Point-To-Point

Pacific Coast Highway Randonneurs 300k, August 29, 2009

Every so often, we Randonneurs get into conversations with people who ask us where we come from, where we are going, and why we are not taking the bus. Regardless of whether I made that last part up or not, the question wouldn't make much sense on a route where the finish is at the same location as the start. And - who knows? - maybe the whole bike riding thing doesn't make much sense to many people if you just ride out and back or in a circle ...

This time, however, it was different: The PCHRandos put their second brevet series of the year under the Amtrak theme: either take the train to the start and ride home or the other way around. And those who would rather find an arrangement with a significant other, relatives or friends to replace the train by a car are welcome, too. I found the idea of a brevet as a "transport stage" from point to point particularly attractive, because I was aware that it reflected one facet of the historical origins of randonneuring quite truthfully - and I wanted to be part of that celebration.

As soon as I learned that the route of the 300 km brevet on August 29 went from San Luis Obispo to Moorpark, I started to organize my arrangement: I would offer our dear friend Yolande (already mentioned at the end of this) a weekend trip to her house in Shell Beach on Friday, from where I was only 15 minutes from the 6 a.m. start on Saturday morning. And I would "invite" my daughter Fabienne to come in the evening from her place in Westwood to the finish in Moorpark such that we can drive back to Shell Beach together and spend a nice relaxing Sunday with Yolande. Fabienne would bring her bike along as well, and we would get to do another nice training ride for her on Sunday morning with the side effect of recovering my van which remained at the start of the brevet in San Luis Obispo. - And that's how it happened.

During various double centuries and brevets over the last years, I had become familiar with most of this route already and was very much looking forward to get back onto those roads again. I felt in good shape and expected to finish in around 14 hours. On paper, the route was not difficult (total elevation gain about 7200 ft; the vertical axis on the profile below is in meters) and the wind would be favorable.

Only eleven participants at the start - not everybody has the disposition to pay the price of some additional inconvenience for the reenactment of a "transport stage." Four of them disappeared far ahead during the first two miles already; no wonder one of them was worried before the start about arriving too early at the first control (the opening time is calculated for an average speed of about 20 mph). We others tried to stay with Shai and Curt. Both were still way too strong and fast for us, but they gracefully pulled us to the first control in Sisquoc and beyond until we had to let them go definitively.

Jack, Shai, Curt, Scott at the Sisquoc control

During those first 50 miles, I stayed mostly on Scott's rear wheel (the same as mentioned here and here) if it wasn't Jack's (who I knew in particular from the GRR), and I was proud of it. I would have never been able to maintain their speed without drafting them.

Just when I started to revise my expected finishing time for the spectacularly better, three things happened: a) we turned onto the ominously named Harris Grade Road; b) the temperature suddenly went up, way up; c) my legs became sore and my breathing shallow. I was unable to follow Scott and Jack and immediately lost a quarter mile on them before they even noticed that I was gone. But Vickie, the Eventmaster for this ride, had set up a highly welcome water stop just where the climb started in earnest, and so I could once again catch up with my companions. Judging by her concerns and encouragements, I must not have looked very good. The least I could do was to reassure her that I would do what it takes to always enjoy the ride, no matter what; and to implore Scott and Jack not to wait for me, ever. I climbed the Harris Grade cautiously and that's something I am pretty good at - much better than Scott and Jack who just were unable to go that slowly. When I arrived at the top and found them recollecting themselves in the shade before the long descent into Lompoc, I scolded them for having waited for me - they were supposed to just go ahead from now on.

Soon afterwards, we found ourselves at the Albertson's in Lompoc for a control stop. I went shopping for food, and when I came back with several bags full and saw my companions make fun of it, I understood that I really must have been running very low on blood sugar since the bottom of Harris Grade. I felt much better after eating and drinking for twenty minutes without restraint ...

I remembered the next twenty miles to the Gaviota descent from last year's PCH 600k brevet. They are not particularly difficult, but mostly uphill nonetheless - and HOT! It was around noon, and the sun was merciless. Vickie was there again when we needed her most (thank you!) to resupply us with water and ice. We didn't care about the time we spent trying to "cool off" (which is difficult when the surrounding air is close to body temperature), and everybody was riding for himself, following his own optimal pace. Jack (who comes from the South and is better adjusted to the heat) was up in front; I followed him in a respectful distance, minding my business, while Scott who suddenly seemed to go through a "dry spell" stayed further behind. I knew that the descent to Gaviota would be the end of the high temperatures and I inappropriately referred to the remaining stretch along the much cooler coast as our "joy ride" - which kept me going at least.

Jack must have arrived at the Gaviota rest area well before me. When I joined him in the shade, we agreed to wait for Scott and to enjoy the opportunity to recover. We knew that Vickie was patrolling the course to look after whoever was still out in the heat. In the end (after a somewhat lengthy wait) Jack, Scott, Tom, Gray and myself found ourselves together as "the remaining five riders" and continued towards Santa Barbara.

Jack contemplating the usage of "liquid air"

Eventmaster Vickie, Tom and Scott

We didn't always ride together, but regrouped in Goleta and through Santa Barbara. In Carpinteria, Gray became progressively faster and I tried to stay with him (while Jack just went along with us pretty effortlessly). I felt reasonably good again and was determined to use the rest of the day for some serious training: As long as I would only ride slowly, I would stay slow (and I have been slow for long enough already!). As if Gray was reading my mind, he accelerated, and then again, and again. And then he dropped me and was gone.

