Solving the Maze: Mountain View "Bike Boulevard"

Yesterday I finally cleaned the Mountain View Bike Boulevard in both directions: not a single navigational fault. That's a non-trivial accomplishment: it's a maze.

Most of the "Bike Boulevard" is described in this preliminary report from 2004. Mountain View has a problem: its streets are generally newer than those of the communities further north, and that's not a good thing. They were designed in the age of the supremacy of the car: wide roads designed for high-speed, high-capacity car traffic. Both the speed and capacity are illusionary: the wide roads intersect at controlled intersections with extremely long light cycles, the long cycles mandated by a combination dedicated left-turn phases and providing pedestrians sufficient time to cross the long distance from curb-to-curb during green. They're a disaster of urban planning.

Two major routes, not counting freeways, from Palo Alto to Sunnyvale through Mountain View are Middlefield to the north and Central Expressway to the south. Middlefield is more of a commercial street with strip malls and an enormous density of traffic lights. Central Expressway is faster, with more favorable right of way and, eastbound, a relatively small number of cross-street conflicts for cyclists due to the adjacent Caltrain tracks limiting cross-street density. Neither of these streets is good for timely cycling, however. Middlefield's strip malls create a lot of mid-block conflicts, and the traffic lights create frustrating delays, so despite its bike lanes and status as a recommended cycling route Middlefield is very unattractive. Central, on the other hand, features high-speed entry and exit points from the freeway network, and it's glass-strewn shoulders are a persistance puncture hazard.

In between is a maze of meandering residential streets. These are what the "Bike Boulevard" navigate, providing access from close to the terminus Palo Alto Bike Boulevard to at least most of the way to Sunnyvale.

But I put "Bike Boulevard" in quotes, because while it's nice to have a signed route to navigate the maze of streets and occasional paths which form it, there's nothing "boulevard" about it. Palo Alto led the way with its bike boulevard back in the 1970's: led by Ellen Fletcher, Palo Alto's bike advocate mayor, Palo Alto created a fast and safe route for cyclists to get across town. Bryant Street was converted to bike boulevard status by eliminating stop signs to reduce delays and putting in place hard vehicle barriers to eliminate it as an attraction to car traffic. It was truly visionary, to be the first in a network of bike boulevards. But for whatever reason the political momentum was lost, and it remains an only-of-its kinds certainly in Palo Alto, perhaps in the entire Bay area. Indeed, in the 1990's when the Palo Alto Bike Boulevard was extended between Embarcadero and the Menlo Park border (previously cyclists were directed to Ramona to cross Embarcadero) there was some controversy because cyclists were given no priority on this new segment. It was basically just an addition of loop detector for cyclists to trigger the traffic light at Embarcadero and signs signifying the new status of the roads the rest of the way. So there was some question about what the new designation of this portion actually signified.

Mountain View continued with this approach: signage only for its "bike boulevard". Basically nothing changed from before except that the pathological navigational skill which would have been required to complete the route unsigned was now mitigated to a reduced but nontrivial challenge. The issue is the signs, while extremely useful, are inconsistently placed and in some intersections some searching is required to find them. In some places logic by omission needs to be exercised: given no sign is visible on option A, it must be option B.

So I appreciate it: it's way nicer, psychologically, than Central and way faster than Middlefield. I've been riding it between work and the Palo Alto Caltrain station, in conjunction with a portion of the Palo Alto boulevard, sometimes using Park in Palo Alto as an alternate. But it's much more like the designated bike routes in Marin, in particular route 20, which twists and turns through local streets to help cyclists avoid the roads with high speed vehicle traffic.

I created segments for the Mountain View "Bike Boulevard" on Strava, using data from my rides today. I embed them below. These segments are completely unsuited for speed tests: they're most useful for statistics. Indeed, I find that among activities posted to Strava, successful navigation of the full thing is a very rare thing: only 6 eastbound and 4 westbound despite Strava's fairly forgiving segment matching criteria.

Berkeley Hills Road Race

I feel a singular attraction to the Berkeley Hills Road Race. With increased attention the past few years to trail running, a road marathon, and double centuries, adding in a few minor injuries which have derailed my progress a few years, and my bike racing experience has been restricted to hillclimbs. But with Roaring Mouse, my team, co-promoting Berkeley Hills with the venerable Berkeley Bike Club, I was planning at being at the race anyway. It was just a matter of selecting a volunteer option compatible with racing. And so I signed up for clean-up, and registered for the 45+ 1-2-3 race.

I was nervous going in. As I reported here, the previous Wednesday I did 100 miles, a bit much, but it was a commute ride I'd committed to months before and I didn't want to miss it. That left me three days for recovery. And when I went out for a light shake-down cruise on Saturday, the day before Berkeley Hills, my legs felt okay, and my bike seemed in good condition.

On Saturday morning, before my shake-down ride, I'd swapped the chain for a KNC I had laying around, the old chain having reached 0.75% elongation. I swapped the SRAM Red 11-26 cassette for an 11-23, even that overkill for the gradual climbs of Berkeley Hills with my 34-tooth little ring. I contemplated putting my 36-ring on instead, but it was on my Ritchey Breakaway and that seemed like too much hassle. I finally put my Speedplay X-1's with aftermarket Al bow-ties on, preferring my Bont shoes (on which I've finally dialed in the heat molding, after daring to increase the oven temperature higher than on previous molding attempts) to my new Specialized shoes. The Bonts are drilled for Speedplay cleats while the Specialized are 3-hole with Shimano SPD-SL cleats. The Specialized shoes have been putting pressure on a nerve in my ankle, and I didn't want to deal with the kludged shim I'd used for DMD in a road race. I also found to my horror I had a steel water bottle cage bolt on the Fuji. I found an Al one and put that on instead, saving close to 3 grams.

