Kevin Main, the main man, is an artist. No Norman Rockwell this guy. He isn't all Salvador Dali, either. He's got the full range of what life can dish out. On an organized bike ride. The route was sheer artistry . . . and the support an obvious act of love and good humor. Not ubiquitous - in fact some, maybe even most, might complain about a "lack of support" - but to my body and soul the support was always there when it counted. Along with the knowledge and humor required for proper delivery. Enough gush. Here's ride.

4 a.m. 44 strong, dark start from the Main Home in Cayucos north up Highway 1 to Carmel. The Big Sur Coast - clear and unfoggy - rocky, rugged and strewn with all manner of wildflowers, was better than in the picture books. Those in the lead group barely suffered headwinds although I heard those who followed were not as fortunate. Turning east into the heat out and up and over the Carmel Valley out Carmel Valley Road (G16). Our current Spring is still outrageous after all the April and early May rains. Kept up with Bill Ellis and Andrew Otto almost until lunch, then I was toast (150 miles worth of Bill and Andrew!). Lunch, water and a coke near the top. Solo down into the Salinas Valley. Good road but it had deep small headsize holes. Burning down, I see a little head pop up, take one look at me barreling down upon and down, and "I'm out of here" the little guy must have said.

The eastern stretch of Carmel Valley Road (G16) passes through desert - big hills all sandy, shimmery and hot - and into the the long windy plain of the Salinas Valley. I hook up with Tony - one of the four who finished this ride last year - and we turn left, North, onto G17, into the eye of a gale that does to wind-facing riding what "The Wall" at the Unknown Coast does to all those little poseur-walls who wannabe steep. Good God, it was awful. 40 miles up straight into it. No breaks, just an awesome steady grinding at my will and spirit. All the wind breaks were on the wrong side of the road. Got up to Gonzales - burrito time for me. Then we hauled up some more valley and up and over mountains into San Juan Bautista. There's Kevin and Kathi Main putting airline blankets on cold weary shoulders and feeding starving stomachs. Kevin chortling in what could easily pass for sadistic glee about what one might call "the wind test." Tony actually went on. So did a number of others. I went for food and bath and bed. Those people who can and do go on have my awe, admiration and respect. Not me. I am definitely a hot water and bed oriented kind of guy.

Sunday morning, start riding 4 a.m. again. 40 degrees cold, alone and with legs and heart rate than don't seem to go so good. But I was all lit up like a Christmas Tree with my Sam Brown belt, triple-colored ankle-band reflectors, dual chain stay reds and barends, too. My Willie Hunt front light distinguished everything from glass to road kill. I was cold but I was out there . . . in more ways than one. Even before it does, the birds start to announce the sky cracking. It might be cold, my legs might feel a little weak, but hey, it is great stuff. I just wish I had warmer gloves.

Start to spot and pass randonneers in varying states of mental and physical survival. Pick and drop. Could be worse. Get to Highway 25 somewhere in San Benito County as daylight arrives. I find in one of the most remote, gorgeous places I have even seen. Little squirrels constantly scurry across the road, keeping me company. First rays hit. Ahh, warmth. As I welcome in the day with a good pee, a couple guys pass me. Company and inspiration as we largely descend down this out-there section of California land. They were a little slow for my taste, so unable to help myself and knowing that later I would pay, we ripped roller after roller for miles and miles. Ultimately, I stopped to get my extra bottle of water out of my bag and they unceremoniously dropped like a bag of . . . well you know how Emilio would put it. Heartless bunch those ultra-cyclists.

Hooked up with the end of the Central Coast Double route as it make it from Bradley toward the barn. From Paso Robles up the big climb over highway 46 to the Coast. Go up to Cambria, snag a receipt, and boom, homeward bound. To my surprise, tailwinds blew me right UP this hill at 17-19 mph on the way back to Cayucos.
This is when I started to really contemplate Main Man's artistry in route design. Total ride experience. From Heaven to Hell and back to Heaven again.

The Mains can dish up quite a meal. I'll probably go back for seconds.

20,360 feet of climbing.

I'm PBP qualified. Wow.