SFR Russian River 300k

 

When I'm not riding my bike, I work as a stagehand for the IATSE 16 stagehand union. On days with a big crew call the days usually start the same, the steward gathers the troops and begins a simple safety speech. It's usually the same asking us to report injuries, work carefully, or where to meet in case of an emergency; the basic stuff. But last Thursday things were a little different, "Hey everyone, let's have a little patience working with the crew today, because...because...because Sean who helped on the load in slipped and fell on Sunday night, hit his head, had a slight concussion, went to sleep and never woke up." Just like that. That seemingly insignificant slip is what did him in, and all I could think is, life is too short to put this job before my true passion, so those rides I had planned for the weekend? I was going to ride them, if they called me or not.

Fast forward 6 AM Golden Gate Bridge Pavillion. Like every SFR ride I've ever participated in, I showed up just in time for SFR's own safety speech. I scrambled to get the bike check and my brevet card. The steady red lights started filing away on the bridge by the time I threw my leg over the bike. I started at the back of the pack.

The fog of the Bay can be truly stunning.

I raced to catch a group of 20-30 riders through Sir Francis Drake through Samuel P. Taylor (I don't like that these SFR rides always skip the Marin trail, one of my favorite bits of gravel to sprint down). Along this stretch coffee disposal was imminent, so I stopped and once again fell to the back. It was some solo riding from there on out, if that were to be my day it would be a long one, especially since my new MP3 player had inadvertently died. At about Petaluma I caught up with my friend Nat and his friends who thankfully would help distract the long stretches of riding with conversation.

John's Homer Hilsen. So many Rivs.

Or, so many bikes.

The group pulled into a paceline and zipped through the sunny flats around Santa Rosa toward the next checkpoint. It was of course around the next checkpoint that the group split up near Healdsburg. Continuing my strategy of getting lost and missing checkpoints, I went a mile down the road before I realized that I missed it. Good job me.

Lou was a true pleasure to ride with. He too had moved to the Bay by bike from the East Coast. His legs mostly get training from hauling tourists around San Francisco on a pedicab.

I love the Bay Areas consistently changing environments.

From Healdsburg to Bodega Bay was a windy tromp down the Russian River then down Highway 1. Once again we pacelined, but I pulled into the front right before a climb, when everything got split up. I don't know shit about cycling etiquette, is it okay that I went off the front? Either way, I pulled ahead. Clearly not that far as the group pulled in shortly behind me at Bodega Bay. Maybe I'll figure out how to handle riding with a group someday.

Bodega Bay

More bikes.

John. This checkpoint would have been beautiful if the sun were on the other side, damnit.

These folks were prepping up as we were landing. It was hard to gauge where we were among the other riders

It was only 20 miles between Bodega Bay and Marshall, the final checkpoint, but it felt much longer. People were starting to feel it, and so was I, especially as Highway 1 rolled up and down at the split toward Marshall. The sun was starting it's arch downwards, it had now been close to 12 hours out. By the time I reached the Marshall Store there was almost no one there. We regrouped at the Marshall store where everyone chowed down on chowder and beers. This was a rough stop as the only offerings for us pitiful vegans was a warm Coke and nothing to eat. It would be a struggle against the bonk from there on it.

Marshall store leanings.

Once we left Marshall, the lights were out. It was pure darkness. Everyone popped on their lights and we headed down the road. From Marshall it's a fun rolling descent with quick ascents to quicker descents. Riding alone at night is not fun and stressful so I made sure to try to keep together. We regrouped at turns and just chatted. Until, once again, my shittiness when it comes to riding together kicked in and I went off the front over the Nicasio climb. We regrouped at the bottom and slowly crawled in to the finish line.

French bread for a French ride. I also need to get better at dealing with flash.

195 miles was the total for me when it was all said and done. Starting at 6 AM ending at 10 PM it was one of the toughest rides I've ever done. I definitely could not have done this solo. I know that randonneuring can be a totally nerdy goofy niche in the world of cycling of riding, but there is something to be said about the "in this together mentality" as opposed to racing. I already am looking forward to the next rando event to push myself even further.