Blog

Day 2 is the longest day of the ALC. I’ve split the recap into two parts, of which this is the first. The stats below relate to the entire day’s ride.

Route: ridewithgps.com/routes/46873101
Miles ridden: 106.8
Feet climbed: 3,419
Total time: 10:19
[NB: some photos courtesy Mel Embree, Chris Eisenberg, and Dorothee Kruegermann]

In addition to over 100 miles of riding, Day 2 features a forty degree change in temperature from cool coastal fog to blistering valley heat. There isn’t a ton of climbing, but it has a couple of ride pitfalls for Kathy: the short and ridiculously steep climb up the hill from the beach at Rio Del Mar (which she’d never made it to the top of), and lunch at Salinas (at which point it is so enticing to quit for the day). So those were our two objectives—or at least mine: Climb Rio Del Mar and get Kathy on the bike after lunch in Salinas.

I’m tempted to add, “so I’ll never have to hear about them again.” And true, that was part of my motivation, in that I wanted her to conquer, if you will, these challenges. But in retrospect, now that I’ve experienced all of the areas Kathy has called me to complain about, I see that her complaints are legitimate. Which is to say not the result of excess fatigue or lack of adequate training. The hill at Rio Del Mar is a motherfucker, no two ways about it. And the road between Salinas and Gonzales is one long crappy piece of bad pavement through a shadeless, desiccated landscape of dusty agricultural fields blasted by hot wind and unforgiving sun. The last stretch of Jolon Road into King City is worse, virtually unridable. Having ridden between Salinas and King City, I can honestly say I never want to ride those roads ever again. And I would never try to convince Kathy, or anyone I like, to cowboy up and ride out of Salinas that day. Having suffered through these trials and many others along the route, I will forever be more empathic knowing Kathy is not exaggerating what lousy, difficult sections they are.

Morning in Santa Cruz

Like the day before, Day 2 got off to a bad start even before we got on the bike. We’d agreed to meet at 6:15 am. No riders were allowed on the course until then. And there were enough riders who were even more anxious than I to get an early start, so every day a line began forming about 30 minutes before start time. In fact, I’ve heard there are sometimes fights over who is first in line. Who needs to deal with that? Rather than stand in line, our plan was to meet when the gate opened, get the bike ready, then join the much shorter line after the hammerheads were gone.

That being said, our training sessions taught us that our average time-made-good (breaks and all) rounds out to about 10 miles per hour. That meant we were in for 11 hours on the bike for a 110 mile ride. In other words, a long-ass day even if everything went well. Plus a day that would get progressively hotter every hour we were on the bike. We needed to get rolling as soon as we could.

Kathy’s plan had been to arrive early, go to the Sports Med tent, and get some work done on her back. She and Roger arrived a little after 6. There was a very long line at Sports Med, which meant a long delay in our start. Her comment to me was, “It is what it is,” by which I took to mean she was going to wait in the damn line no matter how long it took because she needed to.

I was a little miffed. First that she hadn’t foreseen a long line and planned for it (this was her seventh ALC, after all), and second, that she had so little regard about how I might feel about it. That her preemptive comment was so unapologetically brusque. So she went to stand in line while I took the bike lights and nav unit (which she charged overnight) and walked across the camp to get everything ready on the bike for whenever the fuck she would be ready to leave. Like Day 1, not a good start.

Not long after I was done, Kathy and Roger walked up. Screw it, Kathy decided, the line was too long. Part of me was relieved we’d get going earlier rather than later; another part worried how her untreated back would hold up over such a grueling day. But there we were. I rolled the tandem near the start gate (because standing hurt Kathy’s back more than just about anything else), then went to stand in line.

We talked about it later and I learned Kathy had never had gone to Sports Med in the morning, so no, she didn’t know the line would be so long. And for all we know, if she had waited in line, maybe her back would have held up better over the course of the ride. In addition to increasing her enjoyment, it might also have saved time in the long run. Unknowable at this point, and certainly unknowable on that damp, cool morning before a 100-mile ride. What’s weird is that her back didn’t hurt while riding, at least not until we hit even colder weather later in the ride. So long as she was on the bike it was fine.

In any case, once I got to where Kathy and the tandem were, we walked the bike to the gate and rolled out. Not on the worst terms maybe, but each of us holding some apprehension about how well we’d fare that day individually and as a team.

