Back when I was a junior in the late eighties, training here in Sonoma County and racing up and down the West Coast, I’d heard of The Terrible Two, but not once did I consider riding it. The Terrible Two was even smaller an event then than it is now, which is saying something considering a bare 250 riders typically register for it each year.

When I returned to cycling two years ago, however, after a twenty year hiatus, a detour of sorts through various dive bars and a two pack a day smoking habit, the very first thing on my mind was that I wanted to get fit enough to finish The Terrible Two. Well, last year, I accomplished that goal. I rolled across the line in 97th at 14:48, having spent every last bit of strength left and then some to get there.

That said, having established an acquaintance with the demands of the course as well as my own personal limits, my goals going into this year’s edition were to finish sub 13:00 and place in the Top 20. Given the results on some training rides earlier in the year, I thought it was possible, but as I had no reference for what might be going on further up in the standings, I left ample room for doubt.

As has been the case throughout my life I tend to get pretty amped up the night before a long awaited event and this last Friday night, the night before The Terrible Two was no exception. I settled in to bed around 10:00pm after having made all the necessary preparations.

Unfortunately I ended up tossing and turning for several hours and it was only at around 1:00 am that I finally fell into a state that somewhat resembled sleep. That wasn’t to last, however, as 4:00 am came quickly and with that a somewhat reluctant rise form bed after but only three hours sleep.

Thankfully I was among the few folks to arrive at 4:30 and as such, it was rather quiet. Just kept downing the coffee with the hope that I’d come to soon enough. Perused the orderly rows of race numbers placed upon the cafeteria tabletops as I searched for my own.

As I scanned the race numbers, names of The Big Guns started popping up all over the place: Brian Anderson, Marc Moons, Robert Choi, Bo Hebenstreit, Doug McKenzie, Fred Burghout, Giampaolo. All of whose exploits I’d come to know through hearsay, as thus far, I’d never seen any of them in action.

That said, I made my last minute race preparations with all the speed of a sloth and just around the time I had begun to double check that I had everything I needed for the third or fourth time, just about the time that the roosters began to crow in an adjacent barnyard, the call was made to toe the line.

This year’s start was far more leisurely, it seemed to me, a nice easy spin down High School Road, as opposed to warp speed charge that characterized last year’s start. It was a nice way to wake up and take in the splendor of Sonoma County at dawn.

I even made a few friends at the start, one of whom was Marc Moons. I told him I’d done the Terrible Two last year with the goal of finishing, that I’d done so and now I wanted to improve my time. He offered a few words of wisdom: “Nice and easy, steady tempo, start to finish and you’ll do fine.”

That said, we settled in for the thirteen plus mile ride behind the pace car to Bennett Valley Road. As we crested the top of Bennett Valley Road, so too did the sun, but from the opposite direction, so with the sunrise full blast in our eyes the descent down the other side was kind of sketchy.

At that point my thoughts were on the first big challenge directly ahead of us: Trinity Road. Though I’d seriously enjoyed riding off the front at that point, I was fairly certain my stint there was over as we crossed Highway 12, but I rode on nonetheless, hoping simply to see how far I could get.

As the road began to rise and take us through the first of the several tight and steep switchbacks that Trinity is known for, I found, to my surprise, that despite my lack of sleep the legs felt solid and strong and so I kept riding along side the guys off the front, higher and higher as the bunch began to thin out considerably.

A couple of guys attacked about mid way up Trinity, heedless of the hundred and fifty plus miles horror that remained ahead. I ended up reaching the top of Trinity in a group of about ten and we quickly sped down the backside of Trinity, Oakville Grade and into an unusually foggy Napa Valley.

On the other side of the valley, at Silverado Trail, we all stopped for a pee break and a bit of a regroup took place before we flew along the rollers that lead up to Calistoga. Once we arrived in Calistoga I got my first glimpse of how The Big Guns of The Terrible Two handle a rest stop: they don’t. Or at least that’s how it seemed. Amid my own refueling, I failed to observe how they did it.

My own plan was simple: hop off bike, grab bottles, refill, grab food, hop back on the bike and resume riding, all in as little time as possible. Nonetheless, I seem to have made a step or two too as by the time I was back on the bike, The Big Guns were down the road far further than I.

Fortunately I wasn’t too far behind coming out of the first rest stop and caught back up quite easily with the lead bunch, forming a group of about thirty or so riders. Having resumed our rhythm we settled for the ride up the rollers of 128 and before too long we found ourselves at the approach of the second big test of the day, The Geysers.

If Trinity proved itself somewhat of a bogeyman, The Geysers were sure to lay waste to my seemingly successful ride thus far. At that point, last year, I was already well off the back and doubtful I’d even finish. However, as we began to climb, I found the pace set at the front sustainable enough and within a mile or so was surprised to see we’d shed a good twenty five plus riders and that I was but one of a small group of ten, maybe twelve riders that rode together to the top of the first peak.

