Ridin' with the bros: Priceless

Some of the best times on the bike have been on rides with buddies. But like everything in life, they come and they go. Several years ago I mountain biked with a couple of workmates on a regular basis. On Saturdays we went all over Northern California, finding trails, riding them, shooting the bull on the way to each ride and comparing notes after.

But then different forces pulled us apart and the mountain biking trips were suddenly over. I ended up riding alone on the local bike trail, which is pavement, not dirt, but much less of a logistical challenge than driving to some remote mountain bike trail.

I ended up on a road bike after my mountain bike was stolen out of my garage, and that led me to a new group of buddy riders, beginning about five years ago. With a core group of about two to three other guys, we did great rides in the Sierra Nevada, climbing most of the passes around Lake Tahoe, and also great climbs in the Bay Area: Mount Hamilton, Mount Diablo, and Mount Tamalpais. But once again the buddies eventually split for jobs out of state or out of the country, and riding for me once again returned to a solo pursuit.

Yes, you may be thinking, hey, if you want riding buddies, just join a local cycling club. Or do some organized rides. Both are very good suggestions, but the big group rides aren’t for me. Riding with a couple buddies that are at a similar fitness level on the bike works best for me. Mainly because I like riding away from traffic as much as possible and away from big clusters of other riders. It just feels freer and more like an adventure to me that way.

The last two weeks, though, my old road cycling buddies have visited and we’ve gone on some of the rides we used to do fairly often. And it was a great time. Just the chance to take a nice ride, catch up on whatever’s going on in our lives, what our plans are, etc., is the best part of riding with buddies.

This last week, while riding a 30 mile loop with about 3,000 feet of climbing in the Sierra foothills, we touched on all kinds of subjects: How knowing a ride’s climb and descent patterns will help you get into the right gears early enough on sudden steep pitches, and how not knowing them, can suddenly catch you in too high a gear, lead to a panic shift and thrown chain, or even an embarrassing tip-over. We talked about Syrian refugees, work schedules, life in the bowels of a dry-docked ship south of Cairns, Australia while replacing clogged up seawater and oil pipes on its engine, how to get rid of a super funky stench emanating from under the house (bleach was our conclusion), the benefit of getting a new chain and cassette with a better low climbing gear, how we got out of times when we were stranded with a crippled bike out in the middle of nowhere (mechanical), bike crash stories, close calls with vehicle stories, the theory on which width of road bike tire offers the least wind resistance (25mm, not 23mm), the benefit of putting a blinking red LED light on the back of your bike – even on day rides when shadows can hide you – to help drivers see you better, etc.

Beyond our chatting, the the ride itself was great, with not too tough climbing and great, fast descents where you let the bike go as fast as it wanted to.

We also met an older rider from France at the top of the climb. We had passed him on the way up, and I noticed he was struggling in what seemed to be a way high gear for the climb.

“Maybe he was just trying to get a better workout,” my buddy Brian theorized.

When he rode up to us while we ate snacks at the top of the climb, he got off his bike with bent legs, and he didn’t look comfortable.

“Are you having leg cramps?” I asked him.

“No, my legs just don’t work that well,” he said, laughing.

I was ready to offer him some electrolyte gel caps, but he didn’t need ‘em.

We shot the bull with him – he told us he was from France  --
 and he was interested to learn that 10 years ago, Brian had biked up the Alpe d’Huez, one of the major mountain stages of Tour de France fame. He told us he has a house nearby and was nice enough to take a group buddy photo of us. He exchanged contact info with Pat, my other riding buddy.

A couple of years ago, Pat met a couple from Bordeaux, France, while doing missionary work in Africa. They invited him to visit and go riding in that area, but so far, nothing has come of it. But, hey, who knows, maybe there’s a riding trip to France somewhere in the future. And while we’re dreaming, a riding trip to Majorca. And Corsica. And Italy. Oh, yeah gotta dream big!

I miss my riding buddies that have come and gone, all of them. Absolutely great dudes. But there will be more, I’m sure. Just gotta keep riding and meeting more cyclists who enjoy the camaraderie of sharing a great ride and lively conversation.

Til next time, remember to pull on a helmet every time you get on the bike. Then, keep the rubber side down, ride safely, and don’t forget: Have a blast.

-- Mark Eric Larson

Hey, let's climb big...suffering's fun!

My old cycling buddy, Marc, was in town for a few days on his way to volunteering for a wounded veteran fundraising ride. So we planned a couple of our favorite rides of yore. And both involved a lot of climbing.

