Tales from the Damp Side: May 2012

Tour of the Unknown Coast: Ride Report

On Friday May 4th we drove 7 1/2 hours south to the redwoods and our date with destiny: The 2012 Tour of the Unknown Coast. We arrived in time to register and eat the spaghetti dinner being served by one of the event sponsors.

We're Official

After dinner we drove another 30 minutes south to the Redcrest Resort. Redcrest is located “In the Heart of the Redwoods on the Avenue of the Giants.” In other words, directly on the bike ride route. Not only that, it’s about 25 miles upstream from the start of the ride. This was perfect for our plan, which was, that I would skip the first section of the ride – which is primarily flat and not very interesting – to save my legs for a more challenging and scenic section of the route. From Redcrest, it’s 50 hilly miles to the coast. Beyond that, the ride continues another 5 miles along the coast, then cuts back inland over extremely steep hills and 15 miles to the finish. Our scheme depended on Chris finishing before me, then driving backward along the route to scoop me up wherever I happened to be. My goal was to reach the coast before he picked me up and I didn’t want to burn my energy on flat miles. So starting at Redcrest was a perfect option.

Redcrest Resort

The night before the ride was typical for us --- sleepless. We’ve ridden in other events and never slept well the night before. With that in mind, this night we each popped an Ambien, specially ordered by Chris from his doctor. Secure in the knowledge that there was no way we’d wake up prematurely from an Ambien we snuggled in for the night. Until about 4 a.m., at which time we woke up, laying there resigned to our fate until the alarm went off at 6:00. Sigh.

Saturday was beautiful, a lucky break this time of year. Chris was riding the full century (100 miles) so at 6:15 a.m. he drove back to the start line for the 7 a.m. start. I tossed and turned awhile longer, then rolled out of the cabin a little after 8:00. It was great to be able to walk out the door and be on the ride route. It was also a little surreal riding by myself early on a Saturday morning on the Avenue of the Giants without traffic, pedestrians, or other cyclists. And for a few minutes I was in the lead of this ride. Because even though I’d started more than an hour after the official start time, I had a 25 mile head start on the other riders. I calculated it would take the fastest riders between an hour and fifteen to thirty minutes from their start time to catch up with me.

Avenue of the Giants

Sure enough, after about 10 minutes I heard a growing racket behind me. There was a loud noise and looking back I could see a headlight. The sun was shining brightly but it was dim in the redwoods and my mind was still not fully functioning and I thought, crap, Bubbas (aka, rednecks). I thought it was locals messing around, racing cars up the Avenue of the Giants. I considered getting off the road to let them pass. The rumbling noise got louder. It sounded like a train. Then I began to hear voices and realized it’s not Bubba, it’s the front pack of riders, the ones who race the ride for the fastest time rather than ride it like mere mortals. Within minutes I was completely engulfed in a pack of about 30 riders then swoosh, like a mirage they were gone, around the corner, snaking through the redwoods.

During the next few minutes some stragglers passed me, then a second, smaller pack of about a dozen riders. One rider slowed. It was Chris saying hello. I hello'd him back and told him to go on, his group was riding away at a fast pace. After a few more of my urgings to go, go, go, he took off to catch up with his pack, as was our plan all along. I was on my own again but never alone. From then on there were always other riders in front, passing, or behind me.

The first 15 miles of my ride was mostly flat. Then I reached Panther Gap, a 7 mile climb. For one or two miles the climbing was very difficult. Doubts crept in: I’m too tired; I’m not fit enough; how the hell am I going to ride in Europe? But in the third mile I settled down, found my rhythm, and from there was able to slowly but surely make my way to the top. It was a pretty tough climb. At the top I stopped briefly to pat myself on the back and revel in my glory (hey, did anyone see me climb that thing!), then I put on my vest for the long descent. I’m not a fan of long descents. The longest descent I’ve ever ridden is 13 miles at the end of the Mountain Lakes Challenge in Ashland, Oregon. But at least that road is wide and smooth and has a long run out as it approaches the valley floor. The backside of Panther Gap is as steep going down as it is going up. It is steep all the way down, before abruptly ending at a bridge. The road is narrow and patchy with many switchbacks with tight turns. The first few miles were fun, then it became painful. I got into my California Clutch: gripping the handlebars too tightly, pumping my breaks all the way down; legs tightening; feet pressing into the pedals as if to help slow me down. The switchbacks seemed endless. Were endless. Eventually I reached the bottom, where I spent a few minutes encouraging my hands to unclench. Then I rode across the bridge into Honeydew, cool as a cucumber. In cycling, it’s all about posing.

