And More Rain

Boo, rain. Boo, dark. Still, I sucked it up and took the Cross-Check up The Arlington and South Park before work. My wool cap was dripping right into my eyes on the descent. Rain....blinding...me! Must...keep...eyes...open!

Also, boo cats. One of the neighborhood cats has decided to make the doorway to the Mancave its very own litterbox. I didn't get around to picking it up, and now the poo is melting in the rain. A part of me dies every time I see it.

For the last couple of weeks, the rear brake on the CC has been making a terrible ruckus. I've been too lazy to deal with it, particularly since my commute is flat as a pancake. But the noise was just too unnerving this morning, coming down Grizzly Peak and Spruce. A quick check found that I had actually worn through most of the pads. I guess they went through many thousands of miles on the Atlantis. In fact, I don't remember ever replacing them.

Normally, I would have just spun this evening, but we're seeing the W's play the Spurs. I fear the holy hellfire Tim Duncan is going to unleash on the Warrior's front line. Good luck with that, Miki Moore.

The Cold and Wet...

I got up on Friday morning, wanting to get in a decent hour before work, but found it completely socked in. The thought of freezing my ass off on the ridge was unappealing, so instead I did hill intervals in the El Cerrito cemetery. I made the poor choice to wear my light gloves, my hands froze up on every descent. Arg, it burns when they warm up in the shower!

With a holiday party to cook and clean for last night, all I could manage was 35 miles with JK. Coldest day of the year - I wore a long-sleeved jersey and windbreaker even while climbing. We took it easy through Lamorinda, Happy Valley, Papa Bear, and Wildcat.

Today, I was literally at my doorstep, about to head out for an after lunch ride, when the heavens opened. I didn't want to subject the IF to the storm, so I bagged my plan to ride up El Toyonal for the first time, and took the Cross Check onto the Tilden trails. Super fun, very green, almost nobody up there. The incoming storm made for some great clouds, too. That's Mt. Diablo in the distance below. I stayed warm and cozy in a sleeveless baselayer, Ibex wool undershirt, and long sleeve jersey. I need to get me another long sleeve jersey, though. I wore it three times in a row this weekend without washing.

To cap the weekend off, La Roleurette and I went over to my boss' house for the company holiday party. It's a potluck, so I had cooked again. The grilled shirt steak went over well last night, so it made an encore appearance this evening.

I have mixed feelings about this company tradition. On one hand, it's very homey and nice to have everyone contribute to the party. We're a small shop, so it seems fitting. On the other hand, it's a pain in the ass to dedicate an afternoon to cooking and a Sunday evening to the event. I mean, it's mildly fun, but Sunday night! At least we live 2 minutes away, unlike the poor bastards who drive an hour down from Davis.

The forecast calls for major storms throughout the week, so it'll be spinning for me. All this rain is really whetting my appetite for the snowboard...

P.S. Two Johns - what the what? After their supposed last podcast, another one appeared last week. I was just getting used to the idea of a Two Johns-free world, and had finally hit the acceptance stage of grief. I can't keep up with this emotional rollercoaster!

Thanks for Time to Ride

On Wednesday I snuck in a ride up Shasta before work. A nice pre-Thanksgiving treat. Then, despite the holiday festivities and having some friends staying with us over the weekend, I managed to squeeze in Friday and Saturday quickies.

Friday morning, I didn't have much time, so I packed in both Centennial and South Park, two more in the Berkeley Hills Death Ride series. Centennial starts in earnest at the Strawberry Canyon pool, then hits 11% at the Botanical Garden. Ouch. South Park isn't all that bad in comparison, but my lungs were still inside out by the time I reached the summit. No newts sighted.

On Saturday, my buddy's wife, K-Dawg, and I rode the Secret Ranches. K-Dawg lives in Seattle, so I wanted to show off the East Bay hills. The weather obliged with a clear and cold morning, with views out to the Farralones. As for the hills, Grizzly Peak, north of Claremont, forced her into the granny, apparently a rare event back home. In keeping with her triathlete rep, we gunned it up Tunnel, but she was skittish on the descents. I'll give her a break; La Roleurette's Jamis was a bit big for her.

Week in Review

Argh - too much work, another overdue post.

