Tunitas Again

A team formed at work to ride the Silicon Valley Tour de Cure (a fundraiser for the American Diabetes Association); with some misgivings, I joined as an act of solidarity. As it did two years ago, this event disappointed me; but I figured it would be a worthwhile training ride. I completed 6800 feet of climbing over almost 78 miles.

I rode alone most of the day, which was fine. I am pathetically slow (averaged 11.2 mph), and much happier not gasping to keep up with faster teammates or feeling guilty for lagging behind. Those doing the long route (120 km) rolled out promptly at 6:30 a.m. Not being a morning person, I was quite proud of myself for rolling at 6:40. I probably lost five minutes trying to get MyTracks to start recording a track, then debating whether to return to the car rather than carry the otherwise useless G1 all day. I was already cranky after navigating the registration maze, which involved standing in lines at two separate tables just to get my rider number and an exit chute with an even longer line to get a route sheet after waiting for a volunteer to pin the number to my jersey.

Lots of riders were huffing and puffing up Kings Mountain, including one Cory from Concord who passed me only to stop a few yards later. Not being accustomed to hill climbing, he had no idea how to pace himself. He seemed astonished to find the hill much easier to climb at my pace, and chatting helped distract him from the effort. He was sensitive to the uptick in pitch on every switchback, which did not bode well so early on this route. I gave him the quick synopsis of Tunitas Creek Road, so he might not have despaired on that middle steep section (if he made it that far). He was still at the first rest stop at the top of Kings when I took off, and I never saw him again.

The route itself is beautiful - redwood forests, rolling hills, views of the Pacific Ocean. I flew down Highway 84 through La Honda, and was surprised to see one rider walking up Haskins Hill. This route takes us over the easy side. Tunitas Creek Road, longer and steeper, is going to be a long walk. [At the next rest stop, he arranged for a SAG ride up Tunitas.] More than a few of these riders should have opted for one of the easier routes. One of our teammates, having given us a two-hour head start, passed me on Tunitas like I was standing still. Later, he would graciously tell me that it hurt, that he didn't climb the whole thing at that pace - he was trying to catch the rest of the guys.

The route covered some of the same territory as last week's Sequoia Century. I took it easy and stopped to snap some photos along the way. A juvenile red-shouldered hawk atop a telephone pole ignored me, as did a peacock strutting his stuff along the edge of Stage Road.

Handy tip for riding in organized cycling events: Always, always stuff your pockets with your favorite sustenance before you leave home. Maybe the rest stops will be well-stocked with a wide variety of fruits and salty snacks. Or not, in which case you might be temporarily disabled with severe muscle cramps, like the rider some of my teammates encountered a few miles from the finish.

I carved my way down Kings Mountain Road so fast that my toes were chilled, and thanked a courteous driver in an Isuzu Trooper who pulled aside to wave me past. When I arrived at the finish, the taco provider had packed up early and there were no more hamburgers (veggie burgers or hotdogs only). No protein for me. (Bugs in my teeth don't count.) Thank goodness for Tony & Alba's timely pasta delivery. Looking to add some salad to my plate, I soon discovered that the organizers had whisked away the huge bowls of green salad as soon as the pasta arrived. Sigh. I did enjoy a good massage before leaving, in search of dessert.

Home Field Advantage

Wildflowers were abundant on today's Sequoia Century, unlike April's Wildflower Century. The two events, however, are not to be confused. The Sequoia has a reputation for being one of the tougher centuries in our area, and the route masters change it every two years. I have done the workers' 100k ride a couple of times; this year, it was time to tackle the 100 mile route as an actual registrant.

The ride started in Palo Alto and immediately headed toward the Saratoga hills that are just a few miles from home. Rather than getting up extra early to haul myself and my gear to Palo Alto, essentially to bike back home, I plotted my own start. A side benefit was avoiding Redwood Gulch, a “Steep Climb” according to the route sheet. Something of an understatement, that. The first time I was brave enough to climb it, a few years ago, I recorded my highest heart rate (199). I can climb it whenever I want (which is, rarely), and I certainly didn't want to pick my way through an obstacle course of surprised 100k riders on it today.

