Death Ride 2011

Sitting at a mile above sea level, Markleeville, CA is about as unassuming a place as one could want to come across. Every time I drive through the .25 mile long business district, I wonder what glue adheres this alpine oasis to the map. Other than the pub and general store, I have no idea what form of commerce would support the 200 residents.

South Lake Tahoe, 30 miles to the north west is no doubt the daily destination for most of Markleeville's commuters, but it's not the azure waters of Lake Tahoe that lure me into this quiet mountain village.

I would likely never have noted the existence of Markleeville if it weren't for the Tour of the California Alps - Death Ride. For 1 weekend in July Markleeville's population blossoms by 1800% as 3,500 cyclists are hosted out of Turtle Rock Park for a Saturday of intense cycling.

This was my 3rd year to summit the 5 passes for a cumulative +15,000' of climbing over 129 miles. There was no question this year whether or not I would finish as there was the first year, and I lacked the drive to finish fast as I did the second year. This year my singular goal was to enjoy the ride.

Starting with a short spin on the bike and then chilling at camp in Turtle Rock Park Friday night, sleeping in a little later than the norm (4:00am rather than 3:15am), and finally riding at whatever pace suited me at the moment, I managed to pull off a spectacularly pleasant weekend. All of that was topped off with the girls coming up to cheer me and an unending procession of cyclists as we passed through Markleeville on our way to Carson Pass (#5) just after lunch.





I carpooled with Vince and Dianne Friday morning and made amazingly good time getting to the mountains. The oversized tires on V's Tacoma supposedly throw his speedometer off. I don't think the speedometer was off quite that much though.
Later in the afternoon Kevin arrived, and before evening Kipp and Mardi had rounded out our 2 camp sites.

Kipp and Mardi, who were disappointed with last year's performance finished all 5 passes this year. Kevin, who can ride 200 miles in the Davis Double, threw in the towel at 3 passes, and kicked back for a long lunch, and a relaxing afternoon with Milt and Jackie who showed up around midday Saturday with no bicycles.

Vince and I spent the majority of the morning together, but shortly before the 3rd pass he dropped back to discuss irrigation methods with a tree and we only saw each other in passing after that. I learned later that a developing wardrobe issue was becoming a pain in the butt - literally. I left with the girls promptly after finishing the ride and breaking camp, but he emailed me later to say "Hey the gel pad in my cycling shorts disintegrated causing them to bunch up which in turn caused great bottom pain, I almost didn't make it!" That's dedication to a goal.
This was #8 or #9, I don't recall, but he claims he's finished when he finishes 10 DR's with 5 summits.

Finally, Dianne pulled off a great first DR. She left at 4:25am with Kevin to start the ride in the dark. About an hour later Vince and I rode onto the course. It wasn't until nearly the top of the back of Monitor Pass (#2) that I finally caught up with her. She was toast, but still in good spirits. I expected her to bail on #3 - because if you crest Ebbets and head down the other side, there's no way out but back up. But nearly to the top of #4 - returning up the back side of Ebbets, I saw her descending from #3 toward the valley. That descent is out and back with no bus at the bottom. She had plucked up some courage and committed to the back side of Ebbets and completed 4 passes.

Next year will be DR #4 for me, though I haven't committed to 10 like Vince has. I'm not sure that my attention span is quite that long. I've determined now, however, that next year I'll be riding against the clock. My objective is to finish in under 9 hours on the bike, and 10 hours total.
This year my average speed was 12.1 - which is respectable enough.

Next year the number is 14.3.

Lakeport - Take 2

6:45 Am - Almost to the Carquinez Bridge.



Bottom of Howell Mtn. Rd. above St. Helena CA - 50 miles into the ride.

When the sign said Howell Mtn. Rd. was closed because of a slide - it wasn't joking. Like good adventurers we blew past the 3 Road Closed signs, the sign specifically stating that the road was closed to vehicles, bikes, and pedestrians, and the recently constructed barricade. Honestly I wouldn't have ventured up if Vince hadn't been there. I like adventure and all, but climbing 1100' just to find out I have to go back down and up the other way is annoying. ...I gambled - less annoying with a friend.

The multiple bicycle tire tracks in the dirt skirting the barricade promoted optimism, plus the cyclist at the bottom had claimed we could get through.

And we did...

