Boy chores

One of the small pleasures of bicycling is the cleaning and maintenance of the bikes. When you've got a dozen or so bikes it's a chore that you delay at your own risk. What with harvest and all this time of year is one in which I need to tend to all my bikes and I started this weekend. The Felt was easy - a quick clean and lube with no repairs or replacements needed. Well, maybe the chain is close, but not in desperate need of changing. Modern high end carbon race bikes no matter what you think of how they look or ride are easy to keep in tune. Next was the Steve Rex which besides a clean and lube needed a new rear tire due to a huge gash that the tube was poking out of. I destroyed two tubes putting the new tire on, and ended up feeling very frustrated and amateurish. The 'Traut road bike was a little sad. It was encrusted with grime, and the now close to 15 year old chrome is starting to break down. Little rust blossoms of brown were forming on the tips of the forks. This bike is so beautiful, but is starting to show it's age. And, that is sad. Both tires needed replacing as well. This work took most of a Saturday morning with a little motorcycle cleaning thrown in for good measure. I've got at least another three mornings of work before all the bikes are cleaned lubed and inspected. I'm looking forward to it.

Gym

Spent lunch hour in the gym today. I'm in the first phase of the winter lifting program, the so called anatomical adaptation. This involves circuits of exercises with a large number of reps and light weights. Even so it has been a chore the last three weeks as my body has been adapting to the adaptation as it were. The weird thing about the gym are the denizens of course. There was one today who was the perfect example. He was a young man of modest stature. He had built up his attitude in recompense. While he was white, he was dressed as if he were otherwise. He was wearing a baseball cap and a sort of white skullcap with a neck covering behind - a ghetto Kewpie you might say. He swaggered into the weight room and got on one of the machines - the seated row. He did a few reps with a big stack of plates hooked up - no warm up. Then he walked around a bit. Finally he went over to the heavy bag and punched it a few times. Then he left. Total workout time about 7 minutes, strange, very strange.

Winter Program

It has been some years since I have put together a legit winter training program. By legit I mean a program that includes something besides riding the bike. I love riding the bike so much and hate the gym with an equal passion, so my default is to get on the bike and let the rest take care of itself. I decided this year that I want to race more, and in order to race injury free I know that time spent in the gym will be rewarding. I've bought time and rented a locker at the YMCA. More importantly I hit my goal of two workouts last week. I choose the Y because it was downmarket, close to home and relatively empty of annoying non cyclists. You know those huge louts who push giant weights and make ugly noises while doing it. Very distracting as I'm forcing my puny arms to lift a few plates. Seriously, the fewer people in the gym the less waiting around. The Y also has a sauna - essential.
I began sensibly with anatomical adaptation - lots of reps with light weights in a circuit. Oh my god is my body not used to that! The day after the first workout many small muscles I don't normally stress in my hips, lower legs and feet were sore. Yesterday, my second workout was a little better, and I know from prior years that in 3-4 weeks it will be much better. In the meantime I'm just thinking about how strong I'll be next spring and summer as the races roll around.

Back on the Bike

A yearly ritual is the first ride after harvest starts to slow. A cold winter rain's early arrival gave me yesterday afternoon off so I called my buddy Karl and arranged a ride. It has been almost a month since I have been on the bike with the exception of a few quick trips into town on the fixed gear for lunch. They hardly count. It was three or so before we got rolling and the wind was howling in off the ocean. Of course we choose to ride into the teeth of it. It was slow and painful going. The 1.5 hour loop would barely have sufficed for a warm up or recovery ride a couple months ago, but yesterday it was all I could get my pale legs to do to finidh this ride. I was a bit sore this morning when I woke up, but am feeling better now. The trick of course is to come back to some sort of form without injury. I'm going to try and force myself to do some gym time this winter. Karl signed on, which will really help. A training partner is key for an activity you're not terribly keen on.

good days bad days

It's funny how quickly the emotional scale balances itself. One day you're up the next you're down.


Two days ago I was flying along on top of the harvest, feeling really good about how it was going and how I was feeling. My body finally seemed to have accepted the fact that it wasn't getting any hard aerobic workouts and was going to have to be satisfied with the morning vineyard sampling and the random tromping around the winery as exercise - functional fitness as they say. Mentally and emotionally I'd gotten through the always hellish first 7-10 days of harvest when you really don't know what the hell is happening. Draining down the first dry Pinot Noir has an amazingly calming influence. You actually know or at least have an inkling of what's going on and you can either continue the course or modify the recipe as needed. In the case of this harvest continue the course is it.


