Worst Ride Ever

Yesterday was a tough day. I pushed out toward Lake Chabot along the East Bay Ridge. Just as I started circling the lake I bonked hard. I was gassed. I had nothing left and was thirty miles or so from home, nothing to do but push through the pain and ride home from there. I eventually made it after crawling up some climbs. But that isn't the worst ride ever.

Over the past few weeks I've been on a few group rides and I've chatted with people about those rides where they almost died. That time they got caught out in 100 degree heat with no water, or the time they puked about 3/4 of the way into the ride. This had me reminiscing about my absolute worst ride.

It's summer 2010. I was living on the West side of Buffalo near the Niagara River (actually a strait, but whatever) and with the day off I decided to ride hard and fair. The Welland Canal had been a destination I wanted to check for a while. This connecting canal between Lake Erie and Lake Ontario is not far from Buffalo, but far enough. So off I pushed on my dad's old steel Iron Horse.

Things were going alright as I veered around the lake toward the mouth of the canal. Getting to Welland was actually not a big deal. I sat and watched the mid-sized cargo ships pass by on their way from the Mid-west through toward the St. Lawrence Seaway to their final port of call, wherever that may be. Feeling ambitious I rolled along north along the canal, figuring I could loop around to Niagara Falls or maybe even finish the whole canal to St. Catherines.

The paths along the canal were great for biking. Speedy bike paths with little foot traffic I was feeling the pedals pretty well. But the heat was getting to me, as there was no cover whatsover on this path. I figured the less I stopped the sooner I could get back to Niagara Falls for a cool drink. It was on this path that another cyclist saw me rolling by. "Where you coming from?" "Buffalo" he was impressed. Me now would have been impressed too, but back then I took it in stride. Rides seem to just flow together you forget, oh shit I am actually sixty miles from home. I asked him for directions, he agreed to guide me part of the way. The path required some hucking of the bike over a rail bridge to head back toward Niagara Falls. He rode with me for a bit before he headed back north toward his car.

Now it was just me and searing heat of a Southern Ontario summer. The farmland and tarmac were pushing the heat back into my face and the summer tourist traffic was in full swing behind me. The trucks whizzed by as I got dizzy in the heat. I was really feeling it. I did make it to the city of Niagara Falls when my legs began to feel like jelly. This was especially a bad time to be falling apart as the single country road was now a two lane suburban highway on it's way into the city. It was about here that my bag fell off the rear of my rack. I was falling apart. I ate some of the snacks I had left and chugged my remaining water. It wasn't much further til I was back in the good ole' U S of A, but I knew it was going to be a long hard fought couple of miles.

I finally rallied up and got back on my bike. It was comforting to see the mist of the falls. I was nearly there. The plan was to cross the border and just catch a bus back to Buffalo. My body was telling me that it wouldn't push me home. The bridge traffic was long and the sun was now burning right through my thin layer of sun block. My calves were bright red. One of the young border patrol guards made a comment as he walked through traffic. My head had no time, I feigned a smile, but secretly let out a series of vulgar epithets at that man in my mind. I finally made it through the stressful border crossing (it was always easier to get into Canada then out, stupid).

The ride was over. I packed up some calories at the 7-11 and waited for the bus. It felt good to see the end was here. The bus would drop me off less than a mile from my house. I waited for about a half hour in the shade on a cool patch of green grass. I was stoked to finally see the big white NFTA bus pull up. Except, there was no bike rack. "Can I bring my bike on if there's no rack?" I asked in desperation.
"Nope."
"So what are my options?"
"Well, you can wait for the next one."
"Will that have a rack?"
"Don't know."
Well that was helpful. The buses ran on the hour, was it really worth sitting for another hour and waiting for that bus that might strand me again? No. I picked up the bike once more and had to face the facts. I had to ride the next 13 miles back to the West Side of Buffalo.

The little bit of rest helped somewhat. Crossing Grand Island was a breeze. The bridges were not much fun, but the flats between them were quick and I felt as if I was going to make it. I crossed back to the mainland when I really began to fall apart. My legs were all cut up, my stomach was in knots, and my head felt as if it were underwater, I had to stop every now and then to get it together. I was stranded though, I had to get home. I stopped along the bike path several times, a few times laying out, to let my stomach get straight again.

Then there it was Auburn St. My cross street. I was almost there. One of my neighbors made a comment as I was walking-by assuming I had a flat tire. I told him straight up, it wasn't a flat, I was exhausted. He made some non-sequitor comment about his birthday. It was strange, was I hallucinating at that point? I walked the final block and a half with my legs on fire. I finally pushed the key into my front door and I was home. I hauled the bike up to the top landing and finally being inside of my home, vomited all over the front hallway. Well, at least I was home I guessed.

