Countdown

In four evenings' time, I will have completed the Death Ride.

Meanwhile, Five Months Later...

For five months, I focused on a single day. Training, preparing, dreading, anticipating. I've ridden all I can ride to ready my body for the ride. I've pushed myself to go on when I wanted to stop, bargained with the devil to reach the top of hills. I've frozen, I've baked. I've eaten more energy bars than I care to recall, more bananas than a chimpanzee and more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches than a first grader.

For five months, I focused on a single day. 23 early Saturday morning alarms, 23 times loading the bike, 23 times donning the bike shorts, 23 times loading the gear, 23 times shortchanging the dog, 23 times leaving a sleeping child, 23 times leaving at sun-up or before.

For five months, I focused on a single day. A lot can happen between now and the end of the Death Ride. My mind and body are ready. But things happen: Mechanical failures, flat tires, other things that could slow a rider down. The Death Ride has time constraints. For a slower rider like me, proper time management is the thin line between success and failure. There are key cut-off times to be met in order to continue on and complete the full five passes. A single flat probably won't make or break my timing. Multiple flats probably would, although I would do my best to not allow that to affect the outcome. But if it happens, it happens. I would be disappointed but not devastated.

For five months, I focused on a single day. But while I was focusing, I was also living. And living big. And being present.

On the bike, there isn't an escape. The bike can be an escape, but you don't escape yourself. Your mind can spin as fast as your pedals do. Your mind can spin happy, strong, positive thoughts, or it can spin negative, exhausted, this-is-too-hard thoughts. Legs that feel like lead during one climb can have a surge of energy and dance on the pedals during the next climb. Where your legs go, your mind follows. Where your mind goes, your legs follow. No matter what, you move forward. You get stronger physically and mentally. You push yourself and seek out challenges. Maybe that seeking is a new experience. Maybe it's one you once had 'back in the day' and have rediscovered it.

For five months, I focused on a single day. While I was focusing, I was getting to know my team. I spent 8, 10, 14 hours on a bicycle seat with a very small group, but had the camaraderie of a larger group. Still, the Death Ride team is small and intimate. Our conversations filled the day, kept the voices out of our heads. I've learned about family histories and I've shared some of mine. We know each others' strengths, weaknesses, foibles and annoyances. Surprisingly, some of the team still even likes me.

For five months, I focused on a single day. I will not forget the richness of our shared experiences, our laughter, our tears at the sharing of a loss. I will not forget how good beer tastes through sweat and salt, and the magic of chocolate milk or Honey Stingers or a really cold Coke. I will not forget our wonderful Honorees, our dedicated Volunteer Coaches and Staff and the new friends I've made along these 2600 training miles and 213,000 vertical feet. I've had the best time. Thank you. You rock.

For five months, I focused on a single day.

And now, it's time.

Wax On, Wax Off.

Dear Mr. Miyagi,

What seemed like rank sadism to your disciples clearly was a master plan. While I didn't always appreciate or understand your wisdom in choosing these routes for our rides, having seen and ridden some of the mountain passes we will ride on July 14^th, I now have a grasp that there was a method to your madness. And a madness to your method, as belied by your evil chuckles when describing a day's route.

Mt. Diablo early in the morning. Because we will climb Monitor Pass in the dark and descend into the rising sun. And it will be chilly.

Tunitas Creek Road at mile 60. Because we will be climbing the backside of Ebbetts Pass at mile 60.

Pescadero Creek Road at mile 92. Because we will be climbing Carson Pass at mile 90. While it's not as long, the steep part of Pescadero Road is similar to the steep part of Carson.

Coleman Valley Road. So we understand and conquer a sustained steep grade. And because the pros ride it.

Kings Ridge Road. Because we just need to be rewarded with beauty sometimes. And a screaming descent.

Page Mill Road. Because it's long and relentless. Like the front of Ebbetts Pass. And the descent has some steeply banked hairpin turns, like the front of Ebbetts.

Mr. Miyagi, all that car waxing and fence painting seems to have done us some good.

