Three Volcanoes 300k Pre-ride: Better than Perfect

Mt. Adams from Babyshoe Pass

Can a bike ride be too perfect? I was mulling over this question, and the nature of perfection in general (gettin' all filosofical and shit) as I did the pre-ride for the Seattle Randonneurs Three Volcanoes 300k last Saturday.

Lonely Roads - Approaching Elk Summit

The Three Volcanoes 300k has everything I love in a good long bike ride. The roads are as remote and car-free as anything you could hope for in this part of the world. Views of snow capped volcanoes and sparkling streams abound. A variety of climbs, some short and steep, some long and relentless, others with occasional rest stops as they step up in gentle stages keep you physically challenged. Thrilling winding descents pay you back (plus interest) for your sweaty investment in the climbs. Mossy old massive Douglas firs keep you shaded and cool when the sun comes out.

Descent from Babyshoe Pass

But in addition to the things I love in a ride, the 3 Vs also throws some challenges at you. About 10 miles of unpaved road as you climb up and over the summit of Babyshoe pass is rutted and dusty. 9% grades with loose gravel over nasty washboard make it tough to keep traction. On the unpaved descent from Babyshoe, the loose gravel gets deep enough in places to make a skinny-tired road bikes whimper. Occasional cracks and potholes in the paved sections hide in shade and threaten to swallow your front wheel whole if you don't pay attention.

Mt. St. Helens from Near Elk Summit

As I was struggling with the climb over Babyshoe pass I was thinking about how without the dusty unpaved 10 miles, this ride would be so perfect as to be downright boring. It would be like a rose without thorns. Like a big wad of cotton candy dipped in hot fudge, way too sweet to stomach. But there was Babyshoe pass with its deceptively innocent sounding name. The wasabi on the sushi. The olive in the Martini.

It's the the 3 V's imperfections that make it a perfect ride.

Wait a second... That makes no sense at all. Perhaps I should stick with randonneuring. My filosofer skillz aren't so great.

Anyway, whether you call it perfect, or perfectly imperfect, or just fabulously flawed (like most of my favorite people), I have to say that the Three Volcanoes 300k was among my favorite bike rides ever.

SIR Spring 600k: Put a Forks in it

Welcome to Olympic National Park

It was on the road between Forks and La Push that I first noticed the moon. It was last Saturday night, and I was about 380 kilometers into the Seattle Randonneurs’ Spring 600k. The night was dark with few stars visible, the only light for miles coming from my trusty headlight and taillight and the running lights of Chris Cullum, my Canadian riding partner who I had been riding with off and on for the past 300 kilometers. Suddenly there it was: the full* moon shining through a gap in the clouds like a saucer of vanilla flavored Ensure Plus®. Then it all clicked in my head (by this point nearly as cloudy as the night we had been riding through). The full moon… The nearby town of Forks… Vampires! Werewolves! What was I doing out here!? I didn’t actually read any of the Twilight saga, but I saw the movies (well, part of the first one anyway)! I know what evil, wrapped in sparkly skin and designer jeans lurks in this damp corner of Washington state!

Ward and Gary on the road near Matlock

A few minutes later the wave of panic passed as I realized that even if vampires were real, they would probably do their best to stay away from Forks. Way too many Twifans hanging around these days. A more well-founded panic returned a little while later as I realized that it was Saturday night and Forks was the only town around with a bar. It was rapidly approaching the drunk driver witching hour, not a good time to be on a bicycle.

In spite of vampires, werewolves, drunk drivers, bad convenience store sandwiches, occasional headwinds and lots of lactate in my thigh muscles, I managed to complete the SIR 600k brevet last weekend. It was an incredibly beautiful route that circumnavigated the Olympic mountain range in a huge clockwise lumpy circle beginning and ending at the ferry dock in Kingston.

Shadow riders

Riding a single speed bike throughout the SR series this year has often made it difficult to find well-matched riding partners, but this time I managed to ride with others at a very compatible pace for about half of the distance. Chris in particular turned out to be an excellent riding partner, happily pulling me through endless rolling hills.

The view from Kalaloch

Every long brevet has it's warts and imperfections, but I really can't think of much about which to complain. Yes, there was a brief rain shower or two. But come on, we were riding through miles of Pacific Northwest rainforest in early June! What do you want? Maybe that last stretch of highway 104 from 101 to Kingston with the hills that took a couple of cheap shots at me when I was down on the ground? But that's not the hills' fault. They were there long before we decided to ride our brevet and they'll be there long after my trusty Trek has turned to dust and returned to the earth. Honestly I have to say this was my favorite 600k yet, and maybe my favorite brevet ever.

