Today I completed my final weekend of riding with AIDS/LifeCycle in the Bay Area: about 132 miles with 10,000 feet of climbing. (Yikes! I think that's the most climbing I've ever done in two consecutive days.)
I attended my first ALC training ride on May 14, 2005 (but didn't ride in the event until 2006), and since then I've racked up exactly 70,853 miles on the bike. Doing these rides has brought countless joy to my life, and I've been touched by the many stories I've heard from those with whom I've had the privilege and honor to ride.
My next chapter begins later this week, but don't be surprised if at some point in the future you again see my name as a ride leader on the ALC calendar ... or maybe even see me on the event.
I'm not riding in ALC this year, so I don't have a fundraising account. But I encourage you to support your favorite cyclist or roadie in ALC 2015 so that SFAF and the Los Angeles LGBT Center can continue to do their vital work.
Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Ride report: AIDS/LifeCycle 12
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| All by myself (again) at the VA Center in Los Angeles. |
This year, I'm not going to do a detailed day-by-day, mile-by-mile description of what happened. You've heard it all already. Except where noted, the route was essentially the same as before. Rather, here are some random observations from my week on the road.
First, the numbers: Here is my in-motion average pace for every day of every ALC that I've done. Significantly, I set no records this year. However, my elapsed time on several days was better because I took fewer and shorter stops. I was among the first 100 finishers on six out of the seven days, even though many other riders were much faster than me.
| ALC5 | ALC6 | ALC7 | ALC8 | ALC9 | ALC11 | ALC12 | |
| Day 1 | 13.3 | 12.8* | 13.5 | 13.3 | 14.1 | 16.4 | 16.3 |
| Day 2 | 14.5 | 14.0 | 14.1 | 14.2 | 15.2 | 16.2 | 15.7 |
| Day 3 | 13.2 | 11.9 | 13.6 | 12.8 | 13.8 | 16.1 | 14.0 |
| Day 4 | 13.6 | 12.7 | 13.3 | 12.3 | 14.0 | 15.3 | 15.1 |
| Day 5 | 12.0 | 11.0 | 12.1 | 11.4+ | 12.8+ | 14.5 | 14.4# |
| Day 6 | 13.1 | 13.2 | 12.9 | 9.7^ | 14.0 | 15.7 | 15.6 |
| Day 7 | 13.3 | 12.3 | 13.2 | 13.9 | 14.2 | 15.9 | 15.8 |
Notes:
* = Longer, more difficult route along upper Skyline to Hwy. 84
+ = Longer, more difficult route via Solvang
^ = Route truncated at 15 miles due to heavy rain
# = Rode 14 extra miles, mostly flat
# = Rode 14 extra miles, mostly flat
Speed demon? Despite my slower overall pace, I blasted right through my previous top speed ever on a bicycle -- apparently reaching 39.7 mph briefly on Day 4 in the dunes such of Oceano. But more significantly, there were countless times during the week when I exceeded 30 mph, which is highly unusual for me. This could mean that I've finally become a little more comfortable with descending ... at least on familiar, straight roads.
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| Way off the official route. Bad me, bad. |
Tender manly bits: About six weeks before the ride, I bought and installed a new saddle because my old one was beginning to fail after nearly 30,000 miles. I made a key mistake in not getting my new saddle professionally fitted, but the mistake didn't become apparent until a couple of days into the event. I started to have significant, shall we say, interface issues with the saddle, and by the end of Day 4 in Santa Maria, I had managed to get some ugly sores in my nether regions. Because I obviously wasn't thinking clearly, I didn't make the obvious connection until partway through Day 5, when I realized that I should tilt the front of my saddle downward. After a quick adjustment by the helpful Sports Basement bike tech at Rest Stop 2, it was a world of difference -- enough that I rode those extra 14 miles that day just because doing so wasn't painful anymore. (But I'm just now finally beginning to fully heal from the damage that was done.)
Leg: At lunch on Day 3 in Bradley, I visited Sports Medicine for some attention on my right leg, which had started to bother me. I got some tape put on my leg (although it came off within the first five miles and had to be reapplied later that night in Paso Robles), and I got additional tape at camp in Ventura. The pain in my leg was starting to scare me, and I took most of the hills very gingerly the rest of the week. (This probably accounts for most of my speed differential between this year and last year.) I don't regret getting the attention, and although it was a first for me to get taped up, my problems paled in comparison to those of many other riders ... and in the end, I felt a bit silly for using event resources for what turned out to be a very minor matter.
Teams and cool kids: In past years, I've experienced frustration, anger, and depression over the strong presence of "teams" of riders on the event. This year, however, they didn't really bother me at all. The big reason, I believe, is that most of the teams I saw were much more well-behaved on the road than in previous years. Only once all week was I passed on the right by another cyclist (who, yes, was part of a pack of matching jerseys).
Santa Cruz: Much to my surprise, we used another new route out of Santa Cruz on Day 2 ... and it was, by and large, the same route we used for the first time last September in DBD2! There were no rush hour-related slowdowns and very few traffic signals, and it was generally a much more pleasant experience ... except for that nasty, evil hill on Rio Del Mar Blvd. (Strava says 0.3 mile at only 6.9%, but the beginning is much worse.)
Backwards winds: More than in any other year that I can remember, the winds were not favorable. On Day 2, we had headwinds heading out of Salinas (where, last year, strong tailwinds helped me get through the rain), and on Day 3, the final 12 miles into Paso Robles were much more difficult than usual due to very strong headwinds that drove my pace way down for the day. On most other days, the usual tailwinds were not as strong as in the past.
News blackout and social media: In my early years of ALC before I had a smartphone, it was an amazing experience to go the entire week basically without hearing news of the outside world. But when Facebook started to become part of everyone's lives, it was very nice to be able to follow other riders online during the event, and to share one's status both with those riders and with friends and supporters elsewhere. But one big problem of using Facebook during the event is that news from the outside world invariably seeps into one's news feed. When the revelations of NSA domestic surveillance came out, I quickly knew about them, and I spent much of my evening reading more about them, even though I knew that doing so would upset me about the state of the world and take my focus away from the event. One of the magical things of ALC is the ability to get away from everything, but our increasing use of social media on the event seems to make that more difficult if not impossible.
Solitude: Nobody ever claims that ALC is a good opportunity to experience solitude. But because of my riding style of quick/skipped rest stops, I often managed to get the road mostly to myself. That was especially true on Day 7 this year, when I rode the 40 miles from Rest Stop 1 straight through to the end, making me the sixth person to finish the ride. My early morning ride along the undeveloped coast before Mailbu, with nobody around me and before all the packs of local cyclists hit the road, was my highlight of the week. But the cost of getting such an experience during ALC is very high: Skipping rest stops and riding hard are not for everyone, and doing so means that you don't get to experience the rolling party. This, of course, is usually quite fine by me.
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| A rare shot of me on the event, this time with Lorri Lee Lown on duty at the Otter Pop Stop on Day 2. |
The Strava effect: Again this year, I took almost no photos during the ride. Before I started using Strava, I'd often take "photo breaks" which usually were more about having a quick rest than capturing any scenery. But the result is that, now, I end up with very few photographic memories of my week. I'm not sure I need another set of photos of the same things I've seen so many times before (just how many pictures does one need of the fog on Skyline Drive on Day 1?), but it's definitely the case that using Strava stokes my self-competitive fires, perhaps in a way that's not entirely appropriate on an event such as ALC.
