The Miracle of San Felasco. Tour de San Felasco, 2013

"So, when are you going to write about San Felasco?" came a question during the Saturday ride.

Oh.  Well, I wasn't going to write about San Felasco.  Nothing happened.

Unless of course, you count the most astounding condition to ever occur in the ten years we've been doing this ride.

Mid January is always freezing in Felasco. 

Only this particular Saturday in January, it wasn't freezing.  It was warm.  How warm was it?

It was so warm that...

Mike was not the only one in short sleeves.  Just-in-case jackets were left in cars, or even at home, instead of tied to Camelbaks.  Heads were shaved.  Beards were trimmed.  

I still wore socks - don't get me wrong - it wasn't summer.  But it did get up in the seventies.  The seventies!  It was the Miracle of San Felasco that I've prayed for - for years.

Now who doesn't believe in global warming?

 

Look Ma!  No arm warmers!

Or toe warmers, or jackets, or tights, or balaclavas...

First before any ride details, I feel it's best to be honest about the REAL reason everyone rushes to sign up for the San Felasco ride. 

One might think that it has something to do with tight, winding singletrack through quiet and beautiful forest.  Or climbing the challenging Conquistador and chowing it's namesake cookie at the sags.  Or maybe it's the linking of 62 miles of harmonious off-road trail that only happens once a year.  Or maybe it's the killer chili they serve at the lunch stop.  (OK, no, it's not the chili they serve at the lunch stop.)

The REAL reason everyone rushes to sign up for Felasco is to get in on the group rate at the Cabot Lodge.

Big central lodge fireplace,

lots of friends, free beer. 

Cheers, Mike!

 

 

 

What the heck is that?

A scary little souvenir, picked up by Semi on a hash ride.

Is he really bringing that along with him? 

And why?

 

 

 

For once, I remembered to take a few photos during the ride.

 

 

Mister Bill Kelly. 

Aka, Mother Goose.

 

 

(I am grateful that Bill already had the name Mother Goose, cuz it could have been mine after Killers new brakes screeched through all 50 miles of forest a couple years ago.)

 

 

Just Mike,

going so fast I nearly missed getting him in the shot.

 

 

 

Gobbler,

who grew a beard this year

to keep him warm.

(At least I didn't buy that beard hat I thought about.) 

 

 

Chicken soup or chili?

The choice is clear.

 

 

Apparently no one was harmed by the lunch this year.  And in case of trailside delay, equal opportunity PortaJohns were provided.

 

Pink!

 

Definitely an "A" for effort from the Felasco organizers.  Although a PortaJohn by any other color still smells like a PortaJohn.  Nice try, though.

 

Apparently Semi's little souvenir didn't do him any psychic harm either.  After lunch, Gobbler and I caught up with him and Kurt just before the decision point for extra mileage.  (And well before the cut off hour of three o'clock.  No excuse there.)

 

Somehow I got talked into doing the bonus mileage.  Or talked them into doing it.  Or something.

 

 

OK, Kurt and Semi wouldn't have been off their bikes

if I hadn't yelled,

"Stop!  I want a picture of that tree!"

Thanks for waiting, guys.

 

 

Anyway, the bonus miles were cake, just so you know.  Nothing like last year.  If you chose to bail at 35 or 50 you missed a couple of hills but nothing like last year's cramp-clutching climbs. 

 

Oh.  Except for that one invisible hill.  Meadow climbs at Felasco.  Ouch.  Kind of like a ghost grade on a rail trail.  It hardly even looks like a hill, so why am I going so slow? 

 

And ow!  Why are my calves suddenly mooing and refusing to work?

 

Oh well, since I'm stopped, might as well wait and see who that is coming up behind. 

 

Photos flatten.

Kurt on invisible hill.

 

 

Gobbler and Kurt come climbing up after me.  I take a still of Kurt, and try a video of Gobbler.  I'll spare you the video, no offense to Gobbler.  There's just not much that's longer or more dull than watching someone grinding up a hill that you can't even see.  (But it did give me time to massage out the calves.)

 

Here are a few shots from the Friends of San Felasco website.

 

Some of our group rolling out in the morning.

Me and Mother Goose.

 

 

 

Popeye on the Powerline climb.


And first to the cooler.

Jeff at finish.

Didn't even need the glow sticks.

 

 

So that's about all I got when it comes to the ride.  Not much to tell, really.  No injuries, no crashes, no hypothermia.  And minimal PortaJohn contact.  The Miracle of San Felasco is complete.  

 

Easy rides make boring stories.

 

Just don't ask about the on-after.

 

Cheers!