I nearly bonked on Saturday, when I simply forgot to eat. I left at 5:20 a.m. after eating two bananas and bringing a full flask of gel. Gel was all gone by 9:30. I stopped and visited a friend in Walnut Creek from 10:30 to 11:45. After riding for 10 minutes after I left his house, I realized how little I'd eaten and felt the familiar queasy emptiness. I decided to stop in Moraga to refuel. So, in 90+ degree weather, I rode on fumes to Moraga, where I stopped at a gas station for a Coke and a Snickers bar. Snickers packs 280 calories and a can of coke has 140, so that was a very quick 420-calory energy infusion. Very helpful. Made it home feeling OK, but shaking my head over the novice mistake I'd made.
A couple of hours before bonking, I flatted. I hit something -- not sure if it was a sharp rock or a small pothole. This was my fourth flat in a month! I get about four flats a year, so the recent rash of tube and tire failures is puzzling. And all of them have been different: from creeping rim tape to a snakebite, glass shards, on differents sets of wheels and tires, you name it. And just one day after my latest flat, as I rode, I ran my hand over the tire to brush off gravel and felt a strange bump. Stopped, examined the tire and found two tube hernias protruding through the tire. Very exciting (not), this would be my first tire-booting experience. I quickly settled on using a piece of a plastic bag as a boot. Stuffed the plastic between the tube and the tire as best I could. Pumped cautiosly, checking the tire to make sure the tube wasn't poking out, but the boot held. On the way home, I stopped to check it before descending the 10% Joaquin Miller Road, but all was well, and I made it home safely. Time to change the tire, I think.
After five roadside tire repairs in the last four weeks I am eagerly looking forward to uneventful and flat-free riding. Please!
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Monday, August 31, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Motivation
I want to ride faster double centuries. I see little alternative but doing fairly long intervals at sub-maximal level and tempo riding. In other words, train. There's a difference between riding and training: "riding" is fun, "training" is work. I'm sure training will make me faster, but it's also boring as shit and after a while I begin to dread the upcoming interval session. Do I want to make my favorite hobby, something that I enjoy, work? Would it take fun out of cycling?
I guess I'll give it a shot and see how it goes.
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I guess I'll give it a shot and see how it goes.
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Monday, August 24, 2009
Stage Race Analysis
Using total distance of 625 miles (DMD 206, CCD 218, Tam 200; plus fractions of a mile at each ride, adding up to approximately another mile), my average overall speed, including off the bike time, was 13.987 mph.
My stage times were
DMD: 16:42
CCD: 14:47
Tam: 13:12
3:30 difference between DMD and Tam -- pretty shocking. Almost as shocking as the 1:55 faster time at CCD than DMD on a course that was 12 miles longer. I give much credit for that to the sock-full-of-ice neck tie.
At DMD, that was the best I could do that day. I was undertrained and overheated and overextended myself trying to ride with Hornig, Forsman, Hebenstreit (all of whom rode 14:04 or faster), and god knows who else was in that paceline through Livermore to the 580 overcrossing. I skipped mini stops at Mines before lunch and on top of Hamilton. I spent lots of time at other rest stops it was out of necessity.
Off the bike dawdling cost me 20-30 minutes at CCD. I had good legs and often rode fairly close to the limit. Also, I could have shaved 3-5 minutes in the last 20 miles, I imagine, had I not ridden with the Latvian guy because I had to slow down for him, before finally riding away.
Tam was the perfect storm of good legs, great weather, minimizing off the bike time, and riding with a purpose. I have no idea how much time I spent off the bike because my computer died five miles into the ride. I think the difference between CCD and Tam times was due to the shorter distance and off the bike time.
If I decide to do the stage race in the future, I'd like to finish closer in time to the winner than 8:21, whatever my final place in the standings. I think that's a better measuring stick of fitness, though I'm still thrilled to have finished where I did this year.
Tentatively, next year, I'd like to do the Solvang Spring (promised an overweight friend to ride with him), DMD (want to break 16 hours or even ride a 15:30, if all goes well), Alpina (I've never done the Death Ride, so I might as well do the Mother of the Death Ride), and Borrego Springs (description is very scenic and I have family in the Palm Springs area, so I may be able to combine the ride with a family visit). Perhaps a faster time at Terrible Two as well.
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My stage times were
DMD: 16:42
CCD: 14:47
Tam: 13:12
3:30 difference between DMD and Tam -- pretty shocking. Almost as shocking as the 1:55 faster time at CCD than DMD on a course that was 12 miles longer. I give much credit for that to the sock-full-of-ice neck tie.
At DMD, that was the best I could do that day. I was undertrained and overheated and overextended myself trying to ride with Hornig, Forsman, Hebenstreit (all of whom rode 14:04 or faster), and god knows who else was in that paceline through Livermore to the 580 overcrossing. I skipped mini stops at Mines before lunch and on top of Hamilton. I spent lots of time at other rest stops it was out of necessity.
Off the bike dawdling cost me 20-30 minutes at CCD. I had good legs and often rode fairly close to the limit. Also, I could have shaved 3-5 minutes in the last 20 miles, I imagine, had I not ridden with the Latvian guy because I had to slow down for him, before finally riding away.
Tam was the perfect storm of good legs, great weather, minimizing off the bike time, and riding with a purpose. I have no idea how much time I spent off the bike because my computer died five miles into the ride. I think the difference between CCD and Tam times was due to the shorter distance and off the bike time.
If I decide to do the stage race in the future, I'd like to finish closer in time to the winner than 8:21, whatever my final place in the standings. I think that's a better measuring stick of fitness, though I'm still thrilled to have finished where I did this year.
Tentatively, next year, I'd like to do the Solvang Spring (promised an overweight friend to ride with him), DMD (want to break 16 hours or even ride a 15:30, if all goes well), Alpina (I've never done the Death Ride, so I might as well do the Mother of the Death Ride), and Borrego Springs (description is very scenic and I have family in the Palm Springs area, so I may be able to combine the ride with a family visit). Perhaps a faster time at Terrible Two as well.
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Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Tour de Manure (Mt. Tam Double)*
*Mt. Tam Double passes through northern and western Marin County's cow country. Even when you don't see cows, you smell them.
Stragedy
Strategy for this ride was to start in the front and go with the faster groups, draft as much as possible to conserve energy, and to be very efficient off the bike, wasting as little time as possible. Not the fastest group, mind you, but the second group, which usually contains very fit and experienced riders with whom I'd like to be able to ride. As for efficiency, when I thought about many of my rides this year and last, it occurred to me how long I spent at rest stops and lunch stops -- too long. I lounged and lingered and had sore legs when I'd gotten back on the bike -- sorer than when I had gotten off. Also, I decided that with all the gastrointestinal distress I suffered after lunch stops I would not eat lunch but would rely almost entirely on gel and electrolyte replacement products. This would also shorten my lunch stop. In 26th place, I trailed several riders in the Triple Crown Stage Race standings by such narrow margins that I could attribute my time deficits to excess time spent off the bike. I wanted to try to overcome these deficits by cutting my rest stop time to a minimum. Since I was unfamiliar with the course and how long it would take I thought I'd finish in daylight and hoped to be done by 8:00 p.m. That was the plan, anyway.
What Else Can Go Wrong in This Darkness?
Having arrived at Vallecitos Elementary in Greenbrae, I half-fill my bottles with Gatorade, intending to top them off with water after checking in at registration table, put a $10 bill in my cell phone holder, and ride to check in and pick up my number. I run into Jeff Gould, my frequent double century companion; Jim Karanas, my former spin class instructor; Jeff Pierce and Bryan Kilgore with whom I dined and rode the Central Coast Double; and several other Triple Crown regulars. I pin my number and at 4:55 a.m. insinuate myself into the second row of 296 cyclists at the starting line. At 5:00 we are off.
For the first mile or two we ride through residential neighborhoods that have street lights, but then we turn onto Lucas Valley Road where we are left to the mercies of bicycle lights of the guys in front of us. Fortunately, all carry adequate lights and this very crowded portion of the ride sees no crashes or mishaps. After four miles of flat we hit the first climb, which the eager and the strong hit hard. I hold back, not considering myself strong and trying not to be eager, but still crest in the front 30. (Here, my computer conks out.) It seems I am with the second group. It's easy to stay together on the downhill, as no one rides crazy or stupid descending in the dark. I reach for a bottle and it isn't there... The other one is half-full. OK, this means I half-filled both bottles, put one on the bike and left the other in the car. I have half a bottle until the first rest stop at mile 30-something. Not good. I'll have to stop to refill, assuming I can find a place to do that, or buy a bottle at a 7-Eleven when we get to Fairfax. Intending to go water shopping I fish around my jersey pockets for my phone. No phone. No phone means no money. Here I am 6 miles into the ride with half a bottle for the next 26 miles, no phone, no money, and no computer. This is a hell of a way to improve my standing in the Stage Race...