The Day 6 fustercluck: For those of us who ride at even just a moderate pace, Day 6 is really two completely separate rides: the 25-mile sprint to Rest Stop 2, a long rest of an hour or more, and the rest of the day. This is because we can't proceed past Rest Stop 2 until 9 a.m., when Caltrans clears a lane for us over a narrow bridge on U.S. 101. Invariably, Caltrans is late in finishing their work, so we all bunch up in the rest stop and wait ... this year, until 9:20. This causes, in essence, a second mass start -- much like the Day 1 ride-out -- with packs of riders immediately entering the dangerous freeway and continuing in large groups all the way to lunch in Santa Barbara. That part of the ride has become my least favorite part of the week, and it's always a challenge for me to improve my mood to complete the rest of this difficult day without getting overly grumpy. After so many years, one would think that Caltrans would know exactly what we need and when we need it. Here's hoping this situation can be improved in the years to come.
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| Lots of fun. I stopped to take off my jacket (and this pic). |
One thing, however, has not changed since my pre-ride report: I'm still fairly certain that I will not be riding in ALC 2014, although I still encourage others to do so if that is what's right for them.
Beyond the millions of dollars and our strong visual statement, AIDS/LifeCycle is a transformative event for many. And many of those transformations do not manifest themselves until after the event, sometimes long after. The week gives us an opportunity to get away from our everyday existences and reflect on how we're living our lives. Quite often, we decide that one or more changes are necessary. I think that's the case for me again this year.
In the meantime, though, it's full speed ahead with Double Bay Double 3. For the third year, I'll be producing this ride for DSSF to benefit the San Francisco AIDS Foundation, and I'd be honored to have you as part of it. As of today, the ride is already more than 40% full; the limit is 50 riders because life is too short for me to worry about permits. This two-day, 210-mile event captures some of the magic that makes ALC great, but it does so in a much smaller, more intimate event where everybody gets to know pretty much everybody else. Although we still follow ALC safety rules, the other aspects of the event are generally far more informal and collegial. Last year, we raised more than $20,000 for SFAF, and I hope to easily surpass that this year. Be sure to sign up early because, this year, the ride is the same weekend as the Monterey Jazz Festival, so you'll need to book your hotel room in Marina very soon.
Beyond that, what's next? Damn good question.
Traditional pre-ALC musings
One week from tonight, I'll be in Santa Cruz at the end of Day 1 of AIDS/LifeCycle 12 (or, as they're apparently calling it now at ALC World HQ, "AIDS/LifeCycle 2013"). And I've already told a few people, so it's no secret, but this is probably my last ALC ride ... at least for now, and possibly beyond.
Eight years ago, I was not at all certain that I could ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles even once, let alone six times so far. I've bicycled every possible mile, with the only gap being the rain-shortened Day 6 three years ago. I've become a progressively better and stronger rider, so much so that I managed a first-100 finish every day of last year's event. And more important, thanks to you, I've raised more than $35,000 in vital funding for the San Francisco AIDS Foundation.
And I'm going to give this all up? Well, in a word, yes. Life changes, circumstances change, and people change. The event itself is still the same incredible, transformative epic that it's always been (it's possibly even better now), and it's entirely likely that I'll continue as a training ride leader. I'll also continue to organize and produce the Double Bay Double for Different Spokes San Francisco. (If this year's event reaches the 50-rider limit, I'm open to giving up my spot and driving a support vehicle so that someone else can ride.) So I'm not going away (yet). But I'm not the same person I was eight years ago.
While I can still pump out 200 kilometers in a day (and, this year, even turn in my fastest elapsed time), I can distinctly feel that my multi-day endurance is beginning to decrease. I did very few days of consecutive long-mileage training this year because I just couldn't bring myself to do it.
Also, with just under 56,000 miles of cycling since June 1, 2004, it's increasingly the case that I'm growing more than a little bored of most of the places I can regularly cycle. (And some of the places I haven't been are simply too challenging to hold much appeal for me. One time up Mount Diablo was plenty for me.) When I lead training rides, I derive considerable energy from those around me, including many who are seeing new cycling territory. When I'm by myself, however, it's far more difficult to get excited about yet another ride up and down Foothill, Junipero Serra, and Alameda. (San Francisco folks can compare their own feelings about riding to Fairfax and back at the beginning and end of almost every ride.)
Another key factor for me is that, contrary to what you might expect, participating in ALC year after year causes me to gain weight that becomes tough to lose. I have consistently gained five to 10 pounds per year every year that I do the event; when I skipped the ride in 2011, I was able to lose those 40 pounds ... but they've started to come back. I could probably address this with a more rigorous training program, but I've steadfastly refused to get "serious" about whole-body training because, for me, it makes the whole thing even more like work and less like play. (To those of you who develop a tough training regimen and achieve great results, you have my respect and admiration.)
This training season has been particularly difficult for me. My "real life" has been unusually full of stress on several fronts, and it's been very difficult to detach from that, even while riding. This year's Mountain View training rides, while suitably challenging and successful, were appreciated by those who did them, but the growth in other Peninsula and South Bay training options left fewer riders (and ride leaders), making the logistics more difficult to manage, for a smaller group of riders. It's quite possible that the Distance Training rides have run their course (feel free to tell me if you disagree), and if I return for an eighth year of leading rides in the fall, I might take things in a different and interesting direction. (Yes, I've been thinking about it. No, I'm not ready to share.)
Then there's the whole matter of fundraising. After eight years of begging and pleading, too many of my friends are sick to death of me. And because so much of my life revolves around the ride, my circle of non-riding friends has become even smaller than it was before. As a result, much of my fundraising (about two-thirds this year) comes from other ALCers, past or present. I'm especially grateful for the donations from other riders, but I often feel as if taking this money is "cheating," even though it all ends up in the same pool anyway. I hope that some of the people who consciously avoid me now might reconsider that position when I don't have an upcoming event that wants their money.
So that takes us to next Sunday. I know I've said this many times before, but my plan is specifically not to be a seven-day speed demon. In fact, since this might be my last ALC ride, I'm seriously entertaining the notion about possibly riding a sweep bus for at least part of one day -- something I've never done before except in a rain-out. I might have longer days on the route so that I can experience more of the many sights along the way. (I've still never had a Pismo Beach cinnamon bun, although I'm not sure my stomach would appreciate it at that point in the week anyway.)
More importantly, I might ride more slowly so that seven days of consecutive riding might not harm my body as much as has happened in some previous years. On Monday after the ride, I have to be all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at work, and I don't have the luxury of a multi-day recovery period.
Also, I'm determined to make this year's ride be for me. Yes, that's a bit selfish, but I feel that I've earned it. This probably means little or no blogging during the week. I plan to ride with Strava just to keep my cycling history there complete, although I'm considering keeping the data private. I really don't want to feel any pressure to compete this year ... with anyone else or, at least as important, with myself. I probably will still try to put in a strong effort early on Day 1, mostly to beat the traditional fustercluck of the mass start out of the Cow Palace and up Skyline and 92 to the coast. But after that, all bets are off.
On Saturday, June 8, after I arrive in Los Angeles, we'll see how much of this actually happened. One thing is for certain: Something unexpected happens on every ALC ride. There will no doubt be many fascinating stories for me to tell. Thanks to everyone who has been -- and will be -- part of my ALC 2013 experience. See you on the road.