Then yesterday I was promptly dragged back down to earth mostly as a result of saying yes too readily to PR/media requests. I had been asked to do a radio interview for a show. I said yes as I figured at worse it would tie up 30 minutes to an hour of the late afternoon when I'm not very productive anyway. Wrongo dongo it was 3 hours of hassle and very intense interaction with the interviewers. The show's a sort of click and clack format. I finally escaped their clutches and then had to buy beer for Fin to pay off a big favor he'd done me, and then finally into town and out to dinner with friends of Heidi. It is startling how exhausting the social aspect of life can be. I woke up this morning positively nauseous with fatigue. Heidi, poor thing, had managed to pour boiling water on herself at 5 so that was awful on top of it. Harvest though was still relentlessly steaming ahead with a pile of work orders to write, and a large block of Pinot being picked. The high point of this morning was coming into the celler and finding that the swing shift had cleaned up the ungodly mess I'd left behind in my quick departure last night. I owe them some beers. The low point was the super drizzly fog the settled in between 6 and 7 am. Wettest fog of the year. Welcome to fall.

Luis Bunuel's Martini

I am currently reading James and Kay Salter's Life is Meals, and while this is not literature on the level of his superb novels, there are some interesting bits to be found in here. One was the recipe for how Bunuel liked his daily Martinis. As I am a fan of both Bunuels movies and of Martinis I was quite eager to try this variation out. The day after reading it I mixed one up. Here's how he made them. Put a few drops of dry vermouth and a dash or two of Angustora bitters in your shaker. Shake this up and pour it out leaving only a slight trace behind. Then add your gin, shake and serve. I used a twist of orange, but lemon might be even better. The Martini comes out very slightly colored by the bitters. The flavor is subtle, unique and delecious. The trace of bitters expands and slightly softens the bite of the gin. I think this may enter the repetoir on a regular basis.

Cigarettes

There is a quote from that most famous of cyclists, Eddy Merckx where he says, "I was never afraid to have a cigarette or a few beers." While as my son points out, "Pops, you are no Eddy Merckx.", still I like the sentiment in this quote. It's best to not fear the small pleasures in life, even if they are rightly considered vices when taken to excess. For me I limit my smoking to harvest time. I abandon the bike this time of year as I don't have the time or energy to spare for it. And once I stop being athletic the main reason for not smoking is gone. I keep it to a few a day - usually not more than three or four. Yesterday morning, Sunday, I was sitting out on the crush pad. The air was humid and still and so absolutely silent that I could hear the tobacco burning as I enhaled the smoke. Some birds flew by chattering and broke the spell of silence so I stood up feeling that wonderful momentary lift that a cigarette gives and got on with my day.

Last Rose of Summer

A few days ago, on Wednesday, it got really hot, for around here at least. The day dawned clear and fogless. The temperature briefly hit 99 or 100 around two in the afternoon. I called and told Heidi that I was bringing home the case of half bottles of Pinot Noir that we'd talked about. She said, "It's so hot. Doesn't a bottle of rose sound good?". It did sound good so I walked over to the tasting room and asked for a bottle only to be told that it was gone and had been pulled. They said they could find me a bottle, and sure enough Heather had two in her office. I took one of them home and stuck it in the freezer after pouring out a glass on the rocks for Heidi. I had a glass an hour or so later as I was frying up a steak for the two of us. It frosted up the glass and glowed pink briefly, and then like the summer it was gone.