People who don't ride on a regular basis are impressed by fifty mile rides or climbing Diablo, but I always make the point that it's possible to get there, but days like that day in Niagara are days that are somewhat required to make it there. I have never pushed myself so hard for any sport before, except for in cycling which I do on a regular basis. It's hard to describe how overcoming your body like that can make you ready for the next one day after day. But that rough ride, where I clocked over 60 miles for the first time is a ride I will never forget and will always remember as a watershed moment, where my riding improved immensely from then on out.

What is the worst/toughest ride you have ever been on?

The Best Walnut Creek Has to Offer

Over the Oakland  Hills there is a city. It's a city mostly composed of chain restaurants, boutique box stores, and lawyers. That city is Walnut Creek. Mild density roads create insane traffic down Ygnacio Valley Road,  mall like main streets leave little room between traffic and the door zone, and the food options are all over priced frozen dishes.

Shell Ridge

But there is something else there. And I'm not talking about Rivendell. It's the open space. Hidden behind an office park of medical professionals and a neighborhood of multi million dollar homes is an entrance to Shell Ridge Open Space. I have explored this network of fire roads before, but yesterday I dedicated more time to push further into the open space and see as much as I could see, hopefully making it all the way across the ridge to Mt. Diablo State Park.

The fire roads are perfect for a large tired cross bike (even a skinny one might do well). Rolling hills dip in and out of valleys with wide hardpack to carry speed into challenging climbs. There was only one section that was mildly technical (there is a lack of this in the East Bay, but I don't have an all-mountain bike, so these trails are fun enough). I was going so fast into it I was forced to commit (luckily I kept rubber side down).

The fire roads went up and down through these gorgeous valleys.

It's not really the riding that makes the Open Space phenomenal, it's the scenery. A typical Californian hillside with rolling dry grass pocketed with beautiful oak trees, all backdropped by Mt. Diablo in one direction or the Oakland Hills in the other (the undulating hills cover the sprawling suburbs of the East Bay magnificently). These rolling grasslands do lead to some sun exposure, luckily I had enough water to push on to Wall Point Road. Which if you ever wondered why it's called Wall Point Road. It's most likely because it's a wall. I ended up walking a good chunk of this (no shame in that), but man, it looks killer in the other direction (maybe some day). On Wall Point, the views switched directions, now sitting on the north side of the Open Space I could look straight across Livermore valley to Mt. Hamilton, the only point higher in the Bay Area than Mt. Diablo.

Oak trees stood solitary from their brethren.

The views from Wall Point.

When Wall Point wasn't straight up and down it was a blast.

Diablo was where I headed next. After pushing up steep off-roads all day, the climb up Diablo was pretty tame. I settled in the right cadence. I passed a few riders on the way up. It was getting to be around 4 o'clock when I reached the summit. It was the clearest I had ever seen from the top. I could see straight out the Golden Gate from the top of Diablo, where supposedly you can see the most geographic area in the US. Which makes sense since looking East, everything is so incredibly flat (I was amazed on tour earlier this summer that I was a whole day out and I could still look out and still see Diablo commanding the skyline).

Diablo is always watching.

On the way down I passed all the aggro roadies on their way up. Some really pushing a hard speed to the top. If you ever want to see some of the Bay Area's best riders, this is the place to see it. Sure, I'd rather see a guy going 3 MPH that says hello than someone cranking 11 without the even acknowledgement of another rider, it still is pretty amazing how fast they go. I went down the North Gate road, which I think is the prettier side, as you go through Rock City where the road is covered with beautiful oak trees. Then the road cuts out to some beautiful views of Livermore before finally the road hugs the mountainside so beautifully, as if this were a high mountain pass in the Alps.

The road down Diablo.

I flew down to the suburbs where I flew by traffic before reconnecting with the series of multi use trails. Being late in the afternoon I settled into a calm speed to respect other users (unlike some stretchy pantsed jerks, if you want to ride fast, get on the road). I usually took BART home from these rides in the past, but yesterday I was determined to link back home. My legs were burning but it was only one more climb over the Oakland hills before home. At that moment I was only chasing daylight. By the time I hit Moraga the sun was already shaded by the hills, but there was enough ambient light I felt confident I'd make it home. I took the final turn in Moraga before heading out of town over the hills and something happened. I'm still not sure what, but I hit the ground hard and my front was flatted from the fall (wasn't the cause as it was a slow leak). Dusting myself off, my knee really ached. By the time I changed the flat it felt far too dark to head over the hills. So I headed over to BART to call it quit. Close enough.

Walnut Creek is a strange place surrounded by great riding and I'm excited to have it that close. Between the empty Open Space and the challenging Diablo climb it's a great place to string along a good variety of rides.

Links

- Manny Acosta takes great photos of the East Bay golden hills (I think his photos are mostly south but some are here as well). Check out his Flickr.

- A documentary on Rivendell with great shots of the Open Space.

- Cycleicious' Flickr set on the Tour of California this past summer, where they climbed Diablo on the second to last day.