Faithful readers have noted there has been a gap in the ride reports. For this, I apologize and appreciate your indulgence. Rest assured, I have been pedaling my sorry patootie off. We're regularly riding over 100 miles and 9,10 or 11,000 feet of climbing. Being on the bike, or around the bike, or prepping the bike or loading or unloading the bike makes some Saturday ride days 14 or more hours long. I'm done tuckered out and Sunday becomes a feeding frenzy (post-ride tapeworm) while my brain is still fogged from exhaustion. Then there's that whole work thing that takes up the other 5 days...

So the legs have been turning but the creative juices... not so much. I have a brilliant thought (no! really!) at the first SAG stop at 10AM, but by 3PM all that is happening is me wondering when I can stop and take some ibuprofen to make my butt stop hurting.

Alas, I am not permitted whining.

However.... while I have seen the value of many of the climbs, and the reason for sustained 12 or 15 mile / 3500 foot gain types of climbs, I'd like to present a list of climbs which I don't ever see the need to do again, for I have been there, done that, bought the T-shirt:

South Park.

Jamison Creek.

Redwood Gulch.

Sierra Road.

In 3 weeks time, I will be sitting in a hotel room in Minden trying to sleep until the alarm goes off at 3AM, when really, I'll be anxious about the upcoming ride. Before other century rides, I didn't question my abilities so much. I trust the training we have done thus far, but 129 miles is a long day and 15,000 feet is a lot of altitude. At altitude. Maybe then, I will appreciate the reason for those 4 climbs.

As we approached Ebbetts Pass during Altitude Camp last weekend, I said to my teammate, “I'm traumatized by the unknown.” I had driven Ebbetts, but what I remembered, we didn't ride, and I remembered it being worse than it was. She reassured me that Ebbetts was nothing I hadn't done before. And Ebbetts is the most difficult set of passes on the ride.

Seeing the terrain of the passes, being able to visualize the route, knowing I can ride the last 3 passes (but all in one day?!?) has eased my mind considerably.

It will still be the hardest ride to date that I have ever done. I'm looking forward to conquering it.

I believe the term is "sufferfest"

The question “what did they mine on Mines Road?” or was it named after someone named Mines prompted me to open the Interwebs and do a little investigation. It turns out there was coal in them thar hills back in the day. To the east of Mines Road, Tesla Road continues into Corral Hollow, which was a rich coal mining area. A little known fact is that before coal was discovered in 1855, the Vikings settled here, navigating their Viking ships through the Golden Gate and up the Sacramento delta, until they ran aground. Working southward, they made the lush hills of the Livermore area their home, ranging their cattle on the abundant pastures and using their horns for their helmets.

[More information on the history of the area can be found here.]

It is here that today's story begins. Starting just south of the Murrietta's Well historical marker, at hours known only to owls and hunters, we donned our cycling shoes, gathered our water and our strength, and mounted our trusty steeds in dreaded anticipation of the next 9 hours in the saddle. For, although we were out here in cowboy country, it was not on the backs of large beasts of burden that we'd be traversing this rugged landscape. Nay, we would be providing our own horsepower. One roasted potato or banana at at time. On a much narrower saddle.

Our route would take us 44 miles to the south and west, and then turn northward to complete the loop for 108 miles total.

When we began, we were handed a route sheet. Fearless leader thoughtfully provided an elevation profile. Mostly flat, with Jane Russell laying somewhere in the middle. What wasn't clear was that Jane Russell's ta-tas dwarfed the other “bumps” along the way, making some serious “bumps” appear like goosebumps.... I believe there also may have been some photoshopping to make the actual saw-tooth ride profile seem a little more derailleur friendly.

Mines Road – a pleasant ride in the early morning. The remaining scrubby wildflowers glow in the soft morning light. A few bunnies cross in front of us. Fluffy white tails scramble into the bushes. Later in the day, I'm told, the heat can be unbearable. The road trails a steep hill side with a western exposure. The sun warms the rocky facade and radiates the heat.

However, it also starts out with a climb. (there seems to be a pattern with our rides: always UP). The first little rise looks innocuous. Not so bad. I don't need to granny this. I can even stay in my middle ring for this. Until we make the first left hand bend. Oh. It's longer. Much longer. Better shift down and spin it out.

