Morning, Marin

I thought last week's ride had a small turnout. Today's ride was smaller still.

I'd resisted signing up for the Marin edition of a one-day ride for the Arthritis Foundation, opting for the Pescadero ride the past two years. But there will be no Pescadero ride this year, so I decided to haul myself up to Marin to support the cause. A few days before, a friend decided to join me—that turned out to be quite fortuitous, because I would otherwise have been riding alone all day. [Pretty much.]

Sunny and windy, we both found this ride unexpectedly difficult. The temperature, though, was perfect.

A few miles into the ride, I spotted a doe and two (!) fawns next to the road. Mom decided we didn't pose a threat and tolerated our presence as they grazed. I was impressed to watch her drop down and slip under the lowest fence rail—so her offspring could easily follow.

I remembered Chileno Valley Road from last fall, and it was just as pretty.

Had I studied the profile more closely, I might not have chosen to donate blood five days before the ride. And I might have been more diligent about getting a mechanic to adjust my finicky front derailleur, which sometimes refuses to shift down to the smallest ring. [I'm apprehensive about looking after my newer bike at group events, so I rely on my older road bike—which hasn't been getting enough love, for sure.]

The back roads were quiet, passing mostly through ranches and dairy farms. There were a few steep sections, but the route was mostly rolling hills. I did manage to shift into my lowest gear once. Before and after that one long climb, it balked (and I walked).

I had a sense, on Marshall-Petaluma Road, that I had been there before. (I was right.) On the Marin Century, some years back, we rode it toward the coast. In the opposite direction, it starts out with a rude climb. I shifted down and carried some speed, but without my lowest gear, I stopped turning the pedals before the grade eased up.

With some 20 miles to go, my legs (and I) were ready to be done. I rode for miles without seeing another rider and wondered if they'd missed the turn. [They hadn't.]

I was excited, and oh-so-relieved, when Stafford Lake finally came into view.

A scenic, but painful, 58 miles and 3,885 feet of climbing.