Santa Cruz to Rio Del Mar

The morning roll out was lovely. It was damp with a thick marine layer. I had to wipe my glasses with my gloves repeatedly. But Santa Cruz can be downright freezing on a June morning, and for all the low clouds and damp earth, the temperature wasn’t too bad. Good thing, because one of my last-minute decisions was to leave my riding knickers (below-the-knee length) at home to save space, reasoning I could tough out a cold morning. I was glad I’d made the right decision.

So we passed through Santa Cruz picking up where we’d left off the day before pointing out landmarks (breakfast at the Harbor Cafe, the beach house I shared with two other students for $550/month, surf spots, Zelda’s in Capitola). Rest Stop 1 was just past Mile 9—ridiculously early for such a long-day’s ride—so we skipped it.

A mile further on we came to the climb at Rio Del Mar. Remember the formula from my Day 1 post about calculating downhill bike speed (mg sin 𝛳)? Well, all those forces that make the downhill so fast also work to make the uphill that much harder. It takes a lot more to get a steel tandem up a hill than it does a single carbon bike. Plus, as I mentioned before, our gearing is higher, which means we need to push harder. Kathy really wanted to make it to the top the Rio Del Mar climb this year. So much so we’d even planned a trip to Santa Cruz just to pre-ride this obnoxious little hill. We also practiced riding the tandem while standing to give us more power on steep hills. As an alternate plan, we talked about stopping in the adjacent parking lot to rest up a bit, eat something small, and rehydrate before attempting the climb.

In the end, all of our plans came to naught. Due to weather and injuries, we ran out of time to meet in Santa Cruz to practice riding hill. We didn’t get enough time in for Kathy to feel comfortable standing up and pedaling the tandem. And once we saw the hill, neither of us wanted to stop. I must have asked three or four times, “Are you sure?” She was. Plus, by some chance we were in a large enough pocket: no one to stop in front of us unexpectedly, and no one breathing down our necks from behind. So, FUGIT! We rolled through the roundabout at the bottom of the hill, dropped down into the granny gear and pounded up that goddamned climb. I was out of the saddle the entire time. I could hear Kathy’s breaths getting increasingly strained, huffing and puffing as she gave it everything she had. Near the top I reassured her, “Only thirty more seconds.” Her labored breathing really worried me, but she kept at it.

Sure enough, thirty seconds later we were done with the worst of it. There was still hill to climb, but it wasn’t as steep. We’d made it. Once Kathy could talk again she told me how happy that made her.

I agreed. It felt great to mount that climb. This was what the ALC really was for me. I get the whole fundraising thing and the community support thing and all of that. But really, I was there for one reason: to support Kathy the best way I knew how. She’d ridden ALC six times. I’d given her training and equipment advice over the years. I’d given her real-time riding advice when she called to ask whether she should ride in the rain (No) or brave the desolation of the Salinas Valley (Yes). But the best thing I could do for her, in my mind, was to ride with her, help her through the roughest times, keep her company, encourage her. As I’ve said earlier, it wasn’t all rainbow and unicorns, and god knows I did it as much for myself as for her. But moments like this, feeling her elation at the top of a climb that for one reason or another eluded her, were exactly why I cajoled her for years to consider riding with me on the tandem.

Rio Del Mar to Pezzini Farms

The next section was nice, quiet. Mostly. At some point along a residential section we experienced that phenomenon where a ALC rider stops without notice for a reason that is not apparent to anyone behind them. We happened to be passing at the time and watched a near train wreck of a line of ten bikes almost take place. Screeching brakes, tire skids, yelling . . . The whole bit. The reason for the stop? A couple walking their dog 100 feet ahead wanted to cross the street, and not in a crosswalk. The lead rider either panicked about the dog or wanted to be polite. Either way, she neglected to tell the riders behind her, coming to a complete halt without a word or a signal to anyone around her, nearly causing a pile up that could have ended the ride for some.

This lack of situational awareness is another reason for some of the strict riding rules of ALC: Keep at least one bike length apart and no pace-lining. There are too many inexperienced riders on the ALC. Their lack of experience makes them unpredictable, and that lack of knowing how to ride in groups can—and I’m sure does—cause crashes. In fact, Kathy failed to make the Rio Del Mar climb one year because the rider in front of her suddenly stopped without warning. One of the reasons she is so fixated on riding in a pocket whenever possible.

