The California Coast Classic isn’t just the nation’s top fundraiser for the Arthritis Foundation—it’s an event I’ve been deeply connected to. From 2013 to 2022, I had the privilege of serving as the Tour Director. Initially, it was a great way to combine my love of event management with helping cyclists experience one of the most scenic routes in the U.S. Little did I know, this ride would take on a much deeper meaning after my own diagnosis of arthritis. (More about the event and my history with it)
In my final address to the riders at the 2022 CCC, when I was announcing that it was going to be my last year working the event, I made a promise: one day, I would return as a rider. Now, in 2024, that promise is being fulfilled.
For the next eight days, I’ll be chronicling my experience on the California Coast as a First-Time Rider. If you’d like to support my journey and the millions of people battling arthritis, please consider donating here.
DAY FOUR | September 24, 2024: Paso Robles – Cambria
In 2017, winter rains triggered a massive landslide, forcing a closure of Highway 1 south of Big Sur. This posed a significant logistical challenge for the California Coast Classic, a tour that depends on that iconic stretch. As we planned alternative routes, we weighed several wild ideas, including hiking over a steep makeshift trail in bike shoes and even installing a zipline. Nothing seemed too far-fetched at that point. But the most tempting suggestion was to shuttle riders around the closure in buses. My immediate reaction was, “And what do you plan to do with 200 bikes?” The response: “Oh, right… the bikes.”
Having managed events that transported about 30 bikes in box trucks, I knew how painstaking it was to pack each bike safely with blankets—especially since many riders treat their bikes like prized possessions. Trying to transport 200 bikes was a logistical nightmare I wanted no part of, so we decided on a detour: a new inland route from Monterey to King City, then south to Paso Robles before heading back to the coast. The route, while scenic in my mind, added extra miles and elevation—something riders would definitely notice.
And notice they did. The day we set out, it was one of the hottest days we had experienced in years. After riding it, the consensus among participants was clear: while one in five riders enjoyed the novelty of the change, four out of five hoped to never do that route again.
Fast forward to today, and with the Big Sur Coastline closed again, I wasn’t surprised when the solution was to bus riders around the closure and truck the bikes. Still, I was curious to see how it would be pulled off, knowing what a Herculean task it was. But I have to give kudos to Cadence Sports for managing the transfer seamlessly—something I had dismissed as unworkable years ago. By 10 a.m., I was on my bike in Paso Robles and heading out.
The day’s route started fast as we navigated the outskirts of Paso Robles and toward the looming mountains that separated us from the Pacific Ocean. About 10 miles in, the climbing began. The first ascent stretched for nearly seven miles, gaining 1,000 feet with a short descent midway. Cresting at 1,800 feet, we were rewarded with one of the fastest, most exhilarating downhills I’ve ever experienced on a road bike.
That said, I must admit why there are no photos accompanying this story. You know how you hate to kill momentum while climbing, and when you’re speeding downhill, the idea of stopping for a picture is laughable? Well, that was the case here. Add to that the rising temperatures, and I just kept pedaling.
After the first descent, we hit an aid station for a quick water refill before tackling another climb up Highway 46, again rising to 1,800 feet. It was here, after three days of riding, back-to-back climbs, and a three-hour bus ride, that fatigue began to set in. Just as I started to feel the burn in my thighs, a fellow cyclist, not from our group, rode up beside me and struck up a conversation. He was from Orcutt, a town we would pass through in a few days, and his company kept my mind off the fatigue, getting me through the climb.
But what came next was my least favorite part of the ride—five-plus miles of rough road, construction, rumbles, and debris as we descended towards the Pacific Coast Highway (PCH). Normally, I love going downhill fast, but this stretch was anything but enjoyable, especially with traffic speeding by at 60 mph just feet away.
Finally, we reached sea level, and from there it was just a few more miles into Cambria, where we would spend the night. I treated myself to a hotel room at the Cambria Pines Lodge, a much-needed comfort after a tough day on the road. A shower and a real mattress felt like heaven.
That evening, the honoree was a long-time rider named Carlos. I always knew him as the fastest rider in our group, often adding extra miles and elevation just for the challenge. What I didn’t know was that Carlos had been living with arthritis since his early twenties. A former semi-professional Tae Kwon Do athlete and avid soccer player, Carlos’s active lifestyle took a toll on his body, leading to multiple ACL reconstructions by the time he was 35. Cycling became his new outlet, allowing him to remain active despite his physical limitations. His story was an inspiring reminder of the resilience we all need, whether on or off the bike.
