Saturday, Coach Mike had me scheduled for a 70mi ride. Unfamiliar with much of the Peninsula where I now reside, I plotted out a course that would take me up Hwy 92 to Skyline, along Skyline to Hwy 84, and then along Hwy 84 to the coast and back. I didn't know what I was getting myself into . . . I thought surely I'd be able to maintain a 15mph avg, and I had to be home to get ready for my gig by 3pm, so I planned to leave at 10am - 5hrs would give me time to get 70mi, plus a few breaks, I thought.

Oops.

I got started well enough; the day was cool but bright, and there wasn't too much wind kicking around. I made it to and over my first climb of the day, heading down to the base of Hwy 92. Traffic was fairly light for a weekend day, and so I had no real worries as I began my climb. I've gotten used to this climb, as I commute by bike a few times a week. I can
make the climb in 10-15min, depending. Anyway, as I climbed, the fog began blowing over the hill, and winds began to assert themselves. Each time the turning road brought me to face the coast, a huge soft, clammy hand of fog would press into my face. My sunglasses soon had droplets of condensed water on them, and as I passed under the trees, it would feel like a soft rain as the condensed fog dripped off the leaves to the roadway. I got to the top in my usual time, and then came the unknown - I turned left up Hwy 35.

The road continued to rise . . . and rise . . . and rise. I was near the top of the ridge now, and that clammy hand became more insistent every turn of the road. I was an hour into my ride now and I'd barely gone 11mi - my schedule was gonna be shot. I quickly let it go, however - decided that as this was an unkown route, it was fine if I went less than 70mi. I'd try for 50, though. That in mind, I continued to spin up the hills . . . .

It's now been more than half an hour since I started climbing, and I'm getting damn winded. The rise is gradual but merciless - no respite. I keep at it, and finally comes the payoff. As I turn a corner, seemingly all at once, I emerge from a small length of tree-shaded road into the bright NorCal sun. I've climbed above the clouds, and off to my right I can see a meadow with horses grazing, a dilapidated but still clearly functional barn, and in the far reach of the meadow, just before the edge of the ridge, a tendril of fog seems to wave at me, as if to say 'I'll be waiting for you on the descent'.

A huge smile breaks out on my face, and I'm flushed w/ a feeling of well-being. This is what I love; riding thru the NorCal sunshine. And to make the day more perfect, just when I start to worry that I've made a mistake in not having breakfast, I come across Kings Mtn
Country Store, where I get a 'California' sandwich - that's Turkey, cranberry sauce and cream cheese (I have them go light on the cheese - honest!).

I sit in the sun, munching my sandwich, sipping a Sobe, and basking in endorphins.
*This*, I thought, was truly the breakfast of champions. I finished up half the sandwich (too big to finish at one go, esp. w/ many mi to come) stuffed the other half into my camelbak, and continued on the road. It meandered and rolled for several miles, until I came to Hwy 84. I had intended to turn right here and head for the coast, but my climb took too long - I don't have time for that. Instead, I turn left and head back down to my
own side of the ridge. It's a fun descent, full of swooping curves and tight hairpins; great for working on your descending. Traffic is reasonably light, and for the most part I don't have to worry about cars behind me. I finally wheel down into Woodside and up a short hill before continuing the descent into Redwood City. From there, I turned north again to Edgewood Rd, then climbed back up Edgewood to Canada Rd for a quick hammer session. It's mid-afternoon now, and the winds have picked up - every time I turn north I'm
facing into the wind. That's ok, though; I get down on the bars and hammer. Well, for me it
was hammering - I'm going about 22mph. All in all, I'm having a blast, even if someone has replaced my bike seat with an axe blade.

Towards the end of Canada Rd, I spy a tall red-garbed cyclist coming the opposite way. I have just enough time to recognize him before I roll by - our very own Madman Dolley. 'Mark!' I shout . . . I keep going though; I'm starting to run a bit late for my gig and need to step it up to get home. I climb over the pedestrian/cycle overpass up to Ralston, and
towards the end of the hill, I get stealthed. Another cyclist has crept up behind me and suddenly zips by me up the hill. I can't give pursuit, as my route heads off to the left at the top of the hill, and have to content myself with watching him roll away. I don't think I could catch him anyway. I wearily turn my steed home, and pull in just before 3pm. 49.75mi - I'll call it 50.

TriathRon