Lost Coast Ride by Chris Carey

Just a little riding anecdote from the camping trip this weekend.... Saturday, July 5th Myself, Mack, Michael, and Jordan, piled into the family truckster and headed for the ave of the giants for a 100 mile ride. After "careful" review of the map (the quotes around careful is to emphasize a commonly used literary device called foreshadowing) myself, Mack and Michael found that we would have one 5 mile climb to the coast and that would be the only steep part of the ride. The rest was flat and even downhill. The ride would take us in a giant loop through the ave of the giants, onto the coast then circle back around to the ave of the giants. The three men charged the first climb with reckless abandon, pushing hard up 15% grades, 95 degree heat and at times gravel road. Michael of course leading and dropping mack and I, as was the theme of the weekend (despite the fact he had already ridden 200 miles on thursday and 60 hard miles on Friday). After reaching the top, we three descended down into Honeydew. here, we stopped at a local marker and refilled "our" water bottles (again, note the quotes referencing foreshadowing). As soon as that was done, we headed out on the ride that was to take us along the coast. Jordan, decided to continue down the descent to Honeydew where she ran into the same locals who advised her that we had just left and we were bastards for ditching her. However, with her cool, British wit, she gamely replied, "oh no, I am planning on riding back and picking up the pieces when the three return from the ride." Focus on the word pieces here (I am just tired of typing quotes and by now you should be looking for foreshadowing). Back to the main pack. As we headed out of Honeydew we plowed along on straight flat highways making terrific time. However, our trusted map began to lead us astray as we approached the first of 3 big climbs to the coast. As we charged ahead, Michael slowly but surely weaned us off his wheel, mack first then myself (this order will be key later). As I got to the top and could see the ocean below me I felt a surge of pride, and relief that the climbing had to be over with. (From this point on the story will only focus on my ride as I will let the others speak of the hardships that they encountered) As I descended down to sea level I was met with the strongest headwind I have ever ridden in. I was pedaling in my 2nd to easiest gear and possibly holding 10 miles an hour. The wind we later gauged to be between 30-35 mph. Completely unshielded from the wind, I couldn't help but curse myself that I didn't stay with Michael on the climb so that I could be drafting behind him in the wind. After 30 minutes of the punishing coast, my eyes spied what was ahead of me and my stomach dropped. A climb which made the 15% grade look easy was staring at me, taunting me. As I prepared myself mentally for the climb mentally, I tried to do so as well physically by taking a drink of cytomax. As I reached back to my cages, I found them both empty. It seems the unbelievably rough descent had jettisoned my bottles. I was 65 miles out, with no water and a massive climb in front of me. The next 1.5 hours can be summed up in one word...climbing. Grades greater than 20% at times, twice the road descended back to sea level only to make you climb the 2500 feet back up. (I will at this point insert a quote from Michael "Those F&cking sheep were laughing at me." Also note that none of this climb was on the map) What made matters worse, besides having no water and not seeing Michael or Mack anywhere, was that our 90 degree day quickly turned to 45-50 degree fog. But, I was focused. I knew the road I was looking for had something to do with a "bear" and was near the town of Ferndale. My watch now read 5:30, I had been riding for 4.5 hours, and I still had at least 40 miles to go when I spotted it, "Bear River Road." A quick right turn and I was headed downhill, for good this time, or so I thought. After the paved road turned to dirt/gravel (which was not uncommon by this point) but then stayed this way for a good mile or so, I realized I was not where I wanted to be and descended almost all the way to the bottom. The road I was looking for was Grizzly Bluff, but the mnemonic I choose to remember the road, "Bear", just happened to be in another street sign. By this time I hadn't seen Michael for 3 hours as I presumed he was down, waiting for me and Mack and Ferndale. And, due to my detour, I had figured Mack had passed me and was headed down as well. So, I climbed as hard as I could back to my original point, then pedaled for 5 for miles along the fogged in ridge before I descended into Ferndale, a welcome sight. After searching for Michael and Mack, grabbing a Dr.Pepper from the local supermarket and finishing it before I paid. I decided they must have got sick of waiting for me and headed out. After receiving a variety of directions from the locals on just where the hell I was and how to get back, I found "grizzly bluff." The time now read 6:30. My only goal was to try and find our "planned" route so that when they came to look for me they knew where to look. Well, like everything else that day, I got lost again. Failing to find "Blue Sky" or "Blue ridge" or "Blue Line", whatever the hell the name of the street was, I can tell you it had a Blue in it, I pedaled into another local market and this time bypassed the 12 oz can of Dr. Pepper for the more rationale 1 lt bottle of coke amd asked this question verbatim "uh, yeah, how do I get to the ave of the giants...you know...the big trees.( I believe at this point I was brain dead)". The answer, to my amazement was, "stay left and you have about 12 miles to go." I was going to make it. I strapped that one liter bottle to the back of my jersey and set off like a man possessed (which at this point was more like an elderly woman in a get-around scooter). However, after a few turns and a brief sting on 101, I made it, "the Ave of the Giants...Next Exit." Pulling of 101 I turned into the Ave of the Giants. Of course, the Ave of the Giants has many entrances and since I wasn't on the pre discussed path I had no idea if the meeting point was north or south. After pedaling south a few hundred yards I found a map that was about as helpful as a blind, mute, deaf man who was lost as well, in terms of helping me find my way. But then it happened, a light so pure and warm that seeing it almost makes you want to avert your eyes because you aren't worthy. Yes, Jordan had gone on a reconnaissance mission to find me. Of course, she didn't see me on the side of the road so I had to flail my arms and almost dive in front of the blue volvo to get her to stop. At which point I said, "how much farther." She quickly perceived my exhaustion and took my bike from me and told me to get my arse in the car. However, it was at this point that she said, "where are Michael and Mack." (now, remember the order from before, it went Michael, myself, then Mack.) Now I thought, shit they are waiting for me somewhere in bumblef*ck called Ferndale cursing my name. We decided to go look for them and as we were driving down 101 we spotted our lost comrades. A quick U turn and pull off. Michael and Mack ride up, and Michael, with a giddy/crazy look in his eye says "I bet you're wondering what the hell happened." To help end an email that is almost as long as the ride, and to let the players tell their stories as it happened I will only paraphrase....Michael crashed at the first descent and went off the road landing head first with his bike in a tree, a shoe still connected to the bike. I passed not noticing the skid mark but Michael managed to climb up before mack and passed. Mack then took the same wrong turn I did and had to climb up which had Michael waiting for him in Ferndale freezing his ass off before Mack could climb back up and descend down the correct road and then continue on to the Ave of the Giants. So, we all survived. Michael found one of my bottles and used it since his bottles fell out as well and we all agreed to write nasty emails to the Kelly Map company. Thank god Jordan was their to pick up the pieces. She even managed to grab a six pack on the way...The end---

