Wild Iris Roads

“What time are we rolling? 7:30?”

“8AM,” I reply.

“No, it was 7:30.”

“No, it's 8. Jim and I are in the Park and Ride parking lot and rolling at 8.”

“Balls. I'm going to be a few minutes late.”

But of course he would have been on time if we were rolling a half hour earlier?

Our party, this week being D-Squared Kjibby, headed to the Starbucks for our inaugural receipt on the Permanent that rolls from Novato to Cazadero and back. The route is a repeat of a Brevet we did in February with the Santa Rosa Cycling Club. The weather promises to be better than two months ago (wind! Drizzle! Rain!), but not as balmy as I had dressed for (sleeveless jersey and no knee warmers – it's APRIL!!!).

Over all, the route is moderately hilly, with 6,600 feet of climbing over 125 miles. The cruel part is the last climb is about 1.5 miles long and 12% grade for most of it at mile 108. But I can't start whining about  that now!

The marine layer obscures the sun. I'm committing the sin of wearing arm warmers and a sleeveless jersey, leaving the dreaded gap of my shoulder exposed. This is against the Rules, of course, but I am being practical about my poor planning instead of cow-towing to the absent governing body of the Velominati.

We roll at 8:25, heading out Novato Boulevard past Stafford lake. Short rollers cut through green hills dotted with Happy Cows ™. We drop to Pt. Reyes-Petaluma Road and cut to Hicks Valley Road, the approach to our first bigger climb of the day. I like having a good climb earlyish in the ride. The effort gets my blood moving and my muscles warm. Otherwise I feel somewhat sluggish for far too long. Wilson Hill is marked by a sharp blind right turn. If you haven't downshifted just before the turn, you will either fall over or break your chain, for you are turning into a wall. Fortunately (?) our group has done this climb many times and we are prepared.

The only way for me to tackle a wall like this is to get my legs spinning as fast as they can with whatever momentum I may have accumulated and then gradually slow to an impressive 2mph pace. For the first 100 yards or so, I'm out in front. Then Kurt passes me and I eat his dust. It's a fine dust. Only the best dust for me. Then Denise. I pace her as best I can, mucking on to her wheel from 30 feet back. Then. I hear breathing. Heavy, raspy breathing. Great. A freaking pervert is chasing me up Wilson Hill. He pulls just close enough to where I can see who it is literally breathing down my neck. I look over at him. He doesn't make eye contact. (Don't notice me coming up on your left to pass you. Whistle whistle). I push harder on the down stroke. Nothing is said. The grade levels (well, shallows) imperceptibly. I pedal harder and pull off maybe 20 feet. The sound of his breathing fades a bit. This effort puts me a little closer to Denise and I pass her. Alas, there is hill left. The slope kicks up again and she's now ahead. The breathing behind me is more distant. The top is in sight. I push harder again and find myself in front of Denise. I start to relax. I begin to let my guard down. The summit is right there! From nowhere, heavy breather is sprinting to the finish. Bastard! I dig down with everything I've got and pull away. I hear him laugh and congratulate me. We both hope we won't pay for it later in the day. Our friendly competition set the tone for the day. We traded wins and barbs most of the day and made each other work harder than we had to to get the job done.

With an out and back, what goes up must come down. And, alas, what goes down must also come up. The fun and fast descent on the north side of Wilson Hill would lurk in our minds for the next 8 hours. We would be climbing it at mile 108. Which is just plain rude, I say.

stock photo stolen from the internets

But in betwixt, there was bucolic countryside. And in between, fields of wild irises, Highland Cows, Tomales Bakery and lunch in Cazadero. But we needed to run the rollers between Tomales and Valley Ford. The first one is a sharp reminder that we have sat too long at the bakery and eaten too many cheezy-bread sticks (loaded with butter) and our legs have cooled off. It hurts. Soon the energy returns to our legs as the pastries enter our bloodstream. It's quick to Valley Ford. We lament as we pass Freestone Bakery. We lament as we reach the top of Bohemian Highway in Occidental that we're not stopping at Barley and Hops. Jim, Kurt and Denise are ahead. I check on Dave, see he has crested and take off down the hill after DK-J. When I catch them, I've got some speed up and I shoot on past. I maintain for awhile and then ease up. It's lonely out in front and more fun to ride with my buddies. We hit Monte Rio as a group and turn to the west and onto Cazadero.

At some point during the ride, Jim has made a comment about the wind which I didn't hear. Based on Dave's reaction, it was something that would invoke the angry Headwinds Gods. Dave decides to teach Jim a lesson. After lunch, we head back whence we came. Kurt pulls for a long time, keeping us at a merry (personal record!) clip. Kurt rolls off the front and Jim maintains the pace. My butt is killing me, my legs feel fried and I'm whining on the inside. But I stay on. Jim leads us back to 116. We turn east and Jim rolls off the front. A strong pull for a considerable distance. Dave is now in front. He gives 3 pedal strokes and rolls off. As he passes, he says, “as soon as you are in front, roll off. We're going to make Jim pull.” Denise is now in front. She rolls off. I roll, and as I'm sliding back past Jim, I see him grinning. He knows something is up. Jim is out in front again, having had a 2 minute rest instead of the 20 or so minute rest he would have had.

We begin the climb back up to Occidental. It's mostly gradual and annoyingly long. I see my compadres pull away from me. I'm so weak. So pathetic. So tired. So-I have 50 more miles to go-whiny. Dave and Kurt are leading the way with Denise and Jim close behind. Kurt gradually pulls further out in front. I keep Jim and Denise in my sights, but am still a good quarter mile back. My quads are on fire, my butt is aching to the point of nausea. Finally, I pass under the Camp Meeker arch that spans the road. Close now, I tell myself. My psyche picks up a bit. “You're not tired, it says. This is what Getting Stronger feels like.”

So many of these rides I'm expecting to coast. Training for Death Ride the first season, every week was the hardest ride I'd ever done. So now I expect to be able to coast. I'm in shape! I tell myself. And yet, I see riders who are much much faster and stronger climbing the same hills and finishing the ride just as whipped as me. [But faster]. As a friend says, “Remember when you're whining, the other guy is whining too.” I've forgotten – or refused to remember – what training feels like. What it takes to get stronger. If the ride isn't hard, I'm wasting the day. When does it get easy? Recently I've been saying, “I don't want to work that hard” instead of Embracing the Suck.

The newspaper spins, the dates and headlines change and eventually, we find ourselves back close to the base of Wilson Hill (the hard way). [oh, you youngsters will never understand that reference]. Feeling low on life and low on confidence, I eat a shot block. We chat for another minute. Hmmmm. I'd better have a second one. The hill awaits. We pass a ranch driveway on the right. Hanging from the Bar is a life-size plastic (?) horse and a bicycle that has ridden its last ride. We take the fateful left bend that dips us down into the pits of despair where the Wilson Hill Dementors linger to suck out our life forces before the 12% grade. At least it's still light out, I say to myself. At least it's not raining.

Let the trudgery begin! I restart my new mantra. “I'm not tired....” Wilson is the last real climb. Once over it, there are the rollers on Novato Boulevard and then beer! Less than 20 miles to beer! Finally at the top, we negotiate down hill order. Jim is fastest so he goes first. I go next, then Denise. I tell everyone not to worry when I miss the turn, that I'm going to overshoot it and circle back instead of making that sharp left at speed or slowing down to take the turn. I lose a lot of momentum that way. It takes me a minute or so to catch Jim. We ride Hicks Valley pretty hard, having decided to regroup at the intersection. A jog back to Novato Boulevard and we're finished in 10 miles.