A big question was how many water bottles to use. We were climbing the hills three times, the feedzone being at the bottom of Papa Bear, the second sustained climb and the climb to the finish. So if I took only two bottles, with the forecast high for the day over 80F, I'd definitely need to get a bottle feed during at least one of the first two times up Papa. That seemed too risky, since the feed zone can be chaotic, and delay there can be fatal if you then need to close a gap on the climb.

So I decided to take the extra 400+ grams and carry a third bottle in my pocket. There's around 8 minutes of climbing between Mama Bear and Papa Bear, including the minor climbs at their tops. So 400 grams would cost me around 3 seconds total, since I am presently 57 kg and my bike is 5.8 kg, then add in clothing and something for wind resistance. 3 seconds is a lot, but then I decided to play it safe.

One thing I noticed in warming up was when I shifted from the big to little ring with my chain in my 23 cog, the derailleur threw the chain. This was something I was supposed to have caught the day before. I tried adjusting the ramp screw on my rear derailleur to see if that would help, which seemed unlikely, and it turns out it didn't. Worn chainrings? Possible, but not super-likely since I don't ride my Fuji much. Maybe the derailleur angle needs to be adjusted. But I didn't want to do that on the start line. So I resolved to not attempt this shift during the race.

The race started with a neutral climb out of the boat house area where registration is held. These neutral starts are often nervous, and this one was, as the motorbike kept a steady pace, while the riders tended to accelerate as the grade changed. So there was some braking involved, but we got to the top intact.

And when I did I was almost immediately sprinting to close a gap. The group had gone from the narrow road from the boathouse to wide-open San Pablo Dam Road with its two full right-hand lanes + shoulder available to us (centerline rule was in effect). Riders were blasting away at the front, shouting at each other. I tucked into the pack, and then there was more shouting. What? These guys had applied too many testosterone patches this morning or something. I wondered what I'd gotten into.

Around we went, passing the elite 3's along the way. They'd started several minutes before us, but were obviously dawdling: they had to race an extra lap, after all. But more than that, the 3's don't have the strong teams the 1-2-3 master's groups have. They lose incentive, the pace dropping. It never really dropped in my race.

Other than this, I arrived without incident at the base of Mama Bear. As is my tendency, I was too far back here, but the road is wide and I set off at a decent climbing tempo and started moving up. I made good progress, moving toward the front half of the pack by the top of the climb.

This used to be the finish of the race back in the 1990's, and I have some nostalgia for it, but now the top of Mama Bear has no significance. Afterwards, there's a slight descent, a short climb, another false summit, then a slightly longer climb before the fast descent to Happy Valley Road and the start of Papa Bear.

I tried my best to descend as aerodynamically as possible, but at 57 kg I just don't drop as quickly as bigger guys. So I lost some places here. My 46-11 may have been the smallest top gear in the race, but I don't think that was limiting. It was fast enough for coasting. I just wasn't coasting as fast as the others.

We hit the base of Papa Bear, and I stayed to the left to avoid the feed zone. I again moved up, and approached a lead group as we neared the top. One rider on my wheel shouted at me to close the final gap, but I felt that would be too much, so I left the little gap for the rise which follows soon after Papa. In every race I've done here, in the 4's, in the 3's, in the 35+ 3-4, there's always been a let-up in the pace here. Surely I could latch onto the tail of the group and save myself time in Z7 for which I'd pay dear interest later. This was only the first lap of 3!

But I never closed the gap. They drilled it up this short rise, then were gone on the descent, setting I pace I simply couldn't match. Pedaling on this descent is tricky, since there's frequent pavement heaves, and if you catch one off-balance it could be an issue. I didn't see people pedaling here. It was pretty much tuck and go.

I wondered if having taken that third bottle made the difference here. It could have, but then had I kept better pack position that was a much greater factor.

On the descent I was recaught by the 3's. This was pretty much a disaster, as untangling from them would be difficult. I tried to hang in with them, but after the descent, they essentially crawled up Baby Bear, the short climb to San Pablo Dam Road. There was a ferocious crack in the pavement here, marked in white paint, and I had to steer around it, but I don't think it caused any crashes all day. On San Pablo Dam Road, the 3 pack continues riding a relaxed pace. The lead group of my race was long gone, any hope of chasing back with a second group was lost.

Finally a motor ref instructed the 3's to neutralize so my race could move forward. There were only a few of us who did so. What happened to all those riders I'd passed? We had no chance to stay ahead of the 3's, let alone catch the leaders, but what the heck, may as well ride.

So we traded pulls, catching a few more riders along the way, dropping another, so we ended up with a group of 4 or 5. I was taking 50-60 pedal-stroke pulls, so around 40 seconds. Others were doing similar. One guy was obviously punchy, and was pulling faster than the others. The rest were closer matched to me.

We hit Mama Bear again and I pulled away from my little group. Riders were visible up the road and I hoped some of them were from my pack, so if I could bridge to them, then that would be good. But they were stragglers from the women's race. I caught and passed them on Mama, then began the descent to the feedzone. I'd already drunk two bottles by this point, with one left with a single lap remaining, and contemplated taking a bottle, since I'd have no conflict in doing so.

But then I was caught by the 3-pack. They swarmed around me. I filtered to the back as the climb started, moving to the right, and took a bottle. I drank a bit of this, then tossed it back into the feedzone at the tail end. I didn't want to carry the extra weight up the hill.

I noticed now some of the guys I'd dropped had gotten a free ride with the 3's, and were back here with me. We crested the climb together, but then again I got gapped on the descent. I wasn't that far back, only a few seconds, but when we hit Baby Bear at the bottom they turned on the after-burners and were gone.