I actually like a little climb in the beginning of the ride – not anything huge, but something to get my blood flowing helps me to warm up much more quickly than 10 miles of flats where I just feel sluggish and inadequate. I might add that I often feel sluggish and inadequate, but at least when I'm climbing I'm distracted from that by my misery.

The authorities have thoughtfully provided mile markers to let us know how much longer our misery might continue. Ostensibly for air patrol in the event of fires, but we cyclists know (and it IS all about us, dontyouforget) it's really the count down to the summit of Mt. Hamilton (or Jane Russell's right....)

Once we climb for a bit, the road “flattens” into some rollers. We follow a creek bed for a bit. Climb some more. On one stretch, we see an A-frame sign (borrowed from a realtor, no doubt) with poster board taped to it. In large hand-written block letters, the word “Viking” with an arrow pointing right.

We look right. Behind a trail gate stands a Viking. WTF?! He waves. We wave. We continue on. Just what was slipped into our water bottles, anyway? If we hadn't all seen the Viking... but we did. He was real.

A few miles later, we pass a cattle round up. Lot's of cute little moo-cows and moo-calves in a large pen. Maybe a branding? Men in their summer straw cowboy hats stand on the rail. The calves stare at us curiously. Could we really be their first exposure to cyclists? Back country cows, not like those worldly urban Marin cows--cycling's in their milk... just as we pass, a single cow lows like a cellist in a subway tunnel.

Pedaling along, a man sits on a fire hydrant under a tree. With his brief case and a reusable grocery bag, he waits. He waves. We wave. We joke he's waiting for the Mt. Hamilton casual carpool. I'm beginning to feel like I'm in the middle of a Monty Python skit and soon shrubberies will begin exploding.

And this is all before our first “real” climb of the day. Delirium couldn't possibly be setting in already. It's not even 10AM!

Eventually, we make it to The Junction – the nexus of San Antonio Valley Road, Del Puerto Canyon Road and Mines Road. The Junction. Serving such fine wines as Burgundy, Chablis, Chardonnay, Chillable Red, White Zinfandel, they also offer burgers, sandwiches, fries, cheese fries, chili cheese fries... and strawberry shortcake! Perhaps sometime I'll be lucky enough to actually be by there when it's open. Meanwhile, they generously allow cyclists to use the porta-potties. Our SAG gods had pulled out into the wide spot in the road next to their driveway. Our first opportunity to refuel, refill, reapply and empty, not necessarily in that order.

In the San Antonio Valley, I see Yellow-billed Magpies, Acorn Woodpeckers and an unidentified Oriole among the usual sparrow suspects. We ride past hundreds of ground squirrels who race us and dodge into their underground bunkers.

Mile 26.5. The top of Hamilton comes at mile 44. We still have a few bumps before the climb begins in earnest. And then it comes. Bianchini, meet Jane Russell. Up we go. Up. Up. Up. Please level just a little, I plea to an immovable anomaly in topography: rocks formed in the Upper Cretaceous period at least 65 million years ago. Like the rocks care about this tiny speck trying to scale its exterior. I'm on roads created from trails broken hundreds of years ago. These roads weren't built for cyclists. They were built for sure-footed creatures who could navigate steep slopes, not pathetic hairless creatures on two feet who think it's a great idea to ride two wheeled vehicles for entertainment.

But there I was, seemingly on purpose. Like I signed up for this somehow. Please, I said. I just don't have enough pain and suffering in my life. Make me go on bike rides that take me up mountains when it's really hot. Make my teammates suffer so much they completely cramp up. Or throw up on the climb. Yes, this is what I want! I must have this!

Eventually, a breeze slips through some trees and down the hill. I am encouraged by this because I allow myself to be deluded by the notion that mountaintops are windy; ergo, wind = top. So as the breeze increases, besides cooling my overheating head and feet, it gives me hope that I can finish this #$%%$#$##!! climb without stopping or falling over. But there's a twist. Always one more twist. At the top of Mt. Hamilton, the last mile turns steep again. A nice little F-You to the cyclist. Nature laughs last.

