March Training Camp

Two years ago, John "Cap'n" Lindstrom and I traveled out to Santa Cruz for 7 days of base miles. This winter we wanted to go warmer and longer, so we set our sights on Solvang – just north of Santa Barbara off the coast of central California. What follows is an intense account of our homoerotic, spandex-clad adventures.

Day 1 – Friday, March 2nd

After an intense scramble to get loose-ends tied up at work and all my bike stuff loaded in my car, I finally left Truckee at 3pm for San Francisco to pick-up the Cap'n at the airport. I was feeling pretty nostalgic and aching to spend some time in my old neighborhood in Santa Rosa, so we drove north and spent the night the night in a motel in Santa Rosa.

Day 2 – Saturday, March 3rd

We got up early, ate some fucking awful pastries and coffee at Starbucks and drove south to the bike shop I used to work at, Cambria in Rohnert Park. Apparently I was such a key figure at the shop that they went out of business after they fired me (long story.). I took the Cap'n on a route up through Sebastapool, up Dry Creek and back through Bloomfield. The rides short-but-steep climbs were a sampling of the torture to come later in the week.

Following the ride, we drown back down to San Fransisco, stopping at Golden Gate park on Bunker Hill so Cap'n could regale in the gay aura of the Golden Gate Bridge.

After our tourist stop, we drove down to San Jose to the NAHBS, North American Hand Made Bicycle Show and met up with Aaron. (an old friend from Minnesota who used to work at Erik's Bike Shop with the Cap'n and I) Aaron is now building his own steel frames, Blondes bikes. The NAHBS was pretty lame. It was about 20-30 builders all showing off basically the same bike and with the same high level of craftsmanship. Lots of lugs, steel tubes and hippies.

We caught a light-rail train to the NAHBS host hotel at the other end of San Jose and had dinner with Aaron and his girlfriend Christine. After dinner we ended up getting totally fucking lost in San Jose while looking for a cheap motel to stay at. My eyesight at night has reached the level of a 200 year-old-man and I spent the whole time screaming at the Cap'n to read the road signs because I couldn't see a fucking thing.

Total Ride: 45 miles

Day 3 - Sunday, March 4th

We had agreed to ride with Aaron and his girlfriend the next morning before finally heading down to Santa Barbara. However they like to get up super early and go ride. We ended up rolling out of bed at 5:00am (this is my fucking vacation) and eating a big breakfast at IHOP before driving back to down-town San Jose to meet Aaron.

I should mention at this point that there was this gigantic cheerleading competition taking place in the convention center across the street from the NAHBS. So there were hundreds if not thousands of 8-14 year old girls walking around in cheerleader outfits being escorted by their breast-implanted, make-up explosion, blonde moms.

With that in mind, we are clicking around (loud bike shoe cleats) the hotel lobby at 7am in our full spandex kit seeking a place to fill our water bottles. I am quite sure we looked like full-on child molesters as we waded our way through droves of underage cheerleaders. We filled up our bottles and ran out before anyone could call the cops.

Aaron and Christine had no idea what our ride would entail other than it would take us 4 hours and out of San Jose. They apparently got the ride info from some transient on a bike. We rode about 15 miles through the city before we finally got onto a quiet road that started to slowly turn uphill. 8 miles and 2600' feet in elevation later we ended up on Skyline Ridge road. I was stoked about the climb and was able to go full gas the whole way, but everyone else was a little surprised and irked about having to ride uphill so far. After 2.5 hours on Skyline Ridge, we turned around and headed back to San Jose.

We had a huge lunch in the hotel restaurant and said our goodbyes to Aaron and Christine. The Cap'n got to take a nice long nap in the car while I drove down to find a motel in Santa Barbara.

Total Ride: 65 miles

Day 4 - Monday, March 5th

Another big breakfast at another iHop and then were off to an unknown destination around Santa Barbara. I had seen some maps about a climb that went from sea level to 4600' overlooking the city – so we headed in the direction of vertical gain. Our route ended up taking us past billion-dollar homes as we ascended up Gilbraltor road out of the foothills of Santa Barbara. A few miles into the ride, the road surface turned to chewed up asphalt which is rather annoying when you are climbing tired. The Cap'n was pretty angry at this point that I had picked a ride that did nothing but ascend, so I climbed away and waited at the top for him.