Saturday. JK was out for the weekend, so with nobody to meet, I lazed around all morning, eating a gigantic bowl of steel cut oats, toast, and a fried egg over easy for breakfast. I like my oats with a banana, peanut butter, toasted pecans, and jam. This billion calorie breakfast had me in a deep food coma by the time I headed out at 10:30 for a long spin out to Mt. Diablo.

For a change, I took North Gate up - much tougher than South Gate as it turns out. It had been years since I last took that route, and the steep pitches wore me out. By the time I got to Juniper, about 2/3 of the way up the mountain, I was cold and hungry, and I realized I'd be pushing darkness. So I rolled back down and booked it to the Walnut Creek Starbucks, where I had a snack while watching the luxury sport cars and overdressed shoppers cruise by. Ladies - a word to the wise - nothing says "Lady Douchebag" like Ugg boots.

And nothing says "Lord Douchebag" like going to this attorney for your divorce. I would love to see that waiting room, though. ESPN in HD, swimsuit magazines, beer on tap, and a bunch of bitter dudes. "Bitches, man. All bitches."

As a Bay Area food snob, I'm little ashamed to admit that I love Starbucks as a mid- or post-ride stop. Their turkey bacon and egg sandwich was just the right amount of hot salty goodness, and a mocha gave me the sugar and caffeine needed to make it through Lafayette and back to Berkeley via half-Happy and Wildcat Canyon. A gorgeous fall day on the bike. Here's the view from Juniper Campground.

Sunday. The usual loop up Tunnel and back. In the afternoon, La Roleurette and I set up our new ping pong table which we picked up off Craigslist for $40.

Monday. No spin. Work.

Wednesday. Pre-work Arlie Cat Golf ride. Check out my anti-gravity Specialized gloves. Told you they were cool.

Thursday. Up Shasta at a frantic pace before work.

I learned that Jake - friend of a friend - will be in town in early December, and wants to go on a ride. Ed, another buddy, will probably come along. These guys were collegiate rowers. They love Pain. Pain is like their BFF. If they were sorority girls, Pain would be holding their hair up while they puked in the toilet.

Sadly for me, neither has let themselves go. Jake is a hardcore Colorado cyclist (altitude advantage), and Ed finished an Ironman this summer. They will tear my legs off, grind them into mincemeat, bake them into a Shepherd's pie (Ed is British), then feed the pie to their dog. Then they will make the dog chase a ball for hours till it collapses in a puddle of its own vomit. And they will not hold its hair up. Jerks. So I'm a little motivated to get in better shape.

Scary Week

I've been getting hammered at work, so this post comes in late.

Saturday. JK and I headed out to the Junction Cafe, south of Livermore. This fell in line with the Halloween spirit, since the Junction Cafe is probably the scariest cycling destination around. Scary because of the rednecks with pickups, and, this time of year, giant tarantulas. Honestly, the spiders creep me out more than the rednecks, who are used to bike fags descending on them every weekend. A detente has been established wherein we don't block the road and they don't hit us. Seems fair to me. As for the spiders, they're supposed to be harmless, but those things will take you DOWN if you turn your back on them. They will swarm all over your struggling body, then eat you. I seen it on the YouTube, I swear.

I like the Junction because:

1. The roads are almost car free, and riding two abreast is seldom a problem.

2. It's a nice 50 miles with a good mix of small climbs, false flats, and a wide open descent to the finish.

3. Leather clad motorbikers and lycra wearing cyclists are two kinds of sexy. Truth be told, neither are that sexy at the Junction. The bikers are lawyers in disguise, and the cyclists are all soccer dads on high-end bikes.

4. It feels more remote than any other cycling spot in the Bay Area. The first time I went out there was a shit show where I forgot my cycling shoes, drove home to get them, rushed to try and catch up with the group, took a wrong turn and ended up lost far out in the middle of nowhere. I bumped into some off-roaders on quads; it was like Mad Max. But they were nice enough to give me a ride back into town.

5. The fries at the Junction. Ok, they're the frozen kind, but they hit the spot mid-ride. One order is enough for two people. Resist the urge to stuff your face. The road back starts with a pretty long, hot climb, and your body will reject that greasy burger like a bad kidney.

