Well, yesterday was the first Grasshopper race of this year. The weather was beautiful, but as A1 would agree, not perfect. The perfect weather for this race is a good steady rain storm with plenty of gusty winds, but you can’t have everything. I don’t want to get my facts wrong, but I could swear there were over 200 people there at the start, it was huge. Claire was on her trusty Ibis SS and I was on my favorite Cannondale cross bike with my retro brakes that don’t slow me down. Claire and I were positioned in the last third of the group as we headed out of Occidental. As we FLEW down Bohemian Hwy., I was sort of moving up through the group and chatting with old friends as I went. It was a pretty safe trip down Bohemian compared to some of the rainy years in the past. Claire had moved up in the pack also, and we ended up riding together out to Duncans Mills. At one point there was a little split in the pack, and everyone behind us was happy to leave Claire out there to pull it back together. As we turned on to Hwy. 116 and headed back towards Duncan Road, I made sure that I was getting up into the front third of the group. When we turned on to Duncan Road, we came to a complete stop. For those of you who have never turned onto Duncan Road, you basically go from level ground to a climb that hits around 20% at a couple of points. The road also narrows down to around 10 feet wide or so. At this point I actually got off my bike and ran part way up the hill, passing many of those stubborn cyclists that don’t believe in running. There was another log jam at the gate entering the dirt section, but it wasn’t too bad. Again, I got off my bike and ran up the first dirt section, which is faster than riding. Thank goodness for my blue canvas Shimano Hightop mountain bike shoes (I have four pairs of them).
Let’s see, where were we? Oh, yea, Duncan Road went without incident for the most part. Thanks to my retro brakes that don’t slow me down, and some good winter eating, I was able to pass plenty of people on the downhills. As
Eddie Merckx once said, and I may be paraphrasing here, “It is not the climbs, it is the cupcakes that get you.” Anyway, I got into a pretty good group that worked together to get to the bottom of Old Cazadero Road. I definitely wasn’t the fastest climber around, so I made my way up the climb trying not to lose too much time. The back of Old Caz, which is dirt and mud at the bottom was a blast as usual. I passed about a dozen folks heading down the hill. At the bottom we crossed the creek, which was up to around my thighs or so. There was a guy at the bottom thinking about trying to ride his bike across, but he luckily changed his mind after being warned by some spectators at the bottom. The climb out of the bottom isn’t bad, and takes place on some good hard packed dirt. I passed up a couple of more heading into Cazadero. One of the guys decided I was the guy to be around since I obviously knew where I was going. He decided to call me “Cotati” the rest of the ride. After doing some backroads above Cazadero, it is flat out to the coast. This guy who I was riding with decided that he would pull at 22 mph all the way. I had to get up to the front a couple of times so that I could rest. He basically pulled me and a couple of others all the way to the bottom of Willow Creek Road. And at that point, my thighs said that they had had enough. I made it up Willow Creek at my own pace. I ended up giving some food to another cyclist who looked like he was going to pass out on the steep section of the climb. My final time was 3 hours and 10 minutes. I have nothing to complain about here considering my fitness level. It wasn’t the worst shape I have been in for this race, but definitely not the best either.
I hung out at the Hub Bus waiting for Claire. I had enough time to drink an
Arrogant Bastard Ale and eat some potato chips. Claire rolled in at that point looking totally knackered, but with a big smile on her face. She was extremely happy with how it went for her. We exchanged some stories and watched a guy brake his front axle on his Mercedes before heading into Guerneville for some Mexican Food.
s sort of bleary.