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.

Diablo worst - & - Ride to work 2

All of these pictures and images are copied from the internet or from Google Earth. The bottom picture was downloaded from a local cycling club site. If you zoom in on the picture you can see the section marked 18% grade - yeah ouch.








Like the title says - I managed my worst time up Mt. Diablo last Friday. (3,849' - And since my house sits at 36', I get to climb most of that.)
I was energized all day looking forward to my afternoon ride. My plan was to get home by 2:00, jump on my road bike, ride to, and then up the mountain, ride down, meet some friends, and then ride together toward home. I got a later than desired start in the afternoon, having spent more time in the office than I wanted. I left the house at around 3:00 and made it to the base of the mountain by 3:45. I noticed on the way there that the mountain was barely visible through the afternoon heat waves, but was so intent on my ride that I didn't give it the attention I should have. I started my climb with vigor. My desire was to get my best time up the mountain that afternoon, and then brag about it to my friends. I had eaten right all day, and hydrated well. My muscles were poised and ready. Unfortunately my lungs were not ready. Somewhere nearby a grass fire was sucking the oxygen out of the air, and filling the valley with smoke.

The first part of the climb is typically the hardest for me. Though not the steepest part of the climb, the first few miles ascend rather abruptly, and my muscles take a few minutes of that to settle into the grind. I climbed through the first 500 - 600 feet before I realized I had a problem. I began to be very distracted, and my skin began to tingle and feel like it was going to shed right off my body. I slowed my faster than usual pace and attempted a recovery from what I realized was a pending "blow up". I couldn't shake it. I rode some of the more miserable miles I've ever logged as I climbed slowly. At the 1000' marker I considered turning around and heading home. I couldn't bring myself to cut and run, however, so I proceeded very slowly all the way to the ranger station. I met another cyclist there, who had come down and was likewise frustrated at his fatigue. With out allowing myself to get off the bike, I rode circles as we talked, and then headed for the hardest part of the climb. At this point I actually began to feel better. Though the muscle fatigue was finally starting to represent itself in some low level pain, I think I broke through to some oxygen, and was finally able to shake off the tingling.

I have to believe my rapid fatigue was a result of the smoky air, and the upper 90 degree heat.
Neither of those factors are unusual for the Bay Area, and neither have kept me off my bike in the past. But, a combination of the 2, and likely a stroke from the humbling hand of God, made for an unpleasant hour and a half. I called my friends from the top, and told them to go on without me, as I was an hour late.

My time was a frustrating 1 hour and 27 minutes for the 11 miles of actual climbing.
My best time so far was 1 hour and 12 minutes.
I was shooting for under an hour.

When I got back down to the bottom of the mountain I had regained some vigor and drive, and rounded off the ride by taking the long way home including another short climb on Ygnacio Valley road.

Total miles for the day was just over 50.



3 days later (last Monday) I rode home from work again, and bettered my previous week's time by 3 minutes.
Tuesday morning I rode back in to work and bettered the previous week's time by 2 minutes.
I'm not sure why it has consistently taken me around 5 minutes longer to ride the same distance heading west, than it does the night before heading east. Though minor, the actual elevation change is in favor of riding toward the office, and I should be fresh from a good night's rest the night before. Hmm??
I may change up my route home tomorrow and ride over the 3 bears for a change of scenery.

I ride a road bike too

One day I will add a picture of my road bike to the blog. For now, I've included a picture of the one I realistically might get by the end of the year. (I resisted the phrase "the one I want" as the one I want and the one I might actually get, are several thousand dollars apart)
All of the other pictures in this blog so far are of the mountain bike, and it could be confusing to those reading that I'm getting nearly 20mph average speeds. No, I can't average speeds that fast on my mountain bike - except downhill, and then I hope the speeds are much greater than that.

First ride to work - and back, or something like that.

Actually I guess I rode to home and back. I've been considering riding to work for some time. I live approx. 21.34 miles from the office. The roads between my house and the office are actually classic rides here in the Bay Area. Alhambra Valley Road is my main thouroughfare and is the stage for the infamous "Pig Farm Hill." Aptly named, because when you get to the top of it you smell like a pig farm. That hill is at about the mid point of the ride and 840' tall. My office sits at around 16 ft in elevation, and my home perches at a lofty 36'. Frankly the elevation isn't that bad. The hardest part is that you climb the majority of that - about 500' in under 2 miles, and the final half mile from each direction seems like 2/3 of the climb.

