The Coast is Clear

Four out of five runs down the coast have been foggy. For my sixth return to the Best Buddies Hearst Castle Challenge, my reward was a crystal-blue-sky day. Oh, the splendor of the central California coast!

Strategically positioned at the front of the pack, I did my best to hang with the group for as long as I possibly could. On this "neutral" roll-out from Carmel Valley to the coast, I averaged slightly over 19 mph for the first 10 miles. Surprise!

Ostensibly, I am a member of a small team of co-workers for this event; we managed to assemble for a group photo at the first rest stop before they sped south. I am in less of a hurry to get to the finish line, especially on such a picture-perfect day. [Not that I could match their pace.]

Shortly after the second rest stop, a few large birds circled overhead. Turkey vultures are a common sight, though usually not along this stretch of the coast. There was something different about these birds. After I spotted a photographer with a very big lens, a fellow cyclist excitedly confirmed my hunch: California Condors!

This being my first ride since last week's big wipe out, I was feeling a little tentative on the bike. I was not trying for a personal best this year, but still managed a faster pace than last year's jet-lagged excursion.

Nonetheless, the late climbs seemed particularly interminable this year. For the first time, there were no cyclists walking up. At the third rest stop, SAG vehicles were running at capacity: many riders know what is ahead and are not shy about hitching a ride over the top.

At the finish line, an announcer provides a running commentary to entertain the crowd. Straggling solo across the line, he nabbed me. "Here is one of our top fund-raisers!" he called out, thrusting a microphone in front of me.

What time did you leave? [With everyone else.]
Do you know what time it is now?

"Yes, I have been sitting on the saddle for 7 hours and 24 minutes," I explained.

I scored a much-needed massage this year, but was still feeling stressed by the time I got cleaned up for the evening. For the slow, there is no margin for down time: head straight to the barbecue and concert (Blues Traveler, this year). Unexpectedly, I ran into a friend who apologized for not donating this year. "Get a picture with one of those hunky lifeguards at the pool," she teased, "and I'll double my donation next year."

Thanks to the generous friends who supported my fund-raising, I enjoyed the special post-barbecue party again this year. For some, this is an opportunity to mix with celebrities and movers-and-shakers. For me, it is a glorious night under the stars in a legendary pool. I chatted with an amiable fellow swimmer/cyclist who recognized me from the road. He introduced himself, modestly responding that he worked for the legislature when I asked.

Later, I looked him up. Legislature, indeed: a State Senator. Movers and shakers, in the Neptune Pool. And me.

Slip Slidin' Away

Warning: loose gravel.

There is always loose gravel on this road, of the natural variety (shed from the hillside). The signs were posted because Mt. Hamilton Road has been freshly chip-sealed, from mile marker 9.0 to a level just above the Twin Gates trailhead (Joseph Grant County Park). The surface is rough, but there was scant loose gravel after the first few turns.

With September promising to be a busy month, I decided it would be best to climb Mt. Hamilton today. My usual ride buddies had other plans, but a cyclist is never alone on this route. For that, I am grateful.

I was strong on the climb, and cautious descending on the rough road. Taking a tumble on that would be, in a word, gruesome.

As the saying goes, there are cyclists who have crashed and there are cyclists who haven't crashed yet. [Can you guess where this story is headed?]

With less than a mile and a half to the end of the road, I rounded the final hairpin bend. The bike slid out beneath me. In the instant that the wheels lost traction, I knew this one was not recoverable. The road was smooth and dry; perhaps I braked too aggressively and locked the rear wheel.

The stats: My speed dropped from 30.4 mph to 0.9 mph in five seconds. My heart rate accelerated from 125 bpm to 147 bpm in those same five seconds.

Miraculously, the bicycle and I are intact. We slid together, and nothing came unhinged. Water bottles stayed in their cages. My sunglasses did not fly off. Most importantly, my head did not hit the pavement. Once I stopped sliding, I sat up and thought "Huh. That wasn't so bad." I thought back to my favorite Jonathan Vaughters quote:

Next time you're in your car at 50 mph, strip down to your underwear and jump out the door. And that's what it's like to crash in a professional bike race.

My right outer thigh took the brunt of the impact (a fine hematoma, there), and my right arm got most of the road rash. Toward the end of the slide, the edge of my helmet visor grazed the pavement. My bike jersey and shorts? Grimy, but not torn.

