And, They're Off!

Photo by Alison Chaiken

Fall is here, and with it, the start of the Low-Key Hillclimb season. You have been training, right?

Well, maybe you have. I, on the other hand, have been more relaxed about my cycling this year. I thought about charging up Montebello Road today, at close to my maximum capacity for close to an hour. I know how that feels.

Then I signed up ... as a volunteer. Oh, what a noble sacrifice!

After a chilly summer, fall has brought warm weather. I was sweating in the bright sunshine, and I was standing still. [So glad I wasn't charging up the hill.]

The sight of 100+ cyclists, clad in bright Lycra, swarming all over the top of Montebello was something to behold. I was busy collecting finishing times as riders crossed the line, no time for photos.

With our top three endurance cyclists sitting out, there was uncertainty at the finish line about whether anyone was still climbing after the one-hour mark. (There were two.)

By the time we were done, I was longing for a nap. My first cold of the season has really set me back, but still ... all I did today was stand around.

Good thing I didn't try to charge up the hill.

Skies of Blue, Where Are You?

Mr. Blue Sky
Please tell us why
You had to hide away
For so long
Where did we go wrong?

We headed for Hollister, inland, away from the coastal gloom. Surely we could find some sunshine there?

Not on the northwestern segment of Cienega Road. Still, I preferred today's cool temperatures to last September's scorching 100+ degrees on this route.

Back on my own bicycle, my ride partner asked if it felt any different. Reflexively, I responded "No." After all, I have spent thousands of hours and put more than 10,000 miles on this bicycle. How could a single 100-mile ride on a demo bike affect the feel of my own machine?

But it did. I felt as though I could not fully extend my legs. Was my saddle too low? No, the height of my seatpost was unchanged. I felt as though I wanted to be pedaling a larger circle. Did the longer cranks on the demo bike make that much of a difference? 2.5 millimeters? I rode that bicycle for less than eight hours. Uh-oh ...

We enjoyed the usual wildlife along the way. Several types of hawks soaring overhead. Treacherous ground squirrels. [Note to hawks ...] The graceful young buck who crossed the road in front of us, easily clearing the barbed wire fences that keep the cattle at bay. Skydivers (a different variety of wild life).

By the time we reached Quien Sabe Road, the marine layer was only visible above the western hills. Today's route varied slightly from last year's, with a little more climbing and distance—yet, I rode it faster (11.8 vs. 11.1 mph) and at a lower average heart rate. What a difference 30 degrees makes.

Nothing to See Here

The fog was so thick that droplets condensed and fell from the visor on my helmet. Another rider pointed out that he might as well be riding the rollers and staring at the gray wall in his garage, the view was the same. Mother Nature didn't get the memo to turn off the fog machine on Saturday, when packs of cyclists headed down the coast in the seventh annual Best Buddies Hearst Castle Challenge.

Repeating this ride for the fourth year in a row, I fully appreciate what a fluke it was to have clear weather on my first ride in 2007. But it is a great cause and a challenging, well-supported ride, so I keep returning. Maybe we will get to enjoy the view next year ...

We start the century by heading east on Carmel Valley Road, making a u-turn through the tunnel at Robinson Canyon Road to head west to the coast. Our pace car this year was a white Audi R8 convertible, which led some of my fellow cyclists to speculate whether it was possible for that vehicle to run at a mere 15 miles per hour. When the driver reached the tunnel, he knew what was required. The incomparable sound of a 10-cylinder Lamborghini engine at play is a fine way to start the day.

At the first rest stop, a tall cyclist was blocking access to the food as he distractedly munched away. Eventually, he realized that he should move—and lo and behold, it was Anthony Shriver himself, founder and chairman of Best Buddies International.

At the second rest stop, a chatty guy on an ElliptiGO raced to a stop. His legs were amazing, nothing but skin stretched taut over a perfect musculature. Was this the power of the ElliptiGO? Uh, not entirely. I would later discover that he was no ordinary athlete, but none other than Ultramarathonman himself, Dean Karnazes.

My next brush with celebrity was a chance to pace for awhile with another respected Bay Area athlete, the weather anchor for the San Francisco CBS affiliate, Roberta Gonzales. She was completely charming, just another cyclist for the day, repeating the ride for the fifth time.

The new twist for me this year was the uncommon privilege to test ride a fabulous S-Works Amira bicycle for the entire length of the course. Thank you, Specialized!

I thought it would be fun to broadcast my location in real time on Saturday, but abandoned that idea when I realized that there would be no cell phone coverage south of Big Sur until we reached the outskirts of San Simeon. I did bring along a spare battery for my Android phone, though, which allowed me to run MyTracks long enough to capture the entire route. Unlike a woeful fellow cyclist, whose iPhone battery ran out of juice in less than five hours. Since he can't swap out the battery on an iPhone, I told him the solution was obvious. Ride faster. He thanked me with a playful slap on the shoulder.

The evening festivities included a bountiful barbecue and an engaging concert by Natasha Bedingfield. Fundraising is becoming a competitive sport in and of itself, which is all good news for this charitable cause. Seventeen riders raised more funds than I did, which earned me the yellow number "18" as one of the top 25 fundraisers this year. Following the concert, I was shuttled up to Hearst Castle to enjoy the final celebration of the day.

