Santa Clara - Capitola round trip
72.5 mi, 4810 ft
This ride was motivated by mileage. As Waves to Wine looms a mere 6 weeks away, it increasingly becomes apparent that 100 miles is rather a long way to ride in any given day, and the feasibility should surely be probed beforehand.
The team of three riders set off bright and early from Santa Clara, wended through the mercifully quiet Los Gatos Creek Trail, through the hideous gravel patch near Lexington Reservoir, and up Old Santa Cruz into the Santa Cruz mountains. By 10.30 am we had already attained the Summit grocery store at the highest elevation of the ride, and were feeling great. One of the riders bought an entire fistful of protein bars, which seemed like overkill at the time.
We pointed our bikes down the mountain and descended Soquel-San Jose, which I do declare to be my favourite descent of all. It is just straight and wide enough that even the most wussy of descenders does not need to apply the brakes. Better yet, the massive gaping hell mouth where the road had washed away in the winter rains has now been sealed, trapping the daemons which may otherwise afflict the ride.
Hurtling towards the coast, I experienced a primal longing for the most British seaside cuisine of salt and vinegar chips. Chips, of course, being chunky cuboids of potato, and certainly not crunchy discs. Imagine my delight upon discovering the "Britannia Arms" situated directly adjacent to the beach at Capitola. With nary a millisecond pause to solicit the assent of the other riders, I bustled us over a wall onto the beer terrace for lunch. The chips were so-so, being of the correct geometry, but comprising processed potato starch rather than intact tuberous chunks. The vinegar was excessively weak, necessitating a rigourous drenching which brought the chips perilously close to dissolution. And worse yet, there was a Millwall flag on the wall inside. Nonetheless, the lunch really hit the spot.
After a few evidential beach snapshots, the trio turned back. The thing about rides through the Santa Cruz mountains (or any mountain range really), is that inevitably not one, but two ascents are necessitated. And the second ascent is always hotter. Fuelled by the power of acetic acid, I felt pretty good nevertheless on my arrival at the peak. So good, that a wine tasting at the unrivalled Burrell School Winery was a terrific idea.
Six wine tastings later, we commenced the final descent. Coming down the mountain, I experienced a sensation presumed to be that of a precipitous crash in blood sugar (or salt or something), with uncontrolled shaking of the right leg. Upon hitting the bottom, I furiously gobbled the remaining protein bars from the Summit Store and felt much recovered.
The last few miles were the furthest I have ridden, and seemed proportionately rough. We made it back safe and sound by the early evening, and soon thereafter I crashed into an unparalleled coma. Terrific ride!
This ride was motivated by mileage. As Waves to Wine looms a mere 6 weeks away, it increasingly becomes apparent that 100 miles is rather a long way to ride in any given day, and the feasibility should surely be probed beforehand.
The team of three riders set off bright and early from Santa Clara, wended through the mercifully quiet Los Gatos Creek Trail, through the hideous gravel patch near Lexington Reservoir, and up Old Santa Cruz into the Santa Cruz mountains. By 10.30 am we had already attained the Summit grocery store at the highest elevation of the ride, and were feeling great. One of the riders bought an entire fistful of protein bars, which seemed like overkill at the time.
We pointed our bikes down the mountain and descended Soquel-San Jose, which I do declare to be my favourite descent of all. It is just straight and wide enough that even the most wussy of descenders does not need to apply the brakes. Better yet, the massive gaping hell mouth where the road had washed away in the winter rains has now been sealed, trapping the daemons which may otherwise afflict the ride.
Hurtling towards the coast, I experienced a primal longing for the most British seaside cuisine of salt and vinegar chips. Chips, of course, being chunky cuboids of potato, and certainly not crunchy discs. Imagine my delight upon discovering the "Britannia Arms" situated directly adjacent to the beach at Capitola. With nary a millisecond pause to solicit the assent of the other riders, I bustled us over a wall onto the beer terrace for lunch. The chips were so-so, being of the correct geometry, but comprising processed potato starch rather than intact tuberous chunks. The vinegar was excessively weak, necessitating a rigourous drenching which brought the chips perilously close to dissolution. And worse yet, there was a Millwall flag on the wall inside. Nonetheless, the lunch really hit the spot.
After a few evidential beach snapshots, the trio turned back. The thing about rides through the Santa Cruz mountains (or any mountain range really), is that inevitably not one, but two ascents are necessitated. And the second ascent is always hotter. Fuelled by the power of acetic acid, I felt pretty good nevertheless on my arrival at the peak. So good, that a wine tasting at the unrivalled Burrell School Winery was a terrific idea.
Six wine tastings later, we commenced the final descent. Coming down the mountain, I experienced a sensation presumed to be that of a precipitous crash in blood sugar (or salt or something), with uncontrolled shaking of the right leg. Upon hitting the bottom, I furiously gobbled the remaining protein bars from the Summit Store and felt much recovered.
The last few miles were the furthest I have ridden, and seemed proportionately rough. We made it back safe and sound by the early evening, and soon thereafter I crashed into an unparalleled coma. Terrific ride!
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