“Dude, how do you get faster each year?”  I asked Anthony. 

            Pedaling up the backside of Mr. Toads’ ridge, about 38 miles into the ride, I’m amazed that hollow shell of the man can make it up the steep, loose hill. 

            “You just get slower,” he responds.

            Somehow, Anthony can still talk shit.  With 360° views of San Luis Obispo, quadriceps running on empty, and lungs about as clean as beach sand, this is the Giro Di Slo.

A website you should see:

girodislo.com

The turnout at Hwy 101 and TV Tower road. Sunrise.

Fred Stamm at his best.

Chris at his best.

            “If I can't do well, homey, it can't be done

            Now I'ma let the champagne bottle pop

            I'ma take it to the top

            Fo sho I'ma make it hot, baby,”

            Leland, Fred, and I rocked up the grade in the Red Rocket’s 4th gear.  3 white guys bumping 50 Cent, with a broken windshield and a truck with 334,000 miles on it, is all a tell-tale sign of a good day to come in SLO. 

            “Good morning, vaginas.  You guys ready to pedal?”  Anthony greeted us with his usual cheer and love of life. 

            Mark, Kirk, Kenny, Mike, and Anthony left town around 5:45 AM to start the ride.  We met at 6:45 AM at the TV Tower road turnout just off HWY 101, with the bright morning sunrise our only comfort against the biting cold.  Adrenalin set in fast for everyone, and by 7:15 we spun out along potholed TV Tower road towards What trail. 

Getting psyched for the first descent.

            “Have you been riding much?” Dillon asks. 

            Now’s the time we all claim to be out of shape, and just hoping to survive the ride, but in reality, we’re all measuring up the rest of the crew in an attempt to strategize for the ride.

            With the rising sun at our backs, the light breeze on our sides, and the rest of the ride in front of us, the group of 28 held a quick but relaxed pace along the ridge.  We reflected a peloton, grouped and grunting together in spandex, with team Giant Straw Berry leading a breakaway off the front.

            Somehow, no one- not even the riders with paper-thin Kenda tires--got a flat tire on the jagged rocks.  The connector trail to Power Line can be a killer, with one blind corner leading to a 30’ high cliff where the hillside was blown away in a Camp San Luis military blasting exercise.  Excitement, or more realistically, dread, for the steepest climb of the day carried everyone though.  Well, almost everyone.  Ozzy Olmos took a solid digger, giving him a bloodied face and broken tooth. 

Mathis powers up shooters.

Kenny, riding a non-broken Jamis.

The view from Cuesta Ridge.

            By the top of Powerline, the group was a bit broken up.  At this point, the ride unofficially began to split into two smaller groups.  One rode heavy freeride bikes, and the other donned the spandex from their road teams and rode XC bikes.  This group would have more flat tires and trouble on the descents, but would sail to the top of every rocky climb with smiles the size of Mars for not being on a tarmac pedaling to oblivion. 

            Rocking down Pick and Shovel, only Leland flatted.  By the time we had connected to Morning Glory, Leland had flatted a second time, and Mike Kent also blew a hole in his tubeless tire. 

            Despite NASCAR-esque corner passing maneuvers by Mr. O’Conner, Morning Glory was a mellow descent.  At this point, Leland had another flat and returned to the Red Rocket for patching and mending of rubber and sidewall. 

Mike Kent, without a flat tire.

            “Dude, are we gonna do the train tracks?”  I asked Anthony, a bit perturbed that we might spin along the mellow train tracks to the fireroad to return to the trucks. This would be an easier route, and it would also kick my skinny ass. 

            “Shut up and follow the ride, spaz,” replied Anthony.             

            We shot through Eucalyptus Grove, floated towards Elevator Trail, and then suddenly Anthony cut to the left and hit a sweeping berm to the right.  We rode a smooth and fresh trail, recently built by the CCCMB.  Numerous gaps and jumps on the trail, probably not intentionally included, made this route a holler of a descent.  Two small creeks could be gapped, and a few corners made perfect double jumps. 

            Climbing back up Red Dog, Mark Jordan showed he can do more than just talk about bikes, jumping and pumping down the tight downhill back to the base of Shooters.  A 20 minute struggle up rocky and loose Shooters, and the out-of-towners realized why we all ride heavy freeride bikes and consider a 20 mile ride to be a tiring morning. 

Freshly-snaggle-toothed Ozzy Olmos.

Guess where?

Enjoying the technical climbs of East Cuesta ridge.

            Truvativ Don had coolers of beer, snacks, water, and juice for everyone back at the turnout alongside 101.  We hadn’t seen Team Spandex in an hour or two, but they arrived shortly after we did.  Ozzy Olmos’ broken tooth was quite the surprise, and Mr. Giant Strawberry was in high spirits considering his bloodied chin and new bite-pattern. 

            “It doesn’t climb too steeply, and it’s easy elevation,”Anthony described East Cuesta as an easy road. 

Anthony, probably wishing he was dead.

Dillon, king of the world.

Mark the Giant Strawberry.

Almost done!

Family photo.

That's me with the beer.

           Pasta and wine, salami and cheese, we dined and laughed at Anthony’s.  His 31st birthday was even more fun than his last few rides, and it all goes to show how a wonderful place like SLO can be made even better with a stupid long ride.  Happy Birthday, Anthony. 

           Trip stats: 50 miles, 9300’ feet of climbing.  Riding time, 6 hours.  Blood, most.  Fun, all.