Trainings and Brevets

As mentioned in my previous post about my successes and failures of the past 17 days, I rode 372 miles in that time period. While I'm sure my single reader would love the mile by mile account, I fear it would be as arduous a read as if it were a golf narrative and I scored a 372 for 18 holes. You're welcome.

The new cycling "season" is upon us. Death Ride training started up on February 2nd (just like the movie). Much of the team are "alumni" from Team in Training, schooled in cycling etiquette, safety and skills, but new to the Death Ride. There is trepidation, anticipation, and blatant fear (or respect) of the event exhibited by the team. Last year, Coach said that the event was hard, but the training was harder. Truer words not spoken. The training is what makes you a Death Rider, completing the event gives you bragging rights and permission to buy a really cool jersey which speaks on your behalf when you ride in it. And a certain expectation to live up to when you do ride in it. But your mind and your legs are forever altered during the training. When every week you're doing the hardest ride you've ever done and living to tell about it, you become mentally strong and sure. If your brain is in, your legs are in. That simple.

So, on a chilly Groundhog's Day morning, our intrepid crew set off on the "sorting ride" - I swear some of the fast kids must have donned the invisibility cloak and hopped a ride on an owl up Wildcat Canyon - the time trial in which Coach determines which group everyone will ride in. We did our 30 mile loop and hopped over to Creek Monkey in Martinez for post ride beers (no, really!) and a meal.

I may or may not have mentioned Coach Phil in the past. Phil is one of the assistant coaches with a quiet and unassuming manor. A sly smile, a dry comment and an ass-kicking route are hallmarks of Coach Phil's personality. So, on week two, flush with the success of having done FOUR HARD CLIMBS the week before, Phil decides to take the team up Mt. Tam. All the way, and then drop to Alpine Dam and climb out of that back to Fairfax. The poor dears go from 3,000 feet of climbing to 4500 feet of climbing in one week. Hey, this is the Death Ride. HTFU. But everyone did great on such a challenging route. Riding hard sh-- stuff together is what bonds the team. The team that suffers together... stays together. Coach Phil. Team Player. Uh Hunh.

I have other cycling goals this year besides Death Ride (how can that be, you ask?). I'm also training for my first Double Century near the end of March. 200 miles, 17 hours or fewer. Oy. So Sunday after our fun Tam ride, I joined a friend and we did some of the hallmark Peninsula hills from last year's training. Up Old La Honda, down to San Gregorio, up Tunitas Creek and down Kings Mtn Road. I rode with someone much stronger (and very gracious). She stayed with me until the Tunitas Creek Climb. I said, "do this at your own pace." I saw her again an hour later as she was coming back DOWN the hill to check on me.... Show off. The way to get stronger is to ride with people that are stronger than you.

The team ride this week was the first ride we were synced up in our ride groups. What fun! I got to ride with two women I rode with two and three years ago, and it was like the intervening one-year gap never happened. We have a fun role reversal in that this season, I'm coaching one who had coached me in the past. We cruised out to Nicasio Valley, and had to suffer past the horse farms and the cute town of Pt Reyes Station, before lumbering back up Sir Francis Drake and beyond to return to our cars. We finished hard and fast (I love storming back to the barn) and arrived exhilarated and flush with success. Post ride beers and burgers at Moylan's appeased the cycling savage in all of us.

Which brings us to Sunday. Sunday, which broke my resolve to have a Facebook Free February. Because Sunday was amazing in so many ways, I needed to publicly acknowledge and thank the folks I was riding with.

[Aside: Saturday, I mentioned that I was riding a brevet. Who are you riding with? I listed off names. Oh, you and the Boys. Yup. Me and the Boys. Mostly the same Boys I've been riding with all off-season. Because I like them and they challenge me to ride harder. I like to think I can mostly keep up -- or could -- and that they weren't holding back too awfully much. But as the season progresses, the Boys keep getting stronger and stronger, and I'm afraid I'll soon be left behind, no matter how hard I work. I only have so much muscle fiber to work with.]

So, Sunday at 5:15 the alarm goes off. I load the car, walk the dogs, eat breakfast and head to Crissy Field for the San Francisco Randonneurs 200K Brevet up to Valley Ford /Two Rock. I scream into the parking lot a good 5 minutes after the appointed meet up time, struggle to get arm warmers, leg warmers, jacket sleeves on... Food on the bike, bottles, helmet, gloves, whatamIforgetting?

We check in, have the pre-ride meeting. We take the solemn Randonneur Oath. (I'd tell you but then I'd have to kill you.) And we depart, with five of the six having ridden 50 miles the day before. The sixth doesn't count because he's a freaking cycling monster. "Oh, I wasn't pulling. I was just riding my bike." 15 miles. Into the wind. What-Ev-ERRRRRR. (love ya, mean it).

Off we go. Over the bridge, through the "junk miles" of the stop and go called Sausalito and beyond, the quaint and spendy Marin County towns a blur with the exception of unclip, tap, go, reclip at nine MILLION stop signs between Corte Madera and Sir Francis Drake Boulevard in Fairfax. Which we also get to enjoy on the return trip.

Finally, a few climbs and we're in Nicasio (weren't we just here yesterday?) and the porta-potties are still in the same fine condition they were a mere 24 hours before. Joy.

Our first checkpoint is in Petaluma. Peets, of course. (duh. cyclists and coffee!). I'm stunned and amazed that we have made it here in 3.5 hours. Psychologically, Petaluma is so.much.farther. It's all the Boys, and I'm happy to be hanging on their wheels. Tanks filled, tanks emptied, we head towards the turn-around control at Valley Ford. I have forgotten just how much I love West Sonoma County. The wooly sheep. The little lambies. The cows and their painfully full udders (poor girls!). February-green grass that defies color descriptors. And peeking between two hillocks, a range in the distance sporting the vivid yellow of wild mustard flowers. Did I mention the Ferruginous Hawk I saw just before we dropped into Petaluma?

Sammiches and cokes from the Valley Ford Market (and our precious receipts!) and we're back on our way south to Pt. Reyes Station and the Bovine Bakery. We arrive there just after 2PM. Still making amazing time although we're all experiencing some degree of fatigue here and there. The strongest are waiting for the ... less strong ... a little more frequently, but in a very generous and team spirited fashion. We start together, we finish together. The Randonneurs have a saying: If you want to fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go with others. I am heartened because it is at this stop that I learn that we don't have to do Olema Hill and cut back over to Pt Reyes-Petaluma Road. Mentally, that's one pain-in-the-ass climb I did just sitting there with my peanut butter and jelly and coke. Check!

Anyway, up and down, up and down, stop start stop start lather rinse repeat and we find ourselves on Bridgeway in Sausalito - we have just left the bike path and are headed towards downtown proper. We're at mile... 115? The cars are backed up through Sausalito. I guess they thought jumping off 101 and avoiding the Waldo Grade by driving through Sausalito to the Bridge would be quicker. At some point, we've picked up "Popeye" - a muscle-bound gent on a pretty white bike. He got into the midst of our pace line. 4 in front, 2 behind him. So Andy went to pass him to keep the group together. Then I did. Next thing I know, he's passing me. But does he pass the whole group? No, he just catches up to the front line and stays with them. I guess being passed by a girl was too much for him.

So I blew his doors off up Alexander Avenue to the Golden Gate Bridge. And was so adamant that he wouldn't pass me again that I had my best time ever, even after 115 miles (+/-). It was fun.

We finished as a group, 10:35 after we started, spent and happy.

Post ride beers were at Kate O'Brien's - a Speakeasy Big Daddy and a Lagunitas IPA. Awesome day, awesome ride group.