Day 1: San Ramon to Monterey

6:00 am. Rob (Hawks) was already waiting outside at 6:00. When I brought my stuff outside, I noticed that he was dressed in “civvies” and had no bike. He’d woken the previous night at 2:30 and couldn’t go back to sleep. Rob had a bad cold – cough and achiness and still he’s arrived to pick me up. I’m stunned into silence. Rob mistakes my admiration for surliness. “Are you pissed at me?” he asks. I’m floored. I try to explain, in my clumsy manner, that I’m stunned that he’s driving me to San Ramon, though he’s sick and not going. I’m certainly grateful that he’s driving me, and he has food that he’s delivering. But he’s really sick. I could have driven over to pick up the food and then head on out to San Ramon. Sure, I might have been startled if he called at 4:30 in the morning, but I would have understood. At least this is what I tell myself. For now, I’m just amazed at Rob’s altruistic spirit. I’m also really sad that he won’t be able to make the ride.
7:00 am. The weather is gray, cloudy and drizzly. Not a good start. Introductions are made. The others are also surprised that Rob is not going. But he explains that he knows his body. Were he to ride, he’d end up even sicker that he is now. The van is loaded and the route sheets are distributed. I get my first taste of the irreverent humor of the group when I ask Don (Inglis), the owner of the van, about gas for the van. He looks at me the “hairy eyeball.” 10 seconds pass. Have I pissed him off? Have I offended him in some way? Silence. Then a slow grin appears. Don says the van take Arco gas. Only Arco. Unleaded. “87 octane, Baby.” Whew. He’s just ‘yanking my chain.’ It sets the tone for the trip. These guys love to bullshit one another. I’ll have to watch my step. I love it!
The group stops at the nearby Target to buy some impromptu rain gear. Not knowing this, I pass by. Along San Ramon Valley and Calaveras Roads, there is nothing but rain. I start to worry; how’re the cyclists? What’s happened? I turn left onto the Monterey Highway off Tully (a turn which Phil Morton would subsequently miss) and head off down to Morgan Hill. I rationalize that, given the time and my speed, there’s no way they could be ahead of me. I stop in Morgan Hill for breakfast, and then head on to the Subway sandwich place to wait for the group to rendezvous. An hour passes. Two hours. I get unnerved and head back, convinced that something’s happened. Midway through town, I glimpse a group of cyclists near the Beacon gas station. It’s the group, but I don’t know that until later. Out of town, I see Phil. I turn around, take a picture and ask if he’s okay. He’s fine. I head back to Subway to wait. A block from Subway, I see Curtis (Inglis) and Tom (Travis) near the local McDonald’s. They’ve eaten at Eric’s Deli, being “rebels” while the rest of the folk are at Togo’s. Something’s amiss. The maps say to stop at Subway, but the group has stopped at Togo’s. Regardless of who “dropped the ball here,” I feel like a fool. I head over to Togo’s. Shelley (Rothenberg) tells me that Dennis (Roberts) needs me. He’s had problems with his bike. I’m concerned with the situation. Phil flies past, following the route sheet instructions to lunch at Subway. Dennis has stopped at the local LBS, getting spare tubes and calling me on my cell phone. He has had five flats in Morgan Hill. The wet roads make it easier for things to stick to the tires. All of Dennis’ punctures have been glass punctures. He’s demoralized. He’ll sag to the rest stop at Heck Pass summit. Phil has hooked up with the rest and they’re off.
The rain has slackened off in Morgan Hill. Now it’s sunny with clouds. Hecker Pass is glorious. The view is unlimited. I break out the stove and soup. After the rain from San Ramon, the soup snack is much appreciated. We continue to Monterey without incident. Almost. Dennis gets another flat, but it’s patched quickly. I arrive at the Best Western hotel, check in and change for a ride. Monterey, Pacific Grove, and 17-Mile Drive (Almost!) are wonderful. By the time I return, most of the group is just rolling in. We eat at the Mexican restaurant across the street.

Day 2 Monterey to Cayucos
Rob calls and says he checked the forecast on the NWS website. For Monterey, the worst that’s forecast is “partly cloudy.” More like liquid sunshine. The ride starts sunny to the first rest stop. But thereafter, it becomes drizzly with light rain. The weather threatens to become worse. Even more maddening, there are headwinds all throughout Big Sur. Phil, concerned that he might be too slow, sags out to Bixby Bridge. Lunch has been scheduled for Pacific Valley, a two-building town. This doesn’t pan out, since the (closed) restaurant is occupied (squatted?) by unfriendly folk. Dick (Powers) suggests Plaskett Creek State Park about one and a half miles down the road. A good choice. There are benches and lawn space. I cook up mushroom soup. Though not all partake, those that do appreciate the refreshingly hot snack. After lunch, it’s the “Dolly Partons,” as Don jokingly refers to the two big climbs. The weather has actually improved. The rain has stopped. The rest of the day will be overcast, with headwinds, but the rain has ceased.
