Last night I hopped on the Caltrain with my bike to head home only to discover there was a bomb scare at the Milbrae station -- smack dab in the middle of my commute. Milbrae also just happens to be the only transfer point between Caltrain and BART. I heard later that BART was able to handle this OK, Milbrae being a terminal point on their line; they simply re-routed people to the SFO station by bus/shuttle.

People on Caltrain weren't so lucky -- their trains basically came to rest in limbo at whatever station was closest. My girlfriend split a cab ride from San Mateo with 3 other people ($20 each). A lot of others were scrambling for a bus to take instead, and I believe a number of others just ... waited... for the problem to resolve itself (proved to be a 3 hour wait just for the go ahead from police to resume service). Our conductor told us they had instructions to stop and wait at San Carlos station just 3 stops north of Palo Alto where I boarded. Pretty inconvenient.

It was at this point I decided to embrace the inconvenience -- I would simply bike to the nearest operating BART station. I assumed Milbrae BART would be closed (hadn't heard any official statement on the matter) but since it was on the way to other stations I set this as my initial destination.

At Redwood City (one stop sooner than San Carlos) I hopped off the train and onto my bike. From there I hammered my way up El Camino Real, small blinky bike safety lights pulsing away.

I rarely ride the bike with any purpose other than training in mind. As a result I rarely experience the thrill of utilizing my fitness for conventional purposes. The fact that, for me, at that moment, the bike was more convenient than the train made the inconvenience almost entirely pleasurable.

I say "almost entirely" because I covered the 14.5 miles in my jeans (lost a little skin on the inner thigh) with my laptop stowed away in my messenger bag and riding on the occasionally pitch dark stretches of El Camino which also at times lacked a proper should or bike path -- nothing like the uncertainty of not knowing whether your wheel is about to drop into a narrow crack in the asphalt and send you over your bars. If you're reading this, I don't suggest commuting this stretch -- there are other routes you can take that are much safer but I don't have them memorized and didn't want to deal with checking my iPhone every few miles.

In any case, long story short: I made it to Milbrae in 45 minutes, discovered police still on the scene and no operating trains and so
biked over to SFO where I found an elevator that dropped me off at the BART platform; 50 minutes total including the stops at lights of which there were a number.

PS -- if you've ever been to Milbrae you may recall smelling the most delicious chocolate aroma (from a nearby chocolate factory) that can permeate the air there; it was in full effect last night as I pedaled through -- almost worth the trip on its own.

Sanny and I are up in wine country this weekend for a friend's wedding. We made plans to meet at a park just inside Santa Rosa with her driving and me biking. So I rolled out of bed at 6:30 and rolled out of the house at 7:00 (and made a quick stop at Ritual for some coffee and food).

The route I took was meant to be 70 miles but I missed a turn somewhere that ended up adding on an additional 5 which also put me a bit behind schedule. So when I made it through Petaluma I gave Sanny a call and had her drive south from our original rendevous spot and meet me as I continued north. Ended up with 68 miles; about 4 hours of riding time.

(at mile 0)

(at mile 68)

Thanks to the guys at Mission Cycling for the suggested roads.

The weather is different just about every day in SF. This morning it was overcast with a little bite of cold in the wind. The iPhone isn't great in conditions like this but I keep meaning to take more photos when I'm on the bike. Unless I'm up for turning a 2.5 hour commute into a 3.5 hour commute I normally make a left here to eventually connect with Skyline. If you descend here, though, you end up dropping into Pacifica via Hwy 1 and the scenic Devil's Slide. Either way it makes for a great ride.

Sent from my iPhone

Never heard of it but apparently it's today in SF. This is the least crowded car heading to the city. I tried catching an earlier train but couldn't find a car with space for me and my bike -- I normally do a ride with my coach in the east bay on Saturdays.

Sent from my iPhone

Meeting Tim S @ Ritual Roasters for our morning commute to Palo Alto.

