Reigning on Reynolds

It's not just me. Reynolds is the longest 1.2 miles known to man. Or woman. It was unanimous.

That's Ms. C summiting. We all made it, and I was definitely stronger than on my last ascent. Today, I pedaled to the top without pausing. It was hard, but not horrible.

I reserved my photo-taking for the descent. The smoke has cleared out, giving us a birds-eye view of the valley—that's downtown San Jose in the photo, with the Diablo Range in the hazy distance.

And Mt. Hamilton. The domes of the observatory beckoned (though they're likely not too visible in this photo). I need to pay another visit this season, before the weather turns too chilly.

Normally I don't stop on a downhill, but this downhill is tricky (and fast). Autumn is upon us, and the deer are out. I spotted eight of them along the way, including one standing on Reynolds. None of us wanted to be taken by surprise (hence, the caution).

The turkeys were out, too. Four had started to cross the road as we approached, but something in their pea-brains convinced them to turn back. Pro tip: You don't want to collide with a turkey, either.

Later, we stopped to study a small flock; two were perched on the fence before I startled them, hurrying across the road to snap a photo as an ill-timed truck approached.

Technology failed me today, so no map to share: 19 miles, 1,795 feet of climbing. Our group of six was well-matched; all pleased to get out for a healthy (but short) challenge.

Baked Buddies

For my 12th ride in the annual Best Buddies Hearst Castle Challenge, I considered opting for the 60-mile route instead of my traditional 100. Although repairs to the Pacific Coast Highway were completed ahead of schedule [when does that ever happen?], the organizers couldn't gamble that the road would be open before the big day. We would trace the same route we followed last year.

We made the long trek to San Simeon and visited some of the local sights after checking in. For the first time, I spotted the resident zebras grazing in the fields below the castle—I've long known about them, but not clearly seen them till now.

We drove a few miles north to observe the resident elephant seals. The colony was spread around the largest bull I've seen. No doubts about who's in charge.

I wasn't enthused about reprising last year's route, and I imagined that climbing Old Creek Road would be more scenic than Highway 41. I mean, the highway was sort of scenic—this is California, after all—but the back roads are more enticing. I had been similarly tempted last year, but stayed the course.

When I thanked my donors last year, I invited any of them to join me (and expected no takers). Surprise! One of my friends signed up, excited to be tackling her first century. The die was cast.

As the day drew near, I kept a close eye on the forecast. The predicted inland high temperature for Saturday kept creeping up. As we drove to San Simeon, I checked the current conditions in Paso Robles: 107°F. (Yikes.) Neither of us could handle that kind of heat. I nearly bonked at mile 60, last year—and that was not a triple-digit day.

And so it was, with some regrets, that we traded down to the 60-mile route.

There are some stunning views as we head south along Highway 1, but with riders moving fast in a pack there are few opportunities to pull aside for a photo stop.

We climbed Old Creek Road from one end to the other. Along the way, there was a great view of Whale Rock Reservoir with the Pacific Ocean in the distance.

There was more traffic than I expected, with a motorcycle officer from the CHP patrolling up and down. When I saw the ghost bike, I understood.

By 10:30 a.m., it was already uncomfortably hot. Toward the top, I pedaled from one patch of shade to the next (when I could find some). I passed a cyclist immobilized with leg cramps, and others who were walking.

This year, I had no intention of climbing the wall on Santa Rosa Creek Road. The organizers heeded our pleas for mercy and offered Highway 46 as an official bypass option. [Which I would have taken, anyway.]

Highway 46 offers expansive views of secluded canyons, the Pacific, and Morro Rock at the mouth of the bay. My descent was especially carefree: during yesterday's drive, we witnessed Caltrans sweeping the shoulder(!). A few pockets of warm air crossed the road, and by the time I reached Highway 1 the cool headwind was welcome. A tailwind would have been even more welcome, but ... dream on.

After crossing the finish line, I enjoyed a late lunch at the beach—watching the pelicans compete for their lunch.

The shorter route (58 miles, 3,220 feet of climbing) gave us ample time to arrive at the barbecue in time for all the speeches and award presentations. And, of course, the band!

Every year we meet new Buddy Ambassadors and are inspired by their achievements: meaningful jobs, sincere friendships, and the confidence to live full lives.

Every year I am humbled by the donations I'm able to collect, and awed by the top fundraisers.

We took a short tour of Casa Grande at the after-party, where I was thrilled to get a close-up view of the resident bats in addition to the usual sights (like Mr. Hearst's office, above). Others in our party were, shall we say ... not so thrilled?

My ride buddy and I made the right call; Atascadero topped out at 101°F. Mother Nature willing, I'll return to the traditional coastal route in 2019—all 100 miles of it.