A list, at least

of everything I can remember having thought about for posting topics in the last two weeks:

• My parents' 38th [corrected from original post] wedding anniversary was May 28th. No small feat.
• My weekend with the Buddhist monks up at Shasta Abbey and remarkably being able to fall asleep before 9 p.m. Without pharmaceutical help. Oh the impermanence.
  
• My first practice criterium. Bicycle race! Bicycle race!
  
• Tried to take a video of Ripley playing with her vegetables before eating them up but waited until too late in the day, she was worn out and just laid down on the rug and ate the broccoli without throwing it in the air and snorting and barking at it first. I'll try again.
• My first big Costco shopping experience for the company picnic. The photo of my cart full of five dozen hotdog buns for five dozen hotdogs, similar quantity of hamburgers / veggie burgers and buns, a flat of tomatoes, a 15# bag of onions, two bags of charcoal, a case of diet Coke and Shasta soda (incidentally not available at Shasta Abbey, in case you wondered) etc etc turned out blurry but I might try to post it later anyway. I realized why the original plan had been for TWO people to do the shopping. It was probably a job for two shopping carts.
• Getting to work by 8:30 or earlier EVERY day last week and this week so far, and cleaning my house, and digging out my office. My boss wonders what happened at the Abbey.
  

Catching up

Most of the month of May seems to have escaped discussion so far, which is too bad because really quite a lot happened. Those highly detailed and photo-filled posts about the Unknown Coast took up a lot of blogging energy. Unfortunately I didn't have my phone set up to send posts by text (or audio) during the NorCal AIDS Challenge mid-month - of course I would only have sent text messages while I was not operating a motor vehicle, which actually wouldn't have left much time to send them - but at least there would have been some updates.

It was an awesome, inspiring event, made no less inspiring (maybe more so, actually) by the fact that I was on the support crew instead of on a bike this year. The reference to Kansas in my last post was made with certain stretches of the NCAC route in mind. There is a beauty to wide open farmland that is enhanced by air conditioning.

[Here's Jen, one of the strong and lovely NCAC riders pointing out a sign atop Table Mountain.]

I really enjoyed my task on the crew and took it maybe a little more seriously than was necessary - which made it kind of funny when on the morning of Day #4, when I was all exercised by the need to leave extra early ahead of the first group of riders, and I'd checked with my route-marking co-pilot the night before to make sure she'd be ready to go on time (which she was), I lost my keys and spent an extra 15 - 20 minutes looking for them while co-pilot good-naturedly helped me retrace my steps from the night before. Pride goeth before lost keys. They were right where I'd left them so I wouldn't lose them, I just forgot I'd put them there. Keys notwithstanding, though, no riders got lost, so I reckon we did a good job.

When the day's work was done and people started settling in to their tents for the evening I got to put on my troubadour hat (metaphorically...though I guess the hat in this picture could be a troubadour hat...why not?). I'm glad people enjoyed it because to a large extent I think it serves a similar function for me as purring does for cats.

Special thanks to the people who took these photos, which I stole from their Facebook pages because I failed to take any of my own.

Previously, on (the) Lost (Coast)...

Where was I? Oh yeah. Suddenly, it appeared. Here it is again in case you forgot.


"It" being the Wall, of course. I need to come up with a Homeric-ish trope for it -- 'the fearful quad-destroying path' or something to that effect. Open to suggestions.

When I saw it I understood that my concerns had not been unfounded, though I was so tired of riding up the beach in the headwind that I was glad for something different (theoretically) and also to have reached what felt like the dramatic peak of the whole ride. As I approached I thought it would be good to call on the goddess of the Wall that I would be allowed to humbly pass over it. It seemed like such a route must surely have its own local minor deity. There was a little rest station set up at the foot of the hill and I watched people straggle up, start tacking back and forth, back and forth, and (frequently) stop and start hiking. How far would I be able to get? The steep part seemed to have sub-sections, a little warm up at the beginning before it launched straight up into space and then 'relaxed' into a almost-straight-up section before turning the corner and becoming just a regular steady climb of a mere 8 - 10% grade instead of 18 - 20%.