Previous Days
DAY THREE | September 23, 2024: Monterey – Big Sur
Waking up at Veteran’s Memorial Park, high above Monterey, I could already feel the warmth of the morning as the sun peeked through the trees. I knew it was going to be an ideal day for riding one of the most iconic routes on the trip: 17-Mile Drive, along Pebble Beach and the stunning Big Sur coastline. After lathering on sunscreen, I left my long sleeves in my bag and set off.
Being one of the first out of camp, I had a clear plan for the day (more on that later) and limited time to do it. The descent was fast and winding, and I quickly caught up with my riding buddy, Gavin, from England. But as soon as we hit sea level, we were engulfed in a thick marine layer—so thick it felt like pea soup. Even though we were just yards away, we couldn’t see the ocean, the beach, or the famed Spanish Bay links.
Then, at the perfect moment, near the famed Lone Cypress Tree, the fog started to clear. By the time we reached the 18th green at Pebble Beach, the fog had completely lifted, revealing the stunning views we had been hoping for. Gavin, being the proper Englishman he is, invited me to join him for a morning tea at the pro shop overlooking the course. Tempting, but I had a mission to complete and couldn’t linger.
Once we hit the Pacific Coast Highway, we turned right and headed south toward Big Sur. The fog rolled in again, thicker than before, and when we approached the famous Bixby Bridge, I didn’t even realize I was crossing it until I was already on it. The climb after the bridge was long, but I couldn’t decide if the fog was a blessing or a curse. On the one hand, I couldn’t see the endless stretch of uphill. On the other, I was missing the breathtaking views. Just as I was getting lost in my thoughts, I rose above the fog to a spectacular sight—the California coastline stretching out beneath me, as if it were floating in the sky.
A little after 10:30 a.m., I arrived at our designated endpoint for the day—the Big Sur River Inn. With four hours left until the 2:30 p.m. course closure, it might seem like my day was done. But I had other plans. The Big Sur coastline is one of the highlights of this ride, and in a typical year, we’d cover the entire stretch. However, a rockslide had closed part of the road 14 miles south of Big Sur, with no detour. For this year’s California Coast Classic, that meant the official ride ended here. The 2:30 deadline was set because the logistics team needed time to load all our bikes into box trucks and transport them to Paso Robles for the next leg of the journey the following morning.
As I looked over at the River Inn, I noticed most riders were finishing their day in the river with beers in hand. The thought was tempting, but how often do you get the chance to ride Big Sur with so little traffic?
Being the Tour Director, I’ve often chased down riders going the wrong way, kindly reminding them that camp was in the opposite direction. Many times, I’d get the response, “Yeah, but the beach is that way.” I quickly learned that everyone on this ride is an adult, free to make their own choices. Today, it was my turn to go off-route.
The initial climb out of Big Sur was brutal under the full sun. Only two miles in, and I was already going through water fast. But at the top, the expansive views opened up, and the descent was exhilarating. I couldn’t help but think, “I’m going to have to climb back up this,” but it didn’t matter. The stunning views of the rugged coastline, condors flying overhead, and the pure joy of the ride made every second worth it.
When the road ended at the closure point, I paused to soak in the moment. I still had over two hours to make the return trip, but this time, I would experience the same breathtaking views from a different angle. It’s amazing how a simple change in direction can offer a completely new perspective. As I reached the final climb, literally finishing the last of my water, I was exhausted, sweaty, and smiling from ear to ear.
The final descent into camp was fast and exhilarating, capping off what was easily the best day I’ve had on a road bike in a long time.
As I rode into camp, I noticed kids splashing in a swimming hole by the river. Without hesitation, I handed my bike to the crew loading them into trucks, found my swimsuit, and convinced Gavin to join me for a dip. The water was freezing, but after three long days in the saddle, it was exactly what my muscles—and my mind—needed.
In my ten years of being part of the California Coast Classic, this was hands-down the best day I’ve had on tour!
DAY TWO | September 22, 2024: Santa Cruz – Monterey
“It’s really mostly flat, except for the one little hill at the end”
At the start of Day 2, breakfast chatter revolved around how challenging Day 1 had been. Even veteran riders agreed it was the toughest start to the tour, thanks to the relentless headwinds. Many of us felt the strain, with tired, stiff legs as we rolled out of Santa Cruz under another cool, cloudy sky.
The route south of Santa Cruz winds through beachside neighborhoods and famous surf spots like Pleasure Point. Despite the sixty-degree temperatures and cool water, surfers were out in full force, catching waves in the early morning.
As we passed through Pacifica and Capitola, there weren’t any significant climbs, but every slight incline felt like a challenge to legs still fatigued from fighting yesterday’s winds. Channeling my inner Pixar dad, I kept repeating one mantra: “Just keep pedaling. Just keep pedaling.”