Monday morning I drove my truck to work with bike, gear, and tuesday's clothes in tow.
I rode home Monday afternoon and managed an 18 mph average speed. Tuesday morning at day break I retraced my route and added 4 minutes to my previous night's time - 1 hour 16 minutes.

I've set a benchmark now, so I expect that the weeks to come will include more pain.

No choice. Hills are made for climbing and ride times are made for tromping.

Anybody know what the going price is for Calories per gallon? I want to know what my savings is.

Saturday 7/19/08 - Back on the Bike

Stretching the knee before the North Gate downhill. Yeah, its a mountain bike on the road.
We'll all get over it.














Schweickert - (aka, Tree Legs)













As my wife so noted in her addition to my list of missives, last week was slammed.
We arrived at the church each night around 6:30 and typically were leaving around 9:30.
This took a huge chunk out of the schedule, and the cycling didn't happen.
The week prior was full of preparation for backpacking, and then the 4 days in the wilderness. All said and done, it's been nearly 2 weeks off the bike.
I did ride this morning with Schweickert, and our ride was worth the time spent. (Is it ever not?)
I started in Martinez at my house, and he in Walnut Creek at his. Rendezvous was Shell Ridge open space at the end of Marshall. We took off from the staging area around 7:45am and followed what I believe to be mostly the Briones to Mt. Diablo trail. I'm not good at following trail markers, or even looking at them for that matter. We just kept taking the trails that went up. What I do know is that we finally came out on South Gate Road, near Rock City. We rode the rest of the way to the Mt. Diablo Ranger Station on the road, and then descended on North Gate Road. We took a detour 2/3 of the way down along another nameless trail that follows North Gate Rd. along the West side of the road. (Ends within a mile of the entrance at the trail marker bulletin board.) That is a great downhill, and a bomb downhill for a 1/4 mile or so. Much more suited for my bike than ANYTHING else we rode today. We then followed the road straight to Noah's Bagels on Bancroft. From Noah's we split and each made our way home.

As you noticed in the picture, my knee was giving me problems all day, and actually caused a good deal of discomfort during the final few miles.
Schweickert got a kick out of my "Cycling Ballet".

Will survive.

Why I didn't ride this past week. . .As written by Bec. . .

Dino Detective Ella.
















Ella's class at game time.















Sweet girl.














Wild-eyed Scott after game time with the 4's & 5's.










Our big girl has just completed her first week of VBS.
She came home every night wild with excitement.
The theme was a dinosaur dig--"Digging for God's Truth, Dino Detectives"--so each child received an explorer's hat that they could decorate and wear all week. Well, the first night after we came home, Ella stood in the front yard singing and yelling and throwing her hat into the air, much to the surprise of our neighbors, who said that they had never seen her act like that, and much to the chagrin of mommy and daddy because it was 9:30!

This was our first VBS in four years, and the first one in our own building. It was so exciting to see the majority of our church people pitch in and help in one way or another. This is a big change from 4 years ago. We had a great turn-out, about 45 kids, and only two-thirds of them were church kids from our church or others. It will be exciting to see what God does in the life of our church as a result of this week. He has already amazed us with what He has done.

Camping in Yosemite

Sorry for the crummy video and audio quality.
If you want a good copy of it, post and let me know.

Camping 08

I feel an obligation to record my camping weekend on my cycling blog, because as I spent the weekend in the Yosemite wilderness, my cycling companions were torturing their bodies on the Death Ride, in the Sierras. (135 miles and 5 mountain passes) I would have loved to have been with them, but on the other hand would not have missed the backpacking for anything.

The men from Cornerstone Baptist Church set out on Wed - 7/9/08 into the Yosemite back country. We entered the park on Hwy 120, obtained our bear canisters from the ranger station and made our way to the Yosemite Creek trail head.

Tracy, Tim, Pastor, Tony, Tony, and I. Yes Tony and Tony created some difficulty. However, if you needed a lot of fire wood, or twice as much water from the creek – you sent Tony.

The first adventure took place in the parking lot as we began to unload our packs. It poured rain. Our expectations of upper 90 degree highs were quickly washed away. We were blessed with that rain however, as it was to have been the hottest day of the trip, and the clouds and showers definitely cooled our hike. We don’t get rain in the Bay Area summer, so it was a somewhat welcome sight.

