Cycling Stories

SFR Winters 200km. October 8, 2011

2011-10-30T20:54:00.000-07:00

We were about 50, I'd guess, wheeling out from the Rodeo Park'n'Ride shortly before sunrise to commence the Winters 200km brevet. Joy of joys, this was a new route for me: a Q shaped course that crossed the Carquinez Strait, covered the flat land to the west of Davis, then brushed the south shore of Lake Berryessa before heading south out of the Napa Valley, and back across Carquinez.

With only about 5,000 feet of climbing, a reasonably fast time seemed likely. I was less confident about my ability to stay with the leaders, though. Having struggled with my form all season I was seriously contemplating a cruise along with one of the more civilized groups that follows somewhere in the next hour.

As it happened I was left behind right at the start, along with my regular riding buddies Mark and Joe, both of whom were on their first SFR ride. We were a little lethargic coming out of the parking loat, and it wasn't until we were about half way up the line of randonneurs that we realized a group had already separated itself and was almost 30 seconds off the front. No leisurely start for us!

We put our heads down and caught the leaders on San Pablo Ave, shortly before the Chevron refinery, and maintained our momentum over the first of what seemed like endless rollers that make this course harder than it looks.

Of course on the way out, the rollers along Lake Herman and then Lopes Roads seemed pretty tiny. With the sun low in the cloudless blue sky, a gentle breeze pushed us along and we made good time.

A group of around eight, maybe nine of us, arrived at the first control point, Tower Mini-Mart on Lopes and Gold Hill, about 23 miles in. By the time I emerged from the bathroom, three riders had already departed and more were streaming in. Not a moment to lose! Joe, Mark, Jose Plascencia and myself set off in pursuit of the leading group. We caught them a couple of miles into the Suisun Valley Road. Jose told us that the rollers would soon flatten out, which was heartening news, because I think our initial vigor may have been starting to wilt in the warm morning sun.

A few rollers remained though, and these took their toll on some in the group, reducing it to the four I'd left Control 1 with, as well as Rick Martyn who was riding like a tandem on the front as he powered his way to a volunteer post at Winters for the lunchtime stop. Any time the speed dropped below 23 mph, Rick would go back to the front and sit there, belting out a pace of 23-25 mph. None of us realized that he was going to stop in Winters, and he was very modest about it when asked, but I can't help thinking he'd have kept up that intensity for the full 200km. I don't think I took a turn of more than a minute before Rick would come powering past.

Rick got us to Winters before 10 a.m., with an average speed of 20 mph, and we rolled into the Control on the hour. The process of more restroom visits, stripping off leg and arm warmers, applying sun block, and grabbing a quick bite kept us there for more than 20 minutes, and a few riders were on the road ahead of us by the time we got rolling. With the stopping and starting, our average speed quickly dropped to 19mph, before we even got to the SR128, a quarter of a mile away, so I was feeling eager to press on. Yet there was an uncomfortable feeling that I'd be paying a price for this enthusiasm later in the day, because I'd seen my heart rate surpass 170bpm several times already, about 10 beats over my anaerobic threshold. So I popped some more B vitamins, ate plenty (I always bring along about 1lb of food in my pockets, which I eat on the move), took some electrolytes and hoped for the best.

Joe, Mark, Jose and I reeeled in the leaders and soon found ourselves out on our own as we progressed toward the hills surrounding Lake Berryessa.

Jose flatted just before we began climbing, and told us not to stop and wait for him, so we pressed on.

Often if I stop for more than five minutes, I have a lot of trouble finding a rhythm, and by the time we started climbing I was still feeling out of sorts. Mark seemed to be doing just fine, but sensing I wasn't quite there he took the opportunity to repay a few 'favors' I'd done him on past rides and attacked on the first pitch of the climb. Watching Mark spin away into the distance under an intensifying morning sun, I was feeling all kinds of heat. I turned and told Joe I couldn't raise my pace, and he said he was feeling the same. Then I backed off, down to about 160bpm, and watched Joe float up the hill to join Mark. That seemed a little confusing, but the splendid scenery of those hills soon took precedence in my mind.

