierra (early June). Family commitments ruled out Davis, and I was left with an unenviable choice of Central Coast (late May, hilly and windy), Terrible Two (late June, hilly and hot), Mt. Tamalpais (early August, hilly and hot), or Knoxville (early September, not too hilly, possibly hot). Knoxville became the choice by default. The difficult part about doing Solvang, Eastern Sierra, and Knoxville was the rides' timing. I had to be in shape for a 200 miler in March, for another in June, and another in September. I preferred to have them closer together so I could use each double as a training ride for the next. I needed to come up with an alternative.
I had a fabulous time at Solvang. I rode it very fast (for me -- 19.3 mph) and finished feeling fairly fresh. DMD was scheduled for April 26, far enough from Solvang to recover from it, but close enough to use Solvang as training. Thus, the plan was born: Solvang as a training double for the much hillier DMD, the ride for the insane.
Chapter 1: Not the DMD!
"So, what are doing for an encore," asked my friend Gary after I finished regaling him with the tale of my ride at Solvang. I looked at him and smiled enigmatically. He waited a few seconds and repeated the question. I smiled again. "No," he said, "you're not doing the DMD?!" I smiled and nodded.
There were four weeks between Solvang and DMD. I planned on doing 60-80-mile weekend rides and a couple of hilly 130-milers before DMD to get ready. But my daughter got sick, then my wife, then I felt as if I was coming down with something. Between illnesses, work, and family commitments, the only serious training ride I was able to do was a 120-miler over Mt. Diablo and Morgan Territory Road 10 days before DMD. This 8-hour ride left me exhausted and made my knee hurt. The knee problem and apparent lack of fitness left me concerned about my ability to finish the DMD. Concerned enough to consider not starting.
I agonized for the better part of 10 days whether I should ride. Finally, I decided that I am in good shape from Solvang, I would eat and hydrate better than I had on my training ride, I would ride wisely and not go with super fast groups, and I didn't have to finish if my knee started to scream at me. Not finishing was not an honest option -- one does not start epic rides thinking of bailing out.
On Friday, April 25, I drove to ride HQ at San Ramon Marriott to check in and to pick up my number and route sheet. I wanted to have everything on the day before the ride so I wouldn't have to stand in line at 4:30 a.m. to pick up the number and then spent the next 15 bleary minutes cursing, as I poked myself with safety pins trying to attach the number to my jersey. I preferred to do the poking and the cursing in the privacy of my home. I picked up my number and route sheet, went home, pinned the number on my jersey, and set my alarm for 3:30 a.m. I would start riding with the 5:00 a.m. group.
Chapter 2: Good Morning!
I was so anxious about DMD that I couldn't fall asleep. Then, I woke up in the middle of night and couldn't go back to sleep. End result: when the alarm went off I'd slept a grand total of three hours. After a bleary-eyed breakfast of two bananas, a hard-boiled egg, and a bagel with peanut butter and honey, I threw my bike, shoes, helmet and other stuff in the car and drove to San Ramon. En route, I called Jeff to arrange a meeting at the start. Arrived at 4:30 to see people taking bikes out of cars and milling about. I got out my bike, put on my shoes and helmet, and rode to the hotel entrance. Congregating there were over 100 cyclists, many with their lights on, greeting friends and chatting with family members who accompanied some of the riders to the start. There was an excited buzz in the air. I met Jeff and his wife. One of the ride organizers made a few announcements, reminding us to obey traffic laws and not to ride stupid, and at 5:00 sharp we were off!
Chapter 3: And We're Off!
One hundred and twenty single bikes and one tandem sped through dark streets of San Ramon to the foot of Mt. Diablo, a 10.5 mile climb to 3,849 feet. We hit the lower slopes of Diablo in the dark. I told Jeff that I would be vying for lanterne rouge prize and he flew off. In the dark I lost sight of him quickly. Ahead of me -- red tail lights; behind -- a river of white head lights. The peloton snaked up the curves of South Gate Road, as a spectacular dawn began breaking. We hit an inversion layer at around 2,000 feet. Air temperature rose, but almost immediately we were hit with a cold wind. The wind gained strength as we gained elevation. I rode and talked with DMD veterans about what this wind meant for the remaining 190 miles. The consensus was a long day of head winds. Eventually, this social climbing brought us to the last steep pitch -- 150 yards at 16%. We were all still pretty fresh and this section, the steepest of the day, did not present any problems.
I saw and talked to Jeff, who started the descent before me. I ate a bit, refilled my bottles, and began descending. As I rode down, I wondered whether I'd see the 6:00 group of fast riders. Sure enough, about 4 miles below the summit I saw about 20 guys/gals racing up the mountain. I hit the inversion layer again and felt warmer, but when I reached lower slopes of North Gate Rd. it became so cold that my feet started shivering.
I rode through Walnut Creek in a small group at a very civilized pace. No one felt a need to hammer with a 4-mile climb up Morgan Territory Road in quickly rising temperatures that lay just ahead and with 154 miles still to go. On Marsh Creek Road, just before Morgan, the tandem caught me, so I jumped into the group it was pulling and enjoyed the draft for a couple of miles. The group broke up as soon as we hit Morgan. I rode at a medium pace on the flat part of Morgan. Then we hit the notoriously horrible stretch of pavement that lasts the entire four miles of the climb. At this point, a couple of faster riders caught up with me and I went with them. The climb has a couple of downhill dips and descending in a group at a high speed, with everyone trying to pick his way around minefields of gaping potholes, was a fairly terrifying experience. At 9:15, we reached the summit of Morgan -- the second rest stop. The leading riders of the 6:00 group arrived 5 minutes after us. More food and drink, sunscreen, and I began the descent.
Though Morgan Territory descent into Livermore area is one of the most exhilarating I've ever ridden, I decided that I would descend conservatively. No reason to crash out of a double century. Whether it was conservative riding or others' superior descending skills, but a couple of people were gaining on me on the lower slopes of the hill. One rider said "Hi" as he went by. I looked at his number and saw "Smith" in big bold letters (numbers had riders' names). Above it was "Sean" in smaller letters. It was Sean Smith from Serotta Forum, with whom I exchanged e-mails after the Solvang Double. "Sean!" I said loudly, "I'm Vlad." He was with the 6:00 group. We rode together and talked for a couple of minutes, but I didn't have the legs to ride with him and told him to go ahead. He said there was a group coming behind us. We waited for them, and the eight of us sped toward Livermore into a headwind. We were cautiously optimistic that this headwind coming from the east would be a tailwind on the westward climb of Patterson Pass, notorious for howling headwinds.
