Last year in honor of the winter solstice a few folks from my Randonneuring club did a 200km all-night ride just for "fun." Documentary film maker, Dan McComb filmed us for possible use in a project he was working on. He did this edit to help promote our 2011 solstice ride. I'm the guy with the Christmas lights in the wheels first seen at 0:36 and then several other spots later on.
A cautionary tale of obsession
and bicycling in the pacific northwest
Monday, October 31, 2011
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
PBP Ride Report Part IV: Don't Confuse the Bridge with Brest
Gavin and I pulled into the Carhaix control at 5:20pm where I soon found a slightly frantic Kelly who was sure I had died or worse. We hung out far too long at the control eating and yacking and I slathered some of Kelly's secret formula butt salve on and then we eventually got back on the road. Gavin had decided to hang out at Carhaix and take a shower before continuing on into Brest so I said goodbye and thanked him for the moral support.
Although the weather started getting ugly and some rain started falling not long after leaving Carhaix, I was really feeling pretty good on this stretch. By "good" I mean emotionally. Physically, my butt was killing me. My feet were really hurting too, probably because I was spending a lot more time standing than usual. Still, I was enjoying the scenery and Kelly's company and I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else. Of course, it helps that I was also a little delirious. We had been riding for well over 24 hours without any sleep and I was starting to feel it. I remember at one point cruising along watching the world go by, seeing a traffic sign in French and thinking, "Whoa, that's weird. That sign's not in English." Then I remembered I was in France and it all made a little more sense.
The climb up to Roc'h Trevezel was a long slow grind, but I found it much easier than the stretch before Carhaix since it never got too steep. And the view from the top was inspiring enough to make it well worth the trouble. After the summit I somehow got it into my mind that it would be just a quick downhill ride into the control in Brest. In fact the control was still more than 50 km away. Still I kept expecting to see the suspension bridge leading into Brest around every corner. After an hour and a half of that I started realizing that my mental calculations of how far we had to go were off a bit. Finally a little after dark we saw the Pont de l'Iroise and crossed the Celtic Sea into Brest.
But wait... Once again, I was a bit off on my calculations of how far we had yet to go. I was thinking that we'd cross the bridge and ride a few blocks and we'd be at the control, cold beer in hand. Instead we had to wind our way through another 10 km of roundabouts and rail crossings before finally reaching the control in downtown Brest.
I attribute my miscalculations about the last leg into Brest to being distracted by my backside, which was screaming at me every time it made contact with the saddle. It's hard to think straight with all that screaming.
When we pulled into the Brest control Sarah, Cody, Adam and my friend Dave were there whooping and clapping for us. It was 10:20pm, a little over 29 and a half hours since we had left St. Quentin. Everyday I'm aware of my love for my family on some level, but I don't think I've ever felt it more than I did when I came around the corner to see them there on the wet streets of Brest that evening. Kelly's family was there too all smiles and high-fives.
After getting brevet cards stamped, we sat down at the control with our families for a quick bite and a cold beer (a rarity in France). I told Kelly then that I didn't think I was going continue on from Brest. Between my butt and my feet I had been doing some serious suffering for the past several hours and I was having a hard time imagining enduring another 35 - 40 hours like that. Kelly was disappointed but I had no doubt that he could make it to the finish without me. Just to be sure, I told Kelly that I would get up early the next morning to see if I felt any different after a good night's sleep. But when we met at 4:30am in the hotel lobby the next morning I was even more sure that I had no interest in the suffering that I'd have to endure to continue the ride.
I spent a day in Brest seeing sights with my family and then we rode the TGV back to Paris. The train seats weren't a heck of a lot more comfortable than my bike seat had been, but I never had any doubt that abandoning in Brest was the right choice for me.
Of course, Kelly finished the ride still riding strong with a time of 74 hours 15 minutes. Congratulations, Kelly!
Although the weather started getting ugly and some rain started falling not long after leaving Carhaix, I was really feeling pretty good on this stretch. By "good" I mean emotionally. Physically, my butt was killing me. My feet were really hurting too, probably because I was spending a lot more time standing than usual. Still, I was enjoying the scenery and Kelly's company and I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else. Of course, it helps that I was also a little delirious. We had been riding for well over 24 hours without any sleep and I was starting to feel it. I remember at one point cruising along watching the world go by, seeing a traffic sign in French and thinking, "Whoa, that's weird. That sign's not in English." Then I remembered I was in France and it all made a little more sense.
The climb up to Roc'h Trevezel was a long slow grind, but I found it much easier than the stretch before Carhaix since it never got too steep. And the view from the top was inspiring enough to make it well worth the trouble. After the summit I somehow got it into my mind that it would be just a quick downhill ride into the control in Brest. In fact the control was still more than 50 km away. Still I kept expecting to see the suspension bridge leading into Brest around every corner. After an hour and a half of that I started realizing that my mental calculations of how far we had to go were off a bit. Finally a little after dark we saw the Pont de l'Iroise and crossed the Celtic Sea into Brest.
But wait... Once again, I was a bit off on my calculations of how far we had yet to go. I was thinking that we'd cross the bridge and ride a few blocks and we'd be at the control, cold beer in hand. Instead we had to wind our way through another 10 km of roundabouts and rail crossings before finally reaching the control in downtown Brest.
I attribute my miscalculations about the last leg into Brest to being distracted by my backside, which was screaming at me every time it made contact with the saddle. It's hard to think straight with all that screaming.
When we pulled into the Brest control Sarah, Cody, Adam and my friend Dave were there whooping and clapping for us. It was 10:20pm, a little over 29 and a half hours since we had left St. Quentin. Everyday I'm aware of my love for my family on some level, but I don't think I've ever felt it more than I did when I came around the corner to see them there on the wet streets of Brest that evening. Kelly's family was there too all smiles and high-fives.
After getting brevet cards stamped, we sat down at the control with our families for a quick bite and a cold beer (a rarity in France). I told Kelly then that I didn't think I was going continue on from Brest. Between my butt and my feet I had been doing some serious suffering for the past several hours and I was having a hard time imagining enduring another 35 - 40 hours like that. Kelly was disappointed but I had no doubt that he could make it to the finish without me. Just to be sure, I told Kelly that I would get up early the next morning to see if I felt any different after a good night's sleep. But when we met at 4:30am in the hotel lobby the next morning I was even more sure that I had no interest in the suffering that I'd have to endure to continue the ride.
I spent a day in Brest seeing sights with my family and then we rode the TGV back to Paris. The train seats weren't a heck of a lot more comfortable than my bike seat had been, but I never had any doubt that abandoning in Brest was the right choice for me.
Of course, Kelly finished the ride still riding strong with a time of 74 hours 15 minutes. Congratulations, Kelly!
PBP Ride Report Part III: Trouble in Paradise
Day two and the lonely road
Not long after leaving Fougeres the sun came up to signal the beginning of what I knew would be a very long day of riding. I think it was also somewhere between Fougeres and Tinteniac that I started noticing my deriere feeling a little like I had been sitting on a brick for past 14 hours. My backside rarely feels great after 14 hours in the saddle, but this was far worse than usual. With a full day ahead of me before I'd even get to the halfway point, I decided to do my best to ignore it ride on.
We got to Tinteniac at around 8:40am and while we were having some breakfast, Ryan Hamilton arrived at the control. I was surprised to see Ryan behind us since he's such a strong rider, but it turns out he had been suffering through some of the same problems I had had early on with cramps probably due to dehydration. Ryan said the cramps had forced him to ride "painfully slow" which explained why he was traveling about the same pace as me and Kelly.
Between Tinteniac and Loudeac we were passed by a big group of maybe 30 riders, mostly Italians. They were moving just a little faster than us so it made sense to hop on and take advantage of their draft (Obviously I was a little too tired at this point to remember my first PBP lesson). We hung with the Italian group for an hour or so, and I have to admit it was highly entertaining if not a bit nerve-racking. The group rode as a constantly churning blob of riders taking up both lanes of the two lane road. Every once in a while a car or semi would come in the opposite direction and there would be a bunch of shouting and bumping of wheels and elbows as the churning blob would squeeze down from two lanes into one just in time to avoid getting a few riders stuck on the grill of the on-coming semi. As soon as the truck was past us, the blob oozed outward to take over the entire road again. As this was going on, I hung off the back of the pack where I could just watch as if it were an Italian sitcom.
At the Loudeac control we saw Ryan again, still traveling painfully slow which also happened to be the same pace Kelly and I were riding (though what Ryan referred to as "painfully slow" we were calling "making good time"). I also ran into Ken Carter who I was very surprised to hear had just abandoned due to a saddle sore. Ken is another extremely strong rider, so I was starting to get a bad feeling between seeing two riders, much stronger than me struggling and with my own backside getting to be more painful by the minute.
After Loudeac the route does a fair amount of climbing, some of it pretty steep. The climbing came during the hottest part of the day so I was taking it slow. Even at my best Kelly is a much stronger climber than I am so he pulled ahead and eventually disappeared over the horizon. While I rode on alone I was overtaken by a guy named Gavin from Pennsylvania. He saw my name on the RUSA tag on my saddle as he approached and said, "Steve Frey! Randonoodler! Hey, I read your blog." Who knew that someone other than my mother reads my blog? So Gavin and I rode together for the next hour or so into Carhaix talking about bikes, raw backsides and the like. Gavin was suffering undercarriage problems not unlike my own and told me that he thought he'd probably abandon in Brest. He talked about abandoning in such an easy care free way and had such a great attitude about the whole ride--how even if he abandoned, he still will have experienced this fantastic ride across France with all the hoopla--that without knowing it, he gave me permission to actually consider abandoning for the first time.