Ride report: 2013 Reedley Lions Blossom Bike Ride (3/2/2013)
On March 3, 2005, less than a year after returning to cycling, I made the short early-morning drive from my home in Fresno down to the small town of Reedley for their annual 100km Blossom Bike Ride. I can't find anyplace where I wrote about that day (which might be a good thing), but the numbers on my spreadsheet tell the story: My pace for the day was 12.2 mph, and I distinctly recall it being a very challenging ride -- challenging enough that I never went back for another attempt.
So, last week, when I started looking at places I could ride on one of our "off" weekends from the Distance Training rides, I jumped just a little bit when I saw that the Blossom Ride was indeed this Saturday. At 100k with about 2,300 feet of climbing, it was right in the range of my average Saturday rides for this time of year. I quickly reserved a spot and booked a room, eager to revisit a previous scene and eager to ride something other than another trip up and down Foothill Expressway.
Traditionally, I've tried to go easy before 100k rides. That didn't happen this time. Thursday, I celebrated my birthday by climbing Los Trancos Road for the first time without having to walk part of the way. Friday afternoon, I stopped in Fresno on the way to Reedley and knocked out a quick (and by quick, I mean quick: 16.9 mph pace) 40 miles in my old stomping ground. So when I checked into my motel room in Reedley, I was ready to rest.
Alas, rest was short-lived. I inexplicably woke up at about 2 a.m. after less than five hours of sleep, and I managed nothing more than to drift in and out of consciousness for the rest of the night. (Being located right next to a major highway with semi-trailers braking on the approach to town certainly didn't help, nor did the impossibly firm mattress. And this from someone who normally likes a firm mattress!)
With a 7 a.m. check-in time and a 7:30 a.m. mass start, I did not have the luxury of sleeping in, even if I thought I could stay well ahead of rest stop closures. So at about 6:20, I abandoned any hope of actually sleeping, and I got ready for the quick 1-mile ride to the starting point at Reedley College, across the absolutely horrible four-lane highway bridge into town.
I arrived just before 7:00 and found long check-in lines, grouped by initial letter of last name. And none of them were moving. A random person on the PA system said that they were waiting for "one thing" before opening for the day.
At 7:10, we still weren't moving. Random PA person took to the microphone again, this time to tell us that the route sheets and maps had not arrived but that we'd be OK to ride anyway because route arrows were on the pavement all along our route. Ouch! Route arrows are nice, but it's also important to know how far to the next turn and -- more importantly -- how far to the next rest stop, especially in this rural area where there are practically no other services available. (Not a Starbucks to be seen.) Fortunately, I'd checked the route online before I left, so I generally knew where I was going. (This year's route was generally in the reverse direction from when I did it in 2005, although there were some other changes.)
By 7:25 I had checked in and received my green armband (but no route sheet), so I ambled around and waited a couple of minutes for riders to make their way to the start, although many dozens were still in line. Seeing no mass movement, I rode to the end of the parking lot, where a city police officer was simply letting people go and start the ride whenever they wanted. So I was off!
The first part of the ride was completely flat. And even though the roads were different from my normal Fresno routes, once you've seen one piece of Fresno County agriculture, you've pretty much seen it all. I started early enough that most of the giant pacelines of racers didn't catch up to me until several miles into the ride. A couple of small hills about 15 miles in added a little variety, but soon enough I was at the first rest stop. Thanks to the unseasonably warm weather, I was able to shed my light jacket at this point.
The climbing then began in earnest, with the short but surprisingly steep hill over the top and down into Wonder Valley (which I'd done once before on my own in that direction). More flat to rolling hills through Wonder Valley, and then we were at the edge of the Sierra ... which meant the serious climbing was about to start.
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| Google Street View photo. (I wasn't about to risk getting shot by taking a picture.) |
Yes, Bill Gaede (grandfather to notorious singing twins Prussian Blue) still lives there, even after being shot during a home invasion last year. And the white truck with the swastika on its side was still there Saturday, just like in this photo from Google Street View.
We simply pedaled right on through, trying to look mostly straight ahead, and nothing happened. Dogs were heard but not seen (unlike several other spots along the route, where dogs were running loose).
But then the climb began. It's only 2.9 miles at 6.9%, so it wasn't overly difficult, but it was longer than most of the climbs I do around here. I think I could have made it without stopping, but about two-thirds of the way up, I reached into my back jersey pocket to retrieve a cough drop, and a used shot-block wrapper fell out onto the road. Unlike some cyclists, I wasn't about to litter, so I had to stop to go back and retrieve my garbage. Soon enough, I was at the top -- which, at 1,923 feet, was the highest elevation of the day. The rest of the ride would be mostly downhill or flat, but I remembered enough from the past to know that there would be more than a couple of intermediate surprises along the way.
Indeed, this part of the ride in the Sierra foothills was my favorite part of the day. Roads with little traffic, places that I normally didn't ride while living in Fresno, and just enough other cyclists so that I didn't feel completely alone. (But I saw surprisingly few SAG vehicles during this part of the ride; I'm guessing they were back with the bulk of the other riders who got the late start.) By mile 38, I was about 1,000 feet lower and at the second rest stop: all the essentials in the parking lot of a country store, but nothing overly grand.
Then it was time for the final descent back into the Central Valley. I left with a group from Central Sierra Cyclists, but they were off into the distance within the first mile. By doing the route in reverse from my previous ride, I had the benefit of a longer, more gradual descent that didn't require me to ride the brakes all the way down. Sand Creek Road was a lot longer than I remembered; without a route sheet, I didn't know how much farther I would be on the winding road before I hit the flat road grid of the Valley. Finally, after more than 8 miles, there was an orange route arrow directing me to turn left.
The rest of the ride was almost completely flat. And although we somehow managed to travel both south, west, and north on our way back to Reedley, the day of riding hard started to take its toll on me. I wasn't in pain, and I'm sure I was nowhere near as fatigued as I had been eight years ago, but riding hard through the hills had left me more than a little tired. I stopped for one photo break (see top), at which point about half a dozen riders magically appeared out of nowhere and went on past me. The road was somewhat boring at this point, the auto and truck traffic had increased considerably, and there were no bike lanes, so it wasn't the most pleasant riding I've done. I was ready for it to be over, enough so that I was relishing the little "beep" of my Garmin after every mile completed.
Again, without a route sheet, I wasn't quite sure where we were going. The route took us onto comparatively busy Highway 63, which had a freshly paved surface but no shoulder or bike lane. After several miles without seeing any other cyclists, I began to wonder whether I had missed a turn ... and I started trying to reconstruct my mental road map of the area so that I could make it back to Reedley on my own if I had gone drastically off course. Finally, there was one solitary "straight-ahead" orange arrow on the road at one intersection, although it seemed that we were going farther south than was necessary to get back to Reedley.
Part of the uncertainty was that I didn't know how far it was until the end. I knew that it was officially a "63-mile" ride, but experience on other events has shown me that it could be as few as 63 or as many as 70. And the only visual landmark I recognized was the Reedley water tower, which seemed much farther away than it should be.
And then we were heading north again ... right toward an orange sign that proclaimed, "Pavement Ends." What!? Sure enough, there was a rural intersection that was being completely rebuilt, presumably due to the incessant beating it was taking from heavy agricultural vehicles. (Did I mention the surprisingly poor quality of many rural Fresno County roads?) Fortunately, the packed dirt surface lasted only about 100 feet ... but again, it would have been nice to have a route sheet that warned me of this!
