2015 ToC RR (Tour of California Ride Report), part 1
Prologue: Saturday, Sacramento - We gathered, in two big clumps, at the downtown Holiday Inn Express. ENer Bob Nelson, a concierge FP physician in Sacramento had volunteered to pick up a gaggle of us at the airport, transport us to lunch, then on to the hotel. Meanwhile, Coach Rich schlepped up the SoCal contingent, along with bikes and vans. The support for this trip was first class. Rich had borrowed a new Mercedes Sprinter Blutec from one of his moto buddies. Room for 4 inside, along with all of our luggage, and a few bikes. Mrs. Rich, JoAnne, served as sag driver and administrative aide extraordinaire. A rented Econoline 10 passenger van was driven by Brendan, who knows bikes and photography. By the end of the trip, he also knew the van VERY well. And, most amazing, a fully equipped (21 inch flat screen, bike racks front and back, 10 seats inside) bike support van from CrazyBearBikes.com, Xavier Lassalle, prop. "X" is a bear of a man, whose business is supporting bike trips throughout California. Rich found him out of the blue one day while on a ride in the San Gabriel mtns. X not only knows be mechanics and the intricacies of taking a large group on a whirlwind tour of the Golden State, but he also is one of the nicest people you'll ever meet, with a great French accent to boot.
That night at dinner, we all got know each other a bit more. I was lucky, personally knowing more than half the crew. We included 6 folks in the IT trade, another half dozen clinicians (MD, PT, DDS, DC). 18 paying customers, with Rich and his "domestique", Jonny Diedrich, rolling along with us. Rich outlined the week, and the protocol ("If I were a ToC rider, here's how I would arrange my morning ... "). To our rooms, ready to crash through the looking glass the next morning.
Stage 1: Sacramento to Davis, the long way - The California Delta consists of several rivers (Sacramento, San Joaquin, American) all commingling in an estuary draining to San Francisco Bay. So the ride was FLAT, FLAT, FLAT crossing many bridges through fallowed farm land. The state is planning to shunt even more of this water south, through several tunnels, so our view was peppered with signs, "Stop the Tunnels". Confusing, as all we saw were bridges. And grass blowing in the wind. We made a giant "U" on the route, first into the wind, then finishing with it at our backs. Joining us on the ride were Bob Nelson again, and Peter Carroll, ENer from Davis. The day was mostly about sorting ourselves out, finding out who could ride with whom. I managed about 90 miles in 4:45 (TSS 254, IF 0.71), with the faster riders hitting the take out about 15-20 minutes earlier. Vans were parked in a shopping center lot, where we scavenged for lunch at a Whole Foods clone, then watched the Tour riders whiz by for 20 seconds. That's bike race spectating - hours of fending for yourself, hopefully on a bike, and a very brief exposure to a snapshot of the race itself. In the van, heading to our next night's stop, we pulled up the tour coverage on my iPad, and caught the sprint finish. Hard to remember, but I assume Mark Cavendish won, cause who's gonna beat him?
Grass Valley, another Holiday Inn Express, and our first attempt at following Rich's instructions to not try eating out in large groups. 13 of us ganged up on a Thai place, finally splitting into three groups. Lesson learned. Grass Valley is a funky little Sierra foothill town, which has been discovered by the microbrewery crowd. It's also, guess what, in a valley, so the next morning's ride would be an uphill start.
A word about the weather: these first three days were perfect. about 55 at our 8-8:30 start time, clear sky, reaching a high in the low 70s by ride's end. Looming in our future, though, were rumors from the NOAA weather service about snow in the So Cal mountains by Friday, Time Trial Day at Big Bear Lake, elev. about 7000'.Stage 2: Nevada City to Lodi - For me, this was the best overall day of riding. We started in rolling foothills, about 2500' above sea level, and meandered our way down back country roads towards Lodi (yes, the one where Creedence Clearwater got stuck) back in the valley. The tour went 100+ miles again, while I puttered along for 70 in 4:45. I found that taking a van break for about 20 minutes while the rest of the group cycled 4-5 miles ahead around noon time gave me a chance to eat my "lunch" (almonds, peanuts, M&Ms, Clif Bar) and be refreshed for the afternoon's segment.
We rode up and down over the lower slopes of the foothills in Placer and El Dorado counties - Gold Rush country. Also the home of Auburn's "World's Toughest Half". We found out why with the double barreled screaming downhills and equally sharp uphill grades. Including our first Categorized climb, an oddly labelled Cat 4, 800 feet in 1.5 miles. And the KOM flag was not even at the top! We also did a few sprints, those designated lines, usually in small towns for easy spectating, where racers can pick up points for the Green Jersey. The racers get to do these with no traffic or stop lights, but we're not on closed roads, so strategy is different for us. The little pack I was with in Meadow Vista was lined up nicely. Then a school bus came by on our left. I popped out, motor paced behind the diesel belcher, and easily took the points. My totals: 70 miles, 4:42, TSS 221, IF 0.69.