When we hit the flats, the pace picks up. I have to work harder to stay with the guys I am with and must decide whether to work hard so I can ride with a fast group or ease up, conserve strength, and ride slower. For the time being, I have enough adrenaline to overcome my superego and ride with fast guys. There is a guy wearing a Cal jersey, and I try to stay close to him because he seems pretty strong and conspicuous in the foggy darkness on the rollers between Nicasio and Fairfax. The group is going hard enough that I let them go as well. I am feeling my legs, not in a good way and, after all the things that have gone wrong already, contemplate the possibility that I may not finish this ride. Sucks.
Well, if I am not going to finish there is no reason to hold back, so I speed up to a group ahead of me that's climbing the hill between San Geronimo golf course and Fairfax. I reconnect with them and plunge toward Fairfax in pursuit of three guys ahead. I get as low as I can and spin out my 50x11 to catch Jeff Gould, of all people. We ride through Fairfax together and I bemoan my fate or is it lack of preparation/attention to detail. Leaving Fairfax I let him go on the climb toward Alpine Dam because I don't know the climb and something inside me holds me back. I pass a few guys, others pass me. I catch up with Mark from Oakland with whom I rode Solvang Fall last year, where he was a whole lot stronger than I. We climb together and I notice that although my legs are definitely feeling the climb I have to back off a bit to allow Mark to ride with me -- the first positive sign after the "what else can go wrong" series of mental moans.
Eventually, I ride away from Mark and take all sorts of risks on the descent to latch onto the back of a 6-man group just before they get to the dam. That turns into a huge waste of nervous energy, as there is no flat to speak of, and the road turns uphill as soon as we cross the dam and there is no draft benefit from climbing at 7 miles an hour. Up again. Most of the guys I'd caught ride away from me. As I climb I wonder where those guys are in Stage Race standings and where I'll end up. It seems 40 or more people are ahead of me. I pass a few riders who are going quite slowly, but I conclude that they must have started before the 5:00 a.m. mass start. Half-way up the climb Todd Law with whom I also rode at '08 Solvang Fall and who sits 4-5 places ahead of me, catches up and rides away after a brief and friendly chat. My thoughts turn to maintaining my position rather than improving it. The season's goal was finishing in the top half. That seemed safe, but with so many people going by me, who knows?
Aquarius Smiles
On top of this hill is a woman directing traffic down toward Bolinas, no matter how much we want to ride the ridge and climb the Seven Sisters toward the peak of Mt. Tam. With budget-related closure of Mt. Tam State Park our route does not include that scenic option. I ask her whether she has water -- she does! I fill my bottle and pressing my luck ask whether she has a spare bottle -- she does! and she willingly parts with it. It's a regular Calistoga bottle but it fits into my bottle cage, and it has a "sport top," so I can drink without having to unscrew the top. Things are looking up, though as I pour and spill and drink, another 20 or so riders go by.
Happy, I descend 2-3 miles toward Bolinas and the first rest stop. Mark, Bryan, and Jason are there. Altogether 20-25 people are milling around. If I can leave quickly I can execute a mass pass. I leave quickly, but I have to go to the bathroom. Porta-potties are 100 feet down the road. There are three of them and four cyclists are waiting in line to use them. I get off the bike, tell them: "Sorry guys, I'm cutting in line," and go in the bushes.
Jump back on, riding alone, southbound on Highway 1 toward Stinson Beach. A group of two or three is half a mile ahead and no one immediately behind, so I decide not to chase but to ride tempo and wait for company. Soon enough a rider (Ken in white and blue) catches me, then a group of four more and we motor together through Stinson to the climb up Panoramic Drive.
I have no delusions about my cycling prowess. I don't fancy myself a kick-ass climber. I can climb my way out of a paper bag, but I'm no match for the really fast and light guys. But these three, who are not light and who didn't seem really fast on the flat, now are just spinning their legs like dervishes up the 8-9% sections of Panoramic, showing no signs of distress and pulling away. I try spinning with them, but fall behind, so I shift up and climb in a bigger gear -- catching back up to them fairly quickly. Big gears feel better, but the legs are feeling somewhat heavy and there are another two miles of Panoramic to climb and 155 miles to the finish. At least it's cool and foggy and the day promises to be un-Marin Century like, which often sees temperatures in the mid-90s. Toward the top of the climb we catch up with Sean Smith, with whom I rode at Central Coast. Sean had been off the bike for two months and is taking it easy. We descend as a group, go up and down rollers together, then descend again through Muir Woods and find ourselves back on Highway 1, going north and climbing again. On the uphill the group breaks up. I catch up to Todd, much to my surprise. He says he is not having a great day. We climb together, pushing each other to ride a bit faster than we would alone, and hightail it toward the rest stop at the bottom of the descent.
Coastal Cruising
Hmmm, Todd is not feeling great. If I get out of this rest stop quickly there's a slight chance of passing him in the Stage Race. Bill Schulz from '09 Solvang Spring (7th in the standings -- see Solvang story) is pulling into the rest stop at the same time. I yell at him to wait for me while I fill bottles and gel containers, but he is gone by the time I get going even though I leave the rest stop as fast as I can. Riding alone again. Rollers again. But now I am passing people. Having learned how mental long distance cycling is, I make sure to take pleasure in each pass and with a happier brain have fresher legs. Completing the Mt. Tam-Muir Woods loop I descend toward Stinson from the south. I see a pair of riders about a quarter mile ahead. Four to five miles of flat roads before rollers would resume, so I decide to chase. Put my head down, shift up, and get into my nonexistent aero bars (forearms on the bar for as long as you can take it, then on the drops; repeat until you lose motivation). It feels like it is taking forever to make up a measly quarter mile, but I make steady progress and catch up with them half a mile south of Bolinas. It's Ken in white and blue and his friend Mike with whom I'd ridden through Stinson southbound and climbed Panoramic. How did they get so far ahead of me? skipped the rest stop? We skip the Bolinas rest stop, which serves as rest stop No. 3 as well as No. 1. Working together we sweep up a few riders and catch Bill. That's a pleasant surprise. But Bill keeps standing up on rollers in a huge gear and just powering away. Fortunately, he's a cautious descender and we catch up on descents. Finally, he decides to ride steadily and we ride together. I mention to him I want to finish by 8:00, he scoffs and says, “7:00, easy.”
Cow Country, Ho!
We ride through Dogtown ((wtf is Dogtown?) Zip Code 94924, population 50-something) to Pt. Reyes, then turn inland toward Novato Cheese Factory (you know you're in cow country now). By now there is a good dozen of us and I manage to hide in the paceline for the next 10 miles into the next rest stop. We join the 100k and 100 mile routes and suddenly there are cyclists everywhere, causing traffic jams and antagonizing drivers. A half mile up, then down to the Cheese Factory, a left turn just beyond it to the rest stop. Quick bottle refill and sunscreen application and Bill and I are off. Now we have to look at rider numbers to figure out who is doing the double century (yellow numbers) and who is on the other rides (white numbers). We catch up with a Latin man of undetermined age (our age it turned out) and his androgynous 21-year old son, whom we took for 16-17. Those two are really strong climbers and ride away, but we would see them on the road all day. On the Marshall Wall, Bill's friend Pat catches up to us and he and Bill pull away on the climb. Crap, I don't want to ride alone, so I grit my teeth and catch up on the false flat of the Wall. We return to Highway 1, where it's chilly and wet in spots from Eucalyptus dew drops.
More rollers to Dillon Beach, then turn west toward Dillon Beach, then north toward Valley Ford and the lunch rest stop. I don't like this stretch of road. Prevailing headwinds and never-ending rollers. Bill drops back and Pat and I ride ahead. Pat says that there's quite a bit less climbing in the second half of the ride -- welcome news. We pass some of the guys who had dropped me on the Bolinas-Fairfax climb -- again, good for the brain. Holy cow, it's only 12:20! Normally, I hit lunch around 1:15. Cutting rest stop time strategy seems to be working.
Valley Ford lunch stop is teeming with cyclists: double century riders, double metric century riders, century riders. There are easily over 100 people here. Bill rolls in. We run around the lunch stop filling bottles and grabbing handfuls of Endurolytes, peanuts (ahhhh, protein), and potato chips. In and out of the bathroom and we're on the road again, north on Highway 1 again. I set a PR by spending under 10 minutes at the lunch stop.
Coleman Loop
This is not a happy stretch of the road. Rollers into a headwind. Climbs too long, descents too short. I do not hammer on the downhills, just tuck as low as possible to coast as long as I can before tackling the next hill. Sun comes out too and it's getting warmer. I'd made a strategic decision to ride in a long-sleeve jersey and regret it now. We plod on.
