The Bucket Rider - Hills and Heat at Giro di San Diego GranFondo

The sun is intent on scorching the joy out of all living things today, especially me.  It's 102.  Sweat pours in my eyes while I wait for the stoplight to turn green.  Temps are usually in the low 80s this time of year in San Diego.  That's what I planned on.  That's what I trained for.  That's what my body expects.

This is way, way beyond my melting point.

"Damn, it's hot.  Anybody see a course marker?" I ask my partners.

"No."

"No man.  Not since Mt. Palomar."

"Anybody know the route?"  I already know the answer...

"No."

"Unh-uh man."

"JW," I introduce myself.

"Greg."

"Hey man.  I'm Tom."

"Where the hell are we?"  I say in frustration.

"Highway 76?" as Greg reads the sign above us.

"Musta missed a marker man," Tom alliterates California style.  

Survivor - Giro di San Diego.  That's our ride now.  Out of water, off course, no money, no support, no phone.  Tom and Greg are my new best friends for life - literally.

Earlier today 500 riders rolled out of Solana Beach as the morning fog lifted.  A front group quickly came together with riders working smoothly.  Well, about as smooth as a Miss and Out race with everyone sprinting through stop signs and yellow-red stoplights to avoid elimination.  Those remaining continue on in California's infamous bike lanes filled with cracks, gravel, glass and trash.  Some serious road furniture, a sofa, in the bike lane near Escondido tests our deft bike handling skills.

"Psssssssssssssssssssss.  Dammit!!"  says a Panache kitted rider as his front tire rolls flat.

"GOT WHAT YOU NEED?"  At 28mph I toss out the classic cycling phrase with, as everyone knows, no intention of really stopping.

"I'M GOOD," he yells with the group already too far up the road to hear.

The first leg check comes at 40 miles on the Lake Wohlford climb.  A gritty little 2-mile 7% warm up.  As the road goes up, the group falls apart as fast as a Rick Perry presidential campaign.  Fantasy dreams of winning the Mt. Palomar KOM evaporate.  A few roll over the top close enough together to regroup for the final approach to Palomar.  Everyone knows what is coming, and it is going to frackin hurt with the temperature now 100.

The Mt. Palomar climb is the main reason I put the Giro di San Diego on my bucket list.  Ok, my wife wanting to visit family in San Diego MAY have influenced my decision...   Anyhow, the climb is a real beast. 12 miles at 7% without shade.  It doesn't get much harder in SoCal.

Three of us start the climb together but slowly come apart as steep grades and heat suck the life out of us - well, at least me.  A constant stream of sweat stings my eyes.  9 miles later I crack.  Complete core meltdown.  That's what happens when you don't ride in temps north of 80.  It hurt.  A lot.

To combat the suffering, I watch crotch rocket motorcycle riders whiz by me at 50 as they apex turns using every inch of asphalt to claim what are surely GPMoto-Strava KOMs.  Maybe one will hit me and put me out of my misery.  Finally, I make the summit with my two riding partners just ahead at the rest stop.  

"Any Coke?" I ask rolling up disoriented and covered in salt residue.

"Sure," a volunteer points at a 2-liter bottle.

"Won't fit in my cage.  Any ½ liter bottles?"

"Sorry."

I pick up the 2-liter Coke to fill my water bottle.  It takes all my strength and focus to lift the damn thing.  Then, accidentally, I drop it.  It hits the ground exploding, sending a foaming sticky spray everywhere, including my bike as I dive for cover.  My riding partners just watch, laughing at the unfolding Coketastrophy.  Luckily, volunteers quickly grab a hose, rinse my bike, help me mount up and shove me down the mountain - without Coke.  They seem happy to see me go.

25 wandering miles later in blistering heat after realizing we missed a key turn and are lost, Greg, Tom and I stop at a 7-11 to fill bottles, get our bearings and figure out how to get back on track.  But first we enjoy ice cold Cokes gifted by a good Samaritan taking pity on us.  Then we learn the shortest route back to Solana Beach is down the iconic Pacific Coast Highway.

After climbing over the coastal foothills, we enter Oceanside and start down PCH.  It's an endless ribbon of sunshine, warm sandy beaches, surfers, fish taco stands, coffee shops, surf shops and hot tan California girls in bikinis.  But, unfortunately, every car in SoCal is at the beach today.  PCH is packed - bumper-to-bumper, bikini-to-bikini.

Luckily, there is a bike lane to use, which is almost as much fun as playing Russian roulette.  It's 20mph single file in a lane 5-feet wide sandwiched between almost moving cars on the left and parked cars that randomly open doors on the right.  Not to mention dodging the occasional stoned righteous surfer dude with surfboard.  I keep thinking to myself this could be Heaven or this could be Hell.      

6 hours 55 minutes, 118 miles and 10,507 vertical feet after starting the 105 mile Giro di San Diego, Tom, Greg and I roll across the finish line haggard, beat up, exhausted and worn out in epic style.  Amazingly, we finish 4th, 5th and 6th overall.  Soon the post-ride party atmosphere puts a smile back on our faces.  It's a real treat, offering delicious gourmet Italian food, cool Sierra Nevada beer, live music, swag from Rudy, KOM/QOM awards and a nice cool Pacific Ocean breeze.

Finishing a ride never felt so good.

John is a former faux pro racer enjoying life as a geriatric cyclist in search of great bucket list rides to keep him in shape and out of trouble - well, at least in shape. 

He writes about his Bucket Rides in all their variety and glory for Granfondo.com. See his other pieces here

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