Info control in Santa Barbara: "How many dolphins?"

(Jack, Tom and Gray)

Now I was alone with Jack, because we had lost Scott and Tom in the process. I explained to Jack that I needed to call Fabienne because I would miss my projected arrival time by about an hour and a half; and that I was worried about being so late for the 2 1/2 hour drive back to Shell Beach. In other words: I wanted to push through to the finish now instead of waiting for Tom and Scott. Jack said he didn't have a problem with that, and so we pushed. He let me set the pace (because otherwise he would have had to wait for me too often), and I did my best not to disappoint him. This was the fourth time I rode up Santa Rosa Road to Moorpark, and it was by far my fastest - I was quite satisfied with myself.

Despite being later than expected, Fabienne and I still couldn't just rush away from the finish - too many nice people around! We arrived in Shell Beach at 1:30 a.m. only - it was a long day. But a very rewarding one. A big "Thank You" to Vickie in particular, but also (as always) to Lisa and Greg, and to all my ride companions!

Midsummer Ride Dreams

When I started this blog at the beginning of the year I only meant to collect my favorite ride reports in one place such that my grandchildren will be able to find them later should they be interested (and should Google still be around). I also did it to stop spamming the Inboxes of friends and relatives with my e-mail ride reports while continuing to practice my writing in English - if only I could get the stiltedness out of it!

Now that I look at the collection so far and re-read some of it, I admit that I enjoy reviving the memories from my days out on the bike. Forgetfulness is ramping up disturbingly when you get in my age! So there is yet another reason to post something about my midsummer rides.

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Recovery after the Gold Rush was unproblematic; after all, I had hedged my bets and avoided undue exhaustion. The only trouble was the tingling in the right thumb for some time (I knew what caused it: during the GRR I had used brand-new gloves of a different type than the ones I am used to). After two weeks, my legs were itching again and I put in a good series of intervals (a first for me!) after coaching Fabienne through her first cautious training ride on a drop bar bicycle with clipless pedals. This was a double-dream: for Fabienne to "officially" start her preparation for a special Century in 2010 (scroll down to the end of this for more background), and for me to dream of finally becoming faster (if only a little).

Everything went well, and so I was quite confident at the start of the Mount Tam Double Century on August 1st. Even though - or because - it's certainly the most difficult of the CTC doubles I have ridden so far, I feel strangely attracted to it. I managed to finish within the time limit (barely) in 2006 and 2007, after a first attempt in 2005 where I gave up after 170 miles. Last year I didn't start because it was only six days after the finish of the RM1200; I "worked it" instead at a water stop. Surely I would finally be able to finish it safely and in good form, this year. - Was I dreaming?

I did pretty well during the first three hours. But then, a funny thing happened half-way up the climb from Stinson Beach on Panoramic Hwy: I became slower and slower and didn't want to acknowledge it. This could not be! What was going on? I was supposed to be stronger than in the last years!

Subjectively, I didn't feel bad; I was still comfortable and confident enough to imagine riding to the finish without major trouble. But the slowdown was disturbing. I didn't waste any time and yet left the rest stop on Hicks Valley Rd barely before noon - the critical time for me to still make the Valley Ford 2:30 p.m. cut-off. I only made it because a friendly little group around Kerin Huber allowed me to draft them into the headwind towards the Marshall Wall; but my "lunch stop" was reduced to less than eight minutes. Finally, the Coleman climb (2 miles at 10% average) taught me the bitter lesson: I just didn't have it in me on that day. Not that I was the last on the road; but those around me either looked better and I would not be able to follow them for long, or they would not finish and I would end up being the last on the road anyway.

We had mostly a favorable wind on the way back from Valley Ford to Petaluma; so there was still hope that I could finish before the 10:30 p.m. cut-off. Unfortunately, I was so weak by now that I had to walk the last 10% portion on the Middle Road climb shortly after Valley Ford. And I was unable to take advantage of the tailwind to recover some of the lost time because the legs felt like cotton. It became apparent that it would be a struggle to get to the finish, even disregarding the time limit, and I was dismayed. The dream of being stronger than two or three years ago was shattered.

Still, I seemed to slowly reel in a rider far ahead of me which provided some new motivation. When I got within a quarter mile or less, a SAG van stopped next to him and I watched the rider climb into it. There goes the motivation! When I was about to slowly pass the van (the road went uphill there) the driver asked "And how about you?" - OK, I got the message. I let myself get sagged in as well.

The experience wasn't quite as bad as it sounds; I am always pretty good at finding lots of excuses and rationalizations. In this case, I did more soul-searching than ever and ended up particularly determined to take my training a little more seriously now. There had to be something positive at the end of that day! But despite all the excuses I could line up if I wanted to, I still don't know what really happened. Maybe it was just un jour sans. - Obviously, I didn't think about taking photos either. Instead, I recommend to look through this set from Campy Only.

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Two weeks later, I combined a "transport stuff" weekend trip to Fabienne in Los Angeles with riding the 200k option of the Cool Breeze Century in Ventura on the way down, on Saturday. I had done it once before in 2006, and my comments from then read "Very nice ride - and pretty hard, too." I am not alone with this judgement: look e.g. here for more details and some pictures from a rider who is much stronger than I am.

This time, the severe training I inflicted on myself a week before (i.e. five "all out" laps on the Moody/Altamont loop; check out the profile in the Summary tab!) seemed to have paid off already. I had a good ride, never experienced any particular weakness, and finished about an hour faster than three years ago in well under ten hours.

