Advertising

This wasn't my idea.
But I thought it was a good one nevertheless.
The advertisement idea came on a rather mundane spur of the moment ride last Saturday afternoon. The ride was slow and uneventful. We spent the majority of our time waiting at crosswalks between sections of the Delta Dianza Trail. Again, the camera came along, and I was fooling around with the video. Taking a random clip of the ride, I panned past pastor who blurted out my blog address. I guess he assumed he had a better chance of getting posted that way. Not really, but in this case it worked, and we staged the shot.

A side note...
Tim gets the Hero Jersey for this ride, as he rode the majority of the ride with his wheel rubbing the chainstay, and unable to shift the front derailleur. I'm strongly recommending some basic maintenance. Hey, oil your chain while you're at it too.

For this accomplishment, we gave him the body builder role in the Ad.





Yeah, I know it's corny.
A little grainy too - anyone want to buy me a new camera?
Let me know and I'll send you my list of specs.
Don't worry. I promise to keep my day job.

Running Again

For those of us with real jobs, staying in top form by cycling year round is practically impossible.
For reasons stated and well developed in other posts, and for that matter, probably within the realm of common sense for most, cycling in the dark (the only time left over after working all day) is ill advised. Don't get me wrong - I do it, and others say it can be done safely, but it does make the long afternoon training rides inconvenient at best.

I shot the above pictures from my mobile phone at the top of Briones Regional Park while out on a run with Vince and Moses. (The view Tuesday evening was stunning, and I had to attempt to capture it.) We had just run to the Briones Peak from the upper parking area via some narrow, winding, and rather steep single track. Upon reaching the peak, we met 2 MTB'ers preparing to go down the same section of trail. As we came up, the trail was already dimming, so we watched with concern as these 2 descended the way we had come - with no lights. We're not sure exactly what happened, but still within our hearing, someone evidently tumbled, and then through the trees we spotted them walking the bikes.

We feel that running in the dark is marginally safer than cycling in the dark.

After an hour of running (4 -5 miles depending on the terrain, 2-3 times per week) we feel like we've married enough O2 molecules and red blood cells to maintain till the days lengthen.

Running is rewarding. I enjoy it thoroughly -especially the trail running with friends, and it's relatively cheap compared to cycling. For just over $100 one can purchase a good pair of running shoes, and be completely equipped for a year's workout. (This assumes one has at least one pair of shorts and a t-shirt.) Yes it can hurt. I went through several months of pain last year, learning how to stretch. The lesson was, stretch every morning and night, and before and after runs. I now rarely have lasting or noticeable muscle or joint pain, and wake up without the neck and back aches that plagued me for many years.

I will resist drawing the endless correlations between this type of productive physical exertion with its inherent benefits, and other aspects of life. Suffice to say; Everyone should learn to embrace the experience of massive amounts of air being processed by burning lungs. It's what they were designed to do.
And, it never occurs while sitting in front of a television. Or, while typing at a computer for that matter - gotta go...

MTB Mt. D

The video I uploaded was taken by Chris’ camera. I put together a movie with music, of this ride, and if any Hollywood producers are interested, I can send a DVD. But frankly I'm not interested in a Hollywood job so - hold the calls.

What I am interested in is a new camera. Still holding out for a donation to the Cycling Through Blog. The video of the Diablo MTB ride was all taken by Chris' camera, which is far superior to my own. Mine, clunky though it may be, takes fine pictures. The video however is worse than what you get from some cell phones.

This particular ride was intended to be a grand event culminating in a festival of colors and fans. We hoped to descend into Mitchell Canyon on the north side of Diablo, to waves of applause and cheers. I put it this way in an email to Chris...

"I’m CC’ing Bec on this, so that the social calendar can be perused for a date in October for the “Conquering of Mt. Diablo via Dirt Trails, and Subsequent Admiration of Conquerors and Steeds Amidst a Forest Banquet Under the Embracing Limbs of Mitchel Canyon’s Majestic Oaks.” (That’s a concise yet descriptive name I decided to give this proposed event.)"