I slurped down some "CHOCOLATE OUTRAGE" flavored Gu, containing caffeine for that extra bit of outrageousness, mustered my valor, and set out. I knew right away that I had a limited number of pedal strokes I'd be able to manage before reaching what the weight training community calls 'muscle failure.' I didn't think to count though. I stood up in the saddle and began tacking back and forth across the road, slowly, like most everybody else, wondering if the shallower plane I achieved thereby was worth the extra distance. Every time I changed directions I felt a little surge of panic and increasing doubt about whether I could keep going.

If you click on the photo above it will open up in a much larger version where you can easily make out the four little people winding their way up (plus a fifth person starting out near the bottom). Note that the person nearest the top is walking. Approximately where you see the third person down from the top is as far as I got before I jumped off my bike with very wobbly legs and shaky arms, and hiked from there to the first level place after I turned the corner. The steeper a hill, the more upper body strength required to give you enough resistance to keep pedaling. At least that's the theory I just made up and it sounds like it ought to be true, considering how fast my arms got tired.

Here I am after hitting the Wall.

While I was hiking, some grizzled ol' hardcore cyclist feller rode by and made a comment all of which I couldn't quite hear, to the effect of "[blah blah blah]...females doing this, you should feel very proud of your achievement." I thought despite the gender reference it was meant to be sincerely complimentary and encouraging. When I got back on my bike after my refreshing hike I passed him and didn't see him again for the rest of the ride. I hope he felt proud of his achievement too.

After the Wall and the after-wall there was a lovely plunge downhill (the Unknown Coast can't seem to get downhill without plunging) into a beautiful little valley, before starting to climb again into the second to last phase of the ride known as "the Endless Hill." As opposed to the all the other hills which I guess are not considered "endless." One thing I frequently tell myself about hills, though, is that they always end somewhere. Early in this climb I felt totally out of steam and had to hike for maybe half a mile. I think this is where I really hit the physical / mental 'wall.' I thought about that "100-Mile Finisher" patch and it seemed like very inadequate motivation. I could just come back and try again next year. I was more than nine hours into the ride, including lunch and rest stops, and it seemed like that was way too long, Auntie M had probably stopped wondering what had happened to me by then (in reality it was the opposite, I just have to work in those Wizard of Oz references whenever possible).

Once you start walking, it's hard to know when you're ready to start riding again, but I finally reached a place where the road flattened out a little bit and I thought, okay, let's give it another go. Amazingly I felt so much better. I got into a steady pace and (as far as I can remember) didn't really have any trouble with the rest of that climb, most of which was still ahead of me at that point. I heard somebody tell another cyclist about the 'false summit,' warning him not to let it break his heart, so I was steeled against heartbreak when I got there and then had to start climbing again.

Mile 92
It was late enough in the afternoon by the time I reached the final rest station, mile 92, that the Humboldt Fog was coming back. A very friendly young man with an assortment of musical instruments sat in the back of his van, and pointed out that along with the sliced oranges (yes!) he also had sandwiches (no!) but didn't think anybody wanted them at that point - not anything wrong with the sandwiches, but my tummy was feeling a bit outraged by then. He also bore glad tidings that we were basically done climbing once we rounded the next bend.


He was right. The Endless Hill ended and the final phase, another plunge down Wildcat Road into Ferndale, began. I let out a "I'm getting my 100-mile Finisher Patch" whoop and took the plunge.
There's no place like home.

I want another patch next year. Both my Aunt Merilyn and my Aunt Sylvia's driveways up there in Humboldt County are very like a Wall in miniature; I figure I could train by riding back and forth between their houses. Oh - and don't forget to go back and click on the photos. The bigger size really starts to capture a bit of how stunning the scenery was. Makes other places seem, well, kind of like Kansas.