The second adventure was personal. Our first creek crossing came several minutes after embarkation. I watched Pastor and Tracy cautiously, but nimbly step through the matrix of dry stones and emerge on the opposite side of the creek. Though neither of them will admit to it, one of them managed to wet one key stone near the middle of the creek. I take some measure of pride in almost never falling during our many hikes and backpacking adventures. I have a gift of sure footedness handed down from my dad, who likewise, I have never seen thrown off his feet. This day my pride was left dripping wet, as was my camera, map, bottom 6” of my pack, and all of me up to my hips. That wet rock had my number. From then on, all of the company would pause to watch as Scott crossed the creeks. Not wishing me well, but rather quietly and eagerly waiting for the rocks to score again. Well they didn’t. I won, but it wasn’t a shut out on that trip.

We moved rather slowly the first afternoon, and afternoon soon turned into evening. We missed a turn in the trail somewhere around 8:00 and I confidently pushed on following dim trail markings for the next 15 – 20 minutes. The trail markings were typical granite face markings where stones will be stacked 5-6 high to indicate the trail direction. We had left the wooded path rather suddenly and found ourselves traversing a fairly clear face of granite. As the “trail” began to turn into moderate rock climbing, I acquiesced to my concerned companions and succumbed to the brutally humbling need to turn back and re-discover the (other) trail. (I’m still convinced we were on a trail, which if it hadn’t killed us, would have brought us out much sooner, in approximately the same place.) Once discovered by Pastor, we made reasonably good time on the (other) trail over the many facets of the huge rock – largely moved by adrenaline and the fear of being forced to spend the night on that unforgiving surface.

At nightfall we were finally reacquainted with the forest and the small creek we were anticipating. I did not fall in. We bivouacked nearby the stream in an ant hill laden glen, content with anything softer than the granite we had just been pounding.

Morning brought sore everything. We had been hiking on Tuesdays for months previous in preparation for this event, but the packs introduced a new element to the routine. We commiserated around the fire over freeze dried meals and dried fruit. I think each of us was uncertain of our commitment to 4 days on the trail.

We passed time that morning with a hatched throwing contest. I’m not exactly sure why the hatchet came along – Indians? But, no matter, we managed to massage usefulness out of it by hurling it at inanimate objects. Poor trees. Actually the ones worst off were the ones directly behind the target tree, and I’m sure I saw the large boulder several yards back wince a few times. Poor hatchet.

Tony Sr. was a concern. He woke with the balance of the migraine that he had been nursing quietly the evening before. He ate little and spoke less. As we moved out of camp to head for the next campsite, he assured us he was good for the trek. He was. But, not under those conditions. The last 2 miles of the 2^nd day’s journey were covered by three of us taking turns carrying 2 packs. Within yards of the finish, Tony blessed the nearby flora with the sum total of his day’s nourishment. Poor bush.

While Tony slept that afternoon, the rest of us debated the possibility of carrying him and our water supply out of the forest on a forced march ahead of a growing wild fire. The thin 6500 ft air was slowly being tainted by wafts of smoke, and presently by the whack of helicopter blades. Within a few hundred feet of our campsite, a California Fire Helicopter began dipping his Helibucket into Yosemite Creek and flying directly overhead beyond the ridge and then rapidly returning. Round trips took less than 5 minutes. A reconnaissance team was assembled, and before it could be deployed Tracy covered much of the ground between the campsite and Yosemite Falls, met a park ranger, was convinced not to jump over the falls to safety, returned to camp, and convinced the rest of us that the park ranger was unconcerned and so now was he. We feigned belief and later also resolved to hold our ground since the helicopter had ceased its crossings. The smoke from that fire and many others, however, was to remain in the valley for the duration of the adventure.

That evening, despite fatigue and sore feet, we managed the 3 mile round trip to Yosemite falls. (Tony stayed behind and rested some more)

Only at this point did I finally remember why I do this to myself. 4 grown men and a teenager stumbled over small inadequate words as we attempted to express our awe of the massive grandeur laid before us as we peered 3,000 feet over Yosemite Falls into the chasm of Yosemite Valley. We tried to capture the awe with clicks from digital cameras and poor quality video clips. It can’t be done. Only by enduring the miles, bearing the bruises, picking the iron oxide packets from the freeze dried meals, and then finally stepping up to the edge of the abyss, can anyone truly appreciate that amazing view.

