Where the Hell have you been?

It's a dull gray and rain-soaked day in the Bay area. Perfect for a run. I logged an hour running in a light rain and under the dawn's cloud leadened sky. At a casual pace, I ran and explored a few new detours along my usual route. One lead to a local ranchers house, who just happened to be out shooting at wild turkey's. I decided to explore elsewhere.

December has been a rough month. Between a nasty cold and some other bug I picked up after Thanksgiving, this has been a pretty work-out free month. Maybe that's not a bad thing as I need some built in rest time to recoup and recover from last season. My 4 day mountain biking trip to Moab pretty much tore me up and I suspect I was slightly over-training before it. My workouts, both running and riding, subsequently were done on wooden legs with little of the power I'm used to or rely upon. In short, November pretty much sucked except for the week before Thanksgiving. I got some awesome trail runs in up along the Pacific Crest Trail out of Graeagle and Gold Lakes before the ebola-like illness kicked in.

But today, I felt for the first time, like I was back. It was a great feeling.

A River Rides Through Us

Our regular bike commuters-- T-Rex, Squiggy, Racer X, and myself-- have been getting in a steady number of rides. Besides our twice weekly commute in to San Jose (27 miles one way), we've also tried to bag some weekend rides. Squiggy has the most miles on this, seeming to log in a century every other weekend, yet still manages to be fresh for our commute. Our average speed has been steadily edging up, improved by the "unofficial race" up the backside of Calavaras. We've shaved 5 minutes off our commute time due to this and now regularly average over 18.1 mph.

Last Sunday, we all did a 50 miler up Mines Road and back in sub-3 hours and sought to keep our average near 16.5 mph since Tinker would be joining and who hasn't been logging as many miles as the rest of us. We wound up at a pretty sedate pace of 17.1mph.

So we're feeling pretty cocky about our pacing with all of us envisioning we have the polka-dotted "king of the hill" jersey pretty well locked up. Then "River" joined us for a short segment on the flats before the Calavaras climb. I'm blaming Squiggy's for what happened with that. We were pacing along rather moderately--on purpose-- when Squiggy eyed River ahead and decided to reel him in. Squiggy caught him, but now the line was moving about 3-5mph faster than before. River was invited in, we held the pace in order to demonstrate that we "always jet along at this speed, don't ya know?" and off we scooted. By the base of the climb 4 miles later, Squiggy and Trex were no where to be seen. RacerX, River, and I (gladly) pulled over to wait for them to arrive 3 minutes later. We caught our breath and then began the climb. River had great form and cadence, and it was clear we were going to be trashed by his climbing strength. I held on as long as possible, Racer X close behind, but over 2.5 miles, we watched his gap open as our heart rates red lined. We sucked. Egos deflated. Polka-dot jerseys' gone.

I'm sure he's probably about 10 years younger than us.....

Next week it's off to Moab for 4 days of riding with Racer X. I'm in taper now and letting muscles and ego mend.

... of Wine and Roses

Last week the mad family was in Santa Rosa. While the littlest madmen were off fiddling at violin institute, I peddled madly about the vineyards and ranches of Sonoma County.

Wow! What a land of bubblegum rides and beautiful vistas. It's made for road riding. I logged 4 rides of a 130 miles total during my limited riding opportunities in the afternoons.

Day 1: a 20 mile loop of Dry Creek valley. This was a really scenic ride with some classic views of the vineyards and nice easy rolling roads. The only bad part was some rough spots along Old Dry Creek Road. Afternoon winds were strong out of the SouthWest so I had a headwind and a whistle in my ear all the way back into Healdsburg. Fortunately, I also discovered Bear Republic Brewery where I was able to wet my whistle on a pint of Racer 5.

Day 2: a 50 mile loop which included Alexander and Russian Valley. This ride had a little more climbing but lots of flat and fast rides through the grapes. There were a few riders out but most were going the opposite direction.

Day 3: a 27 mile loop of the Windsor Plains. Quite an unusual ride. Parts, I swear, looked like a scene out of England with Dairy pastures that could have been busting with British bovine. The middle section took me through a beautiful stand of tall, densely forested Redwoods. Sections of the road sucked supremely and were heavily patched and pot-hole pocked.

