Right Church, Wrong Pew

A Series of Unfortunate Events (apologies to Mr. Snicket)

8:30PM Saturday

I shouldn't be writing this right at this moment. I should be sitting with the other randonneurs who participated in the Dart, a team event in which teams design their own 200k route to converge on a meeting place at a specific time (namely, 13.5 hours after they started). Teams must not exceed 5 bicycles and of those, at least 3 must finish together.

Team Will Ride for Beer started with four riders, one with a hinky back. For a change, I was first to arrive at our meeting spot - the Martinez train station. From there, our filed route was up to St. Helena and then over the ridge at Lake Berryessa to drop to Winters and then on to Davis for the convergence on Sudwerks.

We rolled out shortly after 6. Almost immediately, Kurt exclaimed (well, maybe something less family friendly), and stopped to examine his bike. His rear shifter wasn't working and he only had two speeds--slow and slower. Or spin and spinnerer. Levers were flipped and released, cables examined. Kurt knew he couldn't ride 125 miles with two gears. None of us could blame him.

 6:15AM and then there were three.

After obtaining our start control receipts at Safeway, the fearless trio was underway. Phil set a challenging pace up Franklin Canyon. We turned on to Cummings Skyway as the sun appeared. The clouds had a Wild West, high chaparral feel to them and were daintily pink-tinged. One of the Richmond refineries pumped out pink steam. The parched hills glowed in the donzerly light, appearing far more lush then a closer inspection would reveal.

After a wicked descent down Crockett Boulevard, we turned our attention to the Carquinez Bridge. The light was still muted, the Strait calm and reflecting pastel blues and pinks far below us. A small craft headed south, its wake disrupting the reflections.

Barely halfway across the bridge, I heard a familiar voice muttering something about silly cyclists who are willing to ride 13.5 hours just for beer. Don't they know you can buy it in stores? Mr. Hawks, our illustrious RBA, and his team of three rode with us for a bit. We visited and discussed our routes, potential meeting places for the final (beer) control in Winters. And then he apologized in advance for not leaving any tomato basil pesto pizza at the Model Bakery in St. Helena. Hmmph. We stopped at our control and off they went.

Our route took us through familiar territory. First, Lake Herman Road. It's a series of rollers that starts with a modest climb that is over rewarded by the following descent. Then a few little steep bumps that can be powered over with accumulated momentum. Finally, a last little climb and fun downhill to Lopes Road.

Lopes Road is one of those roads that has headwinds in every direction. No matter which way you ride, the wind is in your face. Or maybe blowing you sideways. This morning, the wind was absent. Strange but true. We appreciated the favorable conditions as we rode towards our next control. I spotted an American Kestrel (male, for those keeping score at home) and pointed it out. "Kestrel?" Jim quipped. "I thought they just made bikes."

After Cordelia, our next hurdle was Wooden Valley to Highway 128, which takes us up and over (and down) into Napa. I have always enjoyed the scenery in Wooden Valley. Vineyards and goats. What's not to like? But the road itself has always sucked my soul. It seems flat but climbs at 1 or 2% and sometimes 4. Nothing huge, but when a road looks flat but still feels hard, I question my abilities, acknowledge that I must indeed suck at this bike thing and whine a little more inwardly. My riding companions may differ with the "inward" statement. Whatever.

But recently, I had the chance to do Wooden Valley in reverse. And experienced a really fun and fast ride back to the flats from 128. I realized the net downhill on the segment and forgave myself for past and future suckiness. This mental shift made Wooden Valley downright pleasant  today. And there was no headwind.

At the T of Wooden Valley and 128, we stripped, denatured, and prepared for the climb to Napa. It was cool, but not too, breezy, but just enough, and travelled, a bit too much. Cars passed briskly and a bit too close, but then a good citizen would come along and remind us that not everyone is a freaking douchebag.