At the Junction, JK and I shared a bag of Corn Nuts with a grizzly old biker at our picnic table. We had the usual Lance Armstrong conversation with him, and learned that he'd actually driven out to watch the Tour of California one year, and was blown away by the sound of the peloton going by. Interesting to hear the regular man's view on bike racing. Made me wonder how Armstrong can be a top-10 athlete in terms of name recognition, despite cycling being a bottom-10 sport.

We continue to enjoy the Bay Area Summer (aka October); I was comfy in shorts and a short-sleeve jersey all day.

Sunday. Seen today while on my easy Sunday ride: a bloody operating table on the front lawn. Bleaugh. Were they re-enacting the birth scene from Rosemary's Baby while the kids came up?

The cyclists were out in force, and I hung around some high-end racers on a recovery ride up Tunnel. Sadly, I had to put in some work just to stay within spitting distance. Meanwhile, they could have been passing tea and crumpets back and forth.

Monday. Spinning with Mistress Wendy. Solid workout as usual, but.....Frampton Comes Alive? Seriously? Talking guitar does not fire me up.

Thursday. I finally threw in the towel and brought the IF in to Solano Cyclery. They sorted out the front end creak (loose headset - duh) and rebuilt the rear hub, which had been slipping consistently. I took it out for a pre-work spin this morning up Shasta. Super smooth. I love that buttery greasy rear hub feel. And no squeaking at all when I stood up. Ahhhh. Quiet.

Fall Back

Taking the weekend off the bike does amazing things for my legs. Monday spin class was brutal as usual, but I was able to hang on with a high heart rate throughout. The class was full, a sign of winter. The competitive racers are starting to show up again, too, including a huge guy with a full Clif Bar kit and calves like cantaloupes.

Today was the last after-work ride before the clocks fall back on Saturday night. Although I started off in full sunlight, I had to click on the lights before the top of Tunnel.

There's nothing like an after-work ride to blow the stress out of my brain. I left the office with deadlines dancing in my head, and by the time I was on the ridge, everything was better.

Another plug for Specialized stuff - I love the BG gel gloves. Just like the Specialized knee warmers, they're cut perfectly. I've tried a bunch of gloves over the years, but none of them fit as well as these. Also, there's just enough padding on the palms to dull the buzz, but not so much that it creates pressure points. And while they're not cheap, they're not over the top spendy, either.

It was cold out, and all through the ride I was looking forward to a hot shower and dinner. I fried up some chicken breasts with panko breadcrumbs, and tossed them into a salad with greens, figs, peppers, carrots, and red onion. They I stole some of La Roleurette's strawberry-banana smoothie while watching the Warriors lose to Houston in the season opener.

Golden State - why do you tease me with incredible plays, then torture me with the predictable flurry of missed three-pointers and poor decisions? I'm like a battered wife, I swear.

Got my first comment on the blog today. Alert the press!

Foliage?

Oh-dark-thirty. Up early this morning for a pre-work spin. Did the Arlington, Wildcat Canyon, Shasta, Golf Course, Grizzly Peak, Spruce Loop. The "Arlie-Cat Golf" Loop.

Although it was pitch black when I headed out at 6:30, the sun had risen when I got back an hour later. I dressed well, with arm and knee warmers, heavier base layer, and a vest in my pocket. I didn't overheat on the way up, and put on the vest for a nice and toasty descent.

Speaking of which, I heart my Specialized knee warmers. Unlike many knee warmers which are straight uninspired tubes, the panels on these are cut perfectly to contour to my calves, sag-free. The close fit, plus a band of silicone, means they grip really well under the shorts, with zero slippage. Like La Roleurette, the Therminal material is tough, but supple. If I had to draft bike gear, these may be my number one pick. Definitely in the lottery.

The Quest for Foliage. I'm headed up to South Lake Tahoe for the weekend with La Roleurette for some hiking and maybe a leaf peep or two. Really, we'll be lucky to catch even two leaves to be peeped, much to La Roleurette's frustration. I fear it's the lack of seasons in Northern CA that eventually drives her to move back to New England. Although we discovered two years ago that global warming has shortened the foliage season there as well.

So no weekend ride, unless we get back in time on Sunday for a little runaround. It's good. I'll be that much more energized to get on the bike next week.

In the Soup

Pea soup fog on Grizzly Peak today. The kind where water collects on my eyelashes and my bike is sopping wet when I get back home. A number of cyclists, including myself, weren't prepared for the low visibility and had totally inadequate lights or no lights at all. I think the days of after-work rides with just a small blinkie are over. Time to charge the big gun. I'm still thinking of getting a new light for the winter, but good lord they are expensive.