So yes, I was still ready for it to be over. The route merged with the 40-mile route, so there were a few more riders. I reached Mile 63, and I started to see a housing subdivision on the left side. Although the water tower was still far away, I had reached Reedley. An officer stopped traffic and motioned us through a left turn ... and there we were, back at Reedley College and done with the ride.
I didn't know whether there was a rider check-in, so I rode through the lot. But I didn't see anyone directing us to check in, and I didn't see any tent or station for that purpose, so I kept on riding and skipped the complimentary post-ride lunch. Instead, I rode the mile back across the Kings River to my motel, had a quick microwaved lunch I'd bought the night before, showered, and hit the road back to Mountain View.
When I got back home about three hours later, I uploaded my stats and got the good news: My pace for the day was 15.4 mph! That's more than 26% faster than eight years ago, despite my rapidly advancing age! But Strava also informs me that, of the riders who uploaded their results, I placed 32nd out of 52 in terms of total elapsed time, including stops. What annoys me is that all six of the "top" riders skipped the redundant south-west-north part of the route near the end and did only 57 miles, but they got credit in Strava for the whole thing.
Indeed, this was my first non-ALC group cycling event since last summer. I tend to forget that such events often attract a large number of cyclists who believe more in "it's a race, not a ride" than the opposite ... especially in the Central Valley, where the racing culture is very strong. More power to them and their annoyingly sleek cyclists' bodies, but I've grown increasingly spoiled by the ALC (and, to a similar extent, Randonneurs USA) attitude of endurance cycling for "pleasure."
After 55,820 miles (as of Saturday) of this since June 2004, it's increasingly important that I remember the "pleasure" part of the equation. When it stops being fun, it's time to stop. And since I don't want to stop, I need to keep it fun.
One day later, my lower back is very unhappy, either from climbing too hard, from all that driving, or from that unfamiliar bed. I knocked out a quick 22 miles today, but I didn't feel like doing any serious climbing at all, and I was quite ready to be done. With 1,472 miles already this year (compared to 1,396 miles at this point in last year's record-breaking year), I think I've earned a couple days' rest before tackling our 77-mile ride to Pacifica next Saturday. Because it will be fun, dammit. I insist.
Ride report: RUSA Moss Beach 200k (7/7/2012)
But the stars aligned this week, and Santa Cruz Randonneurs happened to be presenting a 200km event on a date that worked for me. Just one problem, though: The route was hilly. Up and down Highway 1 with a diversion into La Honda to climb Haskins Hill, which I'd tackled for the first time only a few weeks ago. But emboldened by my performance on a partial Climb to Kaiser last weekend, I hit the road to Santa Cruz at 4:30 a.m. Saturday ... although I had, perhaps unwisely, done a hilly 40-mile ride just the previous afternoon.
One thing is different about brevets right away: The starting location and the ending location often aren't the same place. In Santa Cruz, the difference isn't all that huge -- less than 2 miles -- but it adds another layer of logistical complexity. Some folks park near the start and then ride back at the end of the day, but for me, when my ride is done, it's done. So I parked at the finish instead -- as several other riders were doing when I arrived -- and did the short ride on the just-barely-light-enough-to-ride streets of Santa Cruz to the lighthouse.
Check-in consists of signing a waiver and receiving one's brevet card: the important document that you must carry with you the entire day and fill out at the checkpoints, or controls, in order to receive credit for completing the event. At each control, you do something like get a timestamped store receipt or answer a question about the location. This is how you prove to the organizers that you actually rode the entire route. (There are, of course, ways to circumvent this, but that wouldn't be very sporting now, would it. And at least one other rider would notice and say something.) I carefully put my brevet card in a plastic bag and placed it in my Camelbak.
After a brief safety speech, our group of about 30 randonneurs was on the road at precisely 6 a.m. Much to our pleasure, there was no fog, there was no wind, and temperatures were in the lower 50s.
The route was almost entirely old hat for me. ALC, of course, goes down Highway 1, and I've been up Highway 1 both on my own and as part of other RUSA events. It's a "lumpy" route without big hills but which quickly builds up the climbing stats. The front group of serious, time-focused riders quickly headed off into the distance, leaving the rest of us to jockey for position. Some of us would fly forward on descents; others would recover time on the short climbs. There was a lot of back-and-forth and, much to my surprise, no significant pacelining (which RUSA does not prohibit, as long as the paceline consists only of riders on that event).
Alas, my stomach was not a happy stomach this morning. Some combination of the early hour and the previous night's Chinese take-out had left my stomach in a confused state where I took a pink bismuth before the ride. I started to think that a toilet might be good idea, and as I approached the Gazos Creek turnoff at mile 25, I had planned to use the portapotty that was at the mini-mart when we used it as a rest stop on DBD1 last autumn. But today, it was gone ... and the Gazos Grill next door appeared to be out of business. (This could give me some additional grief in planning the route for DBD2.)
So I pressed forward another 8 miles into Pescadero, where my store receipt indicates a time of 8:10, well ahead of the 9:36 cutoff time. We got there by taking Gazos Creek and Cloverdale roads, which are certainly a lower-traffic alternative to Highway 1 ... but one with a couple of rather steep pitches that were mercifully brief. On my previous visit to Pescadero, I had found a porta-potty behind a local church, and making prompt use of it today, I was no longer in quite as much gastric displeasure.
Next came the northbound ride up Stage Road to Pescadero and beyond to rejoin Highway 1: three nasty hills. I took them as gingerly as I could, knowing that there was plenty more climbing to come later in the day. By now, our group had become so dispersed that I saw only a couple of other riders, a couple of whom I passed, and another couple of whom flew right by me on the descent as if I was standing still. (Strava reports that I set a personal record on my descent into San Gregorio, but that I'm still ranked number 1,612 out of 1,745.)
The return to Highway 1 heralded the beginning of the mostly-flat section of the ride, through Half Moon Bay, up to the turnaround point at Moss Beach, and back. The north wind was still mercifully light, but the fog had rolled in, making for a chilly, moist mix. I thought this was the part of the ride where I would be the happiest, but I turned out to be wrong. The lumpy part of the route had at least given me short breaks where I could coast down hills; the flat route offered few such rests. When I arrived at mile 58 in Moss Beach, I still was doing mostly OK; my receipt time was 10:10 compared to the cutoff time of 12:12.
But with so many miles behind me already, what did I buy in the store? A sandwich? A snack? Nope. A gallon jug of water. And that was it. (It was cheaper than buying a chilled bottle, and I was able to share it with the few other riders who were also there.) I was drinking my Perpetuem, and I had a Clif Bar, but I was clearly running a heavy calorie deficit. I was focused on having a lunch of Subway comfort food when I returned through Half Moon Bay, and I was forgetting to eat enough before that.
Now, our route went south. But there still wasn't much wind, so there was hardly any benefit to be had. And it was still chilly and foggy. This was the new part of the route for me, between Half Moon Bay and Moss Beach, and it was, to put it mildly, singularly unexciting. Traffic was heavy, there was little scenery to be seen, and there were just enough traffic signals to disrupt one's pace. As I rolled into the shopping center in Half Moon Bay, it had happened again: I had become grumpy.
At the Subway, there was already a short line. Then, a family of three walked in the front door just as I was about to do so, and the thought of waiting for three more people's sandwiches to be prepared made me even grumpier. Then, when they couldn't decide what to order, I began a slow boil. The event clock was running! After nine minutes in line, I finally got my sandwich (only a six-inch sub, since I didn't want to run the risk of further antagonizing my stomach), and the Sandwich Artist™ skipped me ahead of the family, who were still trying to figure out what kind of sauce they wanted on Little Billy's Kid-Meal Extravaganza. I took my sandwich outside and ate, but I wasn't happy at all. And the various colorful characters of Half Moon Bay weren't helping my mood much, either.
