“Whether you think you can or think you can't - you are right.” ~Henry Ford
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Here I am again, at the corner of Oak Glen Ave and Sycamore Dr. There are no hawks circling overhead today, no wild turkeys roaming in the open fields. The late fall afternoon sunshine has been replaced with a cold wintry dampness that follows a hard rain, and the morning sun still struggles to break through and make it’s presence felt. I can’t believe it’s taken so long to come back here.
It was two years, two months, and two days ago that I last rode here. Ever since I started my long road back to being a triathlete, this is the ride I’ve been looking forward to with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.
This is the ride that ended it all. I knew that sooner or later I’d have to face my demons, and today it was finally time to ride the Uvas loop again.
What I needed for this little adventure was moral support but, being unable to convince either Bob or Yvonne to join me today, it appeared that I’d be on my own until I asked Nikolas if he had any ideas for someone I could bring with me to help. He dutifully ran out of the room and came back a minute later with Blizzard, his toy lizard. “Here baba, he’ll help you” Nikolas assured me. I thanked him profusely, and promised I’d take good care of Blizzard, and out the door I went.
Down in the garage now, I needed to find a good perch for Blizzard. Somewhere where he could keep an eye on the action from a safe vantage point, and provide the occasional moral support and tongue-lashing, if necessary. I quickly found the perfect spot, and with the help of a few tie wraps Blizzard had a secure perch and I was off into the cold wet morning.
The beginning of every ride, for me, is this odd ritual where I assess what my goals and objectives are for the ride, and then begin this strange negotiation with myself.
“OK, the goal for today’s ride is to just ride easy and enjoy it” I say to myself. “The roads are wet and full of leaves and trash, so take it easy on the downhills”, I continue. “There’s no power goal for the ride- just ride easy and don’t look at the power meter.”
“What?!”
“You heard me- no power goals. That’s a recipe for disaster today. Just ride easy. You’re still recovering from a cold. There’ll be plenty of other opportunities to hammer it another day.”
“You’re kidding, right?
“You’re an idiot. Do I need to remind you what we call this ride?”
“I’ll agree to ride the first hour easy, and we’ll talk again later.”
“Hmmph. Fine.”
And with that I settle into a nice easy effortless pace as I make my way up over Kennedy Rd out of Los Gatos and into Almaden valley. Along the way I pass several groups of riders, and am actually a little surprised how many cyclists are out this morning, given how wet and cloudy it is. The forecast for the day calls for a mixture of clouds and sunshine, but it rained last night and the dampness still hangs in the air like a wet towel. The roads are very wet and full of debris and puddles, and all the gutters are still flowing a steady stream of muddy runoff, so I am constantly watching out for a clear track to ride in. I’m reminded several times of the consequences of not paying attention, as I pass at least 5 or 6 riders with flat tires in the first 10 miles. Not a good omen.
As I make the turn from Santa Teresa Blvd onto Bailey Rd I know that the first bit of “real” riding lies ahead. The climb up Bailey road to McKean Rd is a short but steep climb that catches unsuspecting riders off guard. This climb is part of the San Jose International Triathlon course, and it would always amuse me to see riders who obviously didn’t know the course jump out of the saddle and start hammering the lower portion of the climb thinking it was just another little roller. They would invariably blow up about half way up the climb and struggle to get to the top. Before I know it though, I am putting the hammer down myself.
“What are you doing?”
“Passing people ;-) You should try it, its fun.”
“Smart ass”
Oh, c’mon- this power is totally doable for this climb. Let’s see what happens. Worst case, we back it off and cruise the upper half.”
“Let’s see what happens?! What happens is you’ll suffer like a dog in the last hour of this ride because you’re dumb and you cooked your legs, and then you wonder why you had another bad ride on this course.”
“Oy, just ride dude.”
Before I know it the Bailey road climb is behind me and I find myself making the left turn onto McKean Rd. In my mind, this intersection has always signified the start of the real riding. Twenty miles in to the ride now, and the warm-up and the Bailey climb are behind me, as are all the stop signs, traffic lights, and houses for a good long while. This intersection marks the transition from “in town” to “in the boonies”, so its time to quit messing around and get to the real riding. I settle into a not-easy but not-hard pace as I cruise past Cinnabar golf course, and I briefly wish I could be off playing a round of golf instead of riding, but that thought is quickly pushed to the back of my mind. Those sorts of thoughts won’t be tolerated today. The surroundings continue to get more rural as I pass Calero reservoir, and as I see the sign indicating that McKean Rd had ended and Uvas Rd begins an uneasy feeling settles over me and I can’t help but feel as though I’ve crossed into Mordor. Dark grey clouds still hang in the sky, and I wonder when or if the sun will finally come out. I push on.