In three years of randonneuring, three SR series, 30-some brevets and permanents, I had never DNF'd a ride (DNF = Did Not Finish). I never even considered the possibility that I would DNF a ride. But right then and there Gavin's great attitude about the whole thing helped me get over myself and realize that it's just a bike ride and the point is to have fun. I didn't decide to abandon there on the road with Gavin, but for the first time in my randonneuring career, I allowed myself to consider it as a possibility.
PBP Ride Report Part II: Riding the River
Lining up for the 80 hour start
It was hot and humid for the start on Sunday. Or at least it was hot and humid for this Seattle boy who hadn't seen the thermometer go much above 80 degrees all summer. I met my riding partner Kelly at about 2:30. While waiting for the start I ran into some other Seattle Randos (Ken Carter, Ryan Hamilton and Jan Heine) who were also doing the 80 hour start. We were all hanging back so we could stay in the shade for as long as possible. That put us all in the third wave which finally took off at about 4:40pm.
Kelly and friends chilling before the start
I had heard horror stories about sketchy riding and lots of crashes early on in the 80 hour start as everyone is scrambling to stay with the lead group. But back in the third wave it was all calm and civil, although it was a little like being swept away by a fast moving river. The river flowed smoothly through the Paris suburbs and I think I was probably 25 km into the ride before I even noticed I was pedaling. I'm sure it was just adrenaline, but I could have sworn the first hour was all down hill.
After a couple of hours we were out of the 'burbs and into the country and the peloton had started to thin out a bit. I started coming down from my adrenaline high and settled into the task at hand, that being to ride a hell of a long distance. Also about that time I started realizing that with the heat, humidity and excitement of the start, I had let myself get dehydrated. 50 km into a 1200 km ride and I was already getting cramps and feeling nauseous, telltale signs of dehydration. So I told Kelly I needed to back off on speed some and do my best to get caught up on fluids and look forward to the setting of the sun and the cooler temperatures the night would bring.
Kelly and I arrived at the Mortagne-au-Perche food stop, about 140 km in, just after the sun had gone down. I was still feeling pretty crappy at that point, but taking a couple minutes to down a Coke helped a lot. Not long after we left Mortagne-au-Perche I started feeling better.
The night was a blur. Riding at night is always a blurry affair for me. The darkness becomes a tunnel surrounding me and the patch of road that's illuminated by my trusty B&M IQ Cyo headlight. When there's nothing else around for reference, that illuminated patch of road could be in France, Washington or on the moon (except that I'm pretty sure there are no paved roads on the moon). It all looks the same. But every once in a while we'd roll through a small village looking like it had been in suspended animation for three or four hundred years. No Circle Ks or 24 hour Safeways. Nope, we were definitely not in Kansas anymore, Toto. And amazingly, no matter what time it was (2:00am? Sure! 4:00am? Why not!) there would be someone cheering us on from the front door of their house. "Bonne Route!" "Allez, Allez!" they'd say, as if they had nothing better to do. Don't they have late night TV in France?
At 1:26am we arrived at the first control in Villaines-la-Juhel, about 222 km into the ride. I think we were there for about 30 minutes, but as I mentioned before, the night was a very blurry affair for me so I'm really sure. I remember thinking that I was feeling a little more beat up than I normally do after 200 km, but generally all systems were go, so after some food and coffee we pressed on.
It was still dark, but the sky was beginning to blush when we arrived at the Fougeres control around 5:30am and 310 km into the ride. At Fougeres we met Kelly's friend, Dave who had started with the first wave. Dave had tried to stay with the lead group as long as possible which turned out to be for the first two hours before he was spit out like like a wad a gum with all the flavor gone. Dave was in good spirits none-the-less and seemed to be getting his flavor back. Based on the stories Dave told of riding with the lead pack, I would have been dropped before most of the other lead riders had broken a sweat.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
PBP Ride Report Part I: Never Follow the Italians
Okay, here's one way to look at it... I just rode the most amazing 600 kilometer ride of my life. I crossed the French countryside, passing through beautiful little centuries-old villages and quaint farms with French families along the road cheering me along. I rode with a strong and entertaining riding partner and met and rode with a bunch of other great folks along the way. I ate well at the controls and finished the ride in good spirits. Never mind that the ride was supposed to have been 1200 kilometers... a minor technical detail. Anyway, here's part I of my 600k Paris-Brest (I'm going to break this into at least a couple installments since I know I have a tendency to blather on once I get going on these things).
My first PBP lesson was learned the day before the ride. On Saturday I had to get myself and bike from our hotel in Versailles to the start in St. Quentin-en-Yvelines for the mandatory bike safety check and to get my packet with the brevet card, frame number, etc. Out in front of our hotel I met two guys from Milan who were heading to the same place. I had directions and a map printed out to get me to the start, but since the two Italians said they knew how to get there I figured I'd just tag along. It was a beautiful day as we rode together through Versailles and on along the Rue de la Division Leclerc that took us toward St. Quentin.
About 20 minutes into the ride we passed the turn-off that I had marked on my map, but the Italians kept going straight. I asked if they were sure they knew the way and they laughed and said "naturalmente" and kept riding. About 5 kilometers later I was sure we were way past St. Quentin and I shared my thoughts with my two new Italian friends. They were still convinced they knew where they were going so I bid them arrivederci and did a quick U-turn. After back-tracking for a while I found my way back to St. Quentin and eventually to the start. At the start I ran into some Seattle Rando friends and told them about how I hadn't even started PBP yet and already I had gotten myself lost. From two different people I heard the exact same advice. "Never follow the Italians." Okay, lesson one for PBP could be checked off.
My first PBP lesson was learned the day before the ride. On Saturday I had to get myself and bike from our hotel in Versailles to the start in St. Quentin-en-Yvelines for the mandatory bike safety check and to get my packet with the brevet card, frame number, etc. Out in front of our hotel I met two guys from Milan who were heading to the same place. I had directions and a map printed out to get me to the start, but since the two Italians said they knew how to get there I figured I'd just tag along. It was a beautiful day as we rode together through Versailles and on along the Rue de la Division Leclerc that took us toward St. Quentin.
About 20 minutes into the ride we passed the turn-off that I had marked on my map, but the Italians kept going straight. I asked if they were sure they knew the way and they laughed and said "naturalmente" and kept riding. About 5 kilometers later I was sure we were way past St. Quentin and I shared my thoughts with my two new Italian friends. They were still convinced they knew where they were going so I bid them arrivederci and did a quick U-turn. After back-tracking for a while I found my way back to St. Quentin and eventually to the start. At the start I ran into some Seattle Rando friends and told them about how I hadn't even started PBP yet and already I had gotten myself lost. From two different people I heard the exact same advice. "Never follow the Italians." Okay, lesson one for PBP could be checked off.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Paris-Brest-Paradise
If you checked the tracking page on the PBP web site, you've already figured out that I abandoned the ride before making my way back to Paris. I developed saddle sores starting around Tinteneac and decide to give it up after I got to Brest. While the last 150 miles or so before Brest were pretty painful, I have to say that overall the ride was nothing less than amazing. I didn't finish PBP, but I was able to ride a bike through nearly 400 miles of the beautiful French countryside and experience much of the indescribable spectacle that is Paris-Brest-Paris.
My backside is now mending as we vacation at a friend's house in Talloires in the French Alps. Talloires is about as close to paradise as one can get on this side of the great divide. We've been having too much fun for me to take the time to sit and write my PBP story. But in a few more days we'll be back home and I'll give a full report. And it will be a challenge. The PBP experience is one of those that can't begin to be captured satisfactorily in words.
My backside is now mending as we vacation at a friend's house in Talloires in the French Alps. Talloires is about as close to paradise as one can get on this side of the great divide. We've been having too much fun for me to take the time to sit and write my PBP story. But in a few more days we'll be back home and I'll give a full report. And it will be a challenge. The PBP experience is one of those that can't begin to be captured satisfactorily in words.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Keeping Track
If you're interested in tracking my progress between Paris, Brest and Paris, the official PBP website will tell you when I checked into each control along the way. Go to the tracking page and enter my frame number (#1501).
The plan is to sleep in Brest, then again in Fougeres on the return trip, so don't be surprised if it looks like I'm stuck in either of those places for a long time. Here's a graphical representation of the plan:
Of course plans and Randonneuring go together about as well as Champagne and Cheetos.
The plan is to sleep in Brest, then again in Fougeres on the return trip, so don't be surprised if it looks like I'm stuck in either of those places for a long time. Here's a graphical representation of the plan:
Of course plans and Randonneuring go together about as well as Champagne and Cheetos.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Packing for Paris-Brest-Paris
Ok, first off I should point out that if you found this post by googling “packing for paris-brest-paris” and you’re looking for some helpful advice, you may not find it here. I’m sort of stumbling through this. You see, I’ve never taken a bike on a plane before and I’ve never done a randonneuring event outside my home state. I’m used to waiting until the night before the ride to finalize my packing list, when I have a reliable weather forecast in hand. That way I can bring the absolute minimum of clothing necessary to avoid hypothermia. I’m tempted to bring all the bicycling clothes, tools and other gear I own so I can make the final call the night before in France, but if I did that I’d need one of those Victorian steamer trunks to pack into. I’m thinking the airline my charge a bit extra for that.
The bike is already packed up, and it wasn’t too much of an ordeal. I ended up buying myself a fancy bike travel case. It wasn’t cheap, but I’m hoping this won’t be the last time my bike and I travel together by air. And if it turns out I don’t need it again, I can always sell it and get some of my money back. Fitting the bike in the case was a little like trying to put the parts of an Ikea bookcase back in the original box after you’ve assembled it. Eventually it all got in there and I’m able to close the lid and latch it, but it took a few tries. Reassembly in the hotel room in France should be fairly easy as long as I didn’t accidentally leave any parts out and I remember to bring all the right tools along. I’m thinking a bottle of French wine will help the process too.