Suffice to say, I couldn’t quite believe my eyes. There were Brian, Marc, Fred, Giampaolo, Robert, Doug a few other guys and me. “You’re not supposed to be here”, I kept thinking and yet there I was, 90 miles into the event, off the front with the leaders on no less than The Geysers. Word has it they were taking it easy at that point, but for me it was like something of a dream come true. Unfortunately as we crested the first peak and began the descent, the dream turned into something of a nightmare. Not only did the road descend but so too did my hopes of staying with them.

Due to my damnable descending skills, or apparent lack thereof, however, I lost contact with them and spent the entirety of my effort ascending the second Geysers climb dangling just off the back and attempting to gain ground before yet another descent. Along came the 2nd Rest Stop atop the second summit of The Geysers.

Thankfully, I got in and out before a couple of the leaders this time around and was able to make it down the descent in time for them to catch up and form a chase group. Among them was Fred Burghout. He and I chatted for a bit but unfortunately around the mid-way point along the rollers between base of The Geysers and Cloverdale I dropped my chain on a slight incline and lost touch with them.

I spent the remainder of the ride into Cloverdale trying with everything I had to latch back on and as I hit River Road alongside 101, there was the lead group again, perhaps 300 yards or so ahead of me. Excited to be within reach of them, I caught back on just before we hit Dutcher Creek Road and breathed a sigh of relief.

Marc asked what had happened to me and I shamefully admitted that I’d lost contact with them on the descent. He urged me to sit in and rest up a bit. I did so, and for the next few miles rolled along glad to be back amongst the leaders, if only for the time being.

As we pulled into Lake Sonoma, a small group of a dozen or so riders, a slight chill ran down my back amid the hearty cheers of the support crew. A hundred and fifteen miles and a little over six hours into The Terrible Two, I’d pulled in to the Lake Sonoma Rest Stop with the leaders. Had you told me that’d happen last year I’d have laughed it off.

At any rate, I only got to bask in that glory for a few seconds at best before everyone was off their bikes scrambling about in a flurry of activity: bottles and flasks being tossed here, there and everywhere. As I made my way back to my bike Bill Oetinger of the SRCC pulled me aside and advised me to take it easy, that The Big Guns had left and that I should simply ride my own race from thereon out.

I looked up the road and nobody was in sight. “How’d that happen?” I wondered. The speed with which veterans of The Terrible Two lay waste to the rest stops is astonishing in and of itself, requiring a whole other skill set that I have yet to acquire.

I turned back to Bill, nodded my head, hopped back on my bike and settled in for what lay ahead: a sadistically slog up and down the long, shape-shifting stretch of pavement known as Skaggs Springs Road. No matter how many times I’ve ridden Skaggs and contemplated its character I still can’t describe with any accuracy the profile.

At that point, things began to resemble my ride of last year a bit more: for the next 30 plus miles between Lake Sonoma and Stewart’s Point, I rode solo. I don’t know if it’s me, but there’s something about Skaggs Springs Road, that demands one ride alone. Perhaps it’s the fact I’ve only ever ridden alone there and this time would prove itself no exception.

Thankfully, due to the unseasonably cool weather, Skaggs was just hot enough to be slightly uncomfortable, but not “this is your brain on Skaggs” hot. Up one long stretch and down another, I eventually reached the Skaggs rest stop wherein one of the leaders had conceded defeat and dropped out. I quietly counted my blessings, having jumped one place higher in the standings and rolled on. “Don’t look back,” I told myself, “just keep moving forward.”

No sooner did I begin my descent did I see Brian Anderson climbing up the road in the opposite direction, having obviously thrown in the towel on this year’s attempt at a record eighth TT title. He obviously hadn’t had a mechanical and didn’t look to be injured. Later on at the finish I’d learn that he’d gotten sick, something which seemed to have been going around, as for several miles along that stretch of Skaggs I’d begun to feel ill myself.

Eventually it occurred to me that it might be the energy bar I’d eaten on Dutcher Creek Road that was the culprit. Given the level of exertion, my body had energy enough for one thing or another, but not both. It was either cycling, or digesting solid food and I suspected my body was sending me a signal: “No more solid food, please” and so from there on out, all I took in was gel from the couple of flasks I had with me.

A few times I thought I might need to pull over to the side of the road and puke, or perhaps just puke over the top of my handlebars, but before I summon the nerve to do so, I arrived at the Las Lomas water stop. I disengaged my bottles, handed them over for a refill and fell prey to a moment spontaneous flatulence that rumbled down into the valley long after the gas had passed. One of the guys chuckled, but the gal who was refilling my bottles didn’t respond.

“Sorry…guys…I’ve…seem…to…have…lost…control…of…all…bodily…function…”

And with that, it was onward once more. Thankfully, the wave of sickness I’d been overcome by seemed to have come to a close with that big burst of gas and I began to feel better, good enough to put a little extra pressure on the pedals as I began my charge down into the valley where an annoying headwind battered me about for a few seemingly interminable miles or so.

