San Francisco Randonneurs 200k April 26

With only two long mountain bike rides and two short road rides in my legs this month, I drove to the chilly 7 a.m. start at Lucas Valley Rd with some feelings of trepidation. Standing among the group of 25 or so during the pre-ride briefing a nagging uncertainty questioned my fitness to stay the course. Yet when Rob Hawks started us, by force of habit I hopped my chain up onto the big ring and met the chilly morning air at a brisk pace. As much as anything, I was trying to get warm! Soon I found a rhythm, and as I ascended to the saddle in the hills at the head of Lucas Valley, I could hear chatter in the group following close behind. I expected to be joined by several others after the descent, on the flats approaching Nicasio.

It was a beautiful spring morning, the air so fresh and clear and gay patches of flowers decorated the fields and roadside verges in the early sun. These bursting bright patches of springtime flowers in full bloom would provide so many, many bright spots along the entire route. It really was something to behiold.

The wind was mercifully quiet on this morning, it seemed like a perfect day for a ride. My spirits were soaring.

Looking back down Hicks Valley Rd as I climbed the leg-tenderizing Wilson Hill, I saw a group following me, maybe eight riders. I suppose this group must have broken up the the 10+ percent grade it was about to tackle.

As I left Valley Ford a group of three came rolling in: Vidas, Andrea and Geoffrey. In the end it turned out this trio would provide the only company I had on the ride, and even then I only ever saw them at controls as I was departing. I suppose I could have waited, but I have so much difficulty getting started again if I stop for more than a couple of minutes, and once rolling I felt good in my rhythm, so I was content to let it be a solo ride.

Pedaling past the soft green pastures of Chileno Valley Rd, I felt a deep sense that all was well with the world. The sky was blue, the headwind was very slight and the scenery was soft, green, warm and wonderful. From there it only got better as presently the course unfolded along the delightful Bohemian Highway, which is lined with redwoods and undulates gently under the easy winding turns.

I was cruising along with an average rolling speed of about 18 mph, and my legs seemed to be feeling fine even if the stroke volume of my heart was a little low. That's what I get for not riding enough....

Hitting Monte Rio, I felt the first assault of what at times would be a fairly stiff headwind. It was mild at first, but as I advanced along River Road toward Jenner the resistance ramped up in that invasive roaring way a headwind does, and I started longing for the southward turn onto Hw1, even though this came with the first of those awkward coastal rollers. After that initial climb on the south side of the Russian River bridge, I was soon bowling along to Bodega Bay at speeds close to 30 mph.

It was too good to last. The fun ended after long the drag out of Bodega Bay, where the road turns south-southwest and warps into that seemingly endless succession of steep rollers. These pummeled my legs all the way into Marshall. I started wishing for something bigger than a 27 at the back. And the wind was no longer my friend. Riding through that wind funnel made by the Tomales Bay inlet, my progress slowed at times to climbing pace. I seem to remember swearing at the top of my lungs in a gesture that immediately was made to seemed pathetic when the wind took my words and disintegrated them in its own steady roar.

In the end, though, I think it was that interminable set of steep rollers leading into Marshall that drove me to the hard stuff. I purchased a can of Coke in the Marshall Store. I'd arrived at a bad time, though. 12 car-travellers stood in the line ahead of me when I went in and I waited for what seemed like an age to pay for my liquid salvation and get my card stamped. By the time I got back on the bike everything inside me had slowed down and it took probably five miles before I felt any souplesse in my cadence.

Things go better with Coke. And from Marshall on, the conditions unquestionably improved. That unlikely saviour in the red and white can had restored a sense of optimism and mental focus, the course became flatter, and the wind started pushing me again.

The climb up Lucas Valley was possibly the best part of the ride. The gentle slope was almost neutralized by the powerful tailwind and I gladly accepted its help as I worked up the valley toward what surely must be one of the easiest final five miles' in the brevet world.

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