In my short experience of brevet rides (two) this was dramatic, a lot of fun, and I still smile gleefully about what feels in a sense a cheekily stolen outcome. I couldn't help feeling a little bit like the dark horse, since it was my first brevet with the San Francisco club, nobody knew me, and I seemed to keep on upsetting the calculations of those in the know.
Although brevets are not officially competitive, since they are timed, there are bragging rights to be had for the fastest riders. So up at the front end of the field there usually is some friendly competition mixed with the strong spirit of comradeship.
Going into the ride, I had no idea what to expect of my own form and to be frank my goal was merely to finish without feeling too beaten up. 125 miles seemed like an awfully long way. I took most of 2007 off the bike, and last year I rode from April until July but then not at all from July to December. Since then the longest I've done was a 90-miler two weekends ago, which I found pretty tough. My main problem was being really slow up all hills.
At 7 a.m. we left the Golden Gate Bridge carpark and pedalled out under a soggy sky. We were eyeing the slightly damp roads with some distaste and I think feeling a shared hope that this was as damp as the day would get. Thankfully it was, although we never saw any sun.
Passing through Sausalito I realized that most riders in this brevet would be travelling at a slower pace than the small group I was with. Not wanting to complete such a long ride alone, I was a little uncomfortable about the thought of being left behind by this group on the climbs and then getting stranded a long way ahead of the following group . If only I had known...
The climbs were sending my heart rate rocketing into the lactic red zone, and on the Camino Alto climb a group of five or so immediately rode away from me. Sure, I could've dug in and stayed with them, but that much acid in my legs so early in a long ride would have made any climbs in the final 50 miles just horrible - and I was all too aware of the homeward grind up from Sausalito to the Golden Gate Bridge.
The flats were passing under my wheels at a speed slightly above 20 mph, and going through Larkspur/Kentfield I rode up to the leading group, wanting to share the work rather than do it all myself. On White Hill I once again let them go as Graham Pollock pushed the pace at the front. Since I carry a few extra pounds, I descended fast and a couple of miles later I'd caught this group again. They were lined out behind the pace of Graham Pollock, who was tucked into his aero bars and seemed happy to do the work up front.
Everything was fine until Pollock flatted just after we came out from under the peaceful redwoods of Samuel Taylor Park. The rest of the group stopped to wait for him, but said since they were all a lot faster than me on the hills, and I seemed destined to be riding a lot of this on my own anyway, I thought I'd just keep riding, knowing they'd come up to me on the hills near Olema and Inverness.
I sometimes think Inverness is aptly named. This day was one of those times. With the hills a wintry green, and the mist hanging low over the water, the Tomales bay landscape did remind me of a Scottish loch. About 10 miles from Point Reyes Lighthouse, it was on the big climb out of Inverness, sure enough this group of four caught me again and drafted me all the way to the steep undulations near the lighthouse. Wind was not much of a factor on this day, and I was happy to ride at my speed with the rest in tow. Then came the first of those climbs and I was quickly off the back.
15 or so minutes later we arrived at the Pt Reyes Lighthouse checkpoint. I say 'we' because Max Poletto was suffering a bit and I caught him as we rolled into the carpark, about three or four minutes after the first guys. The other riders were standing around chatting, seeming happy to rest their legs after those steep climbs. I had my card signed, filled my water bottle and was first to leave (I find it hard to get going again if I stop too long). Once again I was the leader. I found this very amusing because there were at least five or six riders who were stronger than me!
The Point Reyes Lighthouse part of the course is out-and-back, so I passed the field as they approached the checkpoint. Many greeted me with the words: "You're winning!" To which I thought "If only they knew!"
Somewhere back behind me, Pollock flatted again, costing him another five minutes or so, and I didn't see him again all day except after the Marshall turnaround. A couple of miles out from Inverness I was caught by two riders, Pete Morrissey and Russ Fairles , as we ascended the ridge. I thought that was the end of it, that my time at the front had come to an end. But as we approached Pt Reyes Station, another five or so miles along, I was mildly surprised to see this duo only 600 yards ahead.
I didn't pick up my pace any, but not long after, Pete dropped something from his pocket and I passed him while he picked it up. Pete and Russ passed me back, and this time it seemed that they'd really picked up the pace, because I was not comfortable riding with them. I let them go, and saw them next at the Marshall turnaround/checkpoint 10 miles farther on.
I purchased two cans of Coke at the Marshall store, had my card stamped and put the Coke in my waterbottle. I wondered briefly if I should have purchased an additional can, but I couldn't be bothered to pull my money out so I lfet it at that. I got rolling again, saying to Pete and Russ that I expected to see them up the road somewhere. I was surprised that they took so long at the checkpoint, especially since I'd heard them talking about winning and which riders might challenge them (I don't think I was one of the names they mentioned!).
Heading south from Marshall to Nicasio, the Coke lifted my spirits and gave my legs new bounce after almost 90 miles in the saddle. I had a nice, if light, tailwind now and was cruising at 22/23 mph. I had expected to be caught ascending the Nicasio dam, but it didn't happen. In fact Pete and Russ were not within a mile of me. With only a couple of small climbs remaining before Camino Alto and Sausalito, I began to consider that I might be the first rider home. A devilish grin crept onto my face, because I really didn't feel as though I necessarily deserved it, somehow if felt like stealing the laurels.
As I approached Nicasio I started to make some calculations. Looking at my water bottle I began to wish I had purchased an additional Coke at Marshall, because I'd almost drained my bottle, and knew I'd need more to stay strong to the finish. I decided I'd nip into the Nicasio store. The owner was very friendly and wanted to chat a little. This detour took about four minutes in total, and when I got back onto the road, Pete and Russ were just riding by. So I got into their slipstream and braced myself for the forthcoming climbs.
As we scaled the San Geronimo hill, I was surprised that neither of them came past me. I started to wonder if they had perhaps overcooked it a little in the first 60 miles, when they were hitting the climbs pretty hard.
Descending White Hill we were tooted by a seemingly angry woman in a Volvo, who was quite content to follow the car ahead of us down the hill, but seemed to think that no cyclist should be ahead of her. She was prepared to - and did - drive very dangerously to get ahead of us, so we dropped back a little to let her have the position she craved.
The three of us stayed together until Camino Alto, about 10 miles from the finish. Then Russ made his move. He jumped at the bottom and got 200 yards clear, staying there until we caught him in the traffic lights approaching Sausalito. Russ attacked again on the Sausalito climb to GG Bridge. He was too fast for me, although not by much. Pete went off the back.
Russ, unsure of the route, missed the turn-off to the steep climb into the parking lot before crossing the bridge and I went back into the lead. He caught me going over the bridge, but in the final few yards before the carpark finish, I spotted some open path (no cyclists or pedestrians) and uncorked a wee sprint (some habits die hard) to claim the unexpected, small glory of (equal) first rider home.
It was a fun day, with excellent conditions when instead we had expected showers. It was cold, though, at the finish and having ridden there I had no dry clothes to put on. After 15 minutes or so I pedalled home, hoping that all the others made it in OK and had had as much fun out there as I did.
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over-achiever! and you were worried?
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