The occasion was later renamed the COMDVDTASAOCASAAFBUTELOMCMO by Chris, in an effort to reduce the amount of time it was taking to plan this ride. Delay, and postponement was the general trend over the next month. The rains came. It got colder. We survived another election - like it or not. Chris didn't get to sue anyone over election fraud. (Yes he's a snake, er Attorney) And, finally a Saturday opened up in November. The Almighty scheduled the rain for late in the day, and we jumped on the opportunity.

7:30, Vince, Chris, and I, headed out from Shell Ridge Open Space in Walnut Creek. My Father in law, visiting from Michigan - or actually for the next few months, Florida - delivered Chris and I to the starting line. He then nursed a few coffee cups and waited at the far side of Mt. D.
(I owe him a huge THANK YOU for this service)

The ride was pleasant. The air, though a bit humid, was cool enough for windbreakers and leg warmers, but warmed slowly through the morning. We obviously spent the majority of the morning climbing. We started at approx. 280', climbed to 3849', then descended to approx. 600'.

The climbing felt good and was far from my worst or hardest ascent of that mountain. The company is always helpful, and Chris, not having ridden at all in the past months, ensured that the pace would be manageable. The windbreakers weren’t on for long, as the steady climb caused the heat to rise off our bodies in a nearly visible vapor. We stopped periodically – as needed to ensure our successful arrival at our initial destination – the top.

Two events of note took place.

First, Vince lost a pedal. Approx. an hour and a half into the ride, we noticed strange noises coming from Vince’s bike. With chagrin, Vince noted that this would be the last ride for his pedals. It felt as if the bearings were going out. No problem, since he had a brand new pair – at home. Within a few minutes the grinding noises seemed to dissipate, or at least I failed to notice them.

On a rutted section of the track we were following I soon came across a black bicycle pedal laying on the trail. Upon further inspection it was noted that just beyond the pedal were a mountain bike, missing similar accoutrement, and one rather dejected rider. What to do? In typical form and poise, Vince slid the pedal back onto the stud, Sans Bearings, and rode on. He found that with minimal inward pressure, the pedal would stay in place as he climbed.

Several more times the pedal was retrieved with good humor all around. We were all aware of the –shall we say – inconvenience of a pedal loss on one of the more technical downhill sections. By God’s grace this didn’t happen. As a matter of fact, I was the only one to biff. Technical miscalculation at approx. 15 mph. Sure beats a TM at 35 mph.

The second of two notable events occurred simultaneous to our ascent.

Somewhere near the bottom we passed a gentleman beset with backpack and water bottle. We remembered with slight embarrassment, the 2 joggers that had paced us sometime last summer on a short section of the same trail. Each time we had reached a summit and the last of our group finally reached the top, those joggers were there in the mix. We noted this anomaly with contempt over our past weakness. We blasted by, leaving him to covet the efficiency of inflatable tires and gear ratios.

The trail we chose is steep. We rested as needed at the various summits. We consumed our chosen hydration and caloric replenishments. We took pictures of the incredible vistas, and of each other overcoming great obstacles and climbing intense grades. We were passed by a gentleman with a backpack and water bottle.

We stopped less and rode more. We navigated stretches of trail that seemed to end on top of great fluffy cumulus. We rested again, and he passed us again.

Within a couple miles of the peak , wolverine like, he caught our scent again. We gave up hope. From here, his trail – from which bikes were banned from that point on – was more direct. We had no chance.

You will understand that it is with no small amount of dread that I expose this account. I was sworn to secrecy concerning this embarrassment. I was to bury it.

My conscience would not allow it. So here you have the stark reality of the ride. Someone on foot beat us to the top of the mountain.

Our one consolation – He was chauffeured to the bottom in a car, while we rocketed over the back side.

He beat us to the top, but we got to pick more bugs out of our teeth. So there.

3.5 hours to the top – 40 min. to the bottom. Yeeeee Hah.

Rained out - Or not

So it's pouring rain today.
We were supposed to ride to our church's monthly Saturday prayer breakfast this morning. The plans had been formulated over the past month and finalized last night via text message.
We were: Pastor, Tim, Dave, Dale, Rick, and myself.
I woke up at 5:45 to start my day with a cup of very black coffee and the book of Psalms. I looked outside to check the weather - but didn't need to. The rain was pounding on the skylight over the dining room. By 6:00 I was fingering my phone to send a text message retraction. At 6:09 I pulled the trigger.
It promptly stopped raining. I went back to bed.
7:30 - No sound other than my coffee heating up and my flipping pages through the Psalms.
8:00 - I arrive at the breakfast in my truck. No rain since 6:10.
11:00 - return home in my truck and still no rain, call Dave, decide to ride later in the afternoon.
12:00 - the bottom falls out.