Route sheet says right on Bay Hill Road. It goes inland from Highway 1 and bypasses Bodega Bay before turning toward the coast again. Inland and uphill. A long and unexpectedly steep hill. Legs not working so great. Bill stops for a nature break, but encourages me to keep going. I keep going and look back periodically, but don't see him. I see Ken fifty yards ahead but he's riding strongly and pulling away. How the hell does he keep getting ahead of me when I don't see him passing? Does he not stop at rest stops at all? Finally, Bay Hill turns downhill and plunges back to 1. I go north on 1 again. Three flat miles, then what we came here for -- Coleman Valley, the climb from the coast to the plateau above Occidental. I've only descended it and it's a freaking scary descent: very steep with tight turns. Through the morning different people referred to the climb as being from two to four miles long with steep sections over 10% over two miles with half a mile over 12% and ramps of 15-18%. I decide to trust the guys who gave shorter estimates. OK, the steep parts are steep, but manageable and short. There is maybe a quarter mile of steep stuff and even that is not as steep as the top of Mt. Diablo. So, a pleasant surprise.
The route sheet says the rest stop is at the top of the first climb of Coleman. I'm pretty sure we're at the top, but no rest stop. No one else on the road knows where it is either. I could use some water, but Coleman seemed to have woken the legs and I'm big-ringing it over shorter rollers and feeling rather chipper. Tailwind helps too. Finally, pull into the rest stop, take off my undershirt and experiment with Gatorade/Red Bull/water mixture in my bottle. Bill arrives. We linger a wee bit too long, but still leave fairly quickly.
Joy Road, the next turn that takes us south, arrives sooner than I expect because I have it confused with Occidental Highway, which is a good thing. Joy is full of rollers over which I manage to stand and power, and, while Bill drops back, I keep plowing on. A plunge toward Petaluma-Bodega Road and a left turn into a howling tailwind. A good place to rest after overtaxing myself a bit on Joy. Several sips from Red Bull-fortified bottle prove that Red Bull is a lousy sports drink additive and I dump out the bottle's entire contents. This leaves me with just half a bottle of water, but the Valley Ford rest stop is only five miles away, so hydration shouldn't be an issue. Two miles here, then a right onto Freestone-Valley Ford Road for a three-mile slog into a headwind, during which I work harder than I should, and I am back to Valley Ford. Just before I reach the rest stop at 2:45 p.m., I see a volunteer explaining to a group of riders just setting out for Coleman Valley loop that they should expect minimal support and may be pulled off the course if they take too long. Not a problem for me.
Rest Stops? We Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Rest Stops!
Valley Ford rest stop is a ghost town. Little food remains. Volunteers outnumber cyclists by 10-5. Bill arrives. We reprise our lunch stop frenzy and leave in less than five minutes for Middle Road, which I hate. Headwind into flats, then steep rollers. Not sure if I have better legs than in 2006, the last time I rode here, but I manage to get over the rollers in decent shape, come to a T intersection and turn east -- tailwind again. I ride at medium pace, waiting for Bill. He pulls up and we catch up with Ken (again!). We ride together, but Bill keeps dropping back on uphills. Ken and I are riding fairly mellow for Bill's sake, and he rejoins us over and over. Finally, I tell them I am going to keep riding and go ahead. Ken stays with Bill. I ride medium hard, there's still good 45 miles to go, so I need to keep something in reserve. It's mostly flat and cool, though as I go farther east I am getting sunshine and it's warming up. I use century and double-metric riders as rabbits; it's so nice to have targets to chase and passing them provides a psychological boost. I am riding in low to mid-20s and feeling OK. The legs are feeling it, but it seems I can keep going at this pace into Petaluma rest stop at mile 171.
On the outskirts of Petaluma I pass a couple just out for a weekend ride and the man asks if there is an event. I explain that there is a whole bunch of rides going on simultaneously. He asks which I am doing. I say, "200 miles." "In one day?" he says. "Yep." His jaw drops, I wish him a good ride and go on. As I approach the rest stop, I realize that I have over a bottle of fluids and a nearly full flask of gel and, with no urgent need to use the bathroom, decide to skip this rest stop. I shout out my number to the volunteer with a clip board as I pass the check point and keep going.
Oh joy, more rollers and headwinds on the way out of Petaluma. OK, now I am feeling this ride and wonder whether a few pieces of watermelon would have done me good. I chase away those thoughts, but they return when I turn onto Pt. Reyes-Petaluma Rd and its 1-2% grade and headwinds and Red Hill climb that lies two miles ahead. I feel like I'm close to running on fumes. Plod, plod, plod, pass a couple of century stragglers, and start climbing Red Hill. Steep but not too steep, not too hot, and not too much traffic. At the foot of the climb a guy with an orange jersey and a yellow number just blows past me, standing in a cog about 3-4 gears bigger than mine. "You, da man," I think, "there's one guy I won't finish ahead of."
Red Hill is a fairly wide and straight climb, so you can see the people ahead of you. Orange jersey has good 150 yards on me when he crests, and at my speed that's over a minute. I limp to the top and tuck low, low on the way down. By the time I reach the bottom, orange jersey is an insect on the horizon. I pass a few century riders and my mood improves. Hit the bottom of the shortish Cheese Factory climb and see orange jersey cresting. It seems I made up some distance. Go into chase mode. Crest and swoop down. Left at Nicasio Valley Rd. and I am greeted by a raging tailwind.
If there's one thing I can do it's ride with a tailwind. Legs feel better, the mood improves, the bike goes faster. Everything is better with a tailwind. Marking time past landmarks, I'm 35 seconds behind orange jersey. On the outskirts of Nicasio it's 13 seconds and then, a gift -- he turns into the rest stop at Nicasio Valley School. "Sssseee ya!" I exclaim silently, and jam past the school entrance. More and more century and double-metric rabbits to pass and it's all good, high energy riding from here on out. Lucas Valley climb is in the easier, southeastern, direction with a tailwind on the long flat section that follows the ensuing descent. I hammer, absolutely flying past white-numbered riders and into San Rafael.
You Finished When?
I get held up at a traffic light just a quarter mile from the finish, but ride to the finish alone and check in at......... 6:12!
Jeff Gould is there, having demolished the course and finished 40 minutes earlier. Pat finished 20 minutes before me. Latin father/son duo arrives just after me. It turns out the kid had stomach problems all day and they had two flats on Coleman. Orange jersey arrives 10 minutes later, with Bill five minutes behind him. Then Ken. Others are trickling in one by one. Only double century riders are checking in. After 30 minutes of standing around I ride to the car and, as I put the bike on the roof, whom do I see arriving -- the guy who was 25th in stage race standing, 18 minutes ahead of me and whom I really wanted to pass in the standings. I check my watch -- I arrived 36 minutes ago. Big smile.
I get in the car and drive home, drinking half a bottle of undiluted, warm Gatorade.
Epilogue
Ride results were posted three days later. I was flabbergasted to learn that of the 296 people who started the ride I finished in 18th place (there were 254 finishers). Armed with T de M results, I feverishly calculated my stage race standing. It seems 10 people who were ahead of me didn't start or didn't finish the third stage and I passed three others on the strength of my ride. This vaulted me into the tie for 13th place. Sixty-eight riders finished the stage race. I met my goal of finishing the stage race in the top half. Jeff finished in an amazing 5th place.
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Stragedy
Strategy for this ride was to start in the front and go with the faster groups, draft as much as possible to conserve energy, and to be very efficient off the bike, wasting as little time as possible. Not the fastest group, mind you, but the second group, which usually contains very fit and experienced riders with whom I'd like to be able to ride. As for efficiency, when I thought about many of my rides this year and last, it occurred to me how long I spent at rest stops and lunch stops -- too long. I lounged and lingered and had sore legs when I'd gotten back on the bike -- sorer than when I had gotten off. Also, I decided that with all the gastrointestinal distress I suffered after lunch stops I would not eat lunch but would rely almost entirely on gel and electrolyte replacement products. This would also shorten my lunch stop. In 26th place, I trailed several riders in the Triple Crown Stage Race standings by such narrow margins that I could attribute my time deficits to excess time spent off the bike. I wanted to try to overcome these deficits by cutting my rest stop time to a minimum. Since I was unfamiliar with the course and how long it would take I thought I'd finish in daylight and hoped to be done by 8:00 p.m. That was the plan, anyway.
What Else Can Go Wrong in This Darkness?
Having arrived at Vallecitos Elementary in Greenbrae, I half-fill my bottles with Gatorade, intending to top them off with water after checking in at registration table, put a $10 bill in my cell phone holder, and ride to check in and pick up my number. I run into Jeff Gould, my frequent double century companion; Jim Karanas, my former spin class instructor; Jeff Pierce and Bryan Kilgore with whom I dined and rode the Central Coast Double; and several other Triple Crown regulars. I pin my number and at 4:55 a.m. insinuate myself into the second row of 296 cyclists at the starting line. At 5:00 we are off.
For the first mile or two we ride through residential neighborhoods that have street lights, but then we turn onto Lucas Valley Road where we are left to the mercies of bicycle lights of the guys in front of us. Fortunately, all carry adequate lights and this very crowded portion of the ride sees no crashes or mishaps. After four miles of flat we hit the first climb, which the eager and the strong hit hard. I hold back, not considering myself strong and trying not to be eager, but still crest in the front 30. (Here, my computer conks out.) It seems I am with the second group. It's easy to stay together on the downhill, as no one rides crazy or stupid descending in the dark. I reach for a bottle and it isn't there... The other one is half-full. OK, this means I half-filled both bottles, put one on the bike and left the other in the car. I have half a bottle until the first rest stop at mile 30-something. Not good. I'll have to stop to refill, assuming I can find a place to do that, or buy a bottle at a 7-Eleven when we get to Fairfax. Intending to go water shopping I fish around my jersey pockets for my phone. No phone. No phone means no money. Here I am 6 miles into the ride with half a bottle for the next 26 miles, no phone, no money, and no computer. This is a hell of a way to improve my standing in the Stage Race...