My First Lunchtime Ride Ever

I set the alarm for 6:30 with the full intention of getting in a pre-work ride. At 6:15 I decided to head out at lunch, instead, and stay in bed for a little while longer. I'm a very good negotiator like that. And it's amazing how my enthusiasm can evaporate overnight.

So I worked from home in the morning, finished a project, and headed out at 11:30 for a one hour quickie. The air was still warm and heavy from Tuesday's storm, and I quickly shed the arm warmers. My route went up The Arlington, climbed sharply to the reservoir on top of Spruce, then followed Wildcat to the Brazil Building. A little huffing up Shasta and Golf Course, then coasting home. I don't know if it was the lack of food or what, but my legs felt dead and weak. I remedied that by lunching on some lentil soup and an open face pesto, mozzarella, and tomato sandwich on crusty walnut bread. Yum. Lunch at home on a workday feels incredibly indulgent and illicit.

Oh, after all that messing with the bike, the creak persists.

Berkeley Hills Death Ride 1

I left work this evening with every intention of taking it easy, since I'm thinking of riding up the backside of Mt. Hamilton this weekend. So I cruised down the Berkeley marina for a change, then back through the flat part of Marin Avenue, planning on coming home early.

Instead of turning towards home, though, I just kept going up Marin, and before I knew it I was gasping for air on the steepest road in Berkeley, my heart rate pinned to 100%. (Ironically, I was wearing the monitor to keep my effort low.)

Marin Avenue is the toughest of the Berkeley Hills Death Ride series. So tough, in fact, that I never thought to give it a go. The "easy" bits are around 14%, but it hits 30% towards the top. About 624 feet of elevation gain over one very narrow mile. I would never start a ride, planning on tackling Marin. Apparently, the only way to get up this thing was to fool myself into it.

The lower parts of Marin aren't actually that steep. I could maintain a comfortable standing pace. Each section lured me up a bit more, till I found myself halfway up the climb. At that point I wasn't going to stop, still feeling pretty strong.

About a third of the way up, though, my legs hit the anaerobic wall, and I had to unclip, lest I find myself staring at the bumper of an oncoming Prius while pinned under my bike. I walked up to the next cross street and let my heartrate come down. Looking up the road, I thought I could just gun it to the next resting point, then decide whether to go any further. So I got a little momentum and bumrushed the hill. Upon reaching the next cross street, I keeled over the bars, gasping, till the nausea subsided. Then I looked up and thought, "I can do that one more time." And so it went till the top.

I enjoyed the descent on Grizzly Peak, spinning lightly to keep from tightening up. Then, a nice hot shower, stretch, self-flagellation with The Stick, and dinner with my old friend, Costco Ravioli.

I'd actually try this again, next time stopping to gather myself at each cross street without getting off the bike. Definitely a great anaerobic workout. My legs still feel wobbly, though.

Mid-Week Miscellany

On Competition II

After my post about why I don't compete, Embrocation made a good case in favor of stepping up to the line, also in the context of cyclocross. I have to admit, it's a pretty compelling argument.

Pillow Talk

Instead of the usual spin class, I got up early to ride before work. Somehow, I have no problem setting the alarm on weekends to have fun outside. Gravity must be stronger during the week, because the battle was epic this morning. I try to prep everything the night before, and get out the door without breakfast. Otherwise, any excuse to slow down just drags out the hard part. Once I'm on the bike, it's fine.

Cable Sadness

Apparently the Universal Sports promo was just for a month on DIRECTV. I now find myself with no cycling coverage at all. Damn, that was an awesome channel. The Vuelta, one day classics, World Championships, small stage races, cyclocross champies, curling. Curling!!! So good! I'm actually considering making the switch to Comcast. DIRECTV would have to woo me with a pretty sweet package involving Premier League soccer and premium channels to convince me to stick with them. Ironically, if they hadn't given me the free taste, I wouldn't be jonesing for it now. Um, guys - bad decision to give me a free sample of a channel you don't carry.

