First Ride 2009

9 hours into 2009 we started our first ride of the year.
All of the Diablo Valley has been socked in with fog for several days, and Thursday, January 1 was no exception. The temperature was in the low 40's when we left the truck near the base of Mt. Diablo. Vince and I immediately met up with Mickey, and within only a mile, had caught up with another group of riders, most of which were friends or acquaintances of Vince and / or myself. Our group of over half a dozen began the cool ascent through a stagnant mist. The group was taking its time getting to the top, and I was personally in no hurry to ride alone. At around 2000' we started seeing the sun peek through the fog, and then rather abruptly, we were above it, being dazzled by fluffy white drifts.

The number of riders on the mountain was astounding. I literally had to wake Vince up to get him out, and figured that would be the general consensus of the balance of Bay Area riders. Not so. We were many. There may have been a couple hundred on the mountain just during the couple of hours we were there.

No records were broken, except for maybe the most times off the bike during one ride up the mountain, or longest descent as we coasted through the thickening layer of pea soup hovering around 2000'

I had to rush the end of the ride, as I had promised my wife to be home by 11:30 to help remove the turkey from the oven. I didn't make it on time, but did get there soon enough to keep her from attempting the baking bag removal procedure on her own.

I've managed to post this only 2 weeks late, but nevertheless am looking forward to a great year of cycling and blogging.

The Fog is Lifting

Photo courtesy of Ethan Parrott of SC.


I started this post over a week ago, thinking I would give a more detailed report of the last week.
I have found that I can’t give it much thought at this time.

Our Christmas season has had some unexpected turns.
The short version is this. My wife and I were expecting our second child. At just over 19 weeks we went to the ultrasound which was to determine the gender of the baby.

We received news at that time, that our child was already in Heaven. Not that our doctor thought our child was in heaven – as he tried to comfort us with talk of bad luck and cosmic rays. His delusion – and I wasn’t in the frame of mind to set him straight. All I could say was "There is a God, and He is sovereign." Smart as he was, the doctor seemed clueless on those 2 points.

We spent the next 2 days at the hospital grieving and waiting for our child to be delivered. We were overwhelmed by the love and support from our church and other friends.
We chose to induce the delivery, so that we would be able to see our baby, and hold our baby. 1:25 am of the second day, Friday Dec. 12, she delivered a 10 oz 10.5” baby boy. We named him Ezekiel, which means “God Strengthens.” He most certainly has.

We arranged and held a funeral which was attended by many of our friends and family. His body now lies in a cemetery in Concord, CA. But, we know that he is actually more alive than ever in the presence of our Good God.
I have avoided the obvious question of “why.” I don’t know why. In the grand scheme of things, my experience is actually minor compared to the sorrow of so many. That doesn’t help me any though. The only thing that really helps, is the consolation, that someday I will meet and shake hands with the man that is my son. He will walk me through the gardens and mountains of a new home. He may even be the one to re-introduce me to other loved ones who have been there long before him.
I have the assurance that in Christ, all are made alive.

It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow. Lots of talk about a baby named Jesus right around now. For the record, He didn’t stay a baby. He lived a life not unlike ours. Political upheaval, religious intolerance, just making ends meet. The difference was, He didn’t have to be here. He chose a birth canal as His entrance into the world He had created. He lived with pain and the frustrations of life knowing that on a divinely predetermined day, he would be executed for “crimes” he never committed.

That was the only way. That was the key that unlocked eternity. A key shaped like a cross.

Not everyone enters eternity with the confident expectation of eternal peace and joy. Jesus offers that as a free gift.

Do I fully understand it – No. Do I believe it – Yes.

The Fog

This must come across as rather obvious to most folks, but, if you can't see and others can't see you - don't ride your bike.

But oh how the short days make for a very long off season!
Many use the time out of the saddle to cross train with running, weight lifting, knitting, and other cardiopulmonary activities. But face it, these can be soooo boring.
By the third or fourth week of the winter daylight schedule, that bike is looking rather tempting.

So I've been going out at odd times, and racing daylight.
A few weeks back I rode to the start of one of our runs, locked up the bike in Vince's truck, then returned home in the pitch black. That return trip nearly cost me though, as an oncoming import nearly turned left into me. Way too close.

To make things even worse, the fog rolled in for nearly a solid week. If you want to see depressed Californians, stick them in the fog for a few days.

Our monthly men's prayer breakfast landed on a foggy Saturday morning. The low temperature was in the upper 30's, and the regularly scheduled "ride to breakfast" found me riding alone. There were a variety of excuses from the others...Wimps. I had planned a small climb up Bailey Rd., a notoriously narrow and winding climb just a few miles shy of our destination. Visibility was a generous 1/8 of a mile at initial cruising altitude, but the climb was already suspect. At several points along the way it occurred to me that the pass may indeed be impassible. But, to the reader's surprise...I pressed on. Two pre-selected detours faded back into the fog as I chose to press toward the goal, rather than take one of those shorter routes.

Concord Blvd. gradually shortened, till as far as I knew, it may have only been a few hundred feet long. The sign for Bailey Rd. emerged from the mist and passed by on the right as I turned left, and began the trip across the valley toward the ascent. The Concord Naval Weapon's station, soon to be converted into mid priced condo's, was at one point serviced by a short railway, connecting this valley to the Sacramento / San Joaquin river delta. At these tracks I stopped and contemplated. Oh how I wanted to be able to say I had climbed Bailey Rd with 50' visibility. Oh how I wanted to survive it.



I survived...




...I turned back and went the other way.

(Waiting for applause from my mother and wife to subside)


I arrived at the prayer breakfast 30 minutes late - and soaked.
I never quite got warmed up, in spite of several cups of coffee and an incredible spread. Several offered their trucks to drive me home, but that would never do.

The dreary miles home were accompanied by a slight breeze from the east swirling the mist and dragging my breath on ahead as I slowed for the climbs.

Ahhhh.
Again - the hot shower, bedroom slippers, and the latest copy of Bicycling Magazine, upon arrival at my couch.

Again, - worth it. Barely.

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.