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.

Cell phones while riding

Recently our brilliant and evidently under inspired political class here in California, has derived a new means of infringing on the rights of its unrepresented masses. In spite of resounding outcry from all but the most single minded of souls, our lofty nonrepresentatives signed into law a vehicle code banning the bending of the arm at the elbow while holding a cellular phone. (More on that later)

As I understand it, somewhere back in the annals of time, a multi-tasking driver infringed on the rights of a less gifted motorist. It is hard to say what the actual offense may have been. Whether the innocent party was merely cut off in traffic or actually suffered physical harm, it no longer matters.
What does matter, is that the multi-tasker, was among other things, talking on his mobile phone. The blame was too easily placed on the most innocuous of devices and thus the trend was set for the impressionable to follow.
Likewise, I firmly believe that the initial contempt for those talking on the phone while driving was a direct manifestation of class envy. The wealthy were the first to flaunt their new mobility, and the reaction from the proletariat was predictable. Unfortunately, for the lower classes, the discrimination took hold far too strong and the contempt became cliche. Though we are all now slaves to the ring tone library, many continue to harbor an animosity now inapplicable.

This brings me to the new infringement - er, law.
The very basic premise of the law is bogus. That those talking on cell phones while driving are less capable of making wise vehicular decisions than those merely talking to others in the same vehicle. Have you never rested your head on your hand while mindlessly chatting with others in the car? Worse yet, multiple participants in the conversation including some sitting often several rows behind you? Even worse yet, multiple participants under the age of accountability, punching, pinching, and performing other acts of endearment while placing wads of bubble gum under your car's seats?
Makes talking on a cell phone seem pretty tame huh?
Let's all face it; driving and talking on a phone is not that difficult. Granted some cannot do it, and should be responsible enough to avoid it.
The vast majority can and should be able to.

This does not however, reach to the true heart of the irony.
While holding the phone to the ear is illegal while driving, dialing same phone is not.
You answer this question - Which of the 2 noted activities requires one to take their eyes off the road?
Bingo.
Along with the same legislative infringement came NOT the mandate to stop text messaging or emailing while driving.
I don't have to explain this point, or ask rhetorical questions.
Bingo - again you got it.

OK so now you've answered your phone, and the cyborg attachment on your right ear has activated, what now? Well you talk of course - and reach down and pick up the q tip and clean your ears - legal or not?
Or, your reach down and extract the greasy and mal-intentioned Big Mac from it's "To Go" wrapper and begin consumption in the listener's ear - legal or not?
You drop a mayonnaise covered tomato on your Gucci pant leg - distracting or not?

Point made. The cell phone is not the problem. The distracted driver is the problem.
Remove all cup holders within reach of the driver, banish all drive through windows, place a sound proof and otherwise impermeable barrier between the front and rear seats of any vehicle capable of transporting a child seat - and then tell me I can't hold my phone to my ear while driving.


But wait, the post is about "Cell phones while riding."
Yes, I talk on my cell phone while riding my bike.
Don't you?

Often I wear my blue tooth headset while talking and riding, but more often, I just pull my Treo 750 out of its neat little compartment at the top of my CamelBack, and answer the call.
I've dropped my phone before, and it has the scars to prove it. I had to re-create my "A" button with JB weld style epoxy because it sheared off in one fall. (The phone fell - not me) I've even gotten pretty good at masking the fact that I'm on my bike. (Handy for those times that clients or employees call in the middle of the day).

So, does that make me a worse cyclist than others when I'm on the phone?





YES!!!!


Am I likely to stop any time soon.

Nope.

Life is full of calculated risks.
Missing that call telling me that my contact lenses are ready for pickup at Wal-Mart is not a risk I'm willing to take.

