Recently, I whined on here about having to ride another century...
another one. My 11
th for the year (not counting that one little bonus century, which really brings it to 12, but whose counting?) and the 11
th in the Century-a-Month Challenge that I took on again this year so that my friend, Herb, would have a reliable riding partner (so far, I've not let him down). By the 10
th (last month), I was over it, challenge or no challenge. So, I grumbled and moaned about having to ride another one, sad little me. I think the word 'pathetic' is never more fitting than in my case. After all, there are some folks in this world who can't ride 1 mile let alone 100 for reasons beyond their control, and I should be grateful
I can. Therefore, the sad-sack, whoa-is-me, gotta-do-it act is over. I
look forward to riding CAM 12, can't wait, woo-
hoo!!! And, yes...I.Do.To.Mean.It.
Now, about that CAM 11...
Herb mapped it out that we'd start at The Hub (his driveway), ride up to the
Montrose area (a regular route), out to
Encanto Park in
Duarte, up Highway 39 to East Fork, over to Camp Wilson Cafe (what I always just call 'East Fork Cafe') and back. Our plan was to start at 7:00am since the days turn darker an hour or so sooner. I was not happy with this plan, but I managed to waddle my
buttage out of bed in time to dress, grab the bike, pet the dragon and arrive at Herb's just 10 minutes shy of departure time. I think we actually departed around 7:15am, but neither of us looked at our watches. Since it was just the two us, no one complained.
As we clipped in and pushed off, we were both grateful for our leg warmers, arm warmers, base layers and vests. It was cold! - coldest morning I've ridden in this year. It was also invigorating. I didn't sleep well the night before (never do) and was a little stiff in the beginning. The leg warmers helped, although it still took the climb up
Verdugo to get me warmed up. It was on the climb that I realized what I'd be plagued with all day - crappy climbing legs. I hate when that happens. No matter how hard I pedaled, I just couldn't go very fast, and Herb easily dropped me. I mashed, I spun, and swore - no use, I simply couldn't get up the hill at a speed greater than 'too-slow.'
At the top, we swung by Herb's office and dropped our leg warmers there. The sun had shown her full face by this time, warming the air and us considerably. We still needed arm warmers and vests as we continued on our descent down Foothill Blvd. into Pasadena. This section of the route is fairly straight forward and rarely eventful (thank goodness). Saturday morning traffic was light (to be expected) and our pace steady. My legs were fine if not stellar on the flats and descents (duh) but failed me miserably even on the tiniest roller. I didn't let it bother me as I wasn't that far back from Herb on the climbs, and he didn't need to wait much more than a few seconds for me to crest any hill.
By the time we arrived at
Encanto Park, a break was welcomed. We'd ridden 30 miles by then and were well warmed. I munched on Shot-blocks while Herb ate his banana (always has at least one banana on a ride). The Park was packed, and we saw many cars with bike racks. Must have been a Baldy run taking place, and I imagined the
Adobos were out killing the hills in style. We didn't stay long enough to find out, and geared up to leave.
As I tried filling my water bottles at the Park, I noticed a milky white residue in the water.
Eww! I showed Herb, and he agreed that I couldn't drink that. I had no water and 15 miles, most of it climbing, to cover before the next water stop. I told him that I thought I'd be fine and would sip off some of his water. Neither of us were convinced of this but took off in the direction of Hwy 39 anyway. We took the
SGRT bike path over from
Encanto and at the northern end where it meets Hwy 39 is a Forest Ranger Station. It use to just be a little shack, but not now. They've built it up very nicely and have included bathrooms and a water fountain! The water there was crystal clear, and I filled both my bottles before taking off on the climb up the scenic highway that stretched out before us.
Some folks don't like Highway 39. They think it too trafficked and dangerous. My friend, and
uber-endurance rider, Francis, was struck by a car and left unconscious years ago on 39. But I've never had an issue or even felt threatened. I've had more close calls right here in my neighborhood by cars pulling out of their driveways not bothering to look for cyclists (or cars for that matter). I also find 39 beautiful as it runs up through the section of the San
Gabriels that connects Angeles Crest to Mt. Baldy.
My friend, Bob, would laugh at that description as it's just so silly (they don't really connect except in my weird, cyclist mentality). But that's how I see it - one big playground of mountain roads and canyons leading way to adventures and epic rides. Of course, Angeles Crest was ravaged with fire this year, so following Hwy 39 to Hwy 2 and around is no longer an option (not that I'm in the shape right now to accomplish that ride, anyway). The only way to use Hwy 39 at present is to head in the direction of Baldy, which means turning right at East Fork Road.
On Saturday, the beauty of Highway 39 that I always describe to others was there in abundance, only it had been scarred by the recent fires. You don't see the damage until you are halfway up the canyon, and given that you are too distracted by the beauty of the San Gabriel Dam on your right, it takes a few minutes to focus on the destruction to your left, up into the canyon hillsides.
The path the fire took is evident and only does it stop at the river's damp edges. In place of what was once thick brush are now blackened sticks, standing testaments to the power of nature. Oddly, after the initial shock of seeing this beautiful canyon burnt, I still found a dramatic beauty in these areas, as if some tragic story had been told in whispers of hot flame and through which, I was only a passing tourist. Most encouraging, I saw many outbursts of new brush spotting the burnt ground - Mother Nature already healing her many injuries.
