[This article is excerpted from my bigger article about a recent adventure to California, in the middle of which I got to hang out with VVA.]
The morning after our first day’s huge ride we [a group of friends who met up in Inverness, CA, to ride a few days] drove to the base of Mt. Tam and headed off on our bikes up the slopes.
Amazingly enough, each of us brought a friend along, making 8.
Early that morning VVA had shown up in Inverness at Mike’s ridgetop house right on time.
I had told him we might ride from the house and start early. He’s 65 years old and said he doesn’t start very early and it was a 3-hour drive. I said, C’mon, go for it! We had tried to get together last year and it didn’t work. I really wanted to ride with him this time.
VVA is Victor Vincente of America. He’s an author I publish. His story is big. His book is called “A Dirt Road Rider’s Trek Epic & Other Dreams” (click to go to ordering page). It’s poetry and art about life and riding in the outback. The book also includes a bio section. He’s one of a handful of dual Mt-bike and Road-bike Hall-of-Famers. He was the first USA national road champion. The first American to win road races in Europe in modern times. A dual Olympian. The first to set a modern transcontinental record, which inspired RAAM. Tied for first to produce a mt-bike. One of the first to host mt-bike events and races. Artist, designer and stone mason. Whew! And he did it all on a semi-homeless basis. Uncoached. Unsponsored. He cultivated an appreciation along the way for “road prize” (things found along the road) and…roadkill cuisine. He knows roadside flora and fauna like no one else. He’s held “money burnings” at his events. In his art he’s into many metaphors—including cannibalism, suicide and the battle cry of alien-asiatic-arab warriors. He’s minted his own coins, some in his own visage (good for the purchase of any VVA product). He has a cabin now and says now that he’s retired from racing he’s pursuing women as a romantic, up to 8 at a time, so far. Thrice married. Double whew!
50th birthday coin.
How many athlete champs come anywhere close to this level of character color and range?
Well, I’ve been impressed by his work and his style for years, and we’ve talked on the phone, but I’d never met or rode with him. (Here’s his website: VVA2020.com for all your shopping needs.)
VVA’s van.
He showed up early. Not to be called one who sleeps in. And promptly gave me a gift of a found tee-shirt, laundered and silkscreened with “Guaranteed Recycled.” He had some moist wild flower bulbs and dirt in a baggie in his van, freshly scavenged. He said he plants all kinds of roadside flowers in his yard.
He’s smallish in height but powerful—like a sprinter who’s been a stone mason. Garbed in bracelets and clankery. His voice seems like it might go Scottish on you but it doesn’t. Not loud, crisp, measured—with a laugh waiting close to hand.
An interesting contrast is Mike’s pal: the current and many-time world champion triathlon age-grouper—now in the 65 year old group, I think. So we had two champs—one current, one legend.
VVA rode in a baseball hat. Who’s to argue.
Last year was Randy’s first try at hard riding. His bike had racing gears. Nothing for a mountain. He made it halfway. This year he had a nice, big 34-tooth cog on his freshly repainted classic Fuji.
VVA was amused at the chicanery several of us have developed.
We try to bluff, tease and provoke each other into riding in such a way as to make our rival able to be PASSED.
Eddy on the rampage!
There are references freely made to Lance, Ulrich and Pantani the Pirate (RIP). There are attempts to do The Look and blast off.
There are gambits and ploys—fake leg cramps.
Trying to bridge the gap to a fugitive.
VVA joined in on the fun. What was a little odd was when I called him Pantani and me Ulrich. The thing is that VVA *WAS ONE OF THOSE GUYS.* He’s VVA!
It was neat to ride with him. He has a loose “pro” style. Moves around on the bike quite a bit, moves the bike itself. Lots of ankling and getting out of the saddle. Relaxed hands, bent elbows—likes to be an instigator.
Very close to the top now. See the road winding down below.
Randy made it to the top of Mt. Tam in fine shape. We took a break and checked out VVA’s bike. It’s a custom Macalu…with worn-out chainrings (pointed like teeth)…and duct-taped handlebars. He said a friend gave it to him a few years ago. Up to then he had been riding his 1960’s bike from the Olympics. He said the top tube had rusted dangerously from sweat. I said “Final verdict: beyond retrief.” VVA bolted alert and laughed. –That was the last line of one of his poems. He said he’d never heard anyone quote his work out of the blue like that. …And that he’d invented the word “retrief.” It works.
Relaxing at the top of Tam.
Chris tells VVA that it’s good that the Prince is back wearing the colors of the Republic of California—more from his work. He laughed again—“You guys are good!”