The route brought back memories from this year's Spring brevets

(300k and 400k)

During the first hours of the ride, somewhere east of Ojai, a group of half a dozen younger people who had started later caught up with me. They were exceptionally good-natured and good-humored and invited me to join them, all the while joking with me in a friendly way when I had to breathe much harder than them on the uphills. Eventually, a hill felt more strenuous than the others and I motioned that I wanted the remaining riders to pass me so I didn't cause a break-up of the group. A young woman who was part of this bunch of friends passed me at that moment, glanced at me and shouted full of compassion in direction of the rider ahead who had so well joked with me: "Hey, give him a break, he is an old man!"

(That's how they shatter dreams, nowadays ...)

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But I did find moral compensation the following day when I took Fabienne out on a very nice (and for her level quite demanding!) bike ride of 24 miles and over 1600 ft of elevation gain. I had found the Rock Store Loop on www.bikely.com, but then entered the precise route we took into my preferred BikeRouteToaster (the route goes clock-wise):

There was a serious 2.5-mile climb on Mulholland Hwy after Seminole Hot Springs. Fabienne started out on it as if she was flying; I was seriously worried she would drop me right away and I would get another (this time non-verbal) old man qualifier. But she did underestimate the length of 2.5 miles, and in the end we were both happy to arrive at the top and to enjoy the view down to where we came from:

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And as if this was not enough, her elder sister Valerie had made me dig out our 18-year-old Santana tandem from deep down in the shed, this summer, and after an encouraging very first test ride decided to participate in the Tour de Menlo (35 mile option), last Saturday!

The route was very tandem-friendly, despite the steep climb to the lunch stop at the Picchetti Ranch turn-around on Montebello Road. We had a great time, and I believe Valerie enjoyed it quite thoroughly herself.

Look at the grade of Montebello Road in the background where we just came up!

John C. joined us for the special occasion

We followed Kate (left) for much of the ride - she rode like a pro.

The outfit of Larry (right) was a perfect match for his authentic Cinelli Super Corsa from the '60s.

And we got souvenir t-shirts, too!

Gold Rush Randonnée - GRR!

Davis Bike Club, July 6 - 10, 2009

When I declared after my failed attempt at a PBP 2007 finish that from now on I would do at least one 1200 km event per year, I meant it. My successful participation in last year's Rocky Mountain 1200 gave me confidence, and so it was a no-brainer to put the Gold Rush Randonnée on my calendar for 2009. It motivated me to stay in shape through the winter and to accumulate my best series of spring brevets ever. Despite the occasional excessive (yet socially commendable) deviation I rediscovered good legs for a difficult San Francisco 600k and followed up with a repeat performance of the Davis 600k one week later: my preparation for the GRR was on track! I didn't mind resting from the bike while on a family excursion in the mountains on June 13-14. But when I came down with cold symptoms a couple of days later, I was shocked. I did what I could to fend them off, but had to admit at the start of the Big Basin 200k brevet on 6/27 that I might not be able to finish it - I would just attempt to do a portion of it as a "healing ride." Indeed, I was weak enough to miss a control closure on the way back and had to take yet another shortcut to get home. As for the "healing" part, I bravely believed in it; but two days later, the troubles in my airways were worse than the week before.

On the 4th of July, I still didn't know whether I would be able to avoid the DNS (did not start) label. The next day I decided that I would at least pack my bags, shove the bike into the van, drive to Davis and take the start. I could always turn around and call it off if "listening to the body" would tell me so. - But I had never been such a nervous wreck before a bike ride!

A detailed route map can be found here.

Aaron Little has posted a very nice little 7-minute video here.

And here comes the approximate one-way profile (click on it for enlargement). The distances are not quite correct because the outbound route to Oroville was different from the return route:

Oh, and by the way: apologies for pedantically noting the distances and times, now that I have them handy. This way, I will have a reference to compare against when I will ride the GRR again in four years - and maybe you, too!

Davis - Oroville (km 166)

A pack of 105 riders left Davis punctually at 6 p.m., and I consciously made an effort to stay at the tail end of the peloton - which is entirely against my nature. I know that I can rather effortlessly build a comforting time cushion for myself on these flat roads by letting me get pulled along in the draft of faster riders. I only need to be reasonable enough to let go when a group is too strong and too fast; and then I can fall back to another group which cruises along at a more moderate pace but still is much faster than I would be alone. But this time, I didn't even have the motivation to optimize my energy expenditure - I felt listless. After the first mile or two, I found myself dead last and noticed an annoying tick - tick coming from my front wheel: the spoke magnet for the bike computer must have been twisted during the transport of the bike and now hit the sensor. (Note to myself: next time, try out the bike before the start!). Just in time, a stop sign made that the whole group bunched up and that I had a couple of seconds to adjust the sensor without losing contact with the other riders - whoa!

Still, by staying at the end of the group, I was at risk of becoming isolated if other slow riders ahead of me didn't close a gap in time. And that's precisely what happened before not too long. At last, this incident triggered my "survival" instinct and made me chase the group ahead to regain its protection against the wind. I found it hard to bend down and maintain the higher effort, not only because of a lack of form, but also because of the big burrito I had eaten not even two hours before the start and which now got in the way while pedaling and breathing. I kept chasing for a mile or two, exhausted myself to breathlessness, but the distance did not noticeably diminish - time to give up and to silently curse my initial listlessness. After all, I should have avoided any harsh effort altogether! At that moment, an unexpected "secret control" was signaled, and the whole group came together, patiently and politely waiting in line for minutes until everybody got the required stamp on the brevet card. This meant that my effort from the last miles really was completely superfluous. (More silent cursing ...)