By the time we crested the first step of this climb, both Mark and Joe had disappeared from view and I hoped I would see them at the Cold Drinks Store at Control 4. I saw them sooner than that, in fact it was the lower slopes of the second step. Joe was now going through a rough spell, while Mark was riding at a steady pace about a minute ahead. I felt comfortable ramping up my pace to around 170 bpm, knowing that after this set of climbs it was relatively flat, but I didn't wish to go higher than that as the acid levels would be too disruptive. I cruised past Joe, and that pace seemed to keep me about equidistant behind Mark, and I arrived at Control 4 within a minute of him.

We took our time there chatting with some other riders out enjoying the fabulous fall conditions, and soon both Joe and Jose rejoined us, and then a few minutes later some more from the orginal lead group. We departed as a quartet and worked our way, with a gentle crosswind, over the final climbs and down toward the Napa Valley.

At some point in the ride, I'm not quite sure where, my GPS device tells me I hit 49 mph on one of the descents. It could have been on the exhilarating plummet down toward Wooden Valley Road. Or it could have been chasing Mark over the Berryessa hills. I'm not sure where it was, but one thing I do know is the lightweight carbon fiber wheel rims don't feel nearly as stable as a heavier aluminum rim on the descent. Is this due to a lower rotating mass?

The four of us stayed together, working into what was now a slight headind as we travelled south, back to Control 5, revisting the Tower Mini-Mart on Lopes Road. Joe was feeling a little unwell, but assured us he'd be fine with a little break, so we left him at the Mini-Mart while Mark, Jose and I carried on to the end.

Jose flatted again at the junction of Lake Herman Road, He had seemed to be finding some great late-ride power, and flatting like that must have been immensely frustrating for him, although he seemed very cool about it. Once again he encouraged Mark and I to ride on, so we did.

The endless rollers of Lopes and Lake Herman road had mysteriously become small mountains. Funny how they'd grown so much since our outward ride. Mark pushed the pace on the largest of these climbs, and once again my heart rate hit 170 trying to stay in contact. I started to think of the ride I have planned for Friday (Dublin-Mt Hamilton-Dublin), and let him go. Any excuse, right? Soon afterwards a friendly red light brought us back together as we wheeled into Vallejo.

Mark seemed very strong still, but an unexpected semi-bonk as we crossed the Carquinez Bridge had him delving into his pockets for any remaining food, and suddenly the tables were turned. I thought about pressing home the advantage, as I was feeling pretty fair, but I've found digging deep late in a long ride can really slow post-ride recovery, so I took the friendly option and we pedaled home together. It was Mark's first randonnee, he'd had a great time and was very complimentary about the lunch and post-ride provisions laid on by SFR.

Jose came in a few minutes later, then a couple of others, and then Joe arrived in very good spirits. He too was delighted with his introduction to SFR and is looking forward to obtaining a club jersey.

###

DFL in Golden Gate Park

2010-09-15T22:30:00.000-07:00

If there was anything stranger than finding myself lining up on the start line of a cyclo-cross race tonight, it was that I, like most of my rivals, was wearing a dress.

Yep, "cross racers are crazy" - that's what I thought last time I was standing course-side at a 'cross race watching the pain in their eyes as the riders revved to the redline for a full hour while attempting to keep upright as they probed the limits of their handling skills on the loose terrain.

Me with Sports Basement marketing guy, Kevin Rusch in the WonderWoman outfit.

Thanks to Mark Dawson for the pic.

The last 'cross race I actually rode was in 1992, and I still remembered how much I suffered in those gruelling events. I thought back a couple of days to that conversation in Sports Basement when I'd spontaneously agreed to come out and ride. It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing, like when I signed up to ride in the Furnace Creek 508 for the first time, back in 2006. If I'd thought about this even for a second I'd have been at home now doing something sensible with a cup of tea and some cake.

