On Randonneuring and Time

Wet pavement, gray skies, pickup trucks and single-wides...

March: In like a lion, out like a soggy, hypothermic ruminant. That’s what we say up here in Seattle anyway. And the saying was dead-on accurate on Saturday as I rode the Seattle Randonneurs 300k. The ride started in the dark with a cold hard rain falling, and though the sun came up an hour or so into the ride, it was pretty hard to tell.

I spent the first half of the ride from Tacoma to Centralia and back up to Olympia riding with Todd Sahl and Andy Ziegler. Todd and Andy are strong riders, nice guys and great riding partners, but together we managed to sort of bungle our way through the first 100 kilometers.

First we missed a turn on our way out of Tacoma, venturing a couple miles off course. After a couple of sessions of head scratching and smart phone consulting we figured out where we were and got ourselves back on the route.

Then a couple hours later Andy got a flat tire. Andy’s hands were too cold and numb to deal with fixing the flat so Todd and I got to work on it. We got the new tube in and pumped up and then the valve stem of the new tube came apart. Not a big deal, these things happen… However, while Todd and I were fumbling with the tire in the cold rain, Andy was going hypothermic. He was shivering uncontrollably and literally turning a pale shade of gray. Luckily there was an open Subway sandwich shop close by (isn’t that always the case?) so we decided to take our wheel in with us and fumble around with it in a slightly warmer environment. Andy had more clothes with him so he added dry layers while Todd and I fixed his flat for the second time. Eventually with mechanical issues sorted out and core temperatures back to life-sustaining levels we were able to get back on the road.

By this point we were only about 50 km into the ride and well behind all of the other riders but we rode hard to make up lost time and to stay warm. We were making such good time (thanks in part to a tailwind) that by the time we got to Olympia, about half way through the ride, we had caught up with the most of the other riders.

At the Blue Heron bakery in Olympia I had a yummy Spinach and Ricotta croissant and would have had five more if it hadn't been the last one. I was a bit worried about staying too long because I knew my core temp would drop quickly and it would take a long time to warm up again if I didn't get moving quickly. Also, my legs were pretty cooked from keeping up with Todd and Andy in tailwinds for much of the morning. I was on my single speed bike and they were both fully geared which meant a lot of time with them in their big gears pedaling along casually at 25 mph while I was spinning like an eggbeater on speed. Todd and Andy wanted to stay for a while to have some coffee, so I told them I was going to take off at my own pace and see them down the road a ways when they caught up.

That was the last I saw of Andy and Todd other than a brief fly-by on the out-and-back section out to Hoodsport. Apparently Andy had had another flat that kept them from catching up to me. So I was mostly alone for the last 90 miles of the ride.

The weather never really cleared up for the rest of the day, but at least it went from constant rain to intermittent drizzly showers. The sun even managed to peek through the clouds a time or two as I meandered along the shore of Hood Canal on highway 106.

Hood Canal from Hwy 106

I spent a lot of that alone time thinking about the relationship between Randonneurs and time. Someday, thousands of years from now, the language of the Randonneur will have adapted to the Randonneur's environment similarly to how the Inuit languages have adapted to the Inuit's environment. They say Eskimos have [insert made up number here] words for snow (cough, cough, urban legend, cough). Perhaps Randonneurs will develop a rich language to describe the many various flavors of the passage of time experienced while pedaling a bike miles from nowhere.

There's the time left behind you on the road you've already traveled, limp and empty, like a discarded banana peel, its usefulness completely depleted.

And the time that lies before you when you're all alone, the sun is setting and you're not even close enough to the finish to start counting the miles yet. That time flows toward you like dark cold molasses oozing down a 1% slope. And then a headwind comes up and the slope goes from 1% to 0%. The molasses is still flowing out in all directions, but only imperceptibly so.

Time standing still

Then there's the time that swirls around you like a dust devil on a scorching day, while you're at the control but trying to get in and out quickly so you can stay with a fast group. "Fill the bottles, get the card signed, put on sunscreen, get some food for the next leg..." "Oh crap, there goes the group and I still need to pee!"

Of course there will be a special word for the Randonneur's version of Zeno's dichotomy paradox. I've experienced this one many times... "I'm moving 10 mph, and I'm 10 miles from the pass. I'll be there in an hour." Then a little later, "Now I'm moving 8 mph and I'm still 8 miles from the pass. Just one more hour..." Then a little later, "6 more miles to the pass and I'm rolling at..." (looks at speedometer and groans).

Or maybe we'll just develop a rich and complex language to describe saddle sores.

Tacoma is a lot of things, but it ain't Purdy

Anyway, my afternoon alone was long and quiet but really pretty pleasant. I was riding at a more comfortable pace but still making decent time, or at least decent enough to be able to finish before the sun had gone down. As I approached the Tacoma narrows bridge, the rain had stopped for long enough to tempt me into taking off my rain coat. And then as soon as I was across the bridge the rain started again (There will someday be a Rando word for that too).

A brief sun break as I approach the narrows bridge

This was my longest ride to date on a single speed, and I finished feeling purdy good. It seems like the 400k is doable, though I have to keep in mind that this 300k was an extremely flat route.

Next weekend is the flèche. Randos already have their own word for that.