Randy took off ahead of us, descending—but there are plenty of climbs that direction, too. Last year this was how he kept from being left too far behind. This year we never caught him.
This ride is lovely how it goes from moist, jungly redwood creek valley up into high meadows overlooking the sea.
A top section offers a rollercoaster ride for a couple miles, big gear all the way if you keep a blasting momentum, which I did, and relished.
The gang at the Rez on the way up to Tam
Some of us were less comfy with fast’n’fun descending on bikes. VVA was the best, and gave tips. I tried to advise a bit, too, as I’ve found things that work. What most helped me, though, was discovering Jobst Brandt’s online report, “The Dark Art of Descending.” I haven’t found the exact link again yet but this will do. (Also has essay by R. Marquis on this.) Must-reads for mt-riders! Still, even when I thought I could descend, real mt-folk could drop me like I was standing.
(Here are some basics to get you started: when turning on descents or flats make sure you turn as much as you can BEFORE the apex of your turn. If the turn is fast enough you’ll be glad you have room in hand as you exit. Be relaxed. Weight both feet, outside foot forward. If turn is banked and sharp then drop torso down and twist to inside of turn and pull bike around (as it were). As your braking slows you, you can brake more and turn sharper. Fast descending turns are assymetric. Braking reduces the amount you can lean. Read the FAQs. Good luck!)
We saw turkeys all day, on the ride and the drive. Big toms puffed up strutting for their ladies. Like I’ve said, they’re the new pheasant.
VVA had been being dropped on the pitches. He would then catch back up quickly, with a whoop, on the tricky downhills.
Sadhu hadn’t done downhills before, but FLEW up the pitches with his 125 pounds of fiestiness. Lightweight Chris was strong on the pitches, too.
There was one long last steep uphill before we got back to town. We were together at its base when I attacked. I needed to make a power move to get one over on Chris and Sadhu. I was in the big-ring, out of the saddle, feeling good. I didn’t sense anyone around. Closing in on the top. Slight sense of someone. No one to the left. Slight sense of someone off my right rear. At the top VVA comes slashing past with a sprint as fast as a city crit finish. Holy smokes! He doffs his cap and bows. Wow, that was great to see and to have happen to me. Beat by a champ! When my pals and I duke it out on big hills we inch past each other. This was a spark of real pro sprint speed. What a treat. We bombed down into town. VVA said he still has it…for fifty meters. He also said thanks and that I was a worthy rival.
Swooping back down, now thru the neighborhoods.
VVA says he always likes to take a shower immediately after big rides. Ah ha! After we’re cleaned up, he appears in khakis and striped ticking-type shirt. I walk in wearing just about the same. Funny!
VVA studies the guesthouse, feeling the woodwork and stonework. At his van he gives me some eucalyptus shells and says they’re for us to put on our stove, to heat up or light a bit with fire then blow out, as an incense.
I show off the art of the main house to VVA. Our hostess is a ceramist. They have some of my wife Martha’s early big ceramic animals here, too. VVA drops to the floor in front of her colorful tapir. He studies everything, for a long time, in quiet detail.
DAY THREE: BIG BAY RIDE—TOMALES BAY
The next morning we ride into Pt. Reyes to the Bovine Bakery for sticky buns.
Bikes flock the bakery. Carbon and ti. We park ours. A local bike shop owner is lounging at a bench. He says, “That’s a really, really nice bike,” as I wheel my lugged steel RB1 by. Aw, shucks.
We notice a brace of $10K carbon bikes. A hand-wrapped Calfee. Ooooh… Eye candy.
$20K worth of bikes. They belong to father and teen son. Luckeee!
Back at the ranch, I phone home…I miss the wife and kiddy-kids. They sound good. The kids have each done strange things, which are nice to hear about.
We’re down to 5 of us now. Mike tows our butts at warp speed into the wind around Tomales Bay. But on each of the steep uphill sections, VVA cracks the whip and strings us out. He’s attacking like Pantani! No…like VVA! He says that he has to breathe hard before any hard hill effort, so he does. A secret method! (Like riding with water-filled inner tubes. Like carrying rocks then jetisoning them in front of rivals.) My nose has cleared out…all the sea, meadow and forest smells flood over me. We fly past a marina with crusty, nifty old boats boats boats. I want to swing off, but swing back on instead.
Chris taking a strong pull into the wind by the Bay.
