Richard Adams
November 14th 03, 05:45 PM
In early September my dream bike arrived after making installment
payments for three months. Aluminum, carbon and a bit of titanium.
Light and fast, responsive, comfortable. Literally a dream, a Colnago
Dream plus.
I've been out converting my mountain bike climbing legs to road legs
and the first ride was painful, thereafter the kilometers increased on a
weekly basis, then ramping up speed. Now I regularly ride with the
Saturday/Sunday morning group out of Santa Cruz/Aptos. I usually get
shelled, but I'm getting there, holding on further into each ride,
though some are still better rides than others.
November 9, 2003 8:45 AM
It rained last night, hard at times, hard enough to wake me up. I'd
looked out the window and doubted I'd be riding in the morning, but
stormes sometimes pass. It did, there was patchy sun among the soft
grey blanketed sky. In dithering over the weather I wasn't ready and
the group would be departing from a point 8 kilos away so I needed time
to get there.
I hastily shoveled the remainder of breakfast, a cup of oatmeal and a
banana while checking my kit, which I'd ridden in Saturday, to see what
was dry and decide what I'd need in the cool, but not cold. Favorite
shorts were still damp so I took the old pair, but everything else was
fine, including my longsleeve Saeco jersey which still held a copius
amount of water the night before. Acrylic undershirt, jersey,
fingerless gloves, shorts, socks ... knee warmers? No, warm enough, but
take a windbreaker just in case and particularly for the warm-down ride
along the bay shore on the way home. Oil the chain and out the door
with only minutes to spare and the sky still looking non-commital.
I dash through the village and up Park to Soquel, trying not to work
too hard, too soon, but feeling a sense of urgency about getting to the
meeting point on time. Ahead a white haired rider in a jellow jacket on
the same bike, same Mapei team logo, different years. I'd heard there
was another bike like mine around town, but he'd didn't recall visiting
the shop where I'd heard of it. There must be three of them around
then, not so unique I guess. We both love our bikes, this is his
seventh consecutive day out riding. He'd heard of the group rides but
didn't know there was a Sunday ride and elects to join the ride.
On time and no worries, but it's a tiny group waiting outside the
hotel in the parking lot. 9:30 AM, a few minutes to say hi and double
check the bike, the group doubles in size, and gets antsy, close enough
to 9:45, time to go.
Crossing Soquel there's a loud pop and short hiss, someone just blew
a tube. Half of us stay, the other half go. It was my turn to flat
last Sunday, after only 2Km, nobody waited. A couple minutes and we're
off again.
I feel nature calling and sprint off the front. Everyone else is
just noodling along, getting warmed up chatting, chiding, gossiping, no
worries. I catch someone who had pulled off the front earlier and we
ride out a couple minutes lead on everyone, he seems interested in
keeping the same pace as me. Whatever. I pull ahead anyway and closer
to the rideside, inspecting the greenery for a good spot for a pit-stop.
Another rider ahead, waiting for the group has the idea and we spot a
fenced in utility box and water the shrubs quick as the group finally
catches us up. Back into the saddle and a quick couple turns and back
with the group.
At Freedom Boulevard a decision. To go the usual route, threatened
with heavy dark clouds, or the Saturday route, along the coast. Half go
left, we go right believing the others are heading into certain rain.
Over Highway 1 and up Bonita, the pace picks up on a short climb,
stretch those warmed up legs. A lull then a longer climb, but still
only a couple hundred meters and the same picking up of the pace. Down
the backside is a half-hearted race. The pace is fast and a few bolt
off the front. Physical strain, speed, wind, the pavement is a blur
beneath my wheels and some uneven pavement makes the bike buck a bit.
Exhileration. Slow to he STOP sign then right, toward San Andreas Road.
The pace picks up again and we're in full flight, work hard, stay with
the group, hold your place.
Past the last STOP sign there are eucalyptus nuts, twigs, bark, sand
and small gravel scattered along the shoulder of the road. Warnings
barked out a head, fingers pointed towards hazzards. The sky opens up
and pours. Roostertails spray my face, I shut my mouth and try to
maintain air flow through my nose, but I'm almost drowning. Move around
a bit, keep it out of my face. My feet are already floating in my shoes
an every pedal stroke is like wringing a sponge.
Drop down toward Manresa State Park and hit the banked turn up a
climb. I love this turn and this climb, I always take it fast and hope
I'm in the big chainring when I start going up. I'm out of the saddle
and churning hard, it's easy, fast and exhillerating. It used to hurt
and I hated it when I first came this way, now it's mine, I own it, I
look forward to it, it's testiment to my improving form.
Onto San Andreas it's a long flat stretch. Sometimes the pace is
murderous, today though is moderate, no pros and the cyclo-cross riders
are down in Watsonville racing at the fairgrounds. The last climbs on
San Andreas and I'm still with the group. The pace picks up a bit and
my legs are cold, should have brought the knee warmers. I finally slip
off the back just over the crest. Cruel.
