ToP Day 1 – It’s not the “Trolley of Discomfort”

The Train of Pain (ToP) actually begins the day before we get on our bikes and roll out on stage one.  It’s the “Pre-Ride” day; the day everyone arrives, the day they begin to size everyone up – who looks strong, who has that look in their eye, who looks like they should have eaten a few less of those delicious Krispy Kremes.

It’s also the day that too much sun, too many Stella's and WAAAAY too much revelry following the kick-off dinner can un-do weeks of training and preparation.

Welcome to everyone to the 2013 Train of Pain – the stomp through Big Reds country.  As a quick update, this year’s fun and games take place in San Luis Obispo County, home of some of the best bold red wines in the nation.  It is also home of some great climbs, strong winds off the cold Pacific Ocean, and warm sunny days.

This year’s ToP will cover just shy of 500 miles over our 5-days of riding, will include 25 riders – and our two brave and some say foolish drivers, Jim and Harold.  We’ll continue our tradition of awarding the efforts with the jersey and team competition (which will once again be judged through some fairly suspect methods, but remain the most sought after award in sport), as well as our daily write-up, guaranteed to contain at least some aspect of truth.

To recap for our past readers, and initiate those new to the blog, though this is a “non-competitive” ride, who are we kidding? There is nothing non-competitive in any of the riders.  So beginning with our first event, a short, fast run from San Francisco to Redondo Beach seven years ago, from the very first hour the game was on.  We quickly developed a hierarchy to recognize who lived the ToP ethos the best each year.  This was done through the awarding of jerseys, each year the categories growing to encompass the feel of the ride.

For this year, our breakdown follows along the historical path of those lesser grand tours, like the Tour de France.

The coveted Yellow Jersey denotes the strongest rider – that stalwart Denison of Virtue that has undoubtedly given up any semblance of social and family life, instead dedicating their waking hours to training, map study and a near monistic dedication toward diet and fitness.

Next in the hierarchy is the Red Jersey – typically awarded to the finest climber – but for ToP, it means that perhaps a little more work and a little less time glued to the “Vampire Diaries” might have made the difference.


Our Green Jersey is the best sprinter – the rider that knows the city limit signs and can jump out of the pack – laughing at danger and throw their arms into the air as they click off another three points for their efforts.

The White Jersey is given to our best new rider – these poor souls rarely understand what it is they have gotten themselves into.  Their success is often the result of their innocence, their labrador puppy enthusiasm, and the ignorance of the unknown.

New for this year, the Rust Jersey will be awarded.  This is in honor of Jerry Cook, who last year – day after day, went to the front and gave everything he had.  Headwinds or hills, he tried in vain to crack the leaders, only to end up with nothing for his efforts.  From this daily self-flogging, the Rust was born.  That rider that continually gives it a go, fights for some small level of accolades, and crashes in epic style will be the one to claim this beauty!

Stage One is now in the books, and with it we have our front-runners for each of the jerseys on the board.

The day began with a horrific wind whipping out of the northwest (though as a true mystery of all mankind, it seemed to be on our faces throughout the day's efforts).  With 93 miles and just shy of 5300 feet of climbing, it was looking like a long day in the saddle.

With less than a mile from the start, the first of the games began.  Our original Yellow Jersey winner, Tom Armbruster, leapt from the back of the peloton - taking Bobbo and our newest rider Steve “Haggis” Ramsey with him.  Quickly gaining a small gap, they were blessed with the luck of the traffic light, when the whole of the remaining group was caught out.

The long light, and the scheming of the break meant that the erstwhile threesome was out of sight and off on their own.  But eight miles up the road their luck ran south.


Haggis, a slow leak in his rear tire forced them to stop.  Realizing that the gig was up, Tom – always conniving and stirring the pot – convinced them to duck behind the nearest building and wait for the peloton to roll past.  The plan, to dash out and chase them down, feigning innocence with a “Hey guys, what’s you doing?”

Of course, the group was nowhere in the loop, and driving the pace in a vain attempt to close the gap.

This is where the threesome’s plan fell apart – as the unknown chase was occurring, the peloton’s pace was screaming as they worked together like a fine Swiss watch.  Mile after mile they rolled, the pace frantic as Tim and his trusted lieutenant Max saw the jersey falling through their fingers.
At the halfway point, the route did a figure eight, peeling off into the steep, dry foothills for a 40-mile, headwind-blowing loop.  The true picture still unknown to the group, they dove into the fight – setting a blistering pace and peeling rider after rider with the speed and fury.

The reality, our threesome was easily 30-mins behind, still fighting to correct their miscalculations.  By this time, the threesome was now a twosome, as Tom – who was the instigator of the whole scheme.  Because of that, he started the long loop even further back, but still suffering from his recent Achilles surgery, decided to play it smarter and turn back.

Arriving back at the aide van, he realized that he was once again ahead of the true leaders – and Jim was unaware of his subterfuge!  Giggling and smirking like Calvin and Hobbes, he quickly remounted and dashed up the road.  15 mins later, Tim, a froth formed and hardened and the 1000-mile stare of too much wind, too many miles and too little water came screaming to a halt like the arrival of the pony express.  After gulping down a Gatorade and a handful of potato chip remnants, he managed to form some semblance of a sentence,
                                             “How”, pant, pant, “Far”, pant, pant, “Ahead?”
As his eyes began to roll back, Jim, as always wanting to help in any way, let him know that he was in second place, but the gap was far and the road was long.

Dejected, and somewhat emasculated – having been riding the high life as the 2013 ToP favorite, he let out a heavy sigh, heaved his leg back over the top tube and pushed off.

It was only after finally catching Tom, only feet before the finish, that the truth was made clear.  Tom, still smirking, looked him straight in the eyes and said welcome kid, remember, this ain’t the Trolley of Discomfort!

One down and four days to go; our standings so far:

93 miles
5300 feet of climbing

Yellow - Tim Page
Red - Max Affarano
White - Chris Cordova
Green - Andrew Lee
Rust - Bobbo

Team Standings:
SD
Army
OC/NorCal