Ready to Roll

In all my carrying on about Tour of the Unknown Coast, I haven't mentioned that the NorCal AIDS Challenge starts Thursday. I will probably have to wake up around 4:00 am...or so...I think...maybe just a little after that...to get my wagon together and drive up to the starting point by Folsom Lake. Then my route-marking co-pilot (who I've not met in person yet) and I will take off and start putting our brightly colored signs pointing out each and every place where two roads may diverge in a yellow wood (or an almond orchard, or a rice field) and it would make some considerable difference, if not all, should a rider take the road less traveled, in this case.

Heather posted a link to this news video from last night about NCAC on her blog, but I wanted to see if I could get the video to work here. Such nice looking people on this ride. Good thing they did the interviews before rather than after, I don't know that my heat rash and bruises last year would have had quite the same visual appeal.

Tour of the Unknown Coast, part 2 (the middle part)

At the brief stop in Honeydew, one of the other riders mentioned that lunch was only nine miles up the road, at A.W. Way County Memorial Park, and there was one more hill between us and it. I'm not sure which one was the one she meant. In studyin' up on the ride, I was so preoccupied with the big hills that I forgot to notice how not flat most of the rest of the ride was. The stretch through Avenue of the Giants to the foot of Panther Gap was mostly flat. The stretch right along the beach leading up to the infamous Wall was flat in a cruel joke sort of way...so windy I had to shift into my biggest gear to keep crawling along at 7 miles an hour. But I'm getting a little ahead of myself. Lunch featured more tasty sandwiches and even more choices than at the rest stop, plus homemade vegetable soup, and the usual cookies and chips and Gu and powdered sports drink mix. The mechanic fixed my front derailleur. I probably stayed at the lunch stop longer than I would have if not left to my own 'fuffeling,' as it has been called (though I haven't decided how to spell it).

Refueled, I got on the road again uphill and down, roughly following the Mattole River. Seemed paradoxical that the river could flow downhill all the way to the sea but we had to keep riding up.

Reached the town of Petrolia and felt reassured by this sign that I'd been somewhere and I was going somewhere. Only 30 miles to go.


Apparently in Petrolia they have their own language, called Hamburgese, as demonstrated by the sign below.




I'm not sure if the position of the sconce on the wall is meant to serve as an apostrophe, which of course would dramatically change the meaning. Hamburgese has a limited syntax, but with many possible meanings dependent on context. If I hadn't stayed so long at the lunch stop, perhaps I could have studied this further. Aunt Merilyn, who is very knowledgeable about local history and lore, told me later that the Petrolia Store (which either serves plural hamburgers, or is owned by a burger) is also the unofficial seismograph for earthquake activity to which this area is prone. When there's an earthquake, word goes out, "How much damage at the Petrolia store?" whereby the locals can estimate the magnitude of the quake well ahead of the USGS.

More unnamed roller coaster hills. Roller coaster in relation to the big ones, but some about the size of Steiger / Cantelow / Monticello Dam in Winters where we've done a lot of riding. I began to worry that I wasn't going to feel very rested up and ready by the time I got to the Wall. I thought about the Wall all the time. As one might infer from previous blog posts, I thought about it all the time before the ride too. I still wasn't ready for it.




At around 75 miles, we crested whatever poor nameless hill and got our first view of the ocean. I shall name it Hill Where You First See the Ocean. I'm sure there's a language that could say that very succinctly. In Hamburgese, for example, it's probably just a picture of two hamburgers, one being the hill and the other, the ocean.

As I hinted earlier, my dream of a flat restful ride 6 miles along the beach was blown away. A small group of riders were far enough ahead that I couldn't catch up to benefit from their windbreak. Definitely an advantage to riding with some friends even if you're not trying to go all that fast. Taking turns drafting and pulling means less work for everybody.

Then at 79 - 80 miles it appeared.

I just now realized what lovely wildflowers are lining the road.

California's toughest century? (part 1)

In honor of Mothers' Day, to test the genes for perseverance I like to think I inherited, and in pilgrimage to the area where she grew up, I finished the 100 mile Tour of the Unknown Coast on Saturday. I rode my bike at least 98.5 - 99 of those miles, and hiked a little bit on the hill they call the Wall. More about that later. Here we are heading out of the town of Ferndale, the dairy heartland of Humboldt County (the cows there really do look pretty happy).

