Sierra Road, Race Day

I didn't bring my skis, I signed up for a bike race!

To appreciate Saturday fully, I must start with Friday. Friday was not the best of days, as I spent most of it sitting quietly at home, dehydrating, suffering from an apparent "24-hour bug," aka food poisoning. I ventured out on a rainy San Jose night to claim my race packet. If nothing else, I would collect my schwag, as it seemed increasingly unlikely that I would be racing the next morning. Now I was committed to a return trip, though, to turn in my timing chip. Well, I could always watch the Criterium.

Heavy rain woke me during the night, but there were scattered, moonlit clouds when the alarm went off. A radar map survey revealed rain not making it over the ridge of the Santa Cruz mountains. Next up, a physiological survey: Well-rested, got enough sleep. A pulled muscle in my left inner thigh - how did I manage that, in my sleep? Some residual aches from Friday, but definitely not miserable. Lighter weight, but disadvantaged - somewhat dehydrated.

I am not a professional bike racer; no one is paying me to ride when I'm under the weather, or when the weather over me is nasty. But I am currently reading Arlene Blum's Breaking Trail: A Climbing Life; she has climbed huge mountains while suffering from hepatitis or dysentery. This, after all, is just a bike ride and a little food poisoning. [Thanks, Arlene.] Get on with it.

The turn-out for the San Jose Cycling Classic KOM Race was so low, I joked that I might place third in my category. When the final results were sorted out, I missed finishing in the top ten for the Category 4 Women - landing in 11th place with my time of 47:08.84. Faster than some of the Cat 4/5 Men, I finished 99th in a field of 107. Slower than my Low-Key 44:50, but my fellow Low-Keyers suggested that everyone was slower today due to the strong winds. I did let my heart rate dip a couple of times, but averaged 177 bpm (peaking at 184 bpm). Definitely not a conversational pace, but comfortably shy of my actual maximum. Note that my average heart rate was considerably higher than my theoretical maximum according to the oft-cited formula (Max HR = 220 - my age), so don't put too much stock in that. On the other hand, if I can use that to calculate my theoretical age . . .

I knew I was moving at a stunningly fast speed when I flew past some of my fellow riders on the return to City Hall, but that's no time to look at anything except the road ahead (definitely, not my bike computer). I probably had a touch of tailwind to reach 44.5 mph descending Felter Road. Luckily, I was traveling a bit slower when I passed a police car at the side of the road, no ticket for me.

Overall, a fun day - six miles of rolling road closures to the base of Sierra Road, thrashing myself up the hill, a fabulous descent once the tricky crosswinds were behind me, and enormous pans of paella for lunch back at City Hall. And yes, I raced with my camera (<200 grams). At my ability level, it just can't matter that much, and I would have regretted missing every one of these shots.

Frosty Rooftops

I don't carry a camera on my commute rides - I'm just trying to get to work, or back home. When I found myself rolling up to a left turn behind a small steam roller this morning, it was one of those shots-that-got-away. [There was no steam involved, but what else do you call those things?] I was happy to discover that I am faster than some motorized vehicle, especially when he chose to rattle along in the bike lane behind me.

This morning's ride was not without a form of steam, however, as I could easily see my breath. It was less than one degree above freezing when I left home, and not much warmer when I arrived at work. Yes, it does get that cold (or colder) in the Bay Area during the winter. Frost was thick on the rooftops, and I noticed one property where the homeowner would have learned a lot about heat loss had he ventured outside to examine the pattern on his roof.

My cyclist count was at a record low this morning (14), most likely a result of the chilly air. This was the coldest cycling trip I've taken, but I was quite comfy. From time to time, other riders ask me what they should wear to be warm enough, but that's a question they need to answer for themselves. Experiment, figure out what works; every body is different. In general, keep the extremities warm and don't overdo it on the core.

Here's what worked for me, this morning - and trust me, I don't like to be cold:

• Woolie Boolie socks, Baah! DeFeet: warm, with a sense of humor.
• Sugoi Resistor Booties: warm, ready for possible rain on the ride home.
• Pearl Izumi Thermafleece tights: often too warm, best for really cold days.
  
• Woolistic jersey, long sleeves: wool really does keep you "warm, even when wet."
• Craft winter rain jacket: perfect outer layer, in bright neon yellow.
  
• Castelli Max Donna gloves: warm, with a cuff that cinches above the wrist.
  
• Planet Buff head cover: thin, easily fits under a helmet, surprisingly warm.
  

The first three miles of my ride are mostly uphill, so I was generating the watts and I was toasty warm - even on the sections where I cruised at 34+ mph. After that, the ride is essentially flat (slightly downhill), and the tips of my fingers and toes were a bit tingly - but not so much that I was motivated to crank a little harder.

Fuzzy Legs

What to do on a chilly winter's day with rain in the forecast? Stay dry? Mostly. Climb a hill to touch a cloud and get wet? Of course.

Today's group was a faster one, and I was pleased to keep up with them. The front group charged off at a pace that was not impossible and I was swept along nicely, drafting a guy riding a fixed-gear bicycle and our ride leaders on their tandem.

Am I spending too much time cycling? The San Francisco Chronicle recently profiled another local cyclist and her cycling addiction. Whew, that's not me. I am not signing up for any double centuries, much less Paris-Brest-Paris. I'm not addicted. No intervention needed. Nothing to see here. Move along, please.

