Well, so much for high expectations. Although my training for the year had gone well with measurable improvements in my times where it mattered, i.e. Breathless and Heartbreak, the first signs of a cold coming on a week before zero hour did not bode well.

I had taken it pretty easy since Bear with short rides and limited climbing. I just wanted to maintain at that point. But a sore throat materialized on Tuesday and slowly developed into a full blown cold. I foolishly rode on Wednesday; more just to make sure the bike was set mechanically, and it was evident my strength was way down.

I spend the rest of the week trying to take it easy, slamming vitamin C and focusing on getting organized and packed. At least there would not be any fires this year, BUT the temperatures in the valley were soaring, 106 to 109 depending on the source.

I was on the road early Friday morning and made the drive in good time, arriving around eleven. The folks at the Comfort Inn were kind enough to grant me an early check in so I got settled by noon. Any kind of acclimation ride was out of the question so I decide to head out and stock up on water, vitamin C, and Tylenol Extra Strength Sinus. It was then back to hole up in my room in bed resting where I texted Jeff reporting on my condition.  I knew he was going to go for a PR this year and hooking up, in my condition, was out of the question.

I dozed intermittently and at around five I headed over to the school to check in. The start was on the North side of town this year so that added about 3 miles to the front end and subtracted the commensurate amount on the run in. Hey, three less miles in the broiling afternoon heat was OK by me. After signing in, I headed back to my room for more rest.

Just before officially going to bed I decided to give the rig a once over. I discovered that the cable for my front derailleur was completely slack. Even though I'd made multiple rides since installing the compact; AND it was shifting, I hadn't detected it. I quickly tightened things up then washed up and hit the sack.

I awoke at 4 AM and kitted up. Since I had brought up bagels and cereal I actually ate something you could call a real breakfast. After filling up my water bottles, I grabbed my gear bag and bike and headed down to load up the car.

I was at the school by five and parked over on the east side. As I was getting ready I started up a conversation with a fellow rider who had parked next to me. He was a local doing the ride for the second time too. We exchanged experiences and wished each other luck. A quick turn around the parking lot and I rolled over to the start.

There was already a huge crowd and I worked my way closer to the front as the organizer gave us a quick safety lecture over a megaphone. At 5:30 sharp we were off and the peloton immediately stretched out as those on the front end hurdled themselves forward. I quickly found myself falling off the back, and though I never intended to stay with the front group, I at least wanted to take advantage of hitching on to some kind of paceline on the run up to Wildcat. But the riders I was following were peeling off the back and the gap kept widening. Eventually I ended up behind another rider with tri-bars and took advantage of his draft for a mile or too. Intermittently I could see the main group ripping around bends far ahead. As I eased back on the throttle I wondered how many in the group actually belonged there. Time would tell.

Needless to say my opportunity to get sucked along the first twenty or so miles had come and gone. I was glad that commonsense, at least at this point, had prevailed and prevented me from trying to hammer on and catch the group. Don't get me wrong, I was tempted there for a second or two.

At one point the fellow I was drafting behind started easing up so I dutifully took the front only to watch him fade back. I was now riding solo somewhere between the hammer heads and everybody else. It was weird, sort of a cycling version of the Twilight Zone. The ride had suddenly evaporated around me. Then, as I was moving along Bullard, a rider came up from behind. His name was Adam, a local who was doing the ride for the first time. We stayed together for miles, basically chatting. A SAG motorcycle came by at one point and asked if we were the front. Hah! “Yeah, sure” we shouted back and pointed up the road. Off he went.

We made the right onto McCall Avenue and were caught by a three man. Again, we had resigned ourselves to a more leisurely pace so didn't latch on.

Finally the left onto Ashlan Avenue arrived which to me basically signals the official start since you're truly out of town and heading into the mountains. About a mile up the road a huge paceline overtook us and this time we did latch on. No way was I going to miss this opportunity. I ended up behind this Clydesdale of a guy and pretty much coasted up until the first rollers started appearing.