So here I sit, periodically looking at the National Weather Service web site and watching the radar indicate the mass of intense color moving away from my city. I'm waiting for Dave to get here so we can dodge raindrops. I've pulled out the lights, since it is getting late. We will return home in the dark, and likely soaked. The worst of the rain has slowly retreated for nearly 45 minutes now, during which time I have anxiously watched the clock and receding daylight hoping he gets here soon. The sky indicates that the bucket is not empty.
There he is now. Here goes...



24 Hours later...




We got soaked.
3 miles out the rain started up again. For several miles the bucket merely leaked a little at the edges and frankly provided a cool distraction for our warming bodies.
Then the bottom fell out again.

By the time we reached the brick yard on the Carquinez Scenic Highway, we were avoiding massive puddles and small rivers. Much of this "highway" has been washing down the cliffs toward the Carquinez Straight for many years. In places, great craters have replaced the outside lane. This middle section (about 2 miles) is permanently closed to vehicular traffic, but is a favorite, beautiful destination for hikers, runners, and cyclists. We were not alone in the rain and the drab gray scenery. Several with dogs, others just walking and one other cyclist met us along the way. We were all soaked, smiling, and pleasant.

It was a wonderful experience. A tug boat was docked far below and a hundred yards out bobbing and pulling gently at its constraints. Besides that lonely vessel, the surface was void. Lights from the distant shore strained to pierce the hanging mist and now driving rain. It's strange - the abstract places and conditions that provide beauty. It was beautiful to me anyway.

Our ride back through town was blinding. The rain was coming down so hard, that it felt as if a waterfall had formed over my head and was washing down my face. It was all but completely dark, and our small lights were no competition.

We were met at the door with towels.

Ah, the hot shower, a movie sitting beside my wife on the couch, bean burritos, and ice cream.
The bleakness sure makes the mundane seem heavenly.

It's like the cliche: Win - Win situation.
I love the ride whether it be cold, fatiguing, wet, exhilarating or all of the above. But maybe more than that, I love remembering the ride. Remembering it while holding a piping hot cup of jet black coffee and a bedtime story, - snuggling on the couch with my two favorite women.

1st Century Survivor

Yeah, I guess the title is a little misleading to those outside of cycling circles.
No, I'm not 2000 years old.
That's established.

I did, however, recently complete my first +100 mile ride.
I've come very close in the past, but never pushed over into triple digits.

Foxy's Fall Century accepted my application, and I have the T-shirt to prove it.
Though considered one of the easier local centuries, I have a certain enhanced confidence, now having passed this milestone. Frankly, it was far easier than some of the training rides leading up to it. The majority of the training rides ended up being solo. Cycling is enjoyable for me, so riding alone is no big deal. However, riding with over 1000 other cyclists definitely has advantages.

I asked a uniformed group of cyclists from Sacramento's Bike Hikers if I could ride along with them for the day. Cordially I was included, and I owe a great ride to their assistance. The company alone makes for an easier ride, as there are other things to think about than the growing pain in your quads and lower back. Ultimately, however, the greatest assistance came in the form of stronger riders to draft off of. The value of this is incalculable - for me at least.
Solo rides put your own face into the wind, with you suffering from the gross lack of aerodynamics inherent to the human body. No amount of spandex and shaving can make a hunched over human form aerodynamic. However, if you place that form behind another one, that is punching a human body size hole in the on rushing air, then you get what we call a draft, and thereby a break for the drafting rider.

I drafted much of the day, while my new friends "pulled." I believe they understood that if I were left at the front to pull, then the line would certainly slow by several miles per hour within only a few minutes. There were times I rode alone. On all of the climbing sections, which accounted for about 1/3 of the ride, the group separated out, each finding his rhythm and pounding it. Of the 4 of us, I found myself to be the second strongest climber. Definitely encouraging.

