Hot damn kids, real internet today. Now, the only problem is your intrepid reporter is completely shelled. Not enough strength in my fingers to type much.
Ride report could be titled “Teamwork Makes the Dreamwork”. The first half of today’s ride felt like a ride through the set of Breaking Bad. I was half expecting to see Walter’s and Jesse’s RV around every bend. And I coulda used some cocaine!
Once we hit the highway, the Bay Area Boyz drilled it. All. The. Way. In. They make them tough in NorCal. When Griffin was repairing a flat, Blair told me he once did 300 miles in 20 hours. LOL. If it wasn’t for the BABs, I would’ve ended up as half-melted roadkill. Massive pull after pull that Griffin and I took full advantage of all morning.
It was in the mid-90s at the finish.
Dunno if I can recover in 18 hours. Probs need more like 18 days.
And so it goes.
The Michiganders check out a desert dragon. Frickin’ Griffin. The King of Flats.Drug of choice. Shoot that potassium straight into my veins.
Not sure how I bounced back, but yah boy rode well today. I couldn’t decide if today’s ride was a Top 10, Top 7, or Top 5 all timer.
The first nine miles rose 2,000′ topping out above 5,800′ above sea level. Moderate morning temps, lots of trees so hella shade, and buttery tarmac. What more could one ask for . . . oh, good company.
Half way up, Skip rode up on me. We talked. About real shit. For 700′. Instead of staring at my head unit, I was engrossed in the convo. All of sudden, the bulk of the climb was done. Thanks Skip.
Cycling is like life. It’s easier, or less difficult, or more enjoyable, take your pick, with others’ help. If we were seeding the 11 crazies, I’d be the 5 seed. That means it’s very easy to get stuck in no man’s land between the top 4 and bottom 6. Three of the top four are from Michigan, so I refer to them as either Team Michigan or the Michiganders. Since they stopped at the top of the opening 9 miler to take pics and chill, they were happy to have me join them for the run in to lunch at mile 31. I had to work, but not so hard that I’d blow up later.
Team Michigan, Aimee, Dean, and Lucas, are so strong. Lucas is a twenty-something fourth year Electrical Engineering PhD candidate at Berkeley who I have really enjoyed getting to know. Yes, you’re right, the ulterior motive is that his big brain might somehow have positive effects on my peabrain. Aimee is his mom and she’s a phenom. Dean is Aimee’s bf and he couldn’t be stronger, nicer, and fun to hang with.
After an early lunch with Team Michigan, I started the second half with Marky Mark and Chucky Chuck. Right after lunch, one of the most fun descents of all time. Again, buttery tarmac, no traffic, sweeping turns, six-seven miles of goodness. Had a great time with them all the way to mile 50 where I lost them on the ninth and final climb of the day. You won’t find better dudes, so I wanted to wait. I said to myself, “Self, stop at the next shade.” Desert plus midday sun meant ZERO shade, so I time-trialed in the last 45 minutes or so.
Unbelievably beautiful route. Great company. Fo sho ride of the week I presume. Blessed.
Tomorrow, flat, hot run in to Palm Springs. Pray I don’t ignite.
My greatest accomplishment today might be getting this to upload on really janky internet.
Friday morning, I woke up in Washington State’s capital, per usual. Then I leapfrogged from Tumwater Costco to Medford Costco to California’s state capital and M and C Griffins Sacto crib*, hemorrhaging large swaths of my lifetime savings at the pump as I migrated south.
I was asked to deliver a message. Which I did.
Gav,
Eat the rich.
Bobby
Saturday’s tuneup ride was a flat, fun affair alongside the Sacto and American rivers. Well, except for trying to stay on MGriffins wheel when he got frustrated by my pedestrian pacing.
Today’s drive begins shortly. Destination San Diego where a week-long circumnavigation of the County awaits. 16 other crazies. Different California Hotel every night. Mark scaring me a bit by saying the group is “interesting” then just smiling evilly as if words don’t do them justice.
Your humble blogger will do his best to match their crazy. It will be fun to meet new people, ride new roads, and to dry out under blazing, cloudless sunshine. If only I wasn’t so undertrained. Don’t tell the crazies I’m a lil’ nervous.
Raise your hand if you’d like me to blog San Diego County bike week. Okay, thank you, you can put your hands down.
Raise your hand if you’re a numbers person and will (somehow) be content to just follow me on Strava. Okay, thank you, you can put your hands down.
