Best of the Bay = Best of the Food!

Saturday was my second (and last) training ride on an organized and supported ride, and it again needed an early start, so I hopped into bed as early as I could and tried to get a good night’s sleep. I say ‘tried’ because I kept waking up when my wife kept yanking the covers off of me. Leaving the fan on because it was hot at the beginning of the night caused late night tug-of-war battle the likes of which haven’t been seen since Thermopylae. Anyway, my alarm went off WAY to early, and I dragged my battle-weary body out of bed confident that I had packed everything the night before and set about loading up the truck with my bike.

Another shot from my driveway with no sun in evidence.

The good news? I remembered almost everything! The bad news? ALMOST everything. Sadly, I forgot my sunscreen. Fortunately, it was cold and I had my arm warmers on most of the way until I found a rest station that had sunscreen available for foolish riders like myself!

The drive over to Freemont was uneventful. The BART train I needed to catch left at 5:50, so I left by 5:00 with a 37 minute (estimated by google) drive to get there. I arrived in plenty of time and joined a queue of bikers getting their BART tickets. The way the Best of the Bay works is you bike from the Orinda BART station through Berkley/Oakland/etc down to San Jose in the back hills, then ride back up to Freemont BART for the finish. So there were quite a few of us ready to BART up to the start for a 7:00 A.M. start to the ride. I am still a little annoyed that I had to get up at 4:30 for a 7 A.M. start compared to the Sequoia where I got up at 4:30 for a 5 A.M. start. But it is what it is! I’ll be getting up at 3:30 or even earlier for the Death Ride, so I shouldn’t complain too much.

That’s a lot of bikes on the BART. And only one car!

The ride up was pretty laid back, and I realized that I recognized one of the other bikers from the Sequoia Century! He was the guy with whom I had met up and formed a pace-line down 84. He is a stronger rider and had on his 2012 Death Ride 5 pass jersey. On the Sequoia I could ride pace with him, but could in no way keep his wheel on any climbing. We wound up setting out at about the same time with another guy who was an avid double century (200 mile, not 200 km) rider and set up a little mini-pace line along the first part of the ride.

San Pablo Reservoir made a nice backdrop for our ride

Then we hit the hills and I was dropped by the Death Rider, and I dropped the Double Century rider. I caught back up on the descents and we wound up back at the start after the ‘warm up’ loop over the bears. These were all pretty short climbs, so catching back on was easier since I could still see Death Rider.

After a quick potty stop Death Rider and I headed back out. Next up was a long but not too grueling set of climbs through Berkeley and Oakland and this is where I totally lost Death Rider. I hung on through Wildcat Canyon road, but after that I had to back off to keep myself from burning out too early. I watched him ride up Grizzly steadily losing ground. It was an interesting climb, though, as it reminded me of my own neighborhood. I mentioned it to Death Rider at the start of the climb and he said “Do you live in Emerald Hills or something?” so it wasn’t just me who thought it looked a lot like my neighborhood.

In Oakland, the fog rolled in. Thank goodness for arm warmers!

Anyway, I manfully struggled up to skyline and was rewarded with many pretty views along the way. Going up Grizzly we ran into the fog we’d BARTed through all morning and it definitely made for a chilly ride. The leg warmers and arm warmers were much appreciated. I have to admit, I’m a bit of a sucker for pictures of fog and trees, so I definitely stopped to snap a few on my way up the hill. One particular patch that I thought looked like a nice shot of the road plus trees plus fog turned more entertaining as a group of three riders powered past me while I was taking a picture.

Such a lovely road… Hey look! Other riders! Other riders leaving me in the dust! The story of my life.

I caught up with them a little further on on a descent and told them I had a picture of them, and said if they saw me at any rest stop I’d take down their e-mail and send them a copy of the photo. So now I can add “Ride Photographer” to my list of skills. Or more accurately, my list of “Skills I Don’t Actually Possess, But Will Happily Fake”. It’s hard liking art and photography and having no skill at it. First World Problems, yo!
Anyway, after all that climbing, we got a fun descent into the creatively named town of… Canyon. It was in a canyon. Shocking, I know!

Now while finding a town named Canyon IN a canyon might not be shocking, what I found next was TRULY shocking. And no, it wasn’t the fact that if you pull into a ride’s rest stop with a giant tail bag on your rack, people will assume you have bike tools (I did) and will be willing to loan them (I was), it was that THEY MADE LATKAS FOR THIS REST STOP!

Photographic proof of the existence of latkas on our ride!

I’m not Jewish, but if I had to claim to be for the rest of my life to have access to latkas, I would seriously consider it. They were bits of greasy, potato-y, apple sauced goodness. At that point we’d put in 40 some miles and 3000 feet of climbing already, so yummy snacks like that were right on the money. They had frittatas as well, but they couldn’t pry me away from those latkas. After slowing down the latka face cramming long enough to look around, I noticed Death Rider was there. He said I was only about 2 minutes behind him, so I definitely made up some time on the descents. Who said heavy bikes are ALL bad? Anyway, we both filled our bottles and rode off together.