Sent from my iPhone

(sorry for the re-post; for some reason the photos weren't included the first time and I wasn't able to add them directly afterwards; I've added a link to a slideshow at the end).

This was a picture taken of me March 1, 2008.  It captures my memories of this day and the ones that were to follow it quite unintentionally.  If you look very closely at the reflection in my sunglasses you can see a vague outline of the photographer as she held her camera to her face.  This was the first time I'd met her. 

I remember not knowing what to expect of Kristy.  We were on the same team and I'd seen a number of her emails and read many others on her behalf from teammates who had the misfortune to train with her or the joy to see her race.  Kristy was a phenom on the bike, one of those rare talents that come along so rarely their appearance is dazzling, violent, and disruptive all at once.  I expected her to be brash and arrogant, to slip in praise of herself every other sentence or hint that I should provide it for her -- this behavior is not uncommon in the world of cycling even among people with half her ability.

I remember dreading the question that would be first on her lips after our very brief introduction, "Why'd you pull out? You were keeping a pretty good position."

Still circling us on the block we stood was the rest of the men's Elite Cat 4 field.  I wasn't with them because the course and the way the riders were racing it were seriously freaking me out and I couldn't get comfortable; 7 weeks earlier I had broken my collar bone in a race in Sacramento and I was still gun shy racing with a bunch of riders who liked to dive bomb corners.  So 30 minutes into this 45 minute race, after seeing and avoiding two crashes, I told myself it wasn't worth risking another crash just to finish this race with the pack.

But one of my pet peeves, especially on the bike, is: The Excuse -- and this felt like one to me.  So I fessed up the other truth that didn't feel like an excuse (or was at least vague in it): my fitness isn't ready for this sort of intensity.

Already though, I was starting to realize that my expectations for her were off.  She didn't come off as arrogant, she never brought up her win earlier in the day, or her largely undefeated status for the season (her one 2nd place finish was against a pro field which she controlled and made a suffer fest for everyone), she didn't bring up any lofty goals, or make any excuses for not performing to her expectations.  Instead, she was warm in her curiosity and friendly in her joking manner.

If I had written all this down all these months ago I'm sure I could outline one or two specific moments that made me a fan of Kristy that day in the five minutes we spoke -- instead all I have is the sense that when she said goodbye and walked back to her perch across the street to continue taking photos, that not only was she on her way to bigger and better things but that she deserved all the accolades she had and would receive. 

A few minutes later the peleton rushed around the corner on the bell lap and I watched a rider break away on the back stretch.  There's no way he can hold it, I thought to myself.  And for the second time in ten minutes I was surprised; he won with about 50 yards on 2nd place and the sprinting peleton.  At the road race the next day I made a point of congratulating him on his gutsy victory the day before.  Even 24 hours later he was bubbling with excitement over the win -- something I would later learn had been a goal of his -- winning this particular race in this particular manner -- for several years.  He introduced himself to me as Matt Peterson.  And I should mention that Kristy, again, won her road race this day as well.

(Matt Peterson & Kristy Gough)

Fast forward one week and I'm out in Berkeley doing a Time Trial with a friend and former teammate.  When it's over we head out and ride around the East Bay hills for an easy 30 miles.  We spent a lot of time talking about Kristy and how exciting it was to see her ramping up to fly through the ranks of competitive cycling.  When we finished I had a phone call from a good friend and teammate who was out of town but had just heard something on the radio about an accident involving some cyclists in the Santa Clara area.  I hadn't heard anything about it yet but quickly ran through a quick list of people I know who might ride in that area on a Sunday morning -- no one came to mind.

It was only a few minutes later when I checked my email on the phone that I discovered Kristy was one of the involved cyclists.  Details were initially scarce, just that Kristy had been hit by an oncoming car, had been seriously maimed and was being flown to Stanford. The following emails provided further information.

I called Pat back to relay what I'd just learned: Matt Peterson was struck first and killed immediately, Kristy had survived her flight to Stanford where her mother was rushing to meet her; she died shortly after.  A third cyclist had a broken bone or two but looked good to recover.  I remember words being slow to follow at this point and a little bit later we hung up, each of us needing some time to absorb the shock.

