AIDS/LIFECYCLE 2005
Day 4: Paso Robles->Santa Maria (100 miles)
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Day 4 was perhaps the most eventful and most structured day. A long day, another 100 miles, which would bring the total mileage to 360—the distance from SF to LA if you take Interstate 5 by car. The first 20 miles mostly an ascent, punctuated by the so called Evil Twins, two decent grades, at the end of which marked the halfway point of the ride. If that weren't enough, we had two extracurricular events scheduled. I had arranged to meet my old and dear friend B- for a late breakfast in Cayucas. This prompted some confusion on my part. I couldn't tell B- an exact time of my arrival, only that I'd try to be there at 10, and D- didn't know the name of the diner in question-only that it was yellow (at least it was yellow last year) and non-descript and I couldn't possibly miss it. And later that day, as a special treat, DN- had booked time at a hot tub, and so we had to be there by 3, before we rode the last 35 miles into Santa Maria, where the Michael Jackson trial was in full decrepitude.
It was, again, cool in the morning, and I remember feeling pretty good. The Evil Twins were, like Quadbuster, not so evil, and again I watched the very strong riders encouraging the more hill-challenged to persevere. I skipped the rest stop between Evil Twins #1 and #2 and got to the summit, where I was rewarded with the most spectacular view. First, at the absolute peak, stood Ms. Ginger Brulee, who, in a long black dress, revealed a bit of leg as we passed. On the left was a more traditional vista point, and not only was this the halfway point (so soon?), and the peak of the last hill that warranted its own name, there was the most gorgeous view of the coastal mountains, and then, beyond the ocean, there were big cardboard signs that said "Halfway to LA". People stood next to them, with the ocean in the background. Others hoisted their bikes on their heads, stood precariously on a rock. I watched, took pictures, ate some Rice Chex. Took pictures of myself with lCarm's special 270 degree digicam, and a nice person offered to take a photo of me.
But I was on a tight schedule, and so I didn't dally too long. I pulled back on the road, onto a long, long downhill stretch, unfortunately into a headwind, through the mountains, slowly descending 1000 ft to sea level.
A digression here: it wasn't particularly crowded on the downhill, but I was passed, once by a particularly sleek recumbent. But it was here that I finally cursed the laws of physics. Bottom line was, I was always slower on downhills than people I'd burn everywhere else. Why? Cause I don't weigh enough. This was saddening. I would never, barring some extra ballast on my bike, get to the crazy speeds of my colleagues. On days that I'd hit 45, they'd hit 50. Maybe this was a blessing, as my bike and I started to wobble at 45, but I was distressed to feel my disadvantage. On the other hand, I gained a lot on hills, so it did work out.
But enough whining. The descent was long and gorgeous, and took us back to the coast. I was right on time, and I called B- at Rest Stop #2, cruised into Cayucas, and had a huge, great breakfast with B- and her excellent husband K-. D- recommended the clam chowder, but I couldn't, not at 10am.
We continued down the coast, skirting Morro Bay and San Luis Obispo, skipping lunch. At one of the rest stops, one of the cyclists was doing pushups, and I felt a tinge of annoyance. For god's sakes, take your pushups to a hotel!
In early afternoon, we regrouped, as the hot tub/spa was off the official path, and was supposed to remain a secret, so that not too many riders knew about it. We waited for J-, who continued to valiantly plod along on her mountain bike (get a road bike, J!).
I can't tell you what a pleasure and relief it was to get to that spa. It was a fancy one at that, a little new agey, characterized by people with glowing skin who walked through the perfumed grounds in thick, earth colored terrycloth robes, and there we were, leaving our unlocked bikes in the courtyard, sweaty, with bizarre tan lines, in our pornographic biking shorts, clonking our bike shoes up the stairs, and past the pool and sauna to our reserved hot tub, the one named "Xanadu" which we thought we'd gotten through Dave's love of Olivia Newton John but was in reality simply a fine coincidence. We squabbled politely on the use of the jets, and were much less sore after an hour in that hot tub (although C- and I seem to have gotten a small stomach bug by eating the lunch's farfalle and dill sauce while in the tub).
There was a certain sadness as we rolled out of the spa. Not because we had another 35 miles, but because we had once again tasted relaxation, and our legs didn't want to go back to work. The last 35 miles were relatively uneventful. Somewhere along the route I ate M&M's (melt on your hands, in your mouth, whatever) and Oreos and people were handing out red vines, one of which I put in my back pocket and didn't find again for three days. One of the local farmers was giving out strawberries-they were the most delicious things I have ever eaten.
Rest Stop 4 was renowned for being the most creative and fun of the rest stops. On this day, in Mission ?, was quite a treat. First, a reciting of La De Da from The Sound of Music and then a perverse puppet show, also from Sound of Music, featuring goats and aliens.
There was a sense of relief that night at dinner. The next day was the easy one, only 42 miles (although I'd find later, not as flat as the map made it seem. The worst and hardest riding was over, as the last three days would average out to 65 miles a day. I even made a funny that night. A man was passing out bottled water. As he came by, I signaled to him that he should toss one to me. I had a muffin in my hand. As he was about to throw it, I decided to do one of my tricks. Instead of reaching out to catch the bottle, I made no movement at all. The bottle hit my wrist, and the muffin exploded. Crumbs flew everywhere. Everyone went silent, and the man started to apologize. I had to explain that I did it on purpose. Crumbs were on the grass, in my hair. It was good for a laugh.
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