Day 4: my 40 mile out and back was supposed to take me up Geyser Road and back to my starting point. Unfortunately, the road was heavily graveled and impassable on my road bike. So I lost a 50 miler with lots of climbing and instead got in 40 of mostly flat riding.

Le Skunk

My training is increasingly biased towards biking as I prepare for this Fall's 4 days of riding at Moab. Still, I'm getting in some mileage on my favorite trails.

Here's why I love trail running. I set off at 7am into a stiff breeze and hit the trailhead 0.1 miles down from the house. As I climbed up the trail, the summer grass of California glowed golden in the early morning light. It was stunning. A post card.

Because I was running into the wind, my odor and noise was masked so I was practically on top of the wild critters before they saw me. In less than 5 minutes, I came up to within 10 yards of 2 does, surprising them as they grazed the high brush. Within two more minutes, I made my acquaintances with Monsieur Skunk.

The track was turning right and rising up a slight incline. My pace was moderate and I was enjoying the audio show of two hawks in the trees a hundred or so yards ahead. As I crested the rise and began to turn right, a skunk was in a comparable moderate pace descending from the bank of the trail to my right. He landed square on his front two paws five feet before me just as we saw each other. His momentum carried his rump to near vertical as he swiveled in my direction on his forepaws. He arrested his pace and landed nose to nose with me, already his tail bristling and his ears seeming to lay back.

I made my acquaintances with a quick "Whoa!" and came to a instantaneous halt. I don't think my ass went vertical like my friend the skunk's as I stopped, but one never knows until they see the actual video replay.

So for a brief second we stared at each other. I found my voice and my wits before he found the safety latch for his spray.

Me: "Easy there, Mr. Skunk." (back step, back step)
Skunk: stare, stand ground, splay and make tail larger
Me: "Trail is your's sir."
Skunk: majestic stage right exit

I paused a few seconds, respectfully called out my intentions to continue the run and did so at a slightly faster pace.

Two more minutes (I swear I'm not making up these times), I paused to take in a golden eagle shreeking at the wind in a tree below me. Ten minutes later, a young buck and doe. Five minutes later, a big buck. Ten minutes later, a nice fat doe.

Too bad Marlin Perkins or his assistant Jim aren't able to go out on my runs. Of course, had they I can imagine the monologue "My assistant Jim will attempt to milk the skunk's spray glands while I maneuver around for a good look at a Callippe butterfly just upwind."

Life of a Hammer

I've been called a tool before. It's a point I can generally rebut.

Where I have a harder argument is whether I'm too much of a hammer. The fact is I'm all Type A and always pushing myself to go a little faster, push a little harder, catch the next guy, and see up-ticks in measures of this performance against the last.

It makes for really bad training if all your workouts get to be the same intensity. Reviewing my training log is a little concerning at times. Too many Red workouts (intense) and not enough Green (easy). Running slow is absolutely the hardest thing I can do. Well, riding is too. Yeah, and kayaking. Or hiking. Or sleeping. Sheez, I have a problem.

Jaunty jaunting

Sunday was supposed to be a hard run day. Saturday night turned out to be a hard party night. Usually those two create hardships. This was no exception. Sunday was bright and beautiful but I wasn't. I was completely unmotivated and vacillated between "I'll run" and "I'll ride" several hundred times. Ride won out and I mounted the mountain bike for a trip up the Ridge.

The plan fell apart in the first 50 yards. I was tired. And my legs felt like lead. It had nothing to do with the 40lbs of lamb, spinach, shrimp, and desert nor from the 200 gallons of wine, beer, and champagne from the night before. My dogs were barking and I suspect the root cause was last week's big rides. I put in some serious mileage over the week and 50 on Friday alone. So Sunday became a light day.