It looked like a bomb had been dropped on the road.

I was on my way to Lakeport to visit friends for the 4th of July weekend, and Vince was looking for a long ride - both of us on our last long pre-Death Ride training ride. Leaving Martinez at 6:00 AM we made reasonably good time in the cool air. 60 miles later we parted ways at a convenience store at Howell Mt. Rd. and Pope Valley Rd. where another group of riders accompanied Vince on the loop back toward home. I struck off alone toward Middletown and the Cobb Mt. climb beyond.

The south approach to Cobb Mt. up Hwy 175 was a success this time. 2 years ago on basically this same route, Highway 175 combined with 100 degree temps and the 90 previous miles, had proven too much for me and a galvanized guard rail half shaded by a scraggly oak had become a makeshift oasis. As I powered by the spot this 2nd time, I was thankful for 90 degrees and a slight breeze.

Total trip ended up being 112 miles, in 7 hours 15 minutes on the bike. 1 mile further and 15 minutes faster than last time - just over a 15 mph average speed. Elevation gain - 4,000 - 5,000 feet. Water bottles totaled around 7 plus the Coke in Middletown and the Gatorade at the top of Cobb Mtn.

And it was fun. I enjoyed the ride considerably more with a little knowledge of the countryside and rest stops that I lacked last time. It was smoking hot in the canyons, but in general the weather was spectacular for a half day on the bike.

And when my wife and girls showed up at our friend's home 30 minutes after I did, Bec popped the leftover spaghetti from home into their microwave... to keep me out of their fridge.

Vince ended up with 110 miles for the day.

Summer

I've been tied up lately with multiplied concerns pulling me many directions. It's hard to stay consistent with a training regimen and continue to meet the familial, corporate, and social obligations with legitimate demands on my schedule.

My goal has been 1 medium length run, 1 short ride (ideally a commute ride from and to work), and 1 long ride per week.

The runs have taken a new twist now that our youngest is strong enough to endure the rigors of the jogging stroller at jogging speeds. I've been loading her up on a Tuesday or Thursday afternoon and running the 7 miles down to and around the Martinez marina and back. She's a great sport - as a matter of fact, as soon as I unfold the stroller, she is tripping her way over to get hoisted inside. - I'm ever amazed at that stroller. By our count it has well over 2000 miles on it, and if it actually had an odometer, I suspect we'd see double that. - At 19 months she has grown accustomed to the stroller with resigned dignity and is content to ride several times per week, hours at a time, on our long family walks and has now transitioned quite well into the jostle of slightly higher speeds.

My schedule must fall out perfectly in order for my commute rides to work. I must be in the general vicinity of the shop in the afternoon to lock up my truck and transition to the bike. And then I must not have early appointments the next morning so as to give myself time to return to the office and clean up. I manage to accommodate that sequence every few weeks or so.

The long rides have been going well over the last month or so, like yesterday's 56 mile ride around the Diablo Valley. After 120 miles and 5 summits of Mt. Diablo last Saturday, I figured I could focus on some speed work in the valley. I'm nearly as sore after the high intensity pulls and sprints in the valley as I was after 17,800' of climbing.

I have to put in a final note as a proud daddy.
My oldest (8) has now purchased her first bike with "brakes and gears." She has saved up her birthday money and with the help of Craigslist, a small bag of cables and such from the bike shop, and about 3 hours of work with her daddy is now the proud owner of a dual suspension 7 speed mountain bike. She's only a few more scrapes and bruises away from handling the bike like a pro.

5x Plus a Little

A friend I met on the way down the mountain

I've begun to perceive a tendency if not an actual theme - A look in a listener's eyes communicating something between "what for?" and "You poor fool." I've even begun to hold out and omit some of the enormity of an otherwise splendid tale if I see that the listener is bereft of an overaggressive sense of adventure.

But on Saturday I finally met a fellow who understood. Yes, he got it. He likewise had summited Mt. Diablo 5 times consecutively in 1 period of daylight. On my 4th ascent of the day - which happened to be up the South side of the mountain - I paced with a gentleman sporting a '99 Death Ride finisher's jersey. He commented that it was rather late in the day, on such a warm afternoon, to be climbing all the way to the top of the mountain. I tried desperately to achieve nonchalant as I let him know this was my 4th pass. He was unfazed and retorted with simple frankness that his record was 5. Today however, he was content to achieve the Ranger Station - half way to the top.

