A Day I Won't Give Back

Too often, I'll spend time in a meeting, or listening to a bore drone on (and repeat himself, of course) and my thoughts spiral downward to “that's 5 minutes I won't ever get back.”

Today, today? I won't give back.

Today I rode for John Sabel. I met him only once, at an event at a favorite winery in Anderson Valley. It was August 2012. I had just completed my second STP ride with Team in Training and had risen about $6,400 for the cause over the two years. John was clearly recovering from something. As our conversation evolved, I learned that he had had lymphoma. Marrow transplants and the anti-rejection drugs had caused leukemia – which he was fighting but it was taking its toll. I learned yesterday that John died on Wednesday. It made me sad. And it made me glad that I continue to ride for Team in Training year after year. And for your support year after year.

I rode today with John in mind, and shared his story with teammates as we climbed the forested slopes of Bolinas-Fairfax Road on Mount Tamalpais. It was a long climb, but that's what we Death Riders do. Long climbs. I won't bore you with those details as there are so many other I can bore you with. Long, hard, sometimes steep. And long. Sometimes, they're even long.

The thing about Death Ride training is that after awhile, the actual mileage of the ride becomes almost academic; it's all about how many more climbs there are before the damn ride is over. So today, as the mercury approached 70 before we departed idyllic Kentfield flat lands for the slopes of Mt. Tam, I picked up a route sheet but barely looked at it. For the first time, I had no idea how many miles, how many feet of climbing. I just knew that it was set out for me to do and I would do it. I trusted the training and the coaches, and knew that whatever was thrown at me at this point in the season was within my reach. Trust can be a very scary feeling... Mostly, I was scared that I hadn't squirreled away enough food. Hard boiled egg, peanut butter and jelly sandwich, 2.5 performance bars cut into chunks, homemade granola bars... As a teammate said, “Just be glad you didn't have to store all that in your cheeks.” and he didn't know about the banana I ate just before launch. And I'm embarrassed to share just how much of that food I returned with.

I've always over-packed.

I've learned that driving mountain roads in a car is a helluva lot scarier than riding them on a bicycle. For years I thought that the roads on Mt. Tam were too skinny, steep and scary (and, you know, that whole-avoid-roads-with-mountain-in-their-name-philosophy I may have mentioned on every occasion?) to ride on a BICYCLE. I've driven them, sure. Turns out, there's lots of room if the driver is patient and willing to wait for a safe zone to pass. On Tam, most were. Other parts of the ride... notsomuch. But I won't dwell on THAT.

Pardon the vulgarity, but on long rides, shit happens. One teammate got stung by something on her way up to the summit of Mt. Tam. I don't think she even stopped, although I imagine she did blink. Determination. Another, while shifting, her chain jumped and somehow got caught in her spokes and locked her rear wheel. On a downhill. She went down with her bike and another rider couldn't stop in time and ended up also going down. This could have finished either of their rides. But, Determination. She got her bike to a bike shop and had emergency surgery on her derailleur and chain. An hour (more?) delay and she was back on the road with a teammate who was kind enough to wait with her during the repair. The other guy? A little bactine (and probably some bruises that will show up tomorrow) and he was back on the road. (Yay for both!)

After our big, fun descent, we had some smooth flats and a few little climbs – former hills, now bumps – before our “lunch stop” in Pt. Reyes. My riding companion had it in her head that we must stop for a bottled Starbucks Mocha Frapuccino (probably spelled wrong but since it's not a real word I don't feel compelled to look it up). It was too hot for hot coffee and this had the ideal cyclist components: Milk (protein and carbs), sugar (carbs), caffeine (duh), and chocolate (duh). I'm in. So, while we COULD have made an afternoon sampling delectable pastries from the Bovine Bakery, or tasting cheese at Cowgirl Creamery, we downed our prepared beverages (and I am a convert, on bike rides only), made a pit-stop at the loo and went on our merry way to The Marshall Wall.

