Friday, February 25

The Company You Keep



Bohemianism is the practice of an unconventional lifestyle, often in the company of like-minded people, with few permanent ties, involving musical, artistic or literary pursuits. In this context, Bohemians can be wanderers, adventurers, or vagabonds.

-Wikipedia

Or cyclists. Strung out on Bohemian Highway with twin Freewheel/Hunter riders leading the way, the pandas started their journey. We caught the tail of the peloton before Moscow rode and settled down before the official “it’s on” at Hwy 116. I sat up, and looked around. I was last. Last place. Hmmm, there were others on the road behind me, having suffered from flats or minor phobias, but I was it - the tip of the tail of the peloton. So I did the only logical thing I could think of, I slowed down.

My move paid off. Jeb came chirping down the road. We rode side by side knowing that two pandas are certainly better than one. A third cyclist (though not panda, certainly bohemian) joined us. Her Flemish was flawless, and she was wearing a kilt and riding with cages on a “classic” steed. Becky (her name was Becky, not Ducky) explained that she was taking a dump when the gun went off and that despite her PRO status, she enjoyed these uncompetitive rides. While I couldn’t comment on her start, I certainly shared her enjoyment of the grasshoppers. We continued riding down Cazadero Hwy when what to my wondering eyes should appear before me but another panda! Becky headed down the road while the three pandas regrouped and continued through Cazadero to the base of Fort Ross where I soloed on to regain my place in line. Being last again was a bit daunting, but I shouted back to my panda mates “Don’t worry I’ll catch up.” A tall order, seeing there was no cutting. If I wanted to see another panda on the parcours, I better hustle.

And hustle I did. Fort Ross is truly spectacular climb. As I climbed, I started catching riders who had fallen off the back. First a couple of blokes stopping for a pee brake, then Becky, then another two. Another couple, then a few more before the summit. A left on Myer’s Grade and – whoa baby! Yeehaw! The descent was glorious. Not so much in terms of speed, but this descent could stand alone. It is all about forward, whereas many other descents are merely an afterthought, with the main attraction left behind. At the bottom I met up with the Pacific and some lads from Soulcraft. We pacelined down Rte. 1 each taking our pull. Thanks again Soulcraft! A left on Willow Creek (no time to stop for the Curry Special!) and a slog through the pocked pavement. At the base of Willow Creek I said goodbye to my companions (some stopping to help a fellow hopper, others dropped by yours truly ;). The start of the climb was in pretty good condition but the final third was a bit wet, mud sucking onto my road tires. Despite the conditions, I made it to the gate on my bike and faster that last month’s time (Hopper Old Caz). A quick piss while the boys at NorCal cleaned my drivetrain (bike, not ...umm, nevermind). Man, I felt like a PRO. Until …

Coleman Valley. Lonely Times. Oh so lonely. What songs do you sing when you are lonely? What do you say when you are lonely and who do you say it to? Up here my pace slowed, my eyes searched the horizon, my thoughts rode away with the only person to have passed me since Fort Ross. Behind me another was catching up. I was leaving, giving up … surrendering … succumbing.

Dam it Jim, snap out of it! And I did. I continued up Rte.1 to Bay Hill and back down. I was gaining speed again, gaining a sense of purpose. I was ready for enlightenment, I was ready for Joy! Although it was brutal, converting riders to walkers, I made it up with only a half dozen expletives. For every pitch Joy pulled from the earth, I pushed back. Deep breath, now Push! Heave! Ho! I did it! I had regained my place in line and I was going to finish. Time down? Perhaps, but efforts up.

Riding into Occidental I finally rejoined the other pandas for some cheers and beers. A fine day of riding and relaxing in the company of like-minded people.

Thursday, February 24

Grasshopper #2 - Fort Ross, Bay Hill, and Joy! Road

Jeremiah will surely provide some more color soon, but here's a visual of what the Pandas were up to last weekend in Occidental.

Saturday, October 23

Race Ready

How to get race ready - ride the giants on your vacation (col de mente, port de bales, tourmalet,); get on the spinner at lunch; take the long way home on the single speed; and drink just enough beer and eat just enough pork to neutralize the effect of all your time in the saddle. Now you are race ready.

The pandas had a good showing at the first Super Prestige with dave and christine finishing in the front while mike, mike, jeremiah and chris are solid mid packers who might just become top thirds. Might. I'll spare you the details, but Merritt college was a flat technical course whose loose gravel and rocks claimed many tires, knees and elbows. Not sure whether more people visited the neutral pits during the race or the medic's tent afterwards.

Erik represented pandas in oregon, though there is no report how he did except that he looked incredibly smart in the new kit.

Wednesday, April 7

How Hard Could It Be?

