Category: rambles

The dog and I went for a ride on Mt Burdell again today, putting in two hours on the last day of the year, and seeing down the sun on 2013. Again, great dogs, great cyclists, great hikers. A shibe mix, an old dog named Duke, and someone thought Chick was, “Two? Three?” She’ll be 8 next month.

We spooked a murder of turkey vultures from their roosts on a cattle trough. This is them, wheeling around until we were gone.

That’s what I look like. I never smile.

Here’s the trail, carved 18″ through the topsoil. Mountain bikes are pretty low-impact, compared to a D8 Cat.

I got out yesterday on the Quickbeam for a long (for me) ride, up to Healdsburg from Santa Rosa, and then out Westside Road to Forestville, and home.

The ride out was nice; I felt strong, but went all the way out Fulton and by the airport and through Windsor, instead of cutting over to Eastside Road. I caught the same guy at two different stoplights, once on Fulton Road, and once on Old Redwood Hwy north of Windsor. I’m pretty sure he went a faster, nicer way. Next time.

I saw lots of cyclists coming South of of Healdsburg as I rolled in about 2:00. I cut through the hobo tracks by the old train station and got some pictures. I sat in the park, ate a Luna bar, drank half my water, and then walked around Healdsburg for a bit. It’s been upscaled a bit since I was there last, but I know there are still freaks out in the hills.

I tried to pick up Eastside Road to get out of town, but what I thought was Eastside looked like a freeway onramp, so I walked the bike* a block North and got on Westside. Which is fine; I love that road.

I stopped at a pretty roadside rock feature by a vineyard. It looked like a mini park. I needed to pee a little, but thought it would be gauche to wizz on the rocks and oaks.

Another stop at the Wohler Bridge took care of that.

When I hit River Road, I decided to pop into Forestville and say ‘hi’ to my brother. I stole a liter of apple juice, pet the dogs, and changed gears from the 80″ 44×15 gear to the 71″ 44×17. The Tire Savers need to be repositioned when you move the wheel, and the front one’s sexy ‘under-the-crown’ mount puts the whole thing too close to the tire, not just the business end.

As tired as I was, I should have run back out to River Road, which is pretty flat. Instead, I headed home on 116, tackling the steep pitches between Forestville and Guerneville Road I always forget about. That was pretty treacherous, because the entire shoulder was broken up with six foot steel construction plates every fifteen feet. I guess for “technical road riding,” I should have brought my new “29er road bike.” The C-Lines handled it pretty well, though. It’s not like I was going very fast.

So four and a half hours out, all told. More than half the daylight hours I was awake were spent out on the bike!

*I won’t ride the wrong way, or on the sidewalk, if I can help it.

Richard Sachs explains “why he left the recording industry.” I like that kind of recorded minutiae, and I think it’s art in its own right. It’s definitely the marks of a thinking mind.

I think e-Richie could nail all these ledgers to a board, and frame them under glass. “ATMO.”

In a much less organized way, I have a giant piece of watercolor paper under my laptop, and I’ve been keeping notes and marginalia on it. I have all the drawings and measurements for laying out Angelina’s book on it. If I still like it in a couple of weeks, I may cut out the most interesting rectangle and frame it.

Today was my birthday. I always take my birthday off work, because I want to do exactly what I want to do, and I don’t really like a workplace fuss. Yesterday I was almost giddy, hitting DECLINE on 5 meetings that would have taken 6 hours out of my workday. Birthday. And cut across lunch. And no time to ride.
DECLINE
DECLINE
(oh my god, another one?)
DECLINE
(what the… that’s lunchtime!)
DECLINE
(oh yeah, there’s the regular other Wednesday meeting – crucial that I be there for UI approval before launch)
DECLINE

Instead, I took my dog out on a leash-free mountain biking excursion in Marin County.

Two and a half hours of riding the brand new bike (Well, the frame is new… to me. The headsets is new! And the cables!). Even the bartape is old, but I flipped it around so the faded/unfaded markings make a zebra stripe. I like it.

Up on Mt Burdell, there are nice roads going across the face of the hills, and then steep climbs to get to the next level. There are some singletrack steep descents that are not signed against bikes, but technically the dogs should be on leash for them.

The Gryphon rode great, the smooth Schwalbe tires hooked up on the dirt climbs, and baby heads were no problem. I was pretty surprised at the traction on the rear Marathon, but the dirt conditions were about perfect. Crusty, not dusty or muddy.

Halfway up the first climb I realized I’d overdressed, and shed the gloves, balaclava and outer layer. Rolled them up inside the sweater and tied them to the bars.