Further on we entered the artichoke fields west of Watsonville and had a lovely ride on a few narrow, deserted roads. That is, until we came to Highway 1. If you’ve ever driven that road near Moss Landing you know how congested it gets. Endless lines of cars, all driving as fast as they can, the frustration of being forced to slow on this two-lane stretch palpable. This was a loud, uncomfortable stretch of road, and we were all too happy to get off it. Before doing so, we stopped at a restroom/water stop in the shadow of Mighty Moss (the Moss Landing Power Plant). For one thing, Kathy’s back was getting worse as the day went on, and we still had 60 miles to go. It was also nice to take a break from the breakneck traffic we’d been riding alongside.

A few miles past Mighty Moss we came to another water stop at Pezzini Farms. In years past, this was an unofficial stop. It’s a cute little farm stand just off Highway 1. Being near Castroville, “The Artichoke Center of the World,” the stand features artichokes: deep-fried artichokes, artichoke muffins, artichoke parmesan pasta sauce . . . you get the idea. The stand was augmented by a couple of food trucks. Kathy was insistent we stop there. And the stop looked likely to be very long. Bikes everywhere, riders everywhere, long lines everywhere. I was not happy. But Kathy insisted. Pezzini’s was one of the areas she’d told me throughout our training we had to stop at no matter how long the delay. Everything in me wanted to skip the stop and move on to avoid worse conditions further down the road. I had lengthening miles and increasing temperatures on my mind. At the same time, I promised Kathy I would try my best not to do anything to ruin the parts of the ride she wanted to enjoy. So we stopped.

At the time I put Kathy’s insistence down to her nature as a creature of habit, or maybe tradition. I assumed Pezzini Farms meant deep-fried artichokes and she was going to have them because that’s what she does on Day Two of the ALC. Period. I later learned she had only started going there a couple of years earlier. That in prior years she’d ruefully skipped Pezzini to save time because she was so far behind already, and that once she’d stopped, she’d realized how great of a stop it was, both as a physical and mental reprieve and as a reinvigorating break. Part of the fun of the ALC experience. I mean, look at the expression on her face in that picture!

For me, a satisfying break means ten minutes maximum, preferably one involving espresso; for Kathy it is something more soul-satisfying, like the electric buzz of energy at a place like Pezzini. My respites fit into my need for a quiet, short break and caffeine; hers were of a different order. So, as I said, we stopped: me reluctantly, her in a more positive frame of mind.

Kathy hobbled over to a food line, clearly in a great deal of pain (uneven ground was the worst, and nearly all stops were on unpaved areas) while I raced around the lot looking for the shortest porta-potty line, noting that the food line was epic and assuming we’d be there the better part of an hour. I found the shortest line I could and it still took 15 minutes. I’d have wandered over and peed by the back fence to save time, but I figured I’d be waiting for Kathy anyway, so I didn’t bother. Business done, hands washed and sanitized, I wandered back to the bike to wait. Only to find Kathy waiting for me. She’d found a shorter, non-epic line off to the side. She’d had her snack and was ready to go. I gave her a hug and called her a rock star for avoiding the huge delay and we got going again.

Pezzini Farms to Salinas

The ride from Highway 1 to Salinas is not a happy one. There are some pretty areas, but for the most part, the roads are not too scenic and traffic increases the closer you get to town. We fell in with a group and moved along pretty well, pushed here and there by the onshore breeze blowing in behind us. It was an uneventful stretch that took us to lunch at Salinas’s Central Park. Somewhere in there we passed Rest Stop 2. Like the day before, it was very crowded, and only a few miles past Pezzini Farms, so we rolled past without stopping.

Once we hit Central Park we parked the bike and started a routine that would carry for the rest of the week: Kathy found a good place to sit and rest her back while I picked up food and refilled her water bottles, all to relieve the utter pain she felt whenever she was off the bike. Roger met us and we sat with some other folks from the Chain Gang, Kathy’s local training group, whom I’ve also come to know in the past six months. It was a lovely, pleasant, low-key lunch.

The only question was whether that would end the ride for the day. There were good arguments in favor of stopping. Kathy’s back was killing her. And leaving Salinas is similar in a sense to sailing the California coast: once you leave port, you’re at the mercy of the elements for quite a long time with no refuge nearby. Sailing California isn’t like sailing, say the New England coast, where you can find places to duck into by the hour. Similarly, once you start out from Salinas, there’s nothing until Gonzales, over 20 miles away. It’s a commitment. But when I asked Kathy she looked at me like I was stupid. Of course she was going to continue. There was no thought in her mind about quitting. So we mounted the bike and were soon rolling through the commercial core of Salinas headed east to catch farm roads to the south.