Very hard. A tribute to Flanders, Chris, Stephen and I took a ride to a true Muur. 20%, cobbled and right here in San Francisco! Chris was first up, zigging and zagging at the top, but up nontheless. Stephen up next, and next thing Stephen down making kissy faces with the ground again. Oh boy, I'm next. Hit the Muur hard, after the intial momentum faded, I had trouble controlling my bike, my weight made itself to the back - the way back, and I thought I was going to make kissy faces with the ground. One more pedal turn, unclip, then walk. After the cobbles, the climb is not over - hop back on the bike and keep pedaling.
How hard was it? Don't take my word for it, try it yourself -

Wednesday, March 24

Ce n'est pas une course cycliste

Though much is taken, much abides; and though

We are not now that strength which in the old days

Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are,

One equal-temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.


- Ulysses, T.S. Eliot.

This is not a race, which suits me because I am not a bike racer. Release the hounds, control the chaos, Murphy commands thee – go forward and conquer! You can win this. Yes, you. Win. This.

This is not a race. I more or less managed to stay with the tete de la course up until the top of Mt. Tamalpais with the help of the mighty Krishna pulling me (and others) across the bridge and through the streets of Sausalito. Although he is by far stronger than I, he somehow managed to come from behind and pass me several times. This is an example of just how tough SF Enduro is, not only physically demanding but mentally as well. I was well aware, and prepared for all the physical pain the Marin fire roads could dish out but I was not expecting the mental and emotional drain SF Enduro would inflict. I feared taking a wrong turn. I feared the unknown intersection, and I felt like I could cry – yes, actually cry. But this is not a sad sob story, and enough of this baby whining – back to the race report. This is not a race.

After cresting the East Peak I joined the tete de la course as we headed down Eldridge Grade (Holy Rocky Mother of All UnHoly What The Fuck). I knew I wasn’t going to be able to keep the pace on the descent, so I took a moment to fuel up as I watched Dave courageously give chase. Dave has a way of knowing how to stay up front, no need to read the map when you are on the leader’s wheel. As for me, I cautiously made my way down, picking my lines and picking up a fellow enduro. Although new to the bay area, just three weeks away from Minnesota, he had already ponied up his dues for the norcal hardmen of the peloton club (you’re invited). He indicated they have gravel back home, but this was a whole new ballgame. This is not a race. We continued our descent, stopping to lend a bike pump (frame pump = good idea) to a chap racing on tubular Dugast tires. We all make choices and he chose tubulars. At least they were Dugast. We continued down to the lake and the three soon became four with the addition of a lost DFL soul. Together we took two wrong turns before heading back and running into a trio led by Ernesto. I jumped on his wheel and soon we made our way to the parking lot. After a few more circular moments to make sure we truly did not know where we were going, we finally made our way through the golf course and onto Bolinas Fairfax Road. We all made the climb to Pine Hill Road together were we stopped at the trail head to debate the meaning of the “no bicycles” signage. What to do? “Surely Murphy wouldn’t send us on a trail without bicycles,” some said. Others weighed in, “Actually, that that is exactly what Murphy would do.” The map said take Pine Hill Road and the trail sign said Pine Hill Road so … we must go. I took a closer look at the no bicycle sign and concluded that the sign prohibited bikes in the watershed area, but not necessarily on the trails. On the trails bike were legal; off the trails – no bikes. Everyone seemed to agree and we continued on our way. Shortly thereafter, our decision to take the no bike’s allowed bike trail was confirmed as correct when hikers indicated a man wearing pink riding a mountain bike was just in front of us (gotta love the Sheila Moon kit.) We continued to climb, stretching the gaps between us. I confess, I found myself off the back, walking sections. But I was not the only one – you too can confess your sins and you will be forgiven.


By CP2 the lead (DFL Brad) already had 40 minutes on me. Dave was in 8th place and our group was the low 20s. Not bad considering multiple confusion stops. As the others continued on, Ernesto and I spent an additional couple of minutes fueling up and comparing SF Enduro so far with La Ruta Loca Randonee (a 200 km mix terrain randonee we both rode this past summer). Ernesto felt La Ruta more difficult, I disagreed, finding the terrain much more challenging here. In the end, I think we both would agree that each were difficult, and each beautiful in their own way. However, SF Enduro was by far more challenging. Ride them both for yourself if you disagree.



We left CP2 together and descended upon a familiar face. Mark had blown front and back tires and only had a minipump, which should be called a whussy pump. Again, there is no substitute for a proper frame pump (except a good minipump – let me know if you know of one). Ernesto continued on, mindful of his time (this is not a race) while I stayed with Mark as he pumped up his tires. I am a firm believer in bike karma and I am confident that my two stops to help others resulted in no punctures for me. But all the karma in the world could not keep me from struggling with the steep pitches and rocky terrain between CP2 and CP3. At the first four way intersection I confidently went the right way, but then at the next intersection I did not know which way to go. So of course I went the wrong way, descending 500 feet or so before realizing that this may not be the route. I hauled my ass back up to the original intersection where I saw another rider, unmistakably taking part in this. This is not a race. There was no mistaking him for a weekend mountain bike recreational rider - Zeitgeist kit, with a fish riding on the back of a tandem, definitely Enduro material. He saw me and pointed to the left, up a small incline. “Are you sure?” “No, but pretty sure.” Close enough for me so on I went, and sure enough I soon hit CP3. At this point I (and the fish tandem) were considering calling it quits once we get back down to pavement. I can’t take much more of this. This is not a race. Just give me a god dam road and I’ll take it from there. But first I needed to get to pavement which meant I had to continue.