Church Family Camping & The Truck

Spent Saturday and Sunday night in Briones over the Labor Day weekend.
Our annual church camping trip was held in conjunction with our summer picnic in Briones regional park. The Snows, Perezes, Hillemans, Tracy, Andrew, Lisa, and my 2 lovely ladies pitched tents under clear blue skies. The weather turned remarkably pleasant the day of the trip, dropping from 100 degree highs, to the mid 80's. The firelight was shed on grateful faces in the evenings as the temperature dropped into the 40s and 50s.

We all worked as families, through lessons prepared by pastor. The focus of the lessons was on "One Another," and how we as families can care for each other.

Vince and Rick made a cameo appearance on Sunday morning and wrested me away from the campsite for a few hours to kick up some dust on our MTB's around the park.
Activities were varied and predictable. We ate, hiked, slept - or not, saturated our clothing with the smell of camp smoke, and of course drove a remote control truck through our obstacle course.

This post will be short, as my main objective is to get this video out for viewing.

Good Time On Mt. Diablo

Basically just another day of riding.
I really wanted to ride up Mt. Diablo last Saturday. Well, actually I really wanted to ride MTB at Hole in the Ground, but that fell through about as fast as it was suggested. Vince and I were disappointed at the missed opportunity, but decided to meet and ride road bikes instead.

Vince was meeting some friends at 7:30am, but I wanted an earlier start. A short Tour de Martinez started around 6:45, and finished with me at the Park and Ride to meet Vince and a new rider named Steve. We ventured out steadily on our way around the Crocket Loop.
We took it easy for most of the loop, but, typical for Vince and I, rode the loop opposite of convention. Most riders make a right at McEwen Rd. and descend the steep winding serpentine down to the Carquinez Scenic Hwy. Ever since I've been riding with Vince, we have passed by that turn, and ridden the loop in "reverse" choosing rather to climb McEwen Rd. I've descended that stretch in the past, and arrived at the base with very hot brakes. The opposite direction, a descent on Crocket Blvd. into Crocket from Cummings Skyway, however, is a long sweeping arc of a couple miles, where you can recover from the slow climb, which you've been nibbling away at from the minute you left the parking lot.

All of that being said, our ride actually didn't take us down Crocket Blvd. either, but rather we passed by and crossed I80 turned right on San Pablo Ave. and came into Crocket from the West. We then made a left hand turn on the bike / walk path and crossed the Carquinez strait via the new Alfred Zampa Memorial Bridge (See www.ketchum.org/carquinez.html for some more information about this bridge. I take no credit for it. I just found it while surfing.) and rested on the far side, in a small park overlooking the frigid water. The morning was relatively clear when we started in Martinez, but at the strait emptying the Sacramento River delta into San Pablo and San Francisco bays ,the sky was overcast and the air chilled. We watched as 3 sailboats motored out into the bay for what was destined to be a stellar day of sailing.

Several minutes later we re-crossed the bridge leaving Vallejo for Crocket and the notorious climb up McEwen Rd. The climb was the same as always. And that’s the thing about hills. They’re pretty constant. The weather changes and your own preparation for the hill varies, but the hill just sits there and waits. It waits and others like me come back time and again for more of its punishment.

The top of McEwen is basically the beginning of the end of the loop. The final 4.5 miles is all downhill to one extent or the other, and much of it is long, straight, wide road where a pace line can aid a relatively strong group of riders along at around 30 mph.

The day’s group of 3 then split up; Vince and Steve heading home, and myself pursuing my need for some quality time with a nearby mountain. The air was still cool, though slowly warming, and my energy level was still quite high, considering the nearly 35 miles behind me. Still holding a grudge from 2 weeks back, my sights were set on Mt. Diablo. The psychological cruise control activated, and I followed the west side of the Diablo valley through Pleasant hill, and then crossed the valley through Walnut Creek. 30 minute’s ride put me at the base of Mt. D. and 45 miles in. I was ready. The low level pain had already begun in my quadriceps and lower back, but my entire cardiovascular system was thriving in the cool clear mid morning air.