Basic Civility

This subject viz a vie bicycling has been growing more irksome the last few years. It's always hard to tell if the world is changing at a faster rate or if the changes are in my own attitudes as both are obviously in motion constantly. I have been fairly committed as the years accumulate to not becoming and old curmudgeon, so my guess is that the manners and mores are in more rapid flux than I. It seems that for as long as I can remember if you were out riding on the open road and you saw another bicycle coming towards you, you would nod or wave or somehow acknowledge that cyclist and then they would return the greeting. If you were passing someone going the same way it was standard to say something, no matter how briefly. It could be a simple, "Hi", or if you were not in a big hurry you might comment on the fellow riders bike or mention what a splendid day it was to be out riding, etc. These were expected courtesies and only the real greenhorns or real idiots didn't abide by them. There was of course always room for exceptions. If you were pounding out a sprint or an interval or killing it on a climb no one expected you to have the energy or attention for a greeting, but these circumstances were exceptional.
All this seems to be changing. Now it is not uncommon when you wave at someone else on a bike to have that wave ignored or worse. For several years I have tried to not get upset by this, a simple shrug and the thought, "what an idiot" sufficed, but this year I have changed my tact. I now don't take no for an answer. Here are three examples of my ongoing evolution as far as this goes. All are in the category of passing or being passed by other riders going the same direction, normally the more social encounter.
1. A few months ago I see a guy ahead of me on a touring bike as I'm riding up the very lightly travelled access road parallel 101 between Avila and SLO. I pass him on the left giving him lots of room because there's lots of room available and say a polite "Howdy". No response - not even a glance. I keep riding, but then think, "No, this will not stand." I dropped back and riding right next to him say hi again. Still no response so I say, "Hey, I said hi." He then gets all peevish on me and says back, "You're supposed to say "on your left" when you pass somebody." I think whaa the hell you talking about, who's rule is that? Instead of getting all up in his face I shake my head in disbelief and say, "You've got to be kidding me?"
2. Just the other day I'm cruising out LOVR just out of SLO on the way to Los Osos. A very fit woman on a nice bike, obviously a commuter is ahead of me. I very slowly overtake her and as I pull next to her say, "Good afternoon" - no response - how rude! So I check to make sure she doesn't have ear buds in or some mitigating factor, and then keeping pace with her say once again, but a bit louder, "Hi." She reluctantly replies and continues to stare stone faced ahead. OK fine have a bad day!
3. Yesterday, as I was turning onto LOVR from Turri Rd. 2.5 hours into a 3.0 hour ride, a fit young rider all kitted out pulls up next to me says not a word and turns towards town. He's really motoring, but my legs are solid for the moment so I reel him back in in a few hundred yards and engage him in conversation. It turns out that he's a perfectly decent local kid, keen on bikes and happy to chat about them the six or seven miles we're on the same road. Finally, success, I refuse to be ignored and a positive outcome ensues - stubbornness rules!

Riding Tired

It really is amazing how much of feeling tired is mental. Like most people with full time jobs my weekday window for riding is frequently at the end of the day. Often, like yesterday, I'm exhausted at the end of the day. What I most feel like doing is plopping my ass in a chair and sipping a painfully cold Martini, not perching my ass on a narrow racing saddle and hammering away on the pedals. But, what happened yesterday is not unusual. When I was complaining of how tired I was and how much I didn't want to ride my main squeeze Heidi bluntly stated, "Ride your bike or come help us paint the house." God bless her, put in those terms the bike ride suddenly seemed more desirable. And sure enough as soon as I was actually on the bike I started feeling better. My exhuastion evaporated and I had a more than decent little ride where my legs felt solid the whole time. I guess the lesson is listen to your legs once you're on the bike, not to your brain before your ride.

Et Voila

I was reminded at lunch today who is the best chef in town. For my money it is Jose at Et Voila. While the location in a small strip mall off Los Osos Valley Rd in the auto dealership neighborhood is far from ideal, and by that I mean too far from downtown to walk, the many charms of the food outweigh the relative sobriety that driving to a restaurant enforces. Heidi and I arrived famished - always a good plan. There is no better combination than a good kitchen and a good appetite. All of the specials sounded wonderful, but needing to stay awake for the afternoon's tasks we opted for reason over passion. First let me say that the house made bread is delightful, and in a town without a decent bakery this alone gives Et Voila a leg up. We started with a tomato salad dressed in herb infused greens with a tiny pat of goat cheese. Both of us decided on the Dover sole served on polenta. It was superb! I washed mine down with a little Ugni blanc/Colombard blend from Gascogne, and Heidi drank some local Pinot Noir. We finished it up with a fresh banana and rum cream tart and two perfect espressos. The only thing that could possibly have improved it would have been the leisure to take a nap afterwards. Alas, we're bottling this week and next and it would have been bad form at the least to blow the afternoon off. That will have to wait till post harvest I'm afraid.