Still, when you recognize at least one cyclist [not riding with you] on every ride, does that mean you're riding too much? When men in Lycra with fuzzy legs look weird to you, are you hanging around too many bike racers?

The tandem flew past me on a straightaway descent; the urge to draft was irresistible. Another rider tried to insert himself as we passed; I defended and held my position on their wheel. Coming up on the fixed-gear as we crested a little rise, I seized the moment (and momentum) to attack. My breakaway would last only until the next uphill, but I knew that. It was fun anyway. Out of the saddle and rocking the bike, he powered past me like I was standing still. I'll never have legs like that.

The View from the Top

I bought my ticket and I boarded the train, touched down in the land of San Bruno Mountain with Marc Cohn singing in my brain. Caltrain did not disappoint: today's delights included train groupies in a state of sheer ecstasy, induced when the engineer blew past one of the local stations along the way. The train came to a halt before winning approval to back up to the missed station. The bike car being the northernmost car (leading the way to San Francisco), it's a natural magnet for the groupies. The cyclist who disembarked muttered "Once a month . . ."

Puddles lingered from the showers that ended sometime last night, as we pulled away from the gray skies of the south bay into the San Francisco sunshine. The conditions at the top of the hill could not have been more unlike those on January 1. Clear, still, and nearly balmy. The view to the west extended past the Farallon Islands; to the north, past San Francisco and the Marin Headlands to Mount Tam and Drake's Bay; to the east, Mount Diablo and beyond.

Coyote Point is a great vantage point along the approach to SFO, and we picnicked near the water's edge before meandering south along the bay shore and the hills of Redwood City to catch a southbound train in Palo Alto.

Bench Henge

You'll find this inviting spot on Coleman Road in San José, not far from Almaden Expressway. It is not a bus stop. Four benches are clustered in a semi-circle facing the five-lane thoroughfare and a light post adorned with a "No Stopping" sign (not the Guadalupe Creek, which runs behind them). A gravel path leads here from some nearby apartment buildings; was this "park" some sort of deal related to that development? I should pack a lunch and sit here one day, just to see how passers-by react.

One of the things I appreciate about biking with our club is the depth of local knowledge. Today's route passed through the Blossom Valley neighborhood, which I had not visited before, on the way to climbing Bernal Road through a section of Santa Teresa County Park. At the top of Bernal sits IBM's Almaden Research Center, and we stopped short of that (private property). It is a modest climb, but my legs were protesting after yesterday's flogging. I learned that this land was all part of Rancho Santa Teresa, part of a 10,000 acre land grant from the Mexican Government to José Joaquin Bernal in 1834.

Traffic was light, as people prepared to party around today's big football game. This year I remembered to record it, so I could check out the much-vaunted commercials. (I fast-forwarded through the football parts.) Not being the targeted demographic, I was resoundingly disappointed. Commercials for three different job-hunting sites? Are there any job openings these days? I did enjoy the half-time show; it looked like Bruce and the band had a genuinely good time.

Sierra Road

It has been a year since I've climbed Sierra Road, and with today's club ride heading up the back of it, why not descend and then climb it? Approaching the summit from the back side, you can see the road snaking along the top of the hill and you can't see the sprawling metropolis below the fog.

Sierra is hard. On the descent, I pondered making a sensible return to our starting point. But where's the fun in that? Thus, having warmed up with 2400 feet of climbing already in my legs, I made the big u-turn and headed back up.

The last time I hauled myself up Sierra, I was earning my place as a spectator during the Tour of California. When I finally reached the summit, one of the local racers teased me:

What took you so long?
I had a mechanical problem, I replied.
Getting the expected look of sympathy, I continued: I need a bigger engine.

A few eyebrows went up when I proceeded to pull a long lens, mounted on a digital SLR, out of my little backpack. Maybe she's not as slow as we thought.

It was so warm today that I was overheating. I pushed up my sleeves. I thought about stopping. I kept going. I thought about turning around. I didn't.

Shortly after I arrived at the top, a serious racer arrived, breathing mightily. Before his support vehicle picked him up and ferried him back down the hill, I caught a snippet of their conversation.

How was it?
That was hard. And not in a fun way.

In addition to the usual turkey vultures and hawks, I crossed paths with a magpie and a western bluebird in brilliant plumage, and saw the largest flock yet of wild turkeys. The cows at the top were indifferent to our suffering.

I celebrated with some pretzels and triumphantly descended the back side.

Riding with the Leaders

San José is the tenth largest city in the US, but the beauty of California is that you are never far away from wild land. We started today's ride in the shadow of downtown skyscrapers, but left all that behind in less than eight miles as we crossed the freeways and climbed the foothills toward Alum Rock.

The skies were threatening, the winds were blowing, and there was a damp chill in the air. The landscape is a bit dynamic here; we passed through a section where only one lane of the road is hanging on (barely), and also traversed a few segments of dirt. We saw hawks circling overhead, fields of wild mustard, and even a stray heifer on the wrong side of a fence.

Once the climbing was done, I enjoyed a screaming fast descent (44.5 mph, max) on our way back to the start. Lunch awaited, and I had worked up an appetite.

Today's ride was a generous thank-you from our bike club, ACTC, to all the members who had led rides in 2008. Our pre-lunch ride was thus a rare group - all leaders! Nonetheless, we took direction well, and needless to say, no one got lost.