I found myself constantly thinking of Kristy and Matt for the next month on the bike.  I couldn't ride more than 5 minutes without an image of them popping into my consciousness.  Training felt curiously 3rd person and life clearly unfair.

I expect it might be hard to understand how this could affect someone so much who confesses to have had no close friendship to either Kristy or Matt.  To fully appreciate it you'd have to understand how small the competitive cycling community is.  We are formed by a small grouping of people who find the cost of admission the sport demands to be acceptable.  That is to say, the sport is brutal in what it demands and stingy with what it rewards -- no one has ever stood on a race podium that I know of who has not sacrificed the better part of the year in pursuit.

I know, without ever having talked to them about it that Matt and Kristy knew the sacrifice of time with friends for time recovering with sleep in bed for the morning's workout or race.  I know, that even before their fatal encounter with the Deputy Sheriff's patrol car, that they had likely been harassed no less than once a month by drivers with road rage -- drivers who swerve at you and run you off the road at the peril of your life -- all because you happen to be riding on the bare minimum amount of asphalt you can physically occupy of the public road you happen to be on.  I know they had seen any number of horrible bone shattering crashes strike literally before their eyes in just about every race they competed in. And I know that they took these costs and deemed them Just.  Because in the end they kept training and they kept racing.

http://garrytanphoto.smugmug.com/photos/swfpopup.mg?AlbumID=4520832&AlbumKey=UDkxb

Basically all downhill from here which is nice after you've already climbed 3700 feet. Route was Hwy 1 from SF through Pacifica and Half Moon Bay and over Tunitas Creek. 50 miles total.

Sent from my iPhone

(01:13:52 PM) Eric Gebhardt: man. Contador remains strong
(01:14:05 PM) mrampton: yah.
(01:14:09 PM) Eric Gebhardt: Armstrong now back 3:55
(01:14:19 PM) Eric Gebhardt: i'm feeling better
(01:14:20 PM) mrampton: amrstong is still looking good for a podium though.
(01:14:31 PM) mrampton: no certain thing for sure, but it's possible
(01:14:32 PM) Eric Gebhardt: Lance is strong, but showing reality
(01:14:45 PM) mrampton: it was awesome to see him bridge up yesterday
(01:15:09 PM) Eric Gebhardt: Lance?
(01:15:13 PM) mrampton: yah
(01:16:09 PM) mrampton: they dropped him at one point yesterday. he was 30 seconds behind with sastre, evans, the garmin dude, and then he just took off and caught up to the lead group
(01:23:34 PM) Eric Gebhardt: he's a fighter
(01:23:46 PM) Eric Gebhardt: or, he just has an amazing heart nad lungs
(01:23:54 PM) mrampton: nad
(01:23:56 PM) mrampton: like it
(01:23:59 PM) mrampton: singular of nads
(01:24:13 PM) Eric Gebhardt: LOL
(01:24:28 PM) Eric Gebhardt: good eye. i thought I'd just slip that past you

The masochist philosophy has always appealed to my senses.  It’s the taking of pain –  and not the sadist’s dishing of – by which you can measure yourself against all those you compete with.  I’m thinking particularly of sports.

I have never enjoyed a sport that didn’t either largely depend on dealing with pain, or dealing out pain.  Though, when I was younger I didn’t always actively pursue the pain.

I had one good x-country  race when I was a (HS) Freshman. I went out hard – hard enough that there was no choice but to keep going hard until I could go no more.  And I eventually slowed, but not before I destroyed the kid I was racing.

That was an unusual race for me.  In practice I would train like a dog, I jumped into the team’s hard workouts with aplomb – dreading them for sure, but loving them all the same.  But most of my races I would go into with the intention of running comfortably – comfortable to the point that I could run without breathing hard.  I’m not sure why, other than being young I somehow was more taken by the idea of looking like I was barely working (and getting my ass kicked) than doing well but looking like I was reaching my physical limits.