This was the second time in the race I'd been burned by a lack of top-end power. And was it a surprise? Hardly. I've not trained it. I've not been doing fast group rides and even if I had, one week of taper + two weeks of recovery from the Devil Mountain Double had deprived me of the chance to continue. This is why volume alone, SF2G and double centuries, for example, are not adequate preparation for road racing. The intensities involved there are just a different level.

Tim Westmore photo

The rest of the race was solo. Halfway through the lap I tossed my chain in the predictable way. I stopped and put it back on: SRAM isn't as good as Shimano for pedaling a dropped chain back on. This probably cost me 15 seconds, but honestly the rest wasn't a terrible thing. My last climb of Mama and Papa were substantially slower than my first two, and I suffered the minor humiliation of being overtaken by the leaders of the cat 4 race the last time up Papa.

I didn't dally at the finish, instead riding straight back to the start area where I was to meet the clean-up coordinator. I began my duty early, picking up discarded gel wrappers and bottles along the way, turning my jersey pockets into a gooey mess.

One thing I noticed at the finish is the vast majority of the riders there seemed to view the day's event as something of a failure. This is in contrast to trail runs, for example, where almost everyone is happy at their success in finishing the race. As much as I love bike racing, this is obviously a cultural problem with the sport. It's something I try to fight against in organizing the Low-Key Hillclimbs.

The clean-up coordinator was Dan Dole, cyclocrosser and mountain biker Krishna Dole's uncle (himself a former winner of the 45+ race). I rode co-shotgun in his pick-up truck and picked up cones, warning signs, and the official's tent at the finish line. This was fun. We had a nice discussion, he advising me that I needed to structure my training better if I want to race well. But I've not been training, really, I've been riding, and I don't apologize for that.

And then I did just that: ride. With my heavy backpack, I rode over Wildcat Canyon Road, down Spruce, and into Berkeley where I got a banana to eat at a small market I like right next to Cheese Board, then took BART back to San Francisco.

SF2G Hamway

I've done 28 SF2G rides this year, commuting from home in San Francisco to work in eastern Mountain View at the Sunnyvale border. This ride typically covers around 43 miles up to 50 if I take a more scenic route. But Wednesday I went super-scenic. I finally did Hamway.

Technically Hamway isn't San Francisco to Mountain View, as the real riding starts in Dublin, at the end of the BART line there. Then we rode down to Livermore, stopping first at a small mall where some riders got coffee and/or bagels. Not long after, though, three of us suffered puncture vine flats. One of the riders had a particularly slow fix. We weren't off to a good start towards my goal of getting to work by 1:30 pm, since I'd taken the morning off but not the afternoon.

But we finally made it to Livermore and turned onto Mines Road, always a sobering sight. Mileage markers on Mines Road count up from 0 at this junction until they reach the Santa Clara County border at mile 20. Here the numbers start counting down from approximately 27. At mile 19 you reach the junction with San Antonio Valley Road and Del Puerto Canyon Road. San Antonio is the main way, and the numbers continue counting down here, reaching 0 at the turn-off for the small access road to the Livermore Observatory at the Mount Hamilton summit.

Starting Mines Road, another problem: Beckett's cable housing shredded to his rear derailleur. Fortunately Carl knew a trick of using a bottle cage bolt to tension the rear derailleur cable to gears inaccessible from the limit screw alone. This is one I'll need to remember. Beckett eventually got back on the road, but was stuck in his big ring for some reason. I am not sure what caused this, but he eventually figured out he could kick his chain to the little ring with his foot. So while he did the initial "5 mile climb" (referring to mile marker 5) of Mines Road in way too big a gear, by the steep climb of San Antonio Valley Road he was able to use his little ring. And with the bolt holding his rear cable, he could adjust his gear by stopping and changing the position. It was extremely old school, like 1890 Velocio old school, but it worked fine, and he rode a fairly strong commute.

But here's where things went a bit crazy for me. I was expecting a fairly steady ride with regroups. Certainly I didn't want to be digging myself into a hole today with the Berkeley Hills Road Race coming up on Sunday, and still in a two-week recovery phase from Devil Mountain Double. So when the bulk of the group surged, not too surprisingly, on the Mines Road 5-mile climb, I stuck to my power meter and let them go. Carl, a strong climber, was riding easily next to me and asked whether it was better to stick with me or go with the leaders. I couldn't answer that, it depended on the goals. My goal was to do a single hard effort on the final climb and not overextend myself. After all, we'd just regroup at the junction, if not sooner. Then we'd regroup again at Isabel Creek.

But off he went, quickly bridging up to the decently-sized lead group. Looking at my power, it was obvious ride leader Jason had abandoned his pre-ride promise to stick to a constant power, since I could scale his weight to mine and add a fixed offset for our bikes. There was the additional factor I was the only one wearing a backpack, and a fairly sizable one at that. I somewhat questioned this decision, perhaps my largest Camelbak with bladder removed would have been better, but pre-ride I'd not thought it was a big deal. The added weight of the pack would be offset by its comfort. And I thought I might want to stop at the store on my way home, so wanted a bit of carrying capacity in addition to the change of clothes and light running shoes I'd brought for work (I prefer using running shoes when I take Caltrain or BART to avoid wear on my Bont cycling shoes, which I was wearing this day, since I was on my Ritchey Breakaway with Speedplays, and my old Sidi shoes were just too worn out to provide good foot support, according to 3D Bike Fit).

(an aside: this began as a "quickie" ride report but as invariably occurs, it's already grown well beyond that stage)

I grinded along up the seemingly interminable climb of Mines for the third time in just a few months, the first during Murphy Mack's Spring Classic, the second during DMD 10 days earlier. I eventually reached the more gentle, net climbing but more rolling than climbing portion leading to the eventual two-part descent to the junction. Here I passed Ryan, who was fixing a flat. I made sure he was okay and he sent me ahead, so I continued to roll.