We rode through Livermore together, then Sean pulled ahead. No one was interested in going into the wind after him, so he rode alone. We never lost sight of Sean, but no one in our group was keen on chasing him. So, he was alone off the front about 100 yards ahead. Finally, on a slight downhill, someone took a flier and bridged to Sean, but no one went with this guy either. We rode past green hills, happy California grazing cows and horses, and windmills. Turned south, then west onto Patterson Pass Road. Yes! a tailwind! At the next roller we finally caught Sean. We rode together for a while, but when the road pitched up I found out that my legs weren't so fresh. So, I downshifted into something very small in front and big in the back (36x29) and spun. Sean and other fast and fit guys rode ahead. After 5-10 minutes I reached the "Oh my gosh!" false summit (OMG because when you look up the road from the false summit and see the climbing that remains you say, "OMG!") and water stop. More refueling and re-sunscreening. Felt pretty comfortable climbing the rest of Patterson. Descent into Livermore is pretty unremarkable -- welcome, as are all descents, but straight and the views were not memorable.
Chapter 4: Ugh...
I crested Patterson at 11:30. It was getting hot. I tried to eat and drink well, but rest stop fare was not appetizing and, aside from Gatorade, I hadn't previously tried any of the drink mixes ride organizers offered and was reluctant to experiment on my gastrointestinal system in the middle of a hot and hilly double century. Around mile 85 I began feeling hot and bloated. We were on flat and boring rural roads southeast of Livermore. Light to moderate traffic. Mentally, I was not in a happy place and was riding ever slower. Eventually, I made it to Mines Road rest stop at mile 91. Mines Road (San Antonio Valley Road after the road crosses from Alameda to Santa Clara County) is an amazing, picturesque road that runs from Livermore to San Jose over Mt. Hamilton. It's ~52 miles from Livermore to the top of Mt. Hamilton. At the rest stop, I refilled my gel flask and bottles. Ate a little bit of fruit and set off. After the rest stop, the road starts climbing up the side of a canyon. It's very pretty this time of the year, but the rest stop did not make me feel better and I was not paying attention to the scenery. I was still in that not happy place. It was hotter, I was climbing a 2-mile, 7% hill, feeling bloated, sweating profusely, flies buzzing all around me, and to top it all off, my knee started bugging me. I pulled out my baggy with Advil, took 4 without dismounting (god forbid I should get off the bike), washed it down. I was in 36x29, but no longer spinning. Plodding. Thought that I may be in good century shape, but in lousy double century shape.
Eventually, the road levelled off. I was able to ride faster. Faster speed brought relief from the heat from air movement. Advil took effect and my knee felt better. My mood improved. I noticed many cyclists were going in the opposite direction. Dozens and dozens of them. Couldn't figure out who they were -- no numbers or wrist bands indicating they were part of an organized event -- but it was good for the brain to see so many people on bikes on this very remote road. So, now feeling fairly chipper, I pulled up to the water stop at mile 103. Water stop crew said the riders going the other way were doing the Mt. Hamilton Challenge, a 118-mile ride that starts and ends in Santa Clara. I thought if I were doing that ride I'd be done in 15 miles. I was just half-way through. The steep back side of Mt. Hamilton and Sierra Road (y'all have heard of Sierra Rd.?) lay ahead. Dumped cold water over my head, which was wonderful, took on more liquid and gel, and pressed on.
With flatter terrain and feeling cooler, I picked up the pace and rode as aggressively as my legs allowed -- my brain no longer hindered me and the bloatiness abated. I reached the rest stop at Junction Cafe at mile 115 before 2:00.
Chapter 5: Ahh, the Scenery!
Jeff was at the rest stop, looking pale. He was having GI problems. I ate a bit of a turkey and ham sandwich, which I didn't find appetizing. There were two massage tables set up for any rider wishing to take advantage of a free massage. But I was afraid I'd pass out or cramp or wouldn't want to leave the rest stop if I had a massage so I opted not to have one. The tandem pulled into the rest stop a few minutes after me. I heard the captain declare that if they made it up Hamilton they would finish the ride. He was willing to push the tandem up Sierra Rd. I also overheard that Hamilton climb started at around 6-mile marker and lasted, relentlessly, for 5 miles. The sixth mile would be flattish. I decided to take some Perpetuem drink in one bottle, water in the other, and filled my gel flask with a mix of vanilla and espresso flavored goos. Jeff's stomach seemed to settle and we left together. We rode together until the first significant roller, where I had to let him go. Knowing what lay ahead I needed to ration my energy. Riding through San Antonio valley alone was really nice. This time of the year, it is an especially beautiful and serene place. The surrounding hills are still green, there are numerous streams running through the valley. Wildflowers are in bloom. More happy California cows and horses grazing peacefully. Very little motor traffic. A happy place.
The road turned uphill at mile 6.5 marker. Mindful of what I'd heard at the rest stop, I knew that this wasn't yet Hamilton. But the climb went on and on. After climbing for better part of a mile at 7% now I felt pretty miserable and thought that maybe this was it, The Climb. And the farther I climbed the more I thought, this was it. As I was coming up to a left turn, I saw a SAG car approaching from the other direction. Just about to ask the driver whether this was Hamilton, I looked around the bend and saw that I was cresting and that I'd be going downhill. Not Hamilton yet. Drat.
A too-short descent, followed by a quarter mile of flat and the road reared up again. I saw Jeff unclipping and heard him asking a SAG driver for water. He said he was OK. Certain that he'd catch me in a few minutes, I told him I'd plod on and shifted into the now familiar 36x29. Official line is Hamilton is 5.5 miles at 8%. I think the actual climb is a bit shorter, unless you count the long roller I had just ridden. I settled into an unpleasant, but tolerable cadence of 60-65 rpm. The grade felt about how you'd expect an 8% hill to feel after 128 miles. I stood up occasionally on hairpins and steeper stretches, but mostly I sat and pushed. My speedometer read 5.2, 5.8, 5.4, 5.7... Fairly quickly I figured out that at this speed 5.5 miles would take me an hour. "OK," I thought, "I feel all right, I'll just keep plodding at this speed and if it takes an hour, it takes an hour." I realized that my choice was either to stare at the road for an hour or take in the scenery and enjoy this climb. I chose the scenery. It was spectacular. Since you gain elevation quickly at 8%, almost immediately I saw amazing views of surrounding hills and valleys, soaring birds, running streams, grazing cattle, wildflowers, and ponds. If a place can be described as inspirational at a point two-thirds through a double century, I was there, in a happy place. The road snaked behind me and below. I kept looking over my shoulder and down the hill for Jeff, but did not see him. On the way up I passed a few riders on bikes and others resting in the shade by the side of the road. This inspired me to keep going and vow not to dismount. I kept climbing higher and higher, feeling as if this were an epic Tour de France stage, but where were the fans lining the road, screaming encouragement, running next to me and pouring water over my head -- and, more importantly, pushing me up the mountain?
