December 15, 2009
levi’s gran fondo | coleman valley road…
We turned left. At first it didn’t seem that bad. I told myself everyone had made a big deal about this section because of how late in the day it came. I pretended it wasn’t going to be too bad.
Before the ride an acquaintance had told me, as he accompanied me for a training ride, that Coleman Valley road wouldn’t be the so bad because “you could see the top.” At the time I’d thought it was a silly thing to say. As the incline increased more than 16% and I looked up the road at the cyclists half way up the climb the only thought I had was that I was never going to make it.
Sam had dropped me early in the climb and I was unable to stay on any of the passing wheels. The wind whipped me around the narrow road and I started to worry about a crash. My muscles burned. I was out of the saddle more than I should have been willing my legs to turn the pedals over one more time.
There was a slight leveling out and a cyclist in a jersey plastered with the word ALAMEDA came past me. Alameda. I read the word to myself and it came out, “home.” It made no sense, but I felt connected to this man from my home town; he’d purchased that jersey at a bike shop three blocks from my mom’s house. I convinced myself I would work with him. I’d jump onto his back wheel and we’d pedal through the wind together. Casually, I’d say something to my new buddy as we pushed ourselves over the hill and out of the wind. We’d talk about Alameda and I’d ask him if he knew so and so…
I hung on, just off his back wheel, drifting with the wind for a mile or so. For a second I was almost close enough to say something to him. It would have been my way of alerting him, “I’m here, just right here, and if you ease off, just a bit, we can conquer this beast.” But I slipped back, a little at first but soon the pavement was flooding the space between us. Then he was gone and I was alone again.
Sam waited at the top. Standing over the top tube of his Trek he asked me if I wanted to stop at the rest stop and grab a snack. I shook my head and said something about getting it over with.
And we rolled down the backside of the hill. We’d made it to the top of Coleman Valley Road, we hadn’t walked and we were done climbing. We talked a little about how easy the last 20 miles would be. It was a great feeling.
We were still in the hills and the road rolled but the pace was easy and we were happy. A few other cyclists had gathered on the road around us. There was no organization. We rode all over the road and, if I had to guess, we all felt like the ride was pretty much over; the last 20 miles would just be a formality.
When we saw the climb, looming around the bend with no end in sight, the group groaned. Sam tells me that as the other riders groaned I looked at him and, according to him, with absolutely no emotion, I said, “this is going to be fun.” Allegedly, that was the last thing I said to Sam before we met again at the finish line.
That part of my memory is missing but I do remember feeling like someone had pulled an evil prank on me, adding one last climb just to put me in my place.
The fire wasn’t me. I went through the motions and moved slowly up the hill. People rode past me as if I was standing still. I didn’t care. When I did make it the top I didn’t allow myself to believe it. The flat road led me past the final rest stop and I slowed, briefly, to see if Sam was waiting for me. He wasn’t there and I rolled on.
When I was sure there were no more surprise climbs I started looking for some wheels to follow. In the last 12 or 13 miles I jumped from group to group, taking long turns at the front. The wind was behind us and I’d recovered from my funk. I pulled together a group of 5 and we worked our way into Santa Rosa. We rode in silence. Each of us thinking about the first beer (it would be a complimentary can of Fat Tire) or maybe that was just me.
The gravel was that last obstacle. Long and straight. The group I was with spread out, nervous about slipping or the need to stop quickly. My left foot started to hurt but I knew that once we got back onto pavement we would be done.
The gravel stretched on. My odometer ticked off the miles. In my head tried to calculate how much further we had to go.
Then it happened. We turned onto the road and into the the finishing straight.
It was over.
All that was left was beer. And pizza.
We loaded the car and drove east. We didn’t stay for the festival. It was perfect.
At 9:00 AM PST I’ll be registering for the 2010 ride.
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Awesome, indeed! Great story!
Great stuff. Before I got to the last bit I was going to ask if you were coming back for ’10. Curious that there seem to be a cluster of other Fondos starting up this year, albeit none near me, but it’s still a good sign for cycling.
Thanks guys. As a side note, that was the last time I rode that bike. Bought myself a carbon frame the next day (with a compact crankset). I didn’t know it at the time, but it was the perfect way to retire an old friend.
That sounds like a great ride. I thought about registering for it but after a few longer training rides, I realized I was fooling myself and needed to be a lot more realistic about my goals.
So, maybe I’ll run into you in 2011.
I’ve seen word about some other Fondos and I hope it becomes a trend.