And if you're wondering why we were all wearing dresses it's because we were too cheap to come up with the $5 entry fee (the rule is if you wear a dress you ride free). That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

By the way, it was an illegal race. Illegal in the sense of unpermitted. Permitted races are for people who don't wear dresses. Now here's a thought: if the riders aren't wearing dresses, should it really be called a 'cross race?

On my way to the event I was passed by a guy whose dress fell down to his rear wheel and tangled in the brake. I suggested he might want to hem it a little higher for the next event. He looked puzzled. The sheer number of macho types willing to don a dress to save $5 was impressive to the point of suspicion. Could it be something to do with cultural creep in San Francisco?

There must have been 120 hairy-armed riders in dresses at the startline, heck, there were even some women with moustaches. And as if all that weren't entertainment enough, a brass quartet soon started playing oompah music.

They lined us up and made us run to our bikes. Seconds later we were sucking in clouds of dust as the quick kids got away early.

The problem with advancing years is that one loses whatever lightening there ever was in one's pace. But on the other hand, you get better at pacing yourself and hanging tough. But mountain bikes were definitely slower than cross bikes on this course, and I was working hard to stay in the top 20.

About half way through the race we started to lap the back-markers.

Thanks to Mark Dawson for the pic.

The riders barrelled along the sandy paths of Golden Gate Park, bumping and grinding with each other as we strove to stay upright and always be ahead of the other guy. From time to time, the rude musical interjections of the oompah band cut through the pain to remind me of how absurd the whole thing was.

After about 20 minutes this guy I'd been duelling with for three laps (another mountain biker) made a bad passing move on a lapped rider and went down semi-hard onto a slippery log. He got up fast, but he'd hurt himself, and maybe a little too gleefully I moved in for the kill, dropping down a gear and sprinting ahead before he started to feel better.

Some of the young hopefuls had gone out too hard and now were coming back to me. I was thinking how their legs must be feeling even more like concrete than mine. This was getting fun, at least it would've been if it didn't hurt so much.

And then suddenly the riders ahead were riding back down the course towards me, shouting "Ranger on the course." MAJOR bummer! I did a quick 180 and joined the throng hastening back to the start to unpin our numbers and pretend we hadn't been racing.

She arrived a minute later, ticket book in stern hand, and Joe the organizer went to face the music. Not a squeak out of the oompah band...

Joe talks fast to avoid getting a $103 ticket for an unpermitted race.

A few minutes later she was smiling. She wasn't going to ticket him, but she'd sure as heck shattered the moment. It's the same whatever you're wearing: Stopping half way through really spoils the fun.

Nifty Ten Fifty - April 4

2010-04-14T10:33:00.000-07:00

A few years ago now, former Clif Bar marketing guru, Paul McKenzie, concocted the formula for a bike ride that would haunt hardcore cyclists for the rest of eternity. He called it the Nifty Ten Fifty. This is a route that comprises 54 miles and 10,000 feet of climbing in ten punishing ascents that criss-cross the East Bay hills.

Each year the McPaulster has sent an email encouraging me and others to join the ride, and commonsense has always prevailed. I don't quite know what happened this year, but I decided I'd take up his challenge. Looking back, I wish I'd studied the route map more carefully beforehand, it really was alarming!

10,000 feet of climbing in 54 miles. Think about it, that would be almost 2,000 feet every 10 miles on average, right? Actually it's worse than that. Since half of the ride is descending, think 2,000 feet of climbing every five miles. Here's a comparison: Mt Diablo, a highly respected climb among cyclists in the East Bay area, gains about 3,000 feet of elevation in about nine miles if you take the steeper North Gate Road. So the Nifty Ten Fifty is considerably more demanding than riding Mt Diablo... several times over.

The average gradient of the climbs in the Nifty Ten Fifty is about 15%. That's almost twice as steep as the notorious Alpe d'Huez climb in the Tour de France.

If you're starting to think this ride is bordering on insanity, you'd be among the majority of cyclists. The Nifty Ten Fifty is for the extreme few who've ridden or raced through numerous challenges and are looking for something that's so hard the best part is reaching the end.

