Training rides 19, 20, and 21

(or "52 plus 76 plus 68 equals YAY")

A long weekend, three opportunities to ride, three rides completed, including Day on the Ride, for a total of 196 whopping miles! More about Day on the Ride in a minute. First, the preliminary.

Friday was a 52-mile ride from the Presidio out to Lagunitas and back -- along the exact same roads I'd be traveling the next day on Day on the Ride, and a duplicate of a ride I did back in January. Mostly uneventful, and even a bit of a familiar pattern: I was with the group up until about the first break. Then, because the break location had been moved to about a mile earlier than I'd had previously on that same route, I ended up going right past the break, and I instead took a quick pit stop up at the usual stopping point in Fairfax. That left me all by myself to conquer White's Hill -- which, while still difficult, was beginning to feel at least mildly familiar. I reached the lunch break in Lagunitas all by myself, and I had my food and was just about ready to leave when the first couple of other cyclists arrived. Thinking I'd need extra time on the return hills, I took off and, yet again, found myself completely alone almost all the way back. When I returned to the Presidio, only two other riders had signed back in -- one who flew past us all early on, and another who (if I remember correctly) didn't do the whole route.


As much as it could be, 52 miles almost seemed like a non-event. But I had to get to bed super-early Friday night, because I had to be in the Presidio at 5 a.m. Saturday for check-in of Day on the Ride.

This would be something different. Nearly 600 riders, full road and rest stop support, and yes, that nasty 5 a.m. check-in, just like on the real Day 1. I think I was only about 10 minutes late, but I still managed to get a parking spot in the very first row of vehicles. Five minutes later, I was checked in and had my cycle number, helmet number, event wristband, and lunch wristband, so I had 90 minutes to kill before the ceremonies began. The weather outside was somewhat frightful -- a dense fog that occasionally erupted into a light, annoying drizzle, with bone-chilling winds and temperatures somewhere in the upper 40s -- so I spent a lot of time inside Sports Basement, which had gracefully opened their doors several hours early, just for us. I thanked them by spending $8 on a neck lanyard that I could attach my camera to, so I could more easily take photos while riding. Make note of that.

At about 6:15, I made first contact with my potential future tentmate, Erhan, whom I had contacted through Dave Kim's highly valuable Tentmater website. We chatted about random topics and milled around the parking lot (giving me the chance to catch up with Paolo for the first time in several months, until ceremonies began, with the requisite official speeches, followed by the official stretching and the official safety speech. Don't worry about the weather, we were told; the organizers had just been up in Marin County, where we were headed, and "it's sunny up there."


Then at about 7:15, we were on the road, and within minutes we were on a cold, windy, chilly, wet, drizzly Golden Gate Bridge. Sure, there was excitement, but except for the event photographer we passed just before the bridge, it didn't really feel all that much different from the many training rides I'd already taken across the bridge.

And the pesky drizzle didn't help things, either, particularly on the long descent into Sausalito, which is scary enough in clear weather. (On one ride very early in the season going down that hill, I came this close to falling at about 25 mph when I hit a slick metal cover in the road. And other riders have apparently gone down there as well, so caution is always advised. Yet I still see people taking the hill at 35-40 mph. More power to them, but hey, that's not me.)

Up and over the hill on Camino Alto -- just like I'd done the previous day. Erhan, who had been riding fairly close to me, decided to go on ahead on the climb up Camino Alto -- a pattern that would become more familiar as the day went on. I saw scattered riders here and there, but no great crowds or massive packs of riders. (And shame on the rider in front of me who went through nearly every stop sign in Ross, Kentfield, San Anselmo, and Fairfax.) And imagine my surprise when I call out "on your left" to pass a rider, and he responds with, "Hey, it's Mr. Fresno!" Someone from last weekend's rides.


The crowds returned quickly, however, when I reached the first rest stop, at mile 18. I had heard that "waiting in line" ranked high among the most popular rest-stop activities, and sure enough, there was a long, long, long line (10 minutes? 15?) for the five porta-potties.

Fortunately, there was no line for snacks and Gatorade, and I got back on the road soon enough, accompanied by Erhan and a small pack of other riders. They were at the next intersection, trying to read their route sheets, so I told them just to follow us as we turned onto the main road out of town. Sure enough, we got out of town quickly, and we were all by ourselves in the bike lane, but then about a mile up, there was an intersection where a volunteer was directing cyclists onto the road ahead of us, from a side street.