Above the marine layer on the Enchanted Hill, the skies were clear for stargazing as I soothed my tired muscles in the chilly spring water of the Neptune Pool. For that, I willingly traded my wool sweater and jacket for a bathing suit. There is nothing like the privilege to swim in that pool.

Thanks to the many friends who supported my ride for Best Buddies in 2010!

I Am Specialized

This story is more hard-core bicycle-centric than most. [You have been warned.]

When shopping for a car, or a bicycle for that matter, you are well-advised to take it for a test drive. You want to put the vehicle through its paces and see how it handles, but such opportunities are rare (and regrettably all-too-brief).

Imagine your good fortune if someone were to hand you the keys [so to speak], point you at a famously scenic, undulating road and say: I'll be waiting for you at the other end [100 miles away].

Such was my good fortune on Saturday, when Specialized—the official bicycle sponsor of the Best Buddies Hearst Castle Challenge—extended me the offer to test ride the bicycle of my choice down the Pacific Coast Highway, from Carmel Valley to San Simeon.

Did they really mean "the bicycle of my choice?" After all, my bicycle is pretty nice; it would not be interesting to downgrade. "How about the S-Works Amira?," I asked. "We will have it waiting for you," they replied.

The S-Works Amira is Specialized's hottest women's road racing machine.

To put this in perspective for the non-cyclist who might still be reading this post, let's say my current bicycle is equivalent to, for example, a BMW. It is well-built, high-end, sporty, and pretty fast—but it's not an M-series. The S-Works Amira is a Superleggera [as in, Lamborghini]. It is constructed almost entirely of carbon fiber, outfitted with top-of-the line components.

In other words, unless a particular bicycle part really needs to be made of metal, make it out of carbon fiber instead. The handlebars? Carbon fiber. The crank arms? Carbon fiber. Even the wheel rims are carbon fiber, with an alloy strip for braking. The saddle is mounted on hollow titanium rails. The end product is a bicycle that weighs less than 15 pounds.

My current bicycle is also pretty light, with a carbon fiber frame; it weighs in around 20 pounds. When I bought it a few years ago, I was accustomed to a hefty steel-frame hybrid. That is a fine utility vehicle, but not well-suited to keeping up with my road biking compatriots on the hills. The first time I lifted a carbon fiber bicycle in a shop, I nearly flipped it over my shoulder. I was totally unprepared for how lightweight it would be. The S-Works Amira is stunningly lighter.

Was I really going to hop on a totally unfamiliar bicycle and go for a 100-mile ride? Some would call this a crazy idea. An ill-fitting bicycle is a source of guaranteed misery: soreness, pulled muscles, inflamed joints. Some would call it risky: the handling characteristics would be different. I was apprehensive about moving from my triple chainring set to a compact double. I compared the gear ratios, and tried to convince myself that I would still be able to propel myself up the pair of hills at mile 75 on the route. They are not steep, but with more than 5,200 feet of climbing in my legs at that point, I would be grateful to spin a lower gear up those climbs (1,100 feet over 4 miles).

To keep the bicycle light, I packed the bare essentials for repair in a minimalist saddle bag. Armed with the measurements from a prior bike fitting, it was easy for the mechanic to set me up on Friday afternoon. I spent a few minutes rolling around the parking lot and was relieved that it felt good to me. Game on. Then I observed that it was outfitted with road tubeless tires, and realized that I should chuck the saddle bag. If I flatted, I would have no idea how to effect a repair.

How was it? It was one sweet ride.

This game is all about power-to-weight ratio, and my engine is sadly underpowered. I am slow as molasses, but given how lazy I have been this year, I expect I would have been slower than molasses on my own bike. When I got to the lunch stop, I was feeling quite perky. The first year I did this ride, at that point I was longing for a nap and forced myself to drink a caffeinated soda to keep my engine running.

I was well into the long hill climb when I thought, wistfully, "Now is the time when I would wish for a lower gear." I dejectedly flicked at the lever, and ... shifted down. Whoa! I wasn't already in my lowest gear?! Another half mile or so, I sighed. "This is okay, but a lower gear would be nicer." I flicked at the lever, and ... shifted down. Surely now I was in my lowest gear? I could have assessed my rear wheel, but I realized that I must normally be a wimp to drop into my lowest gear at the first sign of strain. As it turned out, I had two more downshifts to play before I reached the lowest gear. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what a lightweight bicycle can do for you.

What else did I notice about the bike? The big chainring was smaller than the one on my bike (50 teeth, vs. 52), the smallest cog was the same (12 teeth). I missed the speed of my big ring. Shifting from the smaller ring to the big ring seemed a bit tricky; I found that I needed to be more deliberate about it. The cranks were 2.5mm longer than on my bike, which meant I was pedaling a larger circle. I had no discomfort while riding, but with a new soreness running down the backs of my calves and tightness in my Achilles tendons, I suspect the longer cranks worked my muscles differently. I was also startled by the sound of the wheels when cornering at speed, and I backed off. It was only then that I heard that distinctive sound of carbon rims and, without prior experience, it seemed prudent not to push the limits.

When I bought my bicycle a few years ago, my brother remarked:

You paid HOW MUCH for something you have to PEDAL?

Imagine his reaction to the S-Works Amira, more than twice the price.