The weather in France over the past few weeks has been pretty consistent and Seattle-like. So, I’m going to assume that’s what I’ll be riding in and pack my bike clothes accordingly. Basically I’m figuring I need to have just enough clothing with me on the bike to comfortably survive nighttime temperatures down to about 50 Fahrenheit. That doesn’t take a lot, though I have noticed that later in a long ride when I’m really wrung out it’s a little bit harder to keep myself warm. Here’s what I’m planning on wearing/carrying on the bike:
- Wool shorts/Poly Shorts (depending on weather)
- Leg warmers
- Poly base layer
- Poly Jersey/Wool jersey (depending on weather)
- Arm warmers
- Rain jacket
- Reflective vest
- Cycling cap
- Bike gloves
- Wool gloves
- Socks
- Reflective ankle bands
- Sun glasses
- Helmet with headlight
- Bike shoes
- Tool kit (multi-tool, chain tool, tire irons, tire patches, tire boots, fibre spoke, knife)
- 2 tubes
- pump
- 2 water bottles
- Sunscreen
- Lip stuff
- Clear glasses
- Space blanket
- Chamois goo
- Phone
- Camera
- Passport
- Money
- Cue sheet
- Spare taillight
- Spare headlight
- Nuun tablets
- Enduralytes
- Ibuprofen
- 8 Packages of Shot Bloks
- Enough Sustained Energy for 4 bottles
- 4 Clif Bars
That's it. I'm sure I'm forgetting something important, but no doubt it will come to me about 50 miles outside of St. Quentin.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Dreams of Paris-Brest-Paris
The other night I had a doozy of an anxiety dream that just might have had something to do with my upcoming Paris-Brest-Paris experience. It reminded me of dreams I had around finals time in college, you know the ones in which you realize you have a final exam in 15 minutes for a class that you never actually attended. And then as you’re running across campus to the exam you suddenly realize you’re naked…
So in this dream I’m riding on a bus—like a big tour bus—packed full of men in their 40s, 50s and 60s, most sporting gray beards and all wearing full-on randonneuring gear. And it’s not summertime gear they’re wearing; it’s long-sleeve wool jerseys, Showers Pass rain jackets, wool tights or rain pants and neoprene shoe covers as far as the eye can see. Everyone has big warm gloves. They all have helmets on too, with rear-view mirrors clipped on the side and tail lights blinking from the back. Some of them blind me with their helmet headlights when they look my way. I notice that everyone is dripping wet and the air in the bus is thick with the smell of wet wool, sweat and Gatorade. The windows of the bus are completely steamed up.
The bus stops and everyone stands up in the aisle waiting to get off. I’m one of the last in line to get off the bus. When I get off, I see that the bus is parked in a gravel parking lot in front of a very small and plain-looking convenience store. There’s no 7-Eleven or Circle K signage on the front, it’s just a white box looking more like a 1960s Russian grocery store than a modern U.S. convenience store. Inside the store, Randonneurs from the bus are milling around, looking for something to buy and some are already beginning to form a long line at the cash register. I walk up and down the two narrow aisles of the tiny store looking for something to buy, though I’m not hungry at all. There’s almost nothing at all on the dirty metal shelves. I finally grab one of two remaining Reese’s peanut butter cups and get in line. Once in line I notice that everyone around me is speaking a language that I don’t recognize at all and they are all handling some sort of money that I’ve never seen before. I have some of the money too. It has no numbers on it.
Next thing I know I’m outside sitting on the ground near the bus with a large three-ring binder in my lap. The binder is filled with forms that need to be filled out and it’s divided into numerous sections, presumably with one section for each control. The forms are long and tedious and require that I look up information on other forms in the back of the binder, and sometimes I have to find stickers on other pages in the binder and affix them to the correct places on the forms like the Publisher’s Clearinghouse sweepstakes entry forms that Ed McMahon and Dick Clark used to send to my house when I was a kid. Then I realize that some of the forms need to be signed by the clerk in the convenience store. I can’t bear the thought of going back in the store and revealing the fact that I’m the only person on the bus who doesn’t speak whatever language it is that the convenience store clerk and everyone else speak.
Now, I’m back on the bus and the bus is bouncing along down the road and it’s dark out. I’m still filling out the forms from the last control when the bus driver announces that we’ve arrived at the next control. Everyone is up again standing in the aisle waiting to head into the next convenience store. It’s then that I remember that my bike is still back at the last control and that I won’t get credit if my bike isn’t on the bus when I cross the finish line…
So in this dream I’m riding on a bus—like a big tour bus—packed full of men in their 40s, 50s and 60s, most sporting gray beards and all wearing full-on randonneuring gear. And it’s not summertime gear they’re wearing; it’s long-sleeve wool jerseys, Showers Pass rain jackets, wool tights or rain pants and neoprene shoe covers as far as the eye can see. Everyone has big warm gloves. They all have helmets on too, with rear-view mirrors clipped on the side and tail lights blinking from the back. Some of them blind me with their helmet headlights when they look my way. I notice that everyone is dripping wet and the air in the bus is thick with the smell of wet wool, sweat and Gatorade. The windows of the bus are completely steamed up.
The bus stops and everyone stands up in the aisle waiting to get off. I’m one of the last in line to get off the bus. When I get off, I see that the bus is parked in a gravel parking lot in front of a very small and plain-looking convenience store. There’s no 7-Eleven or Circle K signage on the front, it’s just a white box looking more like a 1960s Russian grocery store than a modern U.S. convenience store. Inside the store, Randonneurs from the bus are milling around, looking for something to buy and some are already beginning to form a long line at the cash register. I walk up and down the two narrow aisles of the tiny store looking for something to buy, though I’m not hungry at all. There’s almost nothing at all on the dirty metal shelves. I finally grab one of two remaining Reese’s peanut butter cups and get in line. Once in line I notice that everyone around me is speaking a language that I don’t recognize at all and they are all handling some sort of money that I’ve never seen before. I have some of the money too. It has no numbers on it.
Next thing I know I’m outside sitting on the ground near the bus with a large three-ring binder in my lap. The binder is filled with forms that need to be filled out and it’s divided into numerous sections, presumably with one section for each control. The forms are long and tedious and require that I look up information on other forms in the back of the binder, and sometimes I have to find stickers on other pages in the binder and affix them to the correct places on the forms like the Publisher’s Clearinghouse sweepstakes entry forms that Ed McMahon and Dick Clark used to send to my house when I was a kid. Then I realize that some of the forms need to be signed by the clerk in the convenience store. I can’t bear the thought of going back in the store and revealing the fact that I’m the only person on the bus who doesn’t speak whatever language it is that the convenience store clerk and everyone else speak.
Now, I’m back on the bus and the bus is bouncing along down the road and it’s dark out. I’m still filling out the forms from the last control when the bus driver announces that we’ve arrived at the next control. Everyone is up again standing in the aisle waiting to head into the next convenience store. It’s then that I remember that my bike is still back at the last control and that I won’t get credit if my bike isn’t on the bus when I cross the finish line…
Friday, July 22, 2011
PBP: Kind of Like the Tour de France for Old Slow Guys from Seattle
If you're riding in Paris-Brest-Paris and you haven't found your way to the PBP Wiki yet, you should definitely go take a look. It has some great information and tools that can help with your planning.
One section I found to be particularly interesting is the statistics on who from the U.S. is registered. They have a complete list of all U.S. riders along with a bit of demographic information about them. You can go there and see all the details for yourself, but I thought I'd pull out some of the highlights here just for fun. (Yes, I'm one of those nerds who think statistics are big fun. Woohoo!)
In total, 438 U.S. riders have registered for PBP. Not surprisingly, the vast majority are men.
Ages of the riders cover a wide range from 21 to 70. The average age is 50, and a sizable majority (about two thirds) fall between the ages of 45 and 60, clearly supporting the stereotype of randonneurs as a bunch of grumpy old men.
Notice the large anomalous spike in the chart at age 49? I wonder how many of those are people trying desperately to do something meaningful as they cross the half-century mark and begin the long decline into senior discounts and vacations on cruise ships. I suppose you could put me in that camp.
One of the things I've agonized over and still stress about is the choice of a start time. I'm now locked into the 80 hour start, so I might as well get used to it. Here's how the other U.S. riders are lined up for start times.
U.S. PBP riders will be coming from all over the country, but clearly a disproportionate number are from the west coast. California has the largest number of riders with a fifth of the total. Not too surprising since it's the most populous state and much of it has an excellent climate for cycling. But how about this? Washington State is a fairly close second with 12%. Almost every one of those Washington riders is a member of my club, Seattle International Randonneurs. Since the California riders are divided among several clubs, SIR has the largest number of riders by a landslide (64). The next closest club is San Francisco Randonneurs with 43 riders.
I was curious how disproportionate Washington's number of randonneurs is compared to other states, so I compared the number of registered riders in each state with the state's total population. Washington state has 9.37 randonneurs per 1,000,000 of total population (call it "Rando parts per million" or RPPM). That's the highest rate in the country by far. Next is DC (the other Washington) with a RPPM of 4.99. Impressively Alaska ranks third with 4.22 RPPM (but since that's based on only 3 riders total, I'm not sure it means much). Colorado, Montana, California, Oregon and Minnesota all have RPPMs of 2 or more. In the rest of the states, a PBP rider is literally one in a million or less. Ten states had no riders registered for PBP (Delaware, Hawaii, Idaho, Louisiana, Nebraska, North Dakota, South Dakota, Oklahoma, West Virginia and Wyoming).