Top ten quotes of Saturday's Lost Coast ride?

10. Tourist in Honeydew: "You just missed them. They left about 2 minutes ago. Do those boys always leave you behind?"
9. Mack to Michael: "We should get gas before we ride. It might be *late* when we get back."
8. Jordan to tourist in Honeydew: "I'm just doing a short ride then I'm going back to pick up the pieces of the boys' ride."
7. Mack: "I thought I was going to die, underneath a cow."
6. Michael: "Hey Chris, I found one of your water bottles... but I hope you don't mind that I drank your Gatorade."
5. Michael & Mack: "We're doing a loop of the Lost Coast. 100 miles." Local kid on BMX bike: "Yeah, we're doing the Tour de Ferndale. One and a half miles."
4. Jordan: "200 miles is a f**king long way." [okay, I'm cheating this was Thursday!]
3. Chris when Jordan found him staring at a map: "How much further do I have to ride?" Jordan: "You are not riding anywhere! Get in the car."
2. Michael to himself, delirious: "Those f**king sheep are laughing at me."
1. Michael: "I'll bet you're wondering what happened to me?"

Most of these were in Chris and Michael's recap/stories... I'm sure there are many more...

Riding 200 miles in one day

I haven't time to pen much of a note on Thursday's 200 miler or the rest of the weekend but suffice to say the ride to Westport was HARD. Mentally and physically draining but the stunning scenery made it unique and worthwhile.

I don't think I managed to tell everyone but I took Thursday off work to make it an extra long weekend of biking/camping on the Lost Coast (Northern California) with six friends and a dog. Two of us (Michael and myself) actually rode the 200 miles from San Francisco to our Westport campsite, leaving the Golden Gate Bridge at 6am and arriving in Westport in the last light of day at 8pm, after 200 miles, 15,000ft of climbing and a lot of fatigue, but excited that we had actually made it!

To all you contemplating next year's Ironman Lake Placid race, at mile 120 (our lunch stop in Gualala), I questioned whether I wanted to get back on my bike or run a marathon... in spite of aching shoulders and saddle soreness that the combination of my Pearl Izumi shorts, a Terry butterfly saddle and a tube of Chamois butt'r had not prevented, the bike was definitely more appealing. I made a quick phone call to one of our fellow campers from the restaurant pay phone at lunch. Even though I was dialling from a random 707 area code, my exhaustion caused me to forget all phone etiquette/pleasantries, and all I could manage to say was "200 miles is a f**king long way". What was I thinking?

Thankfully, the sun came out after lunch, plus the chicken sandwich, plate of french fries w/ tons of ketchup and two diet cokes had appeared to give me a new lease of life. By that time, I had also become used to Highway 1's endless number of "Corkscrew Canyons" that send you spinning down to ocean level then back up the dizzying and towering cliffs... I stopped paying attention to the gradient of the road and drew strength from the views of the ocean waves battering the sea-stacks. I just needed to keep turning the pedals and the miles would take care of themselves.

By the time Michael and I made it to Westport, we were both cold and exhausted but giddy from the sense of achievement. We couldn't stop giggling as we were shivering on the porch of the local grocery store, picnicking on deli sandwiches and a six pack of beer, waiting for everyone else to arrive (by car) with camping gear and warm clothing. Thankfully they showed up about an hour later. A HUGE thank you to the support crew!