A taste of spring - SFR Russsian River 300k: 2/21/2009

Ahhh, the legendary SFR 300k. I'd heard stories of the 2007 ride - epic wind and rain, with riders saved by the generosity of the Marshall store in staying open long past their official hours. I had even had my own epic experience the weekend before, although for only half the distance (93 miles instead of 187). Even the night before there was conflicting weather information: accuweather claimed rain all day, although with light winds, while the sfgate.com weather forecast was much more benign, with rain not expected to move in until the evening. What would it be?

As it turned out, the day was a great one for cycling. It was hard to tell in the pre-dawn darkness as I downed breakfast, drove over to the start and unloaded the bike, but the weather gods were definitely smiling that day.

As this was my second ride with the San Francisco Randonneurs, I knew pretty much what to expect for a lot of the route, especially the first 20 miles or so. My main concern was avoiding the rocks which had caused a flat tire on the SFR 200k in January. After the pre-ride meeting, warnings, and Randonneurs pledge doled out by Rob Hawks, we were off, streaming over the Golden Gate Bridge in a line of reflective illuminated HPVs. I successfully negotiated the downhill into Sausalito without hitting a single rock (yay!), and thus was still in contact with the group as we worked our way towards Mill Valley. It was nice being able to occasionally chat with riders instead of doing the solo thing, and not having to concentrate on the route sheet/street signs was another bonus.

I took it easy going over Camino Alto, and again on Whites Hill, wanting to make sure I would have enough gas for later in the day. As I'm a pretty slow rider I was near the end of the pack at this point, but the day was turning out pretty nice and my legs were in much better shape than they had been in January.

As I headed down Sir Francis Drake I decided to make a pit stop in Samuel P. Taylor park. I knew there was a bike path through the park which was okay to use, but decided to stay on the road as traffic was light and I'm used to crappy roads (we have lots of those in the Santa Cruz Mountains). As I was exiting the park I passed another group of riders entering, and briefly thought about turning around and joining them, but decided to push down the road a bit.

About a mile or so later I noticed another entrance to the bike path and decided to check it out after all. I had
been planning to get a camera to take pictures during my brevets, but hadn't yet, so the cell phone came out and got fiddled with. The result is somewhat underwater looking, but I'll just credit that to leftover feelings from the previous weekend's ride.

Soon I noticed the group coming down the bike path towards me and snapped another unsteady shot.


Hey, it's a cell phone, not a camera.

At any rate, I hung with this group for a while, fielding comments about my bike (Rans Zenetik Tour), and enjoying the views as we climbed past the Nicasio Reservoir. This group included Kitty Goursolle and Bob Koen, as well as a couple of riders (Nicole and ?) who were just out for a spin and weren't in the 300k.

We soon came to the "secret" control, at which point I should have picked up a postcard in case I got to the Marshall control after the store was closed; somehow the thought was driven out of my head and I left without getting one. This was to cause much anxiety later.

The miles went by as we headed along past fields and gentle hills towards Petaluma. At Petaluma Nicole and her companion said their goodbyes, and we headed towards the Safeway. I took a little extra time here and left behind the group but the day was nice and as I said, I'm a pretty slow rider. The flowers (mostly Scotch Broom, unfortunately) were out in force in the many fields along the route.
The route zigged and zagged through Santa Rosa, with a funky park that I wanted to check out some other time.
Next was Healdsburg, the northernmost point of the route and the next control. I noticed a small park a few miles before getting there and did a quick stop to use the bathroom and refill my Camelbak telling myself I would save time at the control. This turned out to be mistaken.
At the Safeway in Healdsburg I decided to get a Nantucket Nectar. I then spent about 10 minutes in a "fruitless" search for the fruit juice aisle. One aisle was labeled "juice" but had no juice in it. Eventually I located the other, correctly labeled juice aisle, but had to settle for something other than my original choice, I don't even remember what now. Oh well, I also grabbed a V8 while I was there, those are always good. I took off ahead of a few riders still finishing lunch, knowing that they would probably pass me in the next hour or two.

I was now in the doldrums of my riding day. The route circled around the Russian River Valley, bouncing up and down hills covered with still-dormant grapevines, while my legs needed a break. I took my time and kept hoping that the next hill would be the last. I began to doubt that I would make it to Marshall before the store closed.

Finally the turn onto River Road appeared and my pace picked up a bit. This was a nice bit of riding, although with a bit more traffic. My legs started to feel better, which was good as I knew that Highway 1 was coming up with more hills. Finally, the bridge appeared and it was time to say goodbye, Russian River Valleyhello, Pacific Ocean.
Just after the bridge over the Russian River I stopped to chat with a group of touring cyclists who were curious about all the other cyclists they had seen. They were doing a three day tour and were heading down to Bodega Bay for the evening. That was my next destination too, but not my final one.

A few hills later I saw a terrible place to surf
but was very close to Bodega Bay. Here I bumped into a few other Randonneurs at Diekman's store (the next control), including the two 'bent riders Thomas and Jonathan. It turns out we had ridden together in the Santa Cruz Randonneurs 200k in August 2008 (my first brevet). Since I had forgotten to get a postcard at the secret control I asked them for the address, then picked up a postcard in the store with my other supplies. Surprisingly the store did not sell stamps.