Like Fabian Cancellera, I Am Specialized. For a day.

Um, Hicks

On a day when we might have lolled under a shady tree with a good book and a tall glass of iced tea, three of us set out for a short local ride. Uphill, of course. Twenty-four miles, 3,360 feet of climbing.

The temperature rose a bit higher than was forecast, which was only fitting given that we were heading for Hicks. One friend knew she had been on Hicks, but did not remember how far she had gone. "Hmm, I think you would remember." How far is it? "Trust me, that isn't what you want to know. What you want to know is that the steep part is about 3/4 of a mile long, without a break." At the top, the look on her face said it all before she spoke. See, I knew she would have remembered that climb, had she been up it before.

Not content to rest on our laurels, we continued up Mt. Umunhum. I was determined to reach the end of the public portion of the road, to see firsthand the infamous white line and threatening signs. In a few years, perhaps we will be permitted to continue to the summit.

The Mt. Umunhum veteran in our trio assured us that the climb from the gate to the white line was "easy." [Not.] In some key places, my line up the hill was prescribed for me, as I picked my way through the broken pavement and loose gravel. Maximum heart rate: 188 beats per minute.

On the steepest part of the descent, the road skirts the edge of the mountain. Even as I moderated my pace, I felt spooked when I recognized a sensation that reminded me of soaring in a hang glider.

Sadly, this particular visit will not be forgotten. Did we cross paths with the cyclist who would, shortly thereafter, tragically crash and lose his life while descending the other side of Hicks? In closing, I offer my condolences to his family and friends.

Our Labor Day

Our bike club organizes one large event each year, the Tierra Bella. It takes a lot of volunteer labor, behind the scenes and on the scene, to stage that well. Traditionally, the club thanks us with a pre-event ride and barbecue, giving us the opportunity to check out the route with snacks along the way. When that was rained out this spring, a new plan was hatched: out-of-the-area routes leading to a barbecue (and, more importantly, fresh fruit pie!) at Gizdich Ranch.

Eager to explore some hills without following the same course we had ridden last May, my ride partner and I included a loop that is part of the Strawberry Fields Forever century route. I covered 63 miles, with 4,070 feet of climbing, to earn my slice of olallieberry pie (á la mode).

Eureka Canyon Road has been in poor condition for years. One option would be to fix it, but perhaps the county exhausted its road maintenance budget rebuilding the segment that slid out a few years ago. Instead, they have erected permanent "Rough Road" signs at both ends of the road. The conditions make for a treacherous descent on a bicycle, so I was surprised to see a few riders on their way down. Maybe if you are the type of rider who never releases the brakes on a descent? Broken pavement ... potholes ... poor visibility in patchy sunlight under the towering trees ... deep piles of loose gravel. Climb it to savor the views, descend at your peril.

Rush Hour

On a hot summer night, would you ... oops, that's a Meat Loaf moment. Start over.

On a hot summer night, where would you rather be? In fairness, it was 7 p.m. and the traffic on the freeway below was easing. Still, I had the better view.

With my annual charity ride (a century) only 10 days away, it was high time to stifle the excuses and fit some bike commuting into my week. My slothfulness will exact a toll this year, given that there have been precious few weeks where I have managed to bike more than 50 miles.

Commuting is a commitment: 40 miles round trip, with 415 feet of climbing in the morning and 605 feet on the return. I was not too far off my pace, averaging 14.1 mph on the way to work and 12.8 mph on the way home. Pathetic, I know.

Maybe 100 miles this week? Last week, 129 miles. The previous week? Zero. Two out of three ain't bad.

Jill's Ride

It is still summertime—I checked the calendar. The water in my bottle at the end of a 60-mile bike ride should not be colder than when I started out (but it was).

As soon as I learned of this opportunity to support a worthy local organization, I signed up. Jill's Ride for Hope was a grass-roots, lightly-supported cycling event to benefit CASSY, a non-profit counseling service.

I did not know Jill, a high school student who took leave of the world in March 2009, but I find it heartbreaking enough just looking at her photo. CASSY has been there for her friends and family, and today's ride ended at a newly-created memorial garden on the grounds of the high school. There, benches have been set to remember students we have lost.

The 60-mile route was pretty challenging—climbing Highway 9 to the summit from Saratoga, then looping around to descend Bear Creek Road to Boulder Creek and climbing back up the other side of Highway 9 (by the end of the day, 5,715 feet of climbing). When I rode the Sequoia Century last year, I still faced more than 60 miles (and some significant climbing) after completing that loop. I have not been training hard this year, but I knew I could do it.

The marine layer was not a factor today, but it was surprisingly windy (and cold!) approaching the summit. I was mindful of the extra challenge of braking with numb fingers on the descent. Surprised to find it warmer in Boulder Creek, on the return climb I took refuge off the road in a grove of redwoods to peel off my jacket.

And then ... oh, how I know that sound.

What came into view first was the Gallardo, top down, plastered with logos from head to tail. Many similarly-adorned vehicles would follow—some Porsches and BMWs, a Mercedes, and an impressive array of Lamborghinis: Gallardos and Murcielagos in black, yellow, red, and orange. Fortunately for all concerned, the cars were descending and the cyclists were climbing. Many of the drivers were taking some liberties with the center line when the curves were clear. [Ahem.]