The next stretch was a lot of little rollers and a few short climbs that had some entertaining Strava segment names like “Hill of Hate” and “Endless Climb Home” but nothing too serious until the next rest stop. Here they had little quiches and a rice and bean mix on chips. It was tasty and salty, but not too heavy, which was nice since it was pretty close to the last rest stop and the upcoming lunch rest stop, but was still a welcome chance to rest the buns and stretch the legs. We forged on to the next actual climb, Palomares. This is kind of a slow, easy rising ride that then hits a sharp uphill. Right before the pitch up we watched one of the slow speed ridiculous crashes that SOMEBODY has to do during every ride. One of the riders turned around to stop and wait for a buddy and unclipped on an uneven patch of slope off the side of the road to wait for his buddy, but wound up balanced the wrong way with the wrong foot unclipped and toppled over. Luckily he was fine and saved the rest of us from the embarrassment of having to be the person who falls over for no reason. On the Canary Challenge last year, I did the honors at the top of Tunitas, so I was happy to not be the victim this time.

Okay, okay, my last fog pic, I promise!

Palomares was a bit rude this late in, but nothing terrible. A sustained 9%ish grade is a real climb, but we only had 60 miles in the ride so far, and it wasn’t a very LONG sustained 9% grade, only a mile or so. This was when I noticed Death Rider was starting to struggle a bit. On the Sequoia and early in this ride he rode me off his wheel on every hill, and now we were right together up most of this climb, and I even pulled ahead by 30 seconds or so by the top. We dropped back down to the lunch stop and he told me he was having a bit of a problem with his digestion. We took a leisurely lunch with turkey and salmon wraps, peanut butter and jelly, and full sugar cokes and he tried to get his stomach to settle down. The next section was Calaveras, which isn’t steep, but has lots of up and down as you ride by the reservoir, and Death Rider was definitely suffering on this part. Now it was me who was soft pedaling the downhill sections letting him catch back on and dropping him on the uphills. I felt bad for the guy, but he had lots of grit and determination, and we ground our way up and over and down into Freemont.

The rest stop here wasn’t big, but it had honest to goodness bathrooms inside! With hot water in the sinks and several stalls! I hastily made my way to one and tried to lighten up the load as much as I could for the “final” climb of the day. Then it was on to mini-brownies with peanut butter on top. I ate three of these and then made myself stop so I wasn’t crammed full of food trying to take the hardest climb of the day. Half a coke later, I was ready to go! Death Rider was already on his bike chomping at the bit, and I hoped this meant he had been able to relieve his stomach a bit, and we rode down to Sierra Road in a quiet, pensive mood. I think we were both worried about the climb. He’d done it before, so he knew what was coming, and he knew how his stomach felt. I, however, had never done it or even seen it, but had a coworker who had told me that it was a climb that could really put the hurt on you. All I knew was it was 1840 some feet in 3.7 miles. My normal training climb is 1600 feet in 4.4 miles, so it is decidedly tougher! Anyway, we tooled on down at a leisurely pace then made the left on to Sierra, and I almost immediately starting laughing at the absurdity of the hill and had to stop to take a photo.

This photo does NOT do the bottom of the hill justice. Note that it is flat to slightly uphill until that pitch up.

When I took a picture of the hill I noted a cyclist on hit CRAWLING his way up the hill. He did not look like he was having fun, and I was about to embark on the same climb. With 90 miles and 8000ish feet already in my legs. Yikes! I mounted back up and Death Rider and I hit the hill. That 14% pitch is a RUDE start to the hill, and I shifted AAAAALLL the way down to my lowest gear (30/28 front/rear) before I even started up the hill as I wanted no part of a dropped chain trying to frantically downshift on that steep of a pitch.

My legs immediately started shrieking, my pace dropped to a crawl, and I leaned forward into the climb to keep the front wheel down. I’m not kidding about trying to keep the wheel down, either. I actually yanked the front wheel off the ground pulling against the handlebars while trying to drive the pedal down. Death Rider dropped off my wheel immediately. His stomach was still acting up and he was riding a compact double nowhere near as lowly geared as my triple, so he was just going to try and gut it out (no pun intended). I started standing to get over the top of that first and had a seat. The rider I had seen before me was just ahead on the next steep section. Trying to recover a bit on the 10% grade between sections, I didn’t rush to the next section, and I’m glad a didn’t. This was a 15 percent grade, and even LONGER than the one before it. Getting over that bit with ANOTHER attempt at a wheelie, I panted past the rider I had seen starting up the hill before. We both agreed that putting this hill at mile 90 was just sadistic. I was hoping the worst was over, but sadly, the worst was just to come. Next was the longest steep on the hill, again at 15%, and it would continue on for about a full third of a mile. After that brutality the road relented a little bit and a kind soul from Cherry City Cyclists had volunteered to sit with a tureen of ice cold water, and I was NOT ashamed to stop and use refilling my bottle as an excuse to stop the pain.

