I first read that quote a few years ago, but this Saturday, it rang true like it never had before. I rode a 200k (126 miles +/-) with most of the usual suspects. We were in Healdsburg for a Brevet with the Santa Rosa Cycling Club. At 7:02AM we departed Healdsburg and headed north towards Boonville, east to Ukiah, and then dropped south back to Healdsburg.
We started off at a good clip, with Kurt and Phil setting the pace. As we headed into Alexander Valley, the wind was blowing out of the north straight at us. Phil dug in and kept pulling briskly, to the point where I wondered aloud if he had a lunch date he was trying to meet after riding 126 miles. By noon. Since none of us admitted to being on EPO (but then, who does?), I hoped we'd slow the pace a little, or my legs would be toast by mile 40.
Many of the early roads we were on were quite familiar to me. I'd ridden them several times before, but in the other direction. So while the road is the same, the ride is completely different. Especially when there's a headwind. Canyon Road connects Dry Creek Road and Highway 128. It goes over the ridge that separates Dry Creek Valley (Zinfandel-land) and Alexander Valley (Bordeaux-land). I've ridden Canyon Road from west to east, bombing down the east side into Alexander Valley. On this day, however, we were riding it the opposite direction. Knowing I hit over 40mph on the down slope, I wasn't really keen on climbing it. It turns out (as it usually does), the climb wasn't nearly as bad as I anticipated; however, descending into Dry Creek Valley sucked. What could have been a sweet, long gradual descent was marred by strong headwinds and I was literally tucked against the wind, pedaling hard to make progress. Down hill. I bellowed, "This sucks!" and the next thing I knew, Andy had pulled in front of me and took the wind.
We headed north up Dry Creek Road. I was struggling to stay on the back of the pace line. We're pretty evenly matched (at least early in a ride) but if I lagged even a little, the wind blew me off the back and I had to decide if the work involved to get back on Andy's wheel would be balanced by the energy saved by being in the pace line. And then it became moot because I got blown further off and couldn't catch them.
I was climbing Dutcher Creek Road into the wind without any protection. I saw the trio pulling away, their strong legs enhanced by the synergy of group riding. My legs ached. I couldn't believe how I was suffering. My legs felt like cement. I said to myself, well, I guess I'll be riding a lot of this alone today and I better get used to it. I trudged on, feeling pathetic and spent. Did I mention pathetic? or the wave of self-pity that enveloped me as I climbed? Alone?
At last, I crested the mountain that was Dutcher Creek Road. I dropped down the other side. Three riders in matching kits were sprinting up the back side. Of course they were. They weighed 40 pounds and their bikes weighed 12 and they had a tailwind. And testosterone. Jerks. They waved happily. I waved begrudgingly. Near the bottom, I was heartened to see Phil's familiar red jacket, and Kurt and Andy all waiting for me. We rode together into Cloverdale. I explained The Plight of the Headwind and how it was all good if I was on, but if I lost 'em, there was no catching them.
I have driven Highway 128 from Cloverdale to Boonville many times. I have driven or ridden in a Ford Explorer. A Subaru. A BMW. A Miata. A Golf. A Ford Marshmallow rental car. But, before Saturday, I'd never ridden it on a bicycle. Why, several times I had even commented on how I wouldn't want to ride it on a bicycle, as I rode comfortably in a car.
What I remembered from driving was: turn onto 128. Immediately hit a steep switchback of impossible steepness and then flatness until you hit rollers to Boonville.
aaaaaaaaaaaahahahhahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
heh.
the.joke.is.on.you.
Because, as Mr. Hemingway indicated in one of his pithier moments, you don't know a road until you've ridden it on a bicycle. First, there is a long gradual energy-sucking 2% uphill grade to the switchback I dreaded. And the headwind continued just to add to the fun. Finally, we made the first sweeping arc to the left and started to climb. The switchbacks were done and I told myself, "this is where it levels out." No. It drops to 6% or 8% but continues up until the county line. I've noticed in my 3-4 mph empirical studies that many county line boundaries happen to cross roads at ridge lines. So I was watching the Sonoma County mile markers count down in .02 mile increments (and did the math - .01 = 50 feet approximately, so .02 = 100 feet) to the Mendocino County line. It is excruciating the slowness at which the miles count down when being measured in 1/100ths at 3MPH. This time, I wasn't too far (I like to tell myself) behind the Boys who were waiting for me at the summit.