Bay Area cyclists (and others who travel just to cycle the Bay Area cycling lusciousness) know of The Marshall Wall. In either direction, challenging. Marshall-Petaluma Road traverses the Coastal Range from Route 1 (where all the yahoos like to drive) inland towards towns and villages of non-Western Marin County. Depending on your choice of torture, it can take you to Petaluma (hence the name) or Novato. Today, we climbed it West to East. It's a more gradual climb than East to West, but in no way will make you soft for doing it in that direction. When the temperature is spiking 85+ and it's airless, it's all the more challenging.

We climbed. And sweated. Sweat dripped into my eyes and stung, over-salinating my contacts. Sweat? I was a freaking salt-lick. Coach said: Electrolytes! Sunscreen! I listened. So now I'm applying sunscreen to a face coated in salt crystals. It's like a mini-facial. I'll wake up one big zit tomorrow.

Let me tell you about a cyclist's fantasy. Besides some attractive person (gender of your choice) in an expensive vehicle with an empty bike rack pulling along side of you and saying, “hey, baby, how 'bout I take you and your bicycle to a spa for a mud bath, hot stone massage and then dinner at The French Laundry, and then I'll tuck you in your own room at the hotel and check on you for breakfast in the morning” there's another one.

It rarely happens, but when it does, so memorable. Today's ride was self-supported (ergo, the squirrel mentality). As I approached the summit of The Marshall Wall, I saw a pick-up truck on the side of the road. It's a nice day, there are a lot of riders out. Probably some other team's SAG stop. And then I got a better look at who was standing around (remember, sweat-soaked contact lenses) and realized that this SAG was for US!! So amazing. So gratifying. Our teammate, who couldn't ride this week, took the time to come out and bring us water, ice and POPSICLES. At that moment in time, the perfect junction of Time and Placement, it was The Best Thing Ever. And all the way down the hill, and for the next 20 miles, we talked about the sweetness of our teammate, the sweetness of the popsicles and the cyclist fantasy that had just come true. It is called The Surprise Sag Stop.

Hmmm. Popsicle. Popcycle. It's becoming more clear.

After a few more miles and that many more bumps, we returned to the start and headed on to enjoy a post-ride beer. It's part of recovery – gotta load those muscles with carbohydrates so they don't consume themselves...

On the way home, I am one of the lucky ones who gets to drive across the Golden Gate Bridge into San Francisco. Sometimes there's traffic and it's oh-so-annoying. Other times, I'll see a car with an out of state plate from far away that is video taping the whole Golden Gate Bridge experience. And it reminds me that there was a time that I crossed that Bridge for the first time and I was moved by the experience. I wish I could honestly say it happened every time I cross the Bridge. I'm always moved. I'm just not always that understanding.

What I like about crossing the Gate is the variableness in the weather. Foggy in San Francisco, Sunny in Marin. Sunny both sides, fog under the Span. If you have never actually watched fog form, it's fascinating. Something magical happens and the moisture in the air materializes out of nowhere and condenses into vapor-fingers. Whether this creates wind, or wind creates the condensation is beyond my knowledge. But the vapor-fingers catch the wind and start blowing eastward. Sometimes they coalesce and tumble upon themselves like ethereal tumbleweeds. Sometimes they evaporate after hitting a warm spot and the condensation becomes gaseous again. I have been lucky enough to stand for many days atop Hawk Hill in the Marin Headlands and watch the ebbs and flows of fog currents. I encourage you to do the same.

Tonight, as I emerged from the “Rainbow Tunnel” and approached the Bridge, small tumbleweeds of fog were forming and blowing across the roadway and dissipating. In the distance, downtown San Francisco was still reflecting the retreating sun. A few sailboats still played on the Bay. Sutro Tower, the landmark closest to my home, loomed in the twilight. The lowering sun danced on the Pacific Ocean, and car taillights glowed red as they braked for the toll plaza.

I had a great day today. It was hard, it was spent with truly good people, it had its trials and its rewards. I wouldn't give it back for anything, I wish John Sabel had had one more just like it.