Got invited along on a Saturday loop with some folks. The ride was pitched
as "easy" and "no-drop/regroup/no-one-left-behind". As soon as I walked
through the door of the shop, I kinda had the feeling that I was in
trouble. Been around enough fast folk to recognize the lean and hungry
look in many riders' eyes. But, the espresso was free and people were very
welcoming. Met new friends, chatted, handled the good-natured ribbing
about the size of my underseat bag (Old RBW Banana Bag). ("No, It's not a
knapsack...") One of two steel frames among the sea of crabon. Seemingly
every two wheelsets containing the number of spokes found in just one of
mine. Still confidence was steady (if not "high").
We set out, climbing. Climbed more. I started paying for the decided lack
of verticality in most of my recent rides and slipped back. Luckily I've
ridden enough to know when I can't hang and find a cadence and effort that
wouldn't blow me up.
It was a gorgeously clear day, and I was riding on epic roads which had too
long been ignored. And I did feel a bit better as things went along.
Though, two things were evident: (1) I was not catching back up to anyone,
and (2) it warn't a "no-drop" ride.
To be clear, if they _had_ waited, I would have told them at the first
regroup that they should no longer worry about me - I knew the route, was
entirely self-sufficient and didn't want to make them change what was for
them a very compatible pace.
So, I suffered and moseyed. Worked my way up and over the inclines. Felt
a bit better here and worse there. Watched fitter riders work past me and
took steady bites out of the hill before me. Leapfrogged some groups who
seemed to be in "assault/recover" mode. Eventually went past the Bootjack
parking lot, essed my way through the last stand of trees and popped out at
PanToll. Saw many knots of riders recharging before the descent. I was
tired but not trashed, so was able to sit up, zip up the vest and let the
Hilsen do what it loved - descend easily and surely towards Stinson Beach.
Within the first 1/2 mile heard a loud, whirring clatter and checked back
to find a faster rider catching me. He was all tendons and
crazy-eye-concentrated, so I tucked right and let him move past. Since I
hadn't been practicing climbing of late, I knew that meant I hadn't been
descending at speed. Reflexes, balance and focus hadn't been tuned in a
while, so while I didn't creep downhill, neither did I see how close to the
edge I could push things.
Still, having a rabbit out front is always good practice. Seeing the line
of a faster rider always helps to relax me, which in turn puts me more
where I want to be when dropping from altitude. Calm and smooth. Always
well within the equation of grip and footprint provided by the JB's.
While my pilot fish continued to move away, we both overtook a number of
other more tentative descenders. When Panoramic Highway finally opens up
from the forest on the last bit down to Stinson, there are a series of long
straights and tight 180 degree turns over blacktop. The surface seemed
good to me, but clearly impacted those who chose smaller tires and higher
pressures. Hailed, chatted at and slipped by quite a few riders on as we
dropped. Over each broken bit of roadway and through each turn, the Hilsen
whispered that it could've handled more. I kept it reined in and suddenly
found myself at sea level.
Pulled the cheese bagel out of my pocket and randonneur-snacked as I headed
north to the next chunk o' the day. One of my favorite unknown routes - the
BoFax road. Of course, I found some Good Friday beer bottle glass about a
mile before the turnoff and nursed a slowly softening tire to the obscure
turn. Got there, dropped the wheel, picked the tiniest glass chip out of
the tread and swapped in the first tube, which failed at the stem base,
then the second tube which held fast (which prevented me from unboxing the
patch kit.) Repacked (considering about how, once upon a time and for quite
a while, I used to own the tiniest seatbag which Jandd made. The one which
held a 23mm tube, a folded $20 blll and my car key with a tiny split ring
on it. What the heck had I been thinking back then?)
Went through many of the stages of grief for the climb back up to Bolinas
Ridge, then the next set of seven steps (called the Sisters or Seven
Sisters - you'd recognize them from any number of picturesque automobile
ads) which brings you up to Rock Springs staging area on Mt Tamalpais. But,
even when I felt my worst (probably when I was "Bargaining") it was still a
ridiculous gift to be out and riding in such a location on a glorious day.
Crested out and tilted down again, refilled water and shifted fluids and
Pantoll parking lot, then scooted ever downwards towards Mill Valley. Near
the Mountain Home Inn a rider passed me sans seat bag of any time, but with
the three pockets of his jersey so ridiculously overstuffed that the phrase
"Chipmunk Butt" came to mind. Which I chuckled over for a while. Me, I'd
rather put it in a usefully sized pack and be a little less bulgy. More
comfortable descending and ended back where I'd started, the rest of the
group having moved on to the tasks in their day.
Though tired, it ended well, feeling solid and spent. It's a good thing to
ride.
Some photos start here
- https://www.flickr.com/photos/cyclofiend/16423466613/
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