Dropping down the other side, I enjoyed a smooth descent unimpeded by vehicles until I reached the line-up at the traffic light controlling that pesky single-lane stretch. Along the way, it seems that I might have exceeded the speed limit. Just a little bit. [Ahem.]

I considered taking the most direct route back to the high school rather than following the circuitous "official" route ... but hey, what's one more gratuitous hill among friends?

Back at the school, the party was in full swing. I cherish living in a small town, with a community that rallies to support a cause. Trader Joe's donated cookies. Someone baked brownies. The Lions Club managed the barbecue and served us on plates that were actually Frisbees. The band was surprisingly good. The local merchants were so generous with schwag for the riders that I felt guilty. All I did was go for a nice bike ride, and I was sent home with a card for a free burger at Main Street Burgers. A card for a free pizza at Willow Street. A bean-shaped tin of ... you guessed it, Jelly Bellies from Party Beans.

And a photo of a beautiful young woman named Jill, whom I never met but will not soon forget.

What Goes Around

The Tour of Napa Valley was my very first organized bike event, back in 2002. I was not in shape, riding my trusty old steel frame hybrid bicycle, and unprepared. I did have bike shorts, but I was so cold at the start I layered the event t-shirt on top of whatever else I had chosen to wear that day. At the end of the day, surrounded by real cyclists, it was the skinny guys in the Death Ride jerseys that made the greatest impression on me.

Today it seemed only fitting that I should wear mine. As I was climbing Ink Grade, a guy in some team kit passed and gave me props. "Child's play for a Death Rider," he called out. It was a nice, steady climb that reminded me of our local Old Santa Cruz Highway. Turns out my hill sense was right on: OSCH climbs 1210 feet over 4.5 miles, and Ink Grade reportedly ascends 1110 feet over the same distance. I was surprised at the number of people who were walking up the hill. I made a point of asking each one if he or she was okay. I worried about one woman who failed to answer me, until the third time when I insisted "I need to hear yes."

The highlight of the ride for one friend is the Ben & Jerry's ice cream at the end. [I was delighted they were dishing out my favorite, Phish Food.] The highlight of the ride for me is a fabulous five-mile descent on smooth pavement. On the approach, I reluctantly touched the brakes when I saw a patrol car ... but on the long descent, I was free to roll.

I started out with about a dozen friends; the faster half of the group was soon out of sight. I had failed to connect with two friends at the start, but had a chance to chat when our paths crossed at the first two rest stops. Imagine my surprise when I pulled up to a Starbucks on the long drive home and spotted their car in the parking lot!

I will remember 2010 as The Year of the Feather. I still have a small spotted one from a woodpecker tucked into my saddle bag, and I collected a turkey feather on a previous ride. This fine specimen was shed by a hawk, I believe.

The downside of cycling in the wine country is, as you might guess, people touring wineries and driving. It is not a good mix; the safest finish is an early one, so the metric route is the only viable choice for a slow poke like me.

Exotica

I never imagined I would find a place to park this car where it would hardly be noticed. A place where ... well, it just blends in.

The hard-core enthusiasts stake out their turf early. The sky was barely light and the fog was misting low when one guy strategically planted his tripod to capture the cars streaming into the Laguna Seca Golf Ranch for the 25th anniversary Concorso Italiano.

Was it the same guy on that same corner in the evening, waiting for the last cars to stream back out? I patiently waited my turn at the traffic light, no cutting into the flow by turning right-on-red, even though ... well, I could have. Green light. Pause. Turn. Accelerate. Smile.

So many people. So many cars. So many great photo opportunities. Somehow I failed to shoot a single proper Alfa Romeo, the only other Italian marque I once had a chance to drive. The Ferraris were staged with precision, carefully spaced with marks on the grass.

What is that F50 doing here?
These are the F40s, he has to move!

Inevitably, there would be an announcement like this one:

We have a report that a vehicle is blocking a roadway.
It is a Lincoln Navigator.
You need to move your car, or ...

Complete the sentence, you know the drill. It will be towed, right? No.

... it will be set on fire.

At the end of the day, one of my friends asked me which car was my favorite. "It is so hard to choose," I replied.

I thought of the jaunty Fiat Jolly, with its wicker seats and ball-trimmed canvas roof.

The light blue Bianchina, rolling in again this year with three guys and their picnic—including their umbrella, table, and chairs.

The classic exotics, lovingly restored.

The cars that are driven, for that is why the cars were made.

The answer, of course, is obvious.
The one that I drove home.

Cookies 'n Cream

Enough with images of California's rolling golden hills, towering trees, sparkling blue water. It's all just too scenic. As you can see, this was a very serious ride.

Serious enough to wake up early on a Sunday morning and roll out for a 42-mile excursion over some local hills. I was a little apprehensive, because despite the "social" pace advertised for today's ride, I expected to be the laggard. But the hills were so familiar, it would be okay if they had to drop me. [They didn't.]

I nearly talked myself out of climbing Sanborn Road, but I tackled it. I nearly talked myself out of climbing Sixth Street to Oak, but I made it all the way to the gates of the cemetery. Surprisingly, the greatest punishment was dished out on some residential back road we followed to avoid Highway 9. That little hors catégorie gem made my legs burn! Normally I just slow to a near-stall, but this was so short and steep that I think my heart rate did not have time to become the limiting factor.