Ride Report: Planet of the Apes

I've been pretty bad about getting on the bike once again. It's strange how once I get out of riding, it becomes very hard to motivate myself to get out, especially with the thought of doing a 5 hour+ ride. Then I think back to when I first starting riding the canals of Buffalo and how rewarding and enjoyable those rides were and I keep that in my mind to get me back out on the road.

I had originally heard of the Planet of the Apes Ride from a book I nabbed from the Berkeley library when I first moved here. I remember the author posting this ride with apologies, as if exploiting some forbidden secret of the cycling community. From there I guessed that there had to be something special, so I packed up a bunch of food and prepped for the 20 mile ride from Ocean Beach, SF to Pacifica to this old abandoned road that is the Planet of the Apes Ride.

One of the reasons I've avoided this ride, is that it requires a stupid BART ride (I hate paying 8 dollars round trip to go on a ride). So that's where my ride started, at the Embarcadero in downtown San Francisco. I had some decisions to make on how to get out to the beach and Highway 1. It was rather through the city (a route I've taken many times before) or the tourist route around the bay towards the Golden Gate. I chose for the latter.

SF was nice and sunny, but once I started heading south it was not so sunny.

The tourists weren't too heavy, so riding was actually kind of nice. I watched a bunch of tourists almost get hit by cars for hugging the shoulder on a narrow section of construction (cars passed with about 6" to the end of their bars, it makes me sick how dangerous people drive to save what? 30 seconds? a minute?). I told these nice Euro tourists to take the lane before they die. Onward from there it was through the beach and along Highway 1.

The beach.

Highway 1 felt like tour again. Busy highways for long stretches. It especially reminded me of 101 up north and the beginning of 1, where there is undulating hills with heavy traffic (thankfully more of a shoulder). Not exactly ideal riding, but it was still riding. The weather brought me back to the days of touring the coast too, it was chilly and gray, what everyone told me to expect of San Francisco (thankfully which has been sunny and warm, hurray global warming). I got turned around a few times where 1 doesn't allow cyclists. Thankfully I made it to Pacifica, where a nice short bike path took me down to the beach and then on the path towards Planet of the Apes. Bike route signs led me straight to the path I needed to be on.

This guy was rocking one speed up. I want my fixed gear now please.

Some pretty protected marshes in Pacifica.

The path ended at a gate that looked like a total dirt road, not the paved ride I was expecting. Passing some guys unloading full mountain bike gear out of the back of their Subaru had me wondering as well, but I had gone all the way there and so I figured I should at least check it out. It wasn't much longer that the path turned to somewhat a road. The road was clearly not maintained, I didn't mind it, I actually kind of enjoy the challenge of off-roading somewhat, but I could imagine a real roadie reading about this road ride (which is how I found directions from an article on non-Marin road rides). If roadies complained about Grizzly Peak, this road was clearly unrideable for them.

I remember talking to cycle tourists who said they didn't drink coffee. I wonder how they survived.

This was what most o the ride looked like.

For me, I was loving it. The "road" would shrink down to near single track with brush encroaching in as I chugged along up the hill. Similar to the Morgan Territory ride, this ride was also extremely quiet. The Highway was not far away but it was hard to tell, this solitude is why they call it Planet of the Apes (but I'd assume the lack of road maintenance might have something to do with it too. The road is a pretty straight forward up and down. At the crest I met Ras, a cycle tourist based in SF, also a member of the Bike Kitchen, on his way back home. I guess that time of the year is coming. I chatted with him and a local for a bit. I guess that's one good reason to not keep this place a secret, it's a great spot to meet other cyclists. After chatting some about his Trek 520, touring, and community bike shops, we split directions and I buzzed down toward Montara.

He's covering up the dent on the top tube, but it's a 520, it's meant to last.

I smacked a shin on some dirt at one point, that's how skinny this gets at times.

The descent was a little better going down, there was some times of pure dirt, but for the most part not as many divets. I took my time going down, but still went quick enough to enjoy it (and to get cold). This road was not difficult, but it was fun. The path let out right back on Highway one which I took back north towards San Francisco.

Great views looking out at the ocean.

On the way back I passed through the new Devils Slide Tunnel (a quiet tunnel, but I am already looking forward to when the old road becomes a state park!), then turned off 1 to climb over the mountains between the ocean and bay, specifically looking for San Bruno Mountain. There was a great deal of suburban sprawl in South San Francisco and Daly City, but San Bruno was worth it. San Bruno is a nice gentle single grade climb that was just sitting back and spinning my way up, then bombing back down into the city.

Devil Slide Tunnel, finally solving the problem of a section of road very prone to slides (hence the name).

This tunnel was so quiet and pleasant to ride through.

I put in 60 miles on this trip, staying out for just about 6 hours including stops. I always forget how nice these day rides are. I forget how great it is to be able to get out and explore something totally new and quell that desire to leave everything behind and tour again (at least for the moment that is). It was a little far for Planet of the Apes, but I know that if I ever tour south along the ocean, I will most certainly ride the Planet of the Apes again.