Some highlights for me:

• The excellent homemade chocolate chip cookies at the Hood Canal control (Jennifer's recipe and Kole's execution).





It was steeper than it looks, honest



• The lovely rolling, car-free back roads between Matlock and Humptulips, especially that steep dirt section that forced me to use my "granny gear" (i.e. get off and walk).


• Okay, this is for real: In the Matlock General Store the clerk found $40 on the floor and asked if it was someone in our group who had lost it. None of the group I was with thought it was ours. Then at the very next stop in Humptulips, 45 miles down the road, as I was walking to the cash register there on the floor at my feet... two crisp $20 bills. They weren't mine. I asked if anyone in my group had dropped them, but none of us had even come in with two twenties. Weird. I left them with the cashier and walked out wondering if the same $40 would be following us all the way around the Olympic peninsula.


• Chris and I helping a woman with a flat tire along 101. I'm convinced that woman would still be there trying to figure out how to fix that flat if we hadn't stopped (not exactly a whiz bike mechanic). She said she was riding to San Francisco. She'll either develop some bike mechanical skills along the way or continue to depend on the kindness of strangers.





"Dinner" at Kalaloch



• Celebrating the first real view of the ocean at Kalaloch with a dish of soft-serve ice cream.





Leaving Forks at 2:30 AM



• Making the most of the Forks control by stopping there not once but twice. The first time for an excellent bowl of homemade chicken soup to fortify me for the out-and-back to La Push. Then for a fiery bowl of chili and a couple hours of sleep before setting off again at 2:30 AM for last third of the route.


• The quiet and lonely slog from Forks up to the control at mile marker 218.7 in the wee hours (Chris and I had parted ways at Forks and from there on I rode alone). Perhaps I saw three cars in an hour and a half. A great time for introspection and loud off-key singing.


• But even better was the oasis at mile marker 218.7 with hot chicken soup and friendly faces.





Just before the sunrise on Lake Crescent



• Watching the black night turn to grey daylight as I rode along the shores of Lake Crescent.
• East Bank Rd!





Dungeness Spit from the stone bench



• Sitting on the stone bench overlooking the Dungeness spit and reveling in the knowledge that there was little between me and Kingston that could keep me from finishing the ride (but naively unaware of the hills on highway 104 I had yet to ride).


• The feeling of rolling into Kingston shortly after noon having just finished the brevet and a complete SR series on a single speed bike, not too mention it being my second fastest 600k ever. Of course, my spirits fell quickly when I realized I still needed to walk up a flight of stairs to the second floor motel room to get my card signed.

This was really a great ride for me from beginning to end. I felt strong the whole way and was rarely bothered by aches and pains. My bike worked well and nimbly avoided any broken glass and other sharp road debris that conspired to deflate my tires. The route was one I've wanted to ride ever since I started randonneuring. There's something about the remoteness and the idea of going all the way around an entire range of mountains that inspired me. I rode with some good riding partners who shared the hard work, some for a few minutes, others for hundreds of kilometers. Thanks to Chris, John, Gary, Ward and the others I rode with briefly. Most importantly, thanks to Kole and Jennifer, and the many other SIR volunteers for putting on an outstanding event.

*Okay, it wasn’t really officially a full moon until the 5th, but three days away from a full moon looks pretty darn full.

SIR Spring 400k: The Ferry Waits for No Man

The running lights of the last ferry of the night may have still been visible from the ferry dock as I pulled into the final contrôle of SIR's Spring 400k brevet. I didn't bother looking for the ferry because I knew I had missed it and besides, there was a slice of pizza and a cold beer with my name on it at the contrôle. My card was signed at 11:53 PM. The ferry had sailed at 11:40 PM. For the most part I rode as fast as I had hoped to ride, but I just dawdled a bit too much at a couple of the contrôles.

We couldn't have asked for a better day to spend riding hither and thither. It was 48 degrees when I left the house in the morning and it got into the low 80's by late afternoon. The winds out of the NE meant we had tailwinds for much of the morning and early afternoon until the route turned around in Raymond and headed back North. On the trip back north, the wind wasn't quite as helpful. It slowed things down a bit, but really not as much as I had feared.