Our group did so well that we were the first to arrive at the club's annual Ice Cream Social party. We pitched in where we could, and mostly tried to stay out of the way of the selfless volunteers dishing out the ice cream. With one final hill between the party and home, with any luck I was calorie-neutral for the day. If not ... well, I can live with that.

Trees, Glorious Trees

Another fine day in the redwood forest. Along the way, we shared curvy Kings Mountain Road with what appeared to be a local chapter of the BMW Club. One M3 was stranded on Skyline, more or less off the road (but blocking half of the intersection), hood raised and all four shiny tailpipes silenced. Should you find yourself in a similar situation one day, do turn on your emergency flashers.

It seemed that Kings Mountain was exacting its toll today. On the way down, I passed a motorcyclist walking his machine down the hill. "Wish it had pedals," he remarked.

Bracketed by these breakdowns, we enjoyed our up-and-down day in the trees. My hands started going numb as I descended Star Hill—not from gripping the brakes, but from the chill. I have enjoyed this cool summer.

Waiting for my ride buddies before descending Kings Mountain, I watched a timid Jaguar make the turn from Skyline. By the time we were ready to roll, I had forgotten the sedan ... until I caught him, never taking his foot off his brakes. Descending at his speed was painful, and inhaling goodness-knows-what from his brake pads was unhealthy. Since it was not safe to pass him, I pulled off the road to grow some space between us.

Pausing to regroup at the base of Kings, I smiled when I saw the guys from Plus 3 Network approaching. My Plus 3 vest not only kept me warm today, it earned me three high-fives as they cruised past. "Looks great on you!," one shouted. Orange, yes.

The Hamilton Habit

Such an inviting plaza for a summer picnic, don't you think? It happens to be on top of a mountain ...

Having convinced two riding buddies that half is not enough, we rolled out early to climb up to the starting point for today's club ride—which was scheduled to cover only the upper half of Mt. Hamilton. It must be a cool summer if this registers as an appealing ride in late July.

Curiously, the temperature was warmer on the upper slopes. Warm enough to put my ride buddies into some difficulty, I would later learn. Merrily pedaling ahead, exchanging greetings with the many riders who passed me, I was oblivious to their discomfort. [Some friend, I am!]

I arrived at the sharpest, steepest hairpin near the top at just the right moment for a little drama. Two motorcyclists passed me on the approach, and as the second one entered the steep curve, he stalled his bike and went down. The only real injury was to his pride, and likely some regrets about fresh scratches on his BMW. I rounded the corner as he extricated himself from his machine and began the struggle to set it right. In this, I could be of no use; a larger cyclist behind me did stop to lend some muscle to the effort. Raising that beast from a flat surface would be hard enough—now imagine what was required to push it upright with all that weight downhill from the wheels.

Once everyone had recovered at the top, I led off down the hill. The car that was preparing to leave the observatory at the same time caught me only after I stopped to wait for my ride buddies at the base of the first descent. With all the gravel I had noticed in the corners, I took it easy. [Honest. One cyclist even passed me.] On the way up, one of the riders in our group had caught me on this last ascent. "I was behind you," he said, "and I was sure I would catch you on the descent, but I couldn't." Shaking his head, he added: "I thought I was a good descender."

Laughing Crows

They were laughing at me, I am sure of it, those crows. Cackling at the cyclist on the steep bit of San Benancio Road, moving so slowly she could not outrun the buzzing horsefly orbiting her head.

I chose a distant club ride today to explore some new territory. As we met more cyclists traveling toward us, it was clear that we were taking the more difficult approach. But that was okay, we would climb the hill from both directions.

San Benancio Canyon is Steinbeck country—mostly sprawling ranches, with bits of suburbia on the fringe near the highway. Turkey vultures, lots of quail, and a red-tailed hawk were among my wildlife sightings for the day. From the sun-baked summit, I eyed the cool fog bank hanging over Monterey with envy.

Splat! A large insect hit one lens of my sunglasses with enough force to leave, shall we say, residue. [Not because I was moving so fast at the time—the unfortunate victim was.]

All in all, a nice road if you find yourself in that neighborhood, but a bit far off the beaten track to venture for such a short ride (20 miles).

Dicey Descending

This is a blind curve. What you cannot see around this bend is dangerous—the grade drops steeply into an immediate hairpin turn that hooks left.


The extra orange sign was placed to warn cyclists participating in a charity ride to slow down; normally, on this curve, it is just you and your best judgment.

Tip #1: If you cannot see around the bend, be prepared to stop.

You normally brake to reduce your speed before heading into a curve; be especially cautious when you cannot see what surprise might be lurking around the bend.

What is wrong with this picture?

Everything.

Let's start with the guy on the left. He is on the wrong side of the double yellow line. [Did I mention that this is a blind curve?]

Tip #2: Stay in your lane.

Why do you suppose he is over the double yellow line? Perhaps he noticed that the other three riders are not skilled descenders, and he wanted to pass them.

Tip #3: Do not pass on a blind curve.

Even if you can stay in your lane. You do not know what you will find around the bend. If you need to veer suddenly to your right, you will endanger the cyclists you just passed by cutting them off. If you need to veer left and there is oncoming traffic ... well, enough said.

