Well boys, I said on Saturday morning, it's been a great trip, and today's our last day. But Bob had enjoyed himself so much that he just didn't want to hear that kind of talk.
During the customary pre-departure wait for John, Leo suggested that Bob should try to ride as slowly as his slowest speed during Friday's ascent up to Carson Pass. They both found it very difficult to keep the bike from falling at that speed on level ground.
While the other three enjoyed several thousand meters of elevation drop (with absolutely no uphill sections, despite what Leo may have posted), I was busy buying a new tire and cleats in Placerville. After spending a while looking for a bike shop, I found at least three more on my way to Green Valley Road to find the cyclists (I have learned that "bikers" is not the correct word). GVR was very narrow, with many blind corners and absolutely no shoulders, so I was glad to be in the car.
I pulled into a shopping plaza just outside of Folsom but had to suffer the indignity of applying sunscreen and making other pre-ride preparations on the side of the road while I waited for Leo and the others to chug up the down hill.
Leo wasted a fine rendition of Folsom Prison Blues, because I couldn't hear a thing in the wind. John noted that Folsom Prison was next to city hall, which was next to the zoo.
I'm not going to post my shot up the American River at the start of the bike trail, because Leo already did. The trail itself was great. At first Leo gave me hell for exceeding the 15mph speed limit, but soon enough he was leading the pack and going well over 20mph.
We met Bob somewhere in Sacramento, where John took over the driving duties. Just outside of Sacramento we entered the American River delta, elevation 12 feet above sea level. However, we spent most of the time on the levee, so we were at perhaps double that elevation. The farms in the area produce an amazing variety of fruits and vegetables, and we even passed a few wineries.
The wind picked up in the afternoon, and while the road twisted around quite a bit, it seemed we were always facing a headwind or at best were struggling not to get blown over from the side. Leo started to fade, as he had been riding since the morning, but after squeezing down several disgusting Cliff's Shots (mostly mocha, I think) he would recover for 15 minutes or so. When we arrived in Courtland (the 3rd and final transfer point) he raised his bike in a heroic victory pose.
While in Courtland the three amigos found new hope.
Leo made us pay close attention while he went over the route from Courtland to just before the Antioch bridge (our finishing point). After making a point of asking who would be able to remember, his advice was "don't cross with the highway, because you can avoid traffic by keeping the river on your right". We followed that advice down a washboard rumble-strip with admittedly very little traffic, until we came to a sign that said "Road Ends 3 Miles". After some discussion, we decided to believe the sign, and backtracked a few hundred yards to a bridge leading to an even worse road that fortunately led us to the main road. Narrow. No shoulder. Lots of traffic. The light was fading, but I'd had my red blinking light on all day, as well as the white blinking light on the front of the bike. I know, I can't help being a cool dude, as my son Leo is always pointing out.
When the road finally got a paved shoulder, it was covered with tree debris, which had me puzzled for a bit. But the wind was wild, and when I saw the wind farm it all began to make sense.
Leo horse-whipped us into the van, after forcing us to rub down with Baby Wipes. We did this willingly, because he also had three big chicken burritos waiting for us. During the drive into San Francisco we ate peanuts and Bob's beef jerky, but Leo had foolishly placed the cooler out of reach when he repacked the van, and we quickly ran out of water. As we sat there greedily eating the remaining ice, we agreed that it was a bad idea to open a pack of beef jerky without first ensuring an adequate supply of fluids.
I plan to write a post-trip summary, but right now I will say that it was a fantastic experience. No one got hurt, and we're all still talking to one another. Bob, I'm sorry I wolfed down your bag of peanuts in Battle Mountain.