The view from the water stop halfway up Sierra.

I chugged some warmish water/heed/cytomax mix from my bottle and topped it off with ice cold water, which I chugged some more of and panted for awhile. Then I decided I really needed a shot from the water stop because it was a nice view and not because there was actual tree cover at the water stop, something that is in VERY short supply on the rest of the climb. Finally, I CLEARLY needed a shot of the road in front of me, because the road immediately AFTER the water stop didn’t look to friendly, either!

Here I am, stopped at the water stop… looking at… this.

The guy manning the station helpfully tells me that I’m about halfway up, but a little more than that altitude wise. I pray that means I’m past the worst of it and mount back up and struggle onwards. What follows is a bunch of pitchy stuff including short stretches over 15% that averages about 8-9% until I hit the next section that grinds at 10%, which while much nicer than 15% I just endured is still rough as it has no recovery sections below 8%, which I desperately need. As I grind, I look up and see the top! I see somebody standing on the side of the road with waving hello! I see redemption! I see… more hill coming into view behind the rise I’m cresting? Sonova…. Well it turns out that I’ve reached the photo-op guy. He’s at a flat section after that loooong 10% grade so he can catch you at maximum pain, ESPECIALLY if you fall for the false summit and think you’re golden! I’m sure I made appropriately pained expressions on my face as I passed by, but I was too tired to mug for the camera. However, there was a blessed 0% grade! 0%! FLAT! It felt like it was downhill after the last 1400-1500 feet of climbing! I stayed in my granny gear and worked my legs around as I crept towards the next slope, which didn’t look to bad, but I was past any kind of trust at this point. I expected the hill to have at me one more time and it sure did. The road quickly ramped back up into a sustained 12% grade, to which my legs protested most vociferously! I could tell it wasn’t as steep as the earlier sections but I was so cooked by then I was barely able to creep up the slope. The only thing that kept me from getting off and walking was the fact that I spotted some other guys I’d seen periodically on the ride ahead of me. They were on vintage steel touring bikes from the 70’s. Yes, they were hipsters. From Seattle and Portland, no less! Hipsters climbing the hill on bikes even heavier than mine! The guy on the fattest tired bike (had to have been at least 40mm tires) was riding figure S’s up the hill, so I was gaining on them. Slowly, slowly, slowly, slowly, gaining on them. This gave me the kick that kept me going, and even to not swear like a sailor as I crested the 12% grade and realize that there was a little bit more to go. In fact, I even clicked up a few gears and ‘sprinted’ for the top, coming in right on the heels (or wheels) of the hipsters. At the top was also a lady who had ALSO ridden a steel bike (she had a classic old racing bike) up Sierra and had crested not long before the hipster chaps. There was much amusement by the ride staff. One of them lifted all the bikes to see who was the winner for ‘most ridiculously heavy bike ridden up to the top’ and Fat Tire Hipster won handily.

It looks so serene from up here!

Then it was time to hand out pins and take a congratulatory picture. The people at the top thought I was part of the hipster posse since I had a Surly. Uh oh. Um… Is that worse than being a Fred? Or a weekend warrior? Well, I posed for a photo with the Hipster Duo, who were very nice, and everybody set out. I caught and passed the Hipster Duo, then the Classic Lady, and screamed down the downhill section since there was nobody around me. New Strava PRs! It still counts when you’ve only ridden the segment twice, right?
Back to the rest point where I checked in with the wife, then a gentle slog back north to the Freemont BART, right? WRONG! Some cruel misanthrope routed us over a little something called the “Hill of Pain” at around mile 110. Now it’s only about half a mile at 6% or so, but by that point it just seemed mean. Flat out mean. At least it was a nice wide road.
I got to the official end with my Garmin reading 117 miles, so I didn’t actually believe I was at the end. I was stuck at a light (I hit so many lights on the last 5 miles of the ride I wanted to cry. Again.) and I saw people across the street standing around and they waved at me, but I was convinced I had 3 more miles to go. It wasn’t until the light turned and I got to ride across the street that they started cheering and said “Turn into the driveway on the right! You’re there!” that I realized I had actually made it. Alive. And not desiccated from sweating and crying.

I grabbed some soup and salad and pasta and found Death Rider, who was already eating his meal. He’d made it about halfway up before having to turn around, but he rode to the end and spared himself the ignominy of the SAG wagon ride. I was pretty impressed with that, to be honest. It was a good 20 more miles to ride from where he turned around. He just couldn’t generate the power to get over Sierra.
After that I drove back to Redwood City, shoved my bike in the back of my truck, and joined my wife and kids (after a covert change of clothes in the Safeway parking lot!) at the Old Spaghetti Factory where I got to finish off my wife and son’s dinners and enjoy a celebratory beer.

All told, it was a great ride, and one that I would do again! The food was good at each stop, and varied, which was very nice! The first registration combo reststop could have been better, but everything else was great. For those of you data nerds, here is the Strava link for the ride.