We met a couple dogs, and my dog was great with them, and met some cool people hiking up. Bike people. Ibis Mojo, Santa Cruz Bontrager Race, early Litespeed kind of bike people. This Singular Gryphon is a real conversation starter. Another guy we (I) talked to was riding his passed-away friend’s passed-on hardtail Fisher. He takes pictures on his rides on the bike and sends them to his friend’s mom. I love that.

A fellow with the dog that I talked to (“Gaucho’s” owner), said the Rangers mostly come out when the cows are in the open space. I asked him how you know the cows are out, and he said, “You see them.” Oh, yeah, right.

Chick (the dog’s name is Chick) was tired, and I think she hurt her paw. I was a little sore, and the headset needs a bit of tightening, but I call it a very successful first “real” ride on the Singular Gryphon, and I’m so happy to have a place to ride with the dog!

In the rest of the birthday day, I got some new clothes, and my 13 year old took me out for fries, and a stranger in Safeway bought me a sixpack of Lagunitas IPA. She looked at the backed-up line of people buying beer and wine, all guys, and said, “I bet I’m the only one buying this because I’m mad at men.” I said, “I’m getting this because it’s my birthday and I bought some beer, thinking ‘I’ll get something I’d never get. Something special! And it tasted terrible.'” She was like, “Oh, that’s awful!” When the checker rang up her KJ Chardonnay, she told him to ring up my beer, too. I said, “Thanks, that’s sweet. I hope your bottle works for you. And kills all men.” She laughed.

The campaign to hit 7 cafes by bicycle in 7 weekends succumbed to circumstance last weekend.

My Saturday bike ride down to the A Street (Santa Rosa art district) to visit the coffee place down there was foiled by the fact that I left the house an hour after the festivities were supposed to be over. I saw a giant-sized bicycle-ish steampunk contraption riding away, and some decent encaustic painting/collages, but couldn’t find any coffee. The Peet’s and Starbucks facing each other across D Street both close at 9pm. Oops. Signs on the sidewalk, lights on, but people cleaning out drains and flushing espresso machines. I wonder if the baristas give each other the evil eye when they lock their doors in unison, or if they go down to get a beer and a shot together.

My Sunday plan to ride over to Acre Coffee in the Montgomery Village to meet up with my friend was foiled by a dog door.

I’ve had a chore for a couple of weeks now (discharged today), to put a dog door in my mother-in-law’s door, so her Bernese Mountain Dog can let herself out, without the winter air getting in. I pulled the supplied door out of its packaging, and held it up to the door, held it up to the dog, and tried to get Rosie to jump through it. She ran around the yard with the frame around her neck like a collar.

So, I took the door back to Pet Whatever, talked them through their return policy and customer service (maybe I could order it online? “I thiiink you can use the credit online.” Is there a nearby Pet Whatever that might have it? “Oh no, the closest one is in Petaluma.” I’ll go there. Can you call and see if they have one? “What? Oh, sure, I could do that. Just wait ten minutes while I deal with this sudden deluge of high-maintenance customers”), then drove 20 minutes to get the in-stock LIVESTOCK sized dog door. The whole transaction put me arriving at Acre Coffee exactly on time if I drove, but 20 minutes late if I stopped off to switch to a bicycle. Which would be stupid.

My friend and I had a great two hour visit, gave directions to two people – a possibly homeless man (cleaned and well-clothed in a Western Farmer style, but semi-incoherent and pushing a pram with a LOT of stuff in it) who needed to find his doctor’s office (for an appointment the next day – best to be prepared); and a woman who had driven 5 hours from Eureka, bound for Martinez. She’d gotten off the highway 20 miles too early, mostly because she was tired of driving. She was bound on driving through Sonoma on 12, which would not have helped her situation.

The Acre espresso is Portland Style, slightly muddy, but tasty. Interior design is very good, but the Petaluma one is better.

But it doesn’t count, since I didn’t cycle there.

Yesterday, my plan to bike cycle with the dog to the coffee stand at Pacific Market like I’d done the other week was foiled by my friends and their dog knocking on my door to make sure the kid birthday party was still on for 2pm. I was like, “Yes, plus let me get my clothes on so Chick and Duke can walk together!” The dogs LOVED that. Long walk through downtown, back to the friends’ house, and then hot-foot back home to prep for the party. No riding, no coffee.