Doesn't take long in these parts to get out of town. Here we're taking the back road to Rio Dell. I got to an intersection that can be clearly viewed from my Aunt Merilyn's front porch up on the hill and I waved vigorously but found out later she had gone back to bed. She said she thought about the likelihood that I would wave when I passed, though. Good enough.



Here stopped at the first rest stop near Weott and Humboldt Redwoods State Park. "Avenue of the Giants" country. I like wearing my sushi jersey because I'm shy, and it entertains people and encourages them to talk to me. Though mostly only about sushi and jerseys.
I was pleased with the sandwich choices. Plentiful. I had a tasty little tofu sandwich at this rest stop (from the vegan box) in order to make sure that they saw people eating them. You don't have to be vegan to appreciate having a choice other than lunchmeat or PBJ. Though I like those too.



From the first rest stop we headed further south, where, on not too steep a hill, my chain fell off when I shifted in to my front 'granny gear' chain ring. In the past when this happens it usually results in falling over because I can't get my feet unclipped before I lose all momentum. (Spinning your feet around and around when the chain isn't attached doesn't help at all, but it's hard to stop yourself from doing it.) Happy to report that I did NOT fall over this time, nor the next time about 30 miles down the road, and the mechanic at the lunch stop adjusted it for me so no dropped chains. Good thing, if it had happened on some of those hills, I would definitely have met the asphalt.
Turning west onto Mattole Road (almost rhymes with pothole road) I was glad for the pothole-dodging practice I've had in my training rides. After rattling along for several miles we came to another little rest stop and I topped off my bottles and put on sunscreen, since the morning fog had burned off. I admired this gentleman's mustache and his hat.












Around Mile 40-something came the first big climb of the ride, Panther Gap, with wooded switchbacks climbing steadily for about 2,500 feet. I had agreed with myself ahead of time that it was okay to stop wherever / whenever I wanted to, whether to take pictures or rest. Early in the Panther Gap climb I stopped at a different sort of rest stop -- didn't stay, though.












During my 'attack' of Panther Gap I caught up with a couple women who appeared to be in their late 40s. One had Markleeville Death Ride "Five Pass Finisher" jersey. Jerseys are good conversation starters. I asked her how this ride compares to that one and she said "Oh, this is much easier." The Death Ride is in the Sierras, 129 miles and 15,000+ feet of climbing depending on how much of it you can finish. I'm not (yet) tempted by it. They asked me what my hardest ride had been and I said "This one." They asked how many times I'd done it and I said "Just this time." One of them kindly said, "You're a strong rider, you'll do fine." I made that my mantra for the rest of the ride. I am a strong rider, I'll do fine. I am a strong rider, I'll do fine.


Summit of Panther Gap!

Here I am with the sign marking the top. It's good to be king.




The view as I started the descent down the west side of Panther Gap was lovely. The west side of the hill is much more steep and twisty than was the ascent up the east side, making one both grateful and fearful to ride down it. Earlier a helicopter had flown over, and it turned out it was to pick up a cyclist who had wiped out on one of curves. Everyone knew where the spot was because of the great big red splotch on the road. Reportedly he suffered a broken arm and cuts to his forehead, hence the splotch, but it looked worse than it was. By the time I passed that spot all I saw was the splotch. It was not a good place to try to stop for a picture.



At the foot of the treacherous Panther Gap descent was the quaint and curious forgotten town(?) of Honeydew. They have a cute little store and some large pickup trucks there. Not sure what goes on in Honeydew but I think something does.

To be continued...

A couple more photos from the soggy ride

Heather and I smiling at the deceptively not-rainy start, and Vincent, my Bodhisattva (or patron saint, whichever tradition you fancy) of Bicycle Tires.




(Thanks, Mindy, for the pics.)