Shawn's on Main

Morro Bay is a town I bicycle through all the time, and a frequent stop for a double espresso and a cookie to fuel me on those last 10 miles or so back to SLO. It has its own funky blue collar beach town vibe. Glamorous it's not. So I was a bit surprised when Darren, our local rep said I should check out Shawn's. As he so perfectly understated it, "They've got a good kitchen.". Darren having eaten a lot of good food and knowing my love of the same is not someone I ignore when he makes a recommendation. The next Friday night we were on our way. The menu is simple and changes frequently. Everything sounded great so the three of us each ordered different entrees. The food did not disappoint! The soups were very fine, the grilled artichoke was perfect. We splurged on an abalone appetizer that was fine. The baby ribs were the best I've ever had, period the end. Zoie had hand made potato gnocchi in a mushroom cream sauce that were to die for, and Heidi's beef Milanese was scrumptious. The desserts were equally good and the wine list though short has a range of dessert wines by the glass - very unusual for a restaurant of this size. The decor is downscale, but the prices are more than reasonable to make up for the lack of white tablecloths. This place has vaulted to the top in terms of food quality and presentation on the local scene for me. I can't wait to go back.

Central City Market

A mall in Santa Maria is an unlikely place at best to eat a multi course winemaker dinner, but the owner of this mall likes good food and so enticed some first rate talent to run three restaurants and a catering operation within the mall in a town better known for growing strawberries than crafting gormet food. The evening started with canapes and a sweet sparkling wine in a roped off area in the atrium of the mall. Odd location for appetizers - it felt a bit like being a rare tropical fish in an aquarium with the citizens circulating around us as we awkwardly sipped and supped. Once we moved into the dining room things relaxed a bit into the more settled routine of winemaker dinners. There was nothing routine about the food and wine pairings. The chef, Ryan and his staff did a superb job with this. All the food was excellent and the three, yup, three main courses were all rediculously delicious. As good as the fish dish was with the baby carrots nicely setting off our luxurious 2008 Tolosa Block 569 Chardonnay, my favorites were the meat courses. The first of which was turkey done traditionally including light and dark meat, gravey, stuffing, potatoes and cranberry sauce paired with our 2008 Estate Pinot Noir. This light jazzy Pinot was lit up by the food and vice versa - a nice preview of Thanksgiving pleasures to come. Despite being completely stuffed at this point I somehow managed to eat all of the final course a NY steak served on a bed of spetzel and wild mushrooms. The 2008 Tolosa Estate Syrah helped ease the pain and was an excellent foil for this rich dish. Out of embarassment at my own gluttony, I won't even talk about the heavenly pasteries and the Viognier dessert wine that ended the evening. The fact that I can't even remember the last time I ate so much that my stomach hurt speaks volumes about the quality of this restaurant.

Two meals

On Saturday last at Heidi's instigation we went to a Ramadan "breakfast" just after sundown. This had been organized by pastor Jane Voight in her continuing effort to make better understanding between the christian and Muslim communities. Given my atheistic even antireligious philosophy this was a stretch for me. The kids were trepidatious as well. When we arrived at the community center a bit on the early side we felt a bit awkward. All the women were in headscarves and some of the men in traditional dress. We say no one we knew. The room gradually filled up and one of the young men called the other men to prayer. They retired to another room and when they were done the meal began. The men forming a separate line from the women, and the tables pretty much gender segregated as well. The men's line moved faster and I guided Jack to a seat next to two cute boys knowing that Zoie would like sitting across from them. They were brothers from Dubai and were quite curious about what had brought us to this meal. We talked quite amiably for a while and when the girls joined us it was even more pleasant. The leader of the local mosque, the father of a friend of Heidi's who is a professor at Cal Poly sat across from me and we had lively and civilized conversation over the meal. Later as the meal was breaking up we met Zaki who was there with his family. He invited us to join him at his eponymously named waffle restaurant south of town for breakfast the next morning.
We had always been curious about this little place just off the Los Osos Valley Road exit from 101, and now we had a personal invitation to visit. We got there about 9:00 the next morning Zaki and his wife and kids run it, and the first thing they said was "We were beginnig to worry you wouldn't come." The meal that followed was wonderful and so was the hospitality we were shown. We now have new friends and a new place for breakfast in the morning.