Along the way, I traded places with Marion and Andrew, both of whom passed me but then I subsequently re-passed. Ryan repassed me, his flat fixed. We weren't competing, just riding our own paces. I stopped a few times to pee or to rearrange the items in my pockets, which were hard to access because of the back-pack. And I had two sets of pockets: an outer set associated with my vest, and an inner one associated with my jersey. I try to keep the vest pockets clear for when I remove it, something I surprisingly hadn't done yet. Normally Mines Road is an exercise in heat tolerance, but today it was cool and damp.

Despite this I wasn't feeling so well. I had a recurring headache, which I'd chase away with some of the Endurolytes I'd brought along. This would solve it, perhaps more placebo than anything else, I'm not sure. I had my Garmin on a 20-minute time alert to remind me to drink. I think I was doing so on a regular schedule. Perhaps having awakened at 3:15 am, ahead of my 4 am alarm, meant I was a bit sleep-deprived.

I descended to the junction and not far before is the fire house. A few riders were there, waving me down. This was a surprise, as I'd expected a general regroup here, but the lead group hadn't waited. There was a hose there which could be used for filling bottles, but the Junction Cafe was a preferred option. The Cafe had an external tank with a tap, at least according to reports from last year, intended for drinking. I wasn't so sure about the fire station hose.

But the Cafe was closed and the tank was gone. Later I learned the lead group had been accused of trespassing for passing the closed gates blocking the parking area there. Whoever did so was gone when we arrived, though.

So it was back to the firehouse where we generally regouped. It was me, Andrew, Ryan, Marian, Serena, Beckett, and Ramesh (who'd been keeping Serena company, a good thing for him to do in any case since he's been piling on the miles this month for the May Bike To Work Challenge). We didn't wait long, though, just enough time to fill our bottles from the long hose with the questionably-tasting water and patch our spare tubes. After Serena and Ramesh arrived we were soon ready to roll.

Leaving the junction there's some rollers, including two decent climbs, the latter the most significant, before Isabel Creek at mile marker 5 which begins the final, challenging climb to the top. It was me, Ryan, and Ramesh trading places at the front, with Andrew not far back. Ramesh was pacing with a heart rate monitor and would surge with remarkable intensity until he'd notice his heart rate had gotten too high (for example, 190 beats per minute, a rate I've never been able to reliably reach) and slow way down. Finally, on the last climb before Isabel Creek, I recommended he try a power meter, since that provides much more rapid feedback about pacing.

Ryan was obviously also strong, with more top end than I had this day, and I was letting the competitive aspect get the better of me. I held a my highest power of the day to arrive solo to the beginning of the descent to Isabel Creek. I was still alone when I reached the bridge at the bottom.

I'd hoped for a regrouping at Isabel, and in fact one had been discussed, but the leaders hadn't waited here either. It had been my plan to ride my own pace from here to work so I could make my 1:30 pm goal, so stopping to wait here seemed sort of pointless. I kept going.

I'd never felt good on this climb and today didn't break that streak. On DMD, my power was hovering in the 170's here due to the heat, but today was cooler. Still, I was able to do only 220's for the climb. It's a long slog, the mileage markers counting down slower than expected. Finally at marker 1 the grade relents, the climb becoming more gradual and then eventually topping out. Mile marker 0 finally marked the "top", the turn-off to the short gradual climb to the observatory.

In DMD we kept going here, but I was out of water again, and didn't want to do the 19 mile descent empty. So I turned to ride up the observatory.

A few riders were waiting here including Peter, Carlin, and Jonathan. I wasn't so happy they had all left the weaker riders on their own by skipping all regroup options. I had no issue with it, I said, but Serena had expressed pre-ride concern about the difficulty, and Beckett was on a crippled bike.

Happy group at summit, after I'd left

But anyway, I didn't push the point too hard. I filled and consumed two bottles at the filtered water tap in the observatory, then refilled both bottles. I was surprised I was so thirsty. Food wasn't a problem: I'd started the ride with 5 bars and a full flask of Hammer gel, which corresponds to around 4 gel packs. I still had some food left but in combination with a large serving of oatmeal before leaving in the morning I wasn't calorie-deprived.

My total stop was only 11 minutes and then I began the descent. It started to rain, or rather I entered the rain: light, cool, misty rain which wasn't enough to get me wet but was just enough to make me worry a bit about traction. The two gradual but nontrivial climbs along the way to the bottom were atypically welcome, as they allowed me to dispel the chill of the cool descent.

From the bottom, it was an exercise in navigating the suburban hell which is Silicon Valley. The route I'd charted traversed a long section of Trimble Road. Trimble Road is a typical Silicon Valley disaster: too many lanes and too many traffic lights with interminably long red phases. I complain about these roads repeatedly, but will do so again. This area is a track-wreck of urban planning. It's what happens when you focus on only one thing: car-carrying capacity. The result is high-speed highway like roads where nevertheless the point-to-point progress is amazingly slow due to the long-phase traffic lights which become become necessary at every, frequent intersection due to the requirement that pedestrians with walkers be able to survive the crossing. I'd be fired if I designed electronic circuits the way these roads are designed. Next time, instead of Trimble, I'll take Guadalupe Trail to a trail which parallels a creek along Highway 237. This is longer but far more scenic and likely not much slower, if at all.

After many frustrating traffic light delays and a few stops to check the map on my phone, I arrived at work @ 1:34 pm, only slightly after target. I stopped for a PR-sized salad at the cafeteria and was able to work fairly productively until 6:20 pm, when I left to catch the last Caltrain Baby Bullet north. So I lived up to my goal of commuting for a half-day at work.