Singing in the rain

(Photo courtesy HMR)

Gave the Wine Country Century a go in Santa Rosa today. It was probably the worst ride I've ever had, period, if the criteria are feeling good while riding and going the distance I set out to go. I was in denial about the weather from the start. I was dressed for moderate wind and cold but I didn't consider how I'd feel if / when I got completely soaked. The times that I ride to work in the rain (which are few), I make quite a point of putting on my rainpants and a jacket. To go a distance of just over a mile. Today, when rain seemed fairly likely, I wore my long sleeves and knee warmers and wind vest. Intending to go a distance of 100 miles. Something's wrong with this picture.

On the other hand, if it's feeling appreciative for good friends and kind people who volunteer to change your tire(s) when flat, even though you are capable of doing it yourself (assuming you're not shivering too much to grasp a tire lever), who try to hug you warm while somebody changes your tire, and who drive out in their truck to rescue you at mile 44 or so when you finally decide you've had enough--if these things are the criteria for a good ride, then this ride was the best ever.

Another note to self - the fancy CO2 tire inflating cartridge I've been riding around with for a year (without any flats) appears to be missing a part and didn't work. It's probably a good idea to test these things out before you need them.

I'll be all the more prepared next week. Rain or shine. I sound like I have a good attitude, and it has improved a bit over the last several hours, but I'm still working on it. They say if you keep smiling when you're in a bad mood eventually your head will catch up with your face. The same goes for singing in the rain. Neil Diamond and Brandi Carlile at the top of my lungs. It helps up to a point, anyway.

Happy Birthday Ripley!

She's asleep right now and not available for comment, but she's asleep because she had such a good day running around in the park and swimming in the creek with her cousin Sydney (a mini Aussie shepherd who lives in Santa Rosa). Tomorrow will involve more of the same, no doubt.

The next really really big thing

This Chico News & Review article set me off on a long flight of fancy last night...hopefully not just fanciful, though. These Chico 50-somethings rode their bikes from Chico to the coast via Forest Highway 7 through the Mendocino National Forest. Since I moved to Chico I have had many flights of fancy about doing that very ride, finding that Northwest Passage if you will, but last summer the flight of fancy was somewhat weighted down by the experience of actually trying to drive the route in my truck. Beautiful, largely uninhabited country. Lots of trees. 60 miles of gravel and dirt road "maintained" by the Forest Service on whatever budget they had left for such things last year, and a 6000' elevation gain. I thought, over the hours and hours it took to drive it, well, maybe this isn't really a doable thing. But then these people (Bob and Christina Aranguren) went and did it. One of my favorite quotes from the article:

After not seeing a single human being for a day and a half, the Arangurens walked into the little store at Eel River Station and asked, “Do you get any cyclists in here?” They indicated the summit now behind them.

“No, nobody does that,” the store clerk replied.

“Then we told her, ‘We just did,’ ” said Christina. “She looked at us like we were aliens.”

I emailed the reporter and asked her to forward my contact information to the Arangurens. Apparently they're planning to do it AGAIN, and this time two other couples are joining them. Their route to the coast took them through Laytonville and over Branscomb Road. This summer may be too soon for me to plan this and get my very eager potential touring buddy Tim and his new Surly Long Haul Trucker trained up for that climb, but maybe I could at least set up a little lemonade stand for the riders as they go by the homestead near the coast.

Nothing to worry about here.

The elevation profile for Tour of the Unknown Coast. It's just like life with its little ups and downs. Or bipolar extremes. Whichever.

Worried? Me?

I never worry about anything. This video of the second half of the Tour of the Unknown Coast lacks sound so you can't hear the screams.

When we were cruising down the other side of the Cantelow hill near Winters on Sunday, Heather said "I'm scared for your ride," referring to the T.U.C. Then the wind in my ears going downhill got too loud for me to hear anything she said. Actually it was hard to hear what she was saying on the flat stretches too. I think my ears might be due for another powerwashing. Conversations on the road sounded something like this:

H: "Wuhhh wuh wuhh wuh."
E: "What?"
H: "I said wuhh wuh whuh wuh."
E: "What was that?"

I need one of those two-way helmet radios that motorcycle riders use.

We were both (not so) fresh from having ridden 100 miles the day before. My ride was considerably flatter so I had to pretend to have a sore knee to justify not being able to keep up with her for the last ten miles.