I’m looking forward to the next rest stop. Piedras Blancas. Here there be seals! We’ve reached the time of year when the females have returned to molt. On the beach there are thousands! I talk with the docent. I introduce myself as a Point Reyes e-seal docent, and we chat. PORE has nothing on this place! It’s awesome. The breeding season has ushered in 3000+ pups, and the rookery is still growing. Viewing is literally four feet above the molting seals. Amazing. Tom zips by, as does Bruce (DeBell), in his Gold Rush Replica recumbent. The pack – Curtis, Don, Dan (Stilwell), Dennis, and Dick – pulls in. Phil and Shelley are father back. Curtis and Dennis are beaten and demoralized. The headwinds and rain have drained them. They’ll sag to Cayucos. We head back north on Highway 1 to look for Phil and Shelley. Phil is strong, moving at his own pace. Shelley, in search of stimulants, has pulled into Cappuccino Cove, a small stop about 3 miles north of Piedras Blancas. What a decadent! On the way to Cayucos, we’ll repeat last year’s activities, with a stop in Cambria for Kettle Korn and a visit to Cambria Bicycle Outfitters. I inadvertently drop Curtis’ name at CBO, and the kids there are flabbergasted. They surf the web to Curtis’ site, “ingliscycles.com.” Their jaws drop. Curtis is treated with awe and respect. I half expect them to fall on their knees and bow, spluttering, “We are not worthy!” like some scene out of “Wayne’s World.” I hook up with Tom, who has, like Shelley, stopped for a cup of coffee. After browsing, we continue down to the house in Cayucos, beating Bruce by a mere 30 seconds. The house is adequate, hastily fixed-up but a little dilapidated. Considering the pummeling the gang has taken, battling headwinds down Big Sur, I’m not sure anyone really cares.

Day 3 – Cayucos to Goleta
Sunny! We’ve met Alan, a veteran of this ride, the night before. He was in town for the Wildflower Century, being hosted by the SLO Riders. We pass a few of them on the road. Just before Pismo Beach, I pull over for Dennis. He’s had yet another flat, which he’s fixed, and wants to shed some layers. He tops up with water and he’s off again. I meet the gang outside of Oceano for an impromptu rest stop. The sun is shining and they’re hot but happy. They top up their water and head towards Guadalupe, the first official rest stop. From Guadalupe, we continue south, on Highway 1, staying on Highway 135 then veering off towards Lompoc on Harris Grade Road. Lunch is at the bottom of Harris Grade, at St. Mary’s Episcopal Church on the left-hand side of the road. Bruce is the first down, but he flies past, completely bypassing lunch. Last year he and Rob had missed the Harris Grade altogether, staying on Highway 1 as it split with Highway 135. So perhaps it’s understandable that he didn’t know about the lunch stop. He blasts into Lompoc. Then, realizing he’s passed us stops at a Subway for a sandwich. Meanwhile, I’ve seen him zip by and I’m worried. Can we hook up with him again? Does he have enough water in case he continues straight to Goleta? When the gang arrives, I express my concerns to Don, Dennis and Shelley. I’m going to continue on the route to look for him. I go five miles outside Lompoc, but I don’t see him (Of course not! He’s in Subway!). I return to lunch even more worried. Everyone assures me that if he needs help he’ll call. Shelley has had problems with his tire and has spent most of lunch changing it. I’ll sag him to a point outside Lompoc, where he’ll continue the ride. There’s a nice tailwind in this stretch of road, and Shelley wants to ride it. I drop him off and then, five minutes later, I see Dennis. He’s flagging me down. He has a slow leak in his rear tire. There are two holes: One from hitting a rock at 30 mph, the other a “snake bite.” Dennis does not intend to go downhill with a slow leak. We patch the tire and get it back on in record time.
As I go down the road, I’m still concerned about Bruce. There’s been no sign of him. But as Dennis and Dan mention, if he needs help, he’ll call. There’s a 7% downhill just before Highway 1 merges with Highway 101. Later, several people will recall their top speeds on that stretch. Bruce will hit nearly 60 mph. Dan averts potential disaster by taking it cautiously: At 48 mph, he “saw God.” At the rest stop, the pack tops up their water. It’s only 20 miles to Goleta. The pack takes off just as Phil arrives. Several minutes later, Dennis pulls in. The two opt to go in together. Not three minutes later, Shelley crests the rise. He’s also feeling good. What a difference the weather makes!