Now I had 3 days to recover for Berkeley Hills, which I could do without concern I was hurting my long-term fitness.

Berkeley Hills Road Race: going back for more

I signed up for the Berkeley Hills Road Race.

This is probably my favorite road race course. It's a classic: climbs long enough that they aren't completely dominated by anaerobic effort, fast wide-open descents, nice views, proximity to home with easy return via public transit, and most importantly my team, Roaring Mouse, sponsors it.

So I signed up for clean-up crew and registed for the race. I hadn't done a road race (just hillclimbs) for a few years. The last road race I did was in fact Berkeley Hills. I races the cat 3 race that year, again unsure of my fitness. The year before I'd been more sure of my fitness and gone off the front from the start. It hadn't been intentional: I'd just followed the lead car up the opening climb and there I was off the front. So I decided to go with it and see what happened. What happened was 1.5 laps later I was caught, chewed up, and spit out the back.

So the next year I decided to play it cool. And to my shock it worked: I survived the first lap, and on the second lap I survived Mama Bear and the feed-zone chaos of Papa Bear. At the top of Papa, though, a rider in front of me looked back to see if he could see his teammate. This caused him to overlap wheels with a rider in front of him, he went down, and I went into him. I bruised my rib, twisted my handlebars out of alignment, and my race was over. Indeed my season was basically over as I never recovered the fitness I had there until the Low-Key Hillclimbs in the fall.

I don't even remember what year that was: 2010? 2009? (answer: 2009) Anyway, it was a long time ago. Older isn't better in this instance, but I won't be riding the elite 3's this time, I'll be riding with the old guys. But the old guys are still fast guys and I am not confident.

Recovery has gone as well as expected from Devil Mountain Double. Each day my strength and energy increases. On Sunday, a week after DMD, I tested my legs on the Bears and I liked what I saw on my power meter. I'm not going to win the race but that's not my goal. My goal is top 20. But that's just a number: the real goal is to hang in the pack, ride a smart race, and not do anything stupid.

But how will I react to 3 laps of the Bears (only two of Baby Bear, though)? In theory, Sunday showed me I have the power to hang with the pack the first, likely fastest, time up the hills. In theory, I showed at Devil Mountain Double my endurance is excellent. But theory is one thing, execution is another. So many things can go wrong in a road race. My tendency to focus on the bad and not the good has been a personal deterrent in racing more. I'm addicted to the rush of pushing myself to my limits, and so have never completely lost my urge to do them, but I too readily get discouraged when things don't work out as I would hope.

The goal for Sunday: be prepared. Bring 3 water bottles to take the pressure off the chaos which is the feed zone. Bring a 4th bottle to drink before the start. Bring gels and down them regularly: two per lap. Add electrolyte to my bottles so I stay on top of those. And for this race go back to Bont shoes and Speedplays since I don't want to deal with the pressure point problem from my Specialized shoes, or the clip-in problem for the Shimano pedals.

Racing is about attention to detail, about anticipating potential problems and neutralizing them before they have time to occur. My bike will be ready and, in theory, so will I. But the only thing of which I'm sure is events on the road won't be predictable. But that's a big reason people do these things. Postscript: It's interesting going back and reading my pre-race report from this race in 2009. I was completely unconfident in myself. Yet I was able to hang in there fine... until I crashed. Tomorrow (Wednesday) I'm going to test my recovery from DMD with an extra-scenic bike commute... 94 miles over Mount Hamilton. Then I have 3 days to recover from that. It'll be interesting.

Watching Miwok 100 (actually 60 km) trail run

Yesterday Cara and I revised our previous plans to watch the Cat's Hill Criterium, passing up on dealing with Caltrain, and instead rode out to watch the Miwok 100.

We rode out across the city. I've been feeling tired, a combination of allergies and residual fatigue from the Devil Mountain Double. I had lightweight running shoes stuffed under my jersey in case I wanted to move out onto the trail a bit, but we never really did. We stayed near the Tennessee Valley trail head.

The race was scheduled for 100 km but it was shortened to 60 km since the Mt Tamalpais State Park pulled the plug on their access due to a perceived fire threat. Honestly I question this decision. I think the State Park runs with way too low a risk threshold. The Mt Tamalpais Hillclimb has been canceled two times in recent years, the first time because the park refused to issue permits in anticipation of a possible park closure due to state budget cut-backs (the park budget regularly used as a negotiation chip: shutting down parks doesn't actually save much, if any, money). The next time the Mt Tam Hillclimb was canceled it was because of thunder threat the night before. A closure extended essentially to essentially coincide with the start of the climb, but the promoter decided to cancel, since this wouldn't allow the officials to get to the top early. The fire threat in this case was essentially illusionary, it being the point where the extended threat window was ending. And this time they shut it down because of recent heat, possible heat in the forecast, and strong winds. But the race was going through early, well before any serious chance of heat.

Was there a non-zero fire chance? Perhaps. But no aspect of life can be taken with a zero risk tolerance. Just driving to the start, let alone the rigors of putting your body through the effort of running 100 km, esposes runners to substantial risk. To me it showed a real disrespect to the runners' commitment to the event, and important one in the ultra-running calendar, to protect them from an extremely small numerical hazard. What's the acceptable risk? 1/100 thousand? 1/10 thousand? But this is all just my view. Perhaps if I worked in the Park my view would differ. But I doubt it.

