Presidents' Day Ride

It was a beautiful California day today—sunny and 70 degrees—but I just finished sitting on the indoor trainer for an hour.

Yesterday I went on a difficult ride that left me pretty tired at the end, and quite stiff and sore this morning. What you really need the day after an effort like that is an easy recovery ride to loosen up and work out the kinks. Unfortunately, living in a hilly area, and at the top of a difficult climb, makes an easy ride from home impossible. Enter the indoor trainer, which allows you to control the intensity of the workout. I can't stand riding indoors, especially on a nice day, but sometimes it has to be done.

Yesterday I met the brothers Noble in Auburn for a single speed ride. Steve was bikeless from Bellingham, so he gamely rode my Karate Monkey. This ride has its share of rough spots, and the Karate Monkey has quite possibly the stiffest fork currently in production. Although I was the only one running a suspension fork, Steve and Doug both dropped me on the roughest downhill of the ride. Oh, the shame.

We put in a solid 30 miles with lots and lots of climbing. Doug and I did the same ride in early November, and it was pretty easy. After a few months of winter, my fitness has slipped just a bit. By the end I was cramping in both arms and legs; I definitely have some work to do. Still, it's always great to get the gang back together and ride just like we did some 25 years ago.

Here are the pictures I took:

And the ones Steve took:

Later.

Fargo

A big, bearded fat man left this on my porch:



No, it wasn't a late delivery from Santa. Just the FedEx guy. Inside is a frame that I will build into a bike that looks something like this:



It's called the Fargo, an adventure touring bike designed to Go Far (get it?). With mounts for six water bottles, front and rear racks, a pump and fenders, it's pretty much ready for anything. Its disc brakes and clearance for big tires make it, to my knowledge, the first widely available touring bike capable of handling really rough terrain.

As proof, the bike below was used in the 2,750 mile Tour Divide mountain bike race:



It wasn't that long ago when I would have looked at this bike and thought, "Why?"

I remember being younger and seeing old guys in wool shorts and knee socks with a bunch of bags and crap all over their bikes. A little mirror on their glasses hanging under a huge, white helmet. Riding at a snail's pace. I laughed inside as a blew past them, oozing with racer superiority.

As a bike racer I never wanted anything attached to my bike. Ever. You don't put a luggage rack on a Ferrari.

I'm older, wiser and more open to trying new things now. I don't laugh at those old guys because I am quickly becoming one of them. However, deep down, I am a racer. I still have a number of those race cars. And I still don't want put luggage on them. So I bought a Hummer.



I don't intend to ride from Canada to Mexico. That might be a little too much adventure for me. But I do want to try a couple overnight trips to some camping spots within riding distance of my home. A tiny slice of adventure.



After that, who knows? For the past few years I have been looking at maps trying to find a safe route from here to Lake Tahoe. The only way to really do it, without using Highway 50 (no thanks), is to utilize dirt trails. Obviously this ruled out any kind of traditional touring bike. Now, with this bike, I think it's very possible to ride to French Meadows and camp, then ride to Tahoe. More research is necessary, obviously.



I'm looking forward to getting the bike built up and going far.

Later.

Never Dull

I awoke around 2:30 this morning to the hum of rain on the roof. I frowned and whispered an explicative to no one in particular, knowing it would be too muddy to mountain bike today, before rolling over and falling back to sleep.

The rain had tapered off shortly before dawn, and although the sky was clear when I dropped the boy off at school, the roads were still very wet. By 10:00 the sunshine had started to dry the asphalt, and the temperature climbed to a tolerable 47 degrees. Though I craved the excitement of some trail riding, I reluctantly grabbed the road bike and headed out for what I assumed to be another uneventful road ride.

Because not everyone routinely rides miles and miles deep into the woods, a mountain bike ride can be somewhat interesting to read about. Plus, you can always find something worthwhile to photograph in the woods. Even though I am a mountain biker myself, I enjoy reading about another rider’s adventures.

Road riding generally isn't that exciting, so I did not anticipate having a story to tell after today’s ride. You can only romanticize a ribbon of pavement, traffic, inattentive drivers and the smell of exhaust so much. There simply isn’t much potential for interest.

Unless, of course, you play a high-speed game of chicken with a big turkey.

I was traveling 42 miles per hour down a steep hill. I can tell you this fact with a great degree of certainty because I was looking down at my computer when the big tom ran out in front of me from the right side of the road. Upon seeing me, the turkey tried to reverse course, but his legs slipped out from under him on the wet road. Upon looking up and seeing the turkey, I swerved to the left. Unfortunately, that was where the turkey continued to slide.

Over the years I have run over or struck many critters. I have killed six squirrels. A few small birds. Snakes and lizards. A bunny. A chipmunk. I had near misses with a bear and a vulture. I even smacked right into a huge slumbering sow once (and she barely acknowledged me). Yet I had never hit a turkey. There's a first time for everything, but I was trying like hell to postpone that “first” for another day.

As the turkey slid into my path, I started correcting back over to the right. The turkey then regained its footing and started to run back to the right side of the road.

I haven't killed a squirrel in a few years, though, because I finally realized, through trial and error, that the best way to avoid them is to do nothing. Given the chance, they generally get out of your way if you just keep going straight. A squirrel, with its tiny little brain, is designed to avoid predators by running around like its fur is on fire. This makes it difficult for a coyote or hawk to grab them. A cyclist, with its tiny little brain, instinctively avoids road obstacles in much the same manner. These similar styles were incompatible, so now I just force myself to hold my line, and it always seems to work out. At least with squirrels.