On the Ferry

A crowd of about 55 turned out, and like two years ago when we rode the same route in similar conditions, many were looking to do a time (that's randospeak for "ride really fast"). Not two miles into the ride I realized that I'd have no hope of staying with any fast groups. The tailwinds and early ride adrenaline were pushing many along at 25 mph. That had me spinning my 68 gear inches of single speed goodness at over 120 rpm. It was too early and I hadn't had enough coffee for that sort of thing, so I let the faster groups fly on by and I drifted toward the back of the pack.

 Leaving Bremerton and being left behind

Of course, sometimes getting left behind is a good thing. For instance, not long after the picture above was taken, two of the riders in that group ahead touched wheels and the guy in back went down hard. If I had been in that pace line, I might have been taken down too. I quickly stopped along with a couple of others to help out. The rider who had crashed was still on the ground and looking pretty rattled when I got there. He had road rash on his face (ouch!) and knees that I could see but he seemed to be coherent and otherwise intact. Luckily one of the other riders who had stopped was Andy Spier, a retired fire fighter with mad EMT skillz. We got the rider and bike out of the road quickly as cars were still flying by at 60 mph, and Andy checked for serious injuries. After a few minutes we concluded that he had nothing more than bumps, scrapes and bruises and his bike seemed rideable, so we cancelled the 911 call and soon everyone was on the road again.

Hugh and Dave

In the rolling hills between Bremerton and Shelton I'd team up briefly with other riders, but it never lasted more than a few minutes. I'd catch up on the climbs and then the tailwinds would whisk them away as we descended to the next roller. Clearly the rhythms of a single speed on a windy day don't fit well with the rhythms of geared bikes. So, I quickly settled into my own rhythm and accepted the fact that I'd be spending much of the day alone.

Tailwinds

The morning was beautiful and the riding was easy. Even though I wasn't able to find a group that I could ride with, the tailwinds were still pushing me along at a good pace. Being alone allowed me to enjoy the scenery, which beats staring at the wheel in front of me on such a lovely day.

Blue Slough Road

Panda with gratuitous Ibex product placement

The road to Westport

On a typical brevet, riders tend to get scattered across the route like a one-dimensional version of the expanding universe. The start is the big bang and once into the ride, a rider's velocity relative to you is a function of how far away they are from you. The riders a quarter of a mile ahead are moving away from you ever so slowly while the ones way out there at the front are leaving you in their dust at what might as well be approaching the speed of light. As a result, once you've settled into your pace you don't have many close encounters with other celestial objects (a.k.a. riders) because they're all moving away from you.

On this ride I was finding that a single speed bike throws a monkey wrench in my cosmological model of brevets. The gearing of a single speed bike essentially limits your top-end speed like a governor (this kind of governor, not that kind), while on a geared bike your top speed is usually limited only by your ability to convert Clif Bars into watts. Hence the different rhythms that I mentioned earlier. As a result I was finding that even though I was riding alone, I was seeing a lot of other riders on the course as I'd pass them on a climb and then later they'd pass me on the flats. I had a lot of 15 second conversations "in passing" (literally).

I doubt that any of my observations are going to cause Einstein to turn in his grave, but at least it gave me something to ponder as I rode.

I got to the contrôle at Westport, a little over 100 miles into the ride, around 1:30. I was still feeling good so I decided to not stay for long. I quickly scarfed a sandwich and got on my way again eager to keep riding the tailwinds as long as they'd last.

Finally, the ocean

From Westport to Raymond is only 30-some miles, but along that road I encountered one of the temporal anomalies that always pop up somewhere during a long brevet. Time stood still. I'd pedal for what seemed to be hours, and my cycle computer would register the passing of only two, maybe three minutes. I wasn't able to come up with a cosmological model that adequately explains the temporal distortion between Westport and Raymond, but I know it's real.

The never-ending road to Raymond

After Raymond, the route heads north up highway 101 and goes over a series of hills. I've ridden this stretch of road a few times now and I've decided to name it Sisyphus Lane. The hills are so similar that it really feels like you ride up and down the same hill over and over again.