Day 3 found Tony in far better condition, and before mid day, stumbling over words with the rest of us at the top of the falls again. Phone calls to home were made possible at this point, thanks to the cell phone tower in the valley, and we stumbled some more.

We moved along the ridge of the valley for a short time on the way to find a place to camp for the third night. Many more breathtaking vistas greeted us as we traveled. Possibly so much so that for the second time, I missed the trail. Again, I was pursuing the mysterious piles of rocks. We moved well out onto a slope of decomposing granite before realizing that we had again been duped. Reconnaissance missions were assigned and within a few minutes the call was heard that a trail was found – on the opposite side of the ridge. This time we didn’t back track to regain the trail, we merely traveled straight up and over the ridge and found a smooth shaded trail running along the top of the crest- as discovered by Pastor. How long we had been off the trail, and where exactly we missed it remains a mystery. Some day I will return, as I really need to know. My aspirations of woodsman status having been destroyed, I walked in silence for the next few miles and nearly fell in a creek.

That creek proved a good location to eat lunch – for the mosquitoes. We shared space with the swarms while re-filling our water supplies, then moved up the trail to rest and eat our own lunch.

Our next campsite proved an easy hike from there, and we again set up our tents, broke out the Rook cards and made ourselves comfortable for the afternoon. This was a good day for Tony, so we all decided to round off the day with a journey to the top of “nearby” North dome.

Again came the Awe. However, this time it was not at the scenery, but rather at the fact that I was the one that managed to decipher the trail to the top of the dome. We were all initially deceived by the first granite expanse that we came upon, but many of us were soon suspicious of the dome shaped mountain still off in the distance. I was confident that off in the distance was our goal and not under our feet, and set out to find the way down – and then back up. I cautiously began to follow yet another ribbon of sparsely situated stacks of stones. I was within steps of giving up and resigning to having “seen” North Dome, but not having been there, when I saw the unmistakable Iron trail markers up ahead. With great charisma I returned and announced to the contented mob that we were not yet finished with our days ramble. A vote was taken and North Dome was invaded.

North Dome is conveniently situated directly across from the famous megalith – Half dome. With nothing now in between us and this monument to the divine finger of God but thin alpine air, we again mumbled small inadequate words.

We more stumbled than walked back to our campsite, and managed dinner, a Louis L’Amour short story, and a chapter from Patrick McManus’ A Fine and Pleasant Misery.

Sleep was required. Sleep was slow in coming – for me at least. The balance of my company drifted immediately to sleep on this final night in the wild. I for once lay awake – just long enough to hear it. It didn’t come silently or deftly, rather it came crashing through the underbrush and smashed pell mell into the creek below our camp. Sorry folks. Deer don’t do that, and neither do chipmunks. (The next morning we found the creek nearly emptied of water and dispersed along the trail leading up toward our camp.) I lay in my sleeping bag clutching my now open Leatherman – heart pounding. I listened for several minutes as the beast roamed the perimeter of our campsite. Just about the time that my heart rate finally dipped below the century mark, the tromping began again. This time it was moving rapidly toward MY TENT. I sprung to the tent flap and promptly blinded myself with my flashlight. I opened the flap and shone the light directly into the eyes of the approaching animal. It was a Bear. I’m confident. But I’m not sure. I promptly yelled out to the rest of the troops to let them know that we were under attack. The enemy fled.

My fearless fighting force rose to the occasion, with the exception of Tony, Tony, Tim, and Tracy. Pastor stirred just long enough to shine his flashlight out into the night and then drift back off to sleep. I was alone with the enemy. For the next hour I listened as they planned their attack. I soon learned, after blinding myself once more, that there were deer in their force also. We did battle over the next hour. Me with my light sabre, and them with their siege.

Eventually reason returned to my tent and we discussed the possibilities. I could sit up in my tent, or even worse, out near the fire, and get mauled by a bear. Or, I could lay down in my tent, wishing I was asleep and get mauled by the bear. Or, I could just go to sleep and get mauled by the bear. All of the options ended with me inside a bear. Then there was always the possibility that I wouldn’t get eaten. In which case the previous option would serve me best in the morning. I finally slept.

The next morning I woke up and was thankfully not gracing the digestive tract of a large mammal. We knew the final journey was going to take us up nearly 1000 feet in about 3 miles, so we ate quickly and broke camp. We moved up the trail with deliberation, but intentionally very slow. For about a half mile, near the end of our passage, pastor and I shared the burden of Tony’s pack one more time. Several more creeks were traversed, and several groups of backpackers passed us going into the park. It was Saturday after all.