At last we rolled into Boonville, bypassing Anderson Valley Brewing Company (twice, I might add), collecting our prized receipt for proof that we were there in the time frame allotted. We replenished. We emptied. We fed. We rolled.
The next leg was on Route 253 into Ukiah. This road was completely unfamiliar to me. I'd seen it, sure -- a mystery turn-off to ??? I'd been through Ukiah, but on 101. There seemed to be a small impediment between Boonville and Ukiah. Large hills, coastal-ish ranges... Kurt previewed that there would be a sustained climb. He wasn't lying. We must have climbed for 5 or 6 miles before there was any relief. Kurt and Phil got ahead of Andy and me. We passed a group that had just finished changing a flat. Finally, there were some flat sections and slight downhills. I managed to gain a little ground on the gap between them and me. Still, I was behind, and when I saw Phil pull over and stop on a climb (that never happens) I knew something must be up. Broken spoke.
The spoke took Phil's wheel out of true. It was rubbing on the brake, it was rubbing on the frame. Fixing one messed up the other. He completely opened the rear brake and tried to set the wheel in just off enough that the tire wouldn't hit the frame (tires rubbing are way worse than rims rubbing). I joked that at least now I'd be able to keep up with him. Oh, Phil. Just can't resist a challenge can you. So to make sure we wouldn't drop him from all the extra friction, we let him set the pace. And still, I couldn't keep up.
At last we pulled into the designated control (Safeway) and got our receipt. We flagged down a native who (a) not only knew where a bike shop was (b) told our grateful ears that it wasn't even a half block away.
Ukiah is the home of Masonite. I did not know that.
Fast forward to Dave's Bike Shop. They didn't have Phil's special spokes, but they re-trued his wheel to compensate for the missing spoke, sold him a used tire, dropped everything to get it done, charged him $18 and had us on our way within a half hour. And offered, were they not able to fix it, to drive him and his bike to Healdsburg. How awesome is that?
We'd ridden 70+ miles and had 50ish left to go. We had reached the tailwind portion of the ride and were pleased that the wind had not shifted during the course of the day. We rode through vineyards in Sanel Valley (not yet an AVA in Mendocino county, but they're working on it) along Old River Road to Hopland. Shortly after, we turned onto Mountain Home Road, which would connect us back to 128.
Loyal reader knows that once upon a time, I avoided roads with the following words in the name: mountain, grade, alpine, heights, vista, view, hill, slope, peak, ridge, upper, sky. Bike friendly road names have words like: valley, river, lake, canyon, basin, lower.
So... Mountain Home. At first, innocuous. Some up, some down. But then, became up. and up. and up. and jesus. really? more? Don't I hear cars on 128? No? Where's the "stop ahead" sign? Is that it? Is it?
Aw, f--k. That says "slide ahead." Holy mountains, Batman. When will this end?
At last, we're at 128, but all I can think of is we're not done climbing yet. We have a lot more climbing to do. I was kissing the glorious fresh pavement that is the Mendocino side of 128 when I found that I was wrong and we'd already done the majority of the climbing while on Mountain Home. Thank you Hay-soos.
And WHAT a fun descent back down to Cloverdale. When doing an out and back and I'm descending what I climbed 10 hours ago, I'm always amazed. Wow, I did that ? No wonder I was tired! No wonder I was struggling!
We hauled it back to Healdsburg through Dry Creek Valley. It was twilight. The mustard glowed between the dark gnarly old vines. Over the ridge to the west, the sky radiated pinks and oranges and the fog was backlit in gossamer peaches. It was a living pastel painting.
Post ride beer: Bear Republic Apex (strong IPA) - worth the drive. Worth the ride.
1 comment:
I feel like I was on the journey with you! Such great writing, Libster. My quads are trembling. :)
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