That mindset eventually led me to the wheel of Gavin Hough, a 10-time veteran of the California Coast Classic. From Manchester, England, Gavin joined the ride in 2015, planning for it to be a one-time experience. But like many of us, he fell in love with the route, the riders, and the cause, returning year after year. As Tour Director, Gavin was the kind of rider I appreciated: always positive, rarely needing assistance, and quick to brighten the spirits of those around him. Riding alongside him lifted my own spirits as we tackled the miles together.
We pedaled through California’s agricultural heartland, affectionately called the “Salad Bowl.” Then, the route twisted through Elkhorn Slough Reserve —a section I added a few years ago due to construction on Highway 1. After receiving so many positive reviews, it’s now a permanent part of the ride. While I had driven it many times, cycling through shaded groves and passing a lagoon filled with birds made it even more magical.
Soon, we arrived at one of my favorite aid stations—Pezzini Farms. Surrounded by fields of artichokes, how could anyone resist the signature fried artichokes from the “Choke Coach” food truck?
The rest of the ride followed a recreational trail into Monterey. While the route was mostly flat, the occasional bumps and false flats, combined with a slight headwind, tested our endurance. Gavin and I joked about how even the smallest incline felt tough, making me nervous about what lay ahead.
Every year, in my Day 2 safety talk, I’d joke that the route was “mostly flat, with just a little hill at the end.” Veteran riders would respond with knowing smirks, aware of the 1.1-mile climb’s true difficulty. Being from the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, I’d always laugh off the complaints myself, saying that every time I leave my house on a bike, I have to climb at least a mile to get back home. Still, after two days of riding, this hill easily felt twice as long as my regular climb home, steeply out of downtown, followed by switchbacks that reach a grade of 12%. As we approached, Gavin offered sage advice: “It’s not fun, but it feels great to reach the top.” He was right.
Arriving at camp around midday felt surreal. In past years, I’d have been busy with logistics, putting out fires, and planning for the next day. But with none of those responsibilities, I realized I’d never truly explored Monterey, despite all the time I’d spent there. So, I took the opportunity to head into town, visit the pier, and enjoy lunch while watching marine life.
The day ended with a poignant speech from Anna, the honoree. At 30, she had been an avid runner when she started waking up with pain and low-grade fevers. Assuming it was a training injury, she visited her doctor, only to learn she had Rheumatoid Arthritis (RA). Anna had never heard of RA, let alone its severe form, which attacked not only her joints but also her organs, heart, and blood. At one point, she could barely walk or brush her hair, slipping into a dark mental space. Then she discovered the CCC, which gave her hope. Inspired by those raising money for a cure, she signed up for the ride and used it as motivation to stay strong, battling both her physical and mental challenges.
Day One | September 21, 2024: San Francisco – Santa Cruz
“It’s really just a few rolling hills.”
Today was a day of firsts for me. After 10 years as the Tour Director for the California Coast Classic, I finally got to experience the event as a rider. In all those years, I’d never woken up to do yoga—there simply wasn’t time. I’d never listened to someone else give the safety talk—that was my job. And, of course, I’d never ridden my bike from San Francisco to Santa Cruz. Until now, I’d only seen the route through a windshield.
The ride started with a group rollout from Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco. Back when I gave the safety talk, I’d warn riders that this day would test their training right from the start. Not only is it the second-longest day of the tour, but it’s also the one with the most elevation gain. A good part of that gain comes early, climbing through the Bay Area hills. I always knew they were tough, but riding them gave me a whole new perspective.
One thing about San Francisco’s roads—they go straight up. Unlike in the Yampa Valley, where roads weave through the hills to account for snow, here there’s no need to worry about that. So, the roads just shoot upward, without the gentle, winding inclines I’m used to.
The weather was cool, with cloud cover keeping the temperatures comfortable, but that also meant fewer views. I rarely stop for pictures when I ride—don’t want to lose momentum—but today, there wasn’t much worth stopping for anyway.
Out of all the climbs, one stretch made me particularly anxious. It wasn’t the steepness or length that worried me, but the narrow road and California traffic. To compare, imagine climbing the last bit of Fish Creek Falls Road—a winding mountain route with no shoulder, but now imagine it with constant traffic in both directions. This was one of the two sections on the route that, as Tour Director, always made me nervous. I’d have my staff alert me as soon as every rider made it through, so I could finally breathe. Turns out, I should have also been nervous as a rider for the length of the climb. From a car, what seemed like the end of the hill was an entrance to a bike path that takes riders around a tunnel. Having never been on the bike path before, I was shocked to learn that the climb just kept going. There were a few of those moments today of learning things I never knew about this ride despite being the person in charge for nearly a decade.
