Tomorrow

I discovered the Low-Key Hillclimbs when the series resumed in 2006, curious to see whether they really meant that everyone was welcome. (They did.) In 2007, I rode most of the climbs, and served as a volunteer for those I dared not attempt. On the final steep curve near the top of Welch Creek, I snapped this photo of Thomas Novikoff. A gifted Category 2 racer, he finished third overall in the series that year.

From my position near the tail end of the field, I would naturally see little of the guys at the front. I would still be climbing the hill after they had finished and begun descending; many would cheer me on as they whizzed past.

I last saw Thomas on Thanksgiving Day. The interior of his car was packed, from the floor to the bottoms of the windows, with cycling gear that he would haul to the top of Mt. Hamilton for our fellow Low-Keyers. Just as he was about to pull away, I dashed up to the car with one more bag ... he snatched it through the window, mock exasperation on his face.

Waiting for cyclists to cross the line at the snowy summit, that's Thomas striking a "thumbs up" pose in this photo by Bill Bushnell:

Our vantage point afforded a preview of the finishers. We expected Ryan Sherlock to be first across the line, but were surprised to see another rider on his wheel. How was that possible? "Who is that?" I asked. Thomas knew: "Eric Wohlberg."

A couple of weeks later, Thomas was hospitalized. A bicycle crash? An inattentive driver? No. He was gravely ill. Most of us had no idea.

He had raced up Portola Park in the third week of the series. I dragged my sorry self up East Dunne Avenue yesterday in the warm sunshine; in far less time, he had climbed it on a wet, miserable day in October. He had been eager to see Palomares on the Low-Key calendar in 2011.

Thomas kept living his life with the conviction that tomorrow would come. Racing up mountainsides. Spending Thanksgiving morning on a freezing mountaintop, cheering at the finish line.

Today there was a memorial service for Thomas at the top of Mount Tantalus in his native Honolulu. On his blog, he had quoted T.S. Eliot:

Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.

Thomas, you deserved to go so much farther.

A Crushing Coe

It has been a while since I set out on a long bike ride. Quite a while. Look back three months on the calendar, to Levi's King Ridge GranFondo.

Why, then, did I think a 52-mile route with an extended climb would be a good idea today? Quite simply: I wasn't thinking.

The first time I ascended East Dunne Avenue to reach Henry Coe State Park, I was a passenger in a car. A budding cyclist, I knew this was a popular route. I quickly recognized that it was beyond my ability.

The first time I climbed it on a bicycle, I had raced up Mt. Hamilton the day before. I took it easy that day, but it was not a struggle.

Not so, today. My fitness has withered, and I could have used those red blood cells I donated ten days ago. The steepest pitch is uphill of the lone cattle guard on this route. On the downhill approach, I gave it my all. I flew over the metal rails and made it most of the way up the steep grade. (Most. Not all.) I dismounted. I looked at the hill. I did not want to pedal one more meter uphill.

What remained was not so steep. With a few minutes to recover, I certainly could have remounted and continued. I ... just ... didn't ... want to.

Suddenly it seemed like a lovely day for a stroll, and I did something I have not done on a bicycle outing in years. I walked.

Dream, dream, drive

Approaching the pumps, my gaze was magnetically drawn to one vehicle in particular. An unexpected rendezvous with the shiny black car?! Headed in opposite directions, imagine the odds that we would both turn up to refuel at the same place at the same time. My Sunday drive was coming to a close; his was just getting underway. The rest of the pumps were occupied by assorted models from Mercedes Benz.

I almost bought one, I thought about buying one.

Surprisingly, not an uncommon comment. [Right. But you bought that Mercedes station wagon, instead.]

Not that there is anything wrong with that. If I needed to haul kids around, a station wagon or a minivan would be just right. If I needed to haul stuff around, a pickup truck would do nicely. If I wanted to drive to the slopes, a small SUV with four wheel drive would be a fine choice.

What kind of mileage do you get?

Another common question. “That depends entirely on how I drive it,” I smile. “Yeah, I guess that's not the point,” he observed. [Hardly.]

From the driver of the very nice Mercedes behind me:

Your car is beautiful.

The Silicon Valley International Auto Show was wrapping up today, and the local section of the newspaper featured an article from the esteemed Mr. Roadshow:
“Why buy a car when you can dream for free?”

I can assure you of this: dreaming is not driving.

Not Gonna Happen

In the last week of December, after dropping off some post-blizzard groceries and shoveling some snow for my elderly uncle, his parting words to me were:

Stay off that bicycle!