At about 10 feet from impact, I was fresh out of better ideas, so I just braced myself and used my squirrel technique. I was heading straight for the paralyzed turkey. The terrified bird seemed to be looking right into my eyes. At the last possible moment he jumped to the left, lightly brushing my left shin with the tip of his wing as I flew past.

I have only crashed once on the road, doing 25 miles per hour, and it was a horrible experience. Name a joint—ankle, knee, hip, elbow, shoulder, wrist, knuckles—and I had skin missing from that joint. I couldn’t sleep comfortably for days. The crash I had just averted would have been so much worse.

My craving for excitement thoroughly satiated, I continued on. I rode a little slower on the remaining descents, and I enjoyed the extreme boredom of a safe ride home.

Later.

Vacation, Etc.

I was going to write up a big post about our Mexican cruise, but I never got around to it. Now it just feels a little late. However, I did post some pictures on Flickr. Click here to view them.

On the cycling front, I was able to ride 324 miles in January, which was my biggest January total since 2001. Even though it rained a lot, and I missed nine riding days due to the vacation, I still did OK thanks to Anthony Soprano.

Yeah, I'm a bit late to the party, but I started watching "The Sopranos" on DVD while riding the indoor trainer. I became so obsessed with the storyline that I couldn't wait for my next trainer session. I HATE riding the trainer, so I am happy that I found something to motivate me. Whatever works. I just finished season two (bye, bye Big Pussy!), so I have season three ready to go next time it rains.

Later.

Down by the Tracks

I wanted to ride something different yesterday, so I decided to revisit an area I last rode about five years ago.

A few miles from my house the old Sacramento-Placerville railroad corridor passes though Shingle Springs. Once owned by Southern Pacific, the corridor is now controlled by the Sacramento-Placerville Transportation Corridor Joint Powers Authority. Slowly but surely they are converting the rails to trails, mostly in the Placerville area. The hope is to someday have an improved trail from Sacramento to Tahoe--a lofty goal that will be difficult to achieve. Click here if you want to learn more.

When I first moved up here, I started exploring the area surrounding my home looking for dirt trails and roads, mostly just to get away from the cars. One of the first places I headed for was the railroad tracks. I knew from my years of riding that railroad tracks usually have trails along them.

Well, there were trails, sure, but nothing you would want to ride. They were bumpy and rutted, overgrown with manzanita, star thistle and berry bushes. A number of fallen trees crossed the trail. I spent nearly as much time walking and bushwhacking as I did riding. I finished that ride bloody and frustrated, with a number of deer ticks crawling on my legs. And I never went back.

Fast forward five years and I decided to try again. One thing about miserable rides is they tend to mellow in your mind as time passes. Also, I know how much a trail can change with use. Maybe in five years more people would be using it? It was worth a try.

I started where the tracks cross Motherload Road near Highway 50 and rode south towards Latrobe. This map gives you the basic idea:



Five years ago, one of the worst places on the entire length of trail was right at the beginning. The blackberry bushes and manzanita grew on both sides of the trail, and you were forced to ride the gauntlet, with the thorns and branches tearing at your arms and shins. Yesterday, though, it was clear sailing. The berries had been trimmed back. In fact, EVERYTHING had been trimmed back. Even the manzanita, which is tough as nails, had obviously been trimmed by a chainsaw. Sweet.

The trails ranged from nice singletrack . . .



. . . to wider ATV trail . . .



. . . to little-used deer trail . . .



. . . with enough hills to keep it interesting.



As you progress south, the terrain changes from dense scrub to open grassland studded with oaks:



It really felt like the boonies at times. If there was civilization beyond the fog, I sure couldn't see it.



Did you know horses will eat bark? I did not.



I turned around not far from Latrobe and headed home. I ended up with 24 miles, with 17 of that being on the dirt. There was enough good trail and scenery to make the few bad spots tolerable. It's so much better than it was five years ago.

I'd like to be able to incorporate this trail into a bigger dirt loop, but I'm not sure it works since it goes so far south. Not far from where I turned around, South Shingle Road turns to dirt and goes all the way out to Rancho Murieta. But that would mean a return trip on Scott Road, which would suck. I'll have to get on Google Earth and see what I can find.

Later.

Hazy Shade of Winter

The fog is still here. It's getting old.

Although the sun was shining upon my house, I could see the fog lurking just down the hill. Again, I took the cyclocross bike out, hoping to stay up high out of the murk. I made it about 10 miles before the fog crept in from the west and engulfed me. It felt like the temperature immediately dropped 20 degrees.



At first it wasn't too bad, but it became more and more dense as time went on. I altered my route to stay on back roads and headed home.

I can't see Russia from my house:



Later.

Soupe du Jour

More of the same today. This fog just won't go away.

My original plan was to ride three or four hours on the single speed, but I could see the wall of fog from my house. I decided to ride the cross bike and stay up high where the sun was for a couple reasons. One, because riding in the fog sucks. Two, because people in Sacramento can't drive under the best conditions, let alone in inclement weather.

Over this ridge is an 1100-foot-deep bowl of pea soup:



So I only put in about 90 minutes of riding time, but I stayed fairly warm and safe.

Later.