Gibraltor road peaks on a ridge overlooking the Santa Barbara valley and ocean, as well another valley inland. You could see for miles and miles from 4600'. Needless to say, the ride back down was pretty epic.

After the ride was over, we packed up in the car, ate some burritos and drove north to Solvang where we would be staying and riding for the next few days.

Total Ride: 60 miles

Day 5 - Tuesday, March 6th

Solvang is a Danish inspired town in the foothills of the Santa Ynez mountain range. The town is full of windmills, old-world Danish architecture, Danish shops and bakeries. All pure tourist bullshit. We were the youngest people in that town by about 20 to 30 years. It was probably assumed that we were a fudge-packing duo on our romantic honeymoon through the California countryside.

I managed to book us at the only hotel in town that did not have wireless internet, and a TV that didn't have a video input for my laptop – so no movies either. We were pretty sacked from the last few days of riding and traveling, so we spent the rest of the night in bed staring at the TV in preparation for a long hard ride the next day.

Day 6 - Wedenesday, March 7th

We were awoken in the morning to the sound of the hotel roof being torn off. Not only did I pick a hotel with no internet access, but also one that was under going a complete reconstruction. We debated running up to the roof and pushing all the workers to their death below so we could get some more sleep – but decided to go ride instead.

Our ride took us out towards the coast into Lompoc where we ran into a local cyclist. After talking to him for a few minutes, he told us the location of Michael Jackson's Neverland Ranch – and that turned into our goal for the day.

After about 65 miles, we ended up in Los Olvios where we stopped to refuel before our journey to Neverland. While we didn't have an exact location for Michael's domain – we did know what road it was on. After about 7 miles on the road to Neverland, the pavement started to turn upwards, and we began to ascend an extremely long and steep climb. At this point the Cap'n started his obligatory bitching, and I started my obligatory words of encouragement before riding off without him. However with the thoughts of Michael Jackson, Bubbles, ferris wheels, giraffes and getting molested on our mind – we were able to persevere up the climb.

However the Neverland Ranch never came. We finally reached an apex of the climb about 7-8 miles in and stopped to take some pictures of the landscape. As we hopped off our bikes and took in the huge view of the Santa Ynez valley, we heard a loud, high-pitched voice yell, "HEE HOO!" This was followed by the laughter of children. I shit you not, this was the exact type of Michael Jackson noise as found on many of his albums – followed by the fucking laughter of children. We immediately started running down this field in the direction of the sound, but all we found was an abandoned hippie colony of wooden shacks. No MJ to be found.

As we rode back down to Solvang, disappointed, we ran into another local cyclist who told us that had passed the entrance Neverland Ranch several miles before the climb. It was a big gated driveway, across the street from – get this – two private schools! No wonder he is a boy-fucker, they bring them in by the bus-load and drop them off across the street from his house.

Our day ended with a big meal at a traditional Danish restaurant.

Total Ride: 85 miles

Day 7 - Thursday, March 8th

Once again we were awoken to the sound of workers on our roof. I spent the morning trying to get the Cap'n to go ride, but he was pretty tired at that point. So I jumped on my bike and tried to kill my legs with interval efforts as we would be taking an official rest day the following day.

I was hankering for some Italian food that night, so we headed out to the first Italian restaurant in the phone book where we were treated to prison-style pasta and salad. It was fucking awful. Then we drove out to Lompoc to go see the movie, "The Number 23." A cryptic thriller featuring a boring story, terrible cast and no titty shots – so in summary, a horrible movie.

Total Ride: 45 miles

Day 8 - Friday, March 9th

We checked out of our hotel in Solvang and ate a huge Danish breakfast at a local caf. While sitting down and enjoying our meal outside on a table in the sun, a man in this huge, fur-lined, brown leather jacket with a big wolf painted on the back walked up to the caf. He sat down on a bench next to us and pulled a little bird out of his pocket. It was impossible to contain our laughter. Five minutes later (after he ate his little bird or something) he got up and walked into the bakery next door. Funny shit.

