Shasta Explorer - Chico foothills ride on 3.1.08

Weather: Low 40’s in the morning, reaching a high of 61 degrees.

Riders in attendance: Linda Zorn, Paul McIntyre, Kerry Kelly and Mike Trowbridge.

Brooke Henderson was under strict orders to stay off her bike until her injury heals but she showed up to offer her support in the form of home baked banana bread and a healthy dose of encouragement…

Mike, also injured with several broken ribs after getting caught in a crash during the Paskenta ‘ride’ put in a courageous effort up Honeyrun. He mashed and muscled his way to the top, seated the entire way and clearly in pain. In Paradise it was recommended that he cut his ride short or risk doing some major damage to his already banged up body.

If Mike had grown up in Europe he would have been a great classics rider. In a race with mud, rain, cobblestones, crashes and punctures he would have been the guy that out suffered and outlasted everyone else to win solo from a shattered peloton. His competitors and the rest of the world would believe he was having the time of his life out there as evidenced by the monster grin on his face... Those that know him better would know it was really a grimace of pain and determination that he can maintain for days on end if necessary.

(Mike let me know if you need me to bring my lawn mower over and take care of your lawn – I owe you one…)

Linda, Paul and Kerry did the day’s first two climbs, Honeyrun and Coutolenc and at Clark Rd we parted ways. Not everyone had the opportunity to spend the entire day in the saddle as I was planning to do.

Descending back into the valley the wind made notice that it was going to be a factor today. What started out as a strong crosswind on Clark would be a direct headwind by rides end and while I had shelter from the day’s tailwinds on the secluded climbs of my route, the more open descents were usually head on into the winds blowing up the canyons.

On the climb to Cherokee I stopped a few times to make minor adjustments to my bike, shoes and assorted equipment that was on its maiden voyage. This was the third ride on my new bike (and the first long one) and no matter how much you try to get things dialed in to your old position there are always things you don’t start to notice until about three hours into a ride. The biggest problem was getting the buckle and straps of my shoes to not irritate the tendons above my ankle when pulling up on the pedals. Having been through all of this before I had the presence of mind to bring a handful of small foam cushions for just such a scenario.

It took a few tries to get things just right but by the top of the Cherokee climb body and bike were once again happy with each other. Now that I was no longer dealing with aches and pains I could get down to the business of enjoying my ride and the scenic lava fields on the top of Cherokee ridge never seem to disappoint.

The grass was the deepest shade of green I have ever seen and the sky was a brilliant blue. The usual valley haze had been cleared out by the winds so by all appearances you could reach out and touch the Marysville Buttes. The coastal range was clear and sharp and the snow capped Sierra’s behind me framed wildflowers in bloom for as far as the eye could see. Cherokee road was mostly deserted with the exception of a few parents who had ventured up the ridge to fly kites with their kids.

As I rode along the plateau and surveyed the landscape below I was reminded why I started riding a bike in the first place. Man and the natural world can combine on a bike in a way that seldom happens these days. Neither one fighting for control over the other, both existing in perfect harmony… As I began the fast sweeping descent down to Oroville I delighted in the graceful arcs that my bike carved through the apex of the bumpy turns and I felt sad for everyone who had to attend to other obligations on such a glorious day. For the next twenty miles or so I was on autopilot, listening to the sound of the wind and feeling the steady rhythm of my pedals strokes.

As I topped out on the steepest section of Royal Oaks Dr I realized that my route selection based on the most climbing I could manage to accumulate on a ‘foothills ride’ might come back to haunt me in another couple of hours but I was still looking forward to the uncharted (by me anyway) roads that lie just ahead.

At 77 miles I got to the good stuff, Old Olive Hwy was a sinewy series of rollers and switchbacks that I could have ridden all day but after a few miles it intersects Forbestown Rd. which is more like a real highway. There wasn’t much traffic out there but there also wasn’t much shoulder and I was happy to get back onto single lane rural roads again.