Our SAG from Jane's armpit hopscotched us and was waiting at the top with more water and soda. Nothing like a coke after a 6 mile climb. Or even a pepsi. We congratulated each other for a job well done and cheered in those arriving after us. A last little burst up to the observatory (bathrooms!) - I wash some of the salt from my face and reapply more sunscreen. Life is now good – we have a 20 mile descent in front of us with a few minor climbs.

I wish I were better at descending than I am. I bank right better than I bank left and I can't figure out why that is. Maybe it's being on the outside of the curve vs the inside. I know I frustrated a few folks that got stuck behind me (sorry) and I'll continue to work on it. Still, 20 miles of downhill is not a bad way to spend the better part of an hour, even if your hands cramp up a bit. Even if Jane's Left is waiting for you in another 15 miles.

Sierra Road. This would be Jane's Left if we were to continue this tortured analogy, and we are. I think the second worst part about Sierra Road is the psychological toll it exacts from the very beginning. I cycle along on Piedmont Road, content in its flatness. And then I make the turn onto Sierra Road and am confronted by the road going up at what appears to be a 90 degree pitch in front of me – with no top in view. I believe the first words out of my mouth were … unprintable. Okay, I tell myself. Lisa says it's steep but levels out briefly in a few places to give little breaks. So in this case, “leveling” means going from 14% to 10% grade. Briefly. How I wanted to stop! But the hill was so steep I knew that if I stopped, I could never get back on my bike and start pedaling again. I wouldn't be able to spin and clip fast enough to get moving without falling over. If I stopped, I'd be doomed to walking. I'd rather ride at 2mph then walk it at 3...

At a flat spot near the top was a clump of trees. I promise myself I will stop at the tree and catch my breath and cool down some if I just don't stop now. The GU I did at the last SAG stop, not 5 miles ago, is gone. I am eating Honey-Stinger jellies on the way up. The heat, the hill. The heat, the hill. I am so tired. I can't go on. I am so tired. I don't think I'm cut out for this after all. This #@#$%!!^%$@ hill! I used to like Jim, but not so much any more. This is unbearable torture. What am I doing? Just to the tree. To the tree. To the tree.

The tree! The tree! The tree at last! I stop. Guzzle water. I think I take off my helmet? I know it's not the summit but I don't care. I say to Phil, who is waiting for some teammates, I don't care that it's not the summit but I promised myself I would stop if I just made it this far. Lisa and Jim pull up shortly. I see Jim is really suffering and it almost makes me feel bad for taking his name in vain a few minutes prior. Second GU of the hill and we climb the rest of the way. The GU hits Lisa and me at the same time and we quasi-race the last 20 yards to the summit. Our roving SAG is there with more water. Yay Kurt!

The downhill is worth it. It's not too technical so I can keep up pretty well. Feeling good, we're on the home stretch with one little wall (half-wall?) before strolling along Calaveras reservoir. Atop one of the high-voltage power towers, eagles have built a penthouse suite. One parent was babysitting. Even without binoculars, we could tell that there was activity in the nest. Eagles are not small birds. A photographer had a 600mm lens trained on it from the roadside. On the other side of the road, two small falcons (prairie? Merlin?) flittered along. Aaah, Spring.

One more SAG stop (Popsicle!!) and then the home stretch. By this point, my shorts were fused to my skin and my butt was fused to the bicycle seat. It would be a delicate operation to dismount. Back at the car, I extricated myself from the vile shorts while hidden between two open car doors and a hedge. No energy for inner-car gymnastics to change, or for false modesty.

Post ride beer was an Anderson Valley Oatmeal Stout.

Colliding with Denial

Way back in December, I thought it would be a swell idea to do this thing called the Death Ride. I may have mentioned that the thought of this ride held me at bay for 12 years until some sweet talker thought it would be the perfect next step in my cycling apprenticeship. Easily swayed (why now?), I set the alarm on my google calendar so I wouldn't miss the 10AM registration opening. It sold out within hours because there are just that many people as crazy or crazier than I.

[I define those crazier as those who have already done it once and are electing to repeat the experience.]

Then, I was chomping at the bit to get started training. February finally rolled around. The training schedule got emailed out. Oh, gee. By May, we'll be doing centuries regularly. And 11000 feet of climbing. What have I inflicted on my dear Bianchi?