At last we hit the Silverado Slog - I mean Trail. It's pretty and smells nice. Wine fermenting, lees and must composting near the vineyards. Vines decked out in their Autumn best, creating a patchwork tableau of oranges, greens and yellows depending on the grape variety. In the morning it's fairly pleasant. The wine tourists haven't arrived yet.

Things were starting to go South with Jim. He kept falling back. We realized his back must really be hurting. We got to St. Helena and he fessed up. He couldn't put any pressure on the pedals and could only spin. He was done.

1:45PM. And then there were two.

We all had lunch - or cupcakes - and, yes, I got a piece of that pizza, and discussed our options. The two of us could finish the ride and not receive credit, or we could ride back to Martinez and call it a day. We decided it was 125 miles either way so we opted to finish at our car instead of in Davis, which meant missing the bike party.

We saddled up and started down the Trail, taking turns pulling and maintaining a robust pace. We elected direct over scenic. Traffic and urban was our game. We got a tour of Vallejo. Our plan was to ride the revamped bike path along the Carquinez Strait. It's flat and along the water, they said.

It's not, and getting to it isn't either. Then Phil mentions the road might be closed and we may have to ride the short steep section of McEwen. I say, if the road is that bad, can we walk it? We arrived at the barricades and shined our lights at the closure. Let's try. What's the worst that can happen? We turn around? We made it through and continued on to where the road closed for the bike path. We carried our bikes over the one-way spikes. I tripped and gave myself a flat shoe - damn spikes. We started (up and) down the road. Past the bollards and onto the path. A dream surface. The lights of Martinez shimmered on the water. A few small lizards warmed themselves on the pavement's retained heat. They didn't run - the path was just opened and they weren't conditioned to the lights and sounds of bicycles. We were not perceived as a threat, and we did our best to dodge them and not become a threat. Leaving the path deposited us on some crackly road and a few more little bumps.

6:46PM. And then we were finished.

12 hours, 26 minutes and 120 miles later, we were back at the train station. We did the distance, ended with a beer, but didn't end up in the right place. Two November attempts at my 200K (R-16) and now the real test is on to maintain the streak.

It wasn't the ride we planned, but it was a great day on the bike. I'd never ridden to St. Helena just for lunch, but I'd do it again.There's something satisfying about being under your own power and self-determined in your pace and destination. As I said to Phil on the home stretch, I keep doing these rides so I can keep doing these rides.

A Brief Brevet

We watched the weather all week. Early on, I said if it was raining at 6AM, I'd roll over and go back to sleep. That's me, a dedicated Randonneur. Fortune would smile upon us. It was clear and I arrived uncharacteristically early to the start.

We rolled at 8 after taking the Secret Randonneuring Oath, which is a morally and legally binding contract. The solemn ritual completed, we mounted our trusty steeds. Not too far into the ride, Jim noticed his derailleur was rubbing. New bike, cable stretch. Some fellow randos stopped and looked for pliers in their kit-no luck. We kept on. Jim's back was hurting, so in addition to the extra resistance, it was painful to pedal. Jim regretfully threw in the towel and Kurt and I rode on.

Descending Tesla, I heard a bang and an "oh, shit!" From Kurt. I stopped and turned around tentatively.  Kurt was okay, but had a front blow out. We used his last tube. My pump didn't seem to be working right. He couldn't find his CO2 thinger (technical cycling term).

What to do? Call Jim! No reception. I rode back up the hill in search of reception. Yay! Tesla repeats!! Nothing at the top. Damn you, AT&T. I descended to the first driveway and reached Jim.

We made a plan and up Tesla I rode to relay the info to Kurt. Near the top, I got waved down by a truck. Kurt was in the passenger seat. He had trudged to the top and then hitched a ride. I gave them the driveway address where I had had reception and we waited for Jim there.

24 miles and 2100 feet of elevation, great company and post ride beers a little earlier than we thought. We didn't do the 200k but it was a great day anyway.