So for most of the season, I went out at pedestrian pace.  And because everyone else went out fast I played the role of cherry picker (if such a role exists, it sounds appropriate either way).  At the end I’d sprint the last two or three hundred yards dead out and placed top 5’s mostly even so.

But my coach had told me before this particular race that the other school’s fastest JV runner was good; “He’s good,” he said. “But you’re better”.  So when we were lining up at the starting line, me as our team’s only JV runner, against this kid and his 5 teammates, I was set on doing whatever it took for me to place first. 

We set out at a hard pace, and I immediately maneuvered past his teammates and put myself alongside him as we came around the first bend.  Whether because his teammates were egging him on to drop me and take it to me, we continued to drive the pace faster – each hoping to drop the other.  It took me ½ mile to break him; I spent the rest of the race catching a glimpse of him at every turn I took but he never recovered enough to make up any ground on me.

That’s how I’d have liked to have raced all my races.  And when I get the chance on my bike, that’s how I race now, and is how I will race when I pick up running again in a few years.

Most recreational riders who I meet don’t understand the competitive nature of cycling as a sport.  They see me tear myself apart to reach the summit of a climb first and think it’s this childish desire to always be first.  And I’m sure to some extent it is.  “Don’t you ever just ride for fun?” they ask.  Only, their idea of fun is my idea of torture.  The most agonizing rides for me are the ones where you’re not punishing yourself.  That’s not to say that I don’t occasionally enjoy taking someone out who’s in worse shape than me -- because honestly, there’s something enjoyable in introducing people to new rides and routes.  But if I go out by myself and just dick around and pedal easy – if I’m ever climbing and putting out less than 300 watts with my pulse less than 170 – I’m either injured or seriously depressed.

Occasionally, my friends and I actually do agree to take it easy and just have a good time.  But we never do.  And if we started to I think we’d all stop riding.

Of course easy days are an essential part of any training regimen, so I do several short, easy, and flat rides every week.  But they’re never fun and always require a great deal of discipline to get through.

 So all this has taken me somewhere different than I was intending to go – and that is: is pain what makes the sport fun and the challenge worthwhile?

I played basketball with my co-workers last night.  For some reason, people have always assumed I must love and be very good at basketball because I’m tall (but not bball player tall).  Really, I’ve never liked basketball.  Or football, or any other popular sports.  My talent was hockey, at which I only ever met my match with a couple of players from the minors who were 6 years my seniors.  But I never played basketball enough to enjoy its pain.

So I’m wondering why I enjoyed it last night, when I’m worse at the sport now than I would have been in HS.  And I think it’s the pain factor.  I went out and played in my puma h-streets, which if anyone has ever tried should know how much like wearing slippers they are.  And so I have these huge blisters blah blah blah.  But the pain of playing while feeling them form was terrible … and enjoyable.  And the game itself worked me harder than I would have expected.  So why was it never like that in PE?

I wonder if our HS basketball team had had anyone on it worth knowing, whether I’d have experience something of this like towards basketball sooner.  Realistically, prob. not – there’s only so much time to spend on sports and I will always choose hockey, running, or biking over anything else.  But maybe.

Lately though, I’ve enjoyed pretty much all forms of strain – from studying to learn new technologies, to new sports and their pain, to the old and tried pure forms found in my day to day biking.

In fact the only pain I absolutely despise is the pain that tells you you’re injured.  That deep set, oftentimes dull pain that throbs and tells you you’re doing more damage with every pedal stroke.  And with this, I’m convinced it’s purely psychological warfare – your body’s way of convincing you to quit even when you show it you don’t mind the pain; it’s there to remind you you’re making it worse. And from there it’s simply a matter of connecting the dots and understanding that any bit of pain you take in now, means potentially weeks in the future where you experience none because you’re off the bike and physically unable to ride.  Screw that.

And dentists.  Screw them and their drills too.

Not sure why these weren't included in the forwarded email; they belong with the post just below.