I haven’t done enough climbing this year, only managed to do the great Mt. Diablo several months ago. All my other rides have been on the relatively flat local bike trail. We set out for Markleeville to ride up the west slope of Monitor Pass, then come back down to ride up nearby Ebbetts Pass. Combined, the two climbs offer around 6,100 feet of climbing in the thin air of 5,000 to nearly 9,000 feet of altitude. I wasn’t exactly in climbing shape, so I tried not to think about riding into those somewhat daunting stats.

As we started up Monitor, there was no gentle easing in to the climb. It’s immediately steep, and for long, steady, upward grinding stretches. Suddenly, you’re shocked into a rhythm of deep breathing and pedaling, an absolute requirement to keep moving up the mountain. I remember thinking that after the first steep stretch, the road turns left for a short time, then left again, where it flattens out a bit. That’s the place, I told Marc in halting speech, I would stop to take a break. That first long, steep stretch of Monitor, especially if, like me, you aren’t exactly in climbing shape, will test your will. And when you’re not in top shape, it definitely takes a steely will to keep it going. That is pretty much all that keeps you moving up the mountain. Helping us as we built up a lather, was a welcome bit of brisk headwind breeze that cooled us down. And the partly cloudy skies were much preferable conditions to riding under a windless, beat-down, blazing sun.

By the time the steepest part turned into a more forgiving false flat stretch, our engines were powered up. My pedaling cadence picked up on the flat and I forgot about stopping. I wanted to keep my momentum for the series of steeper parts ahead. I roughly remembered where the tougher parts are from earlier Monitor climbs and it helped me amp up and power through their pain caves with managed suffering.

I built a strong cadence and broke ahead of Marc. And, at the finish, I hammered hard to beat him. The dude rides every day and is bit more fit, so he pretty much let me win. I can’t tell you how many times he has nipped me at the finish of a ride! So hey, even if he let me win, which he all but said he did, I’ll take it!

We rode back down the mountain, a fun, fast descent with mostly wide curves. You can let the bike go at one point where the road flattens out, and bang along at nearly 50 mph for a short bit. I hit 46, and it was a true blast.

Turning left at the base of Monitor, we headed up the long approach to Ebbetts pass. The two-lane road gains altitude over a series of rollers along the east fork of the Carson River. A wildfire in the area this summer blackened large swaths of trees on each side of the river, denuding foliage that won’t protect against mudslides when it finally does start to rain.

These rollers are a vigorous warm-up for the serious up-mountain climbing that starts after a few miles. Ebbetts and Monitor are part of the famous Death Ride, which has riders go up their fronts, down their backs, and back again, then head to the finale climb on Carson Pass. In my book, the front side of Ebbetts is the toughest climb of them all. Mainly because it pounds you with a series of very steep, long pitches, that seem to come in waves the closer you get to the top. I remember my first time up Ebbetts, and after grinding hard for some time, I wondered, oh man, when it does this thing end?

But once you get familiar with the route, as with any others, you can ready yourself for the toughest parts.

Marc wanted to show me the truck that had gone over the cliff a few years earlier at the second big hairpin turn on the mountain. The cliff dropped a long way down. We saw the crumpled remains of a small white pick-up truck wrapped around a big fir tree, way, way down below near the valley floor. Marc said the driver survived by jumping out the driver side door before the truck became airborne. No need to try to retrieve the truck. Too expensive all around. Marc said they drained the gas out of it and let it rest.

Marc pulled ahead of me, and was out of sight before too long. I didn’t care. Just wanted to keep moving up the gnarly mountain!

I rode up a steep pitch only to hear a lot of cowbells ringing. As I turned into a flat spot ahead, believe it or not, two guys on horseback were herding cattle across the road. This is a mountainside in the forest! Whaat?!!

The cowbells jangled as the big black beasts trotted along, and when a few saw me ride up they bolted wide-eyed uphill off the road and into the woods. Sorry cowboys, just riding through. They never said a word, just kept trying to herd. OK, this had to be the last thing I expected to see climbing Ebbetts. A car coming down the mountain later flew by. I wondered if the herd of cattle was out of the way.

Marc beat me to the top easily. After a short rest we rode down, in what is one of the most fun descents ever. The road had been recently repaved and was free of cracks and sand that used to be slick spots, so the good traction allowed more speed. On that day, Marc and I concluded that the two climbs we had ridden were no doubt absolutely world-class quality rides.

A couple days later we climbed Mt. Hamilton in the mountains west of San Jose. This is a gradual climb, but about 20 miles with many switchbacks amid classic California wilderness, so it takes awhile. The pavement was new, the air temp was mild, so conditions were perfect on this ride too. The last time we rode this a few years ago, it was broiling hot, and we suffered mightily from running out of water.

The descent, part of this year’s Amgen Tour of California, was technical, but plenty of fun.