Oops, the official route had stayed off the main road until that point. No foul -- and, if you ask me (even though you didn't), our route was a far easier route that was equally safe -- and didn't have a single pesky stop sign or traffic signal, unlike the official route.


And then the real climbing of the day began. In this second leg of the ride, three major climbs offer a daunting challenge. The first (pictured) is White's Hill, which I'd just done the day before, so it wasn't all that awful, even though I soon enough heard Erhan going "on your left" as he went by me.

Next was a climb of similar difficulty up Nicasio Valley Road -- during which a Highway Patrol car raced by with lights and sirens going. I was worried that something had happened on the ride further up the road, but I never saw anything, so I'm guessing not.

And the third climb of that leg was at mile 30, right before lunch, a particularly ornery climb up Point Reyes-Petaluma Road. I'd done it at least once before, on a solo 100-km ride I did in the area last year. But I'd never done it on a trip starting all the way back in San Francisco. I turned to the strategy that's come to serve me well -- just shift down to as low a gear as I need to keep going without overly exerting myself, and just keep pedaling, no matter what the speed. Even at about 5.5 mph, I still managed to pass several cyclists (and was passed myself by about the same number).

Then as I round a curve about two-thirds of the way up the hill, I start to hear music. Oh good, I thought, someone up there to cheer us on. Yes, a volunteer is handing out licorice sticks on the fly. But there's someone else there, too. It sure looks like ... could it really be ... yes.


Ginger Brewlay, the alter ego of Ric Uggen, who stands near the top of the biggest hill on every day of the ride, who can no longer ride himself because of AIDS, was there in a faaaabulous outfit, cheering us? And cheering me?

That was my moment. Ten months after signing up for this event, and nearly two years after I started riding in earnest to get ready, it finally hit me: This thing is real. It's almost here, and I am part of it.

(On edit, a day later: I still haven't confirmed that was really Ginger Brewlay up there, so if you know for sure, just let me know. The feeling was still the same, though.)Alas, it wasn't Ginger Brewlay after all, as Mr. Uggen so helpfully points out below in the comments. But oh my, Ginger is reading my journal! *quiver*

As much as I could get the tinglies while still pushing my way up that hill, that was my tingly moment. There was, of course, more hill still to come, but somehow it seemed easier. And at the top of the hill, I had another opportunity to experience what the ride is all about: Another rider had just pulled over, so I called out (as we are supposed to do), "Are you OK?" Most riders just say "yes" or give the approved thumbs-up signal, but this one didn't. He started some explanation about how his rear tire was bulging out of its tube. So I stopped right then and there. While he was perfectly capable of fixing his tire, I stopped to caution passing drivers, and to give the thumbs-up to passing cyclists so they wouldn't keep asking. And within a few minutes, the tire was fixed, and the other rider took off down the hill.

And I quickly got whacked back into reality going down that hill. As I was approaching the lunch break, I decided to take a picture of the volunteers waving me into the rest stop. So I reached down to pull the camera out of my jacket, where the camera strap was securely attached to that lanyard I'd bought. It didn't quite want to come out, so I tugged on it a little bit more, and a little bit more ... and oops! My camera just flew out of my hand and crashed onto the road at 20 mph. I stopped as quickly as I could (no other riders nearby, fortunately). No vehicles came along to crush the camera, and I ran to retrieve it -- and, miraculously, save a couple fresh dents on the sides, the camera was in full working order, all in one piece.


I pull into lunch just a bit more humbly, and Erhan is already there. Our box lunches were a hefty $10 each, prepaid, but they were worth every penny -- a huge box with a turkey sandwich, cookie, chips, pasta, and drink. We hang around, perhaps, just a bit too long, because after lunch and heading back up that hill, a support vehicle marked "CABOOSE" passes in the opposite direction. That means, supposedly, that there are no other riders behind the caboose, so the last rider was just a few minutes away from lunch, maybe an hour or so behind us.

And for once, I look behind me and find that Erhan isn't there, thanks to a little bit of cleat trouble when leaving lunch. The next 16 miles into Samuel P. Taylor State Park are mostly downhill, and they're almost completely uneventful. Sure enough, Erhan eventually catches up to me, and as we enter the park, there's an amazing development -- the fog lifts, and the sun comes out, allowing me to finally shed my jacket. And without the jacket to tuck my camera into, it just sort of hangs there in mid-air, flopping back and forth, so I decide to unclip the camera and stash it safely in my back pocket.