Being only somewhat the worse for wear, I declined a ride from the kind motorist behind me. I found a safe spot to collect my wits, pulled out my first aid kit and cleaned up the messiest bits.

The bike seemed rideable, until I noticed that the brake hoods were askew and the stem was not aligned with the fork. As I hiked down the hill, the first ascending cyclist stopped to help. He tugged the hoods into place, realigned the stem, and checked the bike over. Worried, after watching me get off to a wobbly start, he turned around and generously accompanied me back to my car.

Thank you, Monta Vista Velo guy. I apologize for being too rattled to ask your name.

High on a Hill

The climb was steep, but the view across the valley was worth the effort invested. Following the group on a route new to me, I paused for a brief recovery when my heart rate reached 180 bpm and the end was not in sight. [The end of the road, that is.]

Curiously, the path to the left in the photo appears to be part of the Novitiate Trail on a map, but it traverses private land before entering St. Joseph's Hill Open Space Preserve and was clearly marked "No Trespassing." That was okay, though; hiking, we were not.

My legs protested this after-work foray, but I managed not to fall too far behind the rest of the group. Our route was long enough to press against the limits of daylight; our evening ride series will soon close as summer drifts into fall. On this particular night, it was a treat to slip home through the back streets after dinner in the light of the (almost) full moon.

Detoured to Distraction

Some detours are lovely (A Ride in the Park).

And some detours are good for you, like a gratuitous hill climb (not to mention the view).

But some detours are downright treacherous, as I learned today.

New principle of safe bicycle commuting:
Beware the impromptu detour.

A public works crew has been layering a new surface on one of the roads I frequent. Never mind that the new surface is annoyingly irregular, making for a most unpleasant ride. That, alone, is a temptation to shift my route by a block or two.

This morning, temporary detour signs were posted during the morning commute hours as they prepared to work on the next section. Should I just ride through? They were not far along, a bicycle would not be a problem. Should I veer onto the sidewalk and slip past? Or should I do the right thing, behave like a vehicle and follow the detour?

I chose Door Number Three, and I feel lucky to tell the tale. There is a fourth option, which I highly recommend:

Steer clear of the official detour and improvise your own.

The problem with the official detour, even in a low-traffic area, is that the motorists are discombobulated. They are befuddled. Their routine has been disrupted, they are not familiar with the adjacent streets, and they are running late for work.

And thus I was nearly mowed down (twice) by a driver who (1) disregarded my right of way, (2) appeared to be proceeding straight but was not, (3) made a sudden u-turn in the middle of an intersection, and then (4) abruptly decided to parallel-park.

Had I chosen to tap on his window, he would have jumped out of his skin. I am sure he never saw the cyclist [that would be me] in the neon-yellow jacket with the flashing white light on her bike's handlebar and the flashing red light atop her helmet.

I shall not pass that way again.

Goats Gotta Eat

And girls gotta ride.

On paper, the road to Henry Coe State Park looks no more difficult than climbing Mt. Hamilton—and it is shorter. Why does it feel so much tougher on the bicycle?

To avoid the unpleasantly busy stretch of the lower climb, we prefer to wend our way along Thomas Grade. From there, the next mile averages a grade of about 4.1%. Here is why the next three miles are so trying: the gradient is about 7.2%. This time, I was mentally prepared for the final challenge, the painfully steep-but-short segment that rises after a cattle guard in the last mile.

Although this was a club ride, I spent most of the day riding solo. After the group pulled away from me on the Coyote Creek trail, my pace was good enough to keep them in sight but not good enough to catch them. When I reached the herd of brush-clearing goats, I threw in the towel. I would rather fend for myself and enjoy the sights.

Before he left me in the dust, I had a chance to chat with a club member who is lucky to be alive after suffering a heart attack out on the road a few months ago and undergoing bypass surgery. This is no average unhealthy American: he has completed the Furnace Creek 508 (look it up) more than once. Then, as today, he was riding his fixed-gear bicycle. "You could ride one too," he encouraged me. "Only if it were geared as low as my lowest gear," I replied. "But then you would spin out here [on the flats]," he explained. Exactly. Later, he gave me a cheerful wave on his way back down the hill; I, of course, was still climbing.

