Thursday, August 6: The Golden Wrench

I wake up in my room, still dressed in my clothes from the night before. There is a sharp, sour taste in my mouth. I'm vaguely nauseous and my head hurts. Uh oh. But then I pull myself out of bed, and feel something in my pocket.

A wad of cash. I pull it out and count it. $85. How did that get there?

I remember the night before, and how I didn't have enough money to pay for a $45 dinner and used my credit card. Oh man. How did that $85 get there?

Breakfast is at 8:00 and I'm about 10 minutes late already. I very quickly change into my bike clothes (the least smelly ones - I haven't had time to wash them) and go downstairs to breakfast. Everyone is at the tables. Doug asks, "Just where have you been, young man?"

I hesitate. The whole room of VBT bikers are looking at me. "There's some things I remember and some things I don't. Like how did this $85 get in my pocket?"

General laughter. Boston Elaine observes, "Most of the time, wild people lose money."

Yeah, well, that makes this all the more weird. I pour myself my soon-to-be-patented hangover remedy: lots and lots of Raisin Bran and glasses of water. I'm actually not feeling too bad. The California morning air is soft and invigorating. And I look forward to getting out on the bike.

"You sure you don't want to ride in the van?" Doug asks. I assure him no. "Well, keep yourself hydrated, then" he warns.

(right: Raleigh Andrea, Travellin' Tom, Unknown blue bird.)

I put some lemon wedges in my water bottle, and seek out Raleigh Andrea and Sherry. If anyone can pull me through, it's them. They will keep me so intent on pedaling that I will forget the little bit of nausea left.

We are reading to the Redwoods today for a picnic. Mile-wise, it's the toughest riding day - about 48 miles. But the terrain is easy and after about an hour, I'm back to my old self again.

We reach the town of Rio Nido well ahead of everyone else. A coffee shop on the corner beckons to me, and we all stop inside to collect our thoughts. As I am waiting for my espresso, I feel a woman's eyes on me. I take a quick look back. She is checking me out! Wow! OK, so now my ego is in overdrive. I get my espresso, turn around and give her a big smile. She smiles back. At this point, I am feeling really, really good.

Raleigh Andrea says, "We could do this Mays Canyon option. It's 6 miles." I say, "Hell yeah!" we're on a roll. The Mays Canyon option turns out to be very pretty. Very woodsy and shady. The whole first half is slightly uphill, then all of a sudden there's a huge cliff upwards. It's the Hess Option all over again. I kick down to 1st gear and puff myself up to the top.

A minute later, there comes million-year-old Arve. This guy is unstoppable! I'm waiting for the rest of the contingent, and say to him, "Boy, that was a real ball-buster!"

"Yeah, I guess," he says non-chalantly. Lordy!

So Raleigh Andrea and Sherry and I head back down. It's a treacherous trip down the 3 mile hill - there are potholes intermixed with shadows and it's impossible to tell the difference. But we get by without mishaps and pedal on over to Armstrong Woods for lunch.

The forest feels like a porch. The redwood trees are so large and the leaf cover so high, that you can't hear the wind stirring the leaves. It is dead silent. We talk very quietly to one another because the acoustics are too perfect. Lunch is waiting for us on the grates in the middle of the park - hamburgers, hot dogs and portobello mushrooms. Salad made of tomatoes from the Sonoma Farmers Market. And the signature dish of Peanut M&M's.


The sunburn on my legs is beginning to blister. People ask me if it hurts and proposing remedies: aloe, vinegar, first aid cream. But I don't really feel it. When your mind is engrossed in something like the forest or biking, it's hard to keep your mind on it. Or anything outside the valley, for that matter.

We come back to Madrona Manor on the opposite side of Dry Creek (which is not very dry - it's actually bigger and wetter than the Napa River.) Doug says it's the most beautiful part of the ride, and I agree. The roads are narrow and traffic-less, and I drink it all in.

There's a nagging feeling in the back of my head. In less than a day, the bike ride will be over. I try not to let it spoil the view. The only way to preserve this feeling and scenery is to memorize it, roll it over in my mind a few times, and call it back to make sure it's intact.

I sleep a few hours when we get back to the Inn, as has become my custom. Tonight's the night of the big Farewell Dinner, so I get out the ironing board and give my polo shirt a quick pressing. And then I can't take down the ironing board. It is mechanically beyond me. I could probably call Doug or Dan to do it, but I decide to ease myself back in the real world ... a world where Doug and Dan aren't there to get you out of a jam. I toss the ironing board in front of the fireplace.

The Farewell Dinner is exquisite. Organic Field Greens, very local and fresh. A risotto that's so delicate and complex that it requires you to close your eyes with every bite. Perfect local wines paired with each course, including an outstanding Merlot.

Yes, Merlot! Evidently the movie Sideways (an especially the line "I'm not drinking f***ing Merlot!") caused merlot sales to plummet and pinot noir sales to go higher. So the merlot people are trying very hard to restore its reputation by ... well, making some damn great merlot! It is my favorite glass of wine on the trip. So remember that. Wines that get no respect, especially Zinfindel and Merlot, are worth re-checking.

Doug makes some remarks about how great we are. Which is true. I have bounced between dicsussions with Atlanta Jean on my right and Boston Elaine on my left, and Houston Harry across the table. And it dawns on me. These people are so great because bike tours attract that kind of people. They are not lazy. They are not afraid to try something new. They are very outgoing. I love them all. There is not one of them I wouldn't ride with ... any time, anywhere.

And then Doug introduces the Golden Wrench award - an Allen Wrench spray painted gold. "For bicycling above and beyond the call of duty ... through wicked sunburn and hangovers and staying out until all hours of the night ... this tour's award goes to Craig Riecke."

And lemme tell you, I was elated! I mean, imagine this. I re-took up biking only 3 years ago. And in that time I have become more healthy and outgoing. The Golden Wrench reminds me of how much I've changed.

People call for a speech. Mine is two sentences long. "There's Karaoke down at the Bear Republic in half an hour! Who's with me?"

So I'm a little wiser this time - keeping my high-alcohol-content beer consumption in check. The waitress I proposed to the night before walks by, and I slump down in my chair. Then Karaoke starts. The stage is invaded by a group of kid baseball players, there for some after game shenanigans. And after a few songs, people start dancing. It's weird. I have been to Karaoke nights before, but this is the first time I see people dancing. A local named Sharon gets me out on the floor and teaches me some East Coast Swing moves. (Yes, I learned West Coast Swing on the East Coast and East Coast Swing on the West Coast.) It's a blast!

There is one transcendent moment. A college-age Russian woman goes to the microphone and with a no-note introduction to California Dreamin', warbles "All the leaves are brown, and the sky is gray!" She is loud and way off key. Some of her friends join her and sing harmony, and the rest of us are bobbing on the dance floor, eyes closed, hands in the air. We are from all over the country, and we are locals, and we have all fallen in love with California.

It's sounds goopy and over-the-top. It may be the love of a tourist. But at 2:00 AM, walking back the Inn, it's as real and enveloping as anything I've ever felt.