Today, I actually got an Americano at Holy Ground (tasty), by bicycle, as part of my three-part odyssey to get the Gravel Roadster hooked up tubeless. Bike Peddler guys are super-awesome, Big Apples are too loose to go tubeless, but Marathon Supremes will. Supremes look like regular road tires next to Big Apples.

I’d never done a bike s24o, until the Rivendell Grin Fundo. I didn’t own a sleeping bag, or a lick of gear, but I jumped at the Grin Fundo the same way I jumped at the Quickbeam when they arrived, “shut up and take my money!”

Gear: I bought a closeout REI bag that stuffs down to the size of a casaba melon, but weighs about the same as a basket of strawberries, poured some leftover TJ’s two-buck Chuck into a steel bottle, and put that in a big ziplock baggie. I took my toothbrush, and the almost-done Tom’s cinnamint I put aside for the occasion, and my asthma medicine. Fat wool socks and lightweight Carharts and another wool tee shirt for sleeping in, and the ride down. That was about it. No pad, no cooking gear, and two power bars.

I was going to bring a pillow, but forgot. “Whatever, I’ll just put my extra clothes in the sleeping bag stuff sack, and use that.” Which was a good plan, but the “extra” clothes were the ones I’d just changed out of, and they were soaked with sweat from the climb up Diablo. Ew. I used my spare top and a shoe for a little height. It worked fine.

It all fit inside a borrowed Large Saddlesack. That’s a cool thing. Harry gave me some zip ties, and I zipped it to the rack, and cinched it to the saddle and post. I just put my sleeping bag, loaded shoulder bag and Carradice saddlebag right into it.

Bike: Borrowed Rivendell Hillborne. I would have liked to ride my Quickbeam, but I didn’t want to be the last one up and the last one down. My two geared bikes aren’t very Rivendelicious, but would have worked fine with some clever strapping. Basically, I wanted to have the full experience, albatross bars and all.

Keven arranged all, and Harry set the saddle height. Perfect. A bit more upright than I’m used to, with Albatross bars and cork grips. There were also big sharp Silver bar-end shifters pointed at my knees. My geared bikes have a single right shifter, or stubby Suntour bar-ends, and all of my bikes have flared drops. I said, “I’m a little worried about the shifter stabbing my knee,” and Grant said, “it might happen.” Huh. Better ride around a bit more and learn to tuck the left knee over the top tube on tight turns…

Harry:

Keven also roasts his own coffee beans, which he turned into an Americano for me, complete with organic heavy cream from Trader Joe’s.

Keven:

I bought some stuff (green tape and a King cage) with my $25 Fundo credit (a surprise to me), and we each got a “special prize for filling out the waiver form,” which was a Grin Fundo patch. Totally cool. People came and went, including Manny’s crew of hard men, bound for a bandit camp higher on the mountain.

The Ride Up: When Grant arrived, we rolled out across Walnut Creek to the base of Mount Diablo, and started to climb. My hands sweat a lot, and on the bare metal of the albatross bars, I didn’t have the grip confidence to “pull through” on the climb, so I just geared down and spun.

Diablo to the Junction is a significant climb.

We met Manny’s crew a little below the Junction, and I chatted with Brencho and took some pictures.

One fellow had a beautiful hardtail singlespeed with a single ornate lower head tube lug. The rest of the bike was fillet brazed or TIG’d, with a matte pewter finish. I asked the owner what kind of bike it was, and he said, “A mountain bike.” Ha! I’ve heard of those. Grant later said the lower head lug was the dumbest lug to pick, if you were only going to do one lug, since you need a different one for every size. On the other hand, it acts as a gusset, looks beautiful, and you save money eliminating all the other lugs…

Camping: We dropped down from the Junction, and then down a dirt road to a camp with about 10 spots. We took the “host” site when we found one of our reserved sites was taken by a family. We didn’t want to make them shift their tents and kids, which seemed like a hassle. Also, the host site was much flatter.

I was at a loose end after setting up my site. I flopped the bag on the ground, laid on it, moved it sideways nine inches so that my hip would fall into a natural depression, laid on it again to make sure, and parked my bike next to it. Done!

We ate lots and lots of Cowgirl Creamery “Mt Tam,” which is brie-ish, with a subtle crackle of lactose crystals (according to Nick (“El Duke Degreaser”), who is a food scientist). There was another Cowgirl* cheese, and plenty of dark chocolate, and nuts, and other paleo-ish fare chosen to keep eaters in ketogenesis. Alain brought some Oban whisky in a flask, which was extremely well chosen. I’ve been to Oban, but never had the whisky. He also hipped me to Yamazaki, which I’ll try to find.