I finally got back on the road. But I hadn't used the restroom at Subway because I didn't want to leave my bicycle unattended, so I made it only about 5 miles before I stopped at a beach parking lot. And while it still wasn't sunny, the temperature had finally risen to the point that I started to shed some of my clothing: the base layer and the arm warmers under my bright-green, RUSA-friendly jacket. Cooling down a bit, and having some more Clif Bloks, seemed to improve my mood somewhat, and I tackled the big climb up Highway 1 to the Stage Road turnoff.
I started to think about my next time goal of the day: beating my previous 200km time of 11:14. That would be almost five hours for 44 miles, which seemed doable enough. What about 10 hours? That might be a little more difficult. But at La Honda, I had a seismic shift in thinking: Today's ride was no longer just about finishing; it was about finishing strongly. The mood shift was subtle but significant.
Haskins Hill was the next challenge. While it was tough -- and seemingly never-ending -- it really didn't bother me all that much, perhaps because it was similar to the hills I'd just tackled near Fresno the weekend before. The return trip down Cloverdale and Gazos Creek roads was over quickly enough, and I was back at Highway 1, where I stopped at the Gazos Creek mini-mart for another bottle of water and a giant bag of salted peanuts. The restroom inside the mini-mart was still "out of order" (although I didn't ask; I think that's just a ploy to keep non-customers from using it).
And then something nice happened. The wind picked up. And not just a little bit; it picked way up, almost as strong as it had been on ALC11 Day 1 just one month ago. I started to fly (at least by my standards) down Highway 1, exceeding 30 mph on several occasions. Except for a quick toilet break at Greyhound Rock (the site of ALC's Rest Stop 3), I did the final 25 miles non-stop ... and I did so even just a little bit faster than I did on ALC11.
I was way, way ahead of my 10-hour goal. Was 9.5 hours doable? Now that was going to be close. Alas, as soon as I hit the Santa Cruz weekend traffic, it was not to be. I waited at red lights, and at the left turn from Mission onto King, I actually had to dismount and walk across the street because traffic was so heavy that I wouldn't have been able to safely negotiate the left turn at a non-signalized intersection. And after I rolled in to the finish line, I stopped to turn off my Strava recording ... but my phone started to act slow and wonky, and I lost another minute in just doing that and hoping that I hadn't lost my recording of the ride. After I walked my bike into the finish area in the organizers' back yard, I received my official time: 3:33 p.m., for an elapsed time of nine hours and 33 minutes. (And it was a nice touch that Lois, who earlier had completed the worker's ride, was wearing her ALC11 victory shirt as she greeted us.)
My pace for the day? A surprisingly strong 15.6 mph, on very hilly terrain.
So, what did I learn from this experience?
-- I still haven't got this on-the-bike nutrition thing down right. I had enough food both before and after the ride that I didn't end the day grumpy, but I had a serious dip in the middle of the day that was just a hair shy of bonking. The time pressure was of my own making, of course, but even using pricey high-tech sports nutrition wasn't enough.
-- The hilly terrain didn't bother me nearly as much as I expected. I don't really want to think that I'm "good" at hills now (especially the descents), but at least they're tolerable. This is a good sign for DBD.
-- I could probably do another 300km brevet if I wanted. (I did so once, in 2010, and it was generally a very trying day.) The key would be to pace myself. Unfortunately ... or fortunately ... this year's Santa Cruz 300km event conflicts with a DBD2 training ride.
-- On both of my previous RUSA events, I was firmly near the back of the pack at the finish. This time, I was firmly in the middle. That's probably about as good as I'll ever get, and I think I'm OK with that.
On the morning after, as I write this, I'm feeling mostly OK, although my legs still tingle a bit. I haven't decided for sure whether to go out for a short ride today, but I'll probably do so ... even if it's only a trip to the bike shop to get my rear shifter cable readjusted after last weekend's replacement.
If you completed my Altamont Pass Double Metric, you can do a 200km brevet. It's an experience that I highly recommend: It exposes you to another group of non-ALC endurance riders (with some overlap, of course!), the rules have a small added layer of formality that's an interesting change of pace, and you might even get to see some new scenery. San Francisco Randonneurs has three 200km events coming up this fall. A $20 annual membership in Randonneurs USA qualifies you to buy a fancy medal for each event that you complete, and it gets you "American Randonneur," a very informative quarterly magazine that keeps you in the mind-set of endurance riding year-round.
But for me, it's now time to shift into the DBD2 training season, where we reset at 40 miles and build from there. The ride is less than three months away!
Ride report: Climb to (Half) Kaiser, 6/30/2012
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| Photo credit: John Walker/The Fresno Bee |
Why "most" of the century? On this year's ride, the century route continued an additional 6 miles past the top of Tollhouse and into Shaver Lake for lunch ... along very busy, winding, and narrow Highway 168. Add to that an extra 1,000 feet of climbing, and I had decided long before arriving that I was going to skip that out-and-back and do a still-robust ride of only about 85 miles. (As I learned during the day, many of the other century riders chose likewise.)
The day did not start smoothly, however. I left my hotel at 4:50 a.m. and drove the 6 miles to the starting point in Clovis. After I got there, I realized that I had left my Camelbak in my room! I quickly drove back and retrieved it, but by then I had just missed the 5:30 a.m. mass start -- and the associated police escort that provided free passage through all the traffic signals in Clovis.
Then I realized that he'd made a wrong turn, as did I, and he was already out of sight. Fortunately, the streets are laid out in an almost-perfect grid, and I knew the area well enough that I was able to get back on the official route within a couple of miles. But I was all by myself, at the beginning of the ride where in the past I've been able to get some wind benefit from being in the large group of riders.
I left the trappings of the city and got out into the countryside, and still nobody else. Finally, around mile 12, I passed a rider stopped at an intersection. Then a couple miles later, a small paceline finally passed me. But it was clear that the vast majority of riders were way ahead of me. At first, this disappointed me, but then I decided that this was a good thing because that meant that they wouldn't be passing me all day long -- the Kaiser riders are notoriously strong.
As I entered Watts Valley Road, I began to see more signs of event life: an occasional SAG vehicle or motorcycle support, a rider or two. I'd last been out here in October 2010 with a small group from DSSF, and it was my first time here with the new bicycle and with Strava running. And I started overtaking cyclists. One here, another there. And nobody was passing me? I'm not overly fast on climbs, but I was approaching the tail end of the mass-start group.
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| Rest Stop 1 |
A long descent, another climb (where, yes, a few folks finally did overtake me), and another short climb later, and I was at Rest Stop 2 at the base of the Tollhouse climb. This is where, in past years, I would have taken the metric route directly back to Fresno, but not today. My spreadsheet says my last climb up Tollhouse was on Sept. 10, 2006, and I distinctly remember that it was quite painful, taking 82 minutes to go from the Tollhouse Market to the top. (This is why I keep such detailed records!)
To get right to the good part: My time on this ride was 68 minutes. And it wasn't painful at all, except for the last half-mile or so where the average grade is 12% and some parts hit 20%. Again, I didn't push hard at all, and I probably could have shaved another couple minutes off my time if I had tried harder. But I was passing cyclists all the way up, including the one couple who said, "You make it look so easy!" I even skipped the water stop a mile from the top because I didn't want an interruption in my elapsed time for the climb (see also "The Strava Effect").
