A Permanent with Small Craft Warnings

Davis to Rockville by way of Dunnigan is supposed to be a fun, flat and fast ride. The idea is to start early in the morning so the prevailing afternoon breezes work in the cyclist’s favor. For these reasons, Rob chose this ride as his reentry to Randonneuring after a foot injury. He needed to get his 200K for February continuing his streak to 74, making my 19 month streak seem paltry. Based on his description of beautiful rolling green pastures, tailwinds and a brewery stop (duh), I joined19 cyclists at 7AM in Davis for a 200K ride.

The first clue something might be amiss was a glance at the weather on my phone. Little “gust” icons dominated the hour-by-hour breakdown beginning at 10AM. I hoped this foretold of winds working with us. Driving to Davis at 5:30AM revealed a different interpretation of time as it related to weather. It was already gusty; the trees lining the highway stooped like old men. The wind pushed my car around and my roof-mounted bicycle functioned as a main sail. One does not simply tack upwind at 70mph.

In the parking lot, we prepared for the day. I had dressed for 65 degree weather. Fortunately, I had brought the arm warmers and leg warmers! My brevet card was anchored under my phone lest it become airborne, never to be seen again. Best decision of the day was buying coffee for my start control receipt. At least it was warm.

Off we went. A strong cross breeze kept us alert as we headed west. Too quickly, we turned north. Into the wind. At first it wasn’t completely in our faces but the result was the same. We struggled to maintain 9 and 10 miles per hour. After Woodland, we headed northwest directly in to the wind. I found myself off the back of the pack. I could see a group ahead of me. Like a rabbit in front of the greyhound, just out of reach. I was operating close to capacity and could not catch them. Rob stopped and waited for me – on a fixie with one foot clipped in and his ortho-booted foot on a flat pedal. He started up and I was quickly dropped again. I battled the wind again, trudging head down trying to keep a low profile. A bit later, Jason backtracked for me. He stayed with me and patiently pulled me up to the pack. Once there, I vowed to stay within the protection of the group. Unfortunately, Kurt got a flat. Having fought headwinds alone for 5 miles, I knew I had to stay with the group. If it hadn't been for Patrick, Darrell and Drew doing major pulls....

Three hours and 25 flat miles later, we reached the first control which also marked a change in direction. We sat on the sunny protected side of the building and waited for the riders that had been culled from the herd.

For the next few miles, we would have cross winds and rollers. At times, the road cut below the lip of the hill and we had a brief tailwind. But then we’d emerge from the lee side and be blown asunder, sometimes across the full lane. I had to be careful not to lean too hard into the wind in case it suddenly stopped and I would find myself in a ditch.

At last, we turned south. Glorious south. Our 25 mph headwinds suddenly became tailwinds. I found myself accelerating up hills and wishing I had a 10 tooth sprocket to drop into. The grasses showed silver as they bent with the wind. We flew over the miles. Over time, our group of 19 fragmented. I found myself riding with Denise and Kurt. John and Yogy leapfrogged us but we arrived at the turn-around control together just as the faster group was departing.

We steeled ourselves for headwinds on the return. We had some exposed suburban riding that paralleled the freeway – always windy but today was a special treat. Where we flew an hour earlier, we again struggled to make forward progress. Turning on to Pleasants Valley Road was a relief. Denise and Kurt and I were spread out, not taking advantage of a pace line to rest. Instead we were each pulling ourselves. We were too far apart and it was too windy to suggest otherwise (in wind, no one can hear you scream). Wind and a gradual ascent depleted my mental and physical reserves. It was now mile 90 and not mile 20. It felt like a 1000 mile march. Just. Keep. Pedaling.

Pleasants Valley Road isn't completely cruel. The first two mile straightaway into the wind was sadistic. The road becomes more protected, although it's still a gradual climb. There is a summit to Pleasants Valley masked by bends and trees. Suddenly, the pedaling gets easier. A last little hurdle and we were to Highway 128, which meant about three miles to BEER!

As I turned into the loose gravel parking lot at Berryessa Brewing, my main concern was not falling over in front of my cycling buddies. But then Sarah handed me a double IPA and all was right with the world, at least until I got back on my bike for the last 15 miles. Denise left before Kurt and me. We, with our red taillights and bright headlights, opted to relax and finish our beers. We pulled back onto 128 in twilight. The wind had calmed itself a little. We ground out the remaining miles as the sun set and the stars appeared. The lights on the horizon were our destination and we monitored them closely to see if they were getting any closer, any brighter.

Twelve hours later, we turned into the starting parking lot and greeted our friends over a beer. Lanterne Rouge.

It was a difficult day. The ride itself was challenging. But I had prepared for a low key ride and rode hard instead. The scenery was lovely, especially when we turned west of Dunnigan. Rural California has its charms. And some really crappy roads.

What I will remember from the day is the wind. Wind. You can see where it's been, but you can't see it. You can hear it though. So many different sounds of wind I heard that day. A headwind is deafening. The roar in your ears obliterates ambient noises. One has to speak purposefully to be heard. Tailwinds are nearly silent. Subtle differences between the whoosh when the breeze catches a mature leafy tree and the rustle in a smaller tree. The whine of overhead electrical wires. The lonely squeal of a rusty gate straining against its lock. The hiss of grass blowing.

What I will treasure from the day is the sense of community. We worked together, we suffered together. We celebrated together. It was epic.