King Ridge Grasshopper

Well, Charles certainly captured the spirit of the day with the "Rathhopper" moniker. I still had fun, although in hindsight I always seem to forget about the sheer misery. The ride to the base of the climb was awesome, once again quick but a rolling social outing with friends from past and present. My legs felt like crud once the climb started. I saw LOTS of folks turning around, including Boba Tribe. Hmm. Probably a wise move as the rain started, but I have the day free, what the heck. I was fortunate to spend most of King Ridge riding alternately with two groups of guys, a Soul Craft/Eastside duo and Chaz and his friend. I used up some karma descending like a banshee down Hauser Bridge, but I couldnt feel my fingers to brake and it seemed to work out. Things felt okay until SeaView, which always seems to be my nemesis on these rides. Emil said the SeaView section that day was one of the top 5 most miserable experiences hes had on a bike, and Id have to agree. I was alone in between those two groups of guys. Riding on SeaView/Myers was like a long grey tunnel (Alisons words) with driving rain and sleet like nails hitting my face. The visibility couldnt have been more than a couple yards at this point. I couldnt feel my hands or feet. Now, I must have descended Myers Grade almost a hundred times, but this day I didnt know I was heading down Myers until the halfway mark, the visibility was that bad. Mike, Allison, & Ray caught me climbing out of Russian Gulch. What a relief to have some familiar wheels to follow along that section. After Jenner, Mike, Allison, Charles and I decided to go up Willow Creek, where we wrestled with flats then finished the climb with seized legs, stopped to tell Kim we had done the Willow Creek "Alternate Route," and headed to the Union for some red meat.

-Cathy

"To Build A Fire"

Was it simply karma or the judgment of an angry god to inflict such misery upon a poor soul as me today. Perhaps unpreparedness played a part.

Rain and southwest wind was forecast for late afternoon but the morning half an hour before takeoff time was only overcast. I even debated shorts but settled for long pants. However, keeping with my philosophy of optimism, regular riding gloves were selected instead of a nice pair of windproof and waterproof gloves sent all the way from Alaska by one of my intelligent offspring. This choice plays a major role in what follows. Also, once again, my neon green water resistant windbreaker instead of a true rain jacket, was my torso package. Water resistant, as all of you know, means dry for two minutes or less in real rain.

As customary, we depart from the Union around 10:15. The run down the Boho is uneventful, unlike the February ride. Customary ablutions are performed on the road edge near Duncans Mills. The ride is smooth into Cazadero. Precipitation has began. The ride up Kings, even if wet, is the best part of the day for me. I had passed a number of people and was envisioning a very satisfactory time at the junction of Tin Barn and Hauser when my momentum slowed considerably. It took another hundred yard of pedaling to realize the rear tire has no air. My hands are cold, fingertips numb, but workable, although not sensitive to the tiny foreign object embeded in the tire rubber. Remember the glove choice. The change and pump up take 12 to 15 minutes. I really am not dexderous at the moment. Riders are flying by. Maybe 60 pounds pressure gets in and off I go. Alone into wind and rain.

I watch others, Cathy from NorCal Velo, shoot by me on the descent to Hauser Bridge. Wet roads and skinny tires have psychic powers over my brain. I am tethered to the image of a mangled me on these descents. I pass more riders and end up at Meyers without company. If it was cold, wet, and windy on Seaview, Ft Ross, please double it for the Meyers descent. Oh, and add fog.

Finally the coast is reached. Im shaking. Fingers are now genuinely numb and close to non operative. At Jenner I look for vehicles and people I might know. Bail out time overdue but no one around. And then, just past the gas station, another flat. I am having trouble just unsrewing the valve stem and know I cant work the pump so back to the station, twist on a fitting, hit the air compresson, and take off for 50 yards. Fortunatly, Mike, Allison, and Cathy have stopped just ahead to help Ray with a flat. They help me, meaning Allison gives me a spare tube and Mike installs it and inflates the tire. Edward Scissorshands would do better than me at this point.

Off we go and thank God, turn onto Willow Creek. Mud lies ahead but even pedaling uphill in wet cement is better than wind driven rain on Hwy One with the added pleasure of passing trucks towing travel homes. And after a couple of miles of Willow Creek, another gdfking flat. Mike produces another tube. There are people who think ahead and carry a couple spares for days like this. Wish I were one of them. He carefully searchs and finds it. A tiny sticker. The cause of three flats. Remember the gloves mentiioned earlier? All I needed was one warm fingertip for salvation. Could have found the sticker. Ever read To Build A Fire by Jack London? If stranded alone, like his protaganist, tomorrows Press Democrat would read, biker found frozen on highway, not hit by car but frozen. He could have lived had he made better decisions about handwear.

Finally the top of Willow Creek. I am not going down Coleman to check in. I turn right, then left on Joy. A trail of discarded spandex leads to the shower.

Was it worth it? Hell no. Will I forget what was learned today? Probably. Did I have to tell the wife that she was right when she said before I left that it would be rainy, windy, and miserable and I would end up calling this event, not the Grasshopper but rather the Rathopper? Yes.

Cheers, Charles

2008

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