Seems like "thank you" would have been more appropriate.

Back on the west coast, January means it is time to reset that odometer before setting out on the first ride of the year. This one was damp and cold, with the cloud layer hanging just above our heads. (We could have climbed into it, had we wanted to get wet, but we opted for a lower elevation.)

Despite my cold-weather gear, I traveled a full six miles before I could feel my fingers. Later on the ride, I found that a sustained heart rate of 172 or more would bring them back to life. My toes, however, were a lost cause. When I returned home, I took my cue from the cat and cozied up to one of the heating vents.

Thirty-five chilly miles, 1,165 feet of climbing.

Stay off the bicycle? Not gonna happen.

Blitzed by the Blizzard

Mom: Stop that! Don't do their job!

In this case, "they" would be the snow-clearing dudes who were yet to appear, more than 30 hours after the Blizzard of 2010 dumped more than 30 inches of snow on us. The fierce winds had created drifts taller than me. Needless to say, the snow crews were pretty busy. I was thoroughly bored and longing for some exercise. I shoveled a narrow path down the driveway to the street, and dug out the mailbox.

Sister-in-law's mom: Stop that! I can get the car out!

Sure, but the softening patches of ice on the driveway will freeze solid overnight and be just as treacherous tomorrow.

Uncle (and his next-door neighbor, in harmony): Stop that!
I don't want you to do that. It will melt!

Yes, it will melt. Eventually.

When you cross the threshold into your eighties, do they hand you a script? Is there a prohibition against graciously accepting the help of the next generation?

The most effective response, I have learned, is simply to turn my back and tune out the tirade. As my brother later remarked, they do not understand that I am in better shape than they were at any point in their lives.

My Christmas holiday visit was unexpectedly extended by the storm, which would have been classified as a Category 2 hurricane in a different season. A state of emergency was declared, thousands of flights were canceled, at least five state highways were closed (unplowed) for several days, and the Post Office stopped delivering mail.

The airports were jammed with stranded travelers and Continental Airlines would not answer the phone. They are not accountable for the weather, but they are responsible for how they cope with the aftermath. Grade: F-

At least I was comfortable and merely inconvenienced, staying with family. Five days after my flight was canceled, I rescued myself with a one-way ticket on a different airline.

There's no place like home, there's no place like home ...

Into the Mist(ic)

Smell the sea and feel the sky

Let your soul and spirit fly

We were too far inland to smell the sea, but we certainly did feel the sky. It was neither cold nor rainy, but wet without any doubt. I was coated with grime before I arrived at the official starting point and then astonished that five intrepid riders showed up for our ambitious climb-fest in spite of the weather.

Confidentially, I had been hoping for rain; when my ride co-leader originally suggested this route, my eyebrows went up. "We could always make Reynolds optional," I proposed. As we started up Mt. Umunhum today, one of the guys asked "Are you really going up Reynolds, too?" Yup. Three hill climbs, each with an average grade hovering around 10%. For me, two additional hills riding to the start and back home. Sounds crazy? [Okay, it probably is crazy.] By the time I would load the bike into the car, drive to the start, unload and set up the bike ... trust me, it is faster just to ride the bike.

Slugs were the only creatures climbing Hicks more slowly than I was today. I respectfully avoided them. Three deer crossed in front of me; the last, a young buck, lingered in the middle of the road to study me. "What sort of weakling is that?," he must have wondered. Labored breathing, moving so slowly, separated from its pack.

Thirty-three miles, 3,635 feet of climbing through the clouds.What a view.

Touch of Color

All the hills are brown
and the sky is gray.
I've been for a ride
on a winter's day.

Judging by the radar map this morning, I would have stayed home (warm and dry). Technology is not always the best thing. A ride partner willing to goad you onto the bike can be better.

The rain did start coming down just before he arrived, but it was insincere. Undeterred, we headed for the hills.

It has been three weeks since I was last on the bike, but I did surprisingly well. Realizing that I should be cross-training in practice, rather than in theory, I signed up for the Concept 2 Holiday Challenge. To date, I've rowed 35,130 meters. Given my performance on the bike today, that has indeed paid off.

We climbed 1,675 feet over 15.9 miles, with views of steep forested canyons and Santa Clara Valley in the distance. Not to mention the usual quail and one flock of wild turkeys. Only a few cyclists, though; the hard-core who pay little heed to weather forecasts.