SRCC 600K 'Burn Time'

[Carl Sanders]

Fully charged, ready to roll, not sure how long my batteries would last, I joined 19 other intrepid cycling souls at 6 AM in Santa Rosa, CA for a long strange SRCC 600K bike ride.

Easy conversion: 600K = 375 miles. Reasonable numbers, but still, my first ride at this distance.

With our team assembled ahead of time, we hatch a ‘Plan’ for a sub 24 hour finish. MarC, Shane, Doug, Miguel and I had contemplated a go at a course record. 

Early on, pedaling north along the Russian River, we recruit Bill B. in our group. Our team of six now moves steadily up along the Old Redwood Highway, then over Hopland Grade and down toward the north and east shores of Clearlake. 

Shane flats during our first pass through Blue Lakes. We all assisted with the repair.

Highway 20 around Clearlake is a nasty mess of mixed road work, debris and traffic. I am not comfortable on this stretch of road and was glad to break free over Sulfur Bank Road on toward more favorable ground past Lower Lake, near Middletown and Butts Canyon.

At mile 149, on our first pass through Pope Valley, Shane throws in the towel, opting to ride back to Santa Rosa alone for a nice 200 mile day. His gut was not cooperating apparently. Our team now drops to five.

Volunteers otherwise greet us and offer up support of all kinds. Bob reluctantly accepts my sweaty hug of thanks for organizing another great event.  Bill eyeing my Garmin 500 and dwindling battery capacity, offers me up a spare ‘on-the-go’ charger cable for my device that is already near 50% battery capacity. Glad I wasn’t feeling that way yet.

Would I go the distance? Would I come up short, on the approach for landing? What was my capacity?

Onward again, down and past Lake Berryessa, then toward Winters in the fading daylight, we work together, nearly half-way there.

Plugged into my mini Mophie auxiliary charger, my Garmin came rapidly back up to 100% within an hour of leaving our turn-around at Winters. Now, if I could only do that to counter my growing fatigue.

On our second roll through Pope Valley, gracious and friendly Volunteers once again feed and water us weary souls. All smiles, we are cared for and encouraged to continue forth. I connected and tested all lighting needed for the long dark night ahead. I changed out of my sweaty gear and grabbed warm layers from my drop bag. For each headlight and tail light, I had a spare and knew the burn time for each output level. I now wondered about my own burn time. How long could I keep going? What pace could I sustain for 24 hours? 

Knowing very well that I could not fully re-charge my own body, that I would gradually deplete my reserves as the ride progressed, and that I could not replace those calories spent on pushing the bike forward, I had to accept that I would be operating at an increasing physical and mental deficit.

So, I focused on staying hydrated and fueled, taking in small consistent quantities of each.

As our journey into night moved on, there was some discussion of what still awaits us on the road ahead. I tried instead to focus on the here and now. Into the darkness, I drift off with the sensation of legs spinning, the road moving beneath the tires, the terrain seeming to undulate, as if rising and falling like a gentle swell beneath a boat at sea. Maybe I’m just tired?

Doug slips off the back, swallowed by the dark, as we head north toward Middletown, telling us to go on without him. It feels uncomfortable, to leave comrade alone in the dark after he had contributed to such a valiant group effort earlier in the ride. We are now down to four.

At Blue Lakes, we check into Room #3 for another recharge, this time offered up by the fun Scott and Cathy. It’s the middle of the night and we’re making a ruckus outside, then inside the motel room. Poor guests nearby. Clambering into the small heated room we gulp hot soup and gobble yummy cookies. We give thanks. Back into the night, I quickly get chilled, my sweaty kit now cold and the muscles no longer warm. I struggle to re-warm against the cool breeze, burning precious calories that I’ll need later on. At least my bike lights still burn bright.

One last push over Hopland Grade from the east, our group pushes hard, first Marc, then Miguel, then myself upward toward the murky elusive peak. The road rises into a seeming tunnel of blackness, each repeating twist, turn and switchback reduced to a narrow beam of light and shadow . It is difficult to judge distance and gauge progress toward the summit without more visual references. I must really be tired.

Over the top, we zip down a dizzying dreamlike descent on a very smooth HWY 175 back toward HWY 101. Bill stops to repair a flat after we exit the debris strewn shoulder of HWY 101 as Miguel runs off ahead to take care of ‘business’.

Our hope for a sub-24 finish fades with each minor distraction. Still, we four motor forward, exchanging leads, pushing hard back down the river toward Santa Rosa.

Then, I flat less than 5 miles from the finish. Despite the breaking daylight making for an easy repair, the 24 mark runs by us as we begin to saddle back up.

Rolling in a 6:20 AM, we missed our goal by only 20 minutes, but still had  an incredible experience. 

At the hotel, Rita and Deanna fed and comfort us battered and wearied souls.

Exhausted and satisfied, I go home and sleep, then sleep some more.