After the ride through the park, we come out in Lagunitas -- right at the spot at which I turned around the day before. That means that, from this point forward for the last 26 miles, the ride is exactly the route I'd just done. And indeed, there's not really all that much to report. No line at the porta-potties this time, though!

Back over Camino Alto, back through Sausalito, back up to and across the Golden Gate Bridge, back down into the Presidio -- a route I've done countless times now. Of course, those rides weren't Day on the Ride.

The fog has returned, so I've put my jacket back on, and I've put my camera around my neck once again, because I want to capture the end of this big ride.


I round the corner into the parking lot of Sports Basement. I think I hear a couple muffled cries of "Yay!" (Actually, I think one of those was me.) But other than that, nothing. No big "FINISH" sign, just a volunteer directing me to the bike parking area. A bit of a letdown! (Turns out that there was a group of, for lack of a better word, pompom girls who were cheering riders in, but they were taking a pompom powder when I arrived.)

After a yummy spaghetti dinner during which Erhan and I compare notes on the ride, I head over to the massage area for a complimentary 15-minute session to put my lower back in order (very well done!), and then it's ready to leave. A quick chat with Erhan reveals that, yes, we will be tentmates in June, which is a very good thing indeed -- one fewer thing to worry about. (Now, I need to check into the hotel and transportation arrangements down in Los Angeles -- last I checked, another friend is supposedly taking care of those.)

The bottom line for Saturday: Even after two consecutive days of riding, I'm not in any untoward pain, and I rode at a decent pace of nearly 13 mph on both days. Can't really argue with that.

But can I come back for more?

Why not, I decide. Sunday morning was full of training rides all around the Bay Area, so I pick one that seems familiar: an 68-mile East Bay route from Concord to Sunol and back. It's familiar because, back in 2005 before last year's ride and before I'd signed up, I rode that route as part of an ALC training ride (guests are always welcome on the rides), and it was that the camaraderie of that ride that helped persuade me to commit to doing ALC. In a form of returning to the scene of the crime, I figured it would be interesting to see how much of a challenge that ride would pose for me a year later.

A good idea in principle.

I had failed to fully comprehend that last year's ride was classified "mostly flat," but this ride was classified "rolling hills with some steep climbs." And sure enough, the ride began with a big, big difference. Instead of staying in the valley, we quickly started a long, nasty climb up into the east side of the Berkeley Hills. And the rolling hills continued through about the first 12 miles of the ride. The good news is that my slow-and-steady pedaling carried me on through yet again. The other good news was that I could turn around at any point after that and have a mostly-flat ride back to the starting point, so I wasn't committed to the full distance.

But I made it anyway. I reached the lunch point and had a quick bite to eat, and announced that I was going to leave a few minutes early so that I could get a head start on the few hills going back. (Sound familiar?) And, 14 miles later, there still weren't any riders behind me. But what's that up ahead? I think I see a "RIDE LEADER" helmet cap on that one rider. And other rider is waving at me! It's Paolo!? He's not on this ride!

No, but they were part of a group doing one of the other rides, and we happened to be on the same stretch of road at the same time. We followed along in reasonably close proximity for a few miles, until I had to take a pit stop for Gatorade and restroom.

But that was it. All the way back to the start point, another 14 miles, for a total of more than 68 miles. Not another one of our riders in sight. And at the end, I even signed the sign-out sheet (giving appropriate thanks), loaded the car back up, changed clothes, had a snack, and walked to the bank for some much-needed cash. And after 25 more minutes, still no other riders. Needing to start back to Fresno, I took off and headed home. My time on this ride was 5:13, compared to the 5:00 even I had on the Concord-Sunol ride back in 2005. But two things: The 2005 ride was over the mostly-flat route, and I didn't already have two consecutive high-mileage days.

And four hours after returning home, I still don't hurt, although I'm still wide awake, despite having a melatonin pill inside me. I've just spent nearly an hour and a half writing all this. Three consecutive days of high-mileage riding would seem to suggest that, this time for sure, I might well be ready to ride. And during Day on the Ride, something finally clicked -- not only is the event now fully real for me, it's also an event where I finally know many of the people I'll be riding with. I no longer felt alone. And it's only about a month away.

Since April ends in about half an hour, here come the numbers. And if you'll allow me to brag for just a second, the numbers are quite impressive. The most I'd ever bicycled in a month was 703 miles in May 2005. And in January-April 2005, my total mileage was 1,857. (Yes, my logs are that detailed.)

And now ...

Miles this month: 859
Miles this year: 2,679