Near Elma

Maximum security prison near Shelton with me happy to be on the outside

The trip from Raymond to Potlatch was long and I was starting to feel a little like I was dragging an anchor behind me. My attitude was good, but my legs definitely didn't have quite the snap to them that they had had in the morning. My speed kept dropping off and might have dropped to zero if I hadn't encountered Brad Hawkins. We were approaching Potlatch State Park as the sun was setting and we worked together and seemed to give each other a little boost as we knocked off that last few miles. Brad burst into song at the sight of the contrôle.

Brad pulling me into Potlatch

The Potlatch contrôle run by Shane and his wife was the best setup I have yet to encounter on an SIR brevet. And that's saying something. They were making fresh homemade french fries (with lots of salt - yum),  soup, an espresso machine... In retrospect, I might have made that last ferry if I had just filled my bottles at the contrôle, grabbed a couple of cookies and got back on the road. But it was far too easy to stay and enjoy the party. I was there for over half an hour.

 

Potlatch - best contrôle EVER!

By the time I pulled out of Potlatch I knew I had no chance of catching the ferry so I took my time and savored the last leg. It was soon dark and the roads were becoming emptier with each mile. Deep into the Old Belfair Highway, with no street lights or house lights, and a moonless sky I could hear a chorus of coyotes not far from the road, yipping and howling like frat boys at spring break. Times like this are why I love randonneuring.

As you've already gathered from the beginning of this post, I made it to the finish eventually but missed the last ferry of the night. I actually got a decent few hours of sleep sharing a room with three other randonneurs. The ferry ride and the ride home from the ferry dock the next morning were glorious. It was another beautiful day, and though it was a little painful to be back on the bike so soon, I was happy to be heading for home after such a great adventure.

400k Plans and Grant's in Town

The sun is shining, the birds are out doing their cute little birdy things and rando season is in full swing. This weekend in rando-land, I’ll be riding the SIR Spring 400k. This 400k brevet will follow a fairly flat route. It leaves from Bremerton and heads out to Westport on the coast via Shelton and Cosmopolis. From Westport we head south along the coast to Raymond and then turn north on highway 101 and other side roads up to Potlatch State Park on Hood Canal’s funny bone. From Potlatch, it’s back to Bremerton pretty much the same way we came in the morning but in reverse.

SIR Spring 400k Route on Bike Route Toaster

I rode this same route two years ago, and with such a flat route and good weather quite a few Seattle Randonneurs were able to set a personal best for a 400k, myself included. This year I’ll be riding my single speed so I have no plans to set any new records, personal or otherwise. I do have a goal for the ride, but it’s going to be long shot. The last ferry from Bremerton to Seattle leaves at 11:40pm. My goal is to be on that last ferry. That means finishing the ride in about 16 hours and 30 minutes. That’s a huge stretch for me on a single speed bike. I can only spin those cranks so fast, so the key will be minimizing my time off the bike. I think if I keep my time off the bike to less than 45 minutes, then I’ve got a shot at making the ferry. But it’s amazing how easy it is to use up 45 minutes over the course of a 400k ride.

Luckily it’s not the end of the world if I don’t make it. SIR will have a room or two at the finish so there will be a warm place to nap until the ferries start running again on Sunday morning. Chances are good I’ll be sharing a room with a few smelly, snoring randonneurs Saturday night.

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By the way, to get inspired for the 400k I might try to stop by Free Range Cycles in Fremont on Friday evening to see Grant Peterson talking about double top tubes, flat pedals, long quill stems or whatever it is that he'll be talking about. Grant is in Seattle promoting his new book, Just Ride: A Radically Practical Guide to Riding Your Bike. I don't agree with some of Grant's opinions and design choices, but I definitely plan on reading his book, and I have great respect and appreciation for the "radically practical" influence he has had on all things bicycling over the years. As a matter of fact, if I were to build a momument to the founding fathers of practical cycling, it would probably include the oversized likenesses of Grant Peterson, Eben Weiss and the late Sheldon Brown carved into a mountain side, like three-fourths of Mt. Rushmore but with faces only a bike nerd would recognize.

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.

What a Difference a Week Can Make

Yesterday the Seattle Randonneurs Spring 300k brevet was held on what turned out to be a beautiful spring day. There were some clouds here and there, but there was also a fair amount of sunshine, and the temperatures were warm enough to entice a few riders to show off their blindingly pale arms and legs.

