Prolonging the Magic

We returned from five days in Monterey earlier today. It should have been a great getaway, but it seemed to fall a little flat. What used to be a magical destination for us now feels like just another place. And after thinking about it for a few hours, I think it's mostly our fault.

The first day started well enough. We arrived a little before check-in and went for a ride along the coast.

It was overcast and windy.

Still, how can you complain?

We had a stiff tailwind the whole way back to the hotel, and that was pretty awesome.

As I post the pictures, the one thing I notice is all were taken on the fly. We didn't stop once in the 20 miles. Go, go, go.

We arrived back at the hotel, the Holiday Inn Express on Wave Street, and checked in. Our room was newly renovated and immediately I experienced my first aggravation of the trip. They replaced the two nightstands with floating tabletops. Those nightstand drawers were where I used to dump all my cameras and electronics so I can use my backpack for walking. Instead all that stuff stayed in my backpack for the entire trip. They also replaced the dresser with a TV stand. It still had two drawers, but there wasn't nearly enough space for all my clothes, so I lived out of my duffel bag. Small issues, but the first dominoes of the week.

For dinner we went to one of our favorite places, the Alvarado Street Brewery. Like many restaurants lately, we found that they scaled back their menu. There wasn't much to choose from, and what we ended up with was not great. The portions were small and the prices high. We ended up ordering the calamari appetizer AFTER our meal because we were still hungry. Unfortunately it was undercooked and mushy. Anyone who knows me will say that I don't complain about food often. Stick it in front of me and I will consume it without a peep. But this time I felt compelled to make my feelings known on the credit slip, something I haven't done in at least a decade. We had zero complaints about the beer, though.

The next day we rode up north and did a short loop in Fort Ord. I really enjoy riding in there. I shot nothing but video on this ride, so here you go.

That evening we dined outside at Louie Linguini's. Although a bit cool and breezy, we enjoyed a great meal. The only downside was the big, creepy rat in a Hawaiian shirt.

Thursday morning we walked to the Red House Cafe in Pacific Grove for breakfast, which was delicious as always.

After breakfast, Jenn opted to do one of her MegaUltraWalkabouts ™ up to Seaside. I opted for another ride in Fort Ord.

The Fort Ord National Monument is 15,000 acres of awesomeness. The roads entering the area are gated off, so with the exception of the occasional government vehicle, you can enjoy a car-free experience.

There is something for everyone—paved roads, dirt roads, gravel trails and lots of singletrack trails.

Road intersections are well marked and all trails are numbered.

It's amazing how desolate it feels only a few short miles from civilization.

That evening we had a beer at Fieldwork and dined at Peter B's. Like many places, they have scaled back their hours (and menu). They are closed Tuesday and Wednesday, so this was our first opportunity to go there. Although I really miss the tri-tip chili they dropped from the menu, we were still pleased with our dinner.

The next day we rode north to the end of the trail.

It was cool and we battled a strong headwind for the entire 13 miles back to the hotel.

Later in the afternoon we went for a walk and watched the wildlife for a bit.

We ended up at Dust Bowl where the beer was really good but the scenery was even better. Seeing this handsome bastard was definitely the highlight of the day.

The unique combination of a mustache, sideburns, earrings and a greasy mullet was simply exquisite. The skin-tight slacks and Hawaiian belt really completed the look.

Wow. What a beautiful man. If Kentucky had a god, it would look a lot like him.

We had a light dinner at Peter B's again, and it was fine. We did a little shopping and walked back to the hotel. The sunset was nice.

The next morning we awoke to a little rain and wet roads. Neither of us seemed motivated to ride so we packed up and left.

Towards the end of our long drive home, Jennifer said we probably shouldn't go back to Monterey unless there is a compelling reason, such as escaping 110 degree temperatures at home. And I have to admit I was thinking the same thing. And that made me sad. The magic seemed to be dying.

When we first started vacationing in Monterey, our life was drastically different. We had jobs and responsibilities we needed a break from. We lived high in the foothills with narrow, hilly roads, and we often went weeks without riding together. The closest restaurant was over two miles away, and we had no brewery to walk to. It always felt like such a treat to roll out of our hotel room and have a bike trail literally 50 feet away, riding along the water and enjoying the fantastic scenery. Afterwards we could walk to any number of breweries or restaurants. Magic.

