Feeling full of myself for having completed the Rock Cobbler I decided to sign up for a 300 km ride from San Francisco up through Marin and Sonoma Counties with the San Francisco Randonneurs. However, as I crawled out of bed at 4 AM I started having doubts. Wouldn’t my day be better spent doing something else? Anything else? Frost on my windshield delayed my departure, meaning I would be cutting it close to make it to the start on time. I could have driven faster to make up time, but I held back as if I was subconsciously looking for an excuse to bail out.
About 10 minutes before the scheduled departure I pulled into the parking lot, assembled my bike, stuffed my pockets with food, paid for parking and rolled down to the start. I was running about 5 minutes late so I missed the riders’ meeting where we raise our right hand or our far right hand and pledge not to do anything stupid. But if riding 300 km isn’t stupid, I don’t know what is. I rolled around the plaza at the Golden Gate Bridge looking for the guy doing the check-in, but I couldn’t find him. Now’s my chance to bail. But suddenly he appeared. “You Jaime? Got you checked in. You’re good to go.” OK, I’m committed now.
The ride started by crossing the Golden Gate Bridge into Sausalito where I slowed to watch the lights go down in The City and the sun shine on The Bay before continuing my journey through the Marin County suburbs. Leaving Fairfax, home of Johnny Jihad, the route entered rural Marin County passing through the small towns of San Geronimo, Woodacre and Lagunitas. Too early for an IPA, so I pushed on into the redwoods through Samuel P. Taylor State Park, where it is always cold, dark and damp. Out of the redwoods the road turned inland. The sun finally came out as the road passed alongside Nicasio Reservoir, or as my mind calls it Ocasio Cortez Reservoir, though I guess it should be empty to fully qualify for that name.
Several miles later at the top of a hill I caught up with some of the other riders, a flock of Asians, or maybe a gaggle of Nguyens. Heading down the hill we were being held up by a car when one of the riders passed him on the right. Asian bikers. After that the car kept moving across the center line as if to let others pass to his right, but that just seemed like a bad idea on such a winding road. Eventually I did pass him when I got a chance, but pro tip: while I appreciate the consideration, just keep driving normally. It’s not worth the risk. I’ll take it slower if I have to. Or stay right, and I’ll pass on the left. Put the onus on the anus.
Before long we entered Petaluma, about a quarter of the way done. Every time I think of that town, I hear my dad say “Petaluma? I don’t even know what a luma is.” I don’t know either, but it’s probably something like a leppo. No, my dad isn’t Gary Johnson. Petaluma is known as the Egg Capital of the World. As we entered town we passed several beautiful old mansions, probably owned by people who recently sold a few dozen eggs. Petaluma is also the childhood home of Winona Ryder, whose real name is Winona Horowitz, which maybe explains (((her))) attempt to get all those free clothes from Saks.
In Petaluma I hooked up with another rider, and we continued north with a slight tailwind aiding our progress. In Santa Rosa we passed a bunch of women gathering for an International Women’s Day protest. One was carrying a sign that said something about leaving her uterus alone, though by the looks of things she had nothing to worry about.
Once we left Santa Rosa on the Old Redwood Highway, the scenery became more rural as we made our way to the next checkpoint and lunch spot in Healdsburg, where I grabbed an espresso and a couple sandwiches. The next section of road wound its way past dozens of wineries. I’ll have to come back here with my wife to take advantage of her industry discount.
As we neared the Russian River there were signs saying there was a detour around a road closure ahead. The map on my computer said to stay the course. Others said their maps showed the detour. Google Maps confirmed that there was a road closure ahead. However, in my experience I can usually walk around a road closure so I continued straight, but the others turned around to take the detour. Fortunately I was right and I only had to walk about 100 yards around the closure, which was due to a mudslide that took out one lane of the road. Some randonneurs are real sticklers for rules (I suspect many were fervent maskers) so hopefully I don’t get disqualified for going through the road closure.
Just past the closure I recognized a place where I used to come with my parents. My dad’s best friend had a cabin here. Mostly I remember the heat, the rattlesnakes, the boredom, and a brush fire that was started by the kids of the guy in the cabin next door. The same guy lost the mayoral election in San Francisco thanks to shenanigans from Jim Jones and the Peoples Temple. I was around 10 at the time, so my memories of the origins of the fire might be a little shaky, but the rest is true.