Recovery tips

Photo I found of North Butte of the Sutter Buttes. The Buttes still have their green springtime coat, though not for long -- it was in the upper 80s on Saturday. The north side is my favorite -- with the jagged green mountain, rice fields and dense orchards, it looks like I imagine Thailand or Vietnam (and the few times I've seen this view have been on a bicycle, which enhances the feeling of being in a different country).

I have a deal with myself that I can go to In 'n Out (my favorite hamburger chain) on days when I ride my bike more than 30 miles. It used to be 20 but that seems too cheap. I could carry on about In 'n Out right now and this would become even more of an In 'n Out ad, which is not really my point. Suffice to say that on Saturday after my 102-mile Bike Around the Buttes, I went to In 'n Out and for the first time tried their "Double - Double" (2 meat patties x 2 cheese slices) with the secret off-menu code words for sauteed onions and extra sauce, a.k.a. "animal style." Delicious. That was after the bowls of baked beans and potato salad they had at the finish in the little town of Sutter that hosts the event. When I rode in some folks were discussing what they might do to spruce things up next year and considering the bold step of having a massage therapist onsite for the riders. Sutter is basically the Preston, ID of California, only a little smaller and less famous. The folks are very friendly and put on a fun ride though, with aid stations staffed by the VFW and the Moose and Elks or maybe they were the Eagles...I can't remember.

At mile 101 of the Saturday ride I started having some pain in my left knee, which got somewhat worse on Sunday during the 42-mile ride in Winters. I have two weeks before the next 100-miler to rest up. I'll do the R.I.C.E. regimen for a few days but I hope to be at In-N-Out again before that.

(Hmm. I thought the "I" in RICE stood for "Ibuprofen" and the "C" stood for "Cold," but apparently this is not the generally accepted meaning. It could also mean "In-N-Out" and "Coca-Cola.")

To be continued...

Balmy weather

I've heard Target carries Bag Balm but it's way over on the other side of town. So far I've been to a Walgreens, two Safeways, a RiteAid, and an outdoor / bike shop, no luck. Turns out I probably should have just gone to the Feed & Seed store instead. I forgot that the product was named for what it was originally intended to do as opposed to its 'off-label' uses. I learned during the NCAC ride last year that it works ten times better for long hours in the saddle than any of those fancy creams they sell in bike shops and (if I could find some) costs about half as much. It is petroleum-based, though, and therefore probably doesn't decrease our dependence on foreign oil. If I were riding my bike 150 miles this weekend to go somewhere I actually needed to go, that would more than make up for a few dollops of petroleum jelly. But I'm not. Bright and early driving down to the Sutter Buttes in the morning to Bike Around them (the Buttes).

I'll be thinking of my sisters who have been training so hard for the Salt Lake City half marathon which is also tomorrow. I think Bag Balm probably works on feet too. It is a miraculous substance.

Milestone

I'm sure that some members of my family have experienced this dozens of times and it's no big deal, but it was technically a first for me -- somebody at a public meeting (which was being recorded for rebroadcast on the local TV channel) said the reason I disagreed with him was because I am a 'socialist.'

While there were a number of points on which we disagreed, and even more on which I'm sure we would disagree if we only had more time to explore the full scope of our disagreement, the particular topic was affordable housing development policy. Note that this is a "citizens' advisory committee" established to provide input to the Planning Commission and Board of Supervisors regarding our county's General Plan update. As far as I can tell based on appearances, everyone on the committee is indeed a citizen and his or her ancestors may even have arrived on the Mayflower, unless some undocumented Canadians snuck in to mooch off the free pizza that the county provides at the meetings. That's actually why I joined the committee, which only proves I'm a socialist because I support this government pizza entitlement.

Apart from, or rather concurrently with, my socialism and the pizza, I'm really there because of my job, and the lack of any low income / non-white citizens on the citizens' advisory committee. I don't think that's any fault of the county; I think it might have more to do with not having any childcare, or not having a car, or at least not one that runs, or not speaking English very well, or being too ill and confused, or just not thinking anyone will listen to you because historically nobody has. Or maybe being too tired.