A group of eight assembled at the start, and this year we didn't reach the end. A violent weather front coming in gave us the perfect out. With strong winds whipping at our spokes on the steep descents, and driving rain numbing our fingers, we decided it was getting dangerous and curtailed the ride at the half-way point. I never thought I'd be so grateful for foul weather!

We'd climbed 5,000 feet in 25 miles. My legs felt like jelly, and would still be feeling a little creaky three days later. Yet somehow the memory of it is exhilarating. Will I do this ride again? How I wish I could say No with some certainty.

A New Breed of Cycling Champ?

2010-01-23T20:59:00.000-08:00

The significance of Cadel Evans's world championship victory has many aspects, but one that has been overlooked by most commentators is arguably the most significant: the people who are changing the culture and traditions of the old European cycling model.

There are two parts to this: the geography; and the cycling history. Looking at the geographical part, Evans' win is evidence that the sport is slowly becoming more global. By this I mean that the tight clique of nations in western Continental Europe are slowly loosening their grip. This might seem to some like a voluntary action, but I don't think so. It is no secret that for several decades, many continental Europeans have held onto the opinion that the anglo nations (Australia, Canada, Ireland, New Zealand, South Africa, United Kingdom, United States, etc.) don't really understand the essence of bicycle road racing.

There is some historical justification for this view. Looking at the world championship results back to 1927, we see that the first time an anglo rider to win a world championship was the Briton, Tom Simpson, in 1965. This was, in fact, only the second time a rider from outside the clique (France, Italy, Switzerland, Belgium, Netherlands) had won a road world's. So even though the prejudice seems mistaken now, you can see how it might have been formed.

Germans, Muller and Altig won in 1952 and '66, but the next time a non-clique nation won it was Greg Lemond in 1983 and again in '89. Lemond was really the start of the revolution, because he won several Tours de France as well, and showed the world that angl0 nations can understand cycling well enough to win its greatest prizes (some in the clique still wouldn't admit this - and at the time pointed to the fact that Lemond had a French-sounding name!). In 1987 Stephen Roche of Ireland claimed the rainbow jersey (in the same year he won the Tour de France and Giro d'Italia), and his compatriot Sean Kelly deserves credit too, because he was the most successful one-day racer of this era and it was paradoxical that he never won a road world's title. He was that good, and even the die-hards in Europe grudgingly admitted that Kelly was unbeatable in one-day competition.

During the 1980s we began to see a lot of English speakers on the top step of the podium. Fast forward again four years to 1993, when a young Lance Armstrong took the title, and it really was starting to look as though a new order was being established in road cycling.

Next we saw the emergence of Spain as a major force in international cycling, as Abraham Olano took the first rainbow jersey for his nation in 1994, beginning a decade when Spain would win five of the ten world's titles.

Romans Vaintsteins won it for Latvia in 2000, which further rocked the tradition, but toward the end of the first decade in the new millenium the old guard reasserted itself with Boonen winning for Belgium in 2005, followed by three Italian wins.

So bringing the conversation back to Evans: he brought to three the number of Anglo nations who have won a world championship; he was the first Australian to win the title. Evans' brilliantly tactical victory at Mendrisio in September 2009 made the statement that not only in the past 30 years have the clique nations had to share the rainbow jersey, but they've shared it with English speakers from several different nations.

The next part is briefer, but it is no less significant .... and again it's to do with exploding snobbish myths and traditions.

This is about the type of bicycles a champion has ridden in his career. Tradition has it that the world champion only ever rides a road bike in his life, with the occasional exceptions of traditional disciplines such as cyclo-cross or maybe track.

Not so for Evans. Cadel evans tooled about on a BMX bike as a child before taking up mountain biking as his sport of choice. Needless to say he excelled in the fat tire sport before deciding to seek fame and fortune on the road - where he became one of the top cyclists of his generation excelling in the Tour de France and now winning a world championship.