When we hit the flats, the pace picks up. I have to work harder to stay with the guys I am with and must decide whether to work hard so I can ride with a fast group or ease up, conserve strength, and ride slower. For the time being, I have enough adrenaline to overcome my superego and ride with fast guys. There is a guy wearing a Cal jersey, and I try to stay close to him because he seems pretty strong and conspicuous in the foggy darkness on the rollers between Nicasio and Fairfax. The group is going hard enough that I let them go as well. I am feeling my legs, not in a good way and, after all the things that have gone wrong already, contemplate the possibility that I may not finish this ride. Sucks.
Well, if I am not going to finish there is no reason to hold back, so I speed up to a group ahead of me that's climbing the hill between San Geronimo golf course and Fairfax. I reconnect with them and plunge toward Fairfax in pursuit of three guys ahead. I get as low as I can and spin out my 50x11 to catch Jeff Gould, of all people. We ride through Fairfax together and I bemoan my fate or is it lack of preparation/attention to detail. Leaving Fairfax I let him go on the climb toward Alpine Dam because I don't know the climb and something inside me holds me back. I pass a few guys, others pass me. I catch up with Mark from Oakland with whom I rode Solvang Fall last year, where he was a whole lot stronger than I. We climb together and I notice that although my legs are definitely feeling the climb I have to back off a bit to allow Mark to ride with me -- the first positive sign after the "what else can go wrong" series of mental moans.
Eventually, I ride away from Mark and take all sorts of risks on the descent to latch onto the back of a 6-man group just before they get to the dam. That turns into a huge waste of nervous energy, as there is no flat to speak of, and the road turns uphill as soon as we cross the dam and there is no draft benefit from climbing at 7 miles an hour. Up again. Most of the guys I'd caught ride away from me. As I climb I wonder where those guys are in Stage Race standings and where I'll end up. It seems 40 or more people are ahead of me. I pass a few riders who are going quite slowly, but I conclude that they must have started before the 5:00 a.m. mass start. Half-way up the climb Todd Law with whom I also rode at '08 Solvang Fall and who sits 4-5 places ahead of me, catches up and rides away after a brief and friendly chat. My thoughts turn to maintaining my position rather than improving it. The season's goal was finishing in the top half. That seemed safe, but with so many people going by me, who knows?
Aquarius Smiles
On top of this hill is a woman directing traffic down toward Bolinas, no matter how much we want to ride the ridge and climb the Seven Sisters toward the peak of Mt. Tam. With budget-related closure of Mt. Tam State Park our route does not include that scenic option. I ask her whether she has water -- she does! I fill my bottle and pressing my luck ask whether she has a spare bottle -- she does! and she willingly parts with it. It's a regular Calistoga bottle but it fits into my bottle cage, and it has a "sport top," so I can drink without having to unscrew the top. Things are looking up, though as I pour and spill and drink, another 20 or so riders go by.
Happy, I descend 2-3 miles toward Bolinas and the first rest stop. Mark, Bryan, and Jason are there. Altogether 20-25 people are milling around. If I can leave quickly I can execute a mass pass. I leave quickly, but I have to go to the bathroom. Porta-potties are 100 feet down the road. There are three of them and four cyclists are waiting in line to use them. I get off the bike, tell them: "Sorry guys, I'm cutting in line," and go in the bushes.
Jump back on, riding alone, southbound on Highway 1 toward Stinson Beach. A group of two or three is half a mile ahead and no one immediately behind, so I decide not to chase but to ride tempo and wait for company. Soon enough a rider (Ken in white and blue) catches me, then a group of four more and we motor together through Stinson to the climb up Panoramic Drive.
I have no delusions about my cycling prowess. I don't fancy myself a kick-ass climber. I can climb my way out of a paper bag, but I'm no match for the really fast and light guys. But these three, who are not light and who didn't seem really fast on the flat, now are just spinning their legs like dervishes up the 8-9% sections of Panoramic, showing no signs of distress and pulling away. I try spinning with them, but fall behind, so I shift up and climb in a bigger gear -- catching back up to them fairly quickly. Big gears feel better, but the legs are feeling somewhat heavy and there are another two miles of Panoramic to climb and 155 miles to the finish. At least it's cool and foggy and the day promises to be un-Marin Century like, which often sees temperatures in the mid-90s. Toward the top of the climb we catch up with Sean Smith, with whom I rode at Central Coast. Sean had been off the bike for two months and is taking it easy. We descend as a group, go up and down rollers together, then descend again through Muir Woods and find ourselves back on Highway 1, going north and climbing again. On the uphill the group breaks up. I catch up to Todd, much to my surprise. He says he is not having a great day. We climb together, pushing each other to ride a bit faster than we would alone, and hightail it toward the rest stop at the bottom of the descent.
Coastal Cruising
Hmmm, Todd is not feeling great. If I get out of this rest stop quickly there's a slight chance of passing him in the Stage Race. Bill Schulz from '09 Solvang Spring (7th in the standings -- see Solvang story) is pulling into the rest stop at the same time. I yell at him to wait for me while I fill bottles and gel containers, but he is gone by the time I get going even though I leave the rest stop as fast as I can. Riding alone again. Rollers again. But now I am passing people. Having learned how mental long distance cycling is, I make sure to take pleasure in each pass and with a happier brain have fresher legs. Completing the Mt. Tam-Muir Woods loop I descend toward Stinson from the south. I see a pair of riders about a quarter mile ahead. Four to five miles of flat roads before rollers would resume, so I decide to chase. Put my head down, shift up, and get into my nonexistent aero bars (forearms on the bar for as long as you can take it, then on the drops; repeat until you lose motivation). It feels like it is taking forever to make up a measly quarter mile, but I make steady progress and catch up with them half a mile south of Bolinas. It's Ken in white and blue and his friend Mike with whom I'd ridden through Stinson southbound and climbed Panoramic. How did they get so far ahead of me? skipped the rest stop? We skip the Bolinas rest stop, which serves as rest stop No. 3 as well as No. 1. Working together we sweep up a few riders and catch Bill. That's a pleasant surprise. But Bill keeps standing up on rollers in a huge gear and just powering away. Fortunately, he's a cautious descender and we catch up on descents. Finally, he decides to ride steadily and we ride together. I mention to him I want to finish by 8:00, he scoffs and says, “7:00, easy.”
Cow Country, Ho!
We ride through Dogtown ((wtf is Dogtown?) Zip Code 94924, population 50-something) to Pt. Reyes, then turn inland toward Novato Cheese Factory (you know you're in cow country now). By now there is a good dozen of us and I manage to hide in the paceline for the next 10 miles into the next rest stop. We join the 100k and 100 mile routes and suddenly there are cyclists everywhere, causing traffic jams and antagonizing drivers. A half mile up, then down to the Cheese Factory, a left turn just beyond it to the rest stop. Quick bottle refill and sunscreen application and Bill and I are off. Now we have to look at rider numbers to figure out who is doing the double century (yellow numbers) and who is on the other rides (white numbers). We catch up with a Latin man of undetermined age (our age it turned out) and his androgynous 21-year old son, whom we took for 16-17. Those two are really strong climbers and ride away, but we would see them on the road all day. On the Marshall Wall, Bill's friend Pat catches up to us and he and Bill pull away on the climb. Crap, I don't want to ride alone, so I grit my teeth and catch up on the false flat of the Wall. We return to Highway 1, where it's chilly and wet in spots from Eucalyptus dew drops.
More rollers to Dillon Beach, then turn west toward Dillon Beach, then north toward Valley Ford and the lunch rest stop. I don't like this stretch of road. Prevailing headwinds and never-ending rollers. Bill drops back and Pat and I ride ahead. Pat says that there's quite a bit less climbing in the second half of the ride -- welcome news. We pass some of the guys who had dropped me on the Bolinas-Fairfax climb -- again, good for the brain. Holy cow, it's only 12:20! Normally, I hit lunch around 1:15. Cutting rest stop time strategy seems to be working.
Valley Ford lunch stop is teeming with cyclists: double century riders, double metric century riders, century riders. There are easily over 100 people here. Bill rolls in. We run around the lunch stop filling bottles and grabbing handfuls of Endurolytes, peanuts (ahhhh, protein), and potato chips. In and out of the bathroom and we're on the road again, north on Highway 1 again. I set a PR by spending under 10 minutes at the lunch stop.
