When we rode this in November with the San Francisco
Randonneurs, Del Puerto Canyon was a brown, dry dirge of a canyon. It was Bob
Dylan without... no. it was Bob Dylan, complete with the nasally, atonal
misphrasing that some interpret as genius. The writing is solid, but please,
someone else sing it.
This day, we started at Starbucks (I know, I know, but the
recipe called for it) at 7:45, duly retrieving our receipts at 7:31AM as
instructed. Gulping our coffee, we headed off. The first leg is through the office
parks of Pleasanton, through Livermore and then venturing out by a few
wineries. Depressingly not open at 8:15AM – who doesn't need a major
demotivator so early on?
Today was also the day of the Valley Spokesman Cinderella
Ride – an all women ride supported by the men of the Valley Spokesman Club. We
got a few friendly waves from the SAG support waiting for the 'Ellas to ride
through as we headed towards our first climb.
Tesla Road is a gentle warm up climb. It starts fairly
gradually, giving a few fits and starts to push on with some rollers to recover
by. After a bit, the road kicks up and downshifting is in order. We are passed
by many trucks hauling dirt bikes. Nearly if not all are very polite and give
us lots of room. At the summit, there is a bike club gathering, having
approached the peak from the other side. Only a few (the first arrivals) are
there, waiting for the rest. I feel pretty good on the climb. I have good
energy, it's not too hot and I'm paying attention to my nutrition. We haven't
ridden very far so I'm not vulnerable to falling behind as yet...
Descending Tesla into Corral Valley is somewhat technical
but not overwhelmingly so. The curves are banked properly. There are two turns
– a right, then a left – that corkscrew down on you as you are in them. The
cornering becomes tighter and tighter as you move through it. No spacing out
here (or on any descent). Eventually, the road opens up into this incredible
run-out. You're going fast, you have a 1-2% negative grade and you can haul ass.
For me, the first descent of the day is always a bit
squirrelly. It takes me a bit to
remember how I fit on my bike, how my body moves with it, relearning my
confidence in turns.... With Tesla, every time I've descended it, it has been
at the beginning of the day. I'd like to correct that so I feel more
comfortable!
Kurt climbed Tesla faster than us. He's a stronger rider and
has been for some time. We're used to this.
On the back side, I descended last. I love a good run out. I
love momentum. I will take that momentum as long as it will effing allow me to
do so. As a short woman who carries some dead weight, I need to capitalize on
my strengths. Jim hit the flats before me. No surprise. He always kills me on
the downhills. On the flats, I knew I had my work cut out. I love love love
sprinting. Give me a high gear and let me mash it. With a -1-2% and a tailwind?
I'm invincible. So I hauled along. Eventually, I caught Jim, hollered “hop on!”
and kept going. He accelerated and we paced along at a mighty fine clip, still
wondering where Kurt was. After another few miles, I saw Kurt a bit up the
road. We didn't sprint, but we gave no ground and closed the distance. “There
you are,” he said.
The Central Valley is flat. It's really hard to know just
how flat it is until one rises over a freeway interchange and sees the entire
region from an elevation of 20 feet above the valley floor. F-l-a-t. We needed
to traverse this from Tracy to Patterson before climbing back over the ridge(s)
to Livermore.
“Oh, flat riding? What could you possibly say about this?” I
hear you cry.
Crappy pavement. Tailwinds enough to make you think you're
strong and glorious. Then headwinds to humble you. Your ass parked in the exact
same position for 30 miles. Turn the corner. Cross winds. Turn again.
Headwinds. More crappy pavement. Amazing how that improved once we crossed into
Stanislaus County. Almost like the Sonoma/Marin border.
Finally, we reached Control #3, the highly delectable Subway
spot in beautiful freeway-interchange Patterson. We ate, we quaffed, we
did-the-necessary. And we were off. First turn is up a frontage road with crazy
lumpy pavement (after all, it's really just a freeway on/off ramp, what's it
matter?), under the freeway.
We approach the segment we've been looking forward to all
day – and really, for the past six months. We rode in November. The clocks had
just been changed to standard time, the light was flat back then. It was not a
photographer's dream, shall we say.
Fast forward to April.
The first turn into Del Puerto Canyon reveals rustic
countryside. This day, five or six cows were grazing in scrub near the road.
Like meth addicts who weren't willing to venture further up the hillside to
where the sweet grass might be. THIS IS HERE NOW! I heard them cry.
The canyon is broken up into several topographies. The road
literally divides two. On the east side is orchard land. It's stony and rugged
with steep hillsides. Undergrowth almost
makes it look neglected, but you know it's not. To the west, steep to rolling
grazing land. Further in, the canyon morphs to more grazing, but with many many
bee-boxes to give one hope about our agricultural future. There are amazingly
steep slopes, some with bovines, some not.