Though the start and finish were informal, with no official time keepers, I believe we finished in the top 20% at least. Within the first 25 miles, we had passed hundreds of riders that had left before us, and joined a pace line of nearly 30 riders who met up with what I believe was the first group to reach the water stop. Each water stop saw the leaders and followers trade places, as some stopped longer than others. At the end, Daniel, one of our group's riders, noted that the tally of our time spent on the bike was approx. 5 hours and 20 minutes. This totals up to a nearly 20 mph average for the 106 mile course. That makes it by far, my best ride ever.
Teamwork was the difference.

If you guys ever see this blog - THANKS!!!

75

Still getting ready for my first century on 10/18.
Monday the 6th I went out for my final "training" ride with the goal of 75 miles. It was a success. The total trip actually came out to 74.5 miles to the driveway, but it was close enough for me.

The route led from the office in Richmond, out San Pablo Dam Rd., up into Tilden Park, across the Oakland hills, down into Castro Valley, and then up Crow Canyon and along the Diablo valley to home.

I've ridden this route in part and full several times before. It's not an easy ride, since the climbs involved are less than mild. One climb in particular is among the hardest climbs in the Bay Area - in my opinion. South Park Rd., which Google maps shows, but won't let you route, is a seasonally closed road which connects East park Rd. with Grizzly Peak Rd. Elevation 940' to 1660' in 1 mile. (If my math is correct, it works out to an average of 13% grade.) That is after just climbing 900' over the course of nearly 15 miles, since my office in Richmond is at around 40' in elevation.

The 90 plus miles that is recorded in an earlier posting included this same route. At the top of the above noted hill, I was spent, and still had 60 miles to ride. This time, I was holding up much better, and was unconcerned to see the unanticipated DETOUR sign at the end of Grizzley Peak. The usual left onto Skyline was forbidden and reinforced by 2 rather dejected cyclists coming back up the hill. My only choice was to follow the detour - 7 miles out of the way. Fortunately I felt fine and dove off the edge of what was supposed to have been the end of climbing for a while, down the wrong side of the ridge into the hillsides of Montclaire following the orange and black signs. Down, down, down they led me and the 1970's pickup truck that wouldn't let me pass. Choking on exhuast, I finally left him near the bottom, as he gave up on the detour, and I pressed on. The bottom was not the end of the detour, but rather the middle.

Where I was supposed to follow the ridge along Skyline, I was rather forced over the edge, with a grand view of San Francisco Bay, to then loop back up the same distance I had descended. By the time I returned up to the original course, my 7 mile detour had netted me only about 2 miles of progress on Skyline, but an elevation exchange of over 800'.

The balance of the course winds, rolls, and meanders through the hills of Berkeley, Oakland, Castro Valley, and then finally San Ramone, where the straight, and refreshingly innocuous run through the Diablo Valley begins. The original plan included a ride up Mt. Diablo, which likely would have happened, and pushed the final tally well over 80 miles, had the unexpected tour of Montclair / Oakland not happened. Even as it was, the sun was tucked in behind the western hills as I rolled into my neighborhood.

The next morning's ride was painful.
However, since I left a little later then usual, I was priviledged to see the pink glow of the eastern horizon over the hanging fog. I shot a picture with my mobile phone and included it above. I soon descended into that same mist, and arrived at the office completely soaked with it.

The other picture is a shot over the edge of the Oakland hills looking down on San Francisco Bay.
Again with the mobile phone.
Any one want to donate a small light camera for my cycling blog?

Downieville Downhill

I had such a blast in Downieville, that I thought for sure I would immediately sit down and compose a full length account of my adventures.

That has yet to happen.
I've watched the videos that we took along the way and shared the pictures around.
I've even verbally recounted the trip dozens of times to anyone who will stay around long enough to listen.
But alas, I have yet to lay it all out in this format. I've been insanely busy lately, which not only prevents me from having time to write, but also extinguishes the little spark that is necessary to get the writing started.
So, here are a few pictures.
These will have to suffice until the spark re-ignites.
You can see for yourself at: www.downievilleclassic.com/pages/downhill.html
This is the website for the race - we didn't race.
But we did follow basically the same course - at as close to unsafe speeds as possible.

