Mystic hills, the blue Pacific, and goldenness

"It seemed like a matter of minutes when we began rolling in the foothills before Oakland and suddenly reached a height and saw stretched out of us the fabulous white city of San Francisco on her eleven mystic hills with the blue Pacific and its advancing wall of potato-patch fog beyond, and smoke and goldenness in the late afternoon of time." —Jack Kerouac, On the Road

After spending nearly three days in Portland for work, I lugged my monstrously huge suitcase to San Francisco. Well, United Airlines lugged it. But it was hard to get off the baggage carousel. It held a pair of dress shoes, two pairs of casual shoes, and a pair of biking shoes and pedals. It had my charger for my laptop, and also for my Garmin, a Go Pro, and a bike light. It held padded shorts and a decidedly unpadded bike seat. A baseball cap and a bike helmet. 

Yesterday was the big day I've been talking about for many months: the BikeMS Waves to Wine Ride. I had to get up at 5 to be at the Brisbane Marina and ready to roll at 7.

I wasn't supposed to get a free jersey for
the ride, but they gave me one.

San Francisco in the distance, from
the Brisbane Marina.

I took the blue route. Rest stops #1&2 were
ridiculously close to so we hit 3 rest stops
early on. Preventative hydration was
a good thing.

We rode west from the San Francisco Bay into the south side of San Francisco (only slight hills) and to the ocean. Thankfully, it was early and traffic was light. We rode up the big hill by the Cliff House to the Presidio (rest stop #1), with the ocean on our left and Golden Gate Park on our right. We wove around and got on a bike path that took us up to the bridge. 

The shadow with my visor makes my helmet
tilt look more jaunty than normal.

There's a bike path on the west side of the bridge that takes you over to Marin County. We rode through some pretty little towns in a little inlet area and arrived in Fairfax at rest stop #2 - the parking lot of a bike shop. From there, we rode further into Marin County and started climbing into the golden foothills.

I sought out quality companionship at the rest stops.

After rest stop #3, we did more gradual climbing. I was riding my niece's mountain bike, so despite going way slower on the flat and downhill parts, hills were generally easier for me than the other riders, it seemed. I often passed people on the climbs, and they passed me on the descents. However, the descent into the redwood forest by Muir Woods was blessedly light on bike and car traffic, and I was able to enjoy the sights and smells of the forest. We then came out of the woods and started riding up hot and exposed yellow and brown hills toward Point Reyes, where my Grandpa M. worked when he was in the Coast Guard in WWII.

Lunch at the halfway point, on the eastern side
of Point Reyes.

My feet needed a break from my shoes.
The wrap was actually good.

At lunch, I was thinking two things: 1. I could ride my niece's bike every day; it was so comfortable. 2. Maybe I was too freaked out and overtrained on hills this summer.

My trusty steed, with my bike seat and pedals on it.

At least the wide tires were slick, rather than knobby.

Both thoughts were premature. The hills began in earnest, especially where the 100-mile route split off from the 86-mile route. There were way fewer people and they appeared to be 100% of the dude variety. It was hot, it was sunny, it was hilly, and there was a headwind. But I kept slowly climbing, passing people along the way to rest stop #4.

There was live music at this tiny stop. Note the
pickle jars. 

People were dragging at this point due to the sun, heat, wind, and hills. They sat in the shade, eating pickles - - glorious pickles. I grabbed a second handful of dill slices when I heard this exchange: "I hate this next part." "Is it that bad? How long is it?" "I'm not sure, I think 4 miles." I also grabbed a mini Clif Bar and stuck it in my jersey.

And so I began, slowly, into the wind, with a lightweight bike with really big slow tires and a generous serving of chamois cream on my sitz bones, which had been making their presence known. At the bottom of "The Marshall Wall," people (including a group of mysterious women wearing Google jerseys) were stopped in a tiny patch of shade to drink some water and gird their loins. I took a photo of of the hill from the bottom, but it does not in any way capture what I saw before me. I drank my water, shoved the Clif Bar in my mouth, and headed up. 

I don't think it was 4 miles, but it was long and it was steep and kept on going. I've done other long steep hills like this in the Bay Area, but never after having already ridden 72 miles and not quite so steep at the base. I did a hill like this in Wisconsin in August, but it was a fraction of the length of this hill. I plugged along in the easiest gear on the bike, going about 4 mph. I think I dropped down to 3.7 at one point. I'm not sure. It was hot and I tried not to look. I just thought about rotating my feet and keeping my shoulders loose.

The top of The Marshall Wall (i.e. the road to Marshall).

I made it and then I rode my bike downhill for a very, very long time. We had some other climbs and descents and rejoined the 86-milers at rest stop #5.

The bike mechanic told me we were near
Tomales Bay.

The rest stop was on a cliff with a cool wind coming off the water. (The bike mechanic was wearing a sweatshirt.) It was shady. Everyone lingered. From here on out, we had some hills into rest stop #6, but also had a stretch with a tail wind. When we weren't going uphill, I was going at a good pace. Rest stop #6 was pretty deserted because it was somewhat exposed and people just wanted to finish. I ate some good cookies, though, as I adjusted my socks. 

I was scared we'd have to climb into Petaluma, but it was mostly just rollers. I rolled in, stuck my bike the corral, found my checked bag, and headed for the shower truck. I ate dinner, had a beer, and killed time until I could catch the shuttle back to Brisbane and then drive back to my sister's house.

Success!

Sadly, I had no buddy for this finish
line sign and forgot my normal
solution of sticking my helmet
in the other head hole.

I dawdled a bit when I got back to my sister's - unpacking my stinky clothes, etc. But when I went to bed, I crashed and slept solidly.

This morning we went for excellent massages, and then met Molly's friend Kate for a stroll around Filoli Gardens and the estate. It was a nice relaxing way to tie up the weekend.

The massage place had rocks on a hot griddle
in my massage room.

 

Kate and I showing off our similar haircuts.

That's one big fireplace, yo.

So, to recap: the ride was a challenge, as I suspected it might be. But I am glad I did it.

It was my first century ride of the season and my riding has been sporadic in recent weeks. I thought of my dad a lot during the ride. First, I thought of him because he always kept tabs on my rides and would have texted or emailed me to wish me luck and good weather. So, I got a little teary at the beginning of the ride. Then, when I was riding through a particularly pretty part by Muir Woods, I got a little teary (okay, I made an audible sob noise), because he would have liked my report-out. When I was riding in the hard parts between miles 65-80, I thought of when I did a tough ride many years ago and he sent me flowers with a note about how I refuse to wilt in tough conditions. That made me determined to keep on plugging along. I started thinking about the things that I should tell Beth, my stepmom, about the ride and the things she might like to know. They are slightly different things, but that is okay.

I am so grateful for all of the support I've received from people the past few weeks, but really it is just an extension of the support that I've been receiving from people for many years. Thanks all, who keep me pedaling forward - - literally and figuratively, and thank you for helping me raise $7,840 for the MS Society this year. I met people on the CA ride who, just like people from MN, are affected by this disease and are benefiting from all we're doing.