Coleman Loop
This is not a happy stretch of the road. Rollers into a headwind. Climbs too long, descents too short. I do not hammer on the downhills, just tuck as low as possible to coast as long as I can before tackling the next hill. Sun comes out too and it's getting warmer. I'd made a strategic decision to ride in a long-sleeve jersey and regret it now. We plod on.
Route sheet says right on Bay Hill Road. It goes inland from Highway 1 and bypasses Bodega Bay before turning toward the coast again. Inland and uphill. A long and unexpectedly steep hill. Legs not working so great. Bill stops for a nature break, but encourages me to keep going. I keep going and look back periodically, but don't see him. I see Ken fifty yards ahead but he's riding strongly and pulling away. How the hell does he keep getting ahead of me when I don't see him passing? Does he not stop at rest stops at all? Finally, Bay Hill turns downhill and plunges back to 1. I go north on 1 again. Three flat miles, then what we came here for -- Coleman Valley, the climb from the coast to the plateau above Occidental. I've only descended it and it's a freaking scary descent: very steep with tight turns. Through the morning different people referred to the climb as being from two to four miles long with steep sections over 10% over two miles with half a mile over 12% and ramps of 15-18%. I decide to trust the guys who gave shorter estimates. OK, the steep parts are steep, but manageable and short. There is maybe a quarter mile of steep stuff and even that is not as steep as the top of Mt. Diablo. So, a pleasant surprise.
The route sheet says the rest stop is at the top of the first climb of Coleman. I'm pretty sure we're at the top, but no rest stop. No one else on the road knows where it is either. I could use some water, but Coleman seemed to have woken the legs and I'm big-ringing it over shorter rollers and feeling rather chipper. Tailwind helps too. Finally, pull into the rest stop, take off my undershirt and experiment with Gatorade/Red Bull/water mixture in my bottle. Bill arrives. We linger a wee bit too long, but still leave fairly quickly.
Joy Road, the next turn that takes us south, arrives sooner than I expect because I have it confused with Occidental Highway, which is a good thing. Joy is full of rollers over which I manage to stand and power, and, while Bill drops back, I keep plowing on. A plunge toward Petaluma-Bodega Road and a left turn into a howling tailwind. A good place to rest after overtaxing myself a bit on Joy. Several sips from Red Bull-fortified bottle prove that Red Bull is a lousy sports drink additive and I dump out the bottle's entire contents. This leaves me with just half a bottle of water, but the Valley Ford rest stop is only five miles away, so hydration shouldn't be an issue. Two miles here, then a right onto Freestone-Valley Ford Road for a three-mile slog into a headwind, during which I work harder than I should, and I am back to Valley Ford. Just before I reach the rest stop at 2:45 p.m., I see a volunteer explaining to a group of riders just setting out for Coleman Valley loop that they should expect minimal support and may be pulled off the course if they take too long. Not a problem for me.
Rest Stops? We Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Rest Stops!
Valley Ford rest stop is a ghost town. Little food remains. Volunteers outnumber cyclists by 10-5. Bill arrives. We reprise our lunch stop frenzy and leave in less than five minutes for Middle Road, which I hate. Headwind into flats, then steep rollers. Not sure if I have better legs than in 2006, the last time I rode here, but I manage to get over the rollers in decent shape, come to a T intersection and turn east -- tailwind again. I ride at medium pace, waiting for Bill. He pulls up and we catch up with Ken (again!). We ride together, but Bill keeps dropping back on uphills. Ken and I are riding fairly mellow for Bill's sake, and he rejoins us over and over. Finally, I tell them I am going to keep riding and go ahead. Ken stays with Bill. I ride medium hard, there's still good 45 miles to go, so I need to keep something in reserve. It's mostly flat and cool, though as I go farther east I am getting sunshine and it's warming up. I use century and double-metric riders as rabbits; it's so nice to have targets to chase and passing them provides a psychological boost. I am riding in low to mid-20s and feeling OK. The legs are feeling it, but it seems I can keep going at this pace into Petaluma rest stop at mile 171.
On the outskirts of Petaluma I pass a couple just out for a weekend ride and the man asks if there is an event. I explain that there is a whole bunch of rides going on simultaneously. He asks which I am doing. I say, "200 miles." "In one day?" he says. "Yep." His jaw drops, I wish him a good ride and go on. As I approach the rest stop, I realize that I have over a bottle of fluids and a nearly full flask of gel and, with no urgent need to use the bathroom, decide to skip this rest stop. I shout out my number to the volunteer with a clip board as I pass the check point and keep going.
Oh joy, more rollers and headwinds on the way out of Petaluma. OK, now I am feeling this ride and wonder whether a few pieces of watermelon would have done me good. I chase away those thoughts, but they return when I turn onto Pt. Reyes-Petaluma Rd and its 1-2% grade and headwinds and Red Hill climb that lies two miles ahead. I feel like I'm close to running on fumes. Plod, plod, plod, pass a couple of century stragglers, and start climbing Red Hill. Steep but not too steep, not too hot, and not too much traffic. At the foot of the climb a guy with an orange jersey and a yellow number just blows past me, standing in a cog about 3-4 gears bigger than mine. "You, da man," I think, "there's one guy I won't finish ahead of."
Red Hill is a fairly wide and straight climb, so you can see the people ahead of you. Orange jersey has good 150 yards on me when he crests, and at my speed that's over a minute. I limp to the top and tuck low, low on the way down. By the time I reach the bottom, orange jersey is an insect on the horizon. I pass a few century riders and my mood improves. Hit the bottom of the shortish Cheese Factory climb and see orange jersey cresting. It seems I made up some distance. Go into chase mode. Crest and swoop down. Left at Nicasio Valley Rd. and I am greeted by a raging tailwind.
If there's one thing I can do it's ride with a tailwind. Legs feel better, the mood improves, the bike goes faster. Everything is better with a tailwind. Marking time past landmarks, I'm 35 seconds behind orange jersey. On the outskirts of Nicasio it's 13 seconds and then, a gift -- he turns into the rest stop at Nicasio Valley School. "Sssseee ya!" I exclaim silently, and jam past the school entrance. More and more century and double-metric rabbits to pass and it's all good, high energy riding from here on out. Lucas Valley climb is in the easier, southeastern, direction with a tailwind on the long flat section that follows the ensuing descent. I hammer, absolutely flying past white-numbered riders and into San Rafael.
You Finished When?
I get held up at a traffic light just a quarter mile from the finish, but ride to the finish alone and check in at......... 6:12!
Jeff Gould is there, having demolished the course and finished 40 minutes earlier. Pat finished 20 minutes before me. Latin father/son duo arrives just after me. It turns out the kid had stomach problems all day and they had two flats on Coleman. Orange jersey arrives 10 minutes later, with Bill five minutes behind him. Then Ken. Others are trickling in one by one. Only double century riders are checking in. After 30 minutes of standing around I ride to the car and, as I put the bike on the roof, whom do I see arriving -- the guy who was 25th in stage race standing, 18 minutes ahead of me and whom I really wanted to pass in the standings. I check my watch -- I arrived 36 minutes ago. Big smile.
I get in the car and drive home, drinking half a bottle of undiluted, warm Gatorade.
Epilogue
Ride results were posted three days later. I was flabbergasted to learn that of the 296 people who started the ride I finished in 18th place (there were 254 finishers). Armed with T de M results, I feverishly calculated my stage race standing. It seems 10 people who were ahead of me didn't start or didn't finish the third stage and I passed three others on the strength of my ride. This vaulted me into the tie for 13th place. Sixty-eight riders finished the stage race. I met my goal of finishing the stage race in the top half. Jeff finished in an amazing 5th place.
.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Mt. Tam Double Tomorrow
Over the course of the past couple of weeks I've asked myself whether I am ready for Mt. Tam and the best answer I can give is I'm cautiosly optimistic. Cautiosly optimistic vs. confident vs. overconfident. After a year and a half of riding double centuries I am discovering that the line separating these levels of attitude is awfully thin.
In this period, I think I had my best legs at 2008 Eastern Sierra. I'd done lots of training and good rides at Solvang Spring and DMD served me well. After a good ride at DMD I felt confident and was looking forward to Eastern Sierra. I had another good ride there. It turned out that would be my downfall at 2008 Terrible Two. After three good rides I thought I was hot shit and knew everything there was to know about riding, nay, racing, double centuries. So, at Terrible Two, I went with a very fast group and rode way too hard for 75 miles. As a result, I overheated, under-ate and under-drank, and Terrible Two became Terrible 1.2 when I cramped in both legs simultaneously at a water stop at mile 120.
This year, I haven't had the time to train as much as I would like. Thus, I've ridden conservatively. My times at Solvang Spring and DMD were slower than last year, but then I had a very good ride at Central Coast. Riding very conservatively on a pleasantly cool day, I met my goal of finishing the Terrible Two, though I was waaaaay back on the finishing list, considerably behind a number of people who'd ridden slower at DMD and CCD. So, more food for thought.