On the climb up, my legs again nothing but thick, useless logs, I watched Herb go on ahead. Why I was climbing so slowly was beyond me, but I just kept pedaling. There were breezes keeping the warmth at bay as the day had turned toasty. Southern California is known for these types of temperature jumps, and they can wreak havoc on the back, especially a back like mine (bulging disc in L5). I kept getting overheated and then chilled on the downhills, but mostly I was fine with it. I'm not sure what was going on, but even with heavy climbing legs, I still felt strong and happy to be on my bike. The endorphins had set in by this point, my mood was lifting and the day's ride improving.
At East Fork, it was just a few more miles until we were treated with a huge basket of deep fried goodness. Both Herb's and my eyes were bigger than our stomachs, and we ordered onion rings alongside our french fries, and two cokes! We didn't eat it all, but laughed at our gluttony. Those fries were so good if not a little greasy, and with ample salt and ketchup, I could feel my blood sugar rise with each bite. We didn't stay too long (although this was our longest break of the day), as we had more climbing to tackle on the way back down 39 in the form of rollers; nothing too daunting but the day was creeping by.
As we got back on our bikes and out onto 39, we'd cooled considerably. My legs were now stiff and the slow-climbing-thing was getting to me. I stopped my bike and hollered to Herb to stop.
"Herb! Come help me," I cried, while making a 'pucker-face' for dramatic emphasis.
"What? A flat tire?" Herb was off digging in his saddle bag even before I could reply.
"No, I think it's my back brakes. They have to be rubbing. Remember how on the last CAM they were rubbing and we realized that was what was slowing me down all day?"
Herb didn't reply and just got busy with some tool, loosening/adjusting my back brakes. I teased him with, "don't break them!" and "are you sure they'll work and not kill me trying to brake?" before he finally finished tinkering. It was then back on the bike and off of East Fork onto Hwy 39. Now, it could have been psychological, but lo and behold, it was so much easier to pedal!
Sheesh...I really need to take Patsy in for an overall tune up so that I don't have these issues.
As we continued along 39, we struggled. The canyon is known for its afternoon headwinds, and we were struck hard by them. The winds were relentless and even on sections where we should have sailed down the hills, we were creeping along under 30 mph. We hadn't expected this (although we should have, tsk tsk), and I knew we were losing precious time. At Encanto Park, we took a quick potty break and agreed that we'd skip the Cuban Bakery where we initially planned to take another food break. Instead, we swung by a small market in Monrovia, grabbed drinks and a snack (dill pickle & Beetlejuice, for the win!) and took off again. This meant very few breaks for the day and heavy pedaling for a good 30 miles (up hills on 39 and back down in headwinds). It had taken its toll! Both of us were fatiguing, and worse still, the day had turned chilly.
As we slogged along Orange Grove, my legs still deadwood, I thought of how great a beer would taste, I thought of warm clothes, a hot shower and a taco. I was getting grumpy and the endorphins were beginning to fade. Damn! Luckily, we didn't have far to go before hitting a long descent into the final stretch of the ride. I knew I could HTFU and make it. Herb was standing a lot and stretching on the bike, which meant his back hurt. We needed another break, but our daylight was waning. I told Herb we should pull over even if for 5 minutes and stretch, and he agreed. We did just that in the Pasadena neighborhood above the Rose Bowl - just pulled on over into someone's driveway and I sat on the curb, stretching my legs out before me while Herb did some painful looking leg-bendy-things.
I looked at Herb who was grimacing as he bent and stretched one long leg to the side of him, "Here is the time in the ride where I say, 'when the going gets tough...' and you say...?"
"Quit." Herb was not in the mood.
I had to laugh. "That was not the right answer, mister," I replied. Although, I was right there with him.
We did not quit, however. No, we got back on our bikes and, at mile 80, climbed the last small (but, oh so painful) hill out of Descanso Gardens to Foothill. From there it was a glorious, five mile descent to Glenoaks and over to Senora, and then....Doh!
"Oh, crap," Herb said suddenly.
"What?" I was not in the mood to hear an 'oh, crap' at this point. I could already taste that post ride victory beer.
"We're just barely at mile 90. Map-my-Ride was off on mileage. We've got to add at least 8 miles." See, Herb and I agreed at the beginning of the year that a century ride would be 98 miles to 108 miles in length. Anything less was not a century, anything more than 108 was a double metric. If you are reading this and disagree, too bad, those are our rules and we're sticking to them. Although, I would like it noted here that I feel anything 97 miles to 120 miles is a century, but Herb refused those parameters.
Having to add 8 miles when you're tired, cold and craving beer is miserable. I speak from experience. Oh, and to add injury to insult, it was getting dark, as in 'cars had their headlights on' dark. Not ideal conditions to be riding in on a Saturday, near-evening. It was now 4:30pm - and Herb got a flat tire that had to be fixed! - and our only option was to pedal like crazy through Griffith Park, along Forest Lawn and back to get the full 98 miles. It was downright cold by that time, and the sun was leaving us for good. As we neared Herb's neighborhood, I asked him, "Where we at?" (I still don't ride with an odometer for no other reason than laziness.)
"We're shy a mile and a half. I say we just ride around the block, and it is what it is." Herb was as miserable as I was, and being so close to home was messing with his head.
"OH, NO YOU DON'T," I snapped in a tone that got his attention. "You've spent all year giving me crap about how it has to be 98 miles on the dot or it's not considered a century, and you're not changing the rules now just cause you're tired." Believe me, Herb will thank me for this later, but at the time I said it, I think he honestly wanted to beat me senseless.
He grumbled something under his breath and relented. We then rode up and down the streets by his house (including his street) until we got to 98.5 miles. Phew! I was so happy to dismount. It was now 5:00pm on the nose and dark! But we did it. Yippee!!! Cam 11 in the books.