Evening Dinner: We'd driven over the coast range to the suburban desert of Milpitas, just north of San Jose. Still, we found massive quantities of salmon, pork, noodles, rice, beef, veggies at a Thai restaurant, followed by giant Apple/Cinnamon/Ice Cream concoctions at the Bear Diner. I know I'm on a multi day tour when I stuff myself into somnolence at dinner, and wake up ravenous the next morning. The Holiday Inn Expresses had gut filling gravy& biscuits, bacon&eggs, oatmeal and raisins, but tonight's Day's Inn was bereft of substantial calories. Ominous for the upcoming ride through those same coastal mountains.
Stage 3: San Jose (Mt Hamilton) - Our first real climbing day. The west coast of California is only tenuously attached to the main continental tectonic plate. Basically, San Francisco is sliding very slowly towards Los Angeles (or is it vice versa). Result: frequent earthquakes and jagged fault line upheavals, euphemistically called "mountains". Where I come from, mountains are granite out croppings (with the occasional volcano for visual relief) covered with evergreen trees, rippling streams descending, and easy gradients to climb - say 6-8% rise (50' up in one mile of riding = about 1% grade; so 300' in a mile = 6%). Today, though ... Well, Rich, seeing what he had to work with, decided to drive us 30 miles into the route, and let about 8 of us bypass half of the first climb, Mines Road. This so we could get out of the desolate coastal mins before the tour rolled through and trapped us behind the lines. Group A tackled the whole climb, which was only a Cat 4; the rest of us got dropped off half way up (after the KOM flag) and cruised along through amber waving grass fields, melted over the hillsides like living velvet. It went on like that for 30 more miles, including two more Cat 4 climbs. Then, Mt Hamilton. The home of Lick Observatory (not much light pollution still in this desolate area), it rises 2000 vertical feet in 4 miles. So that's an average of 10% gradient. Some parts more, some parts less. A looong grind. The downhill was equally intimidating. I took the easy way out, and vanned it part way down.
Years ago, I thought nothing of bombing down roads at 40-50 mph on my bike. I never hit the asphalt in all that time. Then I switched to mountain biking, got a little dirty, but still, handled the downs OK. But now, a few things have changed, I guess. First, I've got nothing to prove to myself. Second, I've spent a couple of weeks in the ICU from crashes (one on the flats, one while skiing a beginner slope as an expert skier). One of those crashes left me with a weakened right arm from a spinal cord injury, so I can't grip the handlebars for more than about 20 minutes without getting cramps, as well as simply not being able to hold on as tightly. Third, I've promised my wife to come back from all my bike trips in one piece, and make it into our 80s with her. At 66, I've still got a few years to go towards that goal. This descent promised over 4000 vertical feet of downhill. Sounds like fun, right? To me, not so much. There's a ride, directly out of Aspen, called Independence Pass. Goes from 7600' to 12,100'. And back down, I've done that a few times, and know I can do it, but...it's just not fun anymore. So I hitched a ride with X to the 2500' level, got out ahead of the pack, and wound my way down towards the Santa Clara valley - suburban San Jose. Afterwards, I was told this section - where the switchbacks were lined with hay bales, which the stage leader actually hit on the way down - was the worst part of the ride. Oh well, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
The route ended on closed streets at the edge of the Bay Area metropolis. Wide, smooth asphalt, cops at every corner, and not a car in sight. I was all alone, screaming along, and here comes Jeremy Behler, screaming even faster, I popped on his wheel, and dug in for the finish. Jeremy had his head down, though and didn't see the yellow "course" sign pointing left. He rammed forward at about 28 mph, while I shifted left at 15. Rich caught me, and decided not to go after him. He gave me instructions for the remainder of the ride, and zoomed on up the road.The final 11 miles for the day were back out in the country, heading towards a motorcycle park for the uphill finish. Again, closed roads, this time filled with eager cyclists trying to beat the race to the finish. I turned around 3 km from that line, not wanting to be stopped by the oncoming CHP cars. Rich and those who'd made it all the way caught me at the top of a hill; no way was I staying with them on the down. But luckily (for all of us) the CHP bubble topped SUV angrily forced us off the road at the precise point where the sidewalk began. Except...school had just let out, and we needed to politely wind our way past oncoming parents and kids walking home.
The rest of the crew was in a mini-mall parking lot with a Beach City Deli and a pizza place close by. We could see them eating, but couldn't cross the road. The race was too close. Mt Hamilton had broken up the field, which came by every 5 minutes or so. Finally, two broom wagons, and three ambulances later, we crossed over, got our eats, and headed out towards Monterrey.
(To be continued)
Comments
Yeah. Sort of a miss.... I think Peter's achievement and our resulting pride in said achievement is a major part of the week.
I need to figure out how I can swing this as well as my usual Mallorca experience next year...hmmm...wheels are turning in my head...
