Bay Area Bike to Work Day

It has been a while since I checked my resting heart rate. Near the end of this morning's excursion, some riders in our group were caught behind at a long traffic light. As I waited for them, I glanced down at my receiver and saw it plummet to 59 beats per minute. While standing upright. Having just biked more than 20 miles. I never imagined that I could bike to work without breaking a sweat.

The rest of the country will celebrate Bike-to-Work Day tomorrow, but for some reason it is always held on the preceding Thursday in the Bay Area. I first tried biking to work as part of this event in 2006, and I was hooked. What better way to participate now than to lead a willing group of riders to work? Some were first timers, apprehensive about riding in traffic. Others could ride circles around us, including my ingenious co-leader - who mounts a box of donuts on his rear rack. Those with advanced skills can flip the lid and serve themselves while pedaling.
I mapped out a route with minimal climbing on wide roads with bike lanes and mellow traffic, a car-free shortcut, the new bike-ped suspension bridge, and two social stops at Energizer Stations. I was disappointed that the Cupertino stop had run out of canvas bags before we arrived, but at the same time that signaled a successful Bike-to-Work Day. There I was amused to see a guy with a disc wheel on a fixie; he didn't look the part, but . . . whatever.

By the time we arrived at the Mountain View Caltrain Station, our ranks had swollen to 14 riders. We missed all the hubbub (local news coverage), but were rewarded with our canvas goodie bags at last.

One experienced rider took me up on my offer to bike back at the end of the day, and we were both happy to pick up the pace. When I extended this offer two years ago, promising not to drop anyone, two riders joined me. Forgetting our dense population of high achievers, I was startled to learn that one guy competed in Half-Ironman triathlons and the other was a former member of the Cal Berkeley cycling team. They were gracious and didn't drop me.

One and a Half Hamiltons

Although we did have a full moon today, that is the dome of Lick Observatory rising above lupines on the hillside. It was a lovely spring day to take the advice of Eddy Merckx to heart:

Don't buy upgrades; ride up grades.

I chose a new challenge: climb Mt. Hamilton twice in one day. I didn't run out of steam or willpower, but I did run out of time. I ascended the upper segment twice and the lower section just once, with barely enough time to dash home and get cleaned up before heading to San Francisco. There I witnessed athleticism of a more artistic sort, ballerina Tina Le Blanc's farewell performance.

The evening felt more like a private party for friends and family, which explained the puzzling number of people we saw on crutches or with a soft cast on a lower leg. Injured dancers. I am in awe of their artistry and fitness, and respect their sacrifice. What appears so graceful and effortless, leaves them breathless.

The night opened with Balanchine's Tchaikovsky Pas De Deux. Paired with Tina was Gonzalo Garcia, whose performance was extraordinary in a very demanding piece. I often marvel at what the human body is capable of: the way the dancers move, the cyclists who climb hills twice as fast as I can, even my own capacity for propelling myself one-and-a-half times up Mt. Hamilton by rotating the pedals round and round. It wouldn't surprise me if Gonzalo could out-sprint Mark Cavendish. Dancers pitted against athletes from Cal Berkeley have actually won two out of three annual competitions.

As for me, I averaged 9.5 mph over 61 miles with 7,930 feet of climbing, enjoyed the views and wildflowers, and was ready for more.

Maybe Next Year

I've heard that the Grizzly Peak Century is a scenic and challenging ride. Maybe next year.

Last year, I developed a sore throat the day before the ride and opted to stay home.

This year, I drove up to Walnut Creek despite the ominous weather forecast. Too late to cancel my motel reservation, anyway. As I loaded my bag into the car this morning at 6 a.m., I was misted by the first sprinkles of rain. Not bad, I thought; maybe it will stop. As I loaded my bike into the car, the skies opened up and drenched me.

Biking 73 miles in the rain is not my idea of a fun day. Slippery roads, flat tires, treacherous descents. I drove to Moraga to check out the start.

There was no shortage of parking, but more (fool)hardy souls in bright jackets heading out than I had expected. I ran into two racers I know from the Low-Key Hillclimbs. I told Janet she is a tougher woman than I, but she thought I might be the wiser. Jennie had raced the Cat's Hill Criterium yesterday. Nothing like a miserable day in the rain after that, eh? I'm not sure which I'd prefer, but I am sure that Jennie is a much tougher woman than I.

Being on their home turf, Plan B was to ride 30-odd miles and wind up at Peet's for some hot coffee. Luckily I had changed out of my biking clothes, or I might have been tempted to join them.

Cat's Hill Criterium

Standing on the other side of the registration booth for a bicycle race was different in a way that I didn't expect.

January 1, San Bruno Hill Climb:
This is a real race. Is it really okay for me to enter a race? Look at all these serious racers.

May 2, Cat's Hill Criterium:
Look at all these serious racers. But anybody can enter - they pay their money and they take their chances. There is an element of swagger, a sense of tossing one's hat into the ring.

One dude saunters up to register 15 minutes before the start of the Men's Pro/1/2 race, still wearing his street clothes. Just decided he had the legs for it? Spotted Jackson Stewart (BMC) wearing number 1 and thought he might beat him? (He didn't. Jackson won.)

The registration table was well-situated behind the finish line and the stage, which faces the notorious Cat's Hill (Nicholson Avenue, 23% grade). The top of the hill was not visible from my vantage point; instead, that stretch of Nicholson looks like a cliff face.