I pass the pack just before they make the Hollister Street exit at Goleta. At the motel, I find that Bruce has arrived over an hour previous. I apologize to him; I hadn’t thought to park the van prominently at the lunch site so that he’d see me. He says not to worry: He’d eaten at Subway and continued. I’m enormously relieved. The pack arrives about half an hour later. Phil and Dennis have flatted just inside Goleta. Dennis changes his tire that night, disgusted because it was a brand new tire. But he will have no more flats the rest of the trip.

Day 4 – Goleta to Malibu
Sunny again! Tailwinds from Goleta to Malibu. There is an AIDS training ride in Santa Barbara. They’ve traveled from LA the previous day, and are returning that morning. This segment of the ride is tricky, since there are so many turns. I pull over when I see the pack in Montecito. They tell me that Phil has taken a wrong turn. I backtrack to see if I can find him, and then opt to wait in Montecito. If he’s too far back, I can sag him up to the pack. We’re on a timetable today, because the shuttle to the Burbank Airport is meeting us at Pepperdine University at 3:00 pm. I wait over an hour, anxious. I continue on, extremely worried. If Phil calls me from Santa Barbara while we’re in, say, Oxnard, what do we do? I pull up to the pack just outside Oxnard. I’m worried. Don says to call Phil on his cell phone. The problem is, we don’t know the number. I call Rob to see if he has the number. Just as I talk to Rob, I get a message tone: It’s Call Waiting and Phil has just called me on a cell phone. Suddenly there’s Phil, flagging me down. I tell Rob that I’ll call him back and pull over. It turns out that Phil is very resourceful. Having taken the wrong turn, he paced with a pack of AIDS riders. Having ridden the AIDS Ride before, he knows that the routes (ours and the AIDS Ride) follow the same roads in many places. At Oxnard State Beach, he borrowed a rider’s cell phone to call me. As it happens, even if I’d had his cell phone number, I couldn’t have reached him: His cell phone was turned off, placed in his duffle bag. Phil is fine. I apprise him of the situation; he tells me what happened. He continues with the pack, which has just reached us, to the lunch stop. At lunch, we pull a joke on Shelley (Phil is hidden behind the van). Shelley starts to worry and echoes my thoughts about what we should do. Phil then appears, startling Shelley. We have a good laugh. Shelley is filled in on what happened. Everyone remarks that Phil was very resourceful. A lot of it was luck: Luck that Phil knew the area; luck that Phil stopped to call me when he did. The rest of the ride from Oxnard to Malibu is only about 30 miles along the Pacific Coast Highway. Much of the ride, up to about the outskirts of Malibu is filled with returning AIDS Riders, so I imagine the gang will have an easy time of it, riding in impromptu pacelines.
Dennis has mentioned to me that when I get to Pepperdine University, I need to introduce myself as Bill Ripke (Funny…I don’t look German) to the guard at the gate, and essentially mention that my friend is the former women’s swim coach there, and has authorized our use of the shower facilities at the gym. I’m sweating bullets, wondering what will happen if the guard questions me. But in the end, I worry about nothing. The guard is a student public safety guy. It’s a Sunday, and things are pretty casual. I introduce myself (as Mr. Ripke) and the kid doesn’t bat an eye. I guess I keep forgetting that this is California, where ethnicity is a relative thing. Granted, I’m what I would call a full-spectrum Japanese, but I’ve seen Korean/Mexican Americans, Filipino/African Americans; and all sorts of mixtures of Caucasian and other ethnicities. So when I say I’m Bill Ripke, the kid acknowledges it. I ask about the showers, and he says it’s fine.
The gang trickles in at 1:30, with Bruce in his recumbent about 20 minutes ahead of the pack. Don, Dan and Dick make the final assault on the last hill, followed by Tom and Curtis. Curtis pops a wheelie and rides the final 50 yards to the turn off. Tom, ever the punster, gets off his bike, runs up the grass embankment and hides behind the van. He steps out as the others pull up, saying, “What kept you?” Phil and Dennis run an impromptu race to the turn off. Shelley comes in at the end, taking his time. It’s a wonderful conclusion to a sometimes exasperating but ultimately awesome ride. The shuttle to the Burbank airport arrives a few minutes before 3:00. Those of us who will rent a car and drive back pile our belongings in the shuttle. The bikes are all stashed in the van for the drive home.
The ride home is uneventful but for one thing: Driving north on I-5 along the “Grapevine,” we are met with a magnificent floral display. The late rains have caused poppies, lupins and wild mustard to burst out in profusion. There is a riot of color – purples and brilliant oranges – along the hillside to the east of the freeway. Traffic has slowed down to take it in. I’ve not seen anything like this since visiting the carpets of poppies in the Carrizo Plain, east of San Luis Obispo. It begins to rain when we reach Livermore. We’ve come full circle.