It's part of my job to advocate for policies that will result in production of affordable housing. One such policy is 'inclusionary housing.' I'm tired of giving my speech about it so I won't right now; suffice to say that some people think it's part of a communist plot to make the system of personal merit and responsibility irrelevant to ones opportunity for decent shelter. The man who called me out on my socialism had posed the very interesting and provocative question, "Is everyone entitled to a house?"

I tried to answer using my secret ninja moves from the government. I said, "Everyone is entitled to have the opportunity for housing and it's up to the individual to decide what he or she will do with the opportunity." Straight out of the Little Red Book. He went on to say how he worked all his life, etc. etc., it's the American dream, etc., arbeit macht frei, etc. etc., everyone starts out in life with the same opportunity...Oops. Maybe I totally misunderstood him, and he meant every white male business owner starts out in life with the same opportunity...but I interjected there, and said "That's where we disagree" and then he said "That's because you're a socialist."

So there you have it. I can hardly wait to go to work tomorrow and tell everyone.

He didn't really speak German. I made that part up. But if I'm a socialist that would make him a fascist. And here we are both on the same committee, eating pizza. It's a great country.

'The Wall' isn't all that, but all that IS all that.

At least not all that compared to other climbs in the Unknown Coast ride that you don't hear about as much. Panther Gap Ridge is, by some reports, 6.8 miles of a 7% grade. The Wall is only one mile of whatever that silly 18% - 22% business is. Might blink and miss it. Though it looks like the Wall is there to protect the next big hill from invading hordes. As soon as you drop over the wall, there's a much bigger if less severely steep hill. And that big hill is at the very end of the ride.

I plotted the whole ride on Bikely just so I could get a better picture of what to expect.

I think the key here will be to ride in super energy saver mode. No displays of machisma, no hurry or unnecessary effort, no pedaling downhill, plenty of stretching at rest stops, plenty of Gu or Clif Shot, plenty of fluid...as Jennifer Stone used to say on her program "Stone's Throw" on KPFA when I listened in Berkeley / SF, "Go easy, and if you can't go easy, go as easy as you can."

making the grade

I rode a section of Calistoga Road out of Santa Rosa last year that scared me. It was steep and windy (i.e. twisty, not breezy) and I didn't know how long it would last or if I would be able to last that long. Friday I was driving down it and saw a sign that said 11% GRADE.

I thought about the ride I'm doing on May 9 (Tour of the Unknown Coast). Everybody talks about the dreaded "Wall" at mile 80-something, reportedly a grade of 18 - 22%. I began to feel really unprepared for something like this, though there are steep pitches here and there that don't have handy signs to tell you how steep they are, so it's possible I've done little pieces of hills that were that steep. I had some climbing planned for the Yountville ride on Saturday: Yountville / Pope Valley - Ink Grade Loop
But I needed more. Lisa talked me out of doing Calistoga Rd again (it's steep, windy, narrow, and has not much shoulder) by offering intriguing alternatives, a strategy that works well on dogs too. They said they would meet me in Dillon Beach so I did this route one-way (and I was very, very done when I got to Dillon Beach). Made it up the big hills (maybe some 18% bits in them? If I did the math right) but on the last small hill my legs couldn't take any more lactic acid and I had to walk for awhile. Santa Rosa to Dillon Beach
Here's a photo I found of some crazy person riding Coleman Valley Rd. from the opposite direction I took. Hard to say if it's better or worse that way, I just didn't think coming down it that I'd want to be going up.
Incredibly beautiful views and scenery. Paid my first visit to the little town of Occidental, which seems to be a place you have to want to go quite deliberately because it isn't really on the way to anything (but the next lovely, windy stretch of forest road).