We emerged from the forest up onto the road at around 10:30am. Tracy and I made it to the road first, where I realized that my truck was not where it was supposed to be. Or, rather, that the trail we had taken did not bring us to the place that we had left my truck 4 days prior. On Wednesday we had split up the 2 vehicles, one at each trail head. Unfamiliar with the roads in that part of the park, and suffering at the mercy of the same map that left us wandering twice on exposed granite faces, we had to guess where the trail head was, and parked at the most reasonable place possible. This ended up being about a mile and a half shy of the actual trail head. Had we kept driving on Wednesday, we would have found the obvious parking area fully equipped with a small restroom (wilderness style) and bear boxes. I was about to begin a jog down the highway to retrieve my truck, when a lady and her son took pity on me and delivered me to my truck. We loaded the team up into the truck and proceeded toward the other vehicle at Yosemite Creek.

On the way there we were able to view from the road the dozens of square miles that we had just circumnavigated. We were all overcome with awe at the immensity of the vast expanse, which we had touched but a mere fraction of, and also at the immensity of the journey that we had all just been a part of. To many, our experience was, shall I say, a walk in the park. For far more, however, we experienced something they will never approach. Our epic journey ended back at the ranger station on Hwy 120, but the experiences shared on that journey will tie the men of our church together far into the future.

We will do it again and again. Poor Wives.

Compilation of some July rides

I was out on my MTB all Saturday morning, entering Briones at Alhambra Creek around 7:00, and emerging at the high school in Lafayette on PH Road near Hwy 24 around 8:00.

I then “road” to meet my wife at church where she was meeting with some ladies, picked up the “trailer bike” and my daughter, and spent the balance of the morning at several Walnut Creek parks, drinking fountains, and Jamba Juice.

She and I attempted to ride up the Briones to Mt. Diablo trail, heading out of the Lindsey Wildlife museum area, but were quickly overcome by the grade and HEAT.

Poor kid is only 5, but was quite a trooper hanging in there for over 3 hours on the hot canal trails.

We went home and played in the sprinkler.

Total miles including pulling her around was likely around 30 – 35.

Plenty for me.

I took an easy ride on Saturday morning, but ended up in Clayton / Pittsburg riding up and over Bailey Rd. with a friend from Spain.

Not that bad of a hill, but they’re definitely not used to seeing cyclists up there at 7:00 in the morning.

I think the Pittsburg side could have been 50+ mph if I had seen it coming. I got 48 mph without trying.

I was riding to a men’s Bible study at our pastor’s home, so I wanted to show up un-scarred and relatively dry. Maybe 50 next time.

27 miles at 19.8 MPH

That was the score at the end of my Tuesday solo ride.

I knew I didn't have much time, so I went out for a personal time trial.

It was by far my best time ever for that distance. I was pleased.

I've been following the Tour de France over the last few weeks on bicycling.com. Of course I had visions of me jetting down the Champs Elysee with the crowds screaming my name.

We can all dream.

3 Rides

Ride #1 June 10
Our ride on Tuesday June 10 started as a typical MTB experience. Milt met me at the Briones staging area around 5:00. I had been in the park since 3:00 hiking / jogging with Pastor Brent, and it felt good. We were both strong and in good spirits, in spite of the nearby grass fire wafting smoke over the area.

When Milt arrived we headed up our typical route - straight up the mouth of the dragon - on Alhambra Creek Trail. That trail is among my favorite descents - so you can imagine the climb.

When we met Jeff at the top of the park (who had climbed up from the Bear Creek side), Milt explained that he had found a "new" trail, but I was skeptical. I thought I had finally learned most of the trails in the park. Upon leaving Old Briones Road, I realized why I had never seen the "new" trail before. It wasn't a trail, but rather a separation in the weeds. This particular separation had a magnetic feel to it, and as I followed my companions, the pull became increasingly stronger. The smell of smoking disc brakes initiated a chain reaction of instincts that rarely, but fortunately reliably, act to keep me conscious and reasonably alive. I stopped just short of a technical sequence of small rain washed canyons 12 - 18 inches deep. Milt had pulled up short, just before me, and was now situated just above me. I watched as Jeff flew pell mell through the maze and around a corner. Seconds later we gained audible cues that he had momentarily suffered from a distinct and sharp raise in blood pressure. Unwilling to let him get away with having all of the fun, I inched through a few feet of the washout, and clipped back into my pedals.
I successfully navigated the wash and rounded the corner to see a steep but tame descent through the trees. My blood pressure also spiked as I catapulted over the small but completely unexpected precipice and engaged a frustrated and confused group of cows and calves. We didn't bother to warn Milt... He made it.
From there we headed to Table Top Road.

