Accidental Weekend Blowout

Just five days off the Wildflower century, Friday night started auspiciously and modestly enough. A brief 18 mile spin with Tim. Some food. Some packing for the Saturday night pizza party.

But then, primed with a cool Faction Pale fresh off the taps, I thought: I don't hate my life nearly enough. I should go do a pre-party Diablo tomorrow. By morning, that anti-wisdom morphed into, "If one Diablo sucks, surely two Diablos must blow".

Truer words, m'friends.

Like a paved nightmare slicing into the side of the mountain...

Coming for you, rando.

In the distance there? That's Mt. Tam... 

At the summit, again with Mt. Tam peeking through in the distance.

Post-ride rewards...

Four hours later, I was supremely disgusting and headed on my way home for pizza and, one hoped, early rest for the planned peninsula spin.

That spin, led by Sweeney, but backed by a veritable cornucopia of cyclists, involved climbs up both Old La Honda and Tunitas Creek through no less than 17.3 trillion microclimates ranging from frozen to frigid.

Rob, Ruegs and Armen, definitely not talking about some sort of bullshit.

Coastal Fog.

Armen, in repose.

Rob, changing hearts and minds.

On the hunt.

Brutal climb. Beautiful views.

Kim rounds the bend.

Ruegs and Deb shortly follow.

Blazing so fast, the camera couldn't focus on him.

Just the 18,048 feet to go.

Bridge.

Terra Firma, post-Tunitas Creek

Back at the motorized wheels, what started as a modest weekend quickly turned into 130 miles and 15,000 feet of climbing in 48 hours. I'm tired, but feeling ready for this trip.

Stay tuned for whatever fresh hell we decide to slap together next weekend.

Colin

Wildflower Century

Five months ago, this was likely viewed as the ride for which we'd collectively need to train; I expect that process likely would have involved a good deal more beer and a good deal less riding. Instead, with the trip looming large at 10 weeks out, it's fairly safe to say we pressed significantly harder and were more than prepared to tackle a Sunday century. And we were fortunate enough to talk a great group into joining the "Mistake Hubris for Ability" bandwagon. Here's some of the fun...

The Group Plays a Sloppy Round at Butte Creek Country Club

The Group Suffers Through 100 Miles of Central California

The Group Gets Shithoused in Celebration and Comes Home

And for those number nerds out there, here's the data portion...

Great trip with a great group. Looking forward to the next misadventure.

Colin

Somehow These Bikes Have Got to Get There in One Piece

So we decided to bring our bikes with us - I mean, if you're going to do this thing, might as well bring gear that will inflict slightly less pain.  The question on the table is, how do we pack these things so there's even a chance the bikes will arrive in rideable condition?  So, airline provided cardboard box . . . . . no, not going to happen.  Hard case bike carrier . . . . . no, we're only going to rent one car, not a fleet to carry luggage.  Inflatable bike carrier . . . . no, not enough patch kits to keep the Michelin Man look going.  Soft sided carrier with some structure . . . . sure - smarter people than us recommended them. Besides, they'll fold up and take up less space (ish) in the car when not in use.  And, guess what arrived a few days ago?  Evoc bike travel bags - matching blue!

Diablo Recovery Spin

A quick morning cruise with Le, as two sad cyclists limp through beautiful Canyon on a recovery ride...

Ride details follow...

Happy Sunday all...

Mid-April Soul Furnace

What am agony?

Who are mountain?

These and other questions have challenged man -- or, at the very least, me -- for epochs.

Fortuitously, I feel I've discovered the answer to both questions, which, quite simply am/are: Diablo. Allow me to preface.

Very good friend, champion beardsman and quite possible Faustian dealmaker Alec Castellanos proposed a group ride which, among other things, involved passing through the Oakland hills and a smattering of East Bay municipalities before arriving -- 40 miles and 3500 vertical feet later -- at the base of Mt. Diablo, itself a Hors Categorie climb.

This is what professionals might simply classify as a banancakes shithouse plan.

And it was a wild success.

In the simplest of terms, the group owned what would be characterized as an exhausting ride by any fair minded person. And while I clearly have room for progress before we assault the Pyrenees, I felt solid in plowing up a brutal climb on a hot day among a very accomplished cohort.

Alec was even kind enough to snap a photo of me, trying desperately to maintain muscle control at the summit.

You can barely see the ass cramp.

And the reward for that effort? Notwithstanding a bitchin' spread put on by ride participant and unstoppable force Jeff Mellen at his house in Concord, I had to save room for my classic post-ride meal.

Full Masala Blowout.

As with all good Indian food, the order involves something of a two-stage blowout, the latter of which might be thought of more as a... "consequence".

Great ride. Great folks. We'll get back after it with the old man next weekend... We're on the cusp of the Chico Wildflower after all.

Time to naan it.

Colin