Next, let's consider his position on the bicycle. His bike is tilted into the turn—in this case, to the right. That is good. His feet are level, with pedals at the 9:00 and 3:00 positions. That is less good. I saw this on every mountain bike heading into that curve. A mountain-biking friend tells me that this is proper mountain-biking technique, to avoid clipping a pedal on a rock, tree root, or other miscellaneous obstacle on the trail. I am not a mountain biker, and this cyclist is riding a road bike on a road.

What is the stable position on the bike, when cornering? [Hint: Did I mention that the other three cyclists are not skilled descenders?]

Tip #4: Lean your bike into the curve, with your leading (inside) knee up and your weight planted firmly on the extended (outside) leg, pedals at 12:00 and 6:00.

Your body should be nearly upright, with the bike tilted underneath you. Like the pros in this photo I snapped during the last San Francisco Grand Prix,

cyclists on our local curve need the same good form:

Think: Right turn, right knee up. Left turn, left knee up. [If you tend to confuse "right" and "left," come up with your own mantra.]

Maybe these were lucky shots, and I just happened to catch the riders' legs at a particular moment during the pedal stroke? Nope. They were all coasting downhill.

In the second photo at the top, three riders have positioned their legs exactly opposite of where they should be. What could go wrong? Well, as the bike rounds the bend and naturally tilts into the turn, they risk clipping the inside pedal (extended leg) on the pavement and crashing. Notice their upright posture. With their weight distributed through the extended leg beneath them they risk toppling over as the bike tilts. I can only imagine how unbalanced this must feel; I am not about to give it a try.

What about lane position? That guy in the blue jersey is in the middle of the road, and the guy in the white jersey is right next to the double yellow line. Shouldn't they keep as far to the right as possible, like the guy in the first photo above?

No. By "taking the lane," they are more visible to traffic approaching from behind, and they send a clear message: It is not safe to pass us on this curve. There is no room to share the lane; you would squeeze us off the road. [They are really taking a good line through the curve, but let's call that an advanced topic.]

Bonus Tip #5: Descend at your own pace.

Your skills may not match those of the rider ahead of you; don't give chase. If you are less skilled, you risk losing control of your bicycle.

Bonus Tip #6: Before the curve, slow to a comfortable speed you are willing to carry through the curve.

You want to roll through the curve; if you grip your brakes and your wheels lock up, they are not rotating and you will skid (or worse).

Bonus Tip #7: Look where you want to go.

Your visual system is powerful. Your body will follow where your eyes are tracking. If you look at the edge of the road, guess where you will end up?

Water Boys

This was the third year that the LIVESTRONG Challenge rolled through San José, but the first time that I chose to support the event as a volunteer. It takes a good cause to rouse me from bed on a Sunday morning at 4:30 AM, to report for duty downtown at an hour when I am usually still sound asleep (even on a weekday).

The organization understands the value of recruiting volunteers from the local bike clubs—we know the terrain and the route well. As we assembled for our briefing, there were so many familiar faces that we joked about who would lead the ride today. We were released a few seconds ahead of the first participants, and for the first couple of miles we enjoyed a dream ride as we were paced by official vehicles through deserted city streets in a rolling road closure.

Despite following a shortcut to reach our assigned posts ahead of the pack, I was passed by the elite riders as I ascended the first real climb of the day. I positioned myself just above a tricky downhill curve on the course, where I would repeatedly warn riders "Sharp turn ahead!" My approach was effective—none of our riders crashed. [I heard that one of the elite riders ahead of us went down. They should know better.]

With the responsibility to watch 1,000 or more riders head into this familiar curve, I recognized a valuable opportunity to capture images of cornering technique on a bicycle. Whenever there was a sufficient break in the stream of riders heading downhill, I would point my camera at the haphazard descenders.

By the time the last of the 50-milers straggled by, I was so far behind the last 65-mile rider that I would never catch up to finish my job for the day as a riding course marshal. Arriving at the next rest stop as they were packing everything away, I stuffed my pockets with energy bars and accepted a ride forward to the next stop.

Continuing along the route, I monitored the riders I caught for signs of trouble. Throughout the day, I was fortunate not to face any serious incidents. There were riders whose legs seized up with cramps, in need of some electrolytes. There were riders who were fatigued, not having trained adequately; those I met needed only some encouragement and advice to sustain them up the next hill and on to the finish. I was surprised to learn how many people traveled from afar to do this ride. I was inspired by a cancer survivor from Toronto who was working hard to complete the 50-mile route. I was proud to ride alongside a woman from Idaho, riding 50 miles alone—the longest distance she had ever attempted. When she crossed the finish line, I was there to give her a high-five.

The two longer routes include a serious challenge: climbing Metcalf Road. Rumor had it that when he rode the inaugural San José LIVESTRONG Challenge in 2008, Lance Armstrong was "impressed" with Metcalf. As one of the century riders passed me on the hill, I remarked that this was the second time I had climbed Metcalf this year, and that was one time too many. "Or two," he replied.