It was at that point that in spite of a fitful 4 hours of sleep the night before, temperatures 10 degrees warmer than expected, and a growing numbness of mind and body, I decided I must at least match my own 1 year old record of 5 summits again this day.

Indeed I succeeded, and was pleasantly surprised to find myself finishing in somewhat better shape than I had a year ago. I could see, spit, and walk straight - often 2 of them at the same time. Let's just say - last year I was dangerous driving home.

However, in the face of triumph there was also a conceptual defeat. I had been hoping for 6.
4 in 2009
5 in 2010,
and now in 2011...

My arithmetic proved to be superior to my resolve. At 120 miles, 17,800' of elevation gain, and 10 hours 30 minutes on the bike, I was tired. My friends were all gone, showered, cool, and sipping... sipping - yes sipping, not guzzling bottle after bottle of warm translucent agony lubricant. I entertained the hope of at least a half summit of number 6, but the arguments in opposition were increasing faster than I could keep up with them on that long slow ascent of Number 5. I was rapidly becoming incapable (more mentally and emotionally than physically) of a 6th pass. If 6 was victory, then I was destined for defeat.

The conceptual defeat was ameliorated only slightly by an early morning stroke of genius. Yet indeed the genius may have also been the demise of that half summit of number 6. I had arrived early and spent my first 30 minutes climbing to the 1000' marker - 8 miles round trip and 750' of elevation gain. On returning to the valley I met my friends and we then proceeded on our way up the first real ascent. I tucked that solo ride, a little piece of brilliance, away in a side jersey pocket for the outside chance I didn't make it past 5 - I would at least have bettered last year.

The presence of that knowledge rapidly became a weight and a burden more than a crutch. I began to reason...
The half summit of number 6 was pointless if I didn't go all the way.
Was a half summit plus my early solo climb of 750' really any better than the 750' alone?
I had still fallen short of 6.
5 plus a little more, was only 5 plus a little more no matter how much more I chose to go, short of 6.
6 wasn't happening.
5.5 is pointless if 5.2 is already bagged.
Ok so it would actually be 5.7 - but I've already given up on 6.
If I give up on 6, is 5.7 really any better than 5.2?
I reasoned, No.

So this year I summitted 5.2 times. Though a marked disappointment, it reigns as my second greatest cycling achievement ever.

And at home, my Coca Cola was chilled perfectly for sipping.

The car struck by a cyclist (with broken driver's side window) and the helicopter that took the cyclist off the mountain. That's not the ride he had planned.

Vince - My companion of 3 Summits.

Me, waiting with the others for the helicopter to take a poor gentleman away for some TLC.

I Can Do All Things Through Christ

The lyrics to Mathew West's Strong Enough were going through my mind during an early Saturday morning training ride.

This particular ride was rife with little objectives:

• Turn the corner in Walnut Creek on my first loop before 40 minutes had passed - Success
• Meet Vince at his house by 7:00 AM, or at approx. 1hour 10 minutes - Success
• Meet the larger group at Mt. Diablo North Gate by 8:00 - Abandoned
• Establish an alternate route we could ride in 3 hours to be done by 10:00 AM - Success
• Attempt a new 1 mile hill (known to Vince as the hill his work van can only go up in low gear) up Castle Crest Rd. in Walnut Creek with more than a 1/4 mile of it at over 20% - Success
• Climb South Gate Rd. up to the Ranger station in under 30 minutes - Success
• Get to our respective appointments by 10:00 AM - Fail

The highlight of our ride was the climb up Castle Crest. Vince challenged me to the climb - knowing I was incapable of refusing. He said he'd wait at the bottom, which I happened to know he likewise was incapable of. We met at the top soaked with sweat and hearts pounding. Smiles.

All day, up every hill, I was chanting "I can do all things, Through Christ who gives me strength." How encouraging to have such a positive message cycling through those inner eardrums with which only my spirit can listen. I must admit I tortured creation with my own rendition of West's song - out loud. Apologies.

Philippians 4:13 I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

50 Miles of Hills

Gray clouds skirted across the top of Mt. Diablo obscuring the twin peaks yet adding emphasis to its dramatic prominence amid the green hillsides slow to tan in a cool wet spring.