Now I was on a search to make sure I got a stamp before getting to Marshall. I pedaled slowly through Bodega Bay looking for signs to the post office when I noticed the visitor's information center on the left. After waiting for the woman inside to finish her phone call I inquired about stamps, only to be told that there was probably no place in town to buy stamps until Monday. Apparently the post office had taken the stamp machine out after several episodes of vandalism with silly putty, and she didn't know of anyplace else that sold stamps. I did get to use the rest room, then quickly checked a gas station store next door, but they too didn't sell stamps.

Now my options were dwindling. I had two towns left before Marshall, but they were both smaller than Bodega Bay. I wheeled my way southward and on to the town of Valley Ford. I stopped at the main store and, not too hopefully, asked the woman if they sold stamps. "Of course! How many do you need?" Yee-haw!
I bought my one stamp and thanked her for saving my ride, then hit the road for Tomales and Marshall. Along the way I was treated to a gorgeous sunset, near a house with fiddle music coming from it.
And the sunset got even better. The cows probably loved it, but ignored it anyway.
I rolled into Marshall around 7pm and mailed my hard-earned postcard. At this point the much rumored rain was beginning to move in and I rode on through a few light sprinkles towards Point Reyes Station. Night riding with little or no traffic always gives me a feeling of timelessness, it's just you and your lights moving through the mostly hidden countryside and there's no real point in checking what time it is or how far you've gone, because you'll get there when you get there. So I kept turning the pedals, and eventually I got to Nicasio, then up over the hill and back to Sir Francis Drake.

I headed up Whites Hill then got a surprise; right around the summit I came upon the 'bent boys again. With all the time I spent looking for a stamp I thought I had seen the last of them back in Bodega Bay. I trailed them down into Fairfax, then stopped to call my wife.

The rest of the route passed by uneventfully until I got onto the Golden Gate Bridge. The wind was once again a wild thing here, gusting fiercely as I negotiated my way around the towers. But it was a token gesture; the ride was done as I could walk the remaining distance if needed, and there was no need. Soon I buzzed out the far side of the bridge and wheeled down to the finish.

A quick signout later I was back at the car and pondering dinner possibilities before the drive back to Santa Cruz. All in all it was a good ride, and while my time was not as fast as I had hoped for, the result was the same: 300k done, no flats, relatively good weather. Oh yes, and one In-n-out cheeseburger animal style! Yum!

Who'll stop the rain? - Moss Beach Permanent: 2/15/2009

I scheduled this permanent a week before the SFR Russian River 300k to get some miles on my legs before going for the longer distance. It turns out I had picked the absolute worst day to ride on. Sunday Feb. 15 was forecast for rain and strong gusty winds. The night before I made sure I had all my rain gear and decided I would probably start the ride and turn around if things got too bad.

The morning was gray and windy, with a few sprinkles but no real rain yet. I drove down to the start and got everything on the bike before the rain really started, but the wind was definitely blowing "backwards", from the south. As I headed up Highway 1 I had a good boost from the wind, but I was worried about having to fight it on the way back. The wind was gusting and pushing me around quite a bit, and it seemed like it was blowing even harder higher up because every grove of eucalyptus trees I passed was roaring and bucking, and debris from the trees was all over the pavement. Some distance north of Davenport I heard the telltale "crack!" I had been listening for and quickly scanned around to try and locate the tree limb which had just succumbed to the wind's fury. Luckily it was in a field well away from the road. But this made me extra nervous and I kept an eye out every time I passed by another grove of trees.

The rain had been coming down for a while, but I was still pretty dry with my gloves, booties, tights, and rain jacket holding most everything out. I passed Waddell Beach and entered San Mateo County, still thinking I might have an okay day after all. A couple of miles later I heard a "clunk!", as if my chain had just settled onto a different cog, except I didn't feel anything slip in the drivetrain. I rode on for a couple of minutes thinking over possible causes in my head and wondering why my rear wheel suddenly seemed to be brushing the fender until suddenly the thought hit me: maybe that was a spoke popping. Sure enough I had broken a spoke on the rear, and I didn't have any spare spokes with me. I was about 25 miles in at that point...hmmm...perhaps this was another sign I should turn around. But the wheel was not too far out of true, and I have a disc brake on the rear so it was not affected. I just had to put up with the tire rubbing the fender slightly once every revolution. Might as well keep going.

I turned up Gazos Creek Road and got some shelter from the wind, but the debris on the pavement was even worse here. Luckily with no traffic I could use any part of the road I wanted, and I did. Well, until I saw the wires being pulled down to the ground by a fallen tree limb. The wires had not broken; they had just been stretched between poles by the weight of the tree limb. I couldn't tell if they were electrical or not, or if the power was on, so I gave them a very wide berth. A few minutes later I spied a ranger truck heading the other way and flagged him down to give him the news. He looked pretty wet in the truck (probably from getting out to check things every now and then), and he probably wondered what in the world I was doing out there on a bike.