This ascent was memorable, not only for the cheering section or the guy belting out his improvised tune about the hill, but especially for the water boys. A couple of moms set up along the roadside under beach umbrellas with their sons—armed with Super Soakers. Loading up as we approached, if you agreed to get wet they would enthusiastically take aim. Sheer brilliance! I am not sure who had more fun with this, the riders or the boys. Farther up the hill, a guy with a bucket of ice water wrung out a huge sponge over my head. Climbing Metcalf will never be this good ... well, until next year. Boys, I'm counting on you!

Into the Woods

With plans to ride on Sunday, I expected to designate Saturday as a rest day. But with my Sunday route uncertain, I was loath to squander such prime cycling weather. Most conveniently, a club ride was scheduled to cover some favorite terrain in the Santa Cruz Mountains. Given that the starting point was close to home, I was able to catch the finish of Stage 7 of the Tour de France for inspiration before setting out with our little group.

First stop: Wrights Station, which lives on only in the history books. Remnants of the town are long gone, and what remains of the railroad tunnel is barely visible from the road. The road is not in the best condition and quite steep; it is one of my least favorite descents. It has been a while since I last visited here, and the climb seemed much easier than I remembered.

We dropped down over the summit of the Santa Cruz Mountains, but not wanting to descend all the way to the coast, three of us split off from the rest of the group before wending our way back up through the redwood forest. On a decidedly uphill stretch, a local resident smiled and shook her head. I don't know how you guys do it!

One Cool Canyon

What better way to start a holiday morning than to get up and out on the bike early? With the promise of another hot day ahead, a short ride into a cool canyon was enticing.

Highway 9 has recently been repaved from Los Gatos to Saratoga, and never so traffic-free as on this holiday morning. I rode to the starting point and joined the group as we headed for the leafy shade of Stevens Canyon. We proceeded ever-so-slightly uphill to the end of the paved road, then headed back down for some fun on a pair of short, friendly climbs.

On my way back, I tried the service at the new bike shop in town, Mike's Bikes. They were cheerful and helpful, confirming my suspicion that my bike was due for a new chain. Twenty minutes later, a happy customer rolled out of the shop with a much happier drive train, to celebrate with lunch in the park.

Blazing Saddles

Before I had traveled two blocks from home, I was passed by another cyclist. Once I was warmed up, I was surprised to pass him and open up a substantial gap, although he was a big guy, riding in casual attire and without a helmet. He must have felt compelled to catch me; when we met at a traffic light, he was out of breath. His eyes grew wide when he learned that I would be riding from San José to Morgan Hill, and back. After pancakes, of course—I was on my way to our club's traditional Independence Day breakfast. With the promise of pancakes ahead and a flat route, I averaged 17 mph.

The club had a record turnout: nearly 200 members, many bedecked in red, white, and blue. Post-pancakes, there were many rides from which to choose. This year, I had been convinced to co-lead one. A dozen riders headed out with us into the dry, rolling hills on our trip to Uvas Canyon County Park. We warned them that we had carelessly underestimated the mileage [by a whopping 35%], but they simply shrugged. A hardy bunch, many had ridden to the start that morning, like me.

The route itself was a success. Being mostly unfamiliar with the area, I relied on a combination of satellite map imagery and Streetview to choose roads with bike lanes, find controlled intersections for left turns, and confirm a pass-through blocked to vehicular traffic.

With the hills and heat, needless to say I did not average 17 mph throughout the day. I was happy to enjoy the redwoods and cool shade at the park, and delighted to find the rest of the group waiting for the last of us in the shade of a giant eucalyptus tree on the return route. Miraculously, despite the tire-softening heat and the usual abundance of broken glass in the bike lanes of San José, we got through the day without a single flat.

At the end of the ride, wilting in the heat and caked with sunscreen, salt, and grime, I returned home at a snail's pace. Sixty-seven miles, a modest 2,130 feet of climbing, some 2400 Calories burned.

Spreading Sunshine

Someday, when I look back at all of this, I know I will remember the faces of so many little boys pressed against the windows of passing cars. One scolded by his father for nearly climbing out of his car seat, trying to get a better look.

Fueling up today, I was approached by two fellow customers. This was not unusual. Both of them were women—that was unusual. The first question: How fast have you driven it? Have you wound it all the way out?

Truth be told, I am really rather shy. I am not adept at talking to strangers. Needless to say, "shy" is not exactly compatible with driving about in a conspicuous car.

Today's excursion had a little bit of everything. Wide-eyed children in passing cars on the freeway. Adults snapping photos with cellphones. Scenic, curvy, rural California roads. Motorists who pulled aside, unbidden, to give me the road.

An approaching motorcyclist tipped me to a patrol car lying in wait ahead. With four or five sedans and SUVs in my wake, I cruised past at a respectable speed. Another patrol car just happened to appear as I rolled into town. 25 mph? Watch me. I can do 25 mph.

At my halfway point, I was tempted to turn around and enjoy the same route back home. Sensing that I had exhausted my karma with the local authorities, I opted for the freeway instead.

An unexpected dividend earned through hundreds of cycling trips: How to get home on back roads. The freeway was boring (and jammed). Coastal views, curvy roads, redwood trees.

Another of my shortcomings: I do not enjoy driving long distances. Any trip over an hour and I start to feel drowsy. Evidently, in this I have been granted an exemption.

All is Not Lost

What if the club schedules a ride, and no one shows up? I arrived early for today's outing in Carmel Valley, and waited for 30 minutes past the scheduled start time with no sign of a fellow rider. Having traveled a long way, I set off to climb Robinson Canyon Road on my own.