At the top at mile 48, about 4,600 feet up, the official route took the forementioned right turn up Highway 168. I stopped and dismounted and pondered my options. I certainly felt good enough to continue up to Shaver Lake, but I had decided earlier that I would not do so ... and since I had told the ride organizers of my plan, I didn't want to show up at Shaver Lake and use the rest stop services. Also, I knew that I had nothing extra to prove to myself today. Instead, I dismounted and ran quickly across the four-lane highway and picked up the route again at mile 59.
The rest stop issue wasn't an issue at all, because just a quarter-mile farther along the route was the next rest stop at Pine Ridge. I thought I was back in ALC! It was a luau-themed rest stop, complete with a volunteer in grass skirt and coconut bra with a garden hose to cool down overheated riders. (The temperatures weren't that warm yet.) Even better, a massage therapist was there with his table ... and since I had arrived early, I got to be his first client of the day. A few quick minutes, and my lower back was no longer complaining about the Tollhouse climb, and I was ready for the ride back to Fresno.
I took the descents in my usual cautious way, but the new bicycle seems to have allowed me to slightly increase my speed ... I averaged 23 mph on the 10-mile descent (with a couple of uphill interludes) into Auberry. A quick rest stop near Millerton Lake, and as the mercury approached 90 degrees, I hit the final stretch back to Fresno.
As I rounded the last turn, I started to shift, and it wouldn't shift all the way, but I was able to complete the final half-mile without incident. I learned after the ride that my rear shifter cable had just failed (and it's being replaced as I write this). Imagine what would have happened if I had done the extra 11 miles!
My total riding time was 6:05 for just under 86 miles, at about 14.1 mph. When I last did the Tollhouse route seven years ago, I completed 100 miles (which didn't include the Shaver Lake out-and-back anyway, because it wasn't part of the route that year) in 8:34, for a pace of 11.7 mph. This was an appropriately uplifting way to reach 50,000 miles (and to exceed 1,100 miles in a month for my first time ever).
I arrived at the check-in desk and turned around so the staff could record my rider number. Because I had arrived before the scheduled 2 p.m. free dinner, I simply went back to my vehicle and headed back to my motel. Things seemed a bit subdued and a bit "off," I didn't know any of the other riders, and I really wanted a hot shower anyway.
What I did not know until later in the day was that there had been a fatality on the ride in the morning. It happened on a winding, steep, high-speed, high-altitude part of the route that only the full Kaiser riders use and that I hadn't been on. This was a painful reminder to me that descents are one of the most dangerous aspects of our sport ... and that I really don't need to gain five or six seconds on Strava at the risk of injury or death. In fact, the 10-mile, 23-mph decsent into Auberry -- the one that pleased me so much -- is actually the slowest descent ever recorded by anybody in Strava (out of 139 riders) for that segment.
The only other disappointment of the day was how motorists behaved in the higher elevations. Even though I was staying to the right and providing plenty of room to pass, one yahoo with a truck-style air horn attached to his 4x4 felt the need to repeatedly sound it as he stayed behind me and finally passed me more than a little too closely. And just outside Auberry on a reasonably flat stretch of road, another yahoo in a pickup coming in the opposite direction on a wide, two-lane road with a center line felt the need to yell "Idiot!" at me for no apparent reason. I know that cycling has become very popular in the mountainous areas where we are usually just guests -- and I also know that some cyclists behave like idiots as well -- but that's no excuse to lash out at everyone. I lived in Fresno for four years, so I had more than my share of run-ins with the colorful local population ... and it's one of the reasons why I don't go back there more often. The cycling scenery and variety are unmatched anywhere else in California, but it's not worth getting hit or run off the road.
But I'm glad I did my own personal abbreviated half-Kaiser yesterday. I was able to return to a route I'd not done in a long time, and I was able to reaffirm that, yes, I actually have become a better cyclist.
View more of The Fresno Bee's photos of the event here.
Countdown to 50,000
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| On top of Hoover Dam last month |
When will I hit 50k? What am I going to do for the occasion? That's the type of thing that's almost impossible for me to predict, since I really don't know from one day to the next whether I'll ride or how much. The smart money says it will be in early July. And there just happens to be a 200km RUSA event in Santa Cruz in early July, but I'm not at all certain I want to do it; it's yet another trip mostly up and down Highway 1, and I get enough of that between ALC and DBD.
But maybe I'll think of something special, and maybe I'll be able to not do it by myself. In the meantime, one of the best ways to congratulate me on 50k will be to support my DBD2 ride to benefit the San Francisco AIDS Foundation.
AIDS/LifeCycle 11 epilogue
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| Me at the almost-empty Rest Stop 3 on Day 1 |
What did I do the day after Day 7? I rode my bike ... another 30 miles. And I probably could have kept going. This was the first time that I ever went for a ride on the day immediately after ALC. I'm not exactly sure why I did it, but it felt right this time ... almost as if I had to prove to myself that I could do so.
And that was one of my big themes for the week. One of my tendencies is to think that I'm not "good enough" at things. Perhaps that comes from being immersed in this overachieving Valley of Crazy, perhaps it's my increasing distance and isolation from the young guns of said Valley of Crazy, or perhaps it's just my interesting upbringing. In the year since I started using Strava, I've been reminded with every ride that I'm at best just a slightly above-average cyclist in the grand scheme of things. And that probably bothers me more than I realize.
When I think I'm not good enough at something, I try to compensate. In the case of cycling, I compensate by cutting my rest stop time to the absolute minimum, allowing my elapsed time to keep pace with riders who are in reality much faster than me. And since I seem to have acquired a reputation in the ALC community as a "fast" rider, I've felt more pressure to uphold that reputation, even at the expense of missing out on some fun. As the numbers on Strava so brazenly point out, many of our Distance Training riders are actually (much) faster than me.
But being faster on the ride this year -- at least in terms of elapsed time, if not in-motion time -- meant that I also missed much of the spontaneous ALC community. During the ride, this didn't particularly bother me. After the ride, I began to lament the missed opportunity ... even though I might not have actually enjoyed becoming immersed in it. Riding into a thinly-populated VA Center on Day 7 was undoubtedly far less stimulating and rewarding than it would have been had I waited a few more hours for a larger, more welcoming crowd to form.
Like my Day 7 experience, I spent most of the week riding my ride and not anyone else's. That's a big change for me because I spend almost the entire rest of the year wearing my training ride leader hat. It's a role I deeply enjoy and treasure, and turning it off even for just one week makes me feel as if I'm letting other riders down by not always being there for them. I know that TRLs have no official role on the event, but I regret not being able to help more riders make it through the week. (I hope that my Facebook posts and blog entries helped at least a bit.)
The post-ride blues
So, yes, the post-ride blues are real. They haven't fully set in yet, but I can feel them on the way. It's always tough to return to the real world from the ALC "love bubble." People just don't behave the same way, and I normally get frustrated enough anyway when I have to deal with idiots.
I helped delay their onset -- and, possibly, minimize them -- by hastily arranging an impromptu group dinner Sunday night in Mountain View. Our group of 10 was fun and boisterous, and it gave many of us -- plus some of our supporters who didn't get to do the ride this year -- a welcome opportunity to get together and talk about the week.