The road followed the Russian River for the next 15 miles. We reached the halfway point near Guerneville (pronounced Gurney-ville by old timers, and Gurn-ville by nubes) and continued on to Monte Rio, home of the drinking club known as the Bohemian Grove. The road ended at Highway 1, and we took a left to head south. Just to the north lies Fort Ross, established by the Russian American Company in the early 1800s, which is how the Russian River got its name, though the Russians called it the Slavyanka.
The road climbed out of the river valley to the bluffs overlooking the Sonoma coast. The forecast had called for a light southerly breeze in the afternoon, but thankfully it seemed to be coming out of the west, making for easy riding. I remember riding this section of road as a teenager, RVs with protruding side view mirrors on one side and cliffs on the other, so I was dreading this section. But it seems that in the intervening years they’ve widened the road, and it isn’t peak tourist season, so it was a pleasant ride.
In the distance I could see Bodega Head marking the next town on the route, Bodega Bay, where Alfred Hitchcock filmed The Birds. I considered stopping for a snack, but I wanted to get off Highway 1 before dark and the sun was getting lower, so I kept going.
The course turned inland and up a series of small climbs. Eventually the main road went straight and Highway 1 turned right. The traffic got much lighter, but the road got much rougher. Being a really rural area there was the occasional stench from the surrounding ranches. Or maybe it was me. All the carbs were making me gassy. After passing through the tiny towns of Fallon and Valley Forge we dropped back down to sea level at Tomales where it was time for more caffeine, sugar and a pit stop. The ride was now about three quarters done.
I continued along the coast of Tomales Bay as the sun was setting. I pulled into Point Reyes Station at sundown and grabbed a bowl of clam chowder to warm up a little (and to make ’em louder) and chocolate milk for the calories. Unfortunately the clam chowder lacked salt and the chocolate milk lacked sugar. Damn hippies and their “health food”. While eating outside the store I started chatting with a couple other riders, and we decided to ride the last 30 miles together for the morale boost and for safety in the dark.
Leaving Point Reyes Station the road dropped into the crease in the terrain caused by the San Andreas Fault, and the air got cold and damp. I started shivering uncontrollably. If I don’t warm up, this could be a problem. These other guys seem cool and all, but I don’t want to have to cuddle with them for warmth. My computer said it was 37 degrees. Hopefully the air will warm up when we turn off to go uphill in a few miles or my body will warm up from the activity. As we started the next climb out of Olema, the temperature didn’t increase, but the dryer air, slower speed, and physical exertion warmed me up and the shivers stopped.
We rejoined the road that brought us to rural Marin County and reentered Samuel P. Taylor Park through the redwoods. The darkness was occasionally disrupted by passing cars, and we could smell the fires from the nearby campground. It was tempting to stop in to warm up, but we kept moving.
Over the next hill we dropped down into Fairfax and were back in the suburbs. We took a break in front of the old art deco movie theater in Larkspur before tackling the penultimate climb, which separated us from Mill Valley. Once on the other side it was a flat run along the bay to downtown Sausalito before the final climb to the bridge. Like a horse nearing water, the pace picked up.
On the last climb to the bridge we were caught by a few more riders, so we had a pretty good group for the final run across the bridge. The sidewalks on the Golden Gate Bridge are gated off at night as an anti-suicide measure, so we had to push a button at both ends for them to buzz us through. They obviously don’t do much screening for sanity, since they let us through.
Crossing the bridge I was watching the odometer on my computer. 298.9, 299.0, 299.1… Is it going to roll over to 300 by the end? This is going to be close. Maybe I should have taken that detour after all. If I finish short of 300 I’ll feel compelled to do this again. Fortunately just as we exited the bridge the computer showed 300 and I even had a little distance to spare as I checked in.
14 hours in the saddle and 16 hours overall is a long day, but I’m glad I did it. I doubt I’ll tackle any of the longer rides that the Randonneurs offer (400k, 600k, 1200k), but who knows? I never thought I would ride 300k. Thanks to keeping my heart rate in Zone 2 for almost the entire ride, I actually felt pretty good at the end. No cramps, no chafing. Physically I feel like I could do 400k, but I don’t really want to. For now.
I slowed to watch the lights go down in The City and the sun shine on The Bay
I saw what you did there.
Sounds like quite a Journey!
Too early for an IPA,
There’s your problem. Have a beer instead of an IPA.
/ducks
There’s several rides that are done in the area that go to several breweries, wineries, or cideries. The smarter ones partner with the organizers of the ride to shuttle purchases back to the finish area for you.