I guess we liked that lifestyle so much that we simply duplicated it to a certain degree when we moved to Folsom. Substitute a lake for the ocean and that very similar recipe bakes up into a satisfying and enjoyable lifestyle. It's been over a year and we still often can't believe our good fortune. Not every day is like vacation, but there are definitely days that feel like it—a long bike ride, a walk to the brewery, a walk to a restaurant. That's a pretty good day.

The reality is that Monterey is probably still the magical place it always was. We are the variable in the equation, and it is our new value that is now unknown. The X factor is the retired couple whose expectations have not changed in the 20 years we have been vacationing there. We need to find the value of "X" that still makes Monterey magical. The relaxation that used to be a downright necessity is not so valuable after retirement. Now we need something different. The value of X now should be adventure.

Another thing Jenn mentioned was that Monterey doesn't offer us anything we can't do at home now. That is true to a certain extent, but only because we made it that way. I think our initial excitement with living in Folsom quickly evolved into a bit of a rut. We ride a lot, and there are definitely days when the joy is lacking for me. It feels like riding is just about the number. The miles. The exercise. Getting out for a workout in an effort to live a healthy life is important, but I don't know if I am dealing well with the monotony.

On this trip I packed hiking shoes and hat, a frisbee and bocce balls. None of these were used.

We have been to Monterey countless times, and we have never gone kayaking, hiking, played disc golf, gone to a museum, or had a picnic on the beach. There are countless parks we have not explored.

As a lifelong bike nut, I have to wonder if some of life is passing me by as I stare at the road in front of me. Knocking out those miles. Go, go, go.

Kids will fall for the simplest of deceptions. Pull a quarter from behind their ear, and they will look at you with wide-eyed amazement. As we age, we have seen it all. A simple sleight of hand will not amaze us anymore. Make an elephant disappear? Sure. That would be something.

At the same time, we also don't seem to seek out any new tricks. We are too content with nodding our head politely at the same old rabbit-in-the-hat routine, and that is the problem. The secret to still believing in magic is continually pursuing it. Be your own magician and constantly strive to amaze yourself and your loved ones.

Learn the elephant trick. Make some wide-eyed amazement. Make that magic.

Later. 

The Canal

The Folsom South Canal Trail has somewhat secretly existed for decades. There's really no reason for most people to know of its existence unless you participate in the Tuesday night time trials (which are now on Wednesdays this year). It's pancake flat and runs over 15 miles along (wait for it) the Folsom South Canal, from Nimbus south to Sloughhouse Road.

Jennifer and I started riding on the trail a few years back. I think it just started as an option to mix things up a bit, or to recover from one of our very hilly rides in Shingle Springs, but Jennifer took a liking to the trail.

I found it terribly boring, and I often tried to suggest alternate routes.

Fast forward to last year when we moved to Folsom, CA. We now live less than a quarter mile from an awesome trail system. And it's really great. And people know it's great. And that can be a problem.

On weekdays we ride with few issues. The trails are lightly used, and most of those users are bike trail veterans, meaning they don't do stupid shit. But on the weekends . . .

All hell breaks loose. There are runners, walkers, dogs, kids, skateboards, strollers, scooters, onewheels, e-unicycles, wobbly tourists on e-bikes, and weekend warrior road riders trying to set Strava PRs. It can be complete insanity.

Enter the canal. The boredom that I once considered a bug turned out to be a feature.

Once we navigate about 4.5 miles of craziness from our house, we are rewarded with miles and miles of serenity on the little-used stretch of pavement. I now appreciate the beauty of boredom a little more than I did a couple years ago.

Later.

2023 By the Numbers

It was a pretty good year in many respects. We were very busy early in the year with renovating the old house, buying the new house and moving. We started settling in around June and you can see the results of "real life" slowing down and cycling life heating up.

Some statistics:

• 5917 miles is the most since I started keeping stats in 1995
• 914 miles more than last year
• Seventh straight year increasing annual mileage
• 261 total rides
• 22.67 miles per ride average
• The 214,000 feet of climbing was 50,000 less than last year

There is no doubt that riding down here in Folsom is easier than up in Shingle Springs, and the mileage numbers reflect that. The increase occurred organically, meaning I didn't intend to ride more this year; it just happened. In fact, I think I said last year that 5,000 miles was too much, and here I was flirting with 6,000.