When we get close to Tomales, Mike says, “There’s town!” and points to the top of a huge hill. Mike later said he was thinking of going hard but thought instead to provoke us. VVA and I attack the hill to our imaginary finish line. Neck and neck to the top…then I floor it, pull ahead and win. We regroup in town. He declares to the gang, “This guy isn’t just a city boy publisher. He has grit!” Then says to me with a wink, “That was a really good one. So it’s one win each. But I’ll fix you!” Oh-oh! Later on he said the fix might not be physical, might be psychological. Mysterious…
On the way back, he stops along the road to cut some fennel stalks to add to tonight’s salad. Chris says he wants to take some video clips with his digicam but instead takes off blasting down the road with Mike. We are dropped! VVA gets rolling again and takes up the chase. I can’t believe they’re going so hard. It was a ploy! VVA pours it on. I hang on for all I’m worth. We hit some big twisty descents and take the corners at max speed, the limit of adhesion. As we catch the fugitives, VVA motions to me with a wave. We blast on past and keep going. The tables are turned! We drop them hard. Then wait up. Coming into town we pass a whisk broom in the road. Sure, enough VVA stops and nabs it.
Fennel: roadside salad. We smelled it so sweet as we rode by.
Coming back to the huge hill going up to Mike’s, I tell Chris to get some vid of VVA climbing. He says, “No, you.” We’re halfway up the hill. He gives me the camera. Then takes off! Chris wins the final sprint, laughing. What a trick!
We clean up and, darn it, this whole time I’ve been wanting OYSTERS, so we go to the Pt. Reyes Oyster Ranch. They have em. We buy em, for dinner and for NOW. We sit on the curb by the Bay and crack em and slurp em for awhile. Ahhh… A French guy sits next to us, doing the same, giving us pointers. Dang, we forgot the wine. Well, there’s plenty back at the ranch.
Oysters, finally.
I notice my heel hurts. I’m lame, bruised. Darn, it must’ve been that crazy sprint against VVA.
A VVA custom tee, 4 silkscreen colors and airbrush. Ooooh!
I remark that we could probably explore much farther each day if we didn’t destroy ourselves with nonstop attacking. Hmmmm, is the response.
We have an oyster dinner party, grilled and raw, and invite our hosts to the guesthouse. Afterward, VVA reads a few of his poems for us that I’d sneakily printed out. Chris takes vids of him reading. We pass out gifts to our hosts and hit the hay.
Saying goodbye to our hosts. (Their house.)
DAY FOUR: PACK UP & HIT THE BIG CITY!
VVA takes off in the morning. Before he leaves he gives me a handful of crystals, saying “Diamonds really are found laying on the ground in California.” –More reference to his poetry. He says they’re crystals from igneous rock that gets exposed from erosion. The surface of the rock wears away, exposing the crystals which shatter and lay about. They can be found in a few-mile range near his cabin. People look for them.
VVA remarks that he looks to the margins for his signs of life. (Sounds familiar!) I recalled when he got a flat when we were riding to Tomales. As he rapidly pumped his tire back up, he paused briefly and pointed at some tiny flowers along the road, “Snake lillies, with rattlesnake grass all around them.”
Then he takes off in his van with a Hey-ho!
We all box up our bikes to FedEx back then drive to the airport. I’m continuing on. They all say how good of a time they had and how much they enjoyed our visitor, VVA. I’m glad it worked out.
It was neat seeing the interactions between the creative types and the manager types.
I catch the BART to The City.
***
Here’s a poem by VVA (from the compilation book “Bike Lore 2”):
UNTITLED ONE
by VVA
Out of exile nearly a year now, the Prince has settled into a life of ease,
having arrived in a California where diamonds are found lying on the earth.
The foremost job he undertook was to fix his pedal action,
which had been degraded from a former high efficiency to a sloppy affair
through too much carrying of scavenged goods tucked into the t-shirt.
So, the roads of the realm were explored
and found to be worthy of whole-day rides.
Mileage was accumulated, elevation gain piled on high,
under the guidance of his personal trainer, who was
“aimin’ ta retoin him to da springtime of his yout’.”
The test and the proof of his success was the Markleeville Death Ride,
previously not considered by him to be a reasonable, attainable goal,
yet all five passes were completed in eleven ours.
And there was plenty of time, weeks on end, to visit friends
in other towns, ride their roads, both dirt and paved,
and make new acquaintances here and there. And there was time to graze,
according to the season, under apricot trees, in blackberry thickets,
in the local prune orchard, at grapevines along the road ways.
In fact, the giving cosmos is so generous that care must be taken to avoid
Zamora’s prediction of a pear-shaped body in later life.
He feels privileged to see the lights across the lake,
the lights of the barons in their plush estates. All in all, he is honored
to be invited to once again live in this land, where he always felt at home
and claimed as his since ’58,
when he first wore the colors of the Republic of California.