The rest of the ride was uneventful as explained by Milt in an email he sent out...

Subject: Three Riders, Three Crashes

Hi Guys,

Great ride today.....Scott, Jeff ,and I rode the new loop around the single track today. Scott biffed on the s.t. leading from Table Top Road to Alhambra Creek Rd. leaving only a little skin behind......I dropped my bike while turning fast onto the s.t. just off Toyon Rd ,with Jeff almost running over me. Jeff didn't make the turn at the bottom of Dead Cow Hill ( some of you know it as Nicks' crash site ) although his bike made it to the bottom of the hill without him.=) It was a fun ride.....


Like I said, Uneventful.
Now if you want to see "Eventful," just come over and watch me try to pull on a "T" shirt and not tear the scabs off my elbow.


Ride #2 June 13
Friday night.
This one was the best of the 3. Becky, Ella, and I set off for Trader Joe's in Concord with 2 bikes and a "trailer" bike (which is one wheel, a seat, handle bars, and a coupling to attach to my bike) on / in the back of the Pilot.
Our plan was to leave from the TJ's parking lot, ride several miles along the canal trail, then return to TJ's and do a little shopping. Amazingly, that is exactly what we did.

Events of the ride...
1. Seeing the "water fall" in the canal.
2. Seeing the geese in the canal.
3. Stopping at the Schweikerts to say "hi," but only getting to say "hi" to the goats. The Schweikerts weren't home.
4. Playing at the park.
5. Petting the doggy at the park.
6. Realizing that TJ's closed in 30 minutes, and we were 30 minutes away.
7. Massaging the cramps out of my wife's legs. (Ok, so that happened a little later)
8. Narrowly missing the skunk that felt it necessary to cross the trail just in front of us - who were going to be late to TJ's.
9. Not getting anointed by the skunk that felt it necessary to cross the trail just in front of us.
10. Making it to TJ's in time to buy Cliff Bars for Saturday's ride.


Ella's favorite part, "Going to the park and meeting a new dog friend."

Ride #3 June 14
I learned a whole lot on Saturday.
I learned that if you get hungry - it's too late - you're about to get wasted.
I learned that riding that fast for the first 20 miles isn't smart if you're planning on adding another 70.
I learned that a Starbucks mocha is worth about 15 miles.
I learned that Vince is ready for the Death Ride, and I'm not.

Vince and I were the only 2 to show up on Saturday morning. We discussed a route, and set off to "see what happens."
We left from Virginia Hills Shopping Center on Pleasant Hill Rd. (we both had miles under our belts already, just to get there), and headed toward Alhambra Rd and its intersection with Bear Creek Rd. From there we started up what is affectionately called the "Three Bears" by area cyclists. On the way up Bear number 1, which I think is Mama Bear - at least coming from that direction, we noted a cyclist near the top of the hill. Being the way we are, Vince and I both stepped it up a notch and attempted to overtake this other cyclist. And we did. I was very proud of our accomplishment until I noticed that he only had one good leg.
This gentleman, was likely in his 50's or 60's (riding a dated, but well loved 10 speed), with one HUGE right leg and a withered left leg seemingly attached to a prosthesis and a cycling shoe. As we passed, we exchanged formalities and commented on the weather, since the first things that come to my mind to say, far to often prove me a fool. This being near the top of the hill, Vince and I returned to the business at hand, and settled into a quick cadence and tucked for a short descent. Near the bottom of the hill I let up and allowed the momentum of the bike to carry me to the bottom. Surprised was I as the fellow we had left at the top of the hill pulled out of my draft and passed me on the way up the next hill. Though shortly we left him behind and never saw him again, I was genuinely impressed. I would love to know who he is and get his story. Anybody know this guy?