Slowly but surely was the goal. Another goal to be missed. There’s something about being on the road with other cyclists that drives me. 2 bikes on a rack passed by shortly before reaching the base of the mountain. They were just beginning to remove the bikes from the car as I passed them. Nice bikes. Good riders ride nice bikes. No way. Not today. Not getting passed today. Surely, without slowly started to happen. The Ranger Station at mile 8 came faster than typical, but with a price. There was enough left to make the top, but that nagging doubt began. Are they catching up? I didn’t stop at the ranger station, but pushed for the summit.

The initial pull away from the ranger station can be invigorating. The other cyclists sitting there resting are forced to watch as you pass by with obvious disregard. That alone is enough to force a good performance – at least around the first corner. After that it’s back to work – psychologically more than physically. It was several minutes into that workout that I was passed by a slow moving motorcycle with a man and woman riding. I noted the woman filming their progress up the mountain on a digital camera, and was mildly humored by the fact that much of my progress was being captured. Duly noted also was their return trip several minutes later with the same camera and similar attention to my progress. Humor turned to annoyance as this same couple again approached me from the rear with unnecessary interest. Only then did I realize I recognized the girl on board as Rachel – Vince’s Rachel. Logic then registered the driver as Vince and everything began to shake out in my fatigue numbed cranium. They were the redeemers of my ride. The motivation to pursue a strong finish had just been driven upward.

I did finish well – all things considered. 1 hour 16 minutes to the top from North Gate. My goal is to finish in under 1 hour some day, but after 55 miles of riding, I was not disappointed. I also didn’t get passed by anything without a motor.

They filmed several more minutes and caught a number of still images of my ascent, and then awaited my arrival at the top. I’ve included the final minutes of my climb at the beginning of this post. Vince was particularly interested in filming my descent, which he did at no small risk to him and his bike. I fear Rachel may have been in harm’s way also. The footage of the descent is not included, lest my mother fly out here and burn my bike; however, the film is available for local viewing. Vince collated much of his video and stills into a superb DVD. Who’s that skinny guy on a bike? Thanks again Vince.

The ride ended back at home with 81 miles.

Week #32 - Still Cycling

My Buddy Jeremy and his feather light bike.













Lillie, Bec, and Ella.
Katie is hiding and riding.



















The biggest crowd I've ever ridden with.
(Not everyone is in the picture)







I managed 4 rides this week.
My first 2 were the now typical, ride home and then back to work. On my ride home I incorporated a series of climbs which we refer to as the "3 Bears". Rather than making the left off San Pablo Dam Rd at Castro Ranch Rd., I proceeded to climb up SPD Rd. and turn left at Bear Creek Rd.
The 3 bears part comes from the notion that there are 3 separate climbs on this road. It is my opinion that someone can't count. Each time I ride the road, I begin counting hills, and eventually pass the number 3. If there were 3 distinctly difficult climbs, I would likely have resolved the issue with that, however, there are really only 2 that will eat your lunch. On my most recent pass through this stretch, I again began counting. At least 4 distinct climbs faced me heading north. I established that the first climb is Papa Bear. This hill is notable because it hurts. I sat in 1st and 2nd gear for the duration, and got out of the saddle on numerous occasions to stretch my legs. (To those unfamiliar with cycling terms, "out of the saddle" doesn't mean I walked the bike, it means I was standing on the pedals, rather than sitting on the seat.)
That morning, my friend Jeremy, had invited me to run with him, and so I did. My jaunt was about 2.5 - 3 miles after a relatively long sabbatical from running. My calf muscles began to remember the morning's surprise, somewhere near the middle of Papa Bear. I coasted over the crest, and geared up for the descent, which proved rewarding. The base of that side of the hill coincides with the entrance to Briones Regional Park, where I have often ridden. (MTB)
The climb up Baby Bear was to ensue. I caught and passed another rider at this point, at which time we exchanged formalities, and verbalized our disdain for the day's head wind. Baby Bear has brothers. Several more moderate climbs ensued before I encountered the matriarch of the sleuth.
Though Mama Bear was indeed the second hardest climb of the group, it in no way compares to Papa. What Mama does have though, is an awesome backside. I peaked out at 50 mph, but could easily have gotten far more if it were not for the cramps that kept gnawing at my calves. The incredible rpm's needed at the bottom bracket to force speeds over 50 mph require a lot of nerve and cooperation from all of the muscles in the leg. My muscles were were not cooperating and frankly my calves were close to going on strike. That descent brought me down to Alhambra Valley Rd. where the route typically passes on the ride home. A right turn and an ascent of Pig Farm hill ended the climbing. The ride ended with a time of _____ and an average speed of _____. Sorry, forgot to look - but it wasn't all that good.
The following morning though, did bring my best time riding in to the office. 1 hour 12 minutes.