When we went to a family camp in Santa Barbara in early July, I had a series of very good rides, doing several hilly and flat interval sessions and returned with legs that felt much better than the pair I'd brought to Santa Barbara. But the longest ride I'd done there was 50 miles. In fact, that was the longest ride I'd done since Terrible Two on June 21 and that is just not a good way to train for a double century. So, last Saturday, just a week before Mt. Tam I put in a 110-mile ride. The ride went well, and now I feel cautiously optimistic. I would be thrilled to have a ride as good as I had at CCD. Weather promises to be cool and mostly overcast. I just have to remember to ride smart, eat and drink lots, not hammer over Marin County's never-ending rollers, and think happy thoughts.
Decided that I'll be riding the black steel/carbon Rex. Keeping my fingers crossed and wishing myself luck.
.
In this period, I think I had my best legs at 2008 Eastern Sierra. I'd done lots of training and good rides at Solvang Spring and DMD served me well. After a good ride at DMD I felt confident and was looking forward to Eastern Sierra. I had another good ride there. It turned out that would be my downfall at 2008 Terrible Two. After three good rides I thought I was hot shit and knew everything there was to know about riding, nay, racing, double centuries. So, at Terrible Two, I went with a very fast group and rode way too hard for 75 miles. As a result, I overheated, under-ate and under-drank, and Terrible Two became Terrible 1.2 when I cramped in both legs simultaneously at a water stop at mile 120.
This year, I haven't had the time to train as much as I would like. Thus, I've ridden conservatively. My times at Solvang Spring and DMD were slower than last year, but then I had a very good ride at Central Coast. Riding very conservatively on a pleasantly cool day, I met my goal of finishing the Terrible Two, though I was waaaaay back on the finishing list, considerably behind a number of people who'd ridden slower at DMD and CCD. So, more food for thought.
When we went to a family camp in Santa Barbara in early July, I had a series of very good rides, doing several hilly and flat interval sessions and returned with legs that felt much better than the pair I'd brought to Santa Barbara. But the longest ride I'd done there was 50 miles. In fact, that was the longest ride I'd done since Terrible Two on June 21 and that is just not a good way to train for a double century. So, last Saturday, just a week before Mt. Tam I put in a 110-mile ride. The ride went well, and now I feel cautiously optimistic. I would be thrilled to have a ride as good as I had at CCD. Weather promises to be cool and mostly overcast. I just have to remember to ride smart, eat and drink lots, not hammer over Marin County's never-ending rollers, and think happy thoughts.
Decided that I'll be riding the black steel/carbon Rex. Keeping my fingers crossed and wishing myself luck.
.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Hard, But Not Too Terrible Two
With lengthy double-digit gradient climbs looming, I decided to go with ultraconservative super-wide range gearing of 34-46 in front and 11-32 in the back. It proved to be the right choice.
Pre-Ride
Alarm that is my daughter went off at 3:15 a.m., half an hour ahead of my clock. I decided to get up and take advantage of extra 30 minutes in the bathroom. A long day and a long ride fuelled by unnatural substances lay ahead, it was better not to tempt digestive fates. Everything was already packed -- clothes, food, shoes, bike -- all that remained was to eat breakfast and head off for Sebastopol for the start. I left at 4:15 and arrived a few minutes before 5:00.
Many riders were already at Analy High School in Sebastopol, pinning numbers, filling bottles, and catching up. I pinned my number, took a nervous pee, then met up and chatted with Jeff and Bill. Jeff had been working ungodly hours and was sick to boot. The half-hour before the 5:30 start flew by in, well, 30 minutes, but it seemed much faster. Time to go! A few words of caution and encouragement from ride organizers and we were off.
Analy High School to Calistoga
This year's start was very nervous. Much yelling about slowing, dodgy maneuvers, unnecessary braking and red light running (I participated in that last one). With all that we managed to get out of Santa Rosa without crashes and without dogs bringing down parts of the field (2008). As we left Santa Rosa and began the ride down Bennett Valley, my average speed registered 19.7mph -- it would decrease throughout the day. Descending Bennett Valley I spotted Brian who'd ridden out to ride a part of the course with me. He turned around and caught up with me as we rode through Glen Ellen on the rural roads he knows so well.
Trinity Grade was our first obstacle. I hardly remember climbing it last year. Then, I was toward the front of the field and it seemed to pass in a blur. This year's ride was all about finishing and effort and energy management, so I rode deliberately slower. In no time I found myself in my 34x32, as the climb was steeper and longer than I expected. I passed a few people who were breathing heavily -- that was a lot of effort expenditure so early in the ride. I was glad for my gears, which helped save my legs and lungs for future climbs. Descent of Trinity is notoriously treacherous. Every year TT riders crash there and this year was no different. Ride organizers posted a marshall at the particularly gnarly chicane to warn riders. As I passed him I asked whether anyone had crashed, he replied: "Just two." I made sure that I didn't make it three and made it to the bottom unscathed.
Gently rolling 5-10 miles followed and then we plunged Down Oakville Grade into Napa Valley. On this descent I registered my maximum speed of this double century -- 51.6 mph. (I achieved my minimum speed some 100 miles later on the climb of Rancheria Wall and again on Ft. Ross Road, but more on that later). At the bottom of Oakville Grade something resembling a 6-man paceline coalesced and we began to ride together on Oakville Cross Road toward Silverado Trail. I took a pull immediately before Silverado Trail, where we caught two more riders and soon after another pair. Suddenly there were 10 of us and Brian and I found ourselves about 6th and 7th in line. This was a strange paceline. First of all, paceline skills of its riders varied widely. We went from even and smooth pacing to sudden accelerations and sprints into slipstreams and panic-induced brake grabs accompanied by much cursing. As we rode on and picked up more and more riders the paceline swelled to about 20, but the odd thing was that nearly everyone we picked up slotted into the line ahead of Brian and me, as we found ourselves drifting farther and farther back. Moreover, after pulling riders drifted back, but as they came back they went back into the paceline ahead of us. Thus, as we proceeded north toward the rest stop in Calistoga it became plain that neither Brian nor I would end up pulling on this 17-mile stretch -- not for the lack of willingness or form but because of the weird paceline dynamics of this group. Which was not a bad thing with 150 hilly miles still to go.
Calistoga to Geysers to Lake Sonoma
We arrived in Calistoga around 8:45, having ridden 55 miles at 17.2 mph. Brian rode home, I refilled my bottles and ate a bit and set off. I began riding and talking with Mark from South Oregon, who was riding his first double -- a hell of a ride to cut one's teeth! Soon we caught up with Brian from San Rafael. I told Brian 2 that there were three of us and since we were riding a 200-mile time trial we might as well make it a team time trial and he readily joined us. We swept up another rider who began working with us, then two more, and yet another pair and just like that, a for the most part decently working 8-man paceline was making its way at a good clip to the Geysers climb.
[I just don't understand some riders. They hit the front of a paceline, accelerate, ride too hard, pull too long, and come to the back completely blown, sometimes unable to hang on to the back of the paceline. What good is that?]
Anyway, we came to the foot of the Geysers seemingly in good shape. Brian pulled over to stretch out a cramp. Mark went ahead. Everyone climbed at his own pace. It was getting warmer and the Geysers climb is long and fairly steep. I shifted into the 34x32 and climbed steadily. As it was getting warmer, I remembered the lesson of Central Coast Double and removed my helmet. That made riding much cooler, but in a few minutes a SAG wagon passed me going in the opposite direction and I thought it would be wiser not to get disqualified and put the helmet back on. I climbed and doused myself with water from a bottle, feeling rather chipper and pushing a bit harder, when I saw Jeff speeding downhill. I called out to him and a few seconds later heard him calling me. I saw him climbing and waited for him. He explained that things had been going fairly well until he began feeling ill on the Geysers and decided to go back. As he descended he got mad for quitting and turned around again to climb. Then he talked to a SAG driver, who asked him his name and Jeff discovered that he couldn't remember, so he rested and bit and decided to abandon the ride for good. That is when I saw him. He climbed with me for a quarter mile, but I told him to go home, so he turned around descended the Geysers for the third and last time. I caught up with a man with a British accent who was wearing an 8-pass jersey from Alta Alpina Double ridden in the Sierras just a week earlier in cold rain. We talked about his wet and cold adventures and reached the first peak. We quickly gave back almost all the altitude we gained and as the road reared up again I discovered that my legs weren't working so well. Grim memories of my 2008 Terrible Two misadventure floated to the surface like debris from a shipwreck. I slowed and redoubled the dousing. In about 10 minutes I made it to the Geysers rest stop in reasonable shape, feeling much better than a year ago. I found the weather there almost chilly. As I left the rest stop and headed downhill I found it necessary to put on my arm warmers. The road to the lunch stop at Lake Sonoma was more downhill than I remembered -- everything was harder last year, maybe except Trinity climb -- and I arrived at the lunch stop, 110 miles into the ride, around 12:50. A quick sandwich and a coke, a few pills of this and that, bottles refilled and bladder emptied, it was time to face the Skaggs Spring beast.