Anyway, we had a good time watching the runners come through. I barely got my camera out when the leader came through, catching his back. I unfortunately missed my friend Gary Gellin in second. I was watching out for cars driving by, part of the amazingly large traffic volume to the nearby stables. Additionally, despite the fact cars are parked well back onto the roadway leading up to the trailhead lot, everyone seems to want to try their luck taking a lap of the lot. It's important when doing an 8-mile hike to the beach to not park more than 50 meters from the trail head.

My photos are here. They're nothing special: I just pointed and shot whenever a runner came through, although I botched a few, and as I noted, I missed Gary. Cara teased me about that. "You're so funny" she said. I felt bad about missing Gary so I didn't think it was so funny, myself.

My trip to 3D Bike Fit

A month ago I went to 3D Bike Fit. I've known Kevin Bailey for a long time, as well as Alex his partner, back to their days with Bike Nüt in San Francisco. I procrastinated, though, since I'd experimented with fit a long time and I'd been to several professional fitters and didn't think the time investment would be worth it. My schedule most days is super-busy and if I do one thing something else doesn't get done.

The problem I have had with most bike fits is they seem strongly biased. I go in, my present fit is assessed, a few tweaks are made, and out I go. This seems strongly biased. Ideally the final fit shouldn't depend on the initial fit. If there's an optimal fit, why should it matter what I've been riding? It's like if I ask you to solve the equation 3x + 6 = 21. There's only one answer with conventional numbers and it's 5 (corrected!). Whether I start with an initial guess of 2 or an initial guess of 42 is irrelevant: I've got to end up at 3.

Unfortunately bike fitting isn't that simple. There's a range of solutions for a given physiology. So from that perspective, it makes sense to deviate as little as possible from an initial rider fit. Additionally, there's different philosophies on how to trade off different elements of fit. If I'm riding Amsterdam bike paths to and from the market, I'm certainly not going to want the same fit as a track sprinter. Additionally a track sprinter wouldn't want the same fit as a road racer, a road racer the same fit as someone doing double centuries, a double century rider the same fit as someone riding 1200 km brevets. There's trade-offs between aerodynamics, comfort, power, and acceleration.

But the biggest challenge in bike fit is that bikes are not designed for fit optimization. For example, if I pivot my body forward about the bottom braket, rotating everything forward, modeling has shown this has little effect on pedaling efficiency. Yet to do this on a bike requires making enormous changes: saddle up, saddle forward, handlebars lower, handlebars rotated forward, stem longer. If I were to optimize any of these components individually, I might well assume that changing it would result in an inferior fit, but only when changing them in coordination would I be able to investigate the effect of rotating the body about the bottom bracket. It's possible, for example, that doing so would result in a superior distribution of weight between the front and rear wheel, or perhaps a more balanced transition going from seated to standing. This would be easy to investigate with a specially designed fit bike, but it would be time prohibitive to investigate on a conventional bike,

Kevin @ 3D Bike Fit begins with a physiological check. In my case this included flexibility, how I stand, how I sit. My flexibility is relatively good but I have points of weakness. And he observed something I don't recall being observed before: that my left arch was collapsing. This results in a functional leg length difference, he pointed out. When the arch collapses that lowers the leg, and that lowering of the leg requires a compensating pivot in the hip. One approach to this might be a shim in the cleat, but a better approach is to support the arch in the left shoe. My Sidis had seen enough miles, and he strongly recommended the Specialized S-Works shoes with a dual-boa adjustment. These were remarkably comfortable at first, although perhaps slightly confining in the toes. The shoes have a built-in varus adjustment, he said, which I needed on my left side but not my right. He later neutralized the right varus adjustment with a shim Specialized makes for the purpose. He also gave me heat-moldable footbeds which provided a really firm feeling in the shoes. It was a feeling of connectedness I hadn't felt since I had Rocket 7's over ten years ago.

But it's hard to evaluate shoes in the hurried environment of a bike fit. The shoes are indeed comfortable, except for two features. One is the toe area. As I noted, my toes were somewhat confined, and the shim in the right shoe made them even more so. Extended riding resulted in the feeling the knuckles in my right foot abrading against the mesh on the top of the shoe, in particular at the location of a seam near the toes. On the left side, I had a very strange experience of some padding on the low-cut ankle rubbing against a nerve. I'm not sure why this didn't happen on the right side, which was fine. This was excruciating. The first ride I did I was convinced I'd ripped my angle to a bloody pulp. But after the ride, there was no visible trauma. I tried shimming various objects there to diffuse the pressure point. A coffee cozy picked up from the trash at a cafe helped a lot. Best of all was a credit-card-like object. That worked great and seemed fairly stable if placed correctly. This "solution" got me through Devil Mountain Double. For the right shoe, I eventually removed the varus adjustment neutralization shim. This gave me back just enough room in my toes that I was comfortable. This is acceptable, but I really need to figure out how to deal with that left ankle problem. I tried padding the shoe out with moleskin near the painful contact point. This didn't work as well as I'd hoped. At some point it risks replacing one problem with another. I also contemplated cutting away the portion of the shoe causing the issue. But the heel is already quite low there and I worry it might cause other problems.

On the pedal side Kevin likes the stable platform of Shimano SPD-SL pedals and cleats. These are indeed stable: once my shoe is clipped in it feels solid, and I don't find myself fighting against the lack of float. Another asset to these shoes is the cleats can be set up with a narrow stance, which he determined I needed. The video evidence was there: each time he made a change my pedal stroke improved. But what I don't like about the pedals is the difficulty clipping in. Usually a few seconds lost stumbling with a single-sided pedal is no big deal. However occasionally it is. For example, when clipping in at the start of a hillclimb every second lost is lost: you can only climb a hill so fast and unless drafting has a large influence, for example on a relatively flat section of road, then if it takes longer to get going it's going to take longer to get finishing. Even at Devil Mountain Double the clip-in problem may have been an issue if a delay clipping in caused me to subsequently just miss a traffic light. So I don't like the slow clip-in and that alone is reason to dislike these pedals, even if I like many other aspects. They are heavy but the cleat is light and the combination isn't that bad, although I've not carefully measured it since I've been more focused on the functional aspect.