OK, where was I ... Stage 3, heading out towards Monterrey (Do you know the way from San Jose?) It's either over the spine of the peninsula, or down south through Steinbeck country - Gilroy, Watsonville, hints of lettuce and strawberries in the fertile fields here. With the ocean finally at our right shoulder, we made it to the Comfort Inn just in time to ... do laundry! At least, some folks did. I prefer simply taking my cycling bibs and jersey into the shower with me, then treating them like grapes being crushed for wine. Does the trick, as long as they dry by morning. Just don’t drink the water.
[Note to actual riders on this trip - my memory may have been clouded by hypoxia, so if I get things wrong, out of order, or otherwise screwy, well, blame it on the Aloe Milk.]
Stage 4: Monterrey to Hunter-Liggett, via Route 1, Big Sur. This is the iconic California ride, along Pacific Coast Highway. Two lanes all the way, crashing ocean views down below, beige bridges arcing over the coastal canyons, and mist folding into the ragged hills, shrouding the gnarly evergreens. Well, we missed the mist, it was sunny all day. Mid 60s, tail wind, it was almost cheating to ride like this. I took the day as a solo lark, between groups A & B; I didn't want anybody blocking the view. 60 miles of this, then bang a left onto Nacimiento-Ferguson road towards the interior and the Hunter-Liggett army base, heading into Wildflower country. That road was serious: 1500' rise in 3.5 miles, 10-12% grade all the way. Easing off to 6-8% over the next 3.5 miles, topping out at a by now misty 2600'. A final downhill, then we re-grouped next to a - statue of a tank? - or was it the real thing, saved in memory of some almost forgotten battle decades ago. Anyway, it provided some shelter next to the vans while everyone changed out of cycling kit for the ride to Santa Barbara. Was this one of those In-n-Out Burger stops? Hard to keep these "lunches" (actually, a fourth meal following the day's ride, usually in a fast-ish food spot full of calories to replenish the glycogen stores.) This evening, due to the long day and long transfer drive, it also had to serve as our real dinner, as we arrived at Santa Barbara's Holiday Inn Express around 8 PM. My ride: 65 miles, 5.5 hours (sightseeing, climbing that endless hill)
Stage 5: Santa Barbara to Santa Paula - the race proper went all the way past Six Flags Magic Mountain into Santa Clarita, but we pulled up short. This was, as Phil Liggett might say, a "lumpy day". Multiple categorized climbs, punctuated by the short but incredibly steep Balcom Canyon (20 % max grade?). The B team managed to ride just slow enough to avoid having to do that one. I spent the end of the day with Scott and Attila, battling for sprint points. First round, Scott sneaked around the cars waiting at a light, strategically placed at the 200 meters to go placard, to easily get honors. Next, it was up and over more climbs, cat 4 & 3, so close together, the 5 km to go sign for the second was placed about 600 meters before the first, confusing some of us into easing back when they should have been pushing. At the top of the second climb, Rich sent out orders for B group to stop after the sprint in Santa Paula, while A group would try and beat the Tour to Balcom. I took off, anticipating another drastic downhill. But what followed was the best 15 miles of the trip for me.
I found myself with the A/B split group, and we pace lined up 2 miles of a rising false flat through open fields, then up a stiffer climb for another 2 mi. At this point our elevation was 1600', we were out in the country side with no towns in sight before Santa Paula, and a nine mile steady downhill to 300'. That worked out to a 3% drop most of the way - perfect for maxing out the smallest cog you've got (which was 11 for me). I covered those 9 miles in 18 minutes. I was helped greatly by Attila, whom we had somehow maneuvered into the lead position with 4 km to go before the sprint line in town. It seemed he was having too much fun to back off. Or maybe the big guy was trying to wear us out and win in a full on TT. He flicked his elbow once, about 2 km to go, but we were having none of it. In town, we were met with the usual line of traffic and a stop light at the 200 m to go sign. I'll let Attila take it from here:
"I was in front as we came up. I heard 'Click.' Then another 'Click', so I knew Scott and Al were both out of their pedals. No way was I going to unclip. I did a track stand, pushing my wheel back and forth three times. I was just about to give up when the light changed, and ... it was all over, They didn't have a chance in this drag race."
A few blocks later, the vans were pulled over, and we hung it up for the day. As some of us started to change there on the side walk, using towels for vanity, we noticed we were parked right in front of the town's police station. They watched us for a good 10 or 15 minutes, then just before Xavier and Brendan were about to pull out, a beefy uniformed officer, in full offensive regalia, came out to inform us we were parked too close to the driveway. Seems the cops might have to siren it out of the lot at any moment (a reasonable expectation in their business, for sure), and wanted to have good sight lines so they didn't endanger the local citizens as they made their high speed exit. At least we think that’s what he meant when he said, with typical police gruffness, "You guys had better move now." Some of our party wanted to point out to him the vans were clearly legally parked, not covering the driveway at all. Others noted that it was always a good policy never to argue with a man with a gun. We were gone in 30 seconds. My totals: 52 miles, 3:30
(To be Concluded)