We drove down to Santa Barbara where we would be staying for the night, and parked on the street downtown while we headed to the book store. We walked out an hour later to my car being jacked up onto a tow-truck with a female parking officer standing by. They wanted to impound my car because my plates were Minnesota and my tabs were expired by about 12 months. I had to beg, plead and lie to get of a towing. I got a $300 ticket and drove the fuck out of there before they could inquire about the car insurance that I don't have! I stopped parking my car on the streets after that.

We got to our Motel 6 right off the beach, ate a huge lunch and then rode our bikes around the boardwalk to spin-out our legs. There must be something in the water in Santa Barbara because every girl there is hot and nice. Normally we get looks of laughter when we are on our bikes, but in Santa Barbara we got nothing but smiles and batting eyes lashes. No sympathy handies though...

After our short ride we were still hungry, so we raided a grocery store and spent the rest of the night in the Motel 6 eating tons of food.

Day 9 - Saturday, March 10th

We woke up at 4:30am to get some breakfast, and drove back north to do the annual Solvang Century. Centuries are great for people watching, it's a freak show of wierdos on bikes. Because the Cap'n and I are such hot-shit roadies, we are, of course, allowed to laugh and mock everyone who attempts to match our prowess.

Some people come out to the century rides to race, which is really sad. They are not races, they are just supported rides for folks whom 100 miles is a challenge. Nevertheless, there are plenty of weekend warriors who come out to these events ready to kill themselves to get the next juice-and-cookie stop before everyone else.

It's fun to fuck with these people. The easiest way to do it is to push them beyond their limit until they blow-up. Let them draft you at a fast pace, and then continue that fast pace when the road turns upward and watch their heart explode out of their fat gut as you ride away.

After the ride finished we started driving north to Fresno where we planned on racing a criterium the next morning. Along the way, we stopped at an Olive Garden to eat some food. We must've looked pretty out-of-it, filthy, sweaty and sun burnt from 100 miles. We sat at the table like zombies and had to explain to our waitress that we weren't hobos – just tired people.

I either got food poison or the flu at that point, because I spent the remainder of the drive to Fresno in gut clenching agony. The Cap'n had made lodging reservations in advance at a Fresno, and as we finally pulled into the Motel 6 parking, I was forced to re-live a horrible experience.

Two years prior I had stayed at the exact same Motel 6 along highway 99 in Fresno. It was for some central valley road race in the spring. At about midnight, I was awoken in my room to the sound of an angry black guy screaming at his woman outside my window. After a brief shouting fit, he smashed in her room window and all hell broke loose. People all over the hotel started yelling out their doors and aggravating this guy more and more. All the while I lay in bed as I could see his silhouette out my window jumping up and down, hooting and hollering, trying to break down the door. I was half scared for my life and half extremely entertained. Finally I heard police sirens and the dude vanished. PCP is a helluva drug.

When I realized that the Cap'n had booked us at the same motel, and being as sick as I was – I refused to stay there and made him drive around Fresno for another place to stay. I then spent the entire night in the next motel on the floor of the bathroom or in the shower trying to throw-up.

Total Ride: 105 miles

Day 10 - Sunday, March 11th

We were pre-registered for a crit in downtown Fresno at 9am. There was no way in hell I was racing that morning, and the Cap'n wasn't too interested either. So we packed up our shit and drove to the San Francisco airport to say our farewells. It was finally time for the Cap'n to go home to Minnesota, fit and tan – ready for more freezing, wintery rides.

Now I had to figure out how I was going to drive myself the 300 miles home while feeling so sick I could barely see straight. My last hurdle of the journey was not having enough cash to pay the fucking bridge toll out of San Francisco. They made me turn around to go find an ATM, which I could not find. So I pulled together $5.00 in pennies, nickels and dimes from various places in my car and laughed as I rolled through the toll booth.

This was a fantastic trip, and I look forward to doing something similar next year.