Problem is I have a deal with AT&T because of the DIRECTV service, and AT&T is super handy when I'm on the road and want access to wi-fi at St*rbucks. St*rbuks everywhere = wi-fi everywhere. Plus, I have the damn dish, and it's a hassle to return the DVR. Inertia, like gravity on weekdays, is a force to be reckoned with.

DIRECTV. I wish I knew how to quit you.

Thursday, the Best Day?

That's what my co-worker believes. She likes that the weekend, with all its potential and promise, is right around the corner, but still far enough to look forward to.

My Thursday long-way-home ride wasn't the Best, but I'll take it. I'd been jonesing to get on the bike, since my last proper ride was on Saturday. Took it relatively easy on Tunnel. It was hot out, and the legs felt heavy.

I passed a gang of hipsters going up the road on old 10-speeds, and we all stopped briefly to watch an enormous buck eating the flowers off someone's yard. (I read this morning that these deer can spend their whole lives within 5 square miles.) What's with the messenger bags, hipsters? They're so much less comfortable than a backpack.

Decsending Grizzly Peak, I usually push hard to make it up the little dip where Shasta comes in. Tonight, I felt the bike go all squishy as I stood and mashed the pedals. Sure enough, a rear flat. WTF? That makes 3 flats in two weeks. Two front, one back. Or is it two back, one front? Anyway, I've found the debris every time, and the tape looks straight, so it's not a problem with the rim. Still, when I get this trend - and I feel like flats do come in sets - I get paranoid, and compulsively check the tire pressure every hour. Is that why I felt so slow on Tunnel?

All these flats are starting to cost real money, though. I don't like patching the tubes on the road - it takes too long and I"m never sure the patch will hold. And I don't like having a patched tube as my spare. So I guiltily end up tossing the punctured tube when I get home, and buy a new one. Plus, I use CO2, instead of a pump, so that's $ as well. At least the canisters are recyclable.

The Honda Avocado battery was dead - I left the dome light on last week while looking for my missing glove. So J-Lou and I jumped it, then used it as an excuse to drive to Larkspur for fancy soft serve cones from Picco Pizzeria. Worth the trip, and the battery seems good to go.

Thoughts on the Bike Racing

This month DirectTV lost Versus, but picked up Universal Sports. While I'm more than happy to exchange deer hunting for cycling coverage (including the Vuelta now), I hope something gets sorted out for the Tour next year.

Until fairly recently, I really didn't give a crap about bike racing, mostly because (1) I didn't know any of the riders and (2) it was impossible to watch a Grand Tour while holding down a job, relationship, or life.

With the new DVR, the Tour was suddenly watchable at my leisure. Plus I didn't have to slog through hours of tempo riding just to watch Cavendish win another bunch sprint. DVR technology, plus a little more reading on the various players, gave me a newfound appreciation for bike racing.

Not a racer myself, what is it that I enjoy about seeing it on TV or magazines? In ascending order:

3. Bike Porn. My stuff is far from bleeding-edge. I ride a custom steel frame with Ultegra SL (the Honda Accord of gruppos), and hand-built Open Pro wheels laced to Chris King hubs. It's all like really good, albeit unexciting, vanilla ice cream. In fact, the frame color is Vanilla. But I also appreciate the nano-weenie pro gear. Shimano Di-2 is, to me, like a really hot stripper. You don't want to take her home, but you can't help but look, and you wonder what it would be like to touch. Just a little.

2. Drama. This year's Tour read like Days of Our Lives. Every stage saw some snippy comment between teams, or - in the case of Lord Voldemort and El Pistolero - within the same team. Speaking of which, Armstrong may have lost the race, but he just destroyed poor 'Berto in the PR battle. Shit, Armstrong even had the French cheering for him! Contador was isolated on what was supposed to be his team, with Bruyneel turning on him, and still, he comes off as the petulant brat, while Armstrong looks like the savvy, warm, conquering hero.

1. Suffering. Like the French, I appreciate suffering more than victory. The physical feats the leaders accomplish are so far removed from my ability and experience, that I can't connect to the thrill of the podium. I do, however, recognize Wiggins' steady IV drip of pain to hang onto 4th on the Ventoux. Watching the Vuelta recap tonight, I saw Taarmae lunging desperately up the final 20% grade, head hanging over his bars, eyes losing focus, and I thought, "Yes - that feeling I know."