I soon came upon what I though was another biker in distress. I slowed asking if they needed anything (you can never have too much good karma). All I heard was “Whawhawha Murphy.” Huh? I thought, there is Murphy’s Oil and also Murphy’s Irish Stout. Could this be what they wanted? They looked at me and asked again something about Murphy and whether I was part of an event, “you know … do you have a map?” Again, I was stumped. Was this a test? I recall my instructions that if asked, I was not part of event, rather just out enjoying the day. Luckily, my synapses connected and I realized I had made it to CP4. Fish tandem soon followed and I expressed my doubts about finishing the race. This is not a race. However, the wonderful volunteers of CP4 pointed across the valley to the next peak saying that was the finish. The last checkpoint, get there, and then you can go home. You can do it. You can.

A huge thank you to CP4 for helping fish tandem and me put on the cape of courage and go on to the finish. We both stopped under Sir Frances Drake for a little pick me up and a chat with Murphy. I introduced myself and Murphy gave directions to CP5 and some unsolicited encouragement. “No one is going up to CP6, the second time bonus, if you go you can win this. You can win.” For a second, I thought, yes I could – if this was a race, which I don’t think it was – I could win. As I rode off and up Gunshot, Murphy called out, “You can Win!!!!”


I would love to tell you that crushed it up Gunshot, and then set the bonus time lap record taking the overall win. But I can not, and I did not. I did not win, but I did finish. I climbed, and walked and climbed some more. Though exhausted, reaching CP5 I felt great. I felt alive, happy. I was all smiles, as I started my descent onto the pavement and through the familiar Marin towns. I pushed it hard into Sausalito, where to my surprise fish tandem passed me despite him arriving first at CP5. He dropped me at a light in Sausalito and I lost contact over the bridge so I stopped to check directions to the finish. After a few more wrong turns and a couple more hundred feet of climbing (including a set of stairs on the back of Lone Mountain) I finished. Beer and pork in hand I communed with my fellow riders but then it was home for me. This was not a race. I am not a bike racer.



That night I extolled my achievement, the hardest day on a bike for me, ever. Mentally and physically there were a number of times when I was ready to quit. But I continued. “Would you do it again?” No. Too hard, too many bumps. I was wiped.



The next day, after I had time to think about it, I changed my mind, and said that I would do it again. Yeah there were bumps, but only on the hills. I could handle it.

And then the next day, after I had some more time to think about it, not only would I do it again, I wanted to do it again. I wanted to beat my time, beat my friend’s time, beat your time and maybe, just maybe win it. I could win it, after all, it’s not a race and I am not a bike racer.

http://www.strava.com/rides/82842

Monday, March 22

Onward and ...


If a panda roars, and you don’t hear it, does it make a noise? Yes. Although cross season finished, the pandas continue to ride into the sunset. First and foremost, at the Post Season Panda Pigout, the team gathered to eat, drink and socialize while wearing something other than lyrca on our legs and dirt on our teeth. The night’s winner was Kate taking the first annual Hele Dag Award for all day commitment to the pandas with Mike’s bread and my pork following close behind. A big congratulation to all you make cross season what it is.

Meanwhile on the bikes:
While Mark was out mixing it up with the NorCal roadies at Chileno Valley for Hopper glory; Chris, Christine, Jeremiah and Julie were “training” for the Death Valley century. When the big day arrived, the training helped us go hele dag. We road the fast train for the first 10 miles or so, before toning it down to arrive at the first reststop. We made good timing, working with a couple of other riders until I suffered a puncture. The mini pump I bought Julie for her stocking did not have the umf needed to get me back up to acceptable PSI, however a quick shot of CO2 made up the difference and not a moment too soon as the gnats took a strong interest in our position and riders were passing us at an unacceptable rate. The next feed station, had PB&J before the climb, I found it nice and mellow despite putting in 45+ miles up to that point. Other pandas did not like the long straight incline, preferring the switchback of Old La Honda, or the Alpe d’Huez . I am not sure they have their priorities in line. The day wore on, as each panda taking strong pulls in the front. The scenery was dramatic, colors ranging from the desert red/orange rock formations on our east to the blue snow capped mountains on our west, separated by a vast flat desert floor – often reflecting the blue mountains. Although not a race it is always nice to compare (and compete) finishing in around 33rd place (or so) with a time of 7:37. What I learned from my first century: Bring a frame pump; 10 hours is a long time to drive; 7 hours plus is a long time in the saddle; paceline = good idea; communicate. Here is the ride - http://www.strava.com/rides/79629

Finally, this last weekend I rode SF Enduro II, perhaps the hardest day in the saddle for me to date. More on that later, but for now you can check out the ride at strava - http://www.strava.com/rides/82842