Taming the Devil!

I bike, therefore I appreciate reasonable weather.  We recently relocated to the Bay Area and the ability to bike nearly year round was a definite plus.  One of the first things a cyclist does after relocating is pull up their Strava app and have a look at the heat map.  It shows you a map of anywhere you care to look and the thickness of the red on the road indicates how frequently it is ridden by cyclists and by extension, which roads are the best to ride.

When we got to sunny San Ramon I noticed a particularly juicy red line that had some lovely curves.  Welcome to Mt. Diablo.  The Tour of California takes advantage of this hill every year as its signature mountain stage.  It's not Alpe D'Huez but since it's only 12 miles from my house it couldn't be more ideal.  It's a lovely Category 1 climb with very little traffic.  I can be on this climb for an hour and only have 4 or 5 cars pass me.  Makes me feel like I'm climbing in France without the croissant's.

The climb is the work but the descent is the reward.  This is the part where I hope my wife isn't reading my blog.  On the way up I'm only average in the Strava rankings because climbing ability is dependant on your VO2 max.  Descents however, award a different characteristic, fearlessness.  Apparently I don't value my life.  Of the 5,904 people who have sped down the hill, I'm currently ranked #39.  When I'm flying down the mountain my Tarmac and I are loving every turn, but after I'm done, I replay it in my mind and wonder how I'm still alive.

Maybe that's the point.  It makes me feel alive.  :-)  Vive le Spesh!

**Update: As of today (Feb 12th, 2018) there are 10,149 unique individuals who have descended Mt. Diablo.  I'm now #17.  Again...don't tell my wife. 

Crit Pro's and Biker Steak

Now that the Crit season is underway, I thoght it would be good to get a taste of what we can look forward to this year.  I've pressed my cycling godfather for an anecdote from yesteryear. 

 

I now hand the tarmac over to Bruce Lee, former Cat 1 road racer and Pro MTB-er...

 

"Way back in the dark ages there was a series called The Mayor's Cup.  It took place in major cities all across the US. While I was too poor at the time up hit the road for the series I did go to the Portland, Oregon edition. This was the race to get to on that particular weekend with every top rider in the region in attendance to do battle with the traveling circus of super fast Crit pro's.

 

So it's a hot day and the early races are fast and fun to watch. I get myself set up, warm up, then pre-ride the course. It's kind of a square block with a dog-leg turn, smooth pave, and whip fast.

 

We're called up to the line and the gun goes off. Now, I'm not able to line up at the front so it's an immediate shock to the system to be in the middle of a pack, grinding the 53-12, legs howling in pain and doing 35+ MPH through the city. The crowd is a blur, in fact I don't see or hear anything other than the wheel in front of me. And I'm hanging on as best I can.

Lap after lap, prime after prime, and the speed is rapid and fast as the boys from 7-Eleven and Alfa-Romeo force the pace on the front. That's when the crashes started in the middle of the pack.  All of us who are groveling at the back quickly start to tire, lose focus and eat blacktop. This is the race where I discovered that smell that was not hot brake pads but hot biker steak seared on the pavement at 38 miles an hour.
 

Around this point we were winding up for yet another sprint when up in front of me I see a very well known local rider, probably the best guy around in a Crit, suddenly drop off his line in a corner and launch right toward the crowd.  He flew through the air, his back toward the shocked onlookers, cleats over his head, straight into a parking meter anchored to the sidewalk. This happened so fast I almost didn't believe my eyes. With this sight lodged firmly in my mind I continued driving hard, forcing out my concern for life and limb.

 

More surprizing was that a lap or two later, there's the guy who crashed out, back on his bike, hammering away to the finish. I really thought my latic-acid fried brain had imagined it all. As we warmed down around the course there were a few guys standing at the crash site. I stopped to see what the attraction was. It was the parking meter, ripped out of the sidewalk and lying on its side. I heard someone state: "We thought he was seriously hurt, but before we could help he jumped up, grabbed his bike and took off!"

 

To this day I can still see that crash in my memory."  --BL