The next section of road wound its way past dozens of wineries. I’ll have to come back here with my wife to take advantage of her industry discount.
🙂
All the carbs were making me gassy.
Is that legal in California?
I had to buy some methane credits.
But at least you had some minor speed improvements, right? 🙂
The speed improvements were outweighed by the knowledge that you can never trust a fart.
At least not an old one!
Fortunately just as we exited the bridge the computer showed 300 and I even had a little distance to spare as I checked in.
Nicely done.
300 Ks, that’s a lot of mileage!
Good show, Jaime. When I was a Onescore I wouldn’t even walk a mile for a Camel.
/hides his metric century stickers and medals
Wait, you don’t mean Canukistani k-miles, do you?
UCS:
A metric century is 100 km or ~62.1 miles. A century is 100 miles.
Are we talking Kilomiles or Kilomils? Because 300 Kilomils is just 25 feet.
Nice writeup! That is a long day, something I’ve never done. One of my teammates reminded me that 2-3 hockey games in a day is just as difficult, but I don’t know.
Mrs. TOK did the Bataan Memorial Death March last weekend, 26.2 miles in the desert with a 35 pound ruck, about 10 hours. Despite the smiles on her Facebook posts, she sounded nearly dead at the end. She tried very hard to science out her nutrition, but that didn’t go very well. You distance folks are a different breed.
Good for Mrs. TOK!
I wonder if Deadhead was there – I think he does that most years.
I wonder as well. Last time we Zoomed a few months ago he wasn’t sure if he was going. But he has “won” it, aka gotten the best time, more than once. He is a different breed of a different breed.
Good for her. I need to get back into the distance game. I’ve been slack on it since the lockdowns.
Some of you guys…rolling three back-to-back 5-minute rounds usually leaves me needing a nap.
300k
Oof, your poor taint.
Entertaining write-up, Jaime! Thanks!
It’s like I’m wearing nothing at all!
Stupid, sexy Jaime.
These are my preferred intimate wear: https://www.pactimo.com/products/mens-12-hour-cycling-bibs-summit-stratos?variant=42425175277747
I have a taint of steel. And a good chamois and a decent saddle.
Don’t get your PSA (prostate) levels checked. Last year my test came out high, and they send me to a urologist. He said any irritation to that area could affect the test, so bike riding, even being in a car. I had a hockey trip the week before, that probably did it. He just had me re-take the test and it was normal. I’m not happy that my GP sent me to another doctor when he could have just done the same thing.
/TOK’s over-share for the day
So…
The results would be tainted?
*golf clap*
Is that what you get when you go clubbing with no protection?
Your puns are getting a little rough
That is a fair way to respond, I am tempted to riff off my last pun to really seal the deal.
Awesome!
I don’t even like driving 300k… but just like hard work I like reading about other people doing these things.
I can drive for 300km and still be in Ohio (or I could be in Michigan, Indiana, Pennsylvania, or New York). That’s a there and back trip if there’s something worth visiting.
I can _almost_ keep it in MA doing 300k if I go east to west. Easily, if I start from the Cape.
but can you drive for 3 hours and still be stuck in traffic?
Pie, it took 3 hours in traffic to get from L.A. to San diego last Saturday so yes, its possible
PieInTheSky:
If route 71 is involved, you can nearly guarantee you’ll be stuck in traffic and construction at some point.
Nice. The wife and I used to get a house just north of Bodega every year for a vacation.
Love that area.
I grew up the Bay Area, left after college and never went back. Seeing pictures of SF and Oakland now makes me glad I left. Reading of your bike ride through all those familiar places I’m remembering how beautiful Northern California is. I used to drive those roads in my Healey pretending I was on the Monte Carlo Rally. Little traffic – no RVs yet. Wonderful rides.
Thx
I grew up in Napa and spent 45 years in the Bay Area. I left in 2012 and never looked back. I got to experience it before it went to shit.
They obviously don’t do much screening for sanity, since they let us through.
“You can’t fool me. There ain’t no Sanity Claus.”
Whoah.
Alien ant farm indeed!
Kind of scary
I love that. Think of it next time you see an ant bed.
to understand the universe around us we draw lines that aren’t necessarily there. We understand the idea of an entity so we constantly create them where there is none. Is an ant’s brain only in one ant’s brain? Or is the ant’s brain collectively all of the ant brain cells in the hive? They certainly use complex chemical communication just like a brain in a single head does. Do all ants respond the same way to the signals one ant sends out?