Raise your hand if you’re of the same mind as my sissy who often reminds me, “Ron it’s not all about you.” Meaning, not only do you not want to know anything about how next week unfolds on the roads of San Diego County, but you’re deeply regretting even reading this intro.
The “please, please, please blog SDC cycling tour” contingent carries the day. Congratulations to them and everyone whose lives are about to be changed by my reporting.
Remember, when it comes to the humble blog, “You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.”
*If you ever get the chance to stay at Chez Griffin, take it. Bespoke hospitality marked by amazing food and conversation.
Postscript. If UCLA wins today, I’ll pick up the Crazies dinner tab. Oh wait, I forgot how much the drive is going to cost. Nevermind.
There are two types of baseball fans. The real ones who have the “catchers and pitchers report” date on their calendars and happily tune in for all 162 and the fake dilettantes who pace themselves and wait until October to start caring.
My friend Mike is a real one. Has been for decades. I’m a fake dilettante. Our text exchange is prob repeating all over the PNW.
The pre-season #1 and #2 ranked college football teams just fell out of the Top 25. So much for high falutin analytics.
I was 39 years young the last time the Mariners won a playoff game. I hope I won’t be 87 the next time.
Sometimes it takes awhile. SDarnold and BMayfield were putting on a quarterback clinic yesterday. DanDantheTranspoMan chalked it up to bad defense, but what does he know about football anything?
UCLA won a football game against a formerly great team. So much for going winless and getting the number one draft pick.
I finished fifth out of seven on Michigan Hill Saturday. A shell of my former self. TMAT was second.
Can we please make the Ryder Cup Great Again by kicking out every single loud and obnoxious American knucklehead on their first offense? Related. Who wants to go to Adare Manor with me?
Keep an eye on Quenton Lanese of Olympia High School. He’s got the goods. Related. My 1k/year running streak is in serious jeopardy as a result of very stubborn left heel bursitis that has put a serious dent into my mileage. Try not to let that ruin your day.
Not the fleeting kind that ends in hoisting a trophy. The real “meaningful life” kind.
Scottie Scheffler, the world’s #1 rated golfer, is winning more tournaments than anyone else and just asked at one of the most honest and provocative sports pressers in recent memory, “What’s the point?” You don’t have to be a golf junkie to watch/appreciate it.
Maybe his perspective is even more impressive than his game. He somehow knows fame is fleeting. And ultimately, unfulfilling. Especially compared to family.
I quit competing in triathlons after conducting a mental exercise. I thought to myself that if I truly committed to consistent training, age group wins at decent races were possible. And qualifying for the Kona World Championships. And these best case scenarios didn’t move the needle nearly enough for me to continue racing. I concluded, “What’s the point?”
There is one convincing reason for aging weekend warriors to keep entering races. Races provide many the needed motivation to train.
Back in my earliest triathlon racing days, I integrated swimming, cycling, and running into my life to the point that I regularly do some combo of all three each week*. Thus, that rationale doesn’t hold for me. I get “out the door” without signing up for anything. But, I suspect I’m an outlier in that respect.
*Haven’t swam in July yet. Father/Mother, forgive me, for I have sinned. My excuse is I’m allergic to something in the lake. And it seems like a crime to swim indoors in July.
Our newish house sits atop a hill on the edge of downtown Olympia. Which is really nice when starting a run because gravity helps get you in the groove. But not nearly as nice when ending a run or long, hard ride.
Don’t tell Travis, but sometimes, like Friday afternoon, I pull the plug early or mid-hill and walk it in. I was so spent at the end of my wee 5 miler, I leaned on the bridge to collect myself before starting the uphill walk home.
And that’s when it came to me. The great idea. To jump off the bridge into the southernmost part of the Puget Sound sometime this summer. Being hot and sweaty prob contributed to this genius.
I’m sure it’s illegal, but how bad could the consequences be? The height of the jump is flexible depending upon how far up one goes on the bridge, and to a lesser degree, the tide. I’m thinking mid-bridge at high tide to make sure there’s ample water underneath. I’ll plant a second pair of shoes onshore and prob leave my original shoes on the bridge before going airborne.
I see one problem besides the inevitable fame that will follow from the jump. The Puget Sound’s southernmost water is polluted, so much so, the shore is dotted with “No swimming” signage. But it’s not like I’m going to linger. In and out in a few minutes. Shower off. And hope to live another day.
The only thing more bad ass than this plan would be just doing it without telling anyone. So, please, if you will, strike this post from the record.
Pressing Pause 