When I resumed the ride, a little more relaxed than before, in company of equally relaxed riders, I noticed that my bike computer didn't "tick" - my earlier adjustment went too far (I didn't have the time to check) and now the displayed mileage was seriously off. - What else will go wrong, still?

At least, I didn't feel nervous any more, and I found hope again that my health troubles would not unconditionally compromise my ride: maybe this will finally be the "healing ride" I was after? When other riders asked a friendly "How are you?" I replied "Tomorrow will be better." They thought I was joking; but I started to believe in it. In fact, I felt like I was getting better by the hour. I also needed to finally take control of my ride, and I understood that this meant riding alone. By now (after about three hours), the riders were split into many small groups. When they passed me, they often invited me to join them; this would still provide a substantial benefit. When I declined, I didn't have the opportunity to explain why I had decided to ride alone, from now on. I could only hope they would know me well enough not to judge me unsociable.

By riding alone, I could cultivate the focus I needed under the circumstances. My fragility in the airways meant I needed to be careful with my breathing: never too hard! I had to take frequent sips from the water bottler to keep the throat moist. Even talking to riding companions could be detrimental. I know by experience that riding with a group always brings me into situations where I have to push harder than I would in riding alone. Pushing harder is good for training; but in a 1200 where I possibly should not even have started, to begin with?

I made an exception about an hour before Oroville when Hans Dusink from Australia caught up with me, and we rode into the Oroville control together. I had met him when I completed my first 600k brevet in Maryborough/Victoria, in December 2006, and then again at PBP 2007. I told him about our plans to come back to his country some time in the future and then spend more time there (when I won't have to count my vacation days so desperately any more). Of course, I would also participate in a big ride Down Under at that occasion - but he knew that already. With all these uplifting thoughts we rolled into the Oroville Sports Club and checked in, 25 minutes past midnight.

Oroville (km 166) - Taylorsville (km 313)

Only 16 minutes later I checked out again and directed myself towards the first major climb up to Jarbo Gap:

(Units are metric; the profile does not cover the whole distance)

It was very helpful to know the road from my two participations in the Davis 600k brevet from last year and this year. The 12 mile long climb to Jarbo Gap felt shorter and easier than before. I didn't push hard, of course, but held a steady rhythm and was surprised to pass two or three other riders (while being passed myself by some more). This really was getting better and better! The full moon brought an unreal light to the scenery and made the whole riding experience one of the best ever (and I have had many good ones).

During the last weeks of "mental preparation" for this event I had calculated/estimated the times at which I expected to arrive at control points and indicated them on my route sheet. For the Tobin Resort Control (km 232), my goal was to arrive at 5 a.m. I felt encouraged when I checked in there at 4:47 for a healthy early breakfast. While the time of four hours for the 66 km since Oroville is very modest (according to this table a majority of riders were at least half an hour faster), I made up for it by leaving before many others who decided to catch some sleep at this control.

There is another lone randonneur ahead - can you spot him?

I kept riding along steadfastly, alone, according to my ideal pace. While I still felt somewhat fragile in my nose and throat, I was confident that the clean air would heal them soon. And I could not deny that my legs still felt surprisingly fresh. All doubts about me not being in the right place in this ride were gone - I was happy to be there, and I would continue to be happy for the next 600 miles!

Up in Greenville, while I wrote into my brevet card the required information to prove that I passed through this little town, just like everybody else did,

an elderly man tried to tell me something from a distance. He repeated it until I could understand: "Thank you for coming into our area!" I replied that this was our pleasure, that I like this area very much and that I planned to come back another time with my wife to show her too, and then we would stay in Greenville for dinner and over night. He clearly didn't expect that much, was visibly moved, and couldn't stop thanking me and overdoing it with his "God bless you, God bless you!" ...

One hour later (at 10 a.m. sharp, just as my annotated route sheet predicted) I rolled into the sunny Taylorsville control for a second, more substantial breakfast.

Taylorsville (km 313) - Susanville (km 409)

On the 600k brevets, we always turned around in Greenville/Taylorsville; but now, the route went on into unknown territory via the Genessee hamlet (I didn't see a single person there - all seemed closed and waiting for some magic spell to come alive again) to the intimidating Janesville Grade Road.

Normally, a sustained climb or two of 8% and 1000 ft elevation gain each is nothing but an alluring training proposition. But after well over 200 miles, heated up by powerful radiation from the sun on the shadeless road (thank God for the cooling wind!), it's a different story. I wasn't so proud any more of my legs; and the intention to "take it easy" became pointless when there was an 8% hill to climb: any less power to the pedals and I would not advance at all any more! Still, the scenery was like a picture book, and despite the weakness in the legs I was happy to be there.

I needed nearly 7 hours for this segment of less than 100 km; but by arriving in Susanville at 5:13 p.m., I was still within my plan. The only problem was that I really felt tired now, and worried about the remaining difficult 110 km to the Adin sleep stop. After all, I hadn't slept in 34 hours and been on the bike for over 23 hours! And so I decided to lie down for a quick 25-minute nap on a cot in the National Guard Armory where the control was located.

Susanville (km 409) - Adin (km 518)

It was still warm when I left Susanville at 6:17 p.m. and started the 10 km climb to Antelope Pass. I couldn't avoid getting seriously sweaty, but I was happy that the temperatures were overall quite pleasant.