Thankfully, just as the headwind let up, The Rancheria Wall appeared before me. The suffering comes in all forms on The Terrible Two and it’s agents are all too willing to changes hands at the most inopportune times. The Rancheria Wall is perhaps one of my least favorite climbs on The Terrible Two because it’s just so sadistically steep. Nonetheless, I crawled on, reminding myself over and over to not look back.

I’d probably have done better with a 27 or a 28 at that point, but made good with the 25 that I had. Having finally ground my way to the top of The Rancheria Wall, I pulled in to the next rest stop just as Doug McKenzie was leaving, with another rider shortly behind him. The crew warned me to be careful on the descent as a rider had crashed and an ambulance would be heading up it.

That said, I refueled, took a leak and leapt back onto the bike. At that point, under the shade of all the redwoods it got cold, so I quickly put on my arm warmers before plunging down the descent. The other rider behind Doug had stopped to do the same and I ticked off perhaps another move up in the standings.

About a mile or so into the descent as I approached a tricky hairpin, there at the side of the road was a Sag Wagon and just past it was Fred Burghout laying prone at the side of the road, looking very much the unhappy camper. Later on at the finish I’d learn he’d overcooked a turn and the result was a broken leg. Suffice to say being a piss poor descender does have its’ advantages.

Finally came the coast and just as I turned left to take advantage of the generous tailwind headed south, the guy I’d passed at the last rest stop caught up to me, posing the potential for a joint effort to catch Doug. That said, we quickly joined forces and spent the entirety of the ride down Fort Ross Road trading pulls. Unfortunately, Doug was nowhere in sight, so he must have been flying down Highway 1 all by himself.

Eventually we made a quick pit-stop at the Fort Ross rest stop and began the last of the day’s big climbs. We made good time going up Fort Ross Road, keeping it at a pretty even pace and cadence for the duration of the climb, however, toward the top, I began to fade a bit and watched the Napa Guy creep ever so slowly ahead of me.

I knew I was well within The Top 20 at that point, so there was no point, wasting what little energy I had left trying to stay with him, so I carried on at my own slightly uncomfortable pace. Cresting the top of Fort Ross Road, a handful of touring cyclists stood dumbfounded upon their bikes, entirely unaware that something of a race was taking place.

“How far you riding today?” one of them asked.

“Two…hundred…miles” I gasped as I passed them.

Down Fort Ross Road I plunged for a bit of a breather and then one last rise of significant difficulty, a last bit of gradient attempting to test for brittle legs, short but steep. As I’m slowly churning my way up, this giant guy, must have been about seven feet tall, 200 plus pounds, easily, appears out of the middle of nowhere and creeps ever so slowly past me.

“Must be losing steam”, I thought to myself, “This is the first I’ve been passed since that first climb on Skaggs. Just ride it out to the top. Rest up on the descent into Cazadero and wind it up to a sustainable pace down Cazadero Road…”

So that’s what I did, maintaining the “don’t look back” policy I’d upheld since Skaggs. Though Cazadero Road seems interminable at any point over the course of a long ride, I rather enjoyed it this time as the sun was shining bright and I knew I was en route to achieving my goals for the day.

When I reached the final Rest Stop at Monte Rio, the support crew cheerfully refilled my bottles and informed me that I was somewhere within the top ten to fifteen riders. Smiling inside the whole time, I flew out of the rest stop, took in a power shot of gel, washed it down with a slug of water and flew up Bohemian Highway. As had happened last year, I felt a sudden resurgence of energy at that point and knew that it would carry me through to the end.

A quick look at my ride time, something I hadn’t done since Lake Sonoma, showed I was riding just short of a sub 12:00 ride time and though I might have pushed it that much further to hit an 11:59, I was happy as all hell to have achieved my goals of a Top 20, sub 13:00 finish.

I pulled across the line in an elapsed time of 12:23, good for 15th place. As soon as I stopped, knowing full well the day was done, I stood atop my bike in a bit of a daze, seeing only a dozen or so people milling about. “So this is what it’s like to finish Top 20 in The Terrible Two…” I mused, happy as all hell for having accomplished the goals I’d set out to achieve in this year’s edition.

“Good ride, Shane, you did great” I heard someone say. I looked up and it was Marc Moons seated at a picnic table, freshly showered and diving into a big plate of food. “Go take a shower and get something to eat, man!” And with that I hobbled off to the showers, cleaned up and sat slugging gallon upon gallon of Recoverite, chatting about the day’s events and watching riders pull into the finish, one after the next.

Upon arriving home that night, I thought how very long a journey it had been to get to that point: the point where finally, after having tried so damned hard as a junior in the late eighties, and eventually giving up altogether; after getting back on the bike after a twenty year break, I could finally do something on the bike I could be proud of.

Perhaps one of the biggest challenges over the course of the next year will be pushing myself just far enough outside my comfort zone to get better on the descents. I spent a tremendous amount of energy trying to bridge up to the leaders after being dropped on descents that should take little to no energy at all. Thankfully, as was the case last year when my dream was to simply finish The Terrible Two, I’ve got a year’s worth of road ahead of me and time enough to become a better cyclist yet. Thanks for reading…

~Shane