Physically, I'm still waiting for my body to realize it's no longer being tortured. I was very tired for most of today, and I decided not to attempt a ride tonight. But I know that getting back on the bike is a key step in post-ALC recovery, so I hope to do so again very soon, even though my new employment makes that a bit more difficult for the time being.
If you're having a case of the blahs this week, understand that it's very common and you're not alone. Reach out to your ALC community for support, plan activities that make you feel good, and ease your body back into its normal mode of operation.
Some more random observations
-- Either the quality of Motel 6s along the route has gone down significantly in the past two years, my standards have risen, or a combination of both. I had unusually unsatisfactory experiences at all four (King City, Santa Maria, Lompoc, and Ventura), mostly involving poorly functioning air conditioners and sketchy non-ALC patrons. As a devoted ALC princess, I might have to upgrade my accommodations next year.
-- Not to get too overly personal, but I needed less butt butter this year than on any previous ALC. This seems to be a good thing.
-- For the first time, I did not take off my leg warmers during the entire ride. I switched between heavier and lighter weight warmers, but it never got hot or even too warm. And I used less than one bottle of sunscreen for the whole week.
-- Also for the first time, I wore a top base layer on most days, usually removing it partway through as temperatures increased. This made the chilly mornings far more endurable.
-- For every day of the ride, I was either in line to ride out immediately at route opening, or I was on the road within 10 to 15 minutes of opening. Even if you're not a faster rider, getting on the road early gives you generally more enjoyable conditions. And as we learned on Day 2, it made the difference for many riders between being allowed to ride the entire route and ending the day on a rain-soaked bus.
-- I made a concerted effort to eat more during the event, and I think this contributed greatly to my lack of a Queen B*tch From Hell day. My weight appears to have ended the event roughly where it began.
-- I don't usually get scared or terrified when descending; I take it slowly enough that I don't ... and if I do, I slow down. I think I might have given an incorrect impression in describing my descents during the week. That said, I still managed to hit 32.9 mph on Day 1 -- my fastest speed ever on a bicycle -- and exceeded 30 mph several times during the week. If I descended as quickly as everyone else, my average pace would probably be much higher, but I'm not feeling any such need.
The takeaway
I went back and read my ride report from ALC9. It's amazing how much of my conclusion to that ride report could just as easily be from last week:
The takeaway is that every day of this year's ride was my fastest ever for that day. I'm quite surprised and pleased.Sure, my numbers have changed -- for the better -- in the past two years. But did anything else really change? Was this week really unlike my previous ride weeks? Can I ever find what I'm truly looking for on ALC? Do I even know what that might be?
... By hurrying through rest stops and skipping several entirely, I made my way to near the front of the group on most days. This happened early on some days, but it took me until past lunch on some other days. This put me among riders who generally outclass me in every way -- they're faster overall, they climb faster, and they certainly descend faster.
... But the upside was that I was able to ride solo for large parts of the route -- not seeing any riders in front of me or behind me for miles at a time. This was wholly unexpected, but it was my greatest pleasure of the week: being able to ride essentially by myself down the California coast, but still with full support if I needed it and a welcoming community at the end of each day. I never dreamed that I would find solitude on ALC, but I did this year, and that made all the difference in the world.
Also, spending the week with Adam (only for three days on ALC11, not the whole week) was a change from last year, when I stayed solo in all but one of my motel rooms. Last year I often felt disconnected from the ride, but this year I had an understanding soul to help me decompress after each day of riding ... and to gently prod me into getting up and getting out the next morning. I'm now convinced that the Princess Plan works much better when done with someone else.
Those are questions that, even if I knew the answers, go far deeper than a ride report. I might have to keep riding until I figure them out.
In the meantime, I'm registered for ALC12, and soon it will be time to shift gears and focus on this September's Double Bay Double 2. Thanks to all my donors, the Distance Training riders and leaders, the roadies, the staff, the volunteers, and everyone else who is part of this unique community. Thanks to all who read these almost-real-time reflections; I hope they helped you think a little more deeply about your own experiences during the event.
My adventure isn't over, and I hope you'll continue to join me.
AIDS/LifeCycle 11 Day 7
I rode surprisingly strong today and rolled into a relatively empty VA Center in Los Angeles at the stupidly early time of 10:43 a.m.
How and why? Nothing special; just by skipping one of the three stops and by beating much of the weekend vehicular traffic mess through Malibu.
Just like yesterday, it was a day for pure riding. Although I began my ride 10 minutes after the official route opening, there weren't many riders on the road, and I quickly was either by myself or in scattered small groups. After making short order of Rest Stop 1, we were even more spread out.
But I saw plenty of other riders because Pacific Coast Highway is an extremely popular cycling spot. It was strange to be back in the world of riders doing pacelines, not calling out, and not obeying laws. I smiled just a bit inside when a Los Angeles County sheriff's vehicle had three cyclists pulled over, apparently for running a red light.
After I woke up and discovered that my quads weren't bothering me nearly as much as they had on previous mornings (perhaps due to the wonderful massage I received yesterday in Santa Barbara), I was focused on riding strongly. A couple of the hills gave me pause, simply because I was feeling all climbed out by this point. But other than that, the 62 miles of the final day of ALC11 were over almost as soon as they began.
And as I got near the end, something interesting happened. After I took a self-picture at the Los Angeles city limit sign (which, sadly, is slightly marred by a blurry spot on the camera lens), I almost immediately checked out emotionally from the event. It was, for all practical purposes, done for me. As I rode the final 5 miles up the hill through Santa Monica, I was getting scattered cheers from the few bystanders who had arrived so early, and I was smiling in return and thanking them, but I was on autopilot.When I rolled into the VA Center in past years, my emotions have been all over the map. I've been jubilant, I've been in tears, I've been relieved that it was over. Today, strangely, I didn't feel much of anything at all. I rode through the almost-empty welcoming line into bike parking, got my triumphant photo taken by a helpful volunteer, walked around for a few minutes, and then got a ride from Adam to his hotel room and a nice, warm shower. And then I drove home.
What a strange way to end such an incredible week! I'm not sure what exactly happened this morning. I knew that I had to be rested to return to work early Monday, and part of me decided that trying to drive back tomorrow would have simply left me stressed out and not in good shape to work on Monday.
Another part of me had probably gone into emotional overload and had simply shut down after seven days of so much intensity and so many people. I felt bad for missing many of you on Saturday afternoon, but I also realized that I'd be seeing almost all of you again real soon anyway ... and doing so after we've all had time to recover and can have more proper chats about our experiences.And it turns out to have been a very wise decision indeed to come home tonight. Sitting at my front door, rather unexpectedly, was a Saturday FedEx delivery from my employer. I won't go into the details, but I'll note that it was good news, it was unexpected, and it really should not have been sitting exposed at my front door! Who knows what would have happened had I not returned until tomorrow and never known that something was supposed to be there. As I said earlier in the week, everything happens for a reason.
Now for the statistics. On every previous ALC that I did, I always brought along a reference card showing my day-by-day pace for each year. This year, however, I specifically didn't do that because I didn't want to feel the pressure of competing against my previous years.