In brief:
Vince and Jeff are animals.
Milt is as steady as they come.
I'm happy I never landed in the creek.
As Milt so mildly noted at one point, speaking of the possible results of a mistake on the upcoming section of trail, "The first bounce is about 200' down."
No one bounced, but a few of us walked. Ok, so we all walked at one point or the other.

The Colors of Dawn

The morning rides to work on Tuesday mornings have been growing progressively darker.  As fall drifts in, the daylight hours wane.  For some time I was judging my punctuality by the irrigation sprinklers at one house along Alhambra Valley Rd.  Early in the summer, the irrigation had been running but a short time when I approached and passed the whirring heads dazzling the ivy in the morning sun.  As the summer progressed, the Ivy was wetter and wetter by the time I passed, as my departure was delayed to accommodate the later mornings.  The ivy was less dazzled by morning sun, and more by passing headlights. 

Recently the trip has begun in the dark.  A small headlamp, various reflectors on my gear, and a blinking LED taillight are my feeble attempt at safety.  As noted in other posts, the real danger (in my opinion) comes from the unfortunate possum, or unfinished road construction lying in my path.  I have pressed on none the less and have started out for the past few weeks watching the twinkling stars fade into the morning’s blue sky.

 

My course winds westward on these mornings, being ideal for early visibility, since the awakening skies at my rear illuminate the road and objects ahead without blinding me in the process.  It has been my privilege and joy over the last few weeks to observe the East Bay hills rouse from a mist blanketed slumber.  But more than that, the sky has kept me in awe, to the point of extending my trip by several minutes as I withdraw the hurry in order to gaze.  The first few minutes are the blackest.  However, as my home is in the Bay Area suburbs, the early route is largely illuminated by an array of street lamps and lit storefronts.  The few stars visible in the city, along with a predictably fickle moon are my companions before being systematically extinguished by a growing and far superior luminescence.  A midnight blue sky slowly emerges as the ink fades. 

My ride is a lonely one once the city lights are at my back.  Alhambra creek, and its vast fauna accompany me at this point, though silently and stealthily from a distance.  I hear more often than see, the deer along the creek, and the rustle of countless smaller creatures often startles me from my reverie.  One morning I was intrigued by a Romeo and Juliet pair of raccoons lying only a few feet apart on the descent from the pinnacle of this route.  With more than a modest reverence I passed to the side of the duo not willing to sever the romance even at that tragic end. 

Recently, by the time I reach the pinnacle, known locally as Pig Farm Hill, the skies have turned from the midnight blue to a deep purple.  Again, within minutes, the depths of the color are diluted to a lavender so soft as to be coveted by any seamstress seeking the perfect satin for a 5 year old princess.  Further eastward I travel and with the progress comes the first disappointment – the lavender dulls down to drab light gray.  For many minutes the gray depresses my outlook and I begin to notice the trails of fog in the surrounding canyons, and even glance down to observe the roughly paved asphalt rushing by below.

The mood is not long lasting.  It is within these moments that a transformation is occurring behind me of which mere reflections off my front rim, and the back of my handlebars have given me but a clue.  The skies to the east, and my rear have ignited.  With radiance of color far more exhilarating than those I’ve experienced to that point, the eastward hills are shadowed, darkened, and then crowned with a brilliance only experienced, not observed.  A glance behind reveals the evidences of the source of all the color that can be experienced.  Though yet below the ridge of the hills, the greatest orb in our solar system has sent its blinding rays to announce its arrival.  Looking again toward the west, the gray skies have again transformed into that color found only behind a child’s crayon sketch of green tree, yellow sun, and black birds.  With the same care that a child takes to select that perfect azure crayon for his pastoral masterpiece, our infinitely wise, capable, and sovereign God again withdraws the veil to reveal his revived masterpiece  as observed from our small terrestrial spec.

I was awed; possibly not unlike the Psalmist following a dark and damp night upon a middle eastern hillside.  His skies no doubt were frequently unveiled with similar extravagance, by our Creator, of whom the future King David wrote “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament shows his handiwork . Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge.  There is no speech nor language, where their voice is not heard.”