Lake Sonoma to Gualala River
I think this is the toughest stretch of the ride. Skaggs Springs Road is a 20-mile series of exposed steep pitches interspersed with short descents and false flats that later becomes a more gradual climb, eventually leading to a long descent to Gualala River rest stop. But the gradient alone is not what makes it tough. It is that it comes immediately after lunch, so that we tackle it with dead-ish legs and full stomachs. I felt like I climbed the first 10 miles with my lunch firmly lodged in my esophagus. With all that in mind I didn't relish the idea of climbing Skaggs. That is where I pooped out last year and to finish this year I would have to do something different. Coincidentally, a tandem was leaving at the same time when I had a brilliant thought -- I'll go with the tandem. They'll climb slower than I would alone, so if I ride with them I'll conserve energy and have company! Better for the legs and the brain. To add to my great fortune, I was having an Eeyore day -- a light cloud kept following me around the course, providing a modicum of defense from the heat. We plodded together in reasonable shape. Oh, it took nearly forever to reach the water stop at 120 miles, but I noted that I was an hour and a half ahead of my 2008 schedule, which boosted my spirits immeasurably. Brian from the Calistoga-Geysers leg was at this water stop as well and we agreed to leave and ride together. Brian is a strong rider and a great talker, I contributed what I could to the conversation. The road was too hilly to trade pulls, but having company lessened the misery. Although my cloud finally burned off, we reached the shady part of Skaggs and began the 7-mile descent to Gualala River rest stop. The road was very bumpy and curvy, I had to brake and lot and began to experience something new -- sore triceps. Sore triceps? Push-ups for improved cycling performance...
Gualala to Ft. Ross
Gualala rest stop is in a lovely and cool spot above Gualala River in the middle of a redwood forest. It's green and traffic-free, with only bird songs and the sound of the rapidly flowing river breaking the silence. Clean air and we were in the middle of nowhere. Why leave? Oh, that... We stretched the legs, I ate watermelon and roasted potatoes and it was time to go and face Rancheria Wall, a two-mile stretch that averages 12%... 140 miles into the ride. Well, why not? It was very steep and hard and steady, but doable. The legs, grateful for the 34x32, tolerated it well with no sign of impending cramps, a pleasant surprise. It was here that I achieved my minimum speed of 3.8mph. I didn't think it would be possible to remain upright on a bicycle at that speed going uphill. Brian walked the last quarter mile to ward off cramps -- he had a low gear of 34x27. I waited for him at the top of the climb, at Rancheria Reservation where a few people sat on doorsteps watching bikes go by. Just as Brian and I began the descent toward coast, a 4-year old boy darted across the road -- I grabbed the brakes and swerved, avoiding him by two feet. It was an adrenaline rush I did not need.
But the descent to the coast at Stewart's Point was not just a descent. Of course, there must be another climb to tackle first. A half mile at 7-8% -- just enough to soften the legs some more. But we finally got to the top and plunged to the coast. On the coast the wind was simply howling... in our backs. I sat up at one point and looked at my computer to discover that I was coasting at 29 mph on essentially flat road. Oh that was nice. It was clear and cool, ocean views were stunning -- payoff for all that suffering, although more suffering lay ahead.
Ft. Ross to Monte Rio
Fifteen coastal miles flew past in 45 minutes of conversation and nature eye candy and we reached the Ft. Ross rest stop. The rest stop lay on Ft. Ross Road just a few yards east of Highway 1. As soon as I turned off 1 I saw the climb -- daunting, straight up the hill. Better not to look. Stop and eat, refill bottles, use the facilities. Sigh, let's tackle this one. Just like Rancheria Wall -- about as long and as steep and some 30 miles later into the ride. More groveling at speeds of 3.8 to 5.6 mph. Legs still OK, though -- evermore grateful for the 32 rear cog. Brian says when you think the climb is over there are three short and sharp stings. Sure enough, climbing just keeps going until -- YES! -- a "Stop Ahead" sign, signaling an intersection, the definite sign of the top of the climb. And it was. A two-mile long descent followed by a series of rollers and by -- what the hell is that, another climb? Certainly, a half-mile at 8% -- and now I very clearly remember cursing this particular hill long and loud on first Brian's birthday ride six years ago. Finally, this one is over too and Brian 2 and I drop into Cazadero. We talk about trying to make it to the finish by 9:00. I do some quick math: we need to average 18mph for an hour and a half. It'll be tight but doable. I go into time trial mode and pull for 10 minutes on a mostly flat road, but realize that maybe I can do that for half an hour, but not an hour and a half, what with 176 miles in my legs, and back off. We are going 16-17 mph. It'll be close, but we'd have to spend next to no time at Monte Rio rest stop.
Monte Rio to Finish
We get to the rest stop at 8:10, there's 13 rolling miles to go, but we linger a bit too long and there's no way we'll make it by the time we leave the rest stop. Oh well, what the hell, just ride and enjoy it, I guess. So, we did, talking about our riding and kids' schools and extracurricular activities and work and our own childhood. We climb to Occidental, then up Graton Road, that's followed by a long and fast descent and suddenly we find ourselves just 3 miles from the finish on the outskirts of Sebastopol. Time to leave it all on the road. I pull hard all the way to the finish. It was painful but rewarding. I was very happy just to finish and cared not for my time. Time was 15:45, 200 miles with 16,000 feet of climbing in average speed of 14.2 mph.
I picked up my "I Did It" t-shirt and jumped in the car to go back to Brian 1's in-laws, where our families were spending the weekend. Bill called me on my cell phone as I drove. He had a fabulous ride, meeting his long-time goal of breaking 13 hours -- a barrier he demolished with a time of 12:32! He spent remarkable 17 minutes off the bike. I should ride with him more to learn to ride faster and more efficiently.
Pre-Ride
Alarm that is my daughter went off at 3:15 a.m., half an hour ahead of my clock. I decided to get up and take advantage of extra 30 minutes in the bathroom. A long day and a long ride fuelled by unnatural substances lay ahead, it was better not to tempt digestive fates. Everything was already packed -- clothes, food, shoes, bike -- all that remained was to eat breakfast and head off for Sebastopol for the start. I left at 4:15 and arrived a few minutes before 5:00.
Many riders were already at Analy High School in Sebastopol, pinning numbers, filling bottles, and catching up. I pinned my number, took a nervous pee, then met up and chatted with Jeff and Bill. Jeff had been working ungodly hours and was sick to boot. The half-hour before the 5:30 start flew by in, well, 30 minutes, but it seemed much faster. Time to go! A few words of caution and encouragement from ride organizers and we were off.
Analy High School to Calistoga
This year's start was very nervous. Much yelling about slowing, dodgy maneuvers, unnecessary braking and red light running (I participated in that last one). With all that we managed to get out of Santa Rosa without crashes and without dogs bringing down parts of the field (2008). As we left Santa Rosa and began the ride down Bennett Valley, my average speed registered 19.7mph -- it would decrease throughout the day. Descending Bennett Valley I spotted Brian who'd ridden out to ride a part of the course with me. He turned around and caught up with me as we rode through Glen Ellen on the rural roads he knows so well.
Trinity Grade was our first obstacle. I hardly remember climbing it last year. Then, I was toward the front of the field and it seemed to pass in a blur. This year's ride was all about finishing and effort and energy management, so I rode deliberately slower. In no time I found myself in my 34x32, as the climb was steeper and longer than I expected. I passed a few people who were breathing heavily -- that was a lot of effort expenditure so early in the ride. I was glad for my gears, which helped save my legs and lungs for future climbs. Descent of Trinity is notoriously treacherous. Every year TT riders crash there and this year was no different. Ride organizers posted a marshall at the particularly gnarly chicane to warn riders. As I passed him I asked whether anyone had crashed, he replied: "Just two." I made sure that I didn't make it three and made it to the bottom unscathed.
Gently rolling 5-10 miles followed and then we plunged Down Oakville Grade into Napa Valley. On this descent I registered my maximum speed of this double century -- 51.6 mph. (I achieved my minimum speed some 100 miles later on the climb of Rancheria Wall and again on Ft. Ross Road, but more on that later). At the bottom of Oakville Grade something resembling a 6-man paceline coalesced and we began to ride together on Oakville Cross Road toward Silverado Trail. I took a pull immediately before Silverado Trail, where we caught two more riders and soon after another pair. Suddenly there were 10 of us and Brian and I found ourselves about 6th and 7th in line. This was a strange paceline. First of all, paceline skills of its riders varied widely. We went from even and smooth pacing to sudden accelerations and sprints into slipstreams and panic-induced brake grabs accompanied by much cursing. As we rode on and picked up more and more riders the paceline swelled to about 20, but the odd thing was that nearly everyone we picked up slotted into the line ahead of Brian and me, as we found ourselves drifting farther and farther back. Moreover, after pulling riders drifted back, but as they came back they went back into the paceline ahead of us. Thus, as we proceeded north toward the rest stop in Calistoga it became plain that neither Brian nor I would end up pulling on this 17-mile stretch -- not for the lack of willingness or form but because of the weird paceline dynamics of this group. Which was not a bad thing with 150 hilly miles still to go.