So what's going on in Seattle that makes randonneuring so popular compared to other parts of the country? I sit here in the middle of the Seattle Rando scene and honestly I have no idea. I mean, the club is fantastic. We have great leadership, volunteers and members. But why here in Seattle where it rains 367 days of the year? I have no theories...
One section I found to be particularly interesting is the statistics on who from the U.S. is registered. They have a complete list of all U.S. riders along with a bit of demographic information about them. You can go there and see all the details for yourself, but I thought I'd pull out some of the highlights here just for fun. (Yes, I'm one of those nerds who think statistics are big fun. Woohoo!)
In total, 438 U.S. riders have registered for PBP. Not surprisingly, the vast majority are men.
Ages of the riders cover a wide range from 21 to 70. The average age is 50, and a sizable majority (about two thirds) fall between the ages of 45 and 60, clearly supporting the stereotype of randonneurs as a bunch of grumpy old men.
Notice the large anomalous spike in the chart at age 49? I wonder how many of those are people trying desperately to do something meaningful as they cross the half-century mark and begin the long decline into senior discounts and vacations on cruise ships. I suppose you could put me in that camp.
One of the things I've agonized over and still stress about is the choice of a start time. I'm now locked into the 80 hour start, so I might as well get used to it. Here's how the other U.S. riders are lined up for start times.
U.S. PBP riders will be coming from all over the country, but clearly a disproportionate number are from the west coast. California has the largest number of riders with a fifth of the total. Not too surprising since it's the most populous state and much of it has an excellent climate for cycling. But how about this? Washington State is a fairly close second with 12%. Almost every one of those Washington riders is a member of my club, Seattle International Randonneurs. Since the California riders are divided among several clubs, SIR has the largest number of riders by a landslide (64). The next closest club is San Francisco Randonneurs with 43 riders.
I was curious how disproportionate Washington's number of randonneurs is compared to other states, so I compared the number of registered riders in each state with the state's total population. Washington state has 9.37 randonneurs per 1,000,000 of total population (call it "Rando parts per million" or RPPM). That's the highest rate in the country by far. Next is DC (the other Washington) with a RPPM of 4.99. Impressively Alaska ranks third with 4.22 RPPM (but since that's based on only 3 riders total, I'm not sure it means much). Colorado, Montana, California, Oregon and Minnesota all have RPPMs of 2 or more. In the rest of the states, a PBP rider is literally one in a million or less. Ten states had no riders registered for PBP (Delaware, Hawaii, Idaho, Louisiana, Nebraska, North Dakota, South Dakota, Oklahoma, West Virginia and Wyoming).
So what's going on in Seattle that makes randonneuring so popular compared to other parts of the country? I sit here in the middle of the Seattle Rando scene and honestly I have no idea. I mean, the club is fantastic. We have great leadership, volunteers and members. But why here in Seattle where it rains 367 days of the year? I have no theories...
Monday, July 18, 2011
PBP: Rain or Shine
As with all Randonneuring events, Paris-Brest-Paris is a rain or shine proposition. Past PBPs have experienced a wide range of weather. The last PBP in 2007 was probably one of the coldest and wettest on record with near constant rain and night time temperatures in the 40s. The 2003 event on the other hand was warm and dry with temperatures in the 60s to 80s.
Since the weather can be such a huge factor in randonneuring, I've started keeping an eye on what it's doing along the route. Of course, when it comes to weather you never really know what you're going to get until you're in the middle of it, but if Brittany is experiencing a particularly warmer/dryer or cooler/wetter weather pattern than usual over the next month, it may be a somewhat reliable predictor of what we'll encounter during PBP.
To that end, thanks to Weather Underground (www.wunderground.com), below you'll find "Weather Stickers" for each of the PBP contrôle towns. Click on one to go to a more detailed weather report and forecast. But don't blame me if you get rained on in France.
Since the weather can be such a huge factor in randonneuring, I've started keeping an eye on what it's doing along the route. Of course, when it comes to weather you never really know what you're going to get until you're in the middle of it, but if Brittany is experiencing a particularly warmer/dryer or cooler/wetter weather pattern than usual over the next month, it may be a somewhat reliable predictor of what we'll encounter during PBP.
To that end, thanks to Weather Underground (www.wunderground.com), below you'll find "Weather Stickers" for each of the PBP contrôle towns. Click on one to go to a more detailed weather report and forecast. But don't blame me if you get rained on in France.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Yakima Heat Camp 400k: "Heat" is a Relative Term
A couple weeks ago I mentioned that I would be riding a completely gratuitous 400k night start brevet. I say "completely gratuitous" because I've already ridden all of my necessary qualifying rides for PBP. This one was purely for the fun and educational value that comes with riding all night over mountain passes.
This ride was part of the Seattle Randonneur's "Heat Camp" which is a collection of rides all starting from a hotel in lovely Yakima. It's usually pretty warm in Eastern Washington this time of year, so the idea was to spend some time getting acclimated to riding in the heat. Nice idea, but as I descended from Blewett Pass at 3:30 am Saturday morning, shivering uncontrollably in the 37 degree wind, all I could think was, "h-h-h-heat c-c-camp my a-a-ass."
Twenty-some people showed up for heat camp, but only four of us chose to ride the 400k. On my drive into Yakima Friday afternoon, I followed the brevet route from Ellensburg to Yakima just to get familiar with it. It was a bit disconcerting since the wind was howling the whole way and I found that for about half the distance between Ellensburg and Yakima the road had just been covered with a brand new coat of chipseal. With fresh gravel a couple inches deep in places, riding the Yakima Canyon road would be about as much fun as riding your typical logging road.
The four of us (Me, Jeff, Dan and Matt) set off into the windy gravelly night at 10:00pm and rode together to take turns hiding from the wind. The trip from Yakima to Ellensburg turned out to be not nearly as bad as I had feared. The wind had died down a bit with the setting of the sun and the chipseal's bark was worse than its bite. We pulled into the first control in Ellensburg at about 12:30.
As we headed out of Ellensburg for Blewett pass, the wind picked up a bit and we were faced with a long slow slog uphill into a cold headwind. The moon had set and we were far from any artificial lights, so all I could see was the rectangle of road lit up by my head light, and about 10 gazillion stars overhead. With the darkness and the headwind, I couldn't really tell how steep it was, or if I was even going uphill at all. I only knew I was in a very low gear moving very slowly and that none of that seemed to change for a very long time. I didn't bother turning on my helmet light to check my speed or the time. I knew it would only depress me.
During the endless climb toward Blewett Pass I slowly pulled away from the other three riders. I slowed to wait for them at one point but I was getting so cold that I decided to keep moving for warmth. I wouldn't see any of them again until I was back in Yakima many hours later.
Eventually the wind started to die down and not long after I found myself on the summit of Blewett Pass. I flipped on my helmet light for a minute to note the time (3:29am), answer the "info control" question on the brevet card (Q: "What's the elevation of Blewett Pass?" A: 4102') and put on my wool gloves. Then I was off for 20 miles of downhill toward Leavenworth. If not for my violent shivering making it difficult to control the bike this section of the ride might have been a lot of fun.
As I approached Leavenworth with visions of a hot breakfast dancing in my head, the sky was beginning to show signs of life.
After a slow cruise through L-worth I had to temporarily give up on my hopes for a hot breakfast. Nothing was open. What kind of town doesn't have a 24 hour convenience store?? A Bavarian theme town, that's what kind. So, I pressed on knowing that there was a gas station another miles up the road at Cole's Corner that would be open by the time I got there.
The trip up Highway 2 toward Stevens pass was beautiful with the sun starting to light up the peaks around me. It was still early enough that the traffic was nearly non-existent.
At Cole's Corner, still a long, slow twenty miles away from Stevens Pass, I stopped for that overdue breakfast and to refill my water bottles. Now, I'm not that picky about what I eat when I'm randonneuring. I mean, even a foil wrapped sausage muffin sandwich from under the heatlamp is a very adequate breakfast as far as I'm concerned, still the Cole's Corner Shell station was a big disappointment.
With some "food" and hot beverage in my belly I pressed on for Stevens Pass, feeling quite good and happy to have survived the night.
The climb to Stevens Pass from the east isn't terribly steep but it does run on a bit. The day was in full swing and the Highway 2 traffic was starting to pick up by the time I finally made the summit, about 8:30. It was cold, but not nearly as bad as Blewett had been the night before. This was the turn-around point and halfway to the end of the ride, though I kept my celebrations pretty low-key since halfway still meant over 125 miles and another 4,000 ft. mountain pass.
The trip back down to Leavenworth was fast and fun, though I'm not terribly fond of Highway 2's lack of shoulder. Cars come flying by at 60 - 70 mph, not willing to give an inch to some crazy guy on a bike trying to find a safe haven between the crumbled shoulder and the speeding traffic.
After an honest-to-goodness sit down lunch in Leavenworth at the Subway with a tankard of their finest Mountain Dew it was time for Old Blewett Pass, the last big climb of the ride. The sun was finally above the hills and the day was starting to feel like July in Eastern Washington.
As I mentioned in my earlier post, I've been looking forward to riding Old Blewett Pass for a while. It didn't disappoint me one bit. The road is barely wide enough for two cars and it winds around ridges and gullys as it climbs at a fairly consistent 5% - 6% through the trees. I was passed by maybe two or three cars the entire time I was on old road.
Paul and Noel, two SiR volunteers had set up a nice little rest stop at the top of the pass and offered me water (which I needed desperately), a bite to eat and a few minutes to sit without having to turn the cranks. But I didn't sit around for long. I knew from Old Blewett Pass the rest of the route was almost all downhill and I was anxious to get on to it.