D2M day seven

This final day was almost entirely down hill. We started with a couple miles of climbing to the 11,000+ pass. Chris and Mike D. cut off for the single track option, but I had had enough of that nonsense and was looking forward to bombing some serious fireroad action. I was not disappointed. Miles and miles of sweeping gravel roads with fantastic views followed the pass, then a few miles of climbing on pavement. What was supposed to have been swooping single track had been cut into very primitive fireroad and then a final section of fireroad down into Moab. Thomas and I did almost the entire day side by side and it was with some elation that we glided down into Moab and the end of our adventure

D2M day six

This day for me was the hardest. The hut in Paradox Valley was hot all night and short on fresh food. The heat had killed my appetite as well as my sleep. The day started frustratingly with my handlebar bag shooting off the front of the bike in the first hundred yards. Everyone had the bit between their teeth so they left me to my own devices to try and repair it. Like much modern shit it was basically unfixable, but I wasted 45 minutes trying to anyway before throwing it into the sagebrush in frustration. A couple hours later I remembered that there was $100 in cash in one of the zippered pockets and that pissed me off even more. There was a four mile "wall" to start that really hurt. I caught Mike R. about 3/4 of the way up, but the rest were long gone. I waited for Mike at the top. Subsequently I waited at a couple more intersections without him catching me up. I didn't have an odometer after the first day and being stuck behind the main group and ahead of Mike I had to navigate strictly by the verbal directions. Luckily they were good and after tons of climbing back up into alpine terrain I managed to find the final hut without getting off track. Even with odometers most everyone else got off track so I got lots of props for my sense of direction - more like just good at following directions. The last hut was beautifully sited and freshly stocked with food so we had a good time on our final night.

D2M day five

This last day in the desert was no one's favorite. All were tired from the crappy night's sleep and besides the usual challenges of riding we opted for a "technical" route down off the mesa into Bedrock that was basically unridable even by the best of us. For me it was barely walkable, and the loaded bike had to be carried down it to boot. We were all stoked though with anticipation of the Bedrock store where cold drinks and ice cream would be available. You can't really appreciate ice until you've been without it for days. We were in very hot country here as well. Imagine everyone's disappointment when we found the store shuttered and for sale. We racked out in the shade to rest for the final push to the hut - about 8 miles of flat hot roads. When we got there we found it poorly supplied and very hot - big bummer. It didn't cool that night and my sleep deficit kept growing - not a good sign with a big big climbing day coming on the morrow.

D2M day four

This jaunt half way across the desert basin to the La Sal Mtns ended up being my undoing. We started out being scattershot with hail and we could see the thunderstorm that produced it just ahead of us. Luckily the day held dry more or less. We came down into a little truckstop and I had a couple huge glasses of Coke on ice that were so good as well as some cinnamon roll. We had eaten breakfast just before so we weren't really hungry, but the change of pace and the ice was nice. Shortly after this stop we hit the mother of all mud holes and it took a long time to get the muck off the bikes and get them rideable again. I was tired from yesterday, but didn't know just how spent till I sat down crosslegged to pry the dirt from my shoe cleats and felt my left aductor muscle pop - bummer. I slogged on having a very tough day. After what seemed an eternity the hut arrived. Mike Richmond and Thomas had a hand in unkinking me and it would have been far worse without their ministrations. It's not every bike trip that has a certified massuese along. We were on the edge of a huge canyon in slick rock type country - spectacular views and an abandoned uranium mine next door! All would have been great except huge winds blew up during the night and kept everyone awake. The snoring and farting of 5 guys in a small cabin is bad enough for a light sleeper, but the howling and banging of the wind kept everyone awake for hours.