Of course, as you know by now from reading this, that wasn't a concern. Here are my stats from six years of ALC, in average miles per hour by day:
| ALC5 | ALC6 | ALC7 | ALC8 | ALC9 | ALC11 | |
| Day 1 | 13.3 | 12.8* | 13.5 | 13.3 | 14.1 | 16.4 |
| Day 2 | 14.5 | 14.0 | 14.1 | 14.2 | 15.2 | 16.2 |
| Day 3 | 13.2 | 11.9 | 13.6 | 12.8 | 13.8 | 16.1 |
| Day 4 | 13.6 | 12.7 | 13.3 | 12.3 | 14.0 | 15.3 |
| Day 5 | 12.0 | 11.0 | 12.1 | 11.4+ | 12.8+ | 14.5 |
| Day 6 | 13.1 | 13.2 | 12.9 | 9.7^ | 14.0 | 15.7 |
| Day 7 | 13.3 | 12.3 | 13.2 | 13.9 | 14.2 | 15.9 |
Notes:
* = Longer, more difficult route along upper Skyline to Hwy. 84
+ = Longer, more difficult route via Solvang
^ = Route truncated at 15 miles due to heavy rain
Of course, I don't do all this just so I can gloat over numbers. I do it because we're all working together to provide services and treatment to those affected by HIV and AIDS. Thanks to my donors for helping me reach my $5,000 goal this year, and thanks to all the donors for taking us above $12.6 million for ALC11. Your support saves lives.
What's next? We need to be very careful about the post-ride blues that often hit. Be sure to schedule activities that make you comfortable, with people you like. And take some time off the bicycle (and get it serviced, especially after all that rain and mud), but get back on it again soon and remember the feelings you had while riding this week.
It's late for me now, so I'll wrap this one up. I'll do a separate epilogue tomorrow or Monday, hitting some of my overall themes for the week and some final impressions and helpful tips that I can take forward into next year's ride.
Again, giant thanks to everyone who was part of my quasi-interactive conversation this week. It was a new experience for me, and it made the week much different than it had been before ... and much different than I expected. It's wonderful living in the future, isn't it.
P.S.: My story of the bungled Halfway to L.A. photo has a surprise happy ending! Unknown to me at the time, super ride leader Paul's mother took a cellphone picture of me at the same time the mystery rider was taking the lost pictures with my own camera. When I woke up at 2 a.m. today for no particular reason, the photo was waiting in my email inbox after she heard of my plight. What a pleasant surprise!
AIDS/LifeCycle 11 Day 6
Today was a day just to ride.
By this point in the week, the routine has become, well, routine: Wake up stupidly early, eat a big breakfast, prep the bike, ride, ride, eat, ride, eat, sleep, repeat. The body becomes so conditioned to doing one thing (cycling) well that trying to do almost anything else (such as walking down a flight of stairs) becomes unusually difficult.
And by the sixth day, the terrain, rest stops, and other riders all seem to blend into one giant non-stop blur. Part of you is amazed that you're still at this and going strong on the sixth consecutive day, but part of you also wants it to be mercifully over as soon as possible.
So it was with hugely mixed feelings that I did my sixth day of ALC11. I rode respectably but not stupidly fast, and again by limiting my stops, I finished somewhere between 80th and 90th of all riders. But my average pace was "only" 15.7 mph -- a pace that many of my friends easily exceeded today. How? We had several giant descents. And while none of them really scared or terrified me today, I did take them somewhat conservatively, generally keeping my speed to around 25 mph or less. (My maximum speed of the day was only 29.7 mph, a far cry from the 50-plus mph I've seen elsewhere. That also kept my overall average pace way down today.) I've seen too many ALC ambulances to want to go any faster, but more power to those of you who are comfortable doing so safely.
The big surprise of the day was a new route into and through Santa Barbara. This was something I'd been stewing about for years: Our old route roamed around the foothills north of the city, with hill after hill after hill -- none of them particularly long, but some of them rather steep. Meanwhile, a nice almost-flat official bike route runs close to U.S. 101 most of the way. I have no idea why the flat route hadn't been used in previous years, but we used it today, and I liked it. Yes, there were a lot of traffic signals, but that type of urban riding (particularly at this point in the week) provides plenty of short breaks from sustained riding. Granted, not everyone liked the route; I heard one rider say, "Now I can say I've seen the butt end of Santa Barbara."
At the nicer end of Santa Barbara was, for the 12th year, the Paradise Pit, the wonderful unofficial rest stop put on by local residents. Sometimes I've skipped it, and sometimes I've visited only briefly, but today I skipped Rest Stop 3 (just 4 miles back) so I could visit the pit and enjoy some delicious ice cream.
I knew that massage therapists had been set up there in previous years, but I was too early last time and they weren't ready. Today, as I was getting ready to leave, one of the therapists was just setting up his table. I asked when he'd be open, and he said he'd be open in a just a minute and I could be his first client. Score! I got some much-needed work on my legs, which certainly helped me get through the rest of the day.
After Santa Barbara, the route was again familiar and was, honestly, a bit of a slog through a slice of suburbia that I don't find all that exciting. I reached the water stop at mile 70, where Thomas told me that I was rider #102 for the day. I hadn't really been keeping score till then, but that shocked me somewhat. Two years ago, when I last did the ride, I was "in the first 100" to arrive there! And that was when I was a bit slower than I am now.
Because I'm overly self-competitive and self-judgmental, I decided that could not stand. With only 15 miles to go, I decided that I would skip the final rest stop and ride directly into camp. Fortunately, it wasn't that tough a task (except for the condition of the bike lane on that part of Hwy. 1, which continues to deterioriate year after year), and I rolled into camp at about 2:15 p.m. with only about 60 more miles to go until Los Angeles.
Today was Ride With Chris Day on ALC11, and I was touched to see some of the green jerseys out there. (I'm sorry that I skipped Rest Stop 1, where super roadie Taryl was wearing one.) I saw a couple of you at rest stops, at lunch, or ride into camp at the end of the day, and that made me smile. The jersey was also quite the conversation-starter with my massage therapist at Paradise Pit!
I finished the day happy, which was my goal. Day 6 didn't make me grumpy, although I began to notice after riding that I hadn't eaten as much as I had on previous days, and I started venturing toward the realm of grumpiness. But returning to camp and cheering in riders, followed by a well-timed and robust traditional Italian dinner with Adam in downtown Ventura, put me back among the mostly cheerful, if a bit tired.
So yes, by this point, it's mostly just riding, and part of me just wants it to be over. But another part of me wants it to go on for a whole month. (I joked with some folks at lunch about doing the optional Day 8 ride to San Diego.) When I begin ALC week, I think of many things: the physical challenge, the community, the cause, the friends, the relationships. Year after year, I find satisfaction in many of these areas but not in others. And by this point in the ride, I begin to realize that I'm wired in such a way that I'm unlikely to ever find those things here ... or probably anywhere else. That sense of melancholy starts to permeate my view of the week and sends me down the road of unhappiness.
But then I also realize that I'm doing something that only a very small group of people can do, and I'm doing it with increasing ease every time I do it. More important, my activities throughout the rest of the year help enable others to participate in the ride and conquer their own challenges, whatever they may be. The ride helps me find meaning in my life in a way that nothing else does, and that's why I keep coming back year after year ... even when doing so forces me to confront my own inner demons.
Now, with just 60 miles of relatively easy (if a bit traffic-heavy) terrain left for tomorrow morning, the end of this magical week is almost here. My impending return to the real world begins to be a tangible thing, and that makes me sad. But knowing that we're less than two months away from the start of the DBD2 training season makes me happy. I want to ride strongly tomorrow, but I also want the ride to be over. I want to do this forever, but I want to go home.
It is with these mixed feelings that I prepare for the final day of ALC11.
(The bottom photo is of me today approaching the top of Gaviota Pass and was taken by Frank Adair.)
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