After a long gentle downhill run, there's a little ridge that the highway climbs over before you get some more downhill into Leavenworth. The climb only lasts three miles, but it seems like a lot more after 200 miles and three mountain passes. And just to rub it in a bit, about halfway up, the Washington Dept. of Transportation remind you that you still have a good chunk of riding ahead before you'll be back in Yakima with a cold beer in hand.
On top of the ridge outside Ellensburg is one of those enormous wind farms that seem to be popping up like dandelions across eastern Washington. Of course, they put the wind mills there for a reason. As I topped the ridge, I was blasted by a warm wind. Luckily the road and the wind were both heading for Ellensburg so I was able to ride like a pro for the next 15 miles, easily averaging 30+ mph all the way into town.
After the penultimate control stop in Ellensburg, the wind continued to push me on through the freshly chipsealed Canyon Rd nearly all the way back to Yakima. I rolled into the finish at the Clarion Hotel at 5:49pm feeling darn fine all things considered.
Over the last few miles I thought a lot about my upcoming trip to France. This 400k was a good test of what the first part of PBP might be like. I rode through the night just like I'm planning to do in France on the first night. I maintained a pace of about 5 hours per 100k, which is what I'm shooting for in France. I finished feeling like I could probably maintain the same pace for another 200k if I had to, which I'll need to do to get to Brest. So, I think it bodes well for my PBP plans.
Thanks to Maggie and Eric for hosting the Yakima Heat (snicker, snicker) Camp! I had a fantastic time. And Thanks Paul and Noel for feeding and watering me on a mountain top in the middle of nowhere!
This ride was part of the Seattle Randonneur's "Heat Camp" which is a collection of rides all starting from a hotel in lovely Yakima. It's usually pretty warm in Eastern Washington this time of year, so the idea was to spend some time getting acclimated to riding in the heat. Nice idea, but as I descended from Blewett Pass at 3:30 am Saturday morning, shivering uncontrollably in the 37 degree wind, all I could think was, "h-h-h-heat c-c-camp my a-a-ass."
Twenty-some people showed up for heat camp, but only four of us chose to ride the 400k. On my drive into Yakima Friday afternoon, I followed the brevet route from Ellensburg to Yakima just to get familiar with it. It was a bit disconcerting since the wind was howling the whole way and I found that for about half the distance between Ellensburg and Yakima the road had just been covered with a brand new coat of chipseal. With fresh gravel a couple inches deep in places, riding the Yakima Canyon road would be about as much fun as riding your typical logging road.
The four of us (Me, Jeff, Dan and Matt) set off into the windy gravelly night at 10:00pm and rode together to take turns hiding from the wind. The trip from Yakima to Ellensburg turned out to be not nearly as bad as I had feared. The wind had died down a bit with the setting of the sun and the chipseal's bark was worse than its bite. We pulled into the first control in Ellensburg at about 12:30.
As we headed out of Ellensburg for Blewett pass, the wind picked up a bit and we were faced with a long slow slog uphill into a cold headwind. The moon had set and we were far from any artificial lights, so all I could see was the rectangle of road lit up by my head light, and about 10 gazillion stars overhead. With the darkness and the headwind, I couldn't really tell how steep it was, or if I was even going uphill at all. I only knew I was in a very low gear moving very slowly and that none of that seemed to change for a very long time. I didn't bother turning on my helmet light to check my speed or the time. I knew it would only depress me.
During the endless climb toward Blewett Pass I slowly pulled away from the other three riders. I slowed to wait for them at one point but I was getting so cold that I decided to keep moving for warmth. I wouldn't see any of them again until I was back in Yakima many hours later.
Eventually the wind started to die down and not long after I found myself on the summit of Blewett Pass. I flipped on my helmet light for a minute to note the time (3:29am), answer the "info control" question on the brevet card (Q: "What's the elevation of Blewett Pass?" A: 4102') and put on my wool gloves. Then I was off for 20 miles of downhill toward Leavenworth. If not for my violent shivering making it difficult to control the bike this section of the ride might have been a lot of fun.
As I approached Leavenworth with visions of a hot breakfast dancing in my head, the sky was beginning to show signs of life.
After a slow cruise through L-worth I had to temporarily give up on my hopes for a hot breakfast. Nothing was open. What kind of town doesn't have a 24 hour convenience store?? A Bavarian theme town, that's what kind. So, I pressed on knowing that there was a gas station another miles up the road at Cole's Corner that would be open by the time I got there.
The trip up Highway 2 toward Stevens pass was beautiful with the sun starting to light up the peaks around me. It was still early enough that the traffic was nearly non-existent.
At Cole's Corner, still a long, slow twenty miles away from Stevens Pass, I stopped for that overdue breakfast and to refill my water bottles. Now, I'm not that picky about what I eat when I'm randonneuring. I mean, even a foil wrapped sausage muffin sandwich from under the heatlamp is a very adequate breakfast as far as I'm concerned, still the Cole's Corner Shell station was a big disappointment.
With some "food" and hot beverage in my belly I pressed on for Stevens Pass, feeling quite good and happy to have survived the night.
The climb to Stevens Pass from the east isn't terribly steep but it does run on a bit. The day was in full swing and the Highway 2 traffic was starting to pick up by the time I finally made the summit, about 8:30. It was cold, but not nearly as bad as Blewett had been the night before. This was the turn-around point and halfway to the end of the ride, though I kept my celebrations pretty low-key since halfway still meant over 125 miles and another 4,000 ft. mountain pass.
The trip back down to Leavenworth was fast and fun, though I'm not terribly fond of Highway 2's lack of shoulder. Cars come flying by at 60 - 70 mph, not willing to give an inch to some crazy guy on a bike trying to find a safe haven between the crumbled shoulder and the speeding traffic.
After an honest-to-goodness sit down lunch in Leavenworth at the Subway with a tankard of their finest Mountain Dew it was time for Old Blewett Pass, the last big climb of the ride. The sun was finally above the hills and the day was starting to feel like July in Eastern Washington.
As I mentioned in my earlier post, I've been looking forward to riding Old Blewett Pass for a while. It didn't disappoint me one bit. The road is barely wide enough for two cars and it winds around ridges and gullys as it climbs at a fairly consistent 5% - 6% through the trees. I was passed by maybe two or three cars the entire time I was on old road.
Paul and Noel, two SiR volunteers had set up a nice little rest stop at the top of the pass and offered me water (which I needed desperately), a bite to eat and a few minutes to sit without having to turn the cranks. But I didn't sit around for long. I knew from Old Blewett Pass the rest of the route was almost all downhill and I was anxious to get on to it.
After a long gentle downhill run, there's a little ridge that the highway climbs over before you get some more downhill into Leavenworth. The climb only lasts three miles, but it seems like a lot more after 200 miles and three mountain passes. And just to rub it in a bit, about halfway up, the Washington Dept. of Transportation remind you that you still have a good chunk of riding ahead before you'll be back in Yakima with a cold beer in hand.
On top of the ridge outside Ellensburg is one of those enormous wind farms that seem to be popping up like dandelions across eastern Washington. Of course, they put the wind mills there for a reason. As I topped the ridge, I was blasted by a warm wind. Luckily the road and the wind were both heading for Ellensburg so I was able to ride like a pro for the next 15 miles, easily averaging 30+ mph all the way into town.
After the penultimate control stop in Ellensburg, the wind continued to push me on through the freshly chipsealed Canyon Rd nearly all the way back to Yakima. I rolled into the finish at the Clarion Hotel at 5:49pm feeling darn fine all things considered.
Over the last few miles I thought a lot about my upcoming trip to France. This 400k was a good test of what the first part of PBP might be like. I rode through the night just like I'm planning to do in France on the first night. I maintained a pace of about 5 hours per 100k, which is what I'm shooting for in France. I finished feeling like I could probably maintain the same pace for another 200k if I had to, which I'll need to do to get to Brest. So, I think it bodes well for my PBP plans.
Thanks to Maggie and Eric for hosting the Yakima Heat (snicker, snicker) Camp! I had a fantastic time. And Thanks Paul and Noel for feeding and watering me on a mountain top in the middle of nowhere!
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Looking Forward to a Bumpy 400k
The past month, since I rode the Tahuya Hills 600k, has felt like a vast empty Randonneuring desert. This time of year is generally pretty densely packed with brevets. Just as I'm beginning to feel recovered from one brevet I'm usually gearing up for the next. But for the past three and a half weeks I've been staying close to home and doing just enough riding to keep myself from getting fat.
So, it feels good to finally have another brevet on the horizon. On Friday, July 8 at 10pm I'll be starting a 400k over in Yakima (aka, "Yaki Vegas"). Yes, the ride starts at 10pm. At night. I guess the idea is to get some practice with a night start since most of us bound for PBP this summer will be starting in the late afternoon or evening. I've done a couple long rides that started at night and thoroughly enjoyed them both. Of course, I mean "enjoyed" in the Rando sense of the word, which is to say I finished the rides alive and didn’t suffer too horribly. I usually have enough adrenaline pumping during the first few hours of a ride to keep me from getting sleepy, and by the time that wears off the sun should be up. Also there is something magical about riding on remote roads in that space between when the last drunk has finally made it home (or at least has passed out in the back seat somewhere), and when the darkness loses its grip on the night to the sound of birds and the eastern glow. Many of my fondest Randonneuring memories come from times like that.
