OK, where was I … Stage 3, heading out towards Monterrey (Do you know the way from San Jose?) It’s either over the spine of the peninsula, or down south through Steinbeck country – Gilroy, Watsonville, hints of lettuce and strawberries in the fertile fields here. With the ocean finally at our right shoulder, we made it to the Comfort Inn just in time to … do laundry! At least, some folks did. I prefer simply taking my cycling bibs and jersey into the shower with me, then treating them like grapes being crushed for wine. Does the trick, as long as they dry by morning. Just don’t drink the water.
[Note to actual riders on this trip – my memory may have been clouded by hypoxia, so if I get things wrong, out of order, or otherwise screwy, well, blame it on the Aloe Milk.]
Stage 4: Monterrey to Hunter-Liggett, via Route 1, Big Sur. This is the iconic California ride, along Pacific Coast Highway. Two lanes all the way, crashing ocean views down below, beige bridges arcing over the coastal canyons, and mist folding into the ragged hills, shrouding the gnarly evergreens. Well, we missed the mist, it was sunny all day. Mid 60s, tail wind, it was almost cheating to ride like this. I took the day as a solo lark, between groups A & B; I didn’t want anybody blocking the view. 60 miles of this, then bang a left onto Nacimiento-Ferguson road towards the interior and the Hunter-Liggett army base, heading into Wildflower country. That road was serious: 1500′ rise in 3.5 miles, 10-12% grade all the way. Easing off to 6-8% over the next 3.5 miles, topping out at a by now misty 2600′. A final downhill, then we re-grouped next to a – statue of a tank? – or was it the real thing, saved in memory of some almost forgotten battle decades ago. Anyway, it provided some shelter next to the vans while everyone changed out of cycling kit for the ride to Santa Barbara. Was this one of those In-n-Out Burger stops? Hard to keep these “lunches” (actually, a fourth meal following the day’s ride, usually in a fast-ish food spot full of calories to replenish the glycogen stores.) This evening, due to the long day and long transfer drive, it also had to serve as our real dinner, as we arrived at Santa Barbara’s Holiday Inn Express around 8 PM. My ride: 65 miles, 5.5 hours (sightseeing, climbing that endless hill)
Stage 5: Santa Barbara to Santa Paula – the race proper went all the way past Six Flags Magic Mountain into Santa Clarita, but we pulled up short. This was, as Phil Liggett might say, a “lumpy day”. Multiple categorized climbs, punctuated by the short but incredibly steep Balcom Canyon (20 % max grade?). The B team managed to ride just slow enough to avoid having to do that one. I spent the end of the day with Scott and Attila, battling for sprint points. First round, Scott sneaked around the cars waiting at a light, strategically placed at the 200 meters to go placard, to easily get honors. Next, it was up and over more climbs, cat 4 & 3, so close together, the 5 km to go sign for the second was placed about 600 meters before the first, confusing some of us into easing back when they should have been pushing. At the top of the second climb, Rich sent out orders for B group to stop after the sprint in Santa Paula, while A group would try and beat the Tour to Balcom. I took off, anticipating another drastic downhill. But what followed was the best 15 miles of the trip for me.
I found myself with the A/B split group, and we pace lined up 2 miles of a rising false flat through open fields, then up a stiffer climb for another 2 mi. At this point our elevation was 1600′, we were out in the country side with no towns in sight before Santa Paula, and a nine mile steady downhill to 300′. That worked out to a 3% drop most of the way – perfect for maxing out the smallest cog you’ve got (which was 11 for me). I covered those 9 miles in 18 minutes. I was helped greatly by Attila, whom we had somehow maneuvered into the lead position with 4 km to go before the sprint line in town. It seemed he was having too much fun to back off. Or maybe the big guy was trying to wear us out and win in a full on TT. He flicked his elbow once, about 2 km to go, but we were having none of it. In town, we were met with the usual line of traffic and a stop light at the 200 m to go sign. I’ll let Attila take it from here:
“I was in front as we came up. I heard ‘Click.’ Then another ‘Click’, so I knew Scott and Al were both out of their pedals. No way was I going to unclip. I did a track stand, pushing my wheel back and forth three times. I was just about to give up when the light changed, and … it was all over, They didn’t have a chance in this drag race.”
A few blocks later, the vans were pulled over, and we hung it up for the day. As some of us started to change there on the side walk, using towels for vanity, we noticed we were parked right in front of the town’s police station. They watched us for a good 10 or 15 minutes, then just before Xavier and Brendan were about to pull out, a beefy uniformed officer, in full offensive regalia, came out to inform us we were parked too close to the driveway. Seems the cops might have to siren it out of the lot at any moment (a reasonable expectation in their business, for sure), and wanted to have good sight lines so they didn’t endanger the local citizens as they made their high speed exit. At least we think that’s what he meant when he said, with typical police gruffness, “You guys had better move now.” Some of our party wanted to point out to him the vans were clearly legally parked, not covering the driveway at all. Others noted that it was always a good policy never to argue with a man with a gun. We were gone in 30 seconds. My totals: 52 miles, 3:30
(To be Concluded)