I started down Hurletown Swedes Flat Rd and was reveling in today’s route selection when the road suddenly ended, or more accurately, should have ended. What lay in my path instead was a steep rutted gravel descent that looked like a badly neglected driveway.

I hadn’t ridden this far to turn around now but a moment of fear struck as I realized I may be unwittingly committing to another 20 miles of the worst kind of cyclocross possible on 23c tires. My arms were taking a beating and my eyeballs were bouncing so violently I could barely focus, but my biggest concern was the realization that I probably couldn’t ride back up the route I was now descending if I changed my mind later. I also worried that I would spend the rest of the day fixing pinch flats, but after a mile or two the road became less steep and turned into more of a traditional dirt road instead of the steep, rutted, gravel path I had started out on.

When I got to Swedes Flat Rd. things improved again as this section looked like it had been used recently. It also contained periodic signs of human activity though the inhabitants here were probably not the kind you would ever want to depend on for help… I am not sure if it was the improving road conditions or the fear of being killed and eaten but my average speed was now well above the 5 mph I had been struggling to maintain for the last several miles of descent.

I would like to point out that I have never had very good luck with road names that begin with the word “Swede” and I think I now know why Volvo’s have such a reputation for durability. A few miles later I was relieved to find that, though far from being flat, Swede’s Flat Rd was become a real road again, complete with pavement and everything…

I crested a short climb and was treated to one of the most amazing views I have witnessed from a bike. Below me was a ribbon of slinky asphalt plummeting through a spectacular valley and from my vantage point I was again atop rolling green hills underneath a wall of snowcapped peaks. It was almost surreal, like in a picture book of Ireland, or a road you see when you are dreaming. However in this case the dream came with a stiff headwind that I would have to face for the next 40 miles.

The descent, as impressive as it looked from above, was over with quickly but at least it was warmer in the valley and there was intermittent shelter from the wind. I was also treated to an eight foot wide sash of broken pavement that someone humorously named ‘Oroville Bangor highway’.

By this time I was looking forward to getting some lunch and refilling my bottles. I rode the first 100 miles on two bottles of protein drink and a granola bar because I knew that I would have a major headwind on the way home and my ultra slow-speed gravel balancing act had put me behind my projected timetable.

I wanted a couple extra hours of daylight in the event that I got flats, bonked or simply found another cool road that begged to be explored. That meant that during the first six hours there would be no time for stopping to enjoy the scenery or basking in the sun. I also decided to delay lunch until I was back on schedule with my original time table.

By Oroville I had ramped it up enough to get back on track so I stopped at a mini-mart to refill my bottles and find more palatable calories than those that were in my pockets. It was then that I discovered my seat bag with my entire savings of $22.00, my spare tubes, my patch kit and my mini tool were no longer along for the ride.

Apparently my arms and average speed weren’t the only victims of the constant hammering of Hurletown Swedes Flat Rd. In the past 25 years I have never carried more than $5.00 on my bike and I have never actually needed to spend any of it. I have kept that much in my bag, mostly for use as a tire boot because nothing on the market works as well as a fresh Ben Franklin – except maybe five fresh George Washington’s… Today though I was planning on breaking with the tradition of total independence from the outside world I and I was going to splurge on a fresh banana and maybe even some sort of junk food.

Instead I had to take stock of what remained in my pockets, three more granola bars, the piece of banana bread that Brooke gave me and two tooth paste shaped, coffee flavored Clif shots that if memory serves I still had from my old racing days. I have been recycling them for years, just in case, but no matter how hungry I have been on a ride I have never gotten THAT desperate.(In fact I am pretty sure that I would have eaten my handlebar tape first anyway)

I often though of throwing them away because of the mental image of having to eat 15 year old coffee flavored toothpaste that was awful even in the decade when it was fresh, but I am not the type to let something useable go to waste… Someday, maybe if my hand ever got stuck under a boulder and I was barely clinging to life inside a slot canyon, maybe I would need one… to end my suffering!