This definitely won’t be an easy 400k course. It’ll start in Yakima and head north through the Yakima Canyon to Ellensburg. I’ve ridden the Yakima Canyon before and it’s a beautiful road along the river, deep in the canyon, that climbs ever so gently as you head north. This should put me in Ellensburg around midnight when hopefully most of the drunk drivers are still safely in bars (or behind bars). From Ellensburg the route climbs up and over Blewett Pass to Leavenworth. I’m really looking forward to the run down the north side of Blewett in the wee hours with no cars on the road. If all goes well, the eastern sky should just be beginning to blush as I roll into Leavenworth. From Leavenworth it’s on up Highway 2 to the summit of Stevens Pass, definitely not my favorite cycling road with semis and motorhomes blasting by every few seconds. At Stevens Pass summit we’ll turn around and head back to Yakima basically doing the same route in reverse, except that we’ll use the Old Blewett Pass highway on the return trip. The old highway is a little shorter, but also a bit steeper and windier. I’ve never ridden the Old Blewett Pass highway and I’ve wanted to for a while, so that’s the other part of this ride I’m really looking forward to. I should be pretty wrung out by then, but at least from the summit the remaining 65 miles into Yakima are nearly all downhill.
I’ll consider any finish in less than 27 hours (that’s the limit) to be a win for this ride. With three big climbs (over 12,000 feet total) I definitely won’t be trying to do a time or keep up with any fast groups. This will be an at-my-own-damn-pace ride.
So, it feels good to finally have another brevet on the horizon. On Friday, July 8 at 10pm I'll be starting a 400k over in Yakima (aka, "Yaki Vegas"). Yes, the ride starts at 10pm. At night. I guess the idea is to get some practice with a night start since most of us bound for PBP this summer will be starting in the late afternoon or evening. I've done a couple long rides that started at night and thoroughly enjoyed them both. Of course, I mean "enjoyed" in the Rando sense of the word, which is to say I finished the rides alive and didn’t suffer too horribly. I usually have enough adrenaline pumping during the first few hours of a ride to keep me from getting sleepy, and by the time that wears off the sun should be up. Also there is something magical about riding on remote roads in that space between when the last drunk has finally made it home (or at least has passed out in the back seat somewhere), and when the darkness loses its grip on the night to the sound of birds and the eastern glow. Many of my fondest Randonneuring memories come from times like that.
This definitely won’t be an easy 400k course. It’ll start in Yakima and head north through the Yakima Canyon to Ellensburg. I’ve ridden the Yakima Canyon before and it’s a beautiful road along the river, deep in the canyon, that climbs ever so gently as you head north. This should put me in Ellensburg around midnight when hopefully most of the drunk drivers are still safely in bars (or behind bars). From Ellensburg the route climbs up and over Blewett Pass to Leavenworth. I’m really looking forward to the run down the north side of Blewett in the wee hours with no cars on the road. If all goes well, the eastern sky should just be beginning to blush as I roll into Leavenworth. From Leavenworth it’s on up Highway 2 to the summit of Stevens Pass, definitely not my favorite cycling road with semis and motorhomes blasting by every few seconds. At Stevens Pass summit we’ll turn around and head back to Yakima basically doing the same route in reverse, except that we’ll use the Old Blewett Pass highway on the return trip. The old highway is a little shorter, but also a bit steeper and windier. I’ve never ridden the Old Blewett Pass highway and I’ve wanted to for a while, so that’s the other part of this ride I’m really looking forward to. I should be pretty wrung out by then, but at least from the summit the remaining 65 miles into Yakima are nearly all downhill.
Ride Profile
I’ll consider any finish in less than 27 hours (that’s the limit) to be a win for this ride. With three big climbs (over 12,000 feet total) I definitely won’t be trying to do a time or keep up with any fast groups. This will be an at-my-own-damn-pace ride.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
PBP: Registered!
I did it! Yep, just moments ago I submitted my registration for PBP 2011. A few mouse clicks, a little typing, a 110 euro charge on the old Visa card and it's done. The PBP organizing board immediately sent me an email confirming my registration, saying something about being allotted a "frame badge" (whatever that is) and wishing me, "a good training, and a safe and enjoyable PBP!" Wow, those guys must have been just sitting there at their computer waiting for my registration!
After lots of agonizing and discussion with fellow randonneurs, I decided to register for the 80 hour start. I also talked my friend Kelly--who I rode most of the Cascade 1200 with last summer--into doing the 80 hour start with me. Why on earth choose an 80 hour start when you can wait a couple of hours and have an extra 10 hours to complete the ride? Well, for all of the reasons I discussed in my previous post about start times. I still think a night start will work best for me. We shall see.
The ride plan at the moment is to ride straight through from Paris to Brest without a sleep stop. Assuming nothing catastrophic happens, we should make it to Brest in the late evening, a good time to sleep. We'll eat, sleep for a few hours, then set out early the next morning, probably before sunrise for the return trip. Again, barring disasters or horrendous headwinds, we should have enough time for another generous sleep stop somewhere on the return trip.
It wasn't long ago that I was seriously worried about my ability to finish the qualifying rides, but they're all done now and there's nothing left between me and PBP but 65 jours 18 hours 26 minutes 15 seconds. But then who's counting?
After lots of agonizing and discussion with fellow randonneurs, I decided to register for the 80 hour start. I also talked my friend Kelly--who I rode most of the Cascade 1200 with last summer--into doing the 80 hour start with me. Why on earth choose an 80 hour start when you can wait a couple of hours and have an extra 10 hours to complete the ride? Well, for all of the reasons I discussed in my previous post about start times. I still think a night start will work best for me. We shall see.
The ride plan at the moment is to ride straight through from Paris to Brest without a sleep stop. Assuming nothing catastrophic happens, we should make it to Brest in the late evening, a good time to sleep. We'll eat, sleep for a few hours, then set out early the next morning, probably before sunrise for the return trip. Again, barring disasters or horrendous headwinds, we should have enough time for another generous sleep stop somewhere on the return trip.
It wasn't long ago that I was seriously worried about my ability to finish the qualifying rides, but they're all done now and there's nothing left between me and PBP but 65 jours 18 hours 26 minutes 15 seconds. But then who's counting?
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Tahuya Hills 600k: There's Always Plan B
First the good news: This weekend I finished the Tahuya Hills 600k brevet. This 600k completes a Super Randonneur series for me, but far more importantly it means I’m now fully qualified to ride in PBP 2011 (good thing since we’ve already paid for plane tickets). Ironically, I rolled into the final control exactly three months (give or take an hour) after the FOOSH on the beach that nearly derailed my PBP plans.
As I mentioned last week, I was planning to ride with the Charly Miller team on this ride. The team had a detailed schedule worked out that included riding through the night and got us through the 600 kilometers in about 25 – 26 hours. With lot’s of rolling hills similar to the PBP route, this would be a great test of what the group was capable of.
The ride started in downtown Seattle near Safeco Field at 6:00 AM. The sun was already up and there was nothing but blue sky from horizon to horizon. After a few quick twists, turns and a drive-by of the people already lined up to get into that night’s U2 concert at the stadium (and people think randonneurs are crazy) we were on our way across the I-90 bridge. Early on everyone was bunched up and riding fast, so the team got scattered and wasn’t able to work together. But by the time we were into May Valley, about an hour into the ride things had sorted out. The team was riding together and consisted of Robin, Greg, Bob, Bill, Ken, James, Alex, Ian and me. For the next couple of hours we were moving along well, using a rotating pace line whenever the traffic would allow it. We got to the control stop in Buckley a little before 9:00. We were right on schedule and we did a good job getting in and out of the control quickly.
Not long after Buckley we found ourselves on quiet roads that allowed us to use the rolling pace line well. Unfortunately for me, we were using it a little too well. We were moving along for long stretches at well over 35kph (22 mph). I think that’s when I first started to realize that this group was a little over my head. I knew I couldn’t keep a pace like that for 600 kilometers. I suggested to others in the group that maybe we were going a little too fast, but they all seemed pretty comfortable with the pace, so we blazed on.
We maintained a similar pace most of the way to Packwood, 200k into the ride, arriving at about 1:10. Seven hours ten minutes is the fastest 200k I've ever done, so definitely not a good way for me to be starting a 600k. After a "leisurely" break at Packwood--about 13 minutes during which I wolfed down a convenience store mini pizza and a chocolate milk--we were back on the road. With a light tailwind and a long slight downhill for the next 30 miles to Morton we were quickly back to a... um, spirited pace. After Morton we turned south and did some climbing on Centralia-Alpha Road. It was somewhere along that road that things started turning bad for me. My stomach was the first to protest. Maybe the pizza back in Packwood wasn't such a good idea (do you think?). Maybe I was low on electrolytes. Whatever the reason I started feeling nauseous. And then I started getting cramps in my thighs whenever I hit the slightest incline or tried to accelerate. We were now about 300k and eleven hours into the ride. We had a control stop in Centralia, about 20 kilometers away, so I did my best to hang on and not throw up until we got there.
In those last 20 kilometers I decided that I would let the team leave Centralia without me. So after they had all filled their bottles and grabbed a quick bite to eat they were off and I sat down for a few minutes to take stock. 15 minutes of just sitting did me a world of good. I was finally able to eat a little, drink a coke and get back on the bike. I took the next 50 kilometers to the overnight control in Elma at a very comfortable pace. My legs were still cramping badly whenever I tried to push hard, but I was able to keep moving. I arrived at the overnight control in Elma at about 8:35pm.
When I arrived in Elma, the CM team was still there but getting ready to get back on the road to ride on through the night. I had actually been looking forward to riding through the night, but since I was still having bad cramping problems, I decided it would be safer to stay Elma for a few hours to try to get some sleep. Gary, Bob and Bill had arrived with the rest of the team but had all decided to stay for some sleep and then head out at 4:00am the next morning. I ate, showered, set an alarm for 3:30am, and then tried to get some sleep.