The coolest thing, however, was the position tracking. Kevin attached markers to key pivot points on both sides of my body. The Retul system, as I understand it, uses a rastering laser which converts position into time, so based on when it sees reflections from the markers it determines the position of each marker. This allows him to track my body position, not only for video recording, but also for the automated real-time extraction of key parameters like joint angle. The traditional approach for joint angles is either goniometers, which can only be done statically, or using video analysis software like Dartfish, which is subject to perspective distortion. But Kevin improved on the Retul standard by building a rotating platform to allow for the sequential measurement of the left and right sides. This assumes you pedal the same during the two orientations, ideal would be simultaneous measurements of the multiple sides, but this is probably a good assumption and the solution is brilliantly done.

The fit took hours... close to four, I recall, and Kevin constantly complained about how it was a rush job. Yet this blew away prior fits I've had.

But there a few issues. One was saddle height: he set saddle height using a 35 degree bend angle in the knee as a target. I've read a bunch of papers and book references on the subject, this put my saddle lower than, or at the low range of, all of them. This is not itself an issue, it doesn't mean the fit was bad. But since I felt I had more top-end power with the seat higher, I felt I had license to act on that, and I raised it 1 cm. This wasn't as high as I had it prior, but seat height doesn't exist in isolation, and with the other changes he made my original seat height would have been too high.

The other issue was a source of some tension as I expressed reluctance to switch to shallow drop bars. A reason for this was I didn't like the specific bars he had: I don't like the raised center section of 31.8 mm bars (I use 26.0 mm) and I didn't like the heavier weight of what he had available (I use a humble Ritchey Pro bar and a Performance Forte stem, a combination which combined with some relatively cheap after-market Ti bolts yields a remarkably light package). But in the end I didn't see the need. The motivation for compact bars is to keep the back angle the same when transitioning the arms from the hoods to the drops. But why would I want that? The whole point of being on the drops is to get lower, for example for descending or due to high-intensity riding which can't be sustained for more than, for example, 10 minutes. While for the hoods I want to be able to open up a bit, relax a little, either for climbing when wind resistance is less important, or because I'm in a pack and wind resistance is substantially reduced and I want to have the option of straightening my arms and improving my view. I am a big fan of riding with bent arms: it absorbs shock and promotes relaxation, providing room to move by straightening them without impeding the ability to get aero when necessary. But that doesn't mean I want my drops raised up to such a height that they no longer expand my position options.

Anyway, he did the best he could, he said, with my present bars, rotating them forward (I'd had a prominent upslope on the drops to provide a more comfortable position on the ramps), raising the hoods, and raising the bars as high as my stem and steerer tube would allow. This really was an improvement, and I eventually converted my Ritchey Breakaway, my second-tier road bike, to a similar position. I find I can still get as low as my physiology allows without my knees pounding against my chest, an impact which obviously wastes energy, but I am more comfortable in the drops on extended descents, where they provide better control than descending on the hoods.

Indeed, on Devil Mountain Double, not counting some minor foot issues, I was remarkably comfortable for the 13+ hours I was moving. And this is after I raised my saddle, as I noted.

One thing I didn't see was an explicit power increase. My times up Camino Alto (a 4.5 - 5 minute climb) aren't noticeably faster and when I started doing sprints with a power meter, my sprint power was 100 watts lower than it had been last August. I've since gotten my sprint power back close to where it was then (although my best sprints were on my Ritchey Breakaway, which still has Speedplay pedals, which I rode with my Bont shoes, although other aspects of the fit I transferred to that bike). But there was no magic power boost, in the short term, fromt he position change. But a lot goes into power and staying fresher through a long ride is more important than peak power over intervals when fresh.

So it was a very positive experience and I strongly recommend 3D Bike Fit to riders who are serious about optimizing their positions.

Knoxville Double 2005: flashback ride report

After doing the Devil Mountain Double this past weekend, it reminded me of ride director Scott Halversen's other big event, the Knoxville Double Century. While DMD is in the relatively shorter spring days, Knoxville is in relatively short days of late summer, so both present a bit of a challenge to finish in daylight compared to events near the solstice. Knoxville is a much less challenging course than DMD, closer to Davis Double with which it shares many of the same roads. But it's dangerous to think of doubles as anything related to "easy": they're always extremely challenging and need to be treated with profound respect because if you take them at all for granted they'll bit you and you'll have an extremely painful end of the day.

I dug my report for the 2005 Knoxville, the only one I've ridden, out of the Alto Velo archives. I was strong that year, as circumstances provided me with a lot of time to ride on weekends. But it's interesting reading how much difficulty I experienced towards the end. Doubles I've done in the last few years I've finished strongly. I think it's because I've increasingly relied on Hammer products for nutrition, and they are a reliable way to avoid getting depleted. At least as importantly I've been doing them with a power meter, and they help me keep a steady effort on the hills throughout the events, never digging myself into a hole.

Here's the report:

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If Chuck Bramwell was guilty of verbosity, it was a pardonable offense. His introductions of the inductees into the California Triple Crown Hall of Fame were certainly wordy, but the recipients had earned it, having completed a remarkable 50 double centuries for the honor. Yet for Dave "Big Ring" Evans, it had to be deja-vu, as this was his second time having reached the 50 double threshold. As he had with the preceding five introductions, Chuck quoted some of the inductee's advice on riding, training, living, whatever. Dave's: "Don't EVER EVEN THINK about quitting." And Dave lives up to his own advice. Of the 102 California Triple Crown Double Centuries Dave had entered, he completed 102. All of them. Indeed, Dave claims to have completed every organized ride he's ever started.