Briones hillside confused by lingering rains.

In June the Bay area hills glow golden brown under azure skies. The infrequent foggy dawn is dispatched early as the long days of late spring fairly burst over the eastern horizon. The rain ends in May so June in northern California is the beginning of carefree picnics, long bike rides, and explosive gardens.

Except when its raining - in June.

Today is the 3rd of June and it will rain again tomorrow, like it rained on the 1st.

Absurdity.

So I pedaled away from the daily grind in the early afternoon and headed for the hills under lowering skies. With the Death Ride looming only a month away, my training rides are becoming a recognized though easily distracted priority. With only a few hours available I decided to pack them full of hills. In under 4 hours I managed at least 5000' of climbing in 48 miles.

Pig Farm, Bears, Wildcat Canyon, South Park, back to Happy Valley - up and over, and then back up and over, Bears, Pig Farm hill, home. These hills are so steep that the descents flash by and you're climbing again before you can gulp two bites of a Power Bar and a swallow of water.

I started out strong and fast, and paid for it at the end. With my route never more than 20 miles from home or a few miles from cell phone coverage, I pushed hard knowing I could blow up and call for SAG if necessary.

Just before blowing, I remembered the gorp (Good Old Raisins and Peanuts, or Gobs Of Raw Protein) in my jersey and downed the mix greedily. The recovery was obvious, and I remembered what I had learned about long rides. If you get hungry - you're toast.

Goats along Happy Valley Rd., with the long ascent of Papa Bear seen between the trees.

With any luck I won't have to work my long rides in around the weather much longer. My schedule is another story.

Full Speed Ahead

Looking west from the top of Pig Farm Hill over the early morning mist

I haven't stopped writing or riding, but at the current pace my life is flying by at, I don't have time to collect my thoughts and communicate them in a clear or concise manner as is fitting for a blog or time enough to construct my words into paragraphs, sentences, and phrases which work grammatically and flow seamlessly into one another by integrating billowing metaphors like soft clouds on a summer afternoon or brilliantly colorful adjectives adroitly and appropriately alliterated so as to draw a reader into the simple unified and tightly woven singular topic of the particular posting at hand.

Possible posts if I were to take the time to write:

• First Commute to Work ride in a long time, and how it only took me 1 hour and 12 minutes to go the 20 miles home from work in spite of my long absence from the bike, and the 1 hour and 30 minutes it took to get back to work the next morning because (Must think of good excuse for going slow - Possibly insert old stock photo of Pig Farm Hill at beginning to insinuate that I was stopping along the way to enjoy the view).

• Crockett Loop - DNF - because Dianne's glasses were completely obscured in the increasing mist of a Thursday afternoon group ride.

• Morgan Territory - Mt. Diablo, 75 miles, intended to be three of us but reduced to another solo ride through Morgan Territory as result of Vince's new bike's pedal's mechanical failure 8 miles into the ride, and my subsequent attachment to a 4 rider group with whom I drafted and chatted for the majority of my ride.

• Bridge to Bridge - 35 miles with the Saturday morning group, where Vince and I raced ahead of the group all morning until he flatted in Benicia and failed on the new tube because of a faulty patch and I loaned him one of my spares and all the other riders finished long before we did.
  

Or, Maybe I'll just leave off posting until I can come up with something to write about.

Sun, Clouds, Earth

It's taken me over 4 months to get around to riding up the mountain this year.
I intended to forgo pictures, but couldn't help myself.
This morning was stellar.
I rode 50 miles with Mt Diablo at the end.

Looking SE toward Pleasanton

Looking west toward Lafayette and San Francisco beyond.

I was wondering why there were so many Subarus and Priuses passing me on the way up.

And the irony wasn't lost on me...
How many vehicles burning how much fuel climbed this mountain to worship on Earth Day?

And these leftists are thorough. They even drive to the left. I nearly had the opportunity to meet one head on, and a helicopter pilot, and some nurses, and doctors, and possibly even a surgeon. I was happy to leave them to their - uh - whatever it is they do on top of a mountain on Earth Day.

God must look down through His clouds at His beautiful green earth and shake His head with disappointment. Such intelligent humans, and they cluster on a mountain named Diablo, and worship dirt.

