Road Message Board

Pulled into the Goodnight Inn 5 AM Saturday and the place was crawling with an assortment of goofy looking roadies. I think half were wearing Discovery Channel full team kits. Anyhow decided I better clean off the mud and road slime from last weeks ride or face the humilliation of being labeled "damn mtn biker". Got the bike clean, signed in, peed and rolled up to the start line. Felt like crap as soon as I got on the bike. Crash last week at Castaic must have messed me up more than I thought - still have bruises and scabs from knee to shoulders. Figured hiding in the pack for a while to get the legs warmed and revved wouldn't be too shameful. It was a perfect morning with just a thin film of fog laying over the hills keeping the road cool and the colors vibrant. There was water running accross the road everywhere and of course kicking up into my face. The cruise down Malibu Cnyn to the beach was smooth and fast with just the whirring of chainrings with a few whining ratcheting Chris Kings thrown in to keep your attention on the ride. The canyon is spilling over with Amazon-like growth and flowers of colors and types I'd never seen before. At PCH, the oily smooth mirror of ocean reflected the face of the morning back at us, the occasional low lumpy breaker a knowing, ironic wink. Yes a beautiful and perfect day for pain. And that promise began to be fulfilled immediately. Topanga Canyon, pretty easy climb, Old Topang heh, not so bad - rail the banked smooth hairpins back down to Mulhulland, yeah I'm still smiling. A bit of a climb, a bit harder and then up and over and join a sailing, soaring 25 mph group back toward Las Virgines. Man that's not fast enough, gotta get on the front and pull at 30, 32, 30, hold at 30. Cross the Canyon damn this hill hurts - guess I shouldn't have taken the front so fast, so long - I'm cooked! The old shriveled dudes are passing me, the 50 year old ladies on a tandem chant their sweet yet infuriating mantra as they spin past "you're doing fine, don't give up sweety". There's no place to discreetly pull of the road and hide in the bushes. Must keep riding... Mulhulland keeps going up and gets even tougher at times but with a enough pulse-diminishing downhills to give a false sense of hope. Little Sycamore Canyon. It's 8% , 10%, 12%, 16%, 12%, 13% the computer spits out the damage to my shrieking quads and straining knee joints, tendons and menisci. Thank goodness it's only 8% again, what a relief! On and on this insult continues but then there is the climb to Cotharin. Only 3 miles, I CAN M-A-- K--- E it. Only 3 miles average grade 13.2% steepest section 21% for 200 yds. I know what's after this and the thought picture keeps the tired burned matchsticks that used to be legs, jerking out their ugly, erratic mashings. Heart rate 98% of max, breathing in small rapid birdlike whistles, chills. Oh God, I'm almost weeping as the beautiful, gorgeous blue mantle of Goddess Mother Ocean flows up and over the curving green bosoms of earth promising succor and warmth and sanctuary from this hell of suffering. Deer Creek Road is nirvana paved, 2000 vertical feet of hairball descending from the top of the mountains to the sea in less than four miles. But I find myself alone. PCH finds me alone. Las Posas, alone. Hueneme Road, solitary. Portraro Road - thank God no-one's around to see me. The first miles are just steep but enough to wreck all but the last shreds of my writhing corpse. The corner is coming and it looks like the road goes vertical; just as always, it does. I'm riding (?) at 2 miles per hour! I'm still on the bike but can longer tell if going forward/up. I see a few riders ahead in the shimmering black heat, zig-zagging accross the road and tired brain emails tired body-draped bike to do same. Cars are zooming and by dumb luck refuse to squash me as I careen in and out of the lane. Sob........
I did, apparently, make it over the top and over many more painful rollies to the Westlake Village ravaged cadavre depository and lunch stop. And that was it. 96 miles suffered and 8000+ feet painfully ascended. I gratefully accepted the SAG back to the start hotel and puked immediately after falling out of the car.

Just wasn't my day.