There was a lot of ketogenic diet talk, which was interesting to me because I like to hear esoteric knowledge shared by passionate nerds. Random fact: A single brazil nut has 100% of your daily dose of selenium.**

Random assertion I am interested in confirming: Cancer cells cannot replicate in a ketogenic environment.

The Ride Down: Steep huff up out of the hollow we camped in, and a little regroup on the dirt climb to the dirt descent. Grant gives a short primer on descending on dirt, and realizes he’s left his glasses at the campsite. No big deal. They’re the green safety glasses Rivendell used to sell. Optically correct, and stylish in a no-style way. Made in America, but they don’t make them here anymore. He’s had them for 20 years. Mark asks if the way down is easy to navigate, and Grant says there’s one fork, and you just keep right. Mark turns around and drops back down the trail to get the glasses.

 Nick opts to go out early, because he has two young kids to take care of, and Alain does the same, carefully picking his line down the steep fire road on the Ebisu. We faff long enough that Mark returns with Grant’s glasses. They really are pretty nice.

Lots of descending steep rough steepy roughness, and riding along a ridgeline where you can look into two valleys at the same time. I heard Puck had never ridden offroad, but he aced it on a borrowed loaded road bike. At the bottom, where the exposed ridgeline turned into shady mellowness and stream crossings, Grant said, “I’m surprised nobody crashed. I really thought someone would.” Huh. I like the matter-of-factness about the possible risks of worthwhile behavior.

Chatted with Grant a bit about Oregon and Santa Rosa and people we knew, as we found our way through streets named after Indian tribes. Had another Keven Americano, some more cheese, and said goodbye.

The Drive Home: Whoops. Trying to get into Sonoma County via Vallejo on a race weekend is bad. Having time to listen to music and think is never bad, though.

*Small world: I just found out tonight that one of the co-founders of Cowgirl Creamery is my friend’s cousin’s wife’s sister. My friend said it like it was a thing I should know. 

**I got to use this fact just yesterday at a party in Santa Cruz, and shared the concept of Selenium Toxicity with someone who already knew that brazil nuts had 100% of your daily requirement.

I rode 20 miles, got a little sun, and a flat tire. I had a little epiphany on the trail. I was resting in the shade on a fierce uphill, thinking about work in pretty negative terms. Petty stuff. I started thinking about how my late friend Seth always seemed to have encouragement and joy in life, and I thought “I should be more like that.” Renew my efforts to smooth out the friction points, but more to the point, DEFINITELY not lose out on enjoying the ride.

Friction shifting nine speeds with a seven-speed bar-end shifter was pretty ragged. I’m looking at 13-32 7 speed cassette so I can use the indexing. Especially important if I’m going to loan this bike to my brother in August.

I was headed out of the park, and stopped for a minute at the top of Steve’s Trail. I was sitting on that picnic table, thinking how nice it was, when I heard something like water rushing through a pipe, which seemed weird. Turn my head, just the sound of bugs. Turn it back, SSSSSSSSSS. It’s coming from that rack thing the bike is on.

It’s coming from my bike!

I panicked a little. If I was home right now, I’d already be getting the stink eye for staying out so long. Roll down toward the Lake. No! The parking lot is a better bet. It’s closer, and maybe I can catch a ride, or borrow a phone.

I rode down until the back end got too squirrley, and then just walk/ran the bike. A guy on an older carbon hardtail asked if I needed anything. I said, “A patch?” He stopped, and started tearing a duct-taped bundle off his seat tube. He pulled out a new tube, handed it to me, and said, “Do you need anything else? Tools?” I was like, “Thanks, brother!” (I’ve never called anyone ‘brother’ in my life) “I’ll definitely pass this on.”

“That’s what you do. Do you need any tools?”

“No, I can mount this tire with my hands. I’ll borrow a pump from someone when I get this seated.”

He handed me a CO2 cartridge and a mini regulator dealie. “This should be good for two tubes, but I used a full one my first time. ”  Wow.

I got everything situated, and the tire soft but rideable (sure enough, the cartridge was empty), when a woman stopped and asked if I had everything I needed. I said, “Thanks, I’m fine,” and she said, “Are you sure?”

That struck me as a good foll0w-up question, to break through people’s initial resistance to help, and to kick-start their mind to really assess the situation. I’ll use it in the future.

“No, I actually just now finished up, but thanks a ton for asking. Have a great ride!”

I’m grateful to my Samaritans for turning a good ride with a long walk into a stellar ride and a fun interaction.

“It’s not a contest. Enjoy the ride.”
– Seth Vidal