Bill, Gary and I left in the dark at 4:00am (Bob left early because he wasn't able to sleep). I was feeling much better than the night before, but I was still pretty rung-out. Obviously the previous day's pace was a too much for me.
The rest of the ride from Elma, through the Tahuya hills and up and down the Kitsap peninsula was fantastic. The hills were non-stop, and some pretty darn steep, but they didn't bother me much since the pressure to "do a time" was off. The majority of the day was spent on shadow-dappled roads with no cars to be seen.
Bill went ahead at some point and we met up with a couple of other riders here and there, but mostly I rode with Gary. We traveled at a comfortable pace and took time for ice cream, sandwiches, soup, and more sandwiches at several stops along the way.
We rolled into the finish a little before 3:30pm. Our trusted RBA, Mark was there to greet us offering cold beer, hot pizza and congratulations. Lynn was offering massages at the finish, which I would have loved to taken advantage of, but having been away from home far longer than expected already, I decided to pass on the massage and catch the next ferry for home.
Epilogue: My solo ride from Centralia to Elma and the casual pace all day on Sunday gave me a lot of time to think about PBP and the Charly Miller goal. I've decided to give up on the goal and embrace a kindler and gentler PBP. Since this will be my first (and quite possibly only) PBP, I've come to think it would be wrong to spend my time on the ride staring at the rear wheel of one of my teammates when I could instead be meeting other riders, talking to the locals, enjoying French pastries, and snapping pictures of the French countyside. If I ride PBP again someday, I suspect I'll get caught up once again in the idea of trying to make the Charly Miller Society, but for my first time, I'm ready to just ride my own pace and soak it all in.
To my former teammates, I'll be cheering you guys on in France. I think you have a great chance of making your goal. You're a bunch of great riders and good people to hang out with. I've learned a lot over the past few months. I hope to see you on the road in France when you blow by me.
As I mentioned last week, I was planning to ride with the Charly Miller team on this ride. The team had a detailed schedule worked out that included riding through the night and got us through the 600 kilometers in about 25 – 26 hours. With lot’s of rolling hills similar to the PBP route, this would be a great test of what the group was capable of.
The ride started in downtown Seattle near Safeco Field at 6:00 AM. The sun was already up and there was nothing but blue sky from horizon to horizon. After a few quick twists, turns and a drive-by of the people already lined up to get into that night’s U2 concert at the stadium (and people think randonneurs are crazy) we were on our way across the I-90 bridge. Early on everyone was bunched up and riding fast, so the team got scattered and wasn’t able to work together. But by the time we were into May Valley, about an hour into the ride things had sorted out. The team was riding together and consisted of Robin, Greg, Bob, Bill, Ken, James, Alex, Ian and me. For the next couple of hours we were moving along well, using a rotating pace line whenever the traffic would allow it. We got to the control stop in Buckley a little before 9:00. We were right on schedule and we did a good job getting in and out of the control quickly.
Not long after Buckley we found ourselves on quiet roads that allowed us to use the rolling pace line well. Unfortunately for me, we were using it a little too well. We were moving along for long stretches at well over 35kph (22 mph). I think that’s when I first started to realize that this group was a little over my head. I knew I couldn’t keep a pace like that for 600 kilometers. I suggested to others in the group that maybe we were going a little too fast, but they all seemed pretty comfortable with the pace, so we blazed on.
We maintained a similar pace most of the way to Packwood, 200k into the ride, arriving at about 1:10. Seven hours ten minutes is the fastest 200k I've ever done, so definitely not a good way for me to be starting a 600k. After a "leisurely" break at Packwood--about 13 minutes during which I wolfed down a convenience store mini pizza and a chocolate milk--we were back on the road. With a light tailwind and a long slight downhill for the next 30 miles to Morton we were quickly back to a... um, spirited pace. After Morton we turned south and did some climbing on Centralia-Alpha Road. It was somewhere along that road that things started turning bad for me. My stomach was the first to protest. Maybe the pizza back in Packwood wasn't such a good idea (do you think?). Maybe I was low on electrolytes. Whatever the reason I started feeling nauseous. And then I started getting cramps in my thighs whenever I hit the slightest incline or tried to accelerate. We were now about 300k and eleven hours into the ride. We had a control stop in Centralia, about 20 kilometers away, so I did my best to hang on and not throw up until we got there.
In those last 20 kilometers I decided that I would let the team leave Centralia without me. So after they had all filled their bottles and grabbed a quick bite to eat they were off and I sat down for a few minutes to take stock. 15 minutes of just sitting did me a world of good. I was finally able to eat a little, drink a coke and get back on the bike. I took the next 50 kilometers to the overnight control in Elma at a very comfortable pace. My legs were still cramping badly whenever I tried to push hard, but I was able to keep moving. I arrived at the overnight control in Elma at about 8:35pm.
When I arrived in Elma, the CM team was still there but getting ready to get back on the road to ride on through the night. I had actually been looking forward to riding through the night, but since I was still having bad cramping problems, I decided it would be safer to stay Elma for a few hours to try to get some sleep. Gary, Bob and Bill had arrived with the rest of the team but had all decided to stay for some sleep and then head out at 4:00am the next morning. I ate, showered, set an alarm for 3:30am, and then tried to get some sleep.
Bill, Gary and I left in the dark at 4:00am (Bob left early because he wasn't able to sleep). I was feeling much better than the night before, but I was still pretty rung-out. Obviously the previous day's pace was a too much for me.
The rest of the ride from Elma, through the Tahuya hills and up and down the Kitsap peninsula was fantastic. The hills were non-stop, and some pretty darn steep, but they didn't bother me much since the pressure to "do a time" was off. The majority of the day was spent on shadow-dappled roads with no cars to be seen.
Bill went ahead at some point and we met up with a couple of other riders here and there, but mostly I rode with Gary. We traveled at a comfortable pace and took time for ice cream, sandwiches, soup, and more sandwiches at several stops along the way.
We rolled into the finish a little before 3:30pm. Our trusted RBA, Mark was there to greet us offering cold beer, hot pizza and congratulations. Lynn was offering massages at the finish, which I would have loved to taken advantage of, but having been away from home far longer than expected already, I decided to pass on the massage and catch the next ferry for home.
Epilogue: My solo ride from Centralia to Elma and the casual pace all day on Sunday gave me a lot of time to think about PBP and the Charly Miller goal. I've decided to give up on the goal and embrace a kindler and gentler PBP. Since this will be my first (and quite possibly only) PBP, I've come to think it would be wrong to spend my time on the ride staring at the rear wheel of one of my teammates when I could instead be meeting other riders, talking to the locals, enjoying French pastries, and snapping pictures of the French countyside. If I ride PBP again someday, I suspect I'll get caught up once again in the idea of trying to make the Charly Miller Society, but for my first time, I'm ready to just ride my own pace and soak it all in.
To my former teammates, I'll be cheering you guys on in France. I think you have a great chance of making your goal. You're a bunch of great riders and good people to hang out with. I've learned a lot over the past few months. I hope to see you on the road in France when you blow by me.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Packing for a 600k: Eeny meeny miney moe...
Bright and early tomorrow morning I'll set off from downtown Seattle with a big ol' group of nerdonneurs. We're doing a 600k route that will take us along the Western and Southern flanks of Mt. Ranier to Packwood, WA., then West through Centralia to Elma (not 20 miles from the birth place of Kurt Cobain donchyaknow), and finally North to the Kitsap peninsula where we'll ramble around in the allegedly haunted Tahuya Hills a bit before making our way back to the ferry on Bainbridge Island.
I'll be riding with the Charly Miller team on this ride, and our plan is to ride on through to the end with no sleep stops. If all goes according to plan (which it never does on a ride this long) we should finish in somewhere around 25 to 26 hours.
This course has a lot of ups and downs, so I'm trying to pack as light as possible. It's always a challenge to balance a performance-minded minimalist approach with the more sensible desires for comfort and safety, but as I do more of these rides and get more experience I'm finding that I'm able to get by comfortably and safely with less stuff. Hopefully I'll stop short of heading off for cross-country tours wearing nothing but a loin cloth with a buck knife in my teeth.
So, here's what I'll be taking with me on this ride:
On Me
Bike shorts
Polypro base shirt
Polypro bike jersey
Arm warmers
Leg warmers
Socks
Bike shoes
Wind vest
Sunglasses
Bike cap
Helmet with map light
In the Handlebar Bag
Tool kit (multi-tool, tire irons, chain tool, patch kit)
2 Spare tubes
Zip ties
Space blanket
Spare tail light
Wallet
Sunscreen
Lip stuff
Cell phone
Camera
Fistful of Ibuprofen and Enduralytes
Reflective ankle straps
Reflective vest
Pen
Reading glasses
About 1400 calories worth of Sustained Energy powder (food-like stuff)
4 packages Shot Bloks (even more food-like)
12 Fig Newtons (practically food)
On the Bike
2 Water bottles
Pump
Lights, front and back
In My Drop Bag (drop bags will be waiting for us in Elma)
Wool Jersey
Wool bike shorts
Long sleeve wool base layer
Raincoat
Bike gloves
Socks
3 Spare tubes
Misc bike tools
Spare headlight
Sustained Energy powder
Shot Bloks
Fig Newtons
If the forecast is right and I have no mechanical problems, then I shouldn't need anything but the food from the drop bag. We shall see...
Loaded up with all of this stuff (including full water bottles), my bike weighs about 32lbs (22 lbs bike, 4 lbs water and 6 lbs food and gear). That's slightly more than the typical 15 lbs that a pro cyclist's bike weighs, but not bad for a fully loaded rando rig.