I wasn't riding in this event. No, I was one of the martyrs who made the sacrifice to the velo weather gods (their names are Campagnolo and Shimano) last weekend by attempting to preride the route in a blizzard. But I was glad to do it to assure perfect weather for yesterday's ride.

Just so I could get a little riding in this weekend, I rode my bike up to Machias where I was helping to man the penultimate control on the 300k. I have to admit I was startled when I looked over and saw this stranger next to me as I was approaching Snohomish.

I had a great time hanging out at Machias and seeing a lot of my fellow Seattle randonneurs as they came through the control. The perspective you get hanging out in a control and watching everyone flow through is so different than what you experience from the saddle of your bike in the midst of the pack of a long brevet. Often when I ride a brevet, I'll see everyone at the start for a few minutes, but we quickly scatter ourselves across the field and then it's not unusual for me to see only a handful of other riders for the rest of the ride. Hanging out at a control is sort of like seeing that MRI slice through the brain of the entire rando club. You can clearly see the similarities and differences between the "fast boys" (apologies for being sexist, but they were all boys) who come blazing through on their carbon fiber race bikes (except Jan of course), and the mid-pack crowd, all smiles and getting their money's worth out of the ride. Unfortunately I had to leave before the lantern rouge crowd came through, but I bet most of them were smiling too since they were getting the most ride for their money.

Even though I hadn't ridden nearly as far as the brevet riders, my ride home felt like the end of an epic journey. I was alone on mostly empty roads.

As the sun set and I rode on into the night, it was cool but I was comfortable without having to put on every piece of clothing I had with me. It reminded me of so many other nights riding brevets as I rode on lonesome roads alone from daytime into night. That experience has always been one of my favorites of randonneuring. Ah, what a difference a week can make.

SIR Spring 300k Pre-ride: Riding in a Winter Wonderland

My 2012 Randonneuring season is off to an ignominious start. Yesterday morning I set out bright and early to meet Gary and Dave, the organizers of the Seattle Randonneurs spring 300k, and Tom and Bill who will be helping to run the event. We were planning to pre-ride the route before next Saturday's official event.

With a steady rain falling and a temperature of about 35 degrees we sat around for a few minutes talking about whether it might be prudent to wait until Sunday to do the pre-ride. But the forecast for Sunday wasn't any better, so we rode off into dark wet streets at 5:30am. As we rolled through Lake City, Bothell and Woodinville the rain never let up an iota. Then near Cottage Lake we came upon a road closed sign due to a flooded roadway ahead. Had we been normal intelligent people rather than randonneurs, we might have taken the flooded road along with the mixed rain and snow falling from the sky as an omen or maybe even just a good excuse to go home and go back to bed. But we were convinced that the clouds would part at any minute and the temperature would rise, so we detoured around the flood and pressed on.

By the time we got to Monroe, Gary had come to his senses and decided he was going to grab a cup of coffee and then catch a bus for home. The rest of us didn't share Gary's good judgement (possibly due to hypothermia) so we decided to keep riding.

From Monroe to Granite Falls the route leaves civilization and gets into the Cascade foothills. The route never got much higher than 500' above sea level, but that was enough elevation to turn the mixed rain and snow into just plain snow. And then heavy snow. Then the snow started to accumulate on the road. By the time we were five miles away from Granite Falls it had become obvious to me that continuing the ride was not just plain stupid, but it was "rando stupid." My feet were soaked and aching cold, my hands were like lifeless stumps of numbness. As long as I kept peddling my core temperature stayed warm enough, but I didn't want to think about what might have happened if one of us got a flat tire and had to try to fix it with numb frozen hands. The last five miles to Granite Falls rank up there with some of my all time most miserable randonneuring experiences, and that's saying something.

Of course once safely in a coffee shop in Granite Falls, the misery quickly melted away into a puddle on the floor. I spent a few minutes thinking about whether I would try to ride home or call Sarah for a ride, but I didn't for a second consider riding the rest of the 300k. Luckily Sarah was happy to come get me, otherwise I might still be in that coffee shop in Granite Falls.

Hopefully we'll have better weather next weekend for the actual event. It's hard to imagine how it could be worse. I'll probably be working at one of the controls and I'll make sure we have hot drinks ready for everyone who comes by.

I successfully rode the pre-ride for the SIR 200k a couple of weeks ago so I'm now batting .500 for the 2012 rando season. Not a great start. I blame climate change.

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!

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.

Yakima 400k Route

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.

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.