Now the rain was really pelting down as I made my way along Cloverdale Road. My gloves were starting to siphon up water and I felt a spot or two on my feet where the water was soaking in also. I turned onto Butano Cutoff and really felt the wind now, even though I wasn't heading directly into it. As I turned up Pescadero Creek Road I switched from thinking about if I was going to turn around and started deciding where to turn around. The traffic was very light and consisted almost entirely of CHP cars, PG&E trucks and various maintenance vehicles. At least if I got in trouble help wouldn't be too far away. I decided to try and make it to La Honda. That would get me a fair amount of distance and climbing in preparation for the SFR 300k.

My shoes were now definitely soaked; I noticed I could tilt my feet up or down and feel the coldness move as the water shifted around. My hands were in a similar state, and I started a mental countdown: if I reached the summit of Haskins Hill before mile 40 on my bike computer then I would keep going. My computer clicked to 40, but I knew I was close so then it became reaching the summit before the 40 became a 41. I passed two more CHP cars apparently chatting, then finally the summit came in view. With a mental cheer I swooped carefully down the other side to Highway 84, then sloshed up to La Honda.

At the post office I removed my gloves and glove liners, then squeezed a fair amount of water out of the glove liners. I used some newspaper in the post office to dry my hands off so I wouldn't smudge the postcard too badly, then worked on my pen for a while until I could fill out my card. I dropped it in the mail , then went over to the market to use the bathroom and pick up some water.

In the bathroom I went through quite a few paper towels trying to get my glove liners as dry as I could; I couldn't do much with the gloves themselves, however, and decided that this was a good reason to consider bringing two sets of gloves & liners for days like this. Of course I couldn't do much about my feet. At least I could still feel 4 of my toes. As a final touch to help ward off the chill I pulled my Marmot Windshirt out of my rack bag (which was surprisingly still pretty dry inside - I guess I don't need to bother with the rain cover for it) and put that on between my wet jersey and my wet jacket, then headed back out into the storm.

Even though I had decided to turn back early, I hadn't made up my mind where yet. I initially turned onto Pescadero Road to go back over Haskins Hill, then changed my mind and went back to Highway 84 and down towards San Gregorio. As I approached San Gregorio I briefly toyed with the idea of continuing on instead of turning back. After all, it wasn't that much farther to Moss Beach. But no, I was already cold and wet enough, and then there was that headwind to consider. So I turned left onto Stage Road, but then changed my mind and turned around and headed back towards Highway 84, then decided to stop being stupid and turned around again for good. After all, I had broken a spoke and seen enough tree debris, downed wires, and slides already. And there was that wind.

Oh yes, the wind. Now that I was foolishly trying to head south I was being pushed and knocked around by it. I got some shelter when the road ducked down, but each time it climbed over a hill I would hear the freight train sound of the nearest trees and eye them nervously as I crept high enough to feel the full force of the wind. At one point I was knocked around enough to just stop and wait for 30 seconds before the gusts subsided a bit. Luckily I was still getting quite a bit of shelter from the wind by the hills. I didn't bother stopping in Pescadero; I was just ready to get back home at this point.

Cloverdale Road was another long grind of howling winds, but the rain had let up quite a bit so I convinced myself it wasn't so bad. Gazos Creek Road was a nice break with the winds pretty well blocked, and even the stretched wires were back up, with the cut-up remains of the tree limb nearby. But as I turned south onto Highway 1 I was hit in the face by the wind and rain big time. 25 miles of this was not going to be fun. Luckily after about 10 miles the wind let up quite a bit and I was able to make pretty good time. I don't know if it was a lull in the storm or if the main force had pushed further north. Once again my mind started telling me I should have gone on to Moss Beach, but I countered by realizing there was no guarantee that the wind was lessened further north, and anyway, there was still the little matter of my numb 6 toes. I finally pulled back into Santa Cruz and loaded up the bike, threw gloves, helmet, and booties over to the right side, and cranked the heater up to 80+. I made a mental note of another good thing to do next time: have dry shoes and socks in the car. Oh well, I had done about 93 miles in terrible conditions. I guess I could survive a bit longer in a car with a heater until I got home.

I found out later that it rained over 5 inches that day in Ben Lomond (where I live). My rain gear held up for about 4 hours before leaking, and nothing in my bike bags was completely dry, but the rack bag held up surprisingly well; things inside were just slightly damp. My food bag was a little more damp and the tool bag was fairly wet, but almost everything in those was either wrapped or uncaring about being wet. My lights and bike computer were perfectly fine, except my helmet light, which I discovered a couple of days later when it started turning itself on spontaneously. I opened it up and took out the batteries and after a couple of hours drying in the sun it was okay again.

I think for next winter I'll invest in a pair of winter riding shoes. Either that or the plastic bags that everyone seems to end up wearing. I would prefer shoes that hold out the water, however, instead of having dry feet inside wet shoes. Perhaps shoes with built-in bilge pumps. Given the amount of time I spend on a bike I could certainly come up with all sorts of useful inventions for inclement weather.
Some of them might even work.