This resoundingly makes the point that it doesn't matter where a cyclist learns the sport. If the talent, dedication/desire, psyche, etc. are there, the rider can switch to a given discipline (road, track, mountain bike, bmx, etc.) at a relatively late age and still excel.

Some traditions are worth preserving, but cycling has a few that aren't. Lance Armstrong noticed this, and wears black socks in protest. Cadel Evans, while hardly an outspoken rebel, in quietly doing his own thing has become the latest in a line of Anglo riders who are irrevocably broadening the scope of this great and storied sport.

The Times They Are a Changin

2009-11-09T20:11:00.000-08:00

From the LA Times, November 2, 2009.

"A physician (Dr Christopher Thompson, ed.) accused of deliberately injuring two cyclists by slamming on his car’s brakes on a narrow Brentwood road last year was convicted Monday of assault with a deadly weapon, mayhem and other serious criminal charges....

"Prosecutors alleged that on July 4, 2008, Thompson stopped his car after passing the two cyclists and shouting at them to ride single-file. One cyclist ran face-first into the rear windshield of the doctor’s red Infiniti, breaking his front teeth and nose, and leaving his face scarred. The other was sent hurtling to the sidewalk and suffered a separated shoulder.

"A police officer testified that Thompson told him soon after the accident that the cyclists had cursed at him and flipped him off, so he slammed on his brakes “to teach them a lesson.”"

------

Fact: The cyclists were travelling at 30 mph on a narrow winding, wooded road before the collision.

This is fast for a narrow winding road, and should not have caused most motorists much inconvenience.

Fact: Dr. Thompson had been harassing the cyclists by honking, revving his engine and driving dangerously close for some time before passing and shouting at them.

We have to ask here: Why was he so angry at these cyclists?

--------

There is never a good excuse for violence. Today is November 9th, the 20th anniversary of the collapse of the Berlin Wall. Imagine what we'd have said if the East German border troops had started shooting people when the Wall was so provocatively breached on that day in 1989 and thousands flooded through? Thankfully those German soldiers responded sensibly and nobody was hurt. Let's hope the salutory lesson of Dr Thompson helps persuade American motorists to take a leaf out of their book.

Like Eastern Europe in the late Eighties, this is a time of social change in America. Cyclists are coming back onto the roads in rapidly increasing numbers, for recreational purposes and for transport purposes. The simple fact is road use is changing. Maybe Dr Thompson would have benefited from remembering a popular prayer:

God grant me the serenity

To accept the things I cannot change;

Courage to change the things I can;

And wisdom to know the difference.

Did Dr Thompson think the cyclists were misusing the road? Even if he wanted to change their behaviour, it is seldom possible to do this in the on-road setting. But let's look at what cyclists can do to make it easier for motorists. After all, traffic flow makes good sense, and any vehicles moving above or below the speed of the flow cause disruption.

Cyclists generally cannot travel above 20 mph on a flat road, 10 mph on an uphill, but can often go faster than a car on a winding descent. If cyclists could go faster on the flat and uphill, my bet is they would. These cyclists were taveling at 30 mph, probably the safe speed limit on the winding descent where the incident took place. Overall, speed modification is not an option available to cyclists.

Asking cyclists to ride in single file makes a perceptual difference, but in effect it doesn't make a big difference to the ease with which a car can pass. Passing a single-file cyclist puts most cars into the oncoming lane. If the cyclists are single or double file, the motorist still must go into the oncoming lane. Insisting that cyclists ride single-file seems like an unnecessary demand, but it is an area where cyclists are able to make a conciliatory gesture.

It makes sense for cyclists to ride in very small groups, up to six riders. This makes it easy for a car to pass easily and safely. Even if a large group of 100 cyclists is arranged into small packs of six, spaced 20 yards apart, by making small leapfrog passes, rather than being forced into the oncoming lane for an extended period the road is made safer for passing car drivers and cyclists alike.

There are times when I have pulled over to let a car pass. That seems reasonable to me in some circumstances.