Suffering, I shift into smaller gears, trying to bridge, but the legs
are so cold they protest. I'm out of the rain and suddenly hit a wall
of warm, humid air, at the edge of the Pajaro valley. It's a welcome
change, and I begin to recover and pick up my pace, but it's too late.
A solo rider has to push through the wind on his own, but in a group
fresh legs take turns at the front and can keep the pace high,
efficiently. I'm burning through a meager breakfast, which probably
isn't even fully digested and I'll pay for it later. A few kilos later
I've fought back up to the group, going near my limit and can finally
sit up and have a Clif bar. I'm alreay hungry and know it's not going
to be enough.
The sky is mostly clear, with feathery small clouds drifting lazily
high overhead. I split from the group, considering going up through
Hazel Dell and back home, my usual loop, but the closer I get to
Watsonville, the darker the clouds over the vicinity of the dell, in the
foothills. I don't know what to do, but I'm not going there. I turn
down Main and cross the river, thinking about taking Trafton and back to
San Andreas.
Up ahead I see the group I left and rejoin them, going down Lewis
Road. I'd seen the road and thought about taking it a few times weeks
prior, the pace is easy and I'm doing well, taking light grades with
speed and racing down the other side.
Approaching San Miguel Canyon a shout of warning, "Look out!" What?
I see the blur of two large dogs arc down a burm into the road,
they're moving fast and coming straight for us, one looks like a golden
retriever, the other walnut colored and about the same size and build.
We were noodling along and I'm toward the back and on the side they're
coming to. I stand up and swerve between them, cutting off the trailing
darker dog. With a hard turn of the crank. I pull around the golden
retriever and they're both surprised enough by the move that we get away
unscathed. The road ahead drops, and we easily put distance on the menace.
The concensus is to turn back to San Juan road and head back towards
Watsonville. The pace is high and I finally run out of gas. I've got
the bonk coming on, 30K from home and no food. I drop off the back and
follow along best as I can, losing sight of the group along Trafton.
Feeling somewhat recovered I set fast pace climbing out of the valley,
up San Andreas and burn up what little I had left.
The remainder of the ride home is harsh and painful. I vaguely
recall wanting several english muffins with orange marmalde. Most of my
kit is dry by the time I get home and I stretch in wet socks on the
driveway. Someone asks, "Have a good ride?" "Yeah, it was great,
they're all great."
payments for three months. Aluminum, carbon and a bit of titanium.
Light and fast, responsive, comfortable. Literally a dream, a Colnago
Dream plus.
I've been out converting my mountain bike climbing legs to road legs
and the first ride was painful, thereafter the kilometers increased on a
weekly basis, then ramping up speed. Now I regularly ride with the
Saturday/Sunday morning group out of Santa Cruz/Aptos. I usually get
shelled, but I'm getting there, holding on further into each ride,
though some are still better rides than others.
November 9, 2003 8:45 AM
It rained last night, hard at times, hard enough to wake me up. I'd
looked out the window and doubted I'd be riding in the morning, but
stormes sometimes pass. It did, there was patchy sun among the soft
grey blanketed sky. In dithering over the weather I wasn't ready and
the group would be departing from a point 8 kilos away so I needed time
to get there.
I hastily shoveled the remainder of breakfast, a cup of oatmeal and a
banana while checking my kit, which I'd ridden in Saturday, to see what
was dry and decide what I'd need in the cool, but not cold. Favorite
shorts were still damp so I took the old pair, but everything else was
fine, including my longsleeve Saeco jersey which still held a copius
amount of water the night before. Acrylic undershirt, jersey,
fingerless gloves, shorts, socks ... knee warmers? No, warm enough, but
take a windbreaker just in case and particularly for the warm-down ride
along the bay shore on the way home. Oil the chain and out the door
with only minutes to spare and the sky still looking non-commital.
I dash through the village and up Park to Soquel, trying not to work
too hard, too soon, but feeling a sense of urgency about getting to the
meeting point on time. Ahead a white haired rider in a jellow jacket on
the same bike, same Mapei team logo, different years. I'd heard there
was another bike like mine around town, but he'd didn't recall visiting
the shop where I'd heard of it. There must be three of them around
then, not so unique I guess. We both love our bikes, this is his
seventh consecutive day out riding. He'd heard of the group rides but
didn't know there was a Sunday ride and elects to join the ride.
On time and no worries, but it's a tiny group waiting outside the
hotel in the parking lot. 9:30 AM, a few minutes to say hi and double
check the bike, the group doubles in size, and gets antsy, close enough
to 9:45, time to go.
Crossing Soquel there's a loud pop and short hiss, someone just blew
a tube. Half of us stay, the other half go. It was my turn to flat
last Sunday, after only 2Km, nobody waited. A couple minutes and we're
off again.