She's a trooper, my little Celeste Veloce. She's still unnamed. There's two kindsa people – thems that name their bikes and thems that don't. I guess I'm a don't-er since I still haven't come up with anything clever or meaningful to either her or me. Celeste – c'mon – every celeste green bianchi is probably named Celeste. Snore. I met someone who un-ironically named their bright yellow bike Sunshine. It was sweet and she rocked the climbs, so who's going to argue? In my mind, I've started to refer to her as my Bianchini (my garbled Italian for Little Bianchi). So maybe that'll stick. Essence of pepperoncini – a little fire and heat and a dash of snarky vinegar (that would be the rider) mixed with the elegance of Italian machinery.

The other ride, when I had my little Bianchini upside down while changing a flat, Jeff K looked over at me (he was also on a Bianchi) as he rode by, shook his head, “...those old Bianchis...” like it was an old FIAT on the side of the road with its hood up. So dry. So perfect.

And yet, my bike is old. It's one of the few steel bikes on the team. And I adore her. People now come up to me on large rides and tell me how much they love my bike. They used to have one and now it's …. doing something else and they're riding something newer and shinier. One ride, every time one woman passed me, she'd call out to my bike, “hello, beauty!” (at first, I thought she was flirting with me, but I realized she was coming on to my bicycle). My bike is on its way to becoming a classic. Sorry about the minor dents and scratches. It won't make it into the Bianchi museum in mint condition, but well-used and well-loved. I said to (whoever would listen) that early in the season I was self-conscious about my old bike. But now? She gets me up the hills. And she gets up faster than fancier bikes. She has great reliable components. Her geometry is fantastic. She downhills well and corners like a champ – probably better than I allow her to do. And her age? It shows my years of cycling. I'm not a Jane-come-lately to this fine sport. I've been out here awhile. Just don't ask why I haven't improved any.

Aw shucks. There I go rambling again. What was my point? Senility?

(pssst – don't get the old lady talking about cycling, you'll be stuck here for hours!)

Oh, yeah. Denial. So when a ride is seven months away, it's easy to think you're going to do all the training rides, go to the gym, lose 20 pounds and be totally buff and strong and look like Peter Sagan instead of this middle aged woman with a little more roundness than she cares to admit at this late point in the season. Too late to diet now!

It's easy to think there's plenty of time to build the climbing muscles and endurance and saddle-proofing.

And then the training schedule comes out. Well... That's ambitious! Okay. What have I signed up for?

And the weeks go by. I've only missed one-half of a training ride all season. 40 miles. Which I kinda made up for in distance one weekend, but not in height. So in that respect, I've been faithful to that part of the program. On our training website, there's a countdown ticker at the bottom of the screen. Starting at over 5 months, it gradually reduced. For awhile, I thought, there's still time. Time to build. Time to train. Time to get ready. And then it became three months. Okay. Still lots of time! Almost 12 weeks of training! And then two months.

Yikes.

Now, we're under two months. We have a month of Centuries (May) which will build our climbing up to 12,000 feet. There will be unpleasantness in the remaining 6 weeks of hard training before we start to taper. There may be tears. Frustration. The possibility of failure looms large. I hear talk of Ft. Ross Road and Meyer's Grade. I've driven Stewarts Point-Skaggs Spring Road. I'm not entirely sure I wish to ride it.

But.

I will because that's what will make me successful on the Death Ride.

And I'm not going to embarrass my little Bianchini. She's been training hard this Spring and she deserves to succeed.  

Up on a Tightrope

My bike has been making these weird creaking noises for much longer than I care to admit. It mostly happens while climbing. Since I've been doing that a lot lately (go figure), I've been hearing a lot of creaking. At last, it came to the point that I thought my handlebars may end up in my hands, detached from the stem, on this or the next climb. Time to call my friends at Freewheel.

I called. I think it's the headset. Lots of creaking, blah blah blah.

Bring it in, we'll take a look.

I trolled for parking and got lucky. Only a block away from Nina's! (what happened to the tree?!). I left the She-Divvil in the car and rode (helmetless!) the block and a half to the bike store. Weird riding in jeans and sneakers on my pedal-stumps, with no helmet. I was without armor! Without anchor!