What I noticed most was that the slopes, whatever their
purpose, or wherever they were located, were blanketed with nearly the same
green hue. What changed my perception was the under painting. Soils ranged from
dusky to roan to mauve to rusty. Overlayed upon that was an airbrushing of
emerald green with occasional highlights of yellow. The mix of the two
presented a delightful palette that varied with soil, the angle, and steepness
of the slope and how it faced the light. An artist's treasure.
As we rode, the hillsides grew steeper. Some places, the
grasses didn't flourish beyond a certain altitude. Or the rain-facing slope was
green but another plane was browner. Deeper in the canyon, the hills became
rockier and the soil more gravelly. The road followed a creek which flowed gently
away from us.
Because we were climbing. It wasn't steep – 1, 2 or 3%
mostly for 17 or 18 miles. Of course, it looked flat. And the wind was blowing
down the canyon, right in our faces. I commented that we'd like this breeze
when we got to the Wall. Meanwhile, I felt pathetic and beat down and so so
weak. I couldn't keep up and didn't want to try. I sat in the back, grinding it
out in gears too low for the grade, having my own personal suffer-fest pity
party. For 18 miles. That's a long time to be in your head in negative space. I
called a time-out and we stopped at the park. My sit bones were aching, making
me a little nauseous. I needed time out of the saddle. We regrouped and
proceeded on. I dropped off the back again but I was okay with it. I needed to fight
my own monsters.
At last, the sharp right-hand bend before the wall. I
stopped, ate a GU block, took off my vest and redistributed my water. Beyond
the bend, a 17% grade awaits. And when you can't go any slower and stay
upright, a cattle grate. When you really need to keep your front wheel
perfectly straight and your bike wants to weave. I held my breath and... made
it! Loyal reader will know that this day marks the one-year anniversary of my
cattle grate incident, so I'm especially wary.
Whether the GU block actually helped physically or mentally
doesn't matter. It helped. Period. Once I was finally on the wall instead of
dreading it, I felt better. It is steep. I told myself about all the other
steep climbs I've done that are longer
than this one. Sierra. Ebbetts. Rancheria. Ft. Ross. Last time, I stopped on
this climb. I promised myself I wouldn't again. Ever. I looked for the markers
that indicated distance from the summit. I remember roads and bookmark personal
landmarks, even when I don't think I am. Sometimes I'm happy – oh, I'm here
already? Other times: Where's the bloody mailbox with the thing?? Other people
watch their Garmins – they know the peak altitude of the climb and watch how
many feet they have left. Sometimes, they feel compelled to share that
information with me. I don't want to know the numbers in advance. I don't want
to count down: 1100 more feet, 1000 more feet, 750 more feet. That crushes me.
The summit opens up to grass lands and rolling hills.
Finally to the Junction. A brief stop here, two more climbs then descents and
flats, I reassure myself. Headwinds on Mines Road require us to pedal on the
low grade descents. The same wind that had us ticking along at 24-25 mph in the
morning was now in our face and we were pedaling fairly vigorously to maintain
17-18. As I said to Jim, at least we're getting a return on our efforts!
Kurt had somewhere to be and rode on ahead. Jim and I
enjoyed the brief downhill after the Junction and started up Horseshoe Hill (at
least that's what I call it – the summit is a major horseshoe type turn that
starts downward at the apex of the shoe). It had been a while since I rode
Mines (6 months, to be precise) and I couldn't remember which came first:
Horseshoe Hill or Ruthie's Hill, as we've dubbed it. Trudging along another
freaking low grade climb that maxxed out at around 8% here and there. My quads
were protesting, my ass was protesting, my stiff elbow was protesting. I was
having an entire Berkeley experience whilst on my bicycle. Protests everywhere!
I was lagging behind Jim. At the summit, he stopped to put on layers. I checked
in: “You mind if I get a head start?” Nope. Off I went. We hooked up again
fairly soon and pulled each other through the wind, trying to make the most of
the elevation loss. The last sharp climb was beckoning and we pushed on. What
were our options? At last, the top of the final real climb. From here on, it
was flats and short rollers until the fantastic plunge back down into
Livermore.
Jim led the way down and then pulled us back to Tesla Road
in a show of power and determination. I clung to his wheel. 15 miles to go
until First Beer. I could smell the hops. I could taste the Pliny. Life was
good. Except for the freaking wind.
We pulled into Starbucks at 6:30, 10 hours and 45 minutes
after we had departed. Happy to be done, happy to have done it.
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