I was stunned. Don't even count races. I thought back to organized rides I've failed to complete. That 1999 400km brevet in Austin, where after 320km, in the darkness, lightning, driving rain, and heavy car traffic, accepting an offered ride back to the start/finish. The Devil Mountain Double in 2002, which I began undertrained and overenthusiastic, At the base of Hamilton, depleted and contemplating the near-freezing temperatures reported for the summit, I turned back to complete the double-metric route instead, 150 miles for a day that demanded 200. Or the Terrible Two this year, where, starting with a cold, I was a drained shell by lunch at mile 107, an exhaustion which no doubt contributed to my two subsequent weeks of illness. In each of these cases, options had been considered, a decision had been made. But what if, WHAT IF the options had not considered, what if the ONLY option had been to continue. That would have changed things considerably. Then the question isn't whether to continue, but HOW to continue. Sitting in the gazebo which served as the home base of the Triple Crown breakfast (and to the previous day's double), listening to Chuck, I was humbled, even slightly humiliated.

The day before, during the Knoxville Double, I had yet again been guilty. Guilty not of quitting, but of contemplating it. In those little moments of despair, wanting to feel that the end is near, yet still facing more miles than a typical "long" week-end training ride, the negative toxin penetrates, the terrible attraction of the sag car, the hovering temptation of physical comfort. Why am I here? What is the purpose? But it's really too late, far too late, to ponder such matters. I AM here. The only Comfort is in finishing. There is no other.

Two hundred miles. While a silly triviality compared to true ultra-distance events, short even by brevet standards, it is, nevertheless to me, a challenging distance, the longest I do. Cycling is full of symmetries of two, so two is a natural division. Half of a double is a 100 miles. By my current standards, an exceptionally long training ride. An accomplishment. A half-century: 50 miles. A good long ride. Half of that: 25. A Tue or Thu noon ride, perhaps. Half again: 12. The Loop, no frills. Again: 10 km. Again, and again. Again, and again. After maybe 16 divisions of two (2^2^2^2), you're down to a pedal revolution: a pair of strokes. A pair of a pair of a pair of a pair of a pair of a pair of a pair of a pair of a pair of a pair of a pair of a pair of a pair of a pair of a pair of a pair of a pair of pedal strokes. A double century.

The key is to remain in the domain of the revolution. Left and right, Eat right, Drink right, and perfect the next revolution: perfect each stroke. A manageable task. Following lunch, around 120 miles in, I found myself slipping from it, from the domain. My legs' level of protest was accelerating, my speed responding in the opposite trajectory. Momentarily succumbing, I pulled over to the side of the road, and pressed my thumbs into my calves, each in turn. Ouch. I rubbed them briefly, hoping for a bit of recovery, and set off again, hoping to stay on a schedule which would get me back to the start by the onset of dangerous darkness at 7:30 (I'd sent my lights back to the start from the first check point). I needed to average 15 mph. Not fast, obviously, but counting unavoidable time spent at rest stops, there may have been some margin for mechanical problems, but little margin for serious physical ones.

I found myself with some decent riding companions, at just the right speed, and made it to the next check point, the immediate crisis passed. A volunteer asked me if I wanted some Enduralytes, the E-Caps electrolyte capsule. Why should I need these, I reasoned, as I'd been consuming the usual collection of powders and gels (Accelerade, Perpetuum, Sustained Energy, Hammer Gel, my Camelbak's dilute Pedialite), "supplemented" with some fresh fruit at the stops. Nevertheless, I took two; what was there to lose? Soon enough, I was off again, and found my leg pain was gone. The advantage of the short break? Maybe. But maybe, just maybe the Enduralite had worked. The calcium? Or something.

Halfway to the next stop, my legs started to hurt a bit again. Just hint of what I felt before, but a warning of impending pain? I resolved to take three more Enduralytes at the next stop, with three more for my jersey pocket.

The interval to the next stop was thankfully short. After those 3 capsules, no more leg pain. The three Enduralytes I took for reserve were never needed. I was fatigued, of course. But I had no more of that stinging soreness.

40 miles to go, and a woman I was riding with commented "the home stretch!" No, not yet. Boulder Creek to Palo Alto. Okay, less climbing, perhaps, but more fatigue.

The final 20 miles, and I finally allowed myself the luxury of contemplating the end. A diversion: calculate the number of kilometers remaining from my computer mileage, and count them down. Kilometers are so much more rewarding then miles, a cycling-friendly serving size.

The final rest stop -- 10 miles to go, I thought. I stopped only to check in and fill my bottle.

"14 miles, that way!" the volunteer cheerfully offered, pointing down the road. 14??? I'd thought it was 10. I expressed my disappointment, even disbelief. "Well, it'll feel like only 10!" she responded, losing only a touch of the cheer. I was in purgatory, surely.

But the miles passed, all almost-fourteen of them. And I was back at the gazebo. Done. 7:04pm -- 12 hours, 59 minutes on my clock. But it was only my clock, as Knoxville is untimed. And isn't that the best way, really? Sure, to me it was nice to have gotten under 13, even with a few extra miles from a pair of mis-steps. But I suspect few, if any, care about what "Big Ring" Evans' times were in any of those 102 doubles. What counts is he finished. All of them.

I strongly recommend the Knoxville Double. It's a great route, challenging without being brutal, has great support, great food, great proximity (Vacaville). You can even (as I did) set up a tent near the start/finish, avoiding the Motel 6 blues. BTW, don't worry about the start/finish being in Vacaville -- Napa and Barryessa are in surprising proximity.