In 2024 I don't expect anything to change. It's pretty easy to ride 500 miles a month here, so I expect to be around 6,000 miles again.

Later.

Take Two

My second ride on the Hightower yesterday was much, much better. I would go so far as to call it "fun" and "successful." I guess I can delete the draft of the Craigslist sales ad.

After this ride I didn't experience any of the crazy cramping or extreme soreness like after the first ride. I don't know if adaptation happens that quickly, but I think it certainly helped to give my body time to fully recover after the initial ride. I am still quite fatigued today, perhaps a bit more so than I would be on my hardtail, but not much.

My complaints about the seat tube angle started to fade. I climbed with more speed and power, and that was nice.

While I described my local terrain as "rolling" in the last post, I guess it's all relative. This ride totaled 2500 feet of climbing in 26 miles—about 100 feet per mile. Last summer I rode in Tahoe and did 15 miles and 1500 feet; also about 100 feet per mile.

I think it feels like more elevation gain in Tahoe because the climbs are extended in the mountains, but climbing is climbing. In fact, I would venture that I go harder on shorter, repeated climbs than I would on one long one.

A few years ago I did 31 miles and 3800 feet of gain in Tahoe, which seemed like a lot because the ride was mostly front-loaded with climbing with another big one in the middle. However, if I added another five-mile loop on my local ride, I think I would crack 3000 feet of climbing.

One thing I forgot to mention before was the rock strikes. I had five minor ones on my first ride. I know this is just the nature of long travel. You simply can't raise the bottom bracket 150mm to compensate for all the travel. The bike would feel ridiculous.

I dropped down to 170mm cranks (which is what the complete bike comes with) from my standard 175s. A little bird recommended 165s, but I just couldn't stomach that big a drop. Time will tell if ultimately go that route. Regardless, I only had one rock strike on the second ride. I think after four decades of mountain biking, your brain compensates quickly. I felt myself timing pedal strokes through rocky areas without being completely conscious of it. If that doesn't make sense to you, come back when you hit the 40-year mark.

The only other thing worth mentioning is the annoying clicking coming from the headset area. This is my first foray into the IS headset world. While the process of simply dropping the bearings into the frame without a headset press is kind of cool, it seems wrong. Logically, it seems like you would really need to nail the preload with this system.

A little research provided a possible fix. People have reported that the top dust cap often hits the frame before fully contacting the split ring, so proper preload cannot be achieved. I purchased some FSA .25mm microspacers, which are inserted between the split ring and dustcap, to see if that is the case.

Later.

Six Degrees of Separation

 I finally finished building the Hightower. Here it is:

Why, you may ask, did it take a month? A few reasons. One, I just don't love working on bikes that much anymore. And boy was this one a lot of work. Two, it was difficult to find time between riding and everything else I am responsible for. Sometimes those responsibilities involve swinging a sledgehammer or a pick or an axe and that leads to lack of enthusiasm towards standing in front of a bike stand.

However, the main reason for the month-long build was buyer's remorse as soon as I clicked the button to buy it. This isn't really the bike I need. I tend to ride where I live and very rarely drive to ride. I live in rolling hills and fairly mellow terrain. Even though my racing days are seemingly long behind me, I still like to ride fast. This is where and how I ride every day. A nice cross-country bike with more reasonable geometry would have been a much better choice. But here we are.

Five days ago I took it out for the first ride. It's different. Definitely different.

As I rolled out the door, the first thing that is abundantly clear is how steep the seat tube is. My Jones LWB is the bike I spend the most time on, and it has a seat tube angle of 71 degrees. Super slack and it always felt perfect to me. Now I am trying out 77 degrees and it felt weird right from the start, like the cranks were right under me as on a unicycle.

A couple miles from home I hit the first climb heading towards Beals Point. It's fairly steep in places and peppered with round river rock. I tried to power up it like I would on my hardtail, but the power simply wasn't there. I dropped down a gear and kept going. Then another gear. It was just really difficult to keep my momentum.

I poached all the trails heading towards Beals Point, mostly uphill, and it was fine. I even made it up a steep, technical section that I don't always clean on my hardtail. On the few downhill sections, I immediately noticed that a modern bike is ridden with a more forward bias; my hardtail "ass off the back" descending mentality would need some adjusting.