With the rising sun in our faces, we headed up into the foothills, winding our way through ever thickening oaks and scrub. Folks were fairly spread out by this time, but the pace was still brisk with fresh legs and high expectations all around.  I tackled the first major climb of the day with relative ease to arrive at the Wildcat Rest stop.  I took full advantage of the plentiful spread being offered as well as topping off my bottles. Knowing I was still sick and medicated, it seemed wise to set a pace that ensured survival.

Sufficiently restocked I headed down the hill into the Burrough Valley. Watts Road continues to traverse some beautiful country-side along this section and the quiet stillness of the early morning makes it all the more magical.  As usual I got confused at the left turn onto Burrough Valley Road. After hesitating, I followed some fellow riders’ right past the intersection.  Fortunately less than a mile down the road a SAG supporter on a motorcycle caught us and got us turned around.

With my course corrected I rolled along through more rural splendor encountering a solo rider every now and then. Just before the next rest stop there was a brief descent of about 500 feet over a two mile stretch. Towards the bottom I came upon a downed rider being attended to by two SAG supporters.  At the time I had no idea what could have happened, especially since the road seemed pretty innocuous at the accident sight.  Further up the road I witnessed multiple emergency vehicles going the opposite direction. Later that day I learned the rider had hit a calf standing in the road and separated his shoulder.

I continued along, finally making the right onto Tollhouse and then covering the mile or so to the next rest stop at Sierra Elementary School.  I really didn’t need to stop, but decided it best just to keep my pace in check.  A helpful SAG supporter held my bike while I grabbed a bite to eat and filled my bottles. 

Departing the school parking lot I set off to tackle the Tollhouse/Pine Ridge climb. Of all the climbs this is perhaps my favorite because 1) the legs are still relatively fresh, 2) the grades are moderate and 3) there are some really nice views.  This year it did seem a bit longer than I recalled, but along the way I struck up a few conversations with fellow riders that helped pass the time.

As I approached the top the road kicked up a few notches and I got out of the saddle and slowly rocked my way to the top. After hitting the summit, I rolled down to rest stop #3 at the Fire House. I paused long enough to assess my condition and decided I felt pretty good. Since my Garmin fritzed after the ride I can’t exactly compare my progress to last year’s pacing, but I’m fairly certain I as taking things at a more relaxed pace. So be it since I had no desire to repeat the latter half of my ’08 Kaiser experience.

Gathering myself up I headed out to for Pine Ridge along Hwy 168.  Of course there was that short stretch of 16% to cover first, but with that behind me I was able to pretty much spin my way along, encountering riders here and there, but never in great numbers.  Since it’s a highway, the solitude of Tollhouse seemed a distant memory, but the more manageable grade made up for it.

As the highway meandered through the pines I soon found myself in Shaver Lake and Rest Stop #4.  I parked my bike and wandered over to the tables to load up on cookies, trail mix and fruit. I found the closer I was getting to Kaiser, the more leisurely my rest stops were becoming.  Physically my legs felt fine, but I was still sick and had not brought along any additional cold medicine. So I knew it was just a matter of time before my energy levels would start dropping precipitously.

The trip along Shaver Lake tends to get blurry, just like last year.  I know it wound through town and then along the lake, but the details always escape me.  On the other hand, the left onto Big Creek is indelibly ingrained into my synapses.  A steep, long incline that serves as a prologue to a technical downhill that deposits you directly into the very bowels of the Big Creek climb, a rendezvous that tests every ounce of your endurance and stamina

This year I pretty much had the road to myself and when I arrived in the town of Big Creek the mood felt substantially subdued.  It seemed a bit more isolated, perhaps due to the fact I was trailing a bit farther behind the tail end of the fast folks. I dallied as long as I dared and then set out alone to do battle with the gods of lactic acid.

I won’t dwell on the details. The climb is well documented in its shear verticality and brutal exposure.  I’ll just say it really, really hurt. I was geared exactly as last year, but found the lactic acid built up much faster and seared my legs for the duration of the entire climb.  The backend dragged on endlessly and I fought to keep my forward momentum.  Even after I crested and hit the rollers I was so fatigued I began to think I’d missed the lunch stop.  I recall glancing down at my Garmin and watching mile 72.5 come and go. Inevitably it did come into view and I pulled in and quickly parted with my bike to seek food and a spot to sit.