Anyway, I filled up my water bottles, ate my remaining granola bars and washed it down with Brook’s banana bread. I eyed one of the Clif shot’s, albeit briefly because as soon as I squeezed the tube and it refused to yield a shudder went down my spine. I put it back in my pocket continuing the tradition of never being that desperate…

For the next 20 miles or so I put my head down against the wind and made steady progress but I was clearly fading and for the first time I started to wonder if just maybe I had gotten myself in over my head this time. I had felt good all day but now my legs were gone and I had the familiar sensations of honest to God suffering, like in the glory days of yore.

I started the last climb of the day, the final ascent to Paradise and just tried to make the pedals go around as all my muscle groups began to seize up. A few minutes of muscle group roulette and I was on the ropes. Fire the quad and the hamstring goes, compensate with the calf and the back lets go. Even my fingers and toes were cramping and they weren’t even contributing anything meaningful to my forward progress…

At the top of Pentz I stopped and assessed my situation. I probably wasn’t going to make it the remaining twenty miles, though mostly downhill, unless I did something desperate. I took out my two Clif shots and looked at them again… I squeezed them and they steadfastly refused to budge. I considered the nutritional value of their plastic wrap… I considered the nutritional value of the Lorica uppers of my shoes.

In a moment of desperation I broke the seal, pointed it at my mouth and squeezed for all I was worth… Something came out and it tasted vaguely like a moldy pot of coffee smells. It kind of burned on the way down but it was too late now. I had taken a fatal dose. Just to be sure there would be no turning back I did the same with the second package and then I waited for the onset of convulsions.

Nothing.

Denied the satisfaction of a rapid death I remounted my bike in search of a more scenic final resting place. Maybe the top of Honeyrun would be a fitting place for my last hurrah… As I got closer to my destination I noticed that the once insurmountable rollers appeared considerably smaller and in fact I was now going over them in the big ring.

I looked down thinking maybe I was having a hallucination but it was my spindly little legs that were turning those cranks, and they actually felt good! I looked at my speed and it was above 18 mph and climbing. I watching with amusement as my legs continued to tap out an ever increasing rhythm with seemingly no input from me.

I came down Honeyrun like I had been fired out of a slingshot and I maintained a steady 19 -20 mph into the headwind the rest of the way into Chico. When I got back to my house my odometer had recorded 140 miles and I felt like I was just getting warmed up. I though about climbing Cohasset or at least a doing short time trial up Humboldt... Then the realization hit me, what happens when I come off of whatever it is was that had coalesced in those old Clif shots?

I did the math in my head and realized that some very bad things were going to happen very soon. I had eaten two Trail Mix granola bars for 280 calories, two Sweet & Salty granola bars, 340 calories, two large bottles of protein powder 440 calories, one slice of banana bread, maybe 240 calories, and two Clif Shots for about 400 calories total. That’s about 1700 calories fueling a nine hour ride where I was probably burning a minimum of 1000 calories per hour. That meant I was now 7300 calories in the red in the hole was getting bigger by the minute… So either that coffee flavored Clif shot had a healthy dose of caffeine or it had somehow distilled itself down into pure crystal meth. Either way I knew that when whatever it was that had just happened began to wear off it was going to get ugly real fast!

I went home, hopped in the shower, put my clothes in the laundry and was getting ready to wash my bike when the big crash started. Though I was sick to my stomach I forced a bowl of corn flakes down and then went straight to bed. I slept for a couple of hours and when I woke up I felt mortal again, with all the associated mortal symptoms, like being tired and sore and hungry.

If I was the UCI I think I would do extra testing on anyone sponsored by Clif. I don’t know what is in that stuff but it must be illegal… I also think I may order a case myself, you know, just for research… I may want to ride across the country on a whim someday and I figured a handful of those mocha thingies would probably do the trick.