Nothing left to do now but try to get a decent night's sleep and then go for a ride.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Beyond Naked on Kickstarter
Back in December I blogged about riding the Seattle Randonneur's Second Annual Solstice Ride. The ride was a lot of fun and as I mentioned back then, it may (or may not) be immortalized by local documentary filmmaker, Dan McComb in a film titled Beyond Naked.
Dan is now trying to raise money for the project using Kickstarter. I'm not sure what they will be spending the money on, but I'm pretty sure it's not for costumes. I made a pledge because I'm intrigued to see how silly Randonneurs look compared to truly courageous people like those who ride in the Fremont Solstice Parade. Besides, I just love the idea of Kickstarter and how it allows us "normal" folks to help bring more art into the world.
So, if you want to support a worthy project, click on over to Kickstarter and make a pledge to Beyond Naked.
Dan is now trying to raise money for the project using Kickstarter. I'm not sure what they will be spending the money on, but I'm pretty sure it's not for costumes. I made a pledge because I'm intrigued to see how silly Randonneurs look compared to truly courageous people like those who ride in the Fremont Solstice Parade. Besides, I just love the idea of Kickstarter and how it allows us "normal" folks to help bring more art into the world.
So, if you want to support a worthy project, click on over to Kickstarter and make a pledge to Beyond Naked.
Monday, May 23, 2011
The Kindness of Strangers
The other day on my way home from work I headed out to Magnolia for a quick couple laps around one of my favorite short training routes. It was a beautiful day to be out riding. The sun was shining and I was feeling great, enjoying the view along the Magnolia bluff and the ups, downs, twists and turns of the road.
After one and a half laps, when I was as far away from home as the route gets, I heard the hiss-hiss-hiss of a tire going flat. Ordinarily not a big deal, it just adds a few minutes to the ride. ...except that, being sort of a dope, I had taken the tool bag off my bike at home for some reason and forgot to put it back on. You know, the tool bag with the spare tube and tire irons and the patch kit? With no way to fix the flat tire, I had no choice but to start walking. This still was far from disastrous since I could easily walk to a bus stop, and while I'd probably have to wait for half an hour for a bus, then change buses a time or two (waiting another half hour each time), eventually I could get myself home.
I hadn't walked more than a block when I came upon another cyclist, in full team kit with a super deluxe high-zoot bike. He was just standing astride his bike beside the road. Now, all cyclists know that the guys in full team kit with super expensive bikes are all... well you know the things that porcupines have? It's true. Anyway, I said howdy and kept walking, but Mr. Team Kit immediately asks if I need a spare tube or anything. I stopped and explained my dopey situation and said, no worries I could just catch a bus. But he persisted and insisted on giving my his spare tube. So I graciously accepted his offer. Not only did he give me his spare, but he also did most of the work fixing the flat. He was one of the quickest flat fixers I've ever seen, and I've seen some fast ones riding with Randonneurs and all. I tried to pay him for the tube but he wouldn't have it. So, I thanked him several times and wished him all the good karma he could carry and then we rode off our separate ways.
Moral: Kind strangers come in all kinds of outfits.
After one and a half laps, when I was as far away from home as the route gets, I heard the hiss-hiss-hiss of a tire going flat. Ordinarily not a big deal, it just adds a few minutes to the ride. ...except that, being sort of a dope, I had taken the tool bag off my bike at home for some reason and forgot to put it back on. You know, the tool bag with the spare tube and tire irons and the patch kit? With no way to fix the flat tire, I had no choice but to start walking. This still was far from disastrous since I could easily walk to a bus stop, and while I'd probably have to wait for half an hour for a bus, then change buses a time or two (waiting another half hour each time), eventually I could get myself home.
I hadn't walked more than a block when I came upon another cyclist, in full team kit with a super deluxe high-zoot bike. He was just standing astride his bike beside the road. Now, all cyclists know that the guys in full team kit with super expensive bikes are all... well you know the things that porcupines have? It's true. Anyway, I said howdy and kept walking, but Mr. Team Kit immediately asks if I need a spare tube or anything. I stopped and explained my dopey situation and said, no worries I could just catch a bus. But he persisted and insisted on giving my his spare tube. So I graciously accepted his offer. Not only did he give me his spare, but he also did most of the work fixing the flat. He was one of the quickest flat fixers I've ever seen, and I've seen some fast ones riding with Randonneurs and all. I tried to pay him for the tube but he wouldn't have it. So, I thanked him several times and wished him all the good karma he could carry and then we rode off our separate ways.
Moral: Kind strangers come in all kinds of outfits.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Breaking News: Cycling Hip Like Khaki Slacks
You'd have to have been living in a house in Pakistan without a phone or internet connection for the past several years to not notice that bikes have become a fashion accessory of the hip. But today while on my bi-annual pilgrimage to The Gap to buy new underwear and socks, I ran into this (please excuse the crappy cell phone picture):
This takes it to a whole new level. When The Gap starts using bicycle parts to sell suburban leisure wear to the masses, then cycling as a fashion statement has clearly hit the mega-mainstream. Or maybe jumped the shark.
Of course this means the hipsters will have to abandon anything related to cycling and find a new non-mainstream and currently dorky fashion statement. I'm thinking maybe stamp collecting or curling will be the next big thing.
This takes it to a whole new level. When The Gap starts using bicycle parts to sell suburban leisure wear to the masses, then cycling as a fashion statement has clearly hit the mega-mainstream. Or maybe jumped the shark.
Of course this means the hipsters will have to abandon anything related to cycling and find a new non-mainstream and currently dorky fashion statement. I'm thinking maybe stamp collecting or curling will be the next big thing.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Seattle Randonneurs Baker Lake 400
This weekend I rode Seattle Randonneur's Baker Lake 400k, and while my ride was generally uneventful in the best sort of way, it was a good reminder that riding a bike on busy roads in the dark and the pouring rain, while wrung out physically and mentally can be a risky business. Even under the best of conditions, there's a lot that can go wrong on a 250 mile bike ride. I know of three people who crashed during yesterday's ride, and I wouldn't be surprised to hear about others given the conditions. Luckily, of the crashes I heard about nobody was seriously injured.
The ride didn't start out dark, wet and forbidding. It was actually looking pretty nice when we all gathered at Mark's house in Woodinville for the 6:00am start. According the forecast, we had about 12 hours before the rain would set in. For once, the forecast was dead-on accurate.
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| Route Map |
The course covered some really beautiful roads from Woodinville, up through the cascade foothills to Baker Lake and back again. As the elevation profile shows, there was a lot of fairly flat riding on this course, but with a bump in the middle that sort of knocks the starch out of you, especially coming 115 miles into the ride.
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| Elevation profile |
My plan was to ride with the Charly Miller team from the start, but knowing my fitness still isn't quite back to where it was, I figured I'd probably drop off when we got to the big climb up to Baker Lake. Apparently I waaay overestimated my abilities. There was a lead group of about 12, including four of the Charly Miller team that took off like carbon fiber bats out of hell from the start. They were flying. I knew I'd regret it if I tried to keep up that pace, so I dropped off the back about a half hour into the ride. I found myself in a familiar place, in the no-man's land between the lead group and everyone else.
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| "God light" over Snohomish |
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| Cruising the Centennial trail |
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| Lonesome roads with Mt. Baker in the distance |
Luckily I enjoy riding alone, because I was by myself for the next 50 miles or so until a small group overtook me about half way between Arlington and Darrington.
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| The cavalry arrives |
The group lost some members off the back, and gained a couple more that had fallen off the back of the lead group, but most of the group stayed together for the rest of the ride.
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| Me and Paul approaching Baker Lake |
The route had a short out-and-back section from Concrete up to Baker Lake and back. As we approached Baker Lake, the lead riders were heading back the other way. I saw the Charly Miller crew about a mile from the turn-around point, so I cheered them on and tried to quickly whip out my camera before they were gone. Unfortunately this is all I got:
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| The Charly Miller crew riding toward Paris |
Kole, Vinnie, Jennifer and some other SiR volunteers were waiting for us at the Baker Lake control with hot soup, sandwiches, boiled potatoes and a truck load of other goodies. For some strange reason boiled potatoes were the thing that most hit the spot. I ate three there and stuffed a couple more in my bag for road food.
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| Bikes and backhoes at the Baker Lake control |
The route from Baker Lake back to the start was deeper into the foothills than the first half of the route had been. That meant two things: more hills and more likelihood of rain. But before the rain and hills started, we enjoyed a nice stretch along the Skagit River from Concrete to Clear Lake on the South Skagit Highway and even saw our shadows a couple times.
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| Skagit Valley Highway outside Concrete |
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| Just before the rain started falling |
Around Arlington the rain started falling steadily and it was getting dark. We only had 50 miles to go, but the last 50 miles of 250 has a way of seeming a bit longer than the first 50 miles. I read Sunday morning that it rained just under an inch at SeaTac between 7:00 pm and midnight on Saturday. I’m guessing it rained more than that where we were. It was the kind of rain that comes down in sheets and creates small rivers in the road. Amazingly I was feeling pretty good through it all. Yes, I was looking forward to being done with the ride and getting out of the rain, but I was feeling comfortable on the bike and still had some strength in my legs. So, our group rolled on through the rolling hills, darkness and sheets of rain until eventually we were climbing the final hill (a steep MF, that one) up to Mark’s house. They had the holy trinity of dry towels, hot food and cold beer waiting for us at the finish. It was 10:50 pm.
My wrist was a bit sore at times during the ride, but then I could say the same about several other parts of my body. So, it seems like my recovery from the FOOSH is coming along pretty well. The rest of my body still needs some work if I expect to rejoin the Charly Miller team in Paris. I’m looking to the Tahuya Hills 600k in three weeks as the test that tells me whether I’m back on target for that big fat goal.
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