A short treatise on the differences between training and having a Good Time

It's possible you know how to have a Good Time already. If so, skip to the end. If not, it is possible to train oneself in the art of the Good Time. For our purposes here and now,the Good Time will revolve around the axle of the training ride. For our purposes in the long view, it will always have something to do with bikes or biking, or at the very least the outdoors. Or maybe sometimes only with a Blowfly show, but that's a slippery slope.

All around, and especially this time of year, folks are getting out on training rides. This is generally a good thing. This may be specifically a bad thing if you train with the wrong peloton. The wrong peloton will reveal itself to you through a number of guises, many of which may already be familiar to you. Some examples include: rampant heart rate monitorism ( the monitorism becomes "rampant" when there is comparison of personal info, or worse-any mention of this data at all); more than 1 computer per 4 riders; any discussion of what the PROs are using (unless it's medicinal in nature); ride "leaders" who feel perfectly ok yelling at other adults (while sober) about their lines, place in rotation, cadence, or pretty much anything; stone-faced pinks not acknowledging other riders within the group that they don't already know; lack of patchkit/spare tube/pump; any type of headphones. Ther're more, but enough tangent following.

A good peloton is a thing of joy. Yesterday, I rode with one of the finer pelotons in these here parts on one of the finer rides in same. It was cross bikes for the smart and 29er singles for the, um, less smart. Or more hard, I guess. All's I know is: given the first description of this ride, I was thinking of riding my single and then another source set me straight the night prior regarding the true amount of road involved. And a 60 mile total distance estimate. (Thanks, KB) And, plus I was kidding myself. The single factor I have going for me in this whole bike riding thing is that I don't stop, can't stop, won't stop. But there is no way I'd have finished at this point in the season. Hats off, Dummies.

I knew the people involved, and as preparations were being made and kit decided I knew the pack was solid. Everyone had what they needed, and some to share. Pockets stuffed with supplies, we rolled out of Capitola and headed for Nisene. Some way we got there. (I was riding loaded and just trying to keep on wheels- not a part of the decision making process on this one in the least. Hey, it's not my town.) Then it was up the heavily trafficked fire road. Lots of attacks, lots of counters. " A whole lot of ambition out here, today." I had the KOM points all locked up until I misjudged Team Husband&wife-1-2-distract-and-attack-from-the-back. I watched it all fall apart at the sprint to the bench.The Good Times continued to roll at this, the 1st of many beer stops. Continuing up from here, to the tip top for a beer/snack stop. It's a substantial (anyone?14 miles?) climb. Then down through Demo (were we on Corral there?) via another beer/flat stop with a nice view.If you look closely at the horizon you can see the Monterey side of the bay...Rippingly fast descent on the singletrack, over roots and rocks. At which point I was more than happy to take the (promise of some relief from the rattle) fireroad down and up, and up a little more, then out of the woods on Highland. Highland saw a number of flyers launch and get reeled back. Welcome break at the Summit Store, with it's exquisite Porta Potty ("no, the one on the left!")
Refueling, rewatering, rebeering here. Quality stop.

The ladies decided to launch an attack of their own away from Summit, which stuck until they stopped after crossing above 17 at my favorite road around: Mtn. Charlie. Safe to drink beers roadside there and not draw attention like the store picnic area would- I admit, I was all set to pop a top in the parking lot until clearer heads prevailed. At this point the group dynamic really deteriorated. After being stopped for a while, people just kind of drifted off... to pee, to look at something that caught their eye, to grab something from their bike. and then never quite came back around.I began to fear the coming climb up UCON. There was an extended period of helmet donning, bike straddling, lever clicking and riding in circles needed to roust the last holdouts.

I can only recall a single other time I've ridden down Mt. Charlie. It's so familiar to me climbing, it was strange to descend it so fast (so fast) and have the familiar be so unexpected. I'm fairly sure I won that section. I'm positive I have no idea how we ended up at Cowell. From the bottom of Mt Charlie it was Glenwood, then some turns.We were stopped at a light, and then we crossed a T intersection by going straight through it, over the curb and into the woods again. More shaded, duffed Redwooded goodness. The train was winding down near us, and the train whistles were dramatic. At one point we passed it as it was stopped, making huge PSSSHHHHHT sounds and clouds of white steam filled the clearing.
So Cowell dumped us out on HWY 9, and we rolled down it for a bit until reaching the trail connector for UCON. I was cooked, and had been for a while. I tried to conceal my fear by standing around stupidly as though I were merely tired and stupid- but it was all an act. I was so glad I had gears climbing that damn trail...and then we regrouped at the top and had communication breakdown for a while, until both groups realized the other was waiting for them, and reforming, decided to split again into fireroad and trail subsets with plans to regroup at Twin Gates. I again opted for the fireroad, and dragged myself up behind KB and R___, while T___, J__, and M__-A___ rode sweet twisty singletrack. E___ DNFed here, so he's a pussy. He had to "poop". A valid excuse, if he had to poop real bad...but the lie was given when he was reminded he could shit in the woods but chose not to (bibs may have been mentioned, but I was pretending to be tired and stupid and so not paying attention as closely as I might) thereby proving that his situation was not that bad. Hence the DNF, as he coasted down the hill to his comfortable and, one assumes, free from errant-wall-spatter bathroom.

Poop emergencies aside, I was not at all sure I'd be able to get up off the ground when the trail group showed at the gates. Someone may have had a beer and brought it out, there. I remember a flask, too. And, plus my legs were tired. From there it really was "all downhill" until beer and burritos overlooking the Pacific, and a brief ride back to the start.

To all involved, y'all are a fine example of a Good Time. Not so many pictures, as there was some bloggerheckling going on and the pace was too fast for me to deal with cameras.