When we finished, we’d climbed 5,148 feet, bringing our two-ride climbing total over three days to 11,300 feet. It was great. Gotta do more climbing rides, yes, oh yes!

Til next time, remember to pull on a helmet every time you get on the bike. Then, keep the rubber side down, ride safely, and don’t forget to have a blast.

-- Mark Eric Larson

Hate a rider for passing you? Nah, just ride hard...

Most road bike riders like to test their capabilities. They like to ride as fast as possible most of the time. I’m in that group. I think it’s fun to test myself physically on the bike.

But sometimes, competitive fires among riders can raise hackles, stir animosity. It shouldn’t, but hey, it can flare up occasionally in the heat of battle for the upper hand. As in, OK, who is the faster rider, me or you?

This past week my first 51-mile ride started out fast on my first long split, a 14.5 miler, but my last three splits were slow, slow, slow. After several days off, my legs were pretty tired in the latter part of the ride.

On my second ride the next day I also had a fast first split, then decided to concentrate on improving my speed over the day before, on the final three splits. I knocked about three minutes off the first half of the ride – 25.1 miles – and maintained that as I started the final 14.5 mile split. At that point I figured to just keep as strong a cadence as possible and I’d beat the previous ride’s total time. It took some concentration because I felt the cumulative effect of having already ridden 35 or so miles at an up-tempo pace.

At the end of the final 14.5-mile split is a straightaway that I always treat as a chance to get to the top gear, stand up on the pedals and finish at as high a speed as I can manage. It’s the ride’s final burst of high-octane energy, the classic sprint finish.

As I rounded a right turning curve before the approach to the final straightaway, a guy passed me on my left, very close, nearly cutting me off as he turned in front of me.

So there I was, just about to gear up to do my routine sprint and this guy passed me, pretty rudely, I thought. But maybe I was wrongly offended. I had a pretty fast pace going, and this guy blew by me with what looked like dismissive body language. Whether that perception was accurate or not, it jolted me with a mainline shot of adrenaline. I jumped on it, geared up fast and hammered with all I had. This guy spurred me in the side toward an extra fast finish. I really wanted to pass him back before the final sprint.

It wasn’t long before I did just that, and as I passed the guy on the left as the path veered left, I could hear angry yelling from him, but I couldn’t make out what he said. I was too busy churning out my high gear momentum to the finish.

I decided not to stand up, since I could feel my quads on the brink of cramping. I knew if I stood up, they could lock up and in the past that has caused me to fall off the freakin’ bike! So I stayed seated and pedaled as hard as I could through the final 100 or so yards of straightaway, topping out at 25 mph. Usually, I only hit 20-22 mph, so I was a little amped.

I crossed the split line and turned off the path to the bridge leading home. The guy I passed caught up to me on the bridge where I rode slowly to recover. He muttered an angry expletive (the four-letter word for solid waste) as he passed by. I watched him ride ahead, shaking his head side to side as if he couldn’t believe what I had done to him.

I was completely surprised by his anger, and didn’t have a response. Was I supposed to stay behind him? Was he mad because I passed him back? If so, why? I just kept riding and watched him turn off the bridge while I rode straight ahead on my way home.

I really couldn’t understand the guy’s reaction. Whenever I’ve passed somebody and they re-pass me and I can’t stay with them, I don’t have any anger toward them. I just tip my hat to the fact that they’re faster that day. Good for them.

The next day a theory dawned on me why the guy was mad. He probably felt I passed him too closely. Maybe I surprised him, maybe his reaction made him nearly go off the trail into the dirt, maybe he had to slow down to recover. He was angry because he felt he’d been disrespected.

If so, it definitely wasn’t intentional. I never sought to brush him off the path by passing close to him. I just worked hard to pass him and build my sprint down the straightaway. His pass of me no doubt got my attention. It made me want to pass him back. So I did my best to do so.

All this raw emotion erupted from some serious competitive fires lit by two guys passing each other and each taking it a little too personally, each feeling rudely blown off by the other.

But I figure, hey, when we’re out riding, trying to pass and keep ahead of another pretty fast rider happens on occasion. And, we win some, and we lose some. When we win it’s a fun little victory, and when we lose, so what? A big part of riding a road bike or mountain bike is testing ourselves. How fast can we go? Are our bike handling skills good enough to ride our mountain bike through some super technical trail without getting thrown off the bike? We like to find out by testing ourselves because it’s fun.

But it’s important to take the high road, and tip our hat to whoever beats us in these little speed or bike handling rivalries. Getting angrily offended over losing these little competitions, well, feels too much like whining. And whining because of losing? Really? Hey, losing is our friend. It humbles us. Losing makes us better next time.

