4:00am wake up call. Boo. Hiss. Vomit.
4:30am departure for the COW PALACE.
5:00am check in time.
We drop off my gear where I am welcomed by Peter with an enthusiastic “Welcome to the G-String.” I’ll be sticking with Peter and the boys of Gear Truck and Tent Grid (a.k.a. the G Spot) G all week.
So begins the reoccurring theme of me finding my bike and looking so awkward trying to put air in my tires that some kind soul nearby just has to help me, not because I need help but because he is actually being made that uncomfortable trying to watch me pump up my own tires. Even Sunny has taken over for me pumping because it was too painful for her to watch me try and do it myself. Just because I managed to deflate both my tires in the process of attempting to pump them up does not mean I need help. Is that sentence grammatically correct? Doesn’t feel like it. Hm.
I am feeling nervous.
At 6:00am, doors open for Opening Ceremonies. Diva and Sunny were with me as we walked onto the floor of the Cow Palace. Little did they know, they were actually joining a 6:00am jazzercise dance party which was effectively the rider’s warm up and stretching session. There was something wrong and magical and hilarious about 2000 people dancing around at 6:00am to some kind of electro pop – and Diva and Sunny moving only when they had to to avoid getting run into by other riders. The amigos:
Opening Ceremonies offered some fine motivational speaking and lots of "WOO HOO"ing. I'll admit, I teared up a bit when a riderless cycle was marched down the center of the C.Palace in honor of all those who have died and can no longer ride.
At 6:30am the amigos were gone and I was on my own, literally shaking with nerves. The first official FAIL of the ride came for me when I tried to put on my (Sunny’s) riding gloves and realized that I had two lefts and no rights. Awesome. It’s cool though, I wore them both anyway and just strategically avoided talking to everyone, keeping my right hand in my pocket at all times when not actually riding my bike. Fail.
Here is how it works.
Ride out is every day between 6:30am – 8:30am. You have to leave before 8:30am or you will get sagged. There are 3 – 4 official rest stops on the road, sometimes a water stop or port-a-potty stop and almost always an unofficial stop to look forward to. Each official stop has a time that it opens and a time that it closes. If you don’t leave the rest stop before it closes you will get swept to the next rest stop. During the day there are sweep and sag vehicles driving along the route. If you break down (physically, emotionally or mechanically) or fall down, a vehicle will pick you up and take you to the nearest mechanic or medic, or camp, if you want/need to quit. The most common problem is dehydration. If you see a medic and they determine it is unsafe for you to ride, you don’t ride. The route closes every day at 7pm, so if you’re not in camp by 7, you get sagged.
My strategy was simple. I only had one rule: Don’t stop pedaling.
I had two goals. 1) Don’t fall over and 2) Do not get sagged.
Just before ride out, Moto reminded us that the most serious injury to ever happen on the ride happened a mile away from the Cow Palace last year and landed a man in the hospital for 6 months. VOMIT.
We were in thick fog and rain all morning which limited visibility and made the road slick. I took it slow and easy and tried to stay focused. And all things considered, did fine. The upside to the rain and fog is that the air, for the better part of the day, smelled of Eucalyptus a.k.a wonderful.
I skipped rest stop 1 which was only 7 miles away from the C.Palace and stopped for the first time at Rest Stop 2, just as the sun came out.
Here is the scene from behind some bears at Rest Stop 2:
Here is me.
Fight On!
I took a lot of pictures of myself in places. This is one area in which having a buddy would have been helpful, or you know, not being afraid to talk to other people.
Out of Rest Stop 2 we came to what were the worst hills of the entire journey. We never climb more than 2000 feet and I actually decide at this point that I kind of like hills. I was feeling good and strong and learning to use my gears effectively, which meant that I felt like I was flying up hills. My meaty ass finally has a purpose. PLUS and probably the most amazing part of the hills, there are so many more cheerleaders on the hills. Usually, it’s a group of kids there playing music and passing out red vines. Music helps far more than sugar.
I consistently had one bar of some random song stuck in my head while going up hills simply to have something to keep the rhythm. Slowing down on hills is so hard to recover from and stopping is not an option because it’s impossible to start back up again.
I had been on the bike maybe four hours before I found someone I wanted to marry. Granted, it was a chick . . . but seriously, SHOUT OUT to the girls of Half Moon Bay who had the brilliant idea to pass out donut holes. I love you.