Honeydew Bridge

Honeydew is an unincorporated community of seemingly nothing except a general store and gas station. Wikipedia says 1,000 people live there, but if that’s true, they are well hidden. The Honeydew rest stop was unmanned and consisted of only water jugs on picnic tables and some porta-potties. I refilled my bottle and headed off again.

The next section of the ride varied from flat to rolling to short climbs, but nothing too strenuous. 15 miles later I pulled into the lunch stop. For the century (100 mile) riders this was their 60 mile point. For me it was only half that. But I took advantage of the opportunity to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich because there was yet another 15 miles and 1,500 feet of climbing between me and the coast.

Time to Eat

Bike Carcasses

After leaving the lunch stop the climbs came in concentrated stretches and some were steep, but nothing as long as Panther Gap.

Beautiful Ponies Along the Way

Finally I crested the last hill and and got my first glimpse of the coast. At the bottom of this hill I would ride five miles due north on nearly flat road toward that rock you see way out there in the distance. Easy, right?

Unknown (Lost) Coast

Except that....The wind had been kicking up noticeably. Once I landed on the coastal road the full force of it hit me. I think it would not be an exaggeration to guess that the wind was blowing 25-30 mph that day. From the north. Resulting in a spectacular(ly bad) headwind for cyclists. That nearly flat rode was some of the hardest riding I have ever done. At one point I managed to latch onto a group of riders and got a bit of rest, but after a few minutes they slowly peddled away from me. Later, I clung like grim death onto two guys who were nice enough to let me hide behind them while they pulled me through the wind. All the while I was thinking, this would be a most excellent time to see Chris coming over the horizon in the car. No such luck.

I eventually made it to the rest stop at the bottom of The Wall, the much anticipated and much hyped 'signature climb' of the event. This climb takes you off the coast and back inland over the steepest climbs of the ride. You can see the start of The Wall here -- yes, past the porta-potties -- my brain was too addled to get a better picture. What you can't see is the climb curving to the right and continuing onward and upward.

"The Wall" awaits

When I reached the coast I'd already ridden nearly 50 miles, with lots of climbing. Then the headwind. I was totally wiped out when I got to this rest stop. Stick a fork in me, I was done. I was thinking, how the hell am I going to get up that wall? I was thinking, where the hell is Chris? I was thinking, what if he doesn't show up and I have to finish this ride? I knew what the route ahead looked like because I'd driven it before, and it wasn't pretty.

Like everyone else I delayed as long as possible to avoid the climb. I kept looking up and over my shoulder to the ridge above to see if I could see our car. After 15 minutes of dawdling it started to dawn on me that maybe I wanted to try the climb. And besides, wouldn't it be just the slightest bit shameful to load up my bike in the car in front of everyone else?

Pre-Wall Flowers

I'd been watching riders make their way up The Wall and observed that most of them were attacking it 'paperboy' style. Those of you who used to deliver the Washington Post with me will know what I mean. Left, right, left, right across the street making your way along the route. It looked like this:

Paperboying up the Wall

In cycling circles, paperboying is a sign of weakness. But I was in good company. And besides, who am I, Alberto Contador? So like everyone else I paperboyed the climb, crawling my way up toward the first turn. I was surrounded by others riders doing the same. We all moved in really, really slow motion, like some weird ballet, trying not to run into each other. Here's a bird's eye view of my trail, captured by the GPS on my bike computer. That blue line is me, zig-zagging across the road on the lower half of The Wall.

My immediate goal was the first turn, where I thought I might rest. But when I got there I realized that if I stopped I might not be able to start again. So I kept going. As I made my way up I was thinking, I am going to get to the top, descend to the next rest stop, and sit there until Chris comes, because there is no way I can do the rest of the climbs.

I turned the corner and continued crawling upward. Now I'm on the upper portion of The Wall. This is when the event photographer takes this picture of me, which I call, The Awesome Picture. Note the poor sap behind me who had to stop in the middle of the climb. Cycling is all about gloating.

Climbing upper portion of the Wall: The Awesome Picture

Minutes later Chris pops into view with our car. I am off my bike in a New York minute. I am done with this ride, in more ways than one. Loading the bike into the car on the side of the road, while other cyclists crawl past, I do feel a little sheepish, like I am cheating. But I really don't care anymore. I am too happy that it's over.

Inside the car Chris has a treat for me. At the finish line which I will never see there is a BBQ dinner awaiting the century riders. Chris has brought a plate back for me. It's not pretty, but that was the best damn BBQ chicken I ever ate.