All the same, I rolled in. Buddy the dog greeted me. He is a black and white pit mix with a very sweet disposition and icy blue eyes. Buddy was very interested in whatever had been in the plastic bag in my jacket pocket. We'd met before, he and I. The folks at Freewheel are lucky he hasn't gone home with me. Yet.

Travis looked at my bike. I described the symptoms again. He leaned on the handlebars and reenacted the creaking sound. Not the headset. The stem bolts need to be regreased and tightened and if that doesn't work we'll look further. Come back in 45 minutes.

Back to the car. Retrieve the She-Divvil. Off to the Panhandle of Golden Gate Park for a poopwalk and who knows what else.

Today was Bike to Work Day. I enjoyed the sheer volume of bicycles on Market Street as I commuted to work this morning. The San Francisco Bicycle Coalition counted over 1000 bicycles in one hour on Market Street. Whoo Hoo! Even if many of them coasted down the last gasp of a hill before the flats of downtown. Like 4 mph. Downhill. (I will not be an ass I will not be an ass I will not be an ass Oh My Fucking God I Have To Pass These People!!! which I did mostly politely, calling out as I passed and anticipated that not all of them would be familiar with the traffic flows of Market Street.)

Over all, it was lovely. I did overhear one woman say how much she loved her bike and how this Bike to Work day helped her remember that. I hope we get more bike commuters out of it. Even though it will probably be a Muni rider giving up her spot in the sardine can for fresh air and endorphins, vs giving up a car, maybe that free spot will enable someone who once drove downtown to take Muni instead. The trickle up effect. And at least one more person will arrive at work in a good mood.

But I've digressed. She-Divvil and I were at the park. She, lunging from tree to tree to read the news. Me, lurching after her. She, investigating gopher holes. Me, checking out the bicycles that travel by. She, inquiring after a puppy. Me, WHAT?

Imagine two trees about 50 feet apart. Between them is a taughtly stretched royal blue ribbon. I look more closely. The blue ribbon is ratcheted down to the tree with a moving strap type apparatus. The tension is enough to keep the ribbon taught, but not pulling the trees in any way. Not like these are saplings, but physics is physics. The ends of the ribbon are about 4 feet from the ground. A young man straddles the ribbon and then climbs onto it. From thin air, there's a mini-circus going on in Golden Gate Park. I watch as he practices, balancing, working with the give of the tape, managing the sway. A woman in black sits on the grass about 100 feet away and watches. I look around. Does anyone else see this? I watch some of the passing bike commuters. One has noticed and I watch him watching. I appreciate observant people and wish I could somehow make the connection: Yes! I see it too!

How can I ride through the Panhandle every day and never have seen this?

She-Divvil and I walked a few blocks west and circled back to the tight-rope. A companion has joined him and they are busy hanging another tape to form a right angle with the original one. I am out of time to watch that unfold.

I love this town.

My New Best Friends

You know it's going to be a good ride when the first Rest Stop has 5 gallon dispensers of Peet's coffee. And coffee is what I needed for this hilly 102 mile ride I was to do after riding 62 miles yesterday. Inadvisable, perhaps, to schedule back to back rides, but that's how the calendar fell and I planned accordingly.

Saturday's ride was a gorgeous stroll through the vineyards. A postcard loop through Russian River Valley, Dry Creek Valley and Alexander Valley. We rode up and down lots of fun rollers and had a few bumps along the way, but Death Ride training has paid off, and I was pleasantly surprised at how quickly the summit to “the hill” arrived. Still, 62 miles will take a toll and I was a tad worried about how I would do today, on 102 miles and 8000 feet of climbing in the East Bay Hills (all of the East Bay Hills, it seemed).

Today, I started off slowly. I always do. It takes that first climb to get the blood flowing to my legs and my lungs to open up. But even after Pinehurst I still felt sluggish and struggled a bit to keep up with the team. Seeing the Peet's made my morning. If you're not familiar, Peet's is a local coffee roaster and purveyor and they make their brew wicked-strong. Richer, deeper, stronger than McStarbucks. It'll take the varnish off your chest. And you'll be happy about it.