The Pro/1/2 men are the last to race around the circuit. It's a fast bunch today, completing each lap in a little over two minutes. They stop 75 minutes after they start, which translates into 35 or so trips around the course, up that brutish hill. Before the race was over, at least 40% of the field had abandoned. Some of my racer friends tell me the hill isn't the worst of it; it's the pace after you reach the top that gets you, no time to slack off. A scant two minutes later, you're doing it again. And again.

Having fulfilled my registration duties, I watched the final race. This year I planted myself near the bottom of the hill, where I could see them fly around the corner toward me at high speed, hear the gears shifting, and watch them climb out of the saddle, rocking their bikes left-right, left-right. Wow, do they fly around that corner! They threw off a draft so powerful it made the tree branches sway. Helps to carry some momentum going up that hill.

The Siren Song of the Suspension Span

Some of my Cupertino friends were dismayed when I told them that I really didn't need that fancy bike bridge being erected over Highway 280. It's not along the most direct route for me, and a nearby surface street (with bike lanes) passes safely over the freeway.

By the time the much-heralded bridge opened (yesterday afternoon), curiosity had gotten the best of me. I wanted to cross the span while it was fresh and shiny, before the graffiti vandals inevitably defile it.

Could I manage a Friday morning commute to work? Rain in the forecast. Out late on Thursday night and not enough sleep. A crick in my back. Set the alarm for an early wake-up, but expect to stay in bed.

The skies were threatening, but the streets were barely wet. With visions of the bridge dancing in my head, I headed out. The new span did not disappoint. It soars over the freeway and might be worth the slight detour for inspirational value alone. More than eight lanes of traffic below send up an impressive roar.

Surprisingly, it may also save some time by sending me on a route with fewer traffic lights and less congestion. The north end of the bridge leads to a busy thoroughfare, and it appears that a design for efficiently crossing that was not factored into this project. Unfortunate, but not insurmountable.

My return commute was more prosaic. I opted for a shuttle ride back to my home town, thus facilitating a short, 2.5-mile bike ride home. With the benefit of some good karma, the light rain turned into a downpour only after I stepped inside the house.

pep Gets Lucky

After returning from San Luis Obispo on Sunday, I spent some quality time pulling weeds in my backyard. You know the old saying "All play and no work ..." Or is that the other way around? Being a good little multi-tasker, I talked with my family on the other coast as I uprooted oxalis and burclover. Which meant that I happened to have my phone in my pocket when a nervous yellow lab appeared in my neighbor's driveway.

A lost pet is a heartbreaking thing. Sure enough, this one is a wanderer. I'm really not a dog person, is he menacing? He wags his tail and bounds over to me as soon as I call him. He's friendly, with a collar and tags ... I can help ... my neighbors step outside with some guests, and he bolts.

Thank goodness he's had some training. He comes back when I call him, and this time I get a grip on his collar. Sit. Good dog. Petting him as I fumble for his tags, he immediately drops and rolls onto his back for a belly rub, squirming with delight, and starts licking me enthusiastically. Having read Marley & Me, I smile at this goofy lost lab. Lucky, I see, is his name.

I call the first number on his tag. "Hi, I have your dog. Yellow lab?" An open gate. Where's Lucky?! "No problem, I've got him." Lucky is soon reunited with a beaming ten-year-old boy.

A happy ending, but pretty tame in comparison to the rescue one of my biking friends had shared over breakfast that very same morning. Biking out on Calaveras Road, she came upon a crowd of cyclists, some cars, and one very frightened cow. Call 911? Not much cell coverage out there. She spotted the gap in the fence, herded the cow back through it and mended the fence with some zip ties. "You carry zip ties?" Nonplussed, she replied "Oh, some of my friends are emergency responders and they always carry zip ties." Her zip ties are still out there in a fence along Calaveras Road, if you know where to look.

The Long and Windy Road

This weekend's adventure involved a trip to San Luis Obispo with some friends, old and new, to ride the Wildflower Century. This was to be the first century (100-mile ride) for three of them; a couple of us pointed out that the Wine Country Century would have been a friendlier option (shorter, with less climbing). But that's just not how we do things, is it?

I was grateful for the opportunity to tag along and bike through new terrain. Strange as it may sound, it is easier for me to bike 100 miles than it is to drive 100 miles. San Luis Obispo, Paso Robles, and Solvang - tantalizing, but out of range. Unless I can be a passenger.

Three loops of rolling hills comprised the route, which covered about 107 miles and 5,750 feet of climbing. I was able map the first half of the route before my G1's battery ran out of juice.

Favorite street sign of the day: Random Canyon Road. I missed the wandering pig, but met the cows on Shell Creek Road. (The creek, by the way, was utterly dry.) The San Luis Obispo Bicycle Club volunteers were wonderful, warning us at the cattle grates and regularly cruising the route with SAG vehicles.

I would soon learn what so many others already knew: strong headwinds on the road to Shandon. Shift down. That didn't help. Shift down. That didn't help. Fifteen miles of this? Luckily, I found a buddy (Jerry) who suggested we work together. We took turns pulling and drafting; my average speed actually went up through this section, as a result. Gradually we caught and passed other riders, who turned down our offer to rotate in with us (because they didn't know how). Moral of the story? Learn to draft. It works for pro racers. It works for mere mortals.

At the end of the day, our group of five spent cyclists celebrated together; every one of us completed the long route. I slept for ten hours that night.