The grade relented around mile 2 marker and I shifted into my 36x26 -- woohoo -- and sped up to 8.5 mph. In half a mile I reached a water stop, where I was greeted by a volunteer energetically ringing a cow bell. I smiled broadly as I pulled in and said, "MOOOO!" More cold water over the head, more drink and gel, and off I went. Though the road seemed steeper out of the water stop, I felt cooler and climbing seemed easier. I felt as if a load had been lifted. It had been. I left my helmet at the stop. For a millisecond, I considered continuing bare-headed (it felt so good), but turned around to retrieve the helmet. The next half mile of climbing felt as tough as the lower parts. I was back in my lowest gear. But I was somewhat rested from the water stop and inspired by the fact that I was almost at the top. This part of the climb passed relatively quickly and I was at the top. There, I realized that I would definitely finish this ride. By successfully plodding up Hamilton, I had come upon the strategy to conquer Sierra. Just plod at 5mph. Be patient and pace yourself and you'll make it. As I plunged down Hamilton, I felt confident in this game plan.
Chapter 6: Down And Up
I hadn't been on the south side of Hamilton in 12 years and had forgotten just how long that road is. I remembered one valley in the middle of the mountain out of which I would have to climb. There are, in fact, two valleys and the climb out of the lower valley was two miles long. Hello 36x29 again! I received an unpleasant surprise as I climbed that two-mile hill: Both knees started to hurt. I gulped down more Advil and continued. To get over the hill and the pain sooner, I rode faster, so this climb ended fairly quickly. I continued the descent to the next rest stop, about two miles above Silicon Valley floor. More gel and drink, and half a banana. Talking to one of the volunteers I learned that Sierra Road is a stair-step climb, so there would be places to "rest." He also said that the next rest stop was only 8 miles away. "Pish," I thought, "I'd be there in no time." But as I rode toward Sierra I realized that its 3.5 miles at 10% at 5 mph would take good 40-45 minutes, so it would take me over an hour to get to the rest stop.
Approach to Sierra is flat and residential, then you make a turn east toward the hills onto Sierra and you see the climb. It's impressive. I could see two residential blocks that looked as steep as the very top of Diablo, then the road turned left, and who knows what lay ahead... "OK, let's do this," I thought, as I shifted back into 36x29 and stood up. I paced myself up the first two blocks and around the turn, where the grade relented. I sat down and plodded. When it got steeper I stood. When it got easier I sat. I passed a few people riding and a few people walking. More grazing cows and eucalyptus groves. It was hard but definitely doable. About a quarter mile from the top I saw two riders, one passing the other. As I went on at my pace I caught and passed the slower one and was making up ground on the second. I passed him about 40 yards from the summit and was pulling away when he began to sprint (!), the fool! Showing that I was no smaller fool, I sprinted too, even as I shouted: "Don't do that!" But he put in another dig, which I matched (proving that I was the bigger fool). He relented and said disgustedly, "fine, you can have the KOM points!" Embarrassed for both of us, I shifted into the big ring and sped away to Pet-the-Goat rest stop half a mile away. More caffeinated gel and goopy drink and off I went.
Chapter 7: Time Trial, Baby!
I rode away from Sierra in the big ring, happily thinking that even though 46 miles lay ahead I was as good as done. I encountered a couple of steep rollers that humbled me back into my 36 -- as in: "whoa, this is steep and it hurts, time to shift out of the 50" but I felt good and rode aggressively. The descent of Sierra/Felter Road is quite steep and we were cautioned to look for a sharp right onto Calaveras Road, so I braked more than I would have liked, but it was good not to miss that turn. Calaveras Wall is just a tenth of a mile, but it is steep and is longer than I'd remembered it. As I stood up in my granny gear, I felt cramps coming on. I convinced myself to pull up and dance on the pedals and that warded off the cramps. Over the top and it was back into the big ring and off to the races. I could smell the barn, uhm..., the Marriott, and even though I had another 40 miles to go I felt I had the legs to ride hard.
Calaveras Road traces the ridge next to Calaveras Reservoir. More lovely green hills, cows, birds, flowers, lots of slight rollers, snaky curves -- a perfect road for aggressive riding. No cars, a few bikes going in the opposite direction -- I had the road to myself. With 5 miles to Sunol, Calaveras begins a two-mile long, fairly straight descent. It was great fun. There was plenty of daylight. I knew I would make it to Sunol before sunset and set a new goal: get to Palomares Road in daylight. The ride from Sunol to Palomares is through Niles Canyon Road, a narrow and very busy road. It would be great not to have to ride it in the dark.
The first two of the five miles that remained to Sunol, the grade of Calaveras was taking care of my speed. I was going steadily at 26-32 mph, depending on the terrain. After I crested and descended Calaveras Dam I had three miles of flat into Sunol. The scenery was so pretty and I felt so good that I went into time trial mode. I put my forearms on the bars, got as low as I could, and went for it. I smiled giddily, as I hammered toward Sunol with decreasing mileage markers flying past. It was still plenty light out when I reached the Sunol rest stop. Volunteers offered soup and hot dogs, but I didn't want to mess with my caffeinated gel and Perpetuem diet that was proving successful and was in a hurry to get to Palomares before dark.
Chapter 8: Cycling by Braille
I spent less than 5 minutes in Sunol before hitting the road again. As I started off I discovered that my right knee had tightened up during the rest stop and pedaling was uncomfortable. I was also riding downhill into a headwind, through a canyon with a full creek running through it, and it was getting dark. The temperature was dropping quickly. I wished I had put on arm and knee warmers in Sunol, but didn't want to stop there. I reasoned that I'd be climbing in a few minutes and that would feel warmer. I resolved to stop at the top of Palomares climb to get dressed. The ride through Niles Canyon was unpleasant, but mercifully short. I got to the bottom of Palomares in daylight. The southern end of Palomares is in a deep canyon. A peacock was wailing. Frogs and crickets were singing their songs. It is quite dark there, but there was enough daylight to ride without headlights. I had turned on my tail light back in Sunol. "Let's see if I can make it to the top of Palomares without headlights," I thought. I felt good enough not to need my 29 for this climb, using my 26 only for the steepest parts and 23 for the rest. I turned on my headlight with about a mile left on the climb not because it was too dark for me to see the road, but I was concerned it was too dark for drivers to see me. I reached the summit of Palomares, got dressed (knees felt much better with warmers on), turned on my helmet light and plunged down the northern side of the canyon. This descent is completely straight and though it was dark, with my light blasting through the darkness I felt safe going 40mph. Not smart, but safe.
At the bottom of the descent I switched back into time trial mode and passed two riders along the way. Feeling strong, I continued to ride hard all the way into Castro Valley and turned right onto Crow Canyon Road. Crow Canyon is bad enough in daylight. In the dark it's downright scary. Many cars traveling in both directions at 50+ mph, blinding each other and making a cyclist difficult to see, and an extremely narrow shoulder to boot. This was the only place on the ride where I felt unsafe, though Niles was no picnic too.
It was getting close to 9:00 p.m. and I set a goal to get to 200 miles before 9:00. Mission accomplished -- I hit 200 miles at 8:58. The next goal was to get to the finish by 9:30. Desire to get off Crow Canyon as quickly as possible led to me ride harder and, finally, I turned right onto Norris Canyon Road. I exhaled, relieved to be off Crow Canyon.