As I passed the top of Redwood Gulch, I met my compatriots. Uh-oh. Racing kits. Jerseys from Paris-Brest-Paris, the Death Ride, Climb to Kaiser, Devil Mountain Double, and some other event that includes 200 miles and 20,000 feet of climbing in one day. These are the sub-5% bodyfat types, overwhelmingly male. There were no recreational riders (though I would see some, later), and they disdained to acknowledge me with so much as an “on your left,” much less “good morning.” I enjoyed sweet satisfaction in passing a couple of them on the descents.

Highway 9 has mile markers that count down to the summit; you know where you are, with great precision, at irregular intervals. Mile 5.89? Are you kidding me? They couldn't have planted that stake 1/100th of a mile sooner? And so it goes, to the top, which today was dripping in cold fog.

I have been off the bike for almost two weeks, and donated blood 10 days ago. I was not confident that I could really pull off this ride today. Being on home turf, I was prepared with plenty of bail-out options. My legs were already aching by mile 40, on the second climb—ascending the other side of Highway 9 from Boulder Creek. Just go down the other side and cruise home, counseled the evil voice in my head. Let's see how much I'm hurting when I get to Alpine Road, I replied. If I descend that, I'm committed.

“It's all about pacing yourself, at this point,” remarked one of the many stronger riders who passed me. Indeed, I was carefully grinding it out and managing my heart rate. My alternate start meant that the finish was six miles closer for me, but . . . then I would have to ride home.

The lunch stop in La Honda was a veritable garden party (our hostesses, Vickie and Karen, always do an amazing job). Even the portable toilets were adorned with flowers. One of my Western Wheeler buddies assured me that I was making decent time and helpfully pointed out that sunset is almost as late as 8:30 P.M. these days, so I would surely make it home before dark.

Honestly, I wasn't feeling terrible. In fact, I was feeling pretty okay. The prevailing headwind spoiled the descent to San Gregorio and slowed my climb up Stage Road. When I reached the rest stop at the Bike Hut along Tunitas Creek Road, I realized that I was in much better shape than many of my remaining fellow riders. It's not a race; I had done a good job of conserving energy. My leg muscles had attained a steady state of ache and I wasn't feeling tired.

Having reached the top of Tunitas Creek, the last real climb, I enjoyed a jubilant, car-free descent of Kings Mountain Road. I arrived at the finish with ample time to enjoy more food and chat with friends before continuing on my merry way—18 miles back home, at a recovery pace.

Lots of firsts today! Most vertical feet climbed in a day (9,775). Most miles in a day (116.8). Most time on the bike (10 hours, 32 minutes, 48 seconds). Most calories burned (4,498). I did it, and I'm glad.

Traveling Light

After picking up some "essential personal items," I found a flyer on my car from a local psychic offering one free phone consultation. Maybe she can tell me where my bag is? Continental Airlines has no idea.

Familiar with those nearly indestructible bar-coded tags the airlines attach to your luggage? They scan those tags and know the location of your bag at all times, just like FedEx, right? Ha! Pure fantasy. When pressed, a Continental representative revealed that they scan the tags at random, or only when "headquarters" tells them to scan an entire flight.

Despite checking in 101 minutes before the scheduled departure of my direct flight from San Francisco to Newark, paying $15 for the privilege of flying with my bag in the cargo hold, and confirming that the tag attached to my bag was correct, I left the airport in New Jersey empty-handed.

I once traveled for a month on an itinerary that involved multiple airlines and so many segments that the booking agent interrupted me to ask if I would ever return home. Newark - Chicago - San Francisco - Honolulu - Kauai - Honolulu - Salt Lake City - San Diego - Denver - Phoenix - and finally, Newark. For this combination of business and pleasure, I traveled with four pieces of luggage: two carry-on bags and two checked bags. Nothing was lost.