Calistoga to Geysers to Lake Sonoma
We arrived in Calistoga around 8:45, having ridden 55 miles at 17.2 mph. Brian rode home, I refilled my bottles and ate a bit and set off. I began riding and talking with Mark from South Oregon, who was riding his first double -- a hell of a ride to cut one's teeth! Soon we caught up with Brian from San Rafael. I told Brian 2 that there were three of us and since we were riding a 200-mile time trial we might as well make it a team time trial and he readily joined us. We swept up another rider who began working with us, then two more, and yet another pair and just like that, a for the most part decently working 8-man paceline was making its way at a good clip to the Geysers climb.
[I just don't understand some riders. They hit the front of a paceline, accelerate, ride too hard, pull too long, and come to the back completely blown, sometimes unable to hang on to the back of the paceline. What good is that?]
Anyway, we came to the foot of the Geysers seemingly in good shape. Brian pulled over to stretch out a cramp. Mark went ahead. Everyone climbed at his own pace. It was getting warmer and the Geysers climb is long and fairly steep. I shifted into the 34x32 and climbed steadily. As it was getting warmer, I remembered the lesson of Central Coast Double and removed my helmet. That made riding much cooler, but in a few minutes a SAG wagon passed me going in the opposite direction and I thought it would be wiser not to get disqualified and put the helmet back on. I climbed and doused myself with water from a bottle, feeling rather chipper and pushing a bit harder, when I saw Jeff speeding downhill. I called out to him and a few seconds later heard him calling me. I saw him climbing and waited for him. He explained that things had been going fairly well until he began feeling ill on the Geysers and decided to go back. As he descended he got mad for quitting and turned around again to climb. Then he talked to a SAG driver, who asked him his name and Jeff discovered that he couldn't remember, so he rested and bit and decided to abandon the ride for good. That is when I saw him. He climbed with me for a quarter mile, but I told him to go home, so he turned around descended the Geysers for the third and last time. I caught up with a man with a British accent who was wearing an 8-pass jersey from Alta Alpina Double ridden in the Sierras just a week earlier in cold rain. We talked about his wet and cold adventures and reached the first peak. We quickly gave back almost all the altitude we gained and as the road reared up again I discovered that my legs weren't working so well. Grim memories of my 2008 Terrible Two misadventure floated to the surface like debris from a shipwreck. I slowed and redoubled the dousing. In about 10 minutes I made it to the Geysers rest stop in reasonable shape, feeling much better than a year ago. I found the weather there almost chilly. As I left the rest stop and headed downhill I found it necessary to put on my arm warmers. The road to the lunch stop at Lake Sonoma was more downhill than I remembered -- everything was harder last year, maybe except Trinity climb -- and I arrived at the lunch stop, 110 miles into the ride, around 12:50. A quick sandwich and a coke, a few pills of this and that, bottles refilled and bladder emptied, it was time to face the Skaggs Spring beast.
Lake Sonoma to Gualala River
I think this is the toughest stretch of the ride. Skaggs Springs Road is a 20-mile series of exposed steep pitches interspersed with short descents and false flats that later becomes a more gradual climb, eventually leading to a long descent to Gualala River rest stop. But the gradient alone is not what makes it tough. It is that it comes immediately after lunch, so that we tackle it with dead-ish legs and full stomachs. I felt like I climbed the first 10 miles with my lunch firmly lodged in my esophagus. With all that in mind I didn't relish the idea of climbing Skaggs. That is where I pooped out last year and to finish this year I would have to do something different. Coincidentally, a tandem was leaving at the same time when I had a brilliant thought -- I'll go with the tandem. They'll climb slower than I would alone, so if I ride with them I'll conserve energy and have company! Better for the legs and the brain. To add to my great fortune, I was having an Eeyore day -- a light cloud kept following me around the course, providing a modicum of defense from the heat. We plodded together in reasonable shape. Oh, it took nearly forever to reach the water stop at 120 miles, but I noted that I was an hour and a half ahead of my 2008 schedule, which boosted my spirits immeasurably. Brian from the Calistoga-Geysers leg was at this water stop as well and we agreed to leave and ride together. Brian is a strong rider and a great talker, I contributed what I could to the conversation. The road was too hilly to trade pulls, but having company lessened the misery. Although my cloud finally burned off, we reached the shady part of Skaggs and began the 7-mile descent to Gualala River rest stop. The road was very bumpy and curvy, I had to brake and lot and began to experience something new -- sore triceps. Sore triceps? Push-ups for improved cycling performance...
Gualala to Ft. Ross
Gualala rest stop is in a lovely and cool spot above Gualala River in the middle of a redwood forest. It's green and traffic-free, with only bird songs and the sound of the rapidly flowing river breaking the silence. Clean air and we were in the middle of nowhere. Why leave? Oh, that... We stretched the legs, I ate watermelon and roasted potatoes and it was time to go and face Rancheria Wall, a two-mile stretch that averages 12%... 140 miles into the ride. Well, why not? It was very steep and hard and steady, but doable. The legs, grateful for the 34x32, tolerated it well with no sign of impending cramps, a pleasant surprise. It was here that I achieved my minimum speed of 3.8mph. I didn't think it would be possible to remain upright on a bicycle at that speed going uphill. Brian walked the last quarter mile to ward off cramps -- he had a low gear of 34x27. I waited for him at the top of the climb, at Rancheria Reservation where a few people sat on doorsteps watching bikes go by. Just as Brian and I began the descent toward coast, a 4-year old boy darted across the road -- I grabbed the brakes and swerved, avoiding him by two feet. It was an adrenaline rush I did not need.
But the descent to the coast at Stewart's Point was not just a descent. Of course, there must be another climb to tackle first. A half mile at 7-8% -- just enough to soften the legs some more. But we finally got to the top and plunged to the coast. On the coast the wind was simply howling... in our backs. I sat up at one point and looked at my computer to discover that I was coasting at 29 mph on essentially flat road. Oh that was nice. It was clear and cool, ocean views were stunning -- payoff for all that suffering, although more suffering lay ahead.
Ft. Ross to Monte Rio
Fifteen coastal miles flew past in 45 minutes of conversation and nature eye candy and we reached the Ft. Ross rest stop. The rest stop lay on Ft. Ross Road just a few yards east of Highway 1. As soon as I turned off 1 I saw the climb -- daunting, straight up the hill. Better not to look. Stop and eat, refill bottles, use the facilities. Sigh, let's tackle this one. Just like Rancheria Wall -- about as long and as steep and some 30 miles later into the ride. More groveling at speeds of 3.8 to 5.6 mph. Legs still OK, though -- evermore grateful for the 32 rear cog. Brian says when you think the climb is over there are three short and sharp stings. Sure enough, climbing just keeps going until -- YES! -- a "Stop Ahead" sign, signaling an intersection, the definite sign of the top of the climb. And it was. A two-mile long descent followed by a series of rollers and by -- what the hell is that, another climb? Certainly, a half-mile at 8% -- and now I very clearly remember cursing this particular hill long and loud on first Brian's birthday ride six years ago. Finally, this one is over too and Brian 2 and I drop into Cazadero. We talk about trying to make it to the finish by 9:00. I do some quick math: we need to average 18mph for an hour and a half. It'll be tight but doable. I go into time trial mode and pull for 10 minutes on a mostly flat road, but realize that maybe I can do that for half an hour, but not an hour and a half, what with 176 miles in my legs, and back off. We are going 16-17 mph. It'll be close, but we'd have to spend next to no time at Monte Rio rest stop.
Monte Rio to Finish
We get to the rest stop at 8:10, there's 13 rolling miles to go, but we linger a bit too long and there's no way we'll make it by the time we leave the rest stop. Oh well, what the hell, just ride and enjoy it, I guess. So, we did, talking about our riding and kids' schools and extracurricular activities and work and our own childhood. We climb to Occidental, then up Graton Road, that's followed by a long and fast descent and suddenly we find ourselves just 3 miles from the finish on the outskirts of Sebastopol. Time to leave it all on the road. I pull hard all the way to the finish. It was painful but rewarding. I was very happy just to finish and cared not for my time. Time was 15:45, 200 miles with 16,000 feet of climbing in average speed of 14.2 mph.
I picked up my "I Did It" t-shirt and jumped in the car to go back to Brian 1's in-laws, where our families were spending the weekend. Bill called me on my cell phone as I drove. He had a fabulous ride, meeting his long-time goal of breaking 13 hours -- a barrier he demolished with a time of 12:32! He spent remarkable 17 minutes off the bike. I should ride with him more to learn to ride faster and more efficiently.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Terrible Two tomorrow...
Which bike to ride -- the coolest looking but not quite broken in Toei; the very practical (34x32 low gear, a 46x11 high, and a dynamo hub) but heavy steel Rex; or the light and sexy steel/carbon Rex, on which I've ridden three doubles this year, but which has a 34x28 low (which is normally plenty low, but I'm not sure it's low enough for this beast). And legs not feeling too great today plus interesting gastrointestinal goings on... Tomorrow should be an eventful day.
Steel Rex it is.
Steel Rex it is.
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