Before I moved to California, I fell in love with nearby Pacific Grove. Once here, I would quickly realize that the residents shiver all summer under the influence of the cold, gray marine layer. I regretted not bringing a jacket, but knew I would warm up on the climb.

Fifty yards from the turn onto Robinson Canyon, I recognized my mistake. There was the Safeway parking lot with the coffee shop and the gas stations ... I had parked in a different Safeway parking lot, with a different coffee shop and gas stations.

The sun was breaking through at the summit of Robinson Canyon Road, and I descended into a lovely valley. Almost instantly, I was too warm; I rolled down my arm warmers and continued exploring. Having studied a map of this area last summer, I had a vague memory that I could follow another road back to Carmel Valley. Stopping to take a photo on the way up, I observed that the edge of the road really is the edge of the road: a few inches of dirt next to the pavement, then a sheer drop into the canyon several hundred feet below. I was enjoying my little adventure, but exercising caution. Out in the middle of nowhere, alone—best not to risk any mishaps.

Question: If you are passed by a FedEx van, are you really out in the middle of nowhere?

Happily, MyTracks on my Android phone showed me exactly where I was, and I confirmed that I was looking for Rancho San Carlos Road. I continued to a shady redwood grove for lunch, and was surprised to see that I had missed my turn. The reason would soon become clear: like the other side roads along the way, it was gated. Private. This land is all part of the cleverly-named Santa Lucia Preserve, which looks like a wonderful place to visit ... if you happen to be one of its 300 residents.

And so I would retrace my path back to the start. The marine layer had thickened at the summit, thanks to the prevailing onshore wind. A nervous quail skittered into the brush when I stopped to pull up my arm warmers. I completely overlooked the raptor in the tree above me until I clipped in and it took flight. I caught sight of what was likely a ferruginous hawk, just a few feet overhead. I was not disappointed to descend Robinson Canyon.

Sometimes, being lost is a good thing.

Half is Not Enough

When we reached the turn-around point at Grant Ranch Park, the summit of Mt. Hamilton was so alluring that I could not resist. How could I climb only halfway up the mountain today?

I continued with the rest of our little group on our planned route along the easy eastern approach to the summit of Quimby Road before dropping back down to resume my climb to Lick Observatory. It was a spectacular day to head up the mountain—cool and breezy, with little traffic.

Most of the traffic was well-behaved, with the notable exception of one driver who crossed the double yellow line completely into the opposite lane on a blind curve to pass me. Knowing it was not safe for a car to pass, I had moved to the center of our lane to send a clear message: Do Not Pass Me. Had there been a cyclist or vehicle coming downhill in the other lane, I would have been collateral damage. I saw the Sheriff three times before that, but he missed this moment of stupendously dangerous driving.

I did not set out this morning to climb all the way to the summit. Cool day? One water bottle. Not much distance? Eat a sandwich after the ride. I consumed everything I had stuffed in my pockets: one Balance Bare bar, one molten PowerBar, a dozen peanut butter-filled pretzel nuggets, and three Clif Shot Bloks. Plus a few cherries shared by a fellow rider, and the best energy bargain in the observatory's vending machine, a Nature Valley Sweet and Salty Peanut bar. Intake: 876 Calories. Burned: 2040 Calories.

Free to be a tourist, I enjoyed the wildflowers and lingered at the top. Along the way, I pocketed a shiny nickel that caught my eye, saw my first skink, and watched a pair of acorn woodpeckers for awhile. A friendly biker (of the motorized sort) offered to take a picture of me ("to prove you were here!"), before confessing that they had "cheated" (driving, rather than pedaling, to the top).

Just yesterday a friend commented that he does not enjoy descending Mt. Hamilton. What's not to like?! So long as you respect the gravelly curves where the hillside is chronically crumbling, and keep an eye out for the suicidal squirrels ... His hands hurt, he explained. You're braking too much, I replied.

A fabulous day on the bike: 42 miles, 5,635 feet of climbing, maximum speed 35.3 mph.

Oxymorons on Hicks

There are a couple of approaches to this view at the summit of Hicks Road, which was particularly striking in the warm glow of early evening. The climb from the Los Gatos side is painfully steep, and I was grateful that we were not taking that route. Instead, we were taking the easier route, climbing Hicks from the San Jose side. Which is ... painfully steep. From The Complete Guide to Climbing (By Bike) in California:

After a shallow start, this side of Hicks Road contains one of the steepest miles in the state.

I had the uncommon opportunity to be home from work early enough to join one of the club's regular after-work rides. With the summer solstice just a few days away, tonight's ride could be a long one. Facing that tough climb, I had some doubts about whether I could pedal fast enough to stay with the group and finish before the sun set. When I lost them on the flats, I would catch them at a traffic light. When they regrouped at a key intersection, I would keep pedaling for a head start on the next hill. I used every downhill to pull ahead, so the group would not have to wait too long for me at the top of the next hill.

I managed to cover 27.8 miles, ascending 2,170 feet along the way. My maximum downhill speed was 39.3 mph, while my minimum uphill speed was ... well, let's not go there. [Okay, okay ... 3.2 mph.] All in a day's work.