Tuesday afternoon I managed to assemble a mob.
It started with Jeremy and I wanting to ride again this week, after our disappointingly short journey last week. I kept his bike at my house (He lives and pastors a church in Lakeport) and we were to connect at Castle Rock and ride a rather tame, yet enjoyable trail through the Diablo foothills (See my post from 5/26/08). The creek that this trail follows is unfortunately dry at this time of year, with the exception of some rather stagnant pools, which are wisely avoided.
I then invited Andrew and Lisa, a young dating couple from our church. Lisa would hike with Bec and Jeremy's wife Amy. I invited my project manager, and fellow outdoor enthusiast Rick, who invited Vince and Phylis (not sure of the spelling). Realizing that he had not ridden with us in a while, and that this was a favorite trail of his, I also invited Dave, who ended up bringing Lillie and Katie to hike with the women. Oh yeah, Ella came too. You can count, I lost track.
We all finally arrived around 5:40 for a 5:00 start time. Vince exercised immense patience, as he was on his bike ready to ride before 5.
Dave took a dive and bloodied his nose within the first mile. His helmet will be replaced. I heard the grumbling and initial impact and turned around in time to see the conclusion of a splendid dive over the handlebars. We then proceeded on a relatively uneventful ride with the ladies following our trail of dust.
The majority of us guys tested our adrenaline and testosterone levels on a short steep climb. All who attempted the climb were rewarded with the view of another hill at the top of that hill. We rode back down. Vince and I continued up the trail for nearly another mile, after descending Testosterone hill, while the balance of the group began the return trip. They moved rather slowly as we expected, and we caught back up to them mere seconds after they had rendezvoused with the women and children. We were both riding very fast, as the return trip is a long gentle descent, and we were intent on catching the group. Vince led into the mob and performed a splendid front wheelie while screeching to halt in the midst of the group. His rear wheel was easily 18" - 24" off the ground for several seconds. (Yes mom, that is a good thing)
Not to be out done, I likewise showed my disregard for the applicable laws of thermodynamics, and grabbed my front brake. Likewise I slowed rapidly and rose up onto my front wheel, and for nearly a week and a half suspended my bike in a vertical position - rear wheel pointing skyward. Somewhere near the second week, I should have released my grip on the front brake lever. Whether I forgot, or merely failed to remember - it frankly doesn't matter at this point. I entered week 2 face first on the dusty trail. Ah yes, my friends all assembled to watch me dust off my shorts and shirt. However, I got a 5 year old high 5 from a little girl who had just taken a dive herself. We were twins.
Dave felt much better too.

Today, Saturday, I met Rick on the same trail. I left from my house on my mountain bike, and was late again. A few adjustments to the bike, and a fierce headwind put me about 20 minutes behind schedule. The snooze button had added another 10.
I had warned Rick via text message of my tardiness, so he had headed out on the trail, where I caught him a few miles in. We rode and talked, and enjoyed a relaxed morning among the oaks.
On the return trip, we parted company, and I looped around through Shell Ridge open space to finish off my dirt trail riding. From there I picked up the Iron Horse trail system, and the canal trails which wound me toward home. Total today was around 30 miles.