Lunch, as it is every day, was in some random park somewhere between SF and LA. Lunch is always the same: Misc. Vegetarian (for me) sandwich or wrap, pasta salad, piece of fruit, string cheese which I never ate because it was always warm, ew, salty chips and a cookie. Plus all the powerade in the world.
Lunch was always a routine involving: park bike, pee, eat, sunscreen, pee again, butter up, check tire pressure, ride. I only varied from this routine a couple times, first on Day 1, when I had to visit medical because of the hives I contracted while seating in the grass, eating.
The Scene at Lunch.
At some point after lunch I got my first flat tire, going up a hill. I stopped to add air just to see if that would get me anywhere . . . and it was maybe 3 minutes of pumping before a gentleman stopped and offered to pump for me. Srsly.
Back on the road for about five minutes before I resigned to just changing the tire. I was doing great, save forgetting the part about downshifting prior to tire removal, and by doing great I mean struggling. So, to my rescue, to his dismay was, Randy.
Randy pulled off the road to drink some water, not to offer to help but as per usual, once he watched me for more than a minute decided I needed assistance. Randy was not thrilled to be helping me but he was very nice nonetheless. Randy also put my tire in incorrectly the first time and we never did get it right because the next leg of the ride was met with lots and lots of squeaking from various parts of my bike.
Enter, Rest Stop 3. The rest stop routine varies, depending on what’s most important. But it always involves peeing, eating, refilling water bottles a photo and a tweet, signal permitting. On days like this, it also involves stopping off at the bike mechanic tent for a quick check up and (since this is one place unicorns are known to live) a quick check out.
So, Ben, my bike tech fixed my back tire and deleted the squeal and I admired the view, on now clear day.
No, silly, not those views. These views.
The Paramedic Team, god bless them, manage to have cute butts without the help of Spandex. So, Sunny, this picture is for you. I also waived at, smiled at and thanked every paramedic I passed, you know, for you. I kept my distance though, because unlike some of us, I prefer not to ride with these boys in the back of their van. It’s probably also worth noting that each rest stop is themed something different every day. These Roadies of Vegas plastered the inside of all the port-a-potties with porn.
After rest stop 3 I simply powered through until camp, taking a quick bike ride into and out of rest stop 4 to check out the “scenery” (everyone knows the boys of rest stop 4 are the hottest and they almost never wear more than a speedo, unless they are in costume).
The route highlights for day were were srsly, THE PIE BARN. Srsly. I don’t know where it is, all I know is that somewhere between SF and Santa Cruz exists a barn with a small parking lot that says “Welcome to the Pie Barn” and has hand painted pictures of pie everywhere. I didn’t stop. I will regret this maybe until I die.
CAMP.
Camp is more or less a Utopian society. 2500 residents. Everyone has a job, a tent, plenty of food. No locks on anything. No crime. Just lots of people who love each other very much.
Camp works like this: A Roadie Crew travels one day ahead of the riders to set up food, medical and staff tents to house general operational things. They also deliver about 60 port-a-potties and a few semi trucks that are our mobile showing units. The day the riders come, the Gear Trucks will get to camp no later than 1pm to unload everyone’s gear and tents. Riders show up starting between 11am and 1pm each day. The only scheduled item is camp news and announcements at 7:30pm.
The routine changes depending on what time you get to camp and what your most pressing needs are, but I pretty much stuck to: Park bike, pee, get gear, set up tent, shower, eat, journal, stretch, watch camp program, eat again, drink some water, pee, sleep, pee, sleep etc. until wake up call between 4:30pm – 5:30am.
So, some random photos to introduce you to camp . . .
Tent city: I’m in G39, can you find me?
No. Neither could I half the time.
Home: Note the clothes drying out . . .
I only have one pair of shorts, so I have to hang them to dry in the sun for the morning. Everything else is hanging so it won’t sit wet in my gear bag for the next 6 days.
Random Totem Pole I found:
Spider web on Totem Pole:
MOTO Parking:
Dinner on Day 1 was salty. I remember no other specifics. I ended up sitting next to two really hot guys – both with wives on the ride – both bruins. So basically, FAIL.
Bed time was 8:30pm.
Side Note: 3 people today told me they like the color of my bike. Jerks.
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