We finished the 3 bears and took a short break before ascending again, up into Tilden Park.
UP, UP, UP.
The first couple of miles is steep, but the 1 mile climb up South Park is brutal.
This is where I really started to fade. I had been consuming the Cliff bars from the previous night's adventure, and thought I was keeping up with my body's demand.
Wrong.
I'm confident that by that time I was nearly 1,000 calories in the red.
The ride across Grizzly Peak, Skyline, and eventually Redwood was grueling, and only got worse as we went. And, I'm not talking about the terrain, as it's pretty easy rolling hills and some wicked descents. I was well hydrated, but my energy level was plumeting. When we finally rolled into Castro Valley, our first opportunity to purchase more "fuel," I was completely spent, and was seriously considering calling Bec to come pick me up. Now that's notable. That would have been a nearly fatal blow to my ego.
This was at about 50 miles into the ride. I had been seriously praying for strength to finish the ride, and God sent an angel.
We pulled into a Safeway parking lot, and what should there be, but a Starbucks inside.
Like a fool, I had brought no money, so Vince graciously offered to buy. I ate another Cliff bar, and drank my water, while watching the bikes so Vince could shop. He came out with my grande mocha and some ice to cool it down - for chugging, a bottle of water, and 2 Payday candy bars.
He consumed one Payday and refilled his water, while I made very short work of the mocha.
Within minutes I was back to 75%. I was shocked. We got back on the bikes, and proceeded up Crow Canyon road. I felt so much better, and was amazed at what 10 minutes of rest and a Starbucks mocha could do. I was just beginning see what amazing creatures, God created us humans to be.
Through the next 10 - 15 miles I was able to nearly forget my exhaustion, and ride with notable ease. So much so, that when it came time to decide whether or not to ascend Mount Diablo for a final push, I voted to do it.

I do not regret this decision. Rather I regret not knowing enough about my body to realize how close to finished I was. I needed 2 or 3 more mochas, right then, but didn't know it. Instead Vince produced 2 Goo Shots - 1 of which I gratefully consumed.
Again, halfway up the ascent, I was completely spent. My skin was clammy, and I no longer felt ANY pain. We rested for a few minutes and I ate the second half of Vince's second Payday, and was thankful for the Goo Shot that he had given me at the bottom of the climb.
Again I revived, and was back in the saddle for the final few miles of climbing. The Ranger station could not come soon enough. We discussed making an attempt on the top of the mountain, which was within reach - only another 5 miles - but wisely decided that "we were pushed for time, and really shouldn't make the climb with other obligations that evening."
We were at approx. 75 miles.

I intended for the descent of Diablo to be relaxed, and told Vince as much.
Yeah right!
I am incapable of riding that stretch of road relaxed. I love the downhill, the curves, the speed...
About halfway down we caught a pickup truck driven by a lady who didn't want to pull out. Amazingly she drove wild enough to keep me from being tempted to pass, but it was quite a trip.

At the bottom of the mountain, I was again completely spent, and we were both out of food.
Vince was doing great the whole time. He saved my self respect, and very possibly my life, by donating to a stubborn, but in my wife's opinion - worthy cause. I limped along behind as we coasted through the diablo foothills toward home. As we turned on to the canal trail, I recalled the previous night's failed attempt at visiting with the Schweikerts. I vowed that if I saw them in their back yard as we passed on the trail, that I would ride around and beg for food.
I begged for food.
You should have seen Nicki (Please check spelling) as she came out from the back yard. You would have thought I was a ghost. I'm not sure that it was the first thing she said, but the first thing I recall hearing was "are you alright?" I was not. I attempted a feeble reassurance, but basically all that came out was "can I have something to eat?" I don't recall all of the following events, but I was ushered to the bench at the front porch and Molly (or Heidi - I honestly don't remember. My sincerest apologies.) proceeded to make the most transcendant strawberry smoothies for both Vince and myself. I think Nicki was still trying to determine whether or not medical help should be called. If an ambulance had arrived - I would have gotten in at that point.
Nicki produced a bag of trail mix which I begrudgingly shared with Vince. (Starving people are the most selfish.) The entire bag of trail mix, and the smoothies were consumed. I'm pretty sure there were other Shweickert family members there, and I think I may have even spoken to some of them, but I was literally so fatigued, I could not make sense of their questions, and I'm afraid to ask what responses I may have given. All I really remember was a mother figure meeting my basic human needs.

Amazingly - again - I was refreshed following the 15 minute rest and calorie boost. I got back on my bike and finished the day with 94 miles.

It wasn't the distance that did me in.
It was my complete lack of understanding concerning how my body uses fuel, and how quickly.
Next time I'll...