Even before I had a reason to study the fine print on the claim form, I raised my eyebrows at the woman on the airport shuttle who bragged about stowing her laptop in her checked bag (so she wouldn't have to juggle her laptop, shoes, and plastic bag of liquids at the security checkpoint). At the time, I thought about how easily the laptop could be removed in transit. Now I know that if the airline loses your bag, forget about it. They will not reimburse you for a laptop, or essentially anything else of value, should your luggage disappear. Anything worth $100 or more (e.g., your suitcase)? Hope you saved your receipt.

So, my plight could have been worse - I pack my electronics in my carry-on bag. In these days of heightened security, I avoid putting anything with wires or batteries in my checked bag to reduce the likelihood that the TSA will find a reason to rifle through my belongings.

Traveling to a special event? Be sure you arrive more than a day early, because the airline won't reimburse you for anything more than basic toiletries and undergarments for the first 24 hours. If you shop carefully, the next day's allowance might just buy you a pair of shoes.

On the bright side, I won't be paying that $15 fee on my return trip.

Gloomy Sunday

If they call it stormy Monday, then today was gloomy Sunday. Or maybe it's a new plot to drive the cyclists out of Woodside, since the skies were clear just south of town.

I met up with some friends for a casual ride from Palo Alto, heading north. Our route included Cañada Road, a portion of which is closed to vehicles once a week for Bicycle Sunday. Joggers, rollerbladers, racers, recreational cyclists, kids on tricycles and tiny little bicycles - all turn out to take over the wide, smooth pavement and gentle rolling hills along Upper Crystal Springs Reservoir. I am always amused by the people who continue to ride on the shoulder, despite the road closure. Take the lane, it's yours for a day!

It was quite a bit chillier than we had anticipated, and as we ventured further north the clouds were low enough to sprinkle us. Two friends turned back, and my ride buddy suggested we divert to Burlingame for a bakery treat and follow an easterly route back along the bay, searching for sunshine.

Alas, no cake for us. We didn't get very far before my freehub balked and refused, intermittently, to freewheel. Coasting downhill, it was rather exciting to have the chain (now slack) slip off the big chainring in front, with the rest of the chain clattering onto the chainstay. While the bicycle is rideable, controlling it is a bit tricky. If the chain pops off toward the crankarm, it can get tangled and snap. If it goes slack and gets caught in the wheel, the bicycle will come to an abrupt stop, with even more damage to the equipment (and me). To keep some tension on the chain, I had to keep the pedals turning, and if my cadence wasn't "just right" for a particular gearing the chain would go slack anyway.

The bike already had a service appointment scheduled for tomorrow, and my plan was to drop it off after today's ride. One more kink for the mechanics to investigate.

Tortoises Climbing Harwood

The first hill on today's route was the steepest, with the grade of one section averaging 13.1% for 640 meters (okay, okay, four tenths of a mile). Harwood is a residential street with lots of "view properties," and I can only imagine that the locals think we're a bunch of loonies for riding up there. It wasn't as grueling as I remembered it, which is a sign that I am getting stronger. I averaged 4.1 mph on the steep bit, and believe me, I am capable of staying upright at lower speeds.

Our intrepid ride leader, Marcia, is one of my personal heroes. When I grow up, I hope I will have her strength and stamina. She may be slow (her rides are titled "Tortoises Climbing Hills"), but she rides up steep stuff that I have not found the nerve to tackle.

And now a word about tires.

Our start was delayed when I noticed a rear flat tire on a fellow cyclist's bike just as we were ready to roll. Flats happen, but with a little attention I believe it is possible to minimize the number you will have to fix on the road. Here are some handy tips:

• Stay out of the gutter, which collects thorns, broken glass, and other debris swept out of the traffic lane by cars.
  
• After every ride, closely inspect your tires, remove anything that's embedded, and look for troublesome cuts. If you do this at the end of your ride, you won't be deflated at the start of your next one.

Those miniscule shards of glass you may have picked up on today's ride will be a problem on your next ride, or the one after that, as the tires keep rotating and drive them deeper through the tread. Sometimes, a thorn or tiny piece of wire will simultaneously pierce the tube and plug the hole, setting up a slow leak. Better to hear that disheartening sssss at home, as you pull it out, than to be stuck along the side of the road tomorrow.

