The Wildflower ; this is probably interesting only if you ride bikes

This summer I did a century ride (100 miles), called the Wildflower, with some of the folks in my cycling club. If you'd like to relive it with me, in great and excruciating detail, it is your lucky day:

At the last minute, I joined 15 or 16 of my comrades to do the Wildflower. Although I grew up in the town where this is held, I never cycled back then, except around town. It was fun to do a century along the same roads I'd been on as a kid, looking for picnic spots and swimming holes. The food was really good, but since I'd heard so much about how good and gourmet it was, I think I was expecting waiters and linen tablecloths or something.

The first hill, a 4-mile loop up Humboldt road, was an evil, pothole-laden and deceptive gradient, and it made me feel slower than your grandmother trying to make a left turn when straight has the right of way, and I remember thinking, "How can I possibly do 100 miles when my legs are screaming bloody murder the first time we get above sea level?!?" However, the Hill Possibly Designed by Satan rewarded us with an almost-screaming descent, and after that, the roads were much better, and much prettier.

Shady, tree-lined Honey Run Road follows the curves of a creek up to a cool and historical Covered Bridge. After the Bridge, the climb gets steeper, and the shade gets scarcer. I heard a few folks opine that the road to Paradise (the town at the top) was no paradise... Anyway, it was windy and steep in parts but still fun. Photocrazy (company that takes pictures of people during events and posts them on the web for you to buy) chose to set up at a stretch that was very close to the top of the (big) hill, but not at the crest, so we were raggedy and sweaty and cotton-mouthed, and still climbing, when we were supposed to smile and look sexy. Right before the top they had the nerve to put up a sign that said "Slow Down." Yeah, I WAS going to blast up this mountain range at 22 mph, but since you asked...

Howard, a cousin of somebody with us, flew in from Washington to do this ride. Before the ride started he told us numerous times of the many thousands of miles he’d ridden, how “Seattle to Portland” (200 miles in 2 days, or 1 day if you’re a little sick) is not that hard, and about how superb and otherwise Navy SEAL-like he was. He looked like he weighed a good 250, so I figured maybe he was one of those sleeper cardio-fit guys. Around one curve on the side of the road up to Table Mountain, I saw Howard half-standing, half draped all over his bike seat, looking like his heart rate was roughly 300. A passing cycling yelled out, “You OK?” Howard didn’t notice me (someone who knew him) also riding by. With a weak lift of his hand he tried to wave in a cool-guy manner and quite unsuccessfully attempted to twist his drooling grimace into a smile. “Thanks, just waitin’ for my wife, man,” he said. I let out a surprised guffaw that I quickly tried to change into a cough and rode on by. Poor Howard.

The fabled wildflowers blanket the top of Table Mountain. “Fabled” is the operative word here -- I think they must have bloomed too early this year or something. I counted like three or so. Anyway, as we climbed, I remember thinking that it sure was hot for April 25th. We heard later that the temperature set a heat record for the day. Although it was only about 85 or 90 F, I heard that the temperature coming off the pavement was 99, and I'm telling you that going up Table Mountain Road, it.was.hot. Coming around one curve, I saw one poor guy throw up at the side of the road, and several people walking their bikes. I guess the combination of the heat and the climb, my own relative lack of conditioning, and, I realized later, a caffeine deficiency (I hate it when I forget to shoot up) was giving me a headache that threatened to turn evil. Mostly I headed it off by hydrating a lot, but at one point I really wanted to throw my bike in the back of the sag wagon and ride on up in style. I did stop by the side of the road, twice, for a couple of minutes each, to let my heart rate get down to a calm 180, but still. Luckily, all good things come to an end, and so do hills. At the lunch stop they had run out of turkey sandwiches, so I chose ham instead of duck paté. (Really.) But they had good cookies.

The last 25 miles were somewhat hot and quite headwindish, but I was so happy not to be climbing anymore that I didn't care. Also, four of my cycling club homies and I kept up a lovely pace line for the whole 25 that really helped get us home. At the fairgrounds we ate yummy chicken and salad and some rice-with-sweet-spices dish and bread and ice cream sandwiches and, for those so inclined, Sierra Nevada ales and such. All things considered, it was a lovely ride, with good views, good food, and good sweaty fun.