We meandered around the Berkeley hills and descended to San Pablo Dam Road. Then talk turned to McEwen Road. Have you “done” McEwen? No, I don't think so. Oh, you'd remember. McEwen loomed large in my mind for the next 18 miles, as unknown hills always do. They take on Everest-like qualities: steep, inhospitable, long, arduous. Not everyone makes it up... McEwen... in my mind.

The second Rest Stop comes about about mile 40. At the bottom of McEwen. So we get to start a climb from a dead stop. No momentum to help us – momentum is my only biking skill. Lisa tells us how good the chocolate GU tasted. I was already having trouble keeping up with her – those workouts on Diablo were paying off – so I figured if I ever wanted to see her tail feathers again on this ride, I'd better do a GU, too. It was the first one I've done all season, although I'm no stranger to the allure of the gel.

GU is my new best friend.

I forgot the legendary combination of caffeine and sugar, all tucked in to a little foil packet that sometimes tastes like what the label says. There have been long discussions over beers about bourbon flavored GU and so forth. I did an “Espresso Love” with 2X caffeine. Espresso Love is my new best friend.

McEwen. Starts out with a yellow sign emblazoned with a squiggly arrow and “Next 2 miles”. Ugh. The first mile is somewhat of a wall, and steep and narrow with a crappy surface. At least when climbing, the surface doesn't matter so much. A bump at 3.5 mph is different than at 35 mph. Still, a bump is a rise in the road that has to be climbed over. Yes, sometimes it is just that trivial. You think it's never going to freaking level off and then bing! the GU kicks in. Out of nowhere, a little more juice in your legs. Pedals turn more easily, the mind eases as the caffeine circulates to the brain and muscles. You start passing people. Not at lightning speed or anything, but this energy has to be sold and the quads make their purchase. I imagine that GU for women must be what it's like for men all the time – their muscles constantly bathed in performance-enhancing testosterone. Jerks.

Not really, of course.

Around mile 80, it came decision time. Do we do the full 109, or do we do the 102 option? Either is difficult. The seven miles in the 109 route involves an additional 500 or so feet of climbing and tours the Oakland Zoo and back around to Redwood Road. A route we did in late February. (Seems so long ago). The shorter option involves going up and over Redwood Road and then back over. The classic out-and-back which means you don't enjoy the downhill side as much knowing you have to climb back up it in a very short while. After the descent, we start climbing to the last Rest Stop. At this rest stop, the group that did the 109 miles meets with the group that did the 102 miles. And the best part? Popsicles.

First, however, you have to reach the stop. On the final ascent, Coach Jim and Vivek pulled ahead. I said to K.Sue, “and that's where the testosterone kicks in.” She laughed. But something was amiss. My bike seemed to be making more noise than the usual rattles and squeaks. Am I riding on gravel? What is with all this resistance? I look down at my wheel, but can't really see it past my water bottle. I'm starting to feel every eucalyptus nut and pebble. I look down again. Is it? Really?

Finally, I ask someone following me. “Is there something wrong with my rear tire?”

“Yes,” he responds. “Actually, it's looking a little low.”

Aaaaaargh. I haven't had a flat since I started my training in 2010, when I changed my tires after having two flats in one commute. Which is an exceptional record. But I guess I hit some thorns because I found two sticking through the tire. My teammate Vivek was gracious enough to stop and help me get it changed – it's always faster with two. Ironically, we were only about 100 feet from the rest stop, but it was still faster to change it and ride than walk the bike and change it at the stop.

Finally, we get to the stop, meet up with teammates, eat popsicles and take care of the usual rest stop activities. Back on the bikes for the second to last climb. A long one, exposed to the sun for most of it. The heat and the sun concerned me more than the actual climb. My legs felt... ok... after 90 miles, 1 GU, 1 pepsi and a popsicle (among other things, but those were the treats). But the sun...

At last, the uphill, downhill, uphill and downhill were done and we were on the home stretch back to the start. Pulling into the parking lot gave me a strong sense of satisfaction. Training was working. This was my longest ride of the season and the most climbing of the season. And, maybe it was all the caffeine (and who cares if it was?), but I felt tired but great, and happy it was in the books. The second Pepsi of the day didn't hurt, either.