At the top, I found tire tracks on the ground revealing that several other riders before me had taken pictures of their bikes next to the summit sign:

I loved the clean, dry air with a subtly rough perfume of Eastern Sierra sage - more happiness! However, the wind chill on the following fast descent was uncomfortable in my face and reminded me to be cautious.

While crossing an 8-mile stretch to the foot of the next big climb, it became dark and cool enough that I had to put on my night gear and leg and arm warmers. I couldn't do it fast enough to avoid being bitten by dozens of aggressive mosquitos - oh how I hated them! They provided a good reason to hurry up and get back on the bike as quickly as possible.

Unfortunately, it was completely dark by the time I crested the second big climb and descended to Eagle Lake. I now aimed at the "presidential" Grasshopper Water Stop staffed by former RUSA president Bill Bryant and current RUSA president Lois Springsteen (together with additional volunteers) - no wonder the water stop felt more like an upscale lobby with an overflowing all-you-can-eat buffet! I stayed much longer than planned and didn't want to leave, but still needed to go to Adin before I could sleep, even though I really was tired enough, already.

While I continued my lonely ride through the beautiful full moon night, on and off struggling with sleepiness, there was suddenly out of nowhere a recumbent rider at my side. He recognized me and I recognized him after a second - but couldn't believe it: Jim Kern! He did not participate in the GRR this time (the story from his 2005 participation can be inferred from this and this), but he came up to Susanville to drive SAG on Thursday and wanted to get in a good 400 km training ride before that ... This unexpected encounter made it much easier for me to continue, fully awake again, after he had to take off because he was dressed for speed and got too cold while chatting with me.

After an incredibly long downhill stretch (20 miles!), I finally arrived around 1:30 a.m. at the Adin Community Center: again over 7 hours for not even 110 km. My predicted arrival time was much more optimistic; it hadn't taken into account that riding in darkness is slower, and that after 24 hours on the bike, everything is slowing down, no matter what.

So, quickly something to eat, and then sleep! But all cots were occupied, and I had to join a dozen or more other riders who were spread out, sleeping, on the blank floor. It helps to be really tired ...

Adin (km 518) - Davis Creek (km 621) - Susanville (km 832)

I meant to sleep until about 5 or 5:30; I felt it was more important to rest and recover from the hard first 500 km than to risk exhaustion by trying to stick to my original plan which obviously became unrealistic, if only because I was not in full health after all. But I woke up after barely two hours of sleep when all my floor-sleeping companions got up and noisily prepared for departure - they had been sleeping for an hour or two more than I already and now were ready to get going again. It didn't make sense for me not to get up as well under these conditions; I would use the time to eat more leisurely and make sure I had everything sorted out for another long day. I left Adin shortly before 6 a.m. towards the last major climb before the turn-around, unsurprisingly named Adin Pass.

The brevet card shows that I got my stamp in Alturas (km 588) at 9:53 a.m. - four hours for 70 km. Obviously, this was much slower than expected, but then again only an hour behind my estimates. On the other hand, it had been very cold (for me) over night; I felt the consequences in my voice and airways. I really had to stay slow enough to avoid any hard breathing - it hurt too much otherwise. I tried to keep convincing myself that I really liked the clean (but harsh) air in this region, and that it would soon heal everything. But in hindsight, after learning of the respiratory difficulties several other riders experienced (who even had to abandon the ride), I shouldn't be surprised that it was a slow day for me, and instead be grateful that I still got through relatively well.

I still could have saved time at the control stops; but how could I when Susan and Michael and their helpers at the Alturas Elks Lodge put so much effort into making our stay pleasant and gastronomically pleasurable? And so I finally decided for good to just enjoy the ride and not to worry about my times any more at all (at worst, I would arrive back in Susanville too late in the evening and get delayed on Thursday morning for the Janesville climb which nobody wants to tackle when the sun is too high in the sky. But this was far away).

On the way to the turn-around in Davis Creek

Here we are: population 110

And there is an airport, too!

On the way back from Davis Creek, somewhere on the 45 miles between Alturas and Adin (still before Canby) in the early afternoon, the windy air was so dry and the sun so hot that I became paranoid about running out of water. I wasn't sure whether I could find water in Canby, and thoughtlessly I had not refilled my third bottle when leaving Alturas (I hadn't needed much water in the morning on the same stretch when it was still cool). Very regularly, SAG drivers patrolled the course; but as it happened, there was nobody to be seen for about half an hour of my silent panicking and water-rationing - not even local traffic. After all, we were in remote Modoc County: The last best place, and very quiet! When finally the support van of Kathy Twitchell passed and I gesticulated ridiculously that I needed something, the agony was over (and I promised - as usual - that I owed her a beer).

I stopped in Adin on the way back between 18h37 and 19h16 and arrived in Susanville at 2:50 a.m. - it was a long ride, marked by the highly welcome Gasshopper water stop not far from the shores of Eagle Lake.

In Susanville I could take a shower, eat, and lay down on a cot, probably well past 3:30 a.m.. The volunteer offered to wake me up at some specific time, but I declined: I needed my sleep, this time! And I expected that I would wake up anyway when all the other randonneurs on the cots around mine would noisily get up.

Susanville (km 832) - Oroville (km 1054) - Finish (km 1200)

When I woke up, I noticed that I hadn't moved at all since I had laid down: I must have slept completely immobilized. I also noticed that bright daylight shone through the open doors and windows, and that there were not many cyclists left. I had slept for over 3 hours - darn: too late for climbing Janesville Grade (still over an hour away) before the sun started burning down on it. Ah - what the heck!