Dawn patrol on Mt. Hamilton

I spent the last couple days selling wine in the South Bay and knew that if I showed some discipline I could get in an ascent of Mt. Hamilton (the giant of the Bay Area) before my first appointment of the day. I booked a hotel reasonably close by and set the alarm for 5:30. A quick stop at a coffee shop for a quad latte and banana bread and by 6:40 I was clicked into the pedals and starting up the 22 mile climb to the summit of the highest mountain in the SF Bay Area. This is actually three distinct climbs seperated my two short downhills. The first section is roughly 10 miles of climbing and takes you up to the ridge above San Jose. It took me about 40 minutes to climb this. A quick descent brings you into a valley containing Grant Park and then another 3 miles climb follows that. After a very short descent the final 7 mile climb to the top follows. As I had a 10:30 appointment I promised myself that I would turn around at 8:30 no matter where I was on the climb, but 8:30 found me within a mile of the summit so I pressed on and hit the top at 8:35. While I'd taken the whole climb at a pretty moderate tempo I will admit to pouring on the coals a bit in the last couple miles in my attemp to hit the top. My legs felt good the entire way and it while hard it was not really that difficult compared to other times I've done this climb. Despite its length the grades rarely go abouve 6% so once you find your comfort gear you can pretty much spin it to the top - fitness helps. The hour long 200+ corner descent back down was a handful. The pavement is only smooth on the bottom ten miles. The rest is chuckholed and gravel strewn so real caution must be exercised to keep it on the road. I was back to the car right on schedule and arrived at the first account showered shaved and on time.

M2D day three

This leg of the trip took us down from high elevation to the relatively lower elevations of the basin where the air would be a bit thicker. It was scheduled to be a net loss of elevation of 5-6,000 feet so it looked to be a recovery day more or less. Turned out to be a lot less for me anyway. We started the day with a bit of climbing but then hit the first downhill section - roughly 2 miles of very rocky double track. I quickly fell to the back, never being a big fan of getting my fillings rattled loose by baby heads. Luckily we got on smoother gravel roads for most of the descent and some 40mph hilarity followed. At the bottom of the descent I noticed that the pack had bounced loose from the rear rack of my bike. Worse still was the realization that my credit cards and drivers license were in that pack. With little choice I began climbing up the roads I had just bombed down wondering if I would even see the pack as it could easily have bounced into the weeds and we had been descending for a good 10 miles at this point. My best guess was that it had come off in the first very rocky two miles, and sure enough with about a mile left to the top there was my pack sitting in a puddle in the middle of the trail. I've never been so happy to see the bright yellow of a rain jacket before. The ride back down was just as much fun if not more so, as it was starting to rain a bit. Mike Richmond had very generously waited for me and was camped out under a sunshade at the 18 mile point. We still had another 15-20 miles to go most of it on rolling ranch roads, but there was a final climb into a head wind to finish the day. I had good legs and that was the only salvation. Our cabin was on the edge of a rocky arroyo, quite different than the alpine scenery of the prior two. This was juniper, sage and horney toad country. Everyone slept like the dead.

D2M - day two

Waking up to a big breakfast in an alpine meadow at 11,000 ft does wonders for the psyche no matter how battered the body or depleted the physical reserves from the day before. The hyper hungry mosquitos and horse flies were an added incentive for getting in motion rather quickly. We rolled out under perfect weather conditions, and swore to eachother that the standard route was going to be our plan for the remainder - no more unridable single track. There were three big climbs over the course of the day, and two wicked fast descents tieing them together. My plan was to eat something every hour on the hour in order to keep the energy level up. This seemed to work as I crested the first climb a bit behind Chris, dropped everyone like a bad habit on the second climb, and after waiting for Thomas climbed the last one with him. Our cabin was at high elevation once again and had stunning views of the mountain passes we'd climbed over the day before, which was a cool bonus. Thomas discovered a patch of wild strawberries a few yards away that we all samples the next morning. I don't think I've ever tasted a more intense strawberry in my life.

Durango to Moab the hard way day one.

It was with considerable trepidation that I began the San Juan Huts ride with four companions. We had arrived in Durango a day or so early to get acclimated, loosen up our legs and put our gear in order, but the morning of our departure the reality set in as we pedalled off onto the single track at above 11,000 feet for the first leg of seven days of mountain biking and six nights in wilderness huts. In our short sighted enthusiasm we opted for the "alternate" route that used the Colorado Trail instead of the standard fire road route. This turned out to be a bad decision. The trail even in the best of weather conditions was barely traversable by bike and during the mountain monsoon season we were in the day Quickly evolved into a 20 mile hike a bike. I doubt we rode more than 30% of the trail and the rest of the time was spent lifting and dragging the bike over mud, roots and rocks. The swiftest of us took more than 10 hours to get to the first hut and the slowest was rescued off the trail and driven the last few miles in the dark. A rough start to say the least. The owner of the huts who helped us out also rescued two hikers off the same trail so it was a wet, cold, and tired group of eight that bunked down the first night. Several times during the day I thought to myself, "What the hell have I gotten myself into?"
The stunning vistas and the fields of alpine flowers were a beautiful consolation for the arduous day, it must be said. My pal Mike Richmond went on his head hard and had the helmet bruises on his forhead for the remainder of the trip. Mike Dunn and I both went down hard at least once on his part and several times on mine and had the bruises to prove it.

