This weekend I rode the Tour de Palms Springs Century, 102 miles of desert road fun. Because I rode to the start and back to my hotel from the finish, it was really 107 miles, but let's back up and start the story on Friday.
I took some pictures from my daily ride, which I did not neglect, but I had a new ride buddy who wanted to get his legs warmed up for the ride the next day. Michael from work followed my wheel on our flat course as we looked at views from the Santa Fe Dam like this:
Yeah, that actually is smoke from a brushfire in Rancho Cucamonga from last week, but look how clean and clear the rest of the sky is. Nice. Oh yeah, the public utility finally finished that solar panel substation:
Eh, not so much Homer, but every little bit helps. So, Mike got so jazzed from his little taste of bike heaven, that he blew himself out doing the 65 mile version of the Tour, but I'll come back to that. We had a small caravan forming (two cars) after work, that was Mike and me in one car and the Cotas and Christina in the other car. But before the trek started, I had to start carboloading. Thank you Domenico's for taking orders by phone:
Sometimes food is not about the taste, but the fuel. Let's just say the garlic bread helped, and I had no problems with my glycogen stores the next day. Wait a sec, I mentioned Mike and me in one car, but there should have been another name. Yes, where was Warren? Unfortunately a family situation arrived on his doorstep the night before and his weekend plans were dashed. And that's all I'll say in polite company.
So, bring on the traffic! Thousands of cars, on the same stretches of freeway, all going in the same direction, yay! We had to stop at Del Taco for bathroom breaks, bad food but lots of calories, and a cup size that went past large and headed straight to Macho. I am not kidding, Del Taco's "large" is called the Macho. While waiting for people to order, I took this picture. Yes, I'm obsessed, but just look at the picture!
We got to Palm Springs around 9-ish, just as our other friends were receiving their food at the restaurant we were supposed to meet at, but knew we couldn't, hence the downing of the Macho. But we still got to hang out for a bit, I drank a glass of red wine, and we enjoyed our friends' company as we caught up and strategized for the coming ride. We all went to bed too late, but that always happens at these organized ride events.
Saturday morning, 4:45 AM, yowza that's early. Unfortunately that's only a little bit earlier than I usually wake up for work. So, not so much of a problem. I woke, I showered, I dressed, I got my bike stuff together, and rode to the start, which was two and a half miles away. Start time for the full century was 7 AM. I got to the start and met up with my ride buddy Sebastian at 6:55. Sebastian and I did our first century together last summer, and I had not seen him since August. I could not believe it, but work schedules and lives of the employed being what they are, it was not too hard to understand. I'm just glad he told me he had shaved his beard, otherwise, I would not have recognized him. He looked like a baby! As if I should talk, but the only way you could tell that I was the older of the pair was the jaded shield of cynicism that lay behind my eyes. Ha, I kill myself. But really, we look like the same age, you'll see later, but I'm 32 and Sebastian's 23.
So we rolled out with a mass of people. Helping us start was the Palm Springs High School Marching Band. Did I mention this ride was a big deal to the whole community? TV cameras, retired sports personalities, cheerleaders and pageantry teams, and winter formal queens and her courts were all present. Cheesy, but the dirty old men, me included, did not mind having the high school girls checking us out.
I could not wait until we hit the windmills on the course because that's where the first hills are, and that's where the chaff starts to separate from the wheat. Otherwise it's just too dangerous. We had people falling over at stoplights 2 miles from the start because of being nervous with all those people around. That used to be me and I scared myself out on the road. Once the mass of riders started getting spread out, we could breathe easier.
Sorry, I've got no pictures of the windmills. It was hilly, and I was enjoying the climbing and the passing of the pokies. The road also seemed to be the new jackrabbit graveyard. I passed 3 very large poor bunnies on the side of the road. Sebastian and I stayed together until we got to the hills, but then the billygoat legs took over and I didn't see him again until the first rest stop. Next, a definition: SAG stop - Support And Gear. These stops had all the important necessities: food, mechanics, fluids, and port-a-potties. Here's the masses enjoying the grub:
Of course, the food and the drink is important, but here's where all the hanging out and resting really happens at a SAG stop:
So, it was mainly at the SAG stops that I would regroup with Sebastian. He's strong on the flats and the downhills, but hummingbird hearted billygoat over here likes any road with an upward angle. For the first half of the ride, I barely saw Sebastian. After each SAG stop, at the first roller, I was gone. I tell you, rolling hills are great for light climbers like me. Because, it's on this kind of terrain that I can go paceline surfing. The trick to riding fast, if you're not that strong of a rider, is to find a group that is just a little stronger than you, sprint to catch its tail, and draft at the back or the middle of the group. And that's exactly what I did. I usually look for some strong tandem bike group, but I couldn't find any, but this strong cycling club was slowly passing me as I cruised up an incline, and I thought, "Here's my Maverick wave!" I ramped up to catch them at the top of the hill, and caught the tiger by the tail with my teeth. Now that was a wild ride. Half an hour's worth of Indian pacelining at 35 miles an hour. Normal pacelining is when the leader of the line peels off the front and his second then becomes the leader. Indian pacelining is when the guy at the back sprints to the front to become the new leader and slowly keeps increasing the pace with each new sprint. This pace line was dripping with testosterone, so there was no way that I was going to avoid my turn at the front. After I did, I was done in, and I lost the tiger's tail when I went to the back of the line. But, man, that's what the training is for, to keep up with those guys a little longer each month.
So, then it was lunchtime, and time to just get home. No more proving one's cycling worth, just pedal and hang with your buddy and whoever else you pick up along the way. The SAG stops were actually more enjoyable this year because each stop had live music provided by a local high school band. The lunchtime SAG featured a band director from my generation, because he was making his poor band play Bohemian Rhapsody, Offspring, and Billy Idol. Yeah, really, that was my reaction too. This SAG stop at mile 71 featured this band playing jazz standards in the shade:
Well, what about the ride conditions? What was the road like? For the most part, the road was great, not crowded with cars, and offered great views of the high desert mountains and the desert, along with whatever walled-in communities they keep building out there. Like this shot:
Here's me, kind of enjoying the scenery:
And so, Sebastian and I made it back to the start about 8 hours after we started, but only 6 hours actually riding our bikes. Except for horribly cracked roads between mile 75 and 87, the last half of the ride was drama free. We did see some injuries on the road: I saw the aftermath of a crash and Sebastian saw the ambulance take her away (I was about 20 minutes ahead of Sebastian at that time, thank you pace line gods!) and there was another pickup along the cobbles of the Coachella Valley. But we avoided flats and injuries, which made for a very enjoyable ride. Sebastian did get some sun though. Don't laugh too hard, because my tan line was worse, and there is photographic proof, but you won't see it here.
Obviously, we survived, kicked it poolside and hot tub, er, side, and relaxed a bit before a whole mess of mexican food found its way inside me along with a couple of margaritas. Overall, a great day. So, how did Mike do? Well, he told me he cramped, and had to granny gear spin his way home. This is what happens when you start out too fast. I actually felt this happening to me among the windmills in the first 20 miles of the road. I had so much energy and felt so good, I wanted to blast those rolling hills, but I knew that I had 85 miles to go, so I toned the machismo down and let those triathlete guys go ahead of me. Grr, I hate it when I get passed on a hill, but sometime you have to take the longer view and accept the level of your abilities. When you find out how to do that, please let me know too!
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