I felt surprisingly well and was eager to tackle "the beast" (10% average over 4 miles, but with long stretches of much steeper portions). On the first third, it went pretty well and I still believed I could get to the top without walking. But then, the road turned slightly left and added a couple more % to its grade - it was over. It was not a matter of deciding to walk - the road decided for me; I had no choice.

Walking wasn't so bad either; it relaxed the muscles and the mind. I stopped to take pictures, and when I mounted my steed again less than half a mile later, I felt much stronger and easily reached the top. This was also the top of the GRR - nearly all downhill from now!

As so often, "nearly all downhill" are famous last words in a bike ride.

I did reach Taylorsville (km 928) for a generous lunch break less than 2 hours after my original estimate (here is the timing obsession again - really must be feeling better!), and didn't waste much time in Tobin (km 988) either: I refreshed and nourished myself there from 4:45 p.m. to 5:15 a.m. But (and I wasn't alone with this) we didn't advance fast on the gradual downhill along the Feather River: we had to work hard just to advance into the headwind.

Ideally, I would have liked to arrive in Oroville around 6 p.m. and leave soon afterwards to ride through to the finish in hopes of still getting to bed well before sunrise. Instead, I checked in at 8:50 p.m. only and then decided to lie down on a mat in a corner for another shut-eye of 20 - 25 minutes. The remaining 90 miles into a notorious headwind promised to be more difficult than the flat profile suggested and might take longer than expected: I better rest once again!

I remember that I left at 22h22 (because it's easy to remember), ready to push through the fourth night. All went well until around Gridley where I heard again, just as on the way up, the clickety-clickety of dog footnails on the pavement: those two big nasty dogs were at it again, three days later! I am always surprised by two things on such an occasion: first, how much power I can still bring to the pedals to accelerate and sprint away; and second, how terrifying my voice sounds when I use the worst possible Bavarian swear words against the dogs. I did both already on the way up, and it worked again on the way back: my shouting startles them enough to stop for a moment in disbelief, and when they realize that they don't understand Bavarian and decide to continue chasing I shout once more, even worse, while already pulling away. - I am making fun of it now; but I learned at the finish that those dogs managed to bring down a recumbent rider, and seriously bite into the calf of another randonneur (who wasn't lucky enough to know the powerful Bavarian swear words).

The worst of the remaining distance was the seemingly never ending stretch on the dark straight Progress/Reclamation Road (over 12 miles); the best was the last "secret control" just before Cranmore Road where Amy Rafferty had the perfect ingredients to beef up my pedaling for the last 30 miles into the finish: a hot croissant filled with jelly, sweet oatmeal and excellent coffee. Uncharacteristically for this GRR 2009 of mine, I rode those last miles together with Marcello which made for a nice change from the previous 600 miles. We arrived at 7:06 a.m.. My elder daughter Valerie made a point of being at the finish (thank you!); and I realized that my health problems were gone: it was a healing ride!

Number Seven

San Francisco Randonneurs 600k, May 30-31, 2009

A while ago, somebody asked me which of the traditional brevet distances (200 - 300 - 400 - 600 km) I liked best and why. I didn't have to think about it. It's the 600, because it's serious but not too much so. "Serious" meaning: long enough that I can brag about it; "not too much" meaning: I don't have to sacrifice one of those rare and precious vacation days, I can do it on a weekend. It's only consequential then that I accumulated seven 600k finishes (this one being Number Seven) since 2006, as opposed to only four 400s.

Luckily, I had prepared my stuff on the evenings before Friday, because I got held back at work even later than usual. Still, I wish I could have gone to bed earlier than I did, because I had to get up before 4 a.m. to drive to the 6 a.m. start at the Golden Gate, and I know it's important to get enough rest before a 600 km ride. I planned to ride it through without a sleep stop and was confident being able to do so without trouble; but who knows after a demanding week at work?

Since my Shortcut, three weeks ago, I went out only once on a hilly 60-mile training ride. That one went pretty well, and I concluded that I had finally recovered from my misguided Experiment. Maybe it also helped that in the meantime I got tooth no. 31 with its infected cracked root extracted. No matter what, I was very much looking forward to riding this prestigious route up to Fort Bragg and back.

I didn't underestimate its difficulty and didn't overestimate my abilities (well, not too much) when I wrote down the estimated times at which I would pass certain milestones, such that Ghislaine knew when and from where to expect phone calls telling her that everything was just fine and dandy with me and my bike. I promised to call from Healdsburg (km 140), Fort Bragg (the turn-around point), Guerneville (km 470, Sunday morning) and the finish. I projected to arrive there between 2 p.m. and 5:30 p.m.

That's why I tried to gain a little time cushion early on by drafting a group of faster riders. Of course, the first major uphill after Fairfax put an end to it; all I could do now was to minimize my stops at the controls in Point Reyes and Petaluma in order to stay somewhere in the middle of the (stretched-out) pack.

As usual, I became slower and slower shortly after Petaluma and didn't even try to hang on when some small and fast groups passed me (they had spent some extra time at Peet's Coffee in Petaluma). Only when Alex passed me alone, I invited myself to ride with him. I needed a couple of miles at his rear wheel for recovery before feeling strong enough again to share the work. Just as in February at the SFR 300 brevet, I was thrilled to arrive at the Healdsburg Safeway control (lunch stop) early enough to still meet many of the stronger riders there, and took pictures to prove it:

Temperatures were still too low for me, and I was happy to find a hot potato soup to warm me up. After about half an hour, Alex and I took to the road again together, but soon I realized that something around that lunch stop hadn't played nice with my athletic disposition: I had to explain that I needed to "really take it easy" for a while, if only to save my legs for the upcoming big climb on Hwy 128 after Cloverdale. The truth was that the 15 miles from Healdsburg to Cloverdale were for me the most difficult miles of the whole distance - go figure! I wished Alex good luck with his first 600, and he was out of sight within a minute.