I feel nature calling and sprint off the front. Everyone else is
just noodling along, getting warmed up chatting, chiding, gossiping, no
worries. I catch someone who had pulled off the front earlier and we
ride out a couple minutes lead on everyone, he seems interested in
keeping the same pace as me. Whatever. I pull ahead anyway and closer
to the rideside, inspecting the greenery for a good spot for a pit-stop.
Another rider ahead, waiting for the group has the idea and we spot a
fenced in utility box and water the shrubs quick as the group finally
catches us up. Back into the saddle and a quick couple turns and back
with the group.
At Freedom Boulevard a decision. To go the usual route, threatened
with heavy dark clouds, or the Saturday route, along the coast. Half go
left, we go right believing the others are heading into certain rain.
Over Highway 1 and up Bonita, the pace picks up on a short climb,
stretch those warmed up legs. A lull then a longer climb, but still
only a couple hundred meters and the same picking up of the pace. Down
the backside is a half-hearted race. The pace is fast and a few bolt
off the front. Physical strain, speed, wind, the pavement is a blur
beneath my wheels and some uneven pavement makes the bike buck a bit.
Exhileration. Slow to he STOP sign then right, toward San Andreas Road.
The pace picks up again and we're in full flight, work hard, stay with
the group, hold your place.
Past the last STOP sign there are eucalyptus nuts, twigs, bark, sand
and small gravel scattered along the shoulder of the road. Warnings
barked out a head, fingers pointed towards hazzards. The sky opens up
and pours. Roostertails spray my face, I shut my mouth and try to
maintain air flow through my nose, but I'm almost drowning. Move around
a bit, keep it out of my face. My feet are already floating in my shoes
an every pedal stroke is like wringing a sponge.
Drop down toward Manresa State Park and hit the banked turn up a
climb. I love this turn and this climb, I always take it fast and hope
I'm in the big chainring when I start going up. I'm out of the saddle
and churning hard, it's easy, fast and exhillerating. It used to hurt
and I hated it when I first came this way, now it's mine, I own it, I
look forward to it, it's testiment to my improving form.
Onto San Andreas it's a long flat stretch. Sometimes the pace is
murderous, today though is moderate, no pros and the cyclo-cross riders
are down in Watsonville racing at the fairgrounds. The last climbs on
San Andreas and I'm still with the group. The pace picks up a bit and
my legs are cold, should have brought the knee warmers. I finally slip
off the back just over the crest. Cruel.
Suffering, I shift into smaller gears, trying to bridge, but the legs
are so cold they protest. I'm out of the rain and suddenly hit a wall
of warm, humid air, at the edge of the Pajaro valley. It's a welcome
change, and I begin to recover and pick up my pace, but it's too late.
A solo rider has to push through the wind on his own, but in a group
fresh legs take turns at the front and can keep the pace high,
efficiently. I'm burning through a meager breakfast, which probably
isn't even fully digested and I'll pay for it later. A few kilos later
I've fought back up to the group, going near my limit and can finally
sit up and have a Clif bar. I'm alreay hungry and know it's not going
to be enough.
The sky is mostly clear, with feathery small clouds drifting lazily
high overhead. I split from the group, considering going up through
Hazel Dell and back home, my usual loop, but the closer I get to
Watsonville, the darker the clouds over the vicinity of the dell, in the
foothills. I don't know what to do, but I'm not going there. I turn
down Main and cross the river, thinking about taking Trafton and back to
San Andreas.
Up ahead I see the group I left and rejoin them, going down Lewis
Road. I'd seen the road and thought about taking it a few times weeks
prior, the pace is easy and I'm doing well, taking light grades with
speed and racing down the other side.
Approaching San Miguel Canyon a shout of warning, "Look out!" What?
I see the blur of two large dogs arc down a burm into the road,
they're moving fast and coming straight for us, one looks like a golden
retriever, the other walnut colored and about the same size and build.
We were noodling along and I'm toward the back and on the side they're
coming to. I stand up and swerve between them, cutting off the trailing
darker dog. With a hard turn of the crank. I pull around the golden
retriever and they're both surprised enough by the move that we get away
unscathed. The road ahead drops, and we easily put distance on the menace.
The concensus is to turn back to San Juan road and head back towards
Watsonville. The pace is high and I finally run out of gas. I've got
the bonk coming on, 30K from home and no food. I drop off the back and
follow along best as I can, losing sight of the group along Trafton.
Feeling somewhat recovered I set fast pace climbing out of the valley,
up San Andreas and burn up what little I had left.
The remainder of the ride home is harsh and painful. I vaguely
recall wanting several english muffins with orange marmalde. Most of my
kit is dry by the time I get home and I stretch in wet socks on the
driveway. Someone asks, "Have a good ride?" "Yeah, it was great,
they're all great."