Golden Gate Headlands Marathon - Done

This marathon consumed my mind and body for the last week. I have suffered from more leg pain, potential cold / flu symptoms, and general negativity than I can ever remember in a 1 week period. My calves hurt so bad on Friday morning that I couldn't even run across the street without them hurting - And that was the last day of an entire week off! My mind was definitely playing tricks on me, and I didn't think it was funny. I had already titled this blog posting in my mind - Golden Gate Headlands Marathon - DNF.

Saturday morning. All was dark as I turned the alarm clock off and turned the coffee on - 6:05am.
A banana smothered with Nutella, 1 piece of toast (out of the 2 I had buttered and peanut buttered), 1 cup of pear yogurt, and coffee was breakfast. I was all nerves and could barely get them down.

7:15, I hit the road, and an hour later I was parking the truck in a prognostically muddy parking lot. Check in was unnecessary since my bib number had arrived in the mail a few weeks back. Stretch, one more banana, check the hydration belt, stretch, re-tie shoes, on with longsleeves, stretch, off with long sleeves, bathroom, on with long sleeves, stretch.



I waited in a bouncing, bobbing, energetic crowd of skinny spandex clad pretzels twisting their limbs into contortions not likely to ever be encountered out side a gymnasium, and certainly not on a trail run. Our attention was turned to the race organizer perched atop a park bench holding a rubber chicken and a rubber chicken "prize" purse. We learned they would be given to the first male and female finishers. I was in no danger of driving home with a chicken. I raised my hand with the few first time marathoners, and then should have noted with skeptical concern the sparsity of arms aloft when the question of who had run this route before was raised.

9:05, we were off at the countdown of Dave. Five, four, three, two, one - and the 39 marathoners were headed up the first and least of the hills we would encounter over the next few hours. I was instantly and inadvertently at the front. A group of about 8 - 10 of us, half guys half gals, all seemed to have the same pace in mind and enjoyed the comradery for the first miles.

Within a mile we were at the first set of steps only a few paces after leaving the pavement. We were warned that the route was mostly up, and only had enough descents to get us eventually back to the finish. Seems logical, but I think if they could have moved the finish to the top of something obscenely high and steep they would have. Some of the hills had this group of top finishers walking in the first 4 miles of a 26.2 mile race. All of us.

We were rewarded with spectacular views of the Pacific Ocean, San Francisco Bay and City, sail boats docked in Sausolito and Tiburon, and of course hundreds of square miles of the rugged foothills of Mt. Tamalpais. The streams were still running after a week of dry weather and most managed to cross the trails irrespective of the boards designed to bridge them. Other streams had no boards and simply flowed noisily down the middle of the trail, crisscrossed the trail at random intervals, or simply flooded the trails and guarded any detour by abundantly nourishing the flora on either side.

I ran with a group of 3 gals and 2 guys - counting me - for the much of the first 13.1 mile loop. the pace was quick but steady, and I knew I was far above my normal plodding pace. By the end of the first circuit I was running alone with a young gal, a college student from Santa Monica. Sam, a gal running her 2nd marathon had fallen behind, and I wouldn't see her again till I was driving away. The guy left us and evidently finished before me, while the other gals divided into a vanguard and rear guard never to be seen again.

The second lap started with a check in at the start / finish line. We had managed 2 hours exactly. I detoured to my truck and dropped the long sleeve shirt and grabbed an extra Power Bar. Re-entering the course I encountered my friend again and thus had company up the now familiar, though strangely steeper paved hill. At the steps we were separated, and I only saw her at greater and greater distances back, till I was literally alone with no one in sight ahead or behind. Based on my unofficial count of the runners ahead of me, I guessed that I was somewhere between 12th and 15th place.

Gravity increased as the morning turned to afternoon, and the celestial draperies were pierced more frequently by the warming sun. The breeze was yet chill on the ridges, though that perception was partially a function of the evaporating perspiration raised in the process of achieving those ridges.

Familiarity was both boon and bane. I knew how far it was between water stops and ridges, but then on the other hand, I knew just how far it was between water stops and ridges. I shared the trails with noncompeting runners, horseback riders, cyclists, a jack rabbit, and a small snake. I was beginning to notice more about the trail and less about the view. I was forced to walk on portions of hills that I had run up 13 miles ago.