And it paid off today. The 5 mile flat run went well. I felt rested and fast--splits of 7:11, 7:25, 7:22, 7:25, and 7:59 (a 1 mile slow hill) gave testimony to a rest needed and well spent. It was a nice foray. My route takes me through the bucolic ranch land of Happy Valley, down the gravely abandoned RR tracks, and back home via the twisty, narrow, and ascending Happy Valley Road. The route is amazingly rural and wild. I've often spotted foxes, deer and turkey's along the route. Last week a fox barked a warning (to her pups I assume) while slowly fleeing into the surrounding underbrush. Today, nature blessed me with a rather large and clearly hungry deer tic. I did not oblige it a meal.

World Naked Bike Ride took place today in London. I was not one of the riders. Had I been so "appropriately" attired on yesterday's ride, I probably would be looking to replace my Dura-Ace crank.

Instead, I set out with temps at 42 for a 38.5 mile ride up Calavaras and back with my Wednesday/Friday regulars. One of the riders, T-Rex, is making huge strides in getting back into riding shape over the last few rides. On the last segment, I was hard pressed to stay with him . His mass biased inertia and growing endurance make for some high heart rate to stay even in his draft on the final miles over the oscillating hills. Climbs are the only thing that save us light-weights from extinction.

Last Friday, Racer-X and I commuted the full way into San Jose and then back again. I logged 58 miles, while he had an extra 16 due to his starting point up in San Ramon. The ride in was fast and we averaged just shy of 18 mph. It was an amazingly fun way to get to work. Traffic on the route until we hit Fremont was non-existent. The morning was cloudless with skies blue and crisp and cut so cleanly against the hills, that it was stunning. We were all a little frisky on the ride up so the pace remained fast and heart rates ran high.

The return, was a tad slower. The afternoon winds were up. Traffic suddenly was part of the scene on Calavaras with a half dozen cars or motor bikes evading the 680 congestion and winding their way through the hills. The climb up Calavaras from Fremont was in stark contrast to the 40+ mph descent of the morning. Racer X got a flat that gave us a breather before the last sharp pitch up the grade where you race against your lungs to see which give out first. But despite a more casual pace, our actual ride time was only 15 minutes longer.

No unusual runs this last week. I enjoyed a few good trail runs on the regular routes. A short exploratory departure into private property to scope out "possibilities" was the only deviation from the normal run week. Tomorrow is supposed to be a long run. Need to figure out where. Might even combine a run/bike segment for extra fun if time isn't going to be an issue at home.

Next weekend is Father's Day. One possibility is to repeat a 25Km run I did 3 years ago in the Santa Cruz area. May have to give that one some serious consideration even though competing is something I usually chose not to do. But the run is a beauty and the race an excuse or at least a motivation to make the 45 min drive over to the trailhead.

Equitorial Crossings

Today I had an awesome ride. I met up with Racer X, Squiggy, and newbie for our regular Wednesday/Friday ride up Calavaras Road.

Temps weren't too bad at 0600 with the marine layer keeping the temp somewhat warmer than the clear skies might otherwise have proferred. It was 56 when I pushed out of the garage to the rally point and dry feeling despite the onshore push of the Pacific scud.

Tuesday night's meal of chicken, chicken and chicken was sitting well in the body--protein was stocked-up and muscles loaded and primed with the energy catalyst. I was stoked; and even 12 hours later, I still feel the echoes of that energized state coursing through me.

I was the last to join up with the group so we quickly set off on the 8 miles of relatively flat road to the sustained climb up Calavaras. Racer X and I set the paceline at a quick cadence and hauled along the flats at 22+ mph. Squiggy sustained it but the newbie was a bit erratic and the pace fell off. Our first small climb wasn't too bad but by mile 6 I was already thinking of breaking out and pushing hard up to my turn-around point at mile 12.5. I was feeling that strong despite pacing with some good riders.

We dropped newbie on the climb and the three of us pushed up the grade with a good pace going. Squiggy was froggy and surged ahead on 2 segments; Racer X was riding his old crate which generated 1 newton of friction for every newton of forward thrust due to it's 18 year old bearings and run-out technology (Dude, lose the bike!). Squiggy gave me the excuse with his bursts on the hill so I reeled him in with some strong climbing runs. The last mile to the turn was a great paced climb. We were sustaining over 12.5 mph and hitting 14 on the 4-6% grades. On the last 1/3 mile I dug down, came out of the saddle and pushed ahead to our rest point. I almost surged too early and was hitting redline by the top of the hill. Squiggy and then Racer-X pulled up and we shot the shit, downed some water and power bars while awaiting newbie. Two strong riders came up before him and we exchanged pleasantries while the sun's early morning rays began to break down the fog above us and light up the hills with the California's real gold.