From that point, we hit Highway 1 for the next 60 miles. Unfortunately, those miles were filled with brutal headwinds. It was a grind, and I don’t use that word lightly. Typically, I save it for climbs, but this was the first time I can honestly say a flat road—and even slight downhills—felt like a grind. My speed wasn’t anywhere near what I expected, and instead of being close to camp, I found myself at the third aid station with 25 miles still to go.
As Tour Director, when people asked me about the route from the third aid station to camp, I used to tell them, “It’s really just a few rolling hills.” Well, that’s an understatement. When you’re driving, those hills don’t seem like much. But after a long day in the saddle, I felt every single incline.
Thankfully, about 15 miles from camp, the wind let up a little, and I was able to pick up speed. Still, the day had taken its toll. Seeing those final turns into Santa Cruz felt like a huge relief. Many veteran riders told me they had a similar experience, with their average speeds being about 3 mph slower than usual, which made me feel a bit better. I was also about that much slower than I expected.
But after 83 miles, 4,400 feet of elevation gain (and 26 climbs logged on my bike computer), when people asked me how my day was, my answer was, “Great.” I only had one thing to focus on—pedaling. And when I finally made it to the finish line, another first for me! I was able to enjoy a beer~ (As Tour Director, my rule was never to take a sip until the last rider had made it into camp).
One amazing aspect of this event is that every night an honoree is invited to speak and tell their story of living with arthritis. Tonight’s honoree was Gary Ho, whose story was incredibly similar to mine. As a young adult, he began unexplainable pain and swelling in his joints. With a family history of gout, he went to a doctor who told him he was too young and too healthy to have gout. He simply did not fit the profile. From there, it was 14 years of misdiagnosis and no relief. He found himself missing family events, and not enjoying life, related to crutches or even a wheelchair when these unexplainable episodes would flare up. It wasn’t until he found the right doctor who performed the proper lab work to say definitively that he had gout. Through medication and management, he has lived a decade without a flare up.
For me, it’s been 6-months since my last flare-up, but I finally was given the proper diagnosis. Gary’s story gave me hope that this ailment will not be something that I have to think about as I go about my normal life moving forward!
September 20, 2024
“I’m starting to think I did this wrong. I carbo-loaded for the last six months and just started training yesterday. Oh well, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
That was the lighthearted post I made to a social media group for riders participating in the CCC. It was meant as a joke—or maybe half a joke. While I didn’t actually start carbo-loading six months ago, I didn’t train nearly as much as I’d planned. A full knee replacement last November had me signing up for the 2024 CCC as motivation to recover, but life had other plans.
Despite the lack of training, the excitement of riding for the first time has been building. Today, however, brought up a mix of emotions. Flying into San Francisco, passing Oracle Park, and driving along the familiar Embarcadero, I felt an unexpected pull toward my old role as Tour Director. Instead of the relief I thought I’d feel stepping back from the logistics and stress of running a large-scale event, I found myself missing it. Organizing and problem-solving had been part of the joy.
Once I arrived at the hotel, I made my way to the registration room and, ironically, headed to the wrong table first. Familiar faces soon greeted me as I was handed my rider swag bag. “We probably don’t need to tell you this. You know how it works,” someone said with a smile. But as I reminded them, this was my first time as a rider, so the registration process was entirely new to me.
Though I’ve directed the tour for ten years and driven the route countless times—this will be my 17th trip down the coast—I’m very much a newbie. My rider number is 117, marking my debut as a participant. Normally, numbers are assigned based on how many times you’ve completed the ride, with veteran riders sporting the lowest digits. If mine reflected my involvement over the years, it’d likely be in the 20s, but here I am, proudly displaying my “First Time Rider” tag.
On a typical Day Zero, I would have been out marking the route, setting up SAG vehicles, coordinating with volunteers, and solving problems. I always loved the challenge of event production. Today, though, my only task after registration was a video interview for the event’s PR team. They wanted to hear my story—how I became involved with the CCC and my battle with arthritis.
One topic the Arthritis Foundation wanted to highlight was uncontrolled gout, a condition not many are familiar with. When I was initially diagnosed with gout, I had a hard time believing it. The typical image of someone with gout—overweight, a heavy drinker, consuming too much red meat and shellfish—didn’t fit me. I was quick to correct people, insisting I had pseudogout instead. I feared the stigma associated with gout, worried it would reflect poorly on my lifestyle choices.
It wasn’t until a few months ago that I was re-diagnosed with gout, after more testing. I learned I had uncontrolled gout, a hereditary condition caused by naturally high uric acid levels, not something influenced by diet or lifestyle. Thankfully, with proper treatment, my symptoms have been managed for the past six months.
I’m riding to help raise awareness about arthritis and to fund research for better treatments and a cure. This journey, both personal and collective, is for the millions affected by arthritis, young and old alike.