I also learned a very valuable cycling lesson. Before I left, I decided to enclose everything that would be in my back jersey pockets in ziploc bags. In the past I've apologetically handed the clerk at some gas station mart a warm soggy dollar bill, gingerly offering it by its corner. I had my wallet and cellphone in one baggy and all my snacks (including my chocolate marshmallow egg that the easter bunny brought) in another baggy. At one pit stop I leaned over and my whole *sealed* baggy of precious food fell out, landing with a splash, right into the bowl. Yes, that sort of bowl. I fished it out, rinsed it off thoroughly and as discretely as possible, and carried on with all my Clif Bars and marshmallow egg undefiled. Carry on then.

*&$%@ Zephyrus with his swete brethe

I doubt that the pilgrims to Canterbury rode bicycles in a headwind. I don't know if their faith would have survived the experience.

Or maybe it would have. Maybe my problem is the absence of a hooly blissful martyr for to seke as the purpose of riding my bike. Riding is excellent for its own sake, though, and for testing ones fortitude, prowesse and hardynesse. And if the wind doesn't start blowing against you until you're 20 - 30 miles into a 40 - 50 mile ride, then there's nothing for it but to keep riding that day, and think better of doing so the following day, as I did when we were at the coast a week and a half ago (so long, already?)

I looked at the calendar last Friday and realized that my Tour of the Unknown Coast ride was five weeks away. As Chaucer would say (if he were trying to watch his language), Hooly Cowe.

Craving and suffering

In my Zen Sangha (it's a word that means a community of some sort) the teacher has recently been going over some of the basics. We started on the Third Noble Truth last week. I'm still working on mastery of the Second Noble Truth and getting pretty good at it. Today, for example, I thought I might die of wanting a new bicycle. But yesterday I felt almost the same way about wanting a new car, and last week I was practically bedridden with longing for a new computer, and the week before I was desperate for an electric guitar amp. Those are just (some of) the cravings to which I'm willing to publicly confess. I'm not going to talk about how many (boxes of) girl scout cookies I've eaten in the last couple weeks, for example. At least I can afford to buy a few (boxes of) girl scout cookies even though the price has gone up 228% since I sold them. (There's a story problem waiting to happen.)

And lest anyone doubt my mastery of wanting things, I am able to sustain any number of my cravings simultaneously. Like juggling bowling pins that stay up even when I'm not really trying to juggle them. I think I'm just about at the peak of my craving powers.

The discussion of the Third Noble Truth didn't go completely over my head, though. The teacher said all you have to do to stop suffering is stop craving. If you don't like what you're doing, just stop doing it. Anything that you can willingly start doing, you can willingly stop. Psh. Easy for him to say, Mr. Zen teacher smarty pants. Though he said that recently he really really wanted a new bike, too, and a 20-something year old body to go with it as opposed to the second-hand cruiser and the 70-something year old body he's got. He saw a college boy riding by on some little number with a carbon-fiber frame and felt a terrible pang. In a moment like that you can't really feel how fine a thing it is that you are able to ride around town on a bicycle of any description, or that your computer still sort of works and perhaps you can borrow one that works better, or that your current vehicle runs fine and you can drive it when you don't really feel like riding whatever bicycle(s) you have. I think it's easier to focus on things that seem to be lacking. I have so much stuff already that it would be too overwhelming if I were to focus on all of it instead.

"Support and Gear"

In my practice runs as a new crew member for the 2009 NorCal AIDS Challenge this weekend I learned the meaning of some cycling terminology I had long misunderstood. In long rides where there's a vehicle following along to help you if you need a ride up the hill or a new tube or packet of Gu, or help of whatever sort, that vehicle is commonly known as a "sag wagon." I always took it quite literally and thought it was the car that picked you up if you were 'sagging' too much in your cycling and needed a bit of propping up. But I learned on Saturday that it actually stands for "Support And Gear." On my way to being a very knowledgeable and helpful crew member.

Tomorrow night I'm taking a CPR class. Hopefully no one will be 'sagging' THAT much, but it seems like a useful skill to have regardless, and the class is being offered at the community center next door to my complex so I thought if I'm going out to get my mail I might as well get certified in CPR.

Special thanks to people who have already contributed to the ride...if you haven't yet taken that opportunity, it's easy and fun! Just click here!