Once upon a ride: A crank that cracked

One of my favorite photos of Jobst, taken on Butano Ridge Trail looking toward the Pacific Ocean. 1981.

November 21, 1982

Riders: Jobst Brandt, Ray Hosler, Peruez, John

Route: Alpine Road, Rapley Road, Skyline Blvd., Hwy 9, Hwy 236, China Grade, Butano Ridge Trail to Cloverdale Road, Pescadero Road, Alpine Road, Page Mill Road

Weather: Cold and hazy, then warm.

Tire/mechanical failure: broken crank

Jobst didn’t have much of a turnout for this pre-Thanksgiving Day ride. It was just me, Strange John and an HP co-worker of Jobst, Peruez from Iran.

While Peruez was something of a novice, Jobst never discriminated and welcomed all who turned up, just as long as they could keep a decent pace.

This Pied Piper of the Santa Cruz Mountains headed out on yet another adventure. I often wondered when this aging rider would lose his following. It looked like it had already begun. When would the day come when nobody showed up, and would Jobst still ride? [I don’t know the answer, but Jobst almost always had someone show up for his Sunday ride until well into the 2000s.]

John mentioned riding up Rapley Road and Jobst took up him up on the challenge. We climbed to nearly the end of the Alpine Road pavement before turning right onto a dirt road, crossing Corte Madera Creek and then heading straight up the hill, destination Skyline Boulevard. [The road goes to Thomas Fogarty Winery property.]

So steep is the road that no matter how good its condition, it is an extremely difficult climb. On this Sunday the road condition could be called “perfect.” Rains the day before had removed the dust and made traction as good as pavement.

John pulled ahead with his 30-tooth rear cog while Jobst muscled his way up using the power of his mighty legs and extra-long crank arms that gave him additional leverage.

Halfway up, when it seemed the agony could not be endured any longer, the riders saw that they were a long ways from Skyline. Jobst circled while he waited for me and Peruez. He warned us that the road gets steeper and to ride as slowly as possible. How about walking? That worked.

At the top Jobst opened a gate and let us through. To our right was a newly planted vineyard and the Rapley home. On one occasion Rapley himself (I have no idea of the name) met Jobst and his band of merry riders. Rapley expressed his displeasure in blunt terms.

As we climbed on Skyline, Jobst looked down to see Tom Ritchey preparing for a ride with the Palo Alto gang. Later that day Tom would lay bleeding on Haskins Hill following a spill behind the wheel of Keith Vierra.

As the riders descended Hwy 9, Jobst waited for everyone to follow along.

We made our way on China Grade to a logging road that took us down to Butano Ridge Trail, a roller-coaster dirt road that runs along the spine of a ridge overlooking Portola State Park to the east.

We pushed and lugged our bikes up the steep spots, except for Jobst, who managed to ride every hill.

Rather than take Dearborn Park Road down to Pescadero Road, Jobst decided to take a chance following the ridge trail all the way to Cloverdale Road, crossing all-too-private property and residences.

On the first of three magnificent hills, Jobst showed he still had legs strong enough to snap steel. As he pushed mightily on his right pedal, the alloy metal of the Campagnolo Record crank finally had enough. It snapped, throwing Jobst off his bike. [It might have been a left crank, but my journal says right, so it stands.]

It was not until the long downhill to Cloverdale Road that I caught up to Jobst. He rode with his right leg dangling, like someone with a paralyzed leg. And yet he rode with purpose, unfazed by adversity, in full command of his crippled machine.

[By 1982 the land owners already had plans to pave the road, which they did a few years later. They made every effort to keep cyclists out. One irate owner chased after Jobst and friends, who took refuge in Pescadero. They later saw the owner, but with other cyclists mingling at the local store, he had no idea who to finger.]

While riding to Loma Mar for food and to call on the pay phone for a ride home, Jobst came across two cyclists who were searching for mushrooms on the roadside. Jobst stopped to help them look. Mushroom hunting was one of his favorite winter activities.

After striking up a conversation with the married couple, Jobst learned that they had a spare crank back at their house on Pescadero Road. A plan was hatched. Jobst would remove his broken crank and install the owner’s.

I rode ahead with Peruez to Loma Mar for a bite to eat. After Jobst arrived, I remarked about the steepness of the hills on Butano Ridge Trail.

Jobst said with a touch of remorse, “There were days when I rode up those. Keith was right next to me.” I had a hard time believing he could have done that. But then I thought back to the hill and considered the force required to snap that crank. I realized that back in the day when Jobst was young, even those hills gave way to legs as powerful as locomotive pistons.

[Jobst broke at least a dozen cranks in his long riding career. He finally solved the issue by developing a simple remedy based on the car lug nut. It has a tapered end that fits snug against the wheel frame. It was only when that innovation came to pass that car lug nuts stopped unthreading.]

Jobst solution for crank failure at pedal eye. There’s a 2-piece washer that fits into the drilled indent. One half is shown on the crank arm; both halves shown on the pedal thread.