Norris is a two-mile long, stair-step climb, then a descent into San Ramon. A quarter mile ahead I saw a cyclist's tail light. I made him my target and engaged in a low-speed chase. You can only make up ground so fast as you chase in 36x29, you know. I chased and chased, making up ground at a snail's pace to the sound of whirring gears, frogs' croaking, and crickets' singing. Eventually, the rider disappeared. I looked up and, thanks to light pollution from San Ramon, saw the outline of the hills and realized that I was just a couple of hundred yards from the top. Excited that I was about to crest the final climb of the ride, I accelerated and went down, down, down the other side. I rode fast through housing tracts and saw the tail light again. I sped up and chased the guy all the way into the parking lot of Marriott. I got to within 20 yards of him, but couldn't quite catch him. When he saw me, he ran into the room where we were to check in to make sure he checked in ahead of me. Funny. I would have been satisfied with unclipping my foot first.
I went inside and checked in at 9:27. The man at the desk told me that 70 riders were still on the course. Ouch. That's a lot of riding in the dark. Ate two of the four kinds of pasta on offer. Delicious. Picked up my ride jersey and started driving out of the parking lot just and the tandem was pulling in. I gave them a congratulatory honk and went home.
.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
2008 Solvang Double
Having loaded my Kirk Terraplane (Hi Dave) into the back seat of the car, I drove down to Solvang on Friday afternoon, March 28. The entire drive it was very windy. In Solvang, the wind seemed to be in the 20-25 mph range. This did not bode well for the double. It was windy all evening and into the night. I checked into the hotel, walked around town a bit, and checked in at the ride registration desk. At registration I learned that the course would not be fully marked and event organizers strongly encouraged riders to keep a keen eye on the route sheet. Also, no post-ride meal (booo!). I had a quick dinner and went to bed.
I intended to get up at 5:30 to have adequate time for breakfast and to ride to the start around 6:15, just four blocks away. I woke up at 4:00 and couldn't go back to sleep. As I lay in the dark, I saw dots of light dancing on my room’s ceiling: reflections of parking lot lights in the hotel swimming pool water. Water was not calm -- wind.
After 90 minutes of sleeplessness, I got up at 5:30, ate, and at 6:10 rode to the start at The Royal Scandinavian hotel. I found 30 riders waiting for a group to get going. Almost immediately, three guys began riding, and I decided to follow them. It was overcast and still dark. The wind gusted a bit, but it was not as bad as on Friday. For just starting out and riding into the wind I thought this group was going pretty darn hard, but I was willing to stick with them for a while. At first they looked at me like “what the hell are you doing here” but after 15 minutes, seeing that I wasn’t going anywhere, they accepted me. I told them I was riding alone and asked if they minded if I rode with them. They didn’t. I started taking pulls and chatting with them. The chattiest was Chris, a 52-year old who'd done all but one of California doubles last year AND Paris-Brest-Paris. The other two were Bruce, a 58-year old with thighs the size of my waist who lives at the foot of Mt. Baldy, climbs the mountain regularly, and goes by “almighty;” and Steve, a mid-50s guy whom I didn't get to know at all.
For the first hour, we rolled fairly briskly, picking off individuals and small groups, as we rode over rolling hills and through rural valleys of northern Santa Barbara County. The hills were green with fields of lupine and California poppies covering many hillsides. After a few rollers, we began a long and gradual descent toward a valley southeast of Santa Maria. We had dropped Steve early on a climb and Bruce fell back later. On the descent Bruce caught up and the three of us worked well together, taking 1-minute pulls. Suddenly, a rider passed us at ~30 mph. We jumped on his wheel. He was riding close to 30 mph for mile after mile. Eventually, breathing hard, he eased off and I, then Chris, took turns, but not at that speed. Either our new companion was unhappy with the pace or he felt very refreshed, but he went to the front and again, pulled ferociously for good 5 minutes (I dubbed him “one-man tandem”). At this point, Bruce dropped off and Chris sat up. Not wanting to ride away from them I sat up too. As it turned out, the first rest stop was just half a mile away.
One-man tandem said that he had plenty of food and drink and took off. Steve pulled in soon after us. We refilled bottles, ate a bit, and popped mineral supplements when we noticed two tandems, one just pulling into the rest stop, the other about to leave. “That’s a train,” said Chris. I said “whooo, whooo!” A handful of other singles were leaving with the tandem. We slotted into the paceline and were off.
Since we were only 35+ miles into a 196-mile ride (yes, not quite a double century) there was no need for the tandem to blow its wad in the first quarter of the ride. So, they took it nice and steady, averaging speeds in the low 20s. Somewhere on a flat around mile 45 I looked at my computer. It said 24.5 mph. Then I looked at my heart monitor. It said 133. Then I looked back at the computer. It still said 24.5. The monitor still said just 133. :-)
The tandem kept chugging along. As we passed people, they latched onto the back of the paceline. At one point I looked back and saw that the tandem was towing about 15 riders. As I mentioned, we were warned that the course would be poorly marked and it was. Time after time, we went past intersections when someone in the paceline would call out that we missed a turn, so we’d all turn around and go back. That was not fun. At one point we were about to catch another long paceline – they were about 25 yards ahead – when they went right instead of left. We followed them blindly, then someone in our paceline said, “it’s left!” we yelled at them that they missed a turn but they kept going and nobody in our paceline wanted to chase to tell them they were going the wrong way.
By now, the tandem had been pulling for good 30 miles and they sat up. I went to the front to offer to pull, but they explained that they didn't like to follow wheels, so 15 of us dawdled along at 16 mph. No one seemed interested in forming a paceline to go ahead, so we waited for the tandem to recover and go to the front again. This they did fairly soon. We sailed past Santa Maria, Nipomo, and another small town and were on rural roads again. We hit some rollers and though the tandem climbed better than most singles it was towing, the tandem sat up. Again, many chose to stay with the tandem. I went ahead and rode alone for about 10 miles into the next rest stop at mile 85. The tandem group arrived within 5 minutes.
More drink, food, pills. I was standing and chatting to a woman about her friend's bike, when I looked over where the tandem had been parked and it wasn't there. I remarked to her that they must have left already, but she said, "the tandem is leaving right now!" And sure enough it was. I blurted apologies for leaving abruptly and sprinted after the tandem, my mouth stuffed with remnants of a PB&J sandwich.
The next destination was Morro Bay (mile 100), where we had to get our numbers marked as proof of making it to the half-way point. We went through beach cities south of San Luis Obispo and through San Luis Obispo, when the route took us onto Highway 1. Highway 1 is a four-lane road in those parts, with a 55 mph speed limit, which means cars were traveling at 65 and we were on the shoulder. For 12 miles. Into the wind. My hat off to the tandem. They never sat up, never complained, never asked for a pull. They just hammered into Morro Bay, going over 20 mph the whole time. A couple of times I pulled out of the paceline to blow my nose and the wind felt like 15-20 mph straight-ahead, full-on, headwind. That pull was very impressive and very much appreciated. Our paceline grew tremendously on that stretch of the road.