Finally, the sun came out towards Cloverdale, and the start of the 3-mile climb on Hwy 128 provided a good reason to stop and to shed some layers. I stayed cautiously modest during the climb and in exchange felt much better at the top than at the bottom. The scenery had changed completely, and I thoroughly enjoyed riding through the hilly and remote countryside, taking in all the sights, in particular the unexpected ones (insider joke - don't ask!). In Boonville finally, the sun had made me hot enough to buy an ice cream and to wash it down with a cold Coca Cola - still not done with experimenting and taking alimentary risks! But it worked well, even very well. It felt as if I had new legs. Which was good, because I really needed them into the relentless headwind which seemed to get stronger and stronger. I counted down the miles to Philo, to Navarro and finally to the Paul Gimmick campground where randonneur friends from the Santa Rosa Cycling Club had set up a support station. The last miles went through a memorable stretch of a fast, smooth road through redwoods which muffled the headwind. Much to my delight, I was able to keep my speed much higher than before. No wonder I arrived at the campground in an exceptionally good mood and proclaimed "This is randonneurs' paradise!" when I let myself become spoiled by all the attention and all the goodies the volunteers offered.

True to my nature, I announced to be back from Fort Bragg (still over 25 miles away) shortly before midnight. They promised to have (among many other randonneur-delicacies) warm pasta with a choice of bolognese or vegetarian sauces and hot espresso for me!

The coastal Hwy 1 always is a spectacular route, and for some obscure reason, the stretch past Albion and Mendocino towards Fort Bragg holds a particular charm for me. If only it wasn't so cold there! I remembered that I had packed my smartwool baselayer, and I promised myself to put it on in Fort Bragg. I tried to make a good, strong impression (why??) when I crossed the first randonneurs already coming back from the turnaround, and I appreciated meeting several other riders at the Safeway control stop there and to leave together with three of them for the way back. However, as expected, as soon as we reached the hillier portions, I "decided" to let them go and stick to my own pace. My goal was to keep my promise of being back at the Paul Dimmick campground for the warm pasta before midnight, and I reckoned that I was right on target as is - no point overdoing it. I had reached the state where my body knew better than my brain what was good for me and my success in this ride - might as well pay attention to it.

The "late dinner" stop at the campground (I arrived there at 11:45 p.m., and John R. wasn't even surprised about how precisely I was on schedule) was as memorable as it could be. Imagine half a dozen randonneurs sitting around the campfire in lawn chairs, gobbling pasta with a sauce that tasted like made in heaven, slurping some tonic espresso ...

They also had set up tents for sleepers but I was determined to ride on for a lonely 50-mile stretch through the rest of the night to Cloverdale. It seems absurd; but at this point, my confidence had the effect of making me adopt a completely relaxed pace and to insist on riding mostly alone. Above all, I wanted to enjoy the ride, and avoid getting sweaty on the climbs (there were many of them!). Bundled up in my five layers, I finally felt a little overdressed, but it was better than being cold.

Brian C. was among the several riders who passed me and even took a picture:

Other riders in small groups passed me; then they decided to stop for a little nap somewhere off the road and I passed them without noticing; and a little later they passed me again, and so on. I was never really alone and never felt lonely.

Of course, I got sleepy on the bike at some point; but when I noticed the first symptoms (around 4 a.m.), I was prepared for it and knew what to do: talk! - And what if there is nobody around to talk to? Well, then talk to yourself! - It did occur to me that if somebody of my non-randonneur friends or family members would have seen and heard me, his or her idea of my mental health as a randonneur would have taken a hit. From my side however, I found this thought quite funny - and talked about it, loudly. I also tried to find more funny stories to tell myself, but I knew them already and got bored after a while. I needed to find something else - that's it: tongue twisters! The air was cold enough that my face muscles had become a little stiff which made good articulation challenging. Nothing like a good tongue twister to give the face muscles a good workout and warm them up again, like e.g. my favorite: "Brautkleid bleibt Brautkleid und Blaukraut bleibt Blaukraut!" I repeated this one for several miles, got really good at it - and noticed that my sleepiness was completely gone.

And so I arrived in Cloverdale at 5 a.m. sharp in very good spirits. The 24-hour Shell station there had a food mart attached, and as soon as I had parked the bike and removed my helmet, I found myself suddenly surrounded by half a dozen other faster randonneurs who had made a sleep stop of several hours at the campground and now had caught up with me. It was nice to be in their company for twenty minutes; but then I sneaked out because I knew I shouldn't even try to join their group afterwards, and because I had made plans to go for a bigger breakfast later in Healdsburg.

The remaining 110 miles were rather uneventful, although not always easy. Because I had so carefully hedged my bets, the legs had kept their ability to turn the pedals even against the resistance of headwind or gravity (or both). All I had to do was to stay within my limits; and this meant declining all invitations to ride along with others - I knew they were all stronger than I, and I would suffer in my vain attempts to minimize their waiting for me until it was all hopeless.