One thing I have always done going back to pre-suspension days, and maybe even BMX days, is loft my front wheel over everything. I don't even realize I am doing it. Maybe this came from necessity when we had rigid forks or maybe it's just because it's fun. I don't know. But the first time I did it on the Hightower the wheel started to come up, but the saddle hit my legs. This happened over and over again and it was frustrating. I am cool with having the dropper there when I NEED it, but I don't want it to be a requirement every single time the trail points down for a few feet.

As the ride continued I was continually surprised that I needed to drop down a gear or two on the climbs. I realize this bike isn't made to hit the cross-country World Cup circuit, but it was frustrating nonetheless.

Downhills and fast sections were admittedly fun. Once I started getting the hang of positioning, it was clear you can go fast on this type of bike. With 210 millimeters of dropper post travel I could get pretty low, and the traction is amazing.

I hit pretty much every boulder feature, even the one I always go around on my hardtail, and it was all ridiculously easy. That was fun.

I climbed up to the water tower, which is on a steep fire road, and had to drop into my 42T cog, a gear that I never use (let alone the 50T). Again, frustrating.

The singletrack downhill on the other side is steep (for this area) and a rutted out mess. The bike handled it without issue, but the lack experience on the bike kept the pilot from pushing too hard.

I arrived home and headed upstairs to take a shower. Even though my ride was only 25 miles, to my legs it felt like 50. I was really tired.

That night my legs started cramping and spasming like crazy—hamstrings, groin and hips. I have occasional cramping issues, but NOTHING like this. 

The next morning I was walking around like an old bow-legged cowboy. Unbelievably sore, especially my hips. I went for a ride in an effort to loosen up, which helped, but I was so tired.

I took the next day off followed by two mixed terrain rides on my Jones bikes, and the hip discomfort started to fade. Today, five days later, I finally feel like myself again.

The human body is both prone to specialization and remarkably adaptable. Ride in the same position for a while and that will be the only position your body likes. But given time, you can also adapt to a completely new position. Six degrees isn't much in some ways (it's only 1.6% of a circle), but to your body it's a massive change.

Time for this old cowboy to get back on that horse and try again.

Later.

Hazy

The Camry has been a pretty good car, but at over 11 years old it's starting to show its age. The headlights were no longer clear and didn't function well. After trying various methods of polishing them with mixed results, I just decided to replace them.

When I was younger I was a Volkswagen guy. I owned three bugs and one fastback. On my 1966 bug especially, I performed almost every maintenance task you can think of. I dropped the motor numerous times, replaced the transaxle, replaced the front and rear suspension, brakes, carburetor, distributor, clutch, etc. You get the picture.

The headlight assemblies on a pre-1967 bug are removed by one large screw. That's it. The Camry? A few more than that.

I watched a YouTube video and got to work. You have to pretty much remove the whole front end of the car. It seems kind of stupid, but what do I know. One of the old, milky headlights is on the right:

I think it took a little over an hour. Hey, it works.

New and clear.

Done.

Another easy DIY that saved some dollars. Time to go buy some bike parts.

Later.

Refresher Course

With yesterday's rain comes the traditional "first ride" of my mountain bike season. In some colder places people may feel their mountain bike season starts after snow melt in the spring, but for me it's when the first rain falls.

I celebrated by putting a new tire on the back of the Timberjack. The old one was pretty torn up.

I rolled out of the house and on the very first climb I encountered a small stream of water the whole way up. It rained pretty hard yesterday.

For the most part that was the only wet area. I rode up to Granite Bay and explored the trails to the north. I don't know these well yet. It's a maze of trails with no real route anyone seems to follow, so every time I wander around, get lost, and eventually pop out somewhere I recognize. You can see I hit a few dead ends:

It's hard to see them all because of the trees, but the satellite view shows the spider web of trails:

The normal route I have been doing for years is pretty fast with just a few technical features. This northern area is the opposite with lots of turns, punchy climbs, steep downhills and granite boulders and slabs. Fun stuff.

After exploring for a while, I finished the ride on the trails I am familiar with. They were damp, grippy and fast.

I ended up with 26 miles and 2500 feet of climbing on the day, a great way to start the fall.

Later.