We made it into Morro Bay, got off the freeway, made a right and started to climb a short hill, when coming at us in the opposite direction over the hill we saw Vespa scooters. As we climbed, there were more scooters. As we crested, we saw lots more scooters. It was a giant Vespa rally. There were 5-6 blocks of two lanes of bumper to bumper traffic consisting of nothing but Vespa scooters. Vespa riders waived at us, we waived back at them. It was very cool, though a bit stinky from their exhaust.
We descended to the harbor, had sticker dots attached to our numbers and rode off. I assumed the lunch stop would be there, but after finding no one to feed us and consulting the route sheet discovered that lunch would be 14 miles away. The tandem took it easy, so Chris and I set off on our own. We rode through a state park along the ocean -- Monterey pines and ocean views -- very pretty and windy. In the park we caught up to a fast looking guy on a Cervelo time trial bike. So, we sat on his wheel. As soon as he realized we were behind him he sped up. We sped up too. I sat on his wheel thinking, "I really don't need you to go that fast at mile 103, though I probably would have done the same thing. Why do we do that? Why do we speed up when someone catches us?" After about a mile of this, we came to a T intersection and Cervelo dude stopped, saying he had to wait for a friend. Buffeted by side winds, Chris and I continued.
After 15 minutes of oceanside rollers, we came to a turn that took us inland. At that intersection, we caught up with a guy in a yellow jersey (never got his name). And as soon as the light changed, he took off too, going 29! I sat on his wheel for a mile or so, then took a pull at 27-28, then discovered that Chris was way off the back. Yellow Jersey and I traded a few more hard pulls, then we decided to ride smart and slowed down and began to talk. This was his first double. Last year, he rode 15,000 miles. This year he is averaging 400 miles a week riding 4-5 days (I ride 200-250 miles a week). Anticipating my next question, he said, "I don't work." No sh*t(!) and no family either. He is 46, used to smoke two packs a day, drink lots of hard liquor and smoked pot. Discovered cycling four years ago, ditched his bad habits and is now addicted to cycling. Friendly guy, good talker. I didn't ask him how he pays the rent. We rode together to the lunch stop. The tandem arrived a few minutes later.
LUNCH! Sandwiches and V-8 juice. Protein and sodium, yum! I learned that three (small) cans of V-8 and a big Subway sandwich can congeal in one's stomach, producing an uncomfortable sensation. Oh-oh, the tandem is leaving. I jumped on the bike, the uncomfortable sensation still with me, burping V-8, as we rode. (I burped V-8 the rest of the ride.) Fortunately, the tandem was a freight train rather than an express, the pace was mellow and my stomach settled gradually. So it went again: the tandem pulled and pulled at fairly high, yet comfortable, speeds for long periods, then sitting up. Though grateful for the pulls, I wasn't interested in dawdling at 15 mph. My average speed hovered in the low 19s since mile 33 and I wanted to do everything I could to keep it at 19 or higher for the duration of the ride. Now, whenever the tandem slowed down I went ahead. Yellow Jersey usually went with me and we had one or two other people with us. We traded pulls, echeloned where traffic conditions permitted and winds required, and talked.
The next rest stop was in Guadaloupe at mile 143. Guadaloupe is a neat town with an old western cowboy feeling' downtown. I know because I got to see it three times. Thanks to inattentiveness to street signs and absence of route markings (thank you, ride organizers), Yellow Jersey and I rode past the rest stop, on through downtown and almost out of town, when we realized that street numbers were getting lower rather than higher and that we should turn around. It was thus, that we got to see downtown Guadaloupe for the second time. Third time was when rode through after leaving the rest stop.
This fifth, and next-to-last rest stop, was stocked with the same food: fruit, cookies, PB&J, energy drinks, gel, and pills as all the others. There was an important difference. This rest stop was in a public park with a permanent rest room rather than portable toilets. The permanent rest room, however, was permanently locked. Men went number 1 behind the permanent rest rooms and behind other public buildings. I do not know where women relieved themselves at this rest stop. The tandem took a short break and we took off. We rode through Guadaloupe for the third time (do you get the feeling that you know the town pretty well by now?) and out of town. We turned left and tailwind, baby! Half an hour behind the tandem at 27 mph. The wind was actually a bit from the left, so I got to sit next to the tandem stoker and talk to her (more draft than on the wheel) and looking ahead could see other things than the tandem's rear wheel.
We missed our turn again, retraced our steps, and turned onto a rural road that ran past lettuce and cabbage fields. One field also had operating oil pumps as in pumps pumping oil out of the ground. I hope I never eat vegetables from that field. We had a strong side wind and the tandem again lost interest. I went ahead. Rode alone for 3-4 miles, made a couple of turns, looked back and saw a group gaining. I assumed it was our tandem. It was a tandem, but a different tandem -- Bob and Brenda Fletchers, a couple from Vacaville , CA with their names emblazoned on the top tube. Marc, an English guy with whom I played leapfrog for much of the ride, went by sitting on tandem’s wheel, grinned and gave thumbs-up. I jumped into the paceline. Pretty soon I found myself directly on the tandem's wheel. Unlike Healdsburg tandem, which spun very quickly, the Fletchers rode bigger gears and their cadence matched mine. I watched their feet going 'round and 'round. After a while that became mesmerizing, as if I was watching myself pedal. I found out that the Fletchers race mountain tandems at ultra events like Leadville 100, that they're out of shape (bah! they started at 7:30, I at 6:15 and they caught me with 50 miles to go), both recovering from mountain tandem crashes, and were using the double as a training ride. Mountain tandem crashes... Ouch.
At around mile 160, going toward Lompoc, we found ourselves on Highway 1 again. One two-mile stretch was strewn with small gravel and bikes started pelting each other mercilessly. I've ridden in hail and this section felt like I was riding through a gravel hailstorm. Legs, arms, shoulders, face, bike -- I was spitting out bits of gravel! Showering after the ride, I washed gravel out of my hair. That part ended eventually, though not soon enough. I even felt fresh enough to take a pull, which the Fletchers gratefully accepted, as they were beginning to tire and were standing up and stretching pretty often. And, so, we pulled into the last rest stop at mile 172 (173 for me due to multiple detours).
Average speed 19.5. The big climb of the day lay just ahead.