Cote de Tolosa 2011

Held the fourth Sunday in May, this second annual event was a big success. The turnout was one indication with 55 riders starting and most of them finishing. This was roughly double what we had last year. The course was similar with the only change being the route up to the top of the grade. Instead of the most direct connection along 101 and up the Stage Rd., we instead went around the back of Cal Poly and took Stenner Crk up to the RR tracks and then around the bend to hook up with the Stage Rd. This added about 4 miles to the race almost all of it on dirt. The fastest finisher took almost a half hour longer to finish than last year, and as it was the Blake Anton once again the winner I believe that indicates a harder course. Everyone liked this year's race better.
My own race went well considering I have not been as consistant in my training compared to last year, but I did take care to follow an good peaking schedule in the month or so leading up to it. My only competition in the "Fastest Winemaker" catagory, Matt Brain both went off course by a mile or so and crashed hard allowing me to catch and drop him on the single track section. Despite my own dubious talents on narrow and skinny trails I still pulled a sizable gap. Luckily my legs came alive once I hit pavement again for the second half and I turned over a big gear to come in strong. Matt actually caught Andy M. and I in town, but I suspect that he blew his wad chasing as he cracked when I put a bit of pressure on a mile or three from the finish and dropped both he and Andy to finish solo in 21st place and at 4 hours and 15 minutes more or less. That was the best I'd hoped for. Gave it my all and had a good day and good luck. What more can you ask for?

finding form

Form, that elusive feeling that you are riding at your peak is the holy grail of the serious cyclist. You get fleeting glimpses of it as you approach it. These past couple weeks as my training has been more consistent and as I've logged longer and hillier rides I've had brief moments when I can feel my forms coming on. Last Sunday riding up "the grade" was one such. The previous weekend pre-riding the Cote de Tolosa course I had the feeling on parts of the climb. It's funny how these moments when you feel strong and the cycling feels effortless are so few compared to the many more moments when you are suffering like a dog and feeling about as fast as a dog turd. Somehow the good moments outweigh the bad.
Today is the last long hard ride before the Cote de Tolosa. I'm going to play hooky from work and go ride something long. Exactly what I haven't decided. Maybe the steeps back behind Lopez - those are always good mental and physical training.

Hell of the North County

This Sunday which was Paris Roubaix for the professional hardmen was also the first official ride of the year for me. Nexus Cycling the local racing club put on an event that featured lots of climbing and lots of unpaved surfaces, called "Hell of the North County". I knew from the course description that it was a bit beyond what my legs had in them, but decided to start anyway. The first climb up Old Stagecoach found me well behind the pack but still ahead of two out of the twenty or so that started. So good not to be DFL. The next section where points were available was a road sprint and even though I was riding my porky touring bike with cyclocross tires, I went for it. I did decently getting 8th or so. The next climb back up to the top of Cuesta Grade again saw me near the back. The race back downhill on the dirt went all right. I finished seventh even though I started towards the back. I discovered that My rear tire was just about flat at the bottom which I'm sure had some effect. I started the climb up Perfumo when both legs and the clock ran out on me. I had to make an appearance at the winery so I headed for the showers. Later in the day we all met up at the brewpub to eat pizzas drink beer and watch the real "Hell of the North". A great race that a relatively unknown domestique, Van Summerun, won. Gotta love those Cinderella stories.

resting or slacking

It's always a valid question whether you're resting or just being a lazy bum. Today is a perfect example. Yes, it's cold. Yes, I feel mentally tired. Yes, I have an extreme ride planned for two days from now. Yes, my left eye has some sort of bacterial infection. All of these argue for taking it easy and being fully fresh for the weekend starting tomorrow, but still I feel a bit guilty that I'm not racing home now to spend a cold hour on the bike just before dark. One of these days and it won't be long. I won't be singing this song.