About an hour from the finish, Willy passed me and we started chatting while advancing from one red-light stop to the next, from Fairfax to Larkspur. This made me go much faster than I would have alone; but now it was OK - the finish was close. I told him I would "let him win" on the last climb on Corte Madera to Camino Alto; but his answer was that he had decided to show me an alternate route (Chapman Drive) with barely any traffic. He didn't tell me that it was also longer and steeper. There was nothing I could do but follow him. I was lucky when a racer-type cycling friend of his passed us close to the bottom; the two leisurely climbed up, talking all the time, while I redlined it trying to keep them in sight. But I was proud of being able to hold up to this effort after nearly 370 miles, and I felt great!


Still, I didn't want to arrive at the finish all worked up and exhausted. Willy finally agreed to go ahead - after all, we still had to climb from Sausalito up to the bridge - and I arrived at the finish as nonchalantly as I could, seven minutes later, at 4:25 p.m. (well within my estimates). I knew John C. was there as a volunteer for check-in, together with Mark B.; but I was still surprised and nearly jumped for joy to see him. I was happy...

(Thanks to Brian and Alex for letting me borrow some of their photos).

Shortcut

Central Coast Double, May 9, 2009

The Central Coast Double is one of the more prestigious events on the CalTripleCrown calendar, both because of its difficulty and its fabulous scenery. Last year, when I participated for the first time, the conditions were rather favorable, and I still needed 18 hours for the 210 miles. This year, some unavoidable route changes pushed the distance up to nearly 220 miles, and the time limit was extended to 19 hours. On the paper (i.e. on the spreadsheet I used for estimating/calculating intermediate and total times on the route sheet) I could do it. All I had to do was to increase the expected average speed in one spreadsheet cell until the arrival time got close enough to what I wanted!

Right from the start at 5:40 a.m., the route goes slightly uphill for the first eight or ten miles. This provides a good indicator of one's condition for the day. Based on my experience since the beginning of the year, I had reasons to believe that I was in better form than last year. Unfortunately, the first hour already taught me otherwise. I should not have been surprised, given my trouble from seven days ago. I wish I could have given a more detailed answer when friends and acquaintances passed me and asked "Hi Joseph - how are you?", but I was too out of breath. All I could say was " ... ahh, I am happy to be here!" - which was completely true.

Still, I didn't stop as often as last year and kept the stops shorter, and I was lucky to draft Kitty and a strong (unnamed) rider into much of the very determined headwind on the way up the coast. 

(Would be even prettier without that headwind!)

As a result, I arrived not much later than last year on the most pittoresque rest stop of the year, Mill Creek (mile 87), only 200 yards from where the Nacimiento-Ferguson Road climbs up the mountain:

The Mill Creek rest stop lies just ahead, 

and the mountain is the one we will climb up to the right!

Still in good company: Renée, Kerin, ...

A deep breath before tackling the climb

On this 7-mile climb of 2500 ft, I should have been able to do better than last year when I lost quite some time due to bonking and overheating. This year, I had consciously hedged my bets (despite the headwind) on the preceding ups and downs along Highway 1, and I stubbornly maintained my confidence even though I should have known better already.

Looking down to the Mill Creek rest stop after the first two miles of climbing

What can I say? Even though there was a cooling tailwind coming in from the Pacific, the radiation from the sun made me overheat on the upper ranges anyway, in particular because the first steep miles at the bottom had already beaten the juice out of my legs. Last year, I didn't pay attention to how much time I spent on that climb; but now I know that the two hours from this year (which include several stops) were slower. For a while, I leapfrogged another rider about my age who suddenly dismounted, grumbling "if I cannot ride faster than walking, I might as well f***ing walk this climb!" and he continued to push his bike for miles.

At the water stop on top, I agreed with the volunteers there that I had already gotten my money's worth out of this ride. The following technical descent didn't allow to drink. By the time it was safe to pull a water bottle out of its cage, I was so dried out that I drank the whole bottle within minutes. The air temperature wasn't even extreme; but the dryness was.

Compared to last year, I felt a little better at the lunch stop, which was this time at a shaded picnic area behind the San Antonio mission. 

I met some of the riders there again (but for the last time in the day) who had passed me on the big climb. I kept my stop much shorter than last year; but they still left a couple of minutes before me, and I didn't feel like even trying to stay with them. I was now 45 minutes behind my own spreadsheet schedule, a fact that unconsciously started eroding my confidence. At the exit from the Fort Hunter Liggett military base, I still followed my route sheet and the red arrows to the left, but noted the white arrows which indicated a suggested shortcut to the right. On the next miles, slightly uphill into the dry headwind, I kept my mind busy checking the clock and the distances and remembering from last year all the remaining difficult climbs. I probably kept my mind a little too busy; because when a SAG vehicle passed and stopped ahead of me, and I talked with the driver, I had already made up my mind: I would turn around and take the shortcut. It had become unlikely that I could finish within the time limit; and regardless of whether I could or not, I would be too exhausted to benefit from the ride.

It was the right decision. I enjoyed seeing much of the route after Bradley in daylight (last year, I did it in complete darkness); I had time to chat with the volunteers at the last "in the middle of nowhere" rest stop (Indian Valley Road) 16 miles from the finish, just when darkness fell; and I arrived at 9:20 p.m. in good spirits at the finish in Paso Robles: it was a wonderful ride, and I was completely satisfied!

Just like last year, we stayed for this Mother's Day weekend with our friend Yolande at her house in Shell Beach. Just like last year, we celebrated with an excellent lunch at the restaurant Oasis in San Luis Obispo. And just like last year, everybody was happy ...

My plate is in front ...

... and now it's empty.