I hear God’s voice on those mornings.  Not audibly.  Rather, I hear that still small voice which rings true for every created being, in which He beckons us to “know that I am God.”

Working toward a Century - “Fall” is coming

I’ve signed up for Foxy’s Fall Century in Sonoma – hosted by the Davis Bike Club.  How long have I been riding, and this is my first organized ride, and my first century?  Embarrassing.  Oh well, you have to start somewhere.  I’ve been pushing my Monday afternoon rides a little longer lately to prepare for that ride.

 

Monday 9/8 I managed 50 miles on the way home.  Started off with the three bears and then looped through Crocket and up McEwen Rd.  Within 3 miles of home the computer showed that 50 was going to be more like 48, so a quick tour of down town Martinez brought the final score to 50.5 miles.  Way too much pain.  I was rather discouraged about the pain and fatigue after just 50 miles – especially the next morning when it took nearly an hour and 25 minutes to return the mere 21 miles to the office. 

Wednesday Vince met me at Briones and we spent about an hour on our mountain bikes chasing cows.  That ride felt much better, but then again, it was only an hour.

The next Monday the ambition was back, and the route ended up being  around 63 miles.  San Pablo Dam Rd. to Papa Bear.  At the bottom of Papa Bear, a right turn on Happy Valley Rd. led to Lafayette, and then across to Walnut Creek and Danville through the valley.  My sights were set on the south gate of Mt. Diablo, which upon arrival was noted to be closed for construction.  Indeed it was, so option B led past the ivory towers of Black Hawk and its aspiring neighbors.  Not exactly the place to be looking for respect from other cyclists, while riding an early 90’s Bridgestone RB2 Road Bike.  (Now in Santa Cruz, I’d have to lock the bike to a policeman to keep it from getting stolen.)  No matter, I went through so fast they likely didn’t even see me.  Wink Wink.  The ride ended well with energy to spare and a renewed hope for success at Foxy’s.

I took several days off the bike – with the exception of Tuesday’s return trip to the office to retrieve the truck.  Chris replied to my email on Thursday agreeing to a Friday afternoon MTB ride in Shell Ridge.  We were supposed to start at 4:30 with me driving to his house, then riding to Shell Ridge from there.  I picked up a full load of material in my truck on the way home, forgetting I needed it to transport the bike.  Unloading the truck, or putting the rack on the Pilot, or just riding the 10 miles over there were the options.  I rode.

ETA 452, was the text message that awakened my Treo after several times around his neighborhood.  5:00 had come and gone before we began our trek.  The cooling afternoon air, and scattered leaves on the path joined increasingly cloudy skies in reminding us that Autumn was a scant 3 days away.  The prematurely gloomy skies were soon obscured by a green oaken canopy of some outlying canyons.   The canyons proved a rough, steep, and humid ride, and we could definitely have chosen an easier way in.

Once higher up in the park, the skies lightened up a little, but ironically splattered us with the first light rain of the summer.  The added daylight encouraged us further into park, contented that we had accomplished the majority of the climbing, and were thus beginning to enjoy the fruits of our labor.  We made most of our decisions thereafter with regard to not spoiling those fruits, and chose trails which we felt would be less difficult, as opposed to most direct.  All this time we have been constantly moving away from the direction of home.  Even the beginnings of our initial descent from the heights of Shell Ridge led us toward the south, with home being north.  I should emphasize that I was not ignorant of the receding daylight, nor was I ignorant of its potential inconvenience.  Cognizant of those facts, we did finally round the proverbial corner and begin the return trip by a somewhat more direct route, utilizing a few roads and paved trails in returning to Chris’s house. 

Throughout the ride we had been discussing politics, religion, family, and a variety of other issues.  Most if not all of the issues discussed found resolution within our discussion, and if acted upon in kind by the powers that be, would likely cause the world’s problems to be greatly resolved.  Some final resolutions were discussed following our arrival at his house as dusk settled toward dark.  Wise though we were in solving the riddles of the ages, our judgment was limited concerning the hazards of cycling in the dark.  Ok, so it was more like my judgment.  He did offer me a light.  I cordially refused, and attacked the twilight with nothing but my youthful eyes.