I celebrated the unofficial "top" with another half banana at the second to last water stop. To come was a long, unabated, descending trail which paused in a marsh just before crossing the main road and thence climbed once more to run along the ridge parallel to the massive tankers drifting out into the Pacific. The last water stop, with 3 miles to go was at the base of that last climb, and it was there that I noticed the runner gaining on me. I picked up the pace as best I could, though frankly, had he not been as spent as I it would have been no large accomplishment to over take me in much less time. As it was, I was caught just as we approached the 1/2 mile home stretch across Rodeo Beach and thence into the parking lot for the finish.

I might have let him run past. The wind was full in our faces, and the soft sand was 3 times as difficult as the trail we had abandoned. I would have let him run past, except that he looked about my age, and awards were being given for the top 3 finishers in each 5 year age group. Whether the same was in his mind or not, I'll never know. He was relentless. Though his large fan club met him on the beach (one of whom was kind enough to spare some encouraging words and a smile for me) he didn't back off. I feared this home stretch 13 miles ago, but now I loathed it. The final 100 yards included splashing across the now expanded tidal pool, running up the bank to the road, and then finally sprinting across the road and the parking lot to a table littered with spreadsheets, calculators, and finisher medallions. My comrade commented that we should finish strong and then he put on steam as we crossed the parking lot. I put on more. We reached the table astride, though I made sure I was at least a step ahead. I was done.

We tied. The official results put us tied for 2nd place in our category. According to the official results, I finished 15th - though I know it was 14th. I'm thrilled to own 15th and share 2nd since he managed to turn my finish into something far more spectacular and satisfying than I could have contrived on my own.

Some sources state the overall elevation gain was around 1600', while others put it closer to 6000'. I don't believe either is correct. Based on my tedious calculations in Google Earth, I think it's somewhere in the middle between 4000' and 5000'. None of my training runs had come close. My longest run was 23 miles with 2,200' of elevation gain.




My earlier friend finished - I saw her later in the parking lot covered with mud just like myself.

So as a result of my efforts, I'm now the proud owner of a Golden Gate Headlands Marathon t-shirt, marathon finisher's medallion, and very sore legs.

This was my first marathon, and I picked a tough one. It's no wonder so few had returned for another shot at it. I may be back for another attempt at the GGHM, though without a doubt it was not my last marathon.

2011 Update on the Pros

Cadel Evans at Tirreno-Adriatico

I am way behind. The pro's have raced away in the 2011 spring season with me still sitting on the couch.

With my focus and energies trained on running this marathon, my off season cross training effectively upstaged my first love.Paris - Nice and Tirreno - Adriatico are now history and the Tour of Flanders and Paris - Roubaix are just around the corner. Cadel Evans of BMC took top honors at Tirreno - Adriatico, sharing the glory on the final day with Fabian Cancellara of Leopard Trek who showed that his TT prowess hasn't waned over the last winter of another decade.


Who am I watching this year? Well, basically the same players from last year.

Lance Armstrong has said goodbye to the big races, so the USA is down 1 hero. I suspect he will not be altogether absent, though.

George Hincapie from BMC will always be a paragon to me, though any realistic hopes of fantastic wins are fading fast. Along with George on Team BMC is the colorful Cadel Evans, who I watch for the same reason that I watch a ship push through a strong current - they leave an impressive wake.

Of course like the rest of the world, we watch and wait to see what the newly formed Leopard - Trek boys have to offer the 2011 cycling season. This is Saxo Bank cleaned up, dusted off, and energized. The Schleck brothers have every reason to be optimistic about this year's Tour de France, and with team mates like Fabian Cancellara and Jens Voigt - anything is possible.

Speaking of Jens Voigt, he has come out strongly against this year's amplified controversy - the banning of team radios on some high profile races. See this article in Cycling News. I'll possibly have an opinion on this in the future, though for now I'm just weighing the arguments. (As if my opinion mattered at all)


I'm also watching a few new US riders that show potential.

Ben King is a fresh new pro who joined with Lance and the Radio Shack crew this year. I first learned of this rider as I followed him virtually, reading the race report as he won the Pro Championship in my home town of Greenville, SC. It was exciting just following the "as it happens" report.

Then there's Taylor Phinney of BMC, no stranger to cycling with both parents former pros, and also brand new to the professional peloton.

I hope both of these young men prove to be great, and give US professional cycling a much needed boost.