There are other times when I have deliberately blocked a car from passing. For example when I am about to commence a steep winding descent on which I know my speed will be faster than a car.

In my experience cyclists do not set out to aggravate motorists (except for the Critical Mass rides, but those rides comprise an incredibly small fraction of all cycling trips and for this discussion are treated as a separate subject). The intention is generally to share the road in a safe and harmonious way.

One other thing: cyclists should use strong head and tail lights, reflectors, and wear clothes that help make them visible.

The other obvious question is: what can motorists do to increase safety on the roads? It seems to me that motorists have more options.

First, they could drive a little slower around cyclists.

Second, they could be more patient, and accept that with cyclists on the road their trip might take between 30 seconds and 5 minutes longer. Those two modifications alone would help foster feelings of harmony, as well as increasing safety.

The self-righteous attitude of angry motorists who think Dr Thompson had a leg to stand on - legally or morally - doesn't help. And those that know him and condone or excuse his actions, because in other ways he was an upstanding member of their community, are misguided. The violent action of Dr Thompson as an enraged motorist brought shame on his community, his friends and his family. Maybe the court decision will help them to realize this.

The question is begging: What would the same community have said if the cyclist he seriously injured had been the 18 year-old son or daughter of another member of that community?

What Thompson did was a criminal act. In all likelihood, he will need anger-management therapy whether he goes to prison or not. We do not know how many other cyclists he harassed and bullied with his car, but it is safe to assume that each one was traumatized to some extent.

Some motorists behave as though they own the roads. One hundred years ago, some cyclists made the same mistake when the automobile was the minority vehicle. History has proved that both parties are wrong in such assumptions. If the managing authorities cannot arrive at an effective solution, we all need to modify our behaviour as we can to foster a safer and more harmonious relationship between cyclists and car drivers.

Back on the bike

2009-10-18T00:56:00.000-07:00

Rode today for the first time in a long time. April/May this year is when I stopped riding properly. Not that I feel I'd really started, but I've really not ridden at all since then. The Levi's GranFondo project took too much time, that was part of it. A larger part was the mysterious sore hamstring which my body guy, Jordan Rothstein, thinks is the result of too much deep stomach tension. The hamstring pain disappears for several days after each stomach massage, so maybe he's right.

Anyway, it was a nice ride. About 40 miles, easy-paced, so lots of thinking. Not too many tourists on the bridge.

On my way back I rode to the Cafe du Soleil in the lower Haight, and reclaimed a bag with bike lock, repair kit and pump that I'd left there almost a month ago. They'd kept the bag for me all that time. My emergency cash roll was still there in the repair kit, so I left a $10 reward.

Not sure if I'll go out riding tomorrow. Yesterday and today's rides tired me out, and I'm still suffering from some lingering effects of the 'flu that got me on October 4. I still wonder whether or not it was H1N1.

Hamstrung

2009-05-10T16:57:00.000-07:00

Waiting, waiting, waiting...

Not sure exactly why, but my right hamstrings are uncomfortable. The pain goes as far down as the cruciate ligaments behind my knee, and as high as the bottom of the gluteus maximus. On the bike it feels like a little stiffness. I know there's been a lot of shortening there in the recent weeks and months; I tried some stretching recently and maybe overdid it. Anyway, now it's uncomfortable. Feels like a grade one tear. Icing and resting....

San Francisco Randonneurs 200k April 26

2009-04-26T20:46:00.000-07:00

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.

+++

First Week of Feb

2009-02-05T09:33:00.000-08:00

With warm, sunny mornings early in the week, but rain threatening for the weekend, I went on early morning rides on Tuesday and Wednesday. Crossed Golden Gate Bridge to Conzelman Drive, Rodeo Beach, then back up McCullough Drive. The rides were only 25 miles, and I kept the work mainly aerobic with a max pulse rate of around 160. It felt good to start riding hills - which I have been avoiding since I got back on the bike in November 2008.

2009-01-24 San Francisco Randonneurs 200km Brevet

2009-01-25T16:27:00.000-08:00

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.