Frankly, all went rather well.  The majority of the ride home wound along well paved and well defined trails, which follow the many canals that carry water through our valley.  The closest of the trails ends within about 4 miles of my house and I made my way toward this with all speed.  I left this final trail in the pitch black.  I took some cursory precautions at this point, and held to the shoulder and sidewalks, but still pedaled like the Natzgul were at my rear.  I stayed to the left side of the road so that I could monitor the traffic better, though there was very little on the lonely stretch of road that took me on the north side of Hwy 4 from Concord to Martinez.

I had mentioned to my wife, and whispered under my breath many times, that my rides to work in the dark on Tuesday mornings were more likely to be interrupted violently by hazards on the road, than by the hazards driving the roads.  I am fairly visible those mornings with blinking LED light and reflective, jersey, backpack, windbreaker, etc.  However, short of carrying the equivalent of a car battery, and halogen head light, it is very easy to over ride the meager light produced by most bicycle head lights.  This again was the abiding thought forefront in my helmet beset head.  And yet  I charged forward without the benefit of even a small light.  The left shoulder is gravel, but wide and periodically interrupted with driveways.  To these driveways I was wise, as I could see them coming.  The tire ruts were a different story. 

By the time the bike was into the rut, it was already too late.  The rut evidently drifted to the right, and my progress was straight forward.  As the front tire unsuccessfully attempted to ascend the left side of the wheel rut, it was inadvertently drawn to the right.  As the bottom of the bike was led to the right, the top, including the rider was left unsupported over the original course.  In a final act of desperation, I forced the bike up and out of the canyon, which had the effect of slowing the bike to a stall.  I again joined the privileged few that have had the opportunity to bodily fly through the air without the aid of mechanized flying machines.

 

Evidently I was just outside the beam of the headlights of the oncoming car, or perhaps I successfully recovered with such speed, that they thought I was merely adjusting my saddle, as they drove by.  (This is what I hoped they would think)  More likely, though, they didn’t want to have anything to do with some crazy person stupid enough to ride his bike on the rutted shoulder in the pitch black.

I came away with only a small scrape on my left knee, and a valuable lesson:  …. Um, uh, I can’t remember what the lesson was?  Something like wait a few days before telling your wife about falling off the bike in the dark, unless you just can’t hide the wounds.

20 MPH Average Speed Achieved

Wednesday afternoon was a rather warm 100+ degrees with remarkably low humidity.  

Monday, Labor Day, was lost to cleaning up from camping, and Tuesday was catching up.  My ride from the office last week was noteable in that my ride home netted a 19.1 MPH average - my best yet. That ride wasn't going to happen this week, and so by Wednesday I had the need to be on 2 wheels.

The road bike raised its hand highest, so we ventured out together into the afternoon heat.  The chosen route wound through the back of Pleasant Hill, touched a corner of Lafayette, and finally launched us up Danville Blvd. around 5:00pm.  Traffic was predictable, legitimizing the trek through the more hilly back roads at the beginning of the ride.  The pace was not leisurely.  My goal was a 20 MPH average speed.  I was set up for it approaching Crow Canyon road - with 22 miles in just over 1 hour.  My average was shy of 20, but the elevation was in my favor, now sitting approx. 450' higher than home.

It wasn't meant to be.  I launched my attack, to attain those 1 - 2 miles per hour.  The traffic lights were against it, along with the wind.  The hills from the beginning of the ride soon leered over my left shoulder as I labored through the valley traffic.  

In spite of the wind - without the traffic it would likely have been sufficient effort.  But alas, it was not in liquid crystal, so it didn't count.  The final count was 41 miles and 18.5 MPH - including stops at 2/3 of the stop lights.

The next opportunity was Saturday morning, as a group of us from church elected to ride our bikes the 15 miles from Concord to Alamo for a men's prayer breakfast.  Driving to Concord was no option, so 6:30am passed with the wind breezing through my helmet.  I got it.  OK, so it was only 5.5 miles to Concord, but I did get it.  20.1 MPH off the starting block first thing in the morning.  

The balance of the ride was leisurely and I forgot to stop my computer at Tony's house, so by the time I looked at the computer after the meeting it said 5MPH average.  No big deal.  I got to see it in liquid crystal.  

Now for 25.