With newbie's arrival, the rest of the crew continued towards work in San Jose 16 miles ahead, while I pointed my bike back down the hill towards home. I opened it up and hit the turns at 25-30mph; giddy with tight turns and the clingy grip, and crisp, responsive lines my bike provided despite my inexpert technique. I hammered the flats and slight climbs back towards home where I arrived just 1:24 after starting out. I just missed an average ride speed of 18mph for the out and back.

Tomorrow, I'll hit the trail for a medium length run. Perhaps 7, maybe more depending on the route. Maybe I'll cut down to the flats instead of taking to the ridge trails. I don't know. Not sure I care yet. I'm not yet becalmed, but I'm on the equator where the winds die down and the sailing breeze is erratic. My course isn't yet set--no immediate goals, no objectives yet in sight-- so training has no real bearing to steer. The mid-latititude trade winds which propel adventurers are ahead. I'm just not yet sure of where the X on the map yet lies. I need Capt Jack Sparrow's infamous compass. It'll come..... yo ho, yo ho a Pirate's life for me....

Streets of San Francisco

Business had me in the "City" this last week; "Running Tourism" gave me the chance to it in a unique manner.

My hotel was off of Union Square and a mile down Market Street to the Embarcadero. At 0530 I had the streets to myself, or so it seemed, save for a the pre-work day preps of shop keepers sweeping or hosing down the walkways, construction crews erecting barricades or removing them from last night's work, and a few early commuters.

The wind was brisk and the air wet and cold but the sky relatively clear. No infamous San Francisco marine layer this morning. The first mile took me down through the Financial District and by the Ferry Terminal, I was starting to feel the self-generated heat taking the edge off the cold wind. Turning up the Embarcadero I now fronted the Bay and the morning dawn and it's shadows made Alcatrez Island appear like ship at anchor. Passing Fisherman's Wharf, the wind kept up its steady blow which, as indicated by the whitecaps in the Bay, probably was a steady 15 knots.

I reached my half-way point at Chrissy Field and stopped to take in the Golden Gate as the sun cracked the eastern horizon and truly made it live up to its name. One last look and then I turned with a tail-wind for the return trip.

A few more joggers and a few more commuters on the way back. With the brisk wind I was howling along, as well. My pace was somewhere in the low 7min and I finished the 8 miles just under an hour. Not quite the Bay to Breakers but a great Bay tour none the less.

Miles

My training routine has been in somewhat of a flux since the Challenge. I'm missing a goal to coalesce training objectives around so in the meantime, I've been doing what has just been fun.

That means I've been getting a lot more riding in on the bikes (road and mountain). And, man that's been great.

What is it about riding that makes it so liberating?

The last two weeks have seen Wednesday and Friday rides with Racer X and a cast of others who've taken up commuting into the Silicon Valley via Calavaras Road (a leg on the Amgen Tour of California). It's a beautiful ride on a seldom traveled-by-vehicles road. From my house, I join up with the riders at 0600 and put in 12.5 to 17.5 miles to the half way mark before I turn back. We crank it out with each rider taking turns pulling the line until we reach the 7 mile climb to the top of the ridgeline crest which separates the Tri-Valley from the Silicon one. Then the pace line disassembles and the climb becomes a line abreast and a time of communion.

There is pure joy in pedaling. Each turn of the crank is speed generated solely from the tuned output of the thighs and calves. The stronger the will, the longer the training, the higher the output. Cadence is the god; the Heart is the governor; Will is the engine. A pace line is about trust. It's about believing the guy 3 inches off your wheel knows what he's doing. It takes time to settle into the line; it takes trust to maintain it. Pedal. Breathe. Focus. Pedal. Speed.

Why doesn't everybody ride?