A quick mark on the number from ride staff as proof that we were there, more drink and pills and we were off again. As soon as we left, Brenda said that we were about to start climbing the only major hill of the day -- four miles. The first mile was almost flat and went past a regional park. By the side of the road stood an 11-year old kid with a bike who said, "my friend wants to race you." Ten yards up the road was a kid on a mountain bike with a skipping chain, pedaling uphill. We followed, as that was our route, laughing and yelling at him, "go kid go! don't let a bunch of old farts catch you!" After a quarter mile, he declared victory and turned into a parking lot. We continued. The climb was on a badly surfaced and bumpy road, over a green range of hills. It was foggy, almost misty, cool, peaceful and very pretty. Also hard. Even though it was ~6%, I definitely felt it and was unpleasantly surprised to find myself in my 25 with nothing to downshift into. The Fletchers dropped back, Yellow Jersey rode ahead, Marc and I rode together and talked. Then we caught up with yellow jersey. Finally, I asked (two guys who've never ridden these roads before, what was I thinking?) whether either of them knew how much longer this climb was. Marc guessed, "the cattle grade?" And, yes, just then we were at a cattle grade. And, yes, that was the top. (Average speed: 19.1!)
I let out a big "Wheee!" and plunged down the hill. You know how sometimes you're too tired to be careful on a descent? I was. I just relaxed and flew down. At one point I looked back up the hill and saw Marc and Yellow Jersey two hairpins above. The descent surface was as bad as the climb but there were no holes and it seemed that I only needed to brake for steep hairpins. After a while the road straightened and I could just let it out. That was nice: restful and fast. (Bottom of the hill, average speed: 19.2.)
At this point things looked good for a 19 mph day. I pedaled easily, waiting for Marc and Yellow Jersey, but didn't see them. Quarter mile up the road was someone in a red jersey. I looked back repeatedly, waiting for the Fletchers to come and pull me home or the other guys to catch up so we could ride together. But again, I didn't see anyone, so I made the Red Jersey my target and rode.
16 miles to go. Riding time 9:25.
Caught up with the Red Jersey just before intersection with Highway 246 on which Solvang sits. We were 12 miles away. Turned onto 246, riding hard. Red Jersey dropped off on a roller. I kept going. Average speed still 19.2. Wind was generally favorable, but I was starting to flag, though still riding in low 20s.
When I start getting tired on a long ride I start to do math. Speed times time equals distance kind of math. 19 seemed like a sure thing now and it appeared I'd get in at about 5:40 p.m. with riding time of 10:15 or so. I wondered where I might have lost that 15 minutes that could have made this a sub-10-hour ride. Somehow, at this point a 10-hour ride became a big deal. I remembered the scenic tours of Guadaloupe, missed turns, and tandem dawdlings. That probably added up to about 15 minutes. I cursed it all but continued to ride hard, when suddenly I saw a sign for Buellton city limits.
(Geography lesson: Buellton sits on intersection of US Hwy. 101 and CA Hwy. 246, Solvang is four miles directly to the east on 246. I was half a mile from "Solvang 4 miles" sign.)
Consult route sheet. The ride is 192 miles long. Not 196. Good and bad. Good because I'll be done really soon. Very bad because the detours were going to cause me to miss 10 hours by just a couple of minutes. Nooooooooooooo!
Tired in the brain. Tired in the legs.
Riding time 9:47. Four miles to go. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Flat and windy. Bad windy, not good windy. Felt like sitting up. Decided that if I didn't make the 10 hours it would be because I failed with my legs rather than with my brain, so I told my brain to shut up, put my head down, and rode.
GO, GO, GO.
There's a quarter-mile long curvy hill just outside Solvang. One that a fit rider would barely notice unless it comes at mile 191 (192 for me, thank you very much) of a ride. Felt like sitting up again, but resisted. Shifted down and spun like a madman. Oh, look, there's an ostrich farm just to the right.....
"Shut up and ride!"
GO, GO, GO.
Route sheet says, "right on 5th, left on Oak." There's the top of the hill and look, I'm in town.
Where the hell is 5th? Here it is, the first intersection!
Big ring. 5th is a slight downhill!
Clock reads "9:57:something"!!!
Where the hell is Oak? Just two blocks away.
GO, GO, GO.
Left on Oak. Just four blocks to go! Slight downhill!
Are you kidding me?!
I am sprinting through stop signs!!! What f---ing stop signs?!
Event staff greet me at the T intersection and direct me to the parking lot. I pull in, stop, unclip.
"9:58:55" Yay!!!
19.3 mph. Yay!!!5:20 p.m.Yay!!!
I checked in at the desk inside, went outside just as Yellow Jersey, Marc and the Fletchers were arriving together.
Epilogue: I talked to Yellow Jersey, Marc and the Fletchers, rode back to my hotel, showered, walked back to Royal Scandinavian to buy an event jersey, and bought a present for my daughter and some pastries. Walking back to my hotel, I smiled when I saw the Cervelo guy just riding into Solvang.
I intended to get up at 5:30 to have adequate time for breakfast and to ride to the start around 6:15, just four blocks away. I woke up at 4:00 and couldn't go back to sleep. As I lay in the dark, I saw dots of light dancing on my room’s ceiling: reflections of parking lot lights in the hotel swimming pool water. Water was not calm -- wind.
After 90 minutes of sleeplessness, I got up at 5:30, ate, and at 6:10 rode to the start at The Royal Scandinavian hotel. I found 30 riders waiting for a group to get going. Almost immediately, three guys began riding, and I decided to follow them. It was overcast and still dark. The wind gusted a bit, but it was not as bad as on Friday. For just starting out and riding into the wind I thought this group was going pretty darn hard, but I was willing to stick with them for a while. At first they looked at me like “what the hell are you doing here” but after 15 minutes, seeing that I wasn’t going anywhere, they accepted me. I told them I was riding alone and asked if they minded if I rode with them. They didn’t. I started taking pulls and chatting with them. The chattiest was Chris, a 52-year old who'd done all but one of California doubles last year AND Paris-Brest-Paris. The other two were Bruce, a 58-year old with thighs the size of my waist who lives at the foot of Mt. Baldy, climbs the mountain regularly, and goes by “almighty;” and Steve, a mid-50s guy whom I didn't get to know at all.
For the first hour, we rolled fairly briskly, picking off individuals and small groups, as we rode over rolling hills and through rural valleys of northern Santa Barbara County. The hills were green with fields of lupine and California poppies covering many hillsides. After a few rollers, we began a long and gradual descent toward a valley southeast of Santa Maria. We had dropped Steve early on a climb and Bruce fell back later. On the descent Bruce caught up and the three of us worked well together, taking 1-minute pulls. Suddenly, a rider passed us at ~30 mph. We jumped on his wheel. He was riding close to 30 mph for mile after mile. Eventually, breathing hard, he eased off and I, then Chris, took turns, but not at that speed. Either our new companion was unhappy with the pace or he felt very refreshed, but he went to the front and again, pulled ferociously for good 5 minutes (I dubbed him “one-man tandem”). At this point, Bruce dropped off and Chris sat up. Not wanting to ride away from them I sat up too. As it turned out, the first rest stop was just half a mile away.
One-man tandem said that he had plenty of food and drink and took off. Steve pulled in soon after us. We refilled bottles, ate a bit, and popped mineral supplements when we noticed two tandems, one just pulling into the rest stop, the other about to leave. “That’s a train,” said Chris. I said “whooo, whooo!” A handful of other singles were leaving with the tandem. We slotted into the paceline and were off.