After lunch, I considered my options for returning to the start. Direct-but-congested ride on busy roads? Flat-but-dull route along the Coyote Creek trail? Hilly-but-scenic return past the reservoirs? Oh, why not.

When asked how I was doing by a younger couple on the gentle climb, I responded without hesitation: "Tired." "You don't look as tired as we do," they offered. Once I passed them, they had a target to chase and picked up their pace. As I pushed up the last little hill, they ran out of gas and slipped out of sight. The reward for my hard work was to have the final curvy descent to myself. For the day, some 59 miles and 4,085 feet of climbing.

A Ride in the Park

Friday is here, bringing with it the opportunity to join another group commute. Six riders today; alas, we will never rival SF2G in size, but we turn heads nonetheless. For most cyclists, commuting by bike is a lonely affair.

One of the guys probably wished he was alone today, after a rather spectacular crash. I think he took a turn too wide, clipping a pedal on the curb. His bike landed on the sidewalk; miraculously, he disengaged and stayed upright, carrying his momentum across some grass and into the shrubbery. (No bushes, bicycles, or bodies were harmed in the process.)

Now, that's a hand signal!

one of the guys exclaimed, after I stopped a Mercedes in its tracks. Approaching an intersection where we would follow the straight-through lane, this driver was accelerating to overtake us on the left—with his right turn signal flashing. Never mind that we were taking the lane. Never mind that the traffic light was red, anyway.

It is prudent to send a clear message to an errant motorist. I held my ground, firmly thrust out my left arm to telegraph "STOP," and twisted left to stare him down. The dark lenses in my sunglasses shielded him from the full force of my disdain, but he got the memo. He yielded, then took his proper place in the right lane.

Since the pre-dawn sky had treated me to a view of Venus rising, I was surprised when we rode into the fog zone. Blue skies reappeared, though, at the end of our route, and lingered through the day.

Having managed a respectable pace on my return route, I chose to deviate through a scenic county park instead of skirting along its border. As I dawdled on a bridge over the lake to watch some egrets and a black-crowned night heron, the resident flock of Canada geese took flight above me.

I am confident that the commuters idling in the Friday-evening freeway-jam had a less rewarding trip home.

The Following Leader

Unable to lure any of the usual suspects to Mt. Hamilton for the August Ascent, I decided to list it as a club ride. The schedule for today was light; I managed to attract a convivial group of 14, including a pair of Frenchmen and two riders who were climbing Hamilton for the first time. Not to mention the guy on the "three-speed" single-speed bike. (1: Sitting. 2: Standing. 3: Walking.)

I warned the group about my slow uphill / fast downhill pace, but another rider called dibs on being the last one to the top. (He won.)

There is always something new to discover on the mountain, even when you are biking up for the seventh time in eight months.

Surprise #1: Road construction signs. Some stretches have already been re-paved; most of the problem spots have been marked for repair, including my particular (least) favorite. This year, I finally figured out why I never miss it on the descent: it is a nasty little gully that extends diagonally across the entire lane, right past the apex of a sharp switchback. Now it is labeled "3A." Hurray!

Surprise #2: Fire damage. A large grass fire had blackened the hills about halfway up, near a ranch. Closer to the summit, a smaller fire claimed trees and brush on a steep drop right next to the road. A survey marker has been driven into a small boulder at this spot.

Surprise #3: Lick Observatory has kindly modified their public drinking fountain: It now includes a spigot that is the perfect height for re-filling our water bottles. Less fuss, no muss!

For me, the tricky part about leading this ride is the descent. I need to look after my riders, which means I should really be the last one down the hill. The solution? Give them a generous head start. The last three riders included a couple who would stay together, and a very capable guy who insisted that I need not wait.

The couple left first. I lingered, chatting with the last rider until he left. I refilled my water bottles. I had a pleasant conversation with a couple enjoying a picnic on their way to Livermore (for his 40th high school reunion). Despite growing up in the Bay Area, she had never been to the top of Mount Hamilton until today.

On my way down, I passed an ambulance and a paramedic hurrying up the hill. At that moment, it was a huge relief to know that all of my riders were ahead of me. I did not see any incidents along the way, so the emergency must have been on the back side of the mountain.

About halfway down the hill, I caught up with my last rider. I was convinced that I would not catch the other couple ... until I did. They were stunned to find me back at the starting point; they had not seen me pass. Now, that's fast!