Rainy Day Woman

The traditional Hearst Castle Challenge was infeasible this year (again), but Best Buddies still counts on our fundraising to support their operations. And we all miss the opportunity to come together. Thus, the California Challenge was born: one route (100 km), with a heftier fundraising commitment. Or, a do-it-yourself ride (like last year), with no fundraising commitment.

And so I found myself self-administering my very first Covid test (in my car, parked in a field, before dawn). [This would have been a fumble-fest had I not watched an instructional video the night before.] Not only was vaccination a pre-requisite for participating—a negative test result was required to walk out of the parking lot.

And so I found myself welcomed with an unexpected and enthusiastic hug at the sign-in table—the first actual physical human touch I've had since The Before Times. I think of myself as just another face in the crowd, but after so many years ... they know me. And not just because I'm always one of the last riders across the finish line.

I wasn't sure what to expect. Domestiques (in their bright pink jerseys) would support three groups of riders, the slowest of which would finish the ride in four hours. (Four hours?!) I worried about how this would play out; I knew I could not sustain a pace in excess of 15 mph over this route, and hoped they wouldn't nudge me to climb into a SAG vehicle.

The heavy hitters (20 mph pace group) flew ahead, supported by pro cyclists ... including four-time Tour de France winner Chris Froome. Child's play, for them.

We started out with a rude climb, vaguely familiar from the Marin Century—and just as misty. This would not be a day for snapping scenic photos; I had to keep pedaling at a good clip. But the glassy surface of Laguna Lake was too compelling to pass up.

I'm accustomed to solo efforts on long rides—I'm too slow to hang with the jackrabbits, but faster than the slowest folks. After catching up to me, the indomitable Richard Fries was my domestique for a short stretch. Sitting on his wheel for a mile or two made such a difference! And sure, I understand that advantage ... it's just not part of my routine cycling experience.

There was a chance of rain today, on the order of 30% or so ... the odds seemed in our favor. Mist ... turned to drizzle ... turned to rain, calling for prudence on otherwise fast descents. It had been chilly enough that I'd opted to wear a jacket and long-fingered gloves [good call]; many riders had nothing more than jerseys and arm warmers.

At the second (and last) rest stop, some onlookers asked if I was going to continue. [Silly question.] Of course. Once you're wet, you're wet. And fortunately, it wasn't cold.

I didn't think much of it when the ride's medical support pulled out behind me when I started rolling. The road kicked up and they patiently hung back as crawled up the hill at my pathetic pace (as slow as 5 mph, at times). Once there was a clear line of sight, I waved and expected them to pass me.

But ... they didn't.

With 23 miles to go, they had evidently been assigned to be my escort. While domestiques hung back with the slowest riders, I had my own personal ambulance metering vehicular traffic. Once there were four or five cars stacked up behind, they'd slip slightly onto the shoulder and let them pass. I stopped at a pull-out at the top of a hill to take in some much-needed calories; there was also a police cruiser there, and I thought they might park there for a spell.

Nope.

At one point they even activated the flashing lights; maybe there were some antsy drivers behind them, as my uphill pace dropped below 5 mph. Of course, there were some downhill sections, so I managed to average 12.8 mph over the last 23 miles. But still. Imagine tailing a (slow) cyclist for ... nearly ... two ... hours.

I didn't get a chance to find them and thank them at the end of the ride, but I did get to deliver a long-overdue thank-you to Cam Wurf for his memorable assist seven years ago.

After 64 slippery miles and 3,560 feet of climbing, a warm shower and lunch fortified me for the long drive home. My 15th year of pedaling (and raising funds) for Best Buddies delivered another ride to remember!

Panoche Pass

With a long ride coming up on my calendar, today's route seemed like a fair test: 55 miles, 2,720 feet of climbing. On Friday my coworkers had been sharing their weekend plans, and when they heard mine one of them asked “Will you camp?” (Evidently this is not the sort of outing they picture when I say that I'm going for a bike ride.)

Not surprisingly, none of them had been to this area. It's a challenge not to take the same photos every time I ride here; the same sights always catch my eye. And I wanted to convey a sense of just how beautiful it is (albeit in a desolate sort of way).

A small group set off for the Inn, and conditions couldn't have been more favorable—no headwind on the return. (The condtion of the road has not improved, but ... this trip is worth the trouble.)

One cyclist lost half their lunch to the Inn's resident pooch, who evidently is well-practiced in the art of pilfering sandwiches from unsuspecting customers.

As expected, we saw very little traffic on this road—our bicycles may have outnumbered the vehicles ...

... until the end, when a slew of emergency vehicles and patrol cars roared past. I regretted, then, that I had gotten ahead of my ride buddy. Had someone crashed, or been struck by a car? [Fortunately, no.]

A few of us were chatting near our cars when a pickup truck passed us, then suddenly reversed. “Are there more cyclists out there?” he asked. It turned out that he was one of the responders, so we learned what had happened. A gunshot—reportedly someone had shot a rattlesnake—and a gunshot requires a response from law enforcement.

Desolate. Did I mention, desolate? (But so beautiful.)

Up a Wall

A couple of riders, ahead of me, paused at the base of the Calaveras Wall. They seemed impressed when I made the turn and kept going. “Just get it over with!” I replied.

I didn't feel especially strong, but I was a full minute faster than my previous best time. (Though, years before I started tracking the data, I may have been faster.)

It was another conversational sort of ride, the group splitting in two. Some were eager to stop at a cafe in Sunol; others followed my lead into Sunol-Ohlone Regional Park. I pack my lunch: Peanut butter and jelly, for the win. The rangers had water on tap again—a hint of a return to normalcy?

We regrouped at the natural places: at the top of climbs, and at a couple of intersections to ensure everyone was on track. A reliably pleasant 36 miles with 2,880 feet of climbing, in pleasant company.