Since we were only 35+ miles into a 196-mile ride (yes, not quite a double century) there was no need for the tandem to blow its wad in the first quarter of the ride. So, they took it nice and steady, averaging speeds in the low 20s. Somewhere on a flat around mile 45 I looked at my computer. It said 24.5 mph. Then I looked at my heart monitor. It said 133. Then I looked back at the computer. It still said 24.5. The monitor still said just 133. :-)
The tandem kept chugging along. As we passed people, they latched onto the back of the paceline. At one point I looked back and saw that the tandem was towing about 15 riders. As I mentioned, we were warned that the course would be poorly marked and it was. Time after time, we went past intersections when someone in the paceline would call out that we missed a turn, so we’d all turn around and go back. That was not fun. At one point we were about to catch another long paceline – they were about 25 yards ahead – when they went right instead of left. We followed them blindly, then someone in our paceline said, “it’s left!” we yelled at them that they missed a turn but they kept going and nobody in our paceline wanted to chase to tell them they were going the wrong way.
By now, the tandem had been pulling for good 30 miles and they sat up. I went to the front to offer to pull, but they explained that they didn't like to follow wheels, so 15 of us dawdled along at 16 mph. No one seemed interested in forming a paceline to go ahead, so we waited for the tandem to recover and go to the front again. This they did fairly soon. We sailed past Santa Maria, Nipomo, and another small town and were on rural roads again. We hit some rollers and though the tandem climbed better than most singles it was towing, the tandem sat up. Again, many chose to stay with the tandem. I went ahead and rode alone for about 10 miles into the next rest stop at mile 85. The tandem group arrived within 5 minutes.
More drink, food, pills. I was standing and chatting to a woman about her friend's bike, when I looked over where the tandem had been parked and it wasn't there. I remarked to her that they must have left already, but she said, "the tandem is leaving right now!" And sure enough it was. I blurted apologies for leaving abruptly and sprinted after the tandem, my mouth stuffed with remnants of a PB&J sandwich.
The next destination was Morro Bay (mile 100), where we had to get our numbers marked as proof of making it to the half-way point. We went through beach cities south of San Luis Obispo and through San Luis Obispo, when the route took us onto Highway 1. Highway 1 is a four-lane road in those parts, with a 55 mph speed limit, which means cars were traveling at 65 and we were on the shoulder. For 12 miles. Into the wind. My hat off to the tandem. They never sat up, never complained, never asked for a pull. They just hammered into Morro Bay, going over 20 mph the whole time. A couple of times I pulled out of the paceline to blow my nose and the wind felt like 15-20 mph straight-ahead, full-on, headwind. That pull was very impressive and very much appreciated. Our paceline grew tremendously on that stretch of the road.
We made it into Morro Bay, got off the freeway, made a right and started to climb a short hill, when coming at us in the opposite direction over the hill we saw Vespa scooters. As we climbed, there were more scooters. As we crested, we saw lots more scooters. It was a giant Vespa rally. There were 5-6 blocks of two lanes of bumper to bumper traffic consisting of nothing but Vespa scooters. Vespa riders waived at us, we waived back at them. It was very cool, though a bit stinky from their exhaust.
We descended to the harbor, had sticker dots attached to our numbers and rode off. I assumed the lunch stop would be there, but after finding no one to feed us and consulting the route sheet discovered that lunch would be 14 miles away. The tandem took it easy, so Chris and I set off on our own. We rode through a state park along the ocean -- Monterey pines and ocean views -- very pretty and windy. In the park we caught up to a fast looking guy on a Cervelo time trial bike. So, we sat on his wheel. As soon as he realized we were behind him he sped up. We sped up too. I sat on his wheel thinking, "I really don't need you to go that fast at mile 103, though I probably would have done the same thing. Why do we do that? Why do we speed up when someone catches us?" After about a mile of this, we came to a T intersection and Cervelo dude stopped, saying he had to wait for a friend. Buffeted by side winds, Chris and I continued.
After 15 minutes of oceanside rollers, we came to a turn that took us inland. At that intersection, we caught up with a guy in a yellow jersey (never got his name). And as soon as the light changed, he took off too, going 29! I sat on his wheel for a mile or so, then took a pull at 27-28, then discovered that Chris was way off the back. Yellow Jersey and I traded a few more hard pulls, then we decided to ride smart and slowed down and began to talk. This was his first double. Last year, he rode 15,000 miles. This year he is averaging 400 miles a week riding 4-5 days (I ride 200-250 miles a week). Anticipating my next question, he said, "I don't work." No sh*t(!) and no family either. He is 46, used to smoke two packs a day, drink lots of hard liquor and smoked pot. Discovered cycling four years ago, ditched his bad habits and is now addicted to cycling. Friendly guy, good talker. I didn't ask him how he pays the rent. We rode together to the lunch stop. The tandem arrived a few minutes later.
LUNCH! Sandwiches and V-8 juice. Protein and sodium, yum! I learned that three (small) cans of V-8 and a big Subway sandwich can congeal in one's stomach, producing an uncomfortable sensation. Oh-oh, the tandem is leaving. I jumped on the bike, the uncomfortable sensation still with me, burping V-8, as we rode. (I burped V-8 the rest of the ride.) Fortunately, the tandem was a freight train rather than an express, the pace was mellow and my stomach settled gradually. So it went again: the tandem pulled and pulled at fairly high, yet comfortable, speeds for long periods, then sitting up. Though grateful for the pulls, I wasn't interested in dawdling at 15 mph. My average speed hovered in the low 19s since mile 33 and I wanted to do everything I could to keep it at 19 or higher for the duration of the ride. Now, whenever the tandem slowed down I went ahead. Yellow Jersey usually went with me and we had one or two other people with us. We traded pulls, echeloned where traffic conditions permitted and winds required, and talked.
The next rest stop was in Guadaloupe at mile 143. Guadaloupe is a neat town with an old western cowboy feeling' downtown. I know because I got to see it three times. Thanks to inattentiveness to street signs and absence of route markings (thank you, ride organizers), Yellow Jersey and I rode past the rest stop, on through downtown and almost out of town, when we realized that street numbers were getting lower rather than higher and that we should turn around. It was thus, that we got to see downtown Guadaloupe for the second time. Third time was when rode through after leaving the rest stop.
This fifth, and next-to-last rest stop, was stocked with the same food: fruit, cookies, PB&J, energy drinks, gel, and pills as all the others. There was an important difference. This rest stop was in a public park with a permanent rest room rather than portable toilets. The permanent rest room, however, was permanently locked. Men went number 1 behind the permanent rest rooms and behind other public buildings. I do not know where women relieved themselves at this rest stop. The tandem took a short break and we took off. We rode through Guadaloupe for the third time (do you get the feeling that you know the town pretty well by now?) and out of town. We turned left and tailwind, baby! Half an hour behind the tandem at 27 mph. The wind was actually a bit from the left, so I got to sit next to the tandem stoker and talk to her (more draft than on the wheel) and looking ahead could see other things than the tandem's rear wheel.