Today's ride: I opted for the climb up Shasta to Grizzly Peak. I've never seen another rider ascending that road, which is surprising given how nice it is. One lane, lined with mature trees and quirky Berkeley-style homes. It has steep pitches, but with a couple of easier bits to catch your breath. After hitting Grizzly Peak, I kept a fast pace up the ridge to South Park, then turned around and followed Wildcat back to Spruce.

Lunch at Rotten City Pizza, the East Bay's best kept pizza secret. Their NY-style pies rival Gioia's, though are admittedly kind of expensive. Like $7.50 for two slices.

I Love the Bay

Every time I see this view I think about how much I love the Bay, especially the East Bay. It makes me happy to ride here. My most mundane workaday loop is 20 miles, up the hill to this vista, along the ridge (more views), and a casual descent to to nice bakeries, pizzas, and taquerias. One complaint: in the last 12 months, Grizzly Peak from the top to Centennial has become an death trap of unmarked tire-eating potholes and gravelly corners. City of Berkeley - this is a bike vs. auto accident waiting to happen.

Rode up Claremont today for a change. Instead of the slow threshold burn of Tunnel Road, Claremont serves up a concentrated stretch of sweaty, lurching, for-reals climbing. It's one of the Berkeley Death Ride series and consistently beats my ass. I get a third of the way up and think, "Wow - all this riding is paying off! Claremont isn't as hard as I remember." Then the steep bit by the eucalyptus grove kicks in and I start looking down to make sure I don't have another gear left. No? Huh. A couple of seconds later - what the? Still no extra gear? By the time I make it past the second switchback I'm just trying to keep the bike moving in a straight line.

I lowered my bars this week to see how it feels. There's more power transfer to the legs, and I love standing and grabbing the hoods instead of the drops when climbing. This feels particularly nice on the steep hills like Claremont. But the more aero position will take its toll on my shoulder on long flat rides, which thankfully we have none of around here. We'll see. It does make the bike look a lot sportier though. Mmmmmm....sporty.

Dinner with the parents at a tapas place in Oakland's Temescal district. Although the restaurant was meh, the neighborhood is going off! I had to circle for 10 minutes to find a parking space - unheard of in the East Bay. Temescal has become a grittier, cooler version of Berkeley's Gourmet Ghetto. The Ghetto Gourmet Ghetto. Many many hipster fixies.

Long Way Home via Secret Ranches

After work I went up Tunnel and took what I call the "Secret Ranches" path back home. For the locals, it starts at the Steam Train, goes down Lomas Contadas and across to Wildcat. I love how intimate that road feels. It passes by unkempt stables, and even dissolves into a gravel stretch for twenty yards. The sunset over the hills also rocks from there.

I drilled myself on Tunnel, Grizzly Peak, and Wildcat, so was happy to take it easy and take some pictures on the Secret Ranch section. I never used to ride hard on the bike, putting in the work in spin class instead. I didn't want to associate my bike with pain and suffering. The lumbering Atlantis also discouraged hard efforts.

But lately, easy after-work cruises feel boring unless I have someone to ride with. I've actually grown to like the pain cave, especially on the more zippy Indy Fab. Also, if I take too long to get home I end up STARVING, and stuff huge handfuls of potato chips in my mouth while standing in the kitchen in a wet chamois.

Sometimes I wonder why bother with the "training." Training for what? To drop 50-year old ladies on hybrids (for the record, I smoked two tonight)? To be the bestest century rider I can be? I think it comes down to a couple of things:

1. Feeling fit, and the associated confidence to tackle tough rides.

2. Endorphins.

3. Post-ride meals taste even better.

4. If I'm going to shave my legs I'd better make a fucking effort.

5. My shaved legs will look good.

I still refuse to call it "training," though. And though tempted, I haven't committed to the lactate threshold test at the gym. I don't race. What would I do with this data?

For dinner - spinach and cheese ravioli tossed in a sauce of fresh tomatoes, anchovies, and garlic. Grilled green beans on the side. I highly recommend the Costco frozen ravioli. Nothing beats it after a mid-week ride, when I'm too tired to make a proper meal. It's a once-a-week date for me. Not glamorous, but super satisfying.

Oooh - I managed to get the stuck stem out of the frame this morning! I just put a wheel into the fork, which gave me enough leverage to twist it out. Should have thought of this on Sunday.