Anyway, whoever you were the other day, thank you. Thanks for motivating me to finish out a pretty crisp final split. It helped me knock seven minutes off my total time from my ride the day before. It was a tough ride, but the overall speed improvement felt great.  And hey, you helped me get there. Just hope you knock off cursing riders that offend you because they beat you. It’s just a waste of time, bro. Instead, let it motivate you to ride better next time. ‘Nuf said.

Til next time, remember to pull on a helmet every time you get on the bike. Then, keep the rubber side down, ride safely, and most importantly, have a blast.

-- Mark Eric Larson

Sudden scare on the bike? Don't panic, adjust

You flinch at the sudden deafening roar of a Harley gunned while in the echo chamber of a freeway underpass you’re riding through.

A squirrel darts in front of your front tire, you’ve got to miss it.

Or, riding into a blind turn, a truck appears out of nowhere, blocking the trail, and it’s all you can do to keep from crashing into it.

Sudden things happen while we ride, and the best thing we can do is to stay steady and ride past the obstacle, if at all possible, or make a safe controlled stop.

I had a high school teacher who gave the best life advice I’ve ever heard to this day. It’s very simple, but brilliant: Don’t panic, adjust.

That also applies when we’re on the bike trying to avoid some surprising obstacle that pops up. Adjust by calmly maneuvering the best way you can through the chaos, stop if necessary, or just keep on riding.

Not always possible, for sure, but still, a good way out of some scary situations.

I just did a ride where I seemed to be constantly dodging things here and there all ride long, for 51 miles.  About 15 or so squirrels scurried across the path in front of me at various times, a startled deer launched its panic escape, it’s back hooves kicking dirt onto the trail in front of me. Then, out of nowhere, a park ranger driving a pickup, floored it onto the trail, spewing plumes of damp dirt as it turned onto the bike trail right in front of me. I saw this just after riding into a sharp curve that was shrouded by tall, thick brush.

In October, I expect the squirrels to be out trying to gather nuts for the winter at fever pitch. They run across the bike path with no awareness of passing cyclists that could run over them. Or, on one of their ill-advised path crossings, they could get caught between a bike’s wheel spokes, and crash the rider and snap a bike frame in the process. It sometimes happens. So I’m on the lookout for them this time of year.

But when, out of the blue, a white park ranger pick-up truck pulled onto the trail as I rounded a blind curve, well, it was a scary surprise, to say the least.

“Whoooah, whoooa!” I gasped. I eased on the brakes as I veered right trying to avoid the truck as well as the soft dirt on the shoulder.  Hitting the truck, or a braked bank on the soft dirt along the trail would have thrown me off the bike.

“Sorry sir,” the ranger driver said as he drove past, smiling. I barely managed to safely ride through, and it was all over in about three seconds. But man o’ man, I talked to myself as I rode on, realizing, hey, if I’d been riding a second or two faster, I would have smacked into that truck and...

Didn’t even want to speculate how bad it could have been. But when you look at like this: One second of wiggle room was the difference between a bad crash, and avoiding one. It makes you pause for a little bit. You know you just dodged a big, deadly, bullet.

I thought about hanging a U-turn, riding hard to chase down the ranger/driver and tell him he just about killed me, and what was he thinking? Didn’t he look to see there were no approaching riders before he gunned the truck onto the blind corner? Man, I couldn’t believe it.

But, nah, I just rode on.

I told myself it all turned out well, so just leave it alone, let it go.

Then, later in the ride, another park truck passed in the opposite direction, and it said “Park Ranger,” on the side, like this was the big boss at the wheel. At least he gave plenty of room to ride past his truck. I thought about doing another U-turn, catching up to the boss and telling him what happened, and that maybe he should have a talk with a certain driver/ranger about how not to kill cyclists.

But I didn't. I just rode on.

I was OK. I just wanted to let it all go. So I did. And said a little prayer of thanks to the sky.

But at the end of the ride, after escaping a series of close calls, mainly with squirrels, I was pretty much emotionally drained from continually riding in a state of high alert. Hope I got my ration of close calls out of the way for awhile with that ride. It was ridiculous how many times I had to make evasive moves.

But to survive sudden scares on the bike, remember, hold off from making a jerky, erratic move or a panic brake, both of which can make you crash in a heartbeat. Instead, work calmly toward an escape route with the bike, and that can include a firm, but controlled stop.

I know, this isn’t always possible, even when you stay relatively calm, sometimes a crash is gonna happen.

Just keep in mind: Don’t panic, adjust. Words to live, and ride by.

Til next time, remember to pull on a helmet every time you get on the bike. Then, keep the rubber side down and ride safely. Just don’t forget to have a blast.

-- Mark Eric Larson