My legs were good and the temperature was ideal, so I was hungry for some extra miles and climbing. My ride buddy agreed to join me, and we lured another rider along for a sustained climb up a nearby hill (a steady 10.5% grade from the base to the end of the road, a mile and a quarter later). On the ascent, I was impressed by the view down a precipitous canyon to my right. Note to self: stay very focused later on this curvy, technical descent.

A short ride today, 30 miles with 2,950 feet of climbing.

Ride of Silence

Tonight it was time for a somber event, the annual Ride of Silence. Around the globe, at 7:00 P.M. local time, riders set out to remember cyclists who have been killed or injured by motorists; our group included 24 people. In our thoughts were six who lost their lives in the past year, including a sixth grader who was run down on the last day of school in San Jose (Breanna Slaughter-Eck), a bicycle messenger in San Francisco (Kirk Janes), and two cyclists who were victims of drivers who hit them and drove away. Laura Casey was left lying in a Richmond street, crying out for help until her life was taken by a second driver who also fled.

Closer to home, a hit-and-run driver seriously injured Ashleigh Jackson in Saratoga just a few weeks ago. What goes through the minds of these drivers? It is beyond my comprehension. Those with such callous disregard for human life, I would lock away forever. But it is not up to me, and sadly they are not always caught.

We remembered Michelle Mazzei, killed in 2005 by a distracted driver in Woodside, and John Peckham, killed in 2006 by a driver who was recklessly impaired in Palo Alto. Our route led to the site of a memorial for three cyclists killed on Stevens Canyon Road: Jeff Steinwedel, by the careless driver of a gravel truck in 1996, and Kristy Gough and Matt Peterson, killed by a sheriff's deputy who apparently fell asleep at the wheel on a sunny Sunday morning last year.

I will never forget these cyclists I never knew, who lost their lives on the same roads that I ride. Twenty-four hours before the deputy smashed into Kristy, Matt, and a third cyclist (who was severely injured), I had rounded that same bend in the road. Now, whenever I approach that curve, I tense up for the familiar shiver that will run down my spine. I will never forget how heartbroken I felt, after riding with hundreds of other cyclists in the memorial for John Peckham, as I sat with my lunch in a park filled with joyful children. For taking John's life, so full of promise, there is no adequate penalty.

Every time you get behind the wheel, you are responsible for the lives of people all around you - sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers. Be alert. Be patient. Be responsible. Focus on driving your vehicle. Don't yak on your cell phone. Don't drive when you're impaired. Don't drive when you're sleepy. How hard can it be?

There is so little I can do, but I can hope that when we ride in silence next year, there will be no new names on our list of remembrance. And I can never forget the people we have lost.

Mmm, Strawberries

The hallmark of the Strawberry Fields Forever ride is (you guessed it), strawberries. After passing acres of them ripening in the hot sun, we were rewarded with heaping mounds of strawberries, along with bowls of chocolate and whipped cream, at the end of the ride. I easily ate a pint of them; but that's okay, there are plenty still out there.

Plan A today was to tackle the 100 mile route, which climbs the Santa Cruz Mountains from the coast. The route would bring me so close to home that I've often feared that I might just head that way, which would present a problem in that my car would still be parked in Watsonville.

When the temperature in my backyard reached 97 degrees on Saturday, it seemed advisable to check the conditions on the other side of the hill. With a forecast of 75 degrees at 3 pm, Watsonville was instead baking at 90 degrees. Given Sunday's forecast for warmer temperatures, Plan B was hatched. The sensible choice was to back off and ride the 100 km route. I don't perform well in extreme heat, and given my typical pace, I would be sizzling in the wide-open fields during the hottest part of the day. Even worse, I would run the risk of finishing too late to enjoy my fair share of strawberries!

I rode most of the route with some friends who had reached the same conclusion, and met about a dozen more along the way. Overall, a much better day than I expected, with a mere 3,290 feet of climbing over 66 miles. The steep bit looks a little less daunting every year (11.5% grade for a quarter of a mile). I was grateful for the little bags of ice supplied at the lunch stop, but I never imagined that I would be happy about a headwind until our cooling offshore breeze arrived (ahead of schedule).