I soon find myself at the intersection of Uvas Rd and Oak Glen Rd. I take the left turn carefully and I am now officially on the “Uvas loop”, the 15 mile loop that is the course for the Uvas triathlon. This is the part of the ride that the subversive part of me secretly wants to hammer, just to see what will happen. The only sounds now are those of my bike and my steady rhythmic breathing. Without realizing it at first, I am now working steadily at an even higher pace, and as I glance down at Blizzard he nods approvingly at the power and heart rate indicated on my bike computer. We push on.
And then I am here- the corner of Oak Glen Ave and Sycamore Dr.- the very spot where I had stopped to admire the scenery on that fateful ride some 26 months ago. I had no intention of stopping here, but for some unknown reason I do. The sun has started to peek through the clouds now, and I take a moment to quickly eat a Clif bar, take in the gorgeous view, and take a few pictures before heading back on my way once again. Before I’ve really had a chance to process what just happened I’m back on the bike and pedaling again. My clothing is damp from sweat and water from the roadway that’s spraying everywhere, and even a few minutes’ stop has chilled me. Now, as I work to get back up to speed, I can feel the wind chill me, and my muscles momentarily protest having to get back to work. I come into a clearing and the sun feels good on my back. I slow for a moment to soak in the warmth, and for the first time today I feel a sense of relief and calm wash over me. I know that this time is different. There is no longer doubt in my mind, as there was on that afternoon 825 days ago.
Unlike the last time I rode this course, the ride home is a collage of vivid thoughts. I ride with unrestrained abandon, pushing the pedals as hard as I can. Every roller is a competition to see if I can ride just a little harder. The wicked side of me has quieted the logical side for the moment, and I relish the exquisite pain that every climb and small rolling hill dishes out, slowing only long enough to catch my breath and push on again. The milestones roll by- Calero reservoir, Almaden Lake Park…. before I know it I find myself back in the familiar territory of Kennedy Rd, and I’m attacking the Kennedy climb at a suicide pace. I reach the top completely out of breath, exhausted, every muscle screaming, and ecstatic.
As I roll into the driveway some three and half hours after I left, I glance down at my power meter and I flip through screens of data- altitude, average heart rate, average power, distance, intensity factor, numbers that normally mean everything on
a training ride- they’re good numbers. Blizzard looks at the data approvingly and we trade knowing glances- this ride wasn’t about the numbers, and we both know it.
(Please feel free to post your comments here)
We arrived at the Whaler's Cove parking lot to find gorgeous sunny sky and a pretty calm-looking cove. Despite the wave models and swell predictions of mediocre diving, this looked like it was going to be pretty nice. Well, everything except low tide at the boat ramp. I hate trying to get in the water at low tide. It turns what should be a simple task into a circus act. Right where the water line is in the photo there's a algae-covered drop-off, so rather than being able to don fins on the ramp in waist-deep water and kick out you need to jump in with no fins and about 150 pounds of gear on, and then writhe around like an eel as you try to put your fins on while your gear tries to flip you onto your back. Despite this, however, we were giddy as we surveyed the scene and planned the dive.
Despite the fact that the three of us still need to do a LOT of skills work in order to pass our tech checkout and move on the tech 1, we had agreed on the car ride down that today would simply be a fun dive. It had been way too long since we'd all dove together, and it was too nice a day to be stuck in the cove doing valve drills and deployments. After finalizing our plan we quickly geared up, ran through pre-dive checks, and hit the water. 
Once in the water we did bubble checks and descended to find some moderate surge, but better than expected visibility in the cove. As we made our way out of the cove, past the familiar landmarks at 'hole in the wall' and 'sea mount' the visibility opened up to a very descent 30' and the swell died down quite a bit below 60'. As we made out way out to Beto's reef, the nice sunny day and lack of kelp really provided some descent ambient light, even at a depth of 110'. It seemed like out time at Beto's reef flew by, and soon it was time to make our way back to the cove. 