We missed our turn again, retraced our steps, and turned onto a rural road that ran past lettuce and cabbage fields. One field also had operating oil pumps as in pumps pumping oil out of the ground. I hope I never eat vegetables from that field. We had a strong side wind and the tandem again lost interest. I went ahead. Rode alone for 3-4 miles, made a couple of turns, looked back and saw a group gaining. I assumed it was our tandem. It was a tandem, but a different tandem -- Bob and Brenda Fletchers, a couple from Vacaville , CA with their names emblazoned on the top tube. Marc, an English guy with whom I played leapfrog for much of the ride, went by sitting on tandem’s wheel, grinned and gave thumbs-up. I jumped into the paceline. Pretty soon I found myself directly on the tandem's wheel. Unlike Healdsburg tandem, which spun very quickly, the Fletchers rode bigger gears and their cadence matched mine. I watched their feet going 'round and 'round. After a while that became mesmerizing, as if I was watching myself pedal. I found out that the Fletchers race mountain tandems at ultra events like Leadville 100, that they're out of shape (bah! they started at 7:30, I at 6:15 and they caught me with 50 miles to go), both recovering from mountain tandem crashes, and were using the double as a training ride. Mountain tandem crashes... Ouch.
At around mile 160, going toward Lompoc, we found ourselves on Highway 1 again. One two-mile stretch was strewn with small gravel and bikes started pelting each other mercilessly. I've ridden in hail and this section felt like I was riding through a gravel hailstorm. Legs, arms, shoulders, face, bike -- I was spitting out bits of gravel! Showering after the ride, I washed gravel out of my hair. That part ended eventually, though not soon enough. I even felt fresh enough to take a pull, which the Fletchers gratefully accepted, as they were beginning to tire and were standing up and stretching pretty often. And, so, we pulled into the last rest stop at mile 172 (173 for me due to multiple detours).
Average speed 19.5. The big climb of the day lay just ahead.
A quick mark on the number from ride staff as proof that we were there, more drink and pills and we were off again. As soon as we left, Brenda said that we were about to start climbing the only major hill of the day -- four miles. The first mile was almost flat and went past a regional park. By the side of the road stood an 11-year old kid with a bike who said, "my friend wants to race you." Ten yards up the road was a kid on a mountain bike with a skipping chain, pedaling uphill. We followed, as that was our route, laughing and yelling at him, "go kid go! don't let a bunch of old farts catch you!" After a quarter mile, he declared victory and turned into a parking lot. We continued. The climb was on a badly surfaced and bumpy road, over a green range of hills. It was foggy, almost misty, cool, peaceful and very pretty. Also hard. Even though it was ~6%, I definitely felt it and was unpleasantly surprised to find myself in my 25 with nothing to downshift into. The Fletchers dropped back, Yellow Jersey rode ahead, Marc and I rode together and talked. Then we caught up with yellow jersey. Finally, I asked (two guys who've never ridden these roads before, what was I thinking?) whether either of them knew how much longer this climb was. Marc guessed, "the cattle grade?" And, yes, just then we were at a cattle grade. And, yes, that was the top. (Average speed: 19.1!)
I let out a big "Wheee!" and plunged down the hill. You know how sometimes you're too tired to be careful on a descent? I was. I just relaxed and flew down. At one point I looked back up the hill and saw Marc and Yellow Jersey two hairpins above. The descent surface was as bad as the climb but there were no holes and it seemed that I only needed to brake for steep hairpins. After a while the road straightened and I could just let it out. That was nice: restful and fast. (Bottom of the hill, average speed: 19.2.)
At this point things looked good for a 19 mph day. I pedaled easily, waiting for Marc and Yellow Jersey, but didn't see them. Quarter mile up the road was someone in a red jersey. I looked back repeatedly, waiting for the Fletchers to come and pull me home or the other guys to catch up so we could ride together. But again, I didn't see anyone, so I made the Red Jersey my target and rode.
16 miles to go. Riding time 9:25.
Caught up with the Red Jersey just before intersection with Highway 246 on which Solvang sits. We were 12 miles away. Turned onto 246, riding hard. Red Jersey dropped off on a roller. I kept going. Average speed still 19.2. Wind was generally favorable, but I was starting to flag, though still riding in low 20s.
When I start getting tired on a long ride I start to do math. Speed times time equals distance kind of math. 19 seemed like a sure thing now and it appeared I'd get in at about 5:40 p.m. with riding time of 10:15 or so. I wondered where I might have lost that 15 minutes that could have made this a sub-10-hour ride. Somehow, at this point a 10-hour ride became a big deal. I remembered the scenic tours of Guadaloupe, missed turns, and tandem dawdlings. That probably added up to about 15 minutes. I cursed it all but continued to ride hard, when suddenly I saw a sign for Buellton city limits.
(Geography lesson: Buellton sits on intersection of US Hwy. 101 and CA Hwy. 246, Solvang is four miles directly to the east on 246. I was half a mile from "Solvang 4 miles" sign.)
Consult route sheet. The ride is 192 miles long. Not 196. Good and bad. Good because I'll be done really soon. Very bad because the detours were going to cause me to miss 10 hours by just a couple of minutes. Nooooooooooooo!
Tired in the brain. Tired in the legs.
Riding time 9:47. Four miles to go. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Flat and windy. Bad windy, not good windy. Felt like sitting up. Decided that if I didn't make the 10 hours it would be because I failed with my legs rather than with my brain, so I told my brain to shut up, put my head down, and rode.
GO, GO, GO.
There's a quarter-mile long curvy hill just outside Solvang. One that a fit rider would barely notice unless it comes at mile 191 (192 for me, thank you very much) of a ride. Felt like sitting up again, but resisted. Shifted down and spun like a madman. Oh, look, there's an ostrich farm just to the right.....
"Shut up and ride!"
GO, GO, GO.
Route sheet says, "right on 5th, left on Oak." There's the top of the hill and look, I'm in town.
Where the hell is 5th? Here it is, the first intersection!
Big ring. 5th is a slight downhill!
Clock reads "9:57:something"!!!
Where the hell is Oak? Just two blocks away.
GO, GO, GO.
Left on Oak. Just four blocks to go! Slight downhill!
Are you kidding me?!
I am sprinting through stop signs!!! What f---ing stop signs?!
Event staff greet me at the T intersection and direct me to the parking lot. I pull in, stop, unclip.
"9:58:55" Yay!!!
19.3 mph. Yay!!!5:20 p.m.Yay!!!
I checked in at the desk inside, went outside just as Yellow Jersey, Marc and the Fletchers were arriving together.
Epilogue: I talked to Yellow Jersey, Marc and the Fletchers, rode back to my hotel, showered, walked back to Royal Scandinavian to buy an event jersey, and bought a present for my daughter and some pastries. Walking back to my hotel, I smiled when I saw the Cervelo guy just riding into Solvang.
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