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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

"God light" over Snohomish

Cruising the Centennial trail

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.

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.

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:

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.

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.

Skagit Valley Highway outside Concrete

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.

SIR Spring 400k

It seems to me that in the Super Randonneur series of brevets (200k, 300k, 400k, and 600k) the biggest step up in difficulty is from the 300k to the 400k. I'm not sure why exactly. Maybe it's because the 400k is the first distance which requires some night riding for all but the very fastest riders. Or maybe because it's the longest distance most Randonneurs do without a sleep stop. It may be because there's just something magical about 400 kilometers (249 miles) and what it does to your body. Whatever it is, I've now experienced it twice and there's no doubt in my mind that the step from 300k to 400k is like going from walking around the block to running a marathon.

On Saturday SiR held their 2010 Spring series 400k. The course was flat by SiR standards with about 7,000 ft of climbing in the entire route. The weather forecast was excellent, with no rain expected and temps in the 50s and 60s, winds would be light. This is the kind of route and forecast that gets a lot of Randonneurs thinking about setting a personal best time for a 400k.


Leaving Seattle behind on the 6:00am ferry

The ride started in Bremerton at 7:00am, so the 6:00am ferry from Seattle was loaded with dozens of bikes and eager randonneurs. On the way over, a lot of people were talking about the fact that the last ferry from Bremerton to Seattle would be at 11:40pm. If you miss that one, you have to wait until 6:20 the next morning. This fact tossed a little more fuel on the fast ride fire. If you finish the ride in about 16 1/2 hours, you can make that last ferry. If not, you share a hotel room with a half dozen other smelly randonneurs in conditions slightly better than a slave ship. 16 1/2 hours for a 400k is pretty darn fast. But... for quite a few, with good weather and a flat course, it's within reach.


Bikes on the ferry

We congregated at the Starbucks in Bremerton as Joe Llona gave the traditional pre-ride pep talk, and then we headed out a few minutes after 7:00. The route would take us out to the coast at Westport, then south to Raymond via 105, and then back North through rolling hills along 101. It followed back roads up to Potlatch state park on Hood Canal and then back to Bremerton.

Since a lot of people were trying to make good time, the name of the game at the start was to find the right group to ride with. On a long flat ride like this one, traveling with a group is much easier than going it alone. Of course, if you find a group that's too slow you'll miss the ferry, and if you find one that's too fast, you end up getting spit out the back in the middle of nowhere, completely cooked and forced to limp in the rest of the way alone. I chose the latter option.


Struggling to stay on the freight train

A few miles out of Bremerton I settled into a long pace line including Mike McHale and several other big strong oxes. On a course that doesn't have much climbing the big guys are always fast. Allen deCamp was also in this pace line. Allen is a strong rider, but like me is built more for the hills than this flat freight train riding. I think we both knew we were going to get worked.


Allen over my shoulder

As the group worked it's way out toward the coast through Shelton, Montesano, Cosmopolis, I was doing all I could to just stay at the back of the line. One of the golden rules of long distance cycling is to avoid letting your heart rate get into "the red zone." Too much time in the red zone and you're cooked. Recovery takes a long time. As we were approaching Westport, I kept falling off the back of the line and then sprinting like mad to catch up again. Every one of those sprints was bringing me closer to the inevitable crash and burn. Finally about two miles from Westport, I fell off the back and decided to let them go. By this point, it was already too late. I was completely cooked. The paceline had been doing better than 20 mph into a head wind. Now on my own, I could barely manage 15 mph. The group was out of sight within a couple of minutes.


This is what I look like when I'm completely cooked

After sitting for a few minutes in Westport and having a sandwich and some other salt delivery mechanisms, I headed off down the coast toward Raymond by myself. With the change in direction, the winds had become favorable. Still even with a tailwind, I was so wrung out that I could barely do 17mph. The paceline I was with before must have been doing 25 mph through this section. But I was happy to be traveling my own comfortable pace.


I took this lovely picture of the guardrail to prove I made it to the coast

Somewhere on the stretch between Westport and Raymond, Michael Gray, Mark Roerhig, and Peter Rankin caught up with me. I rode with them for a while, but quickly realized that I was still too spent to do anything but ride my own pitiful pace, so I dropped off the back once again.


I rode with Michael, Mark and Peter briefly on the way to Raymond

Then a couple miles outside of Raymond I came upon Allen de Camp beside the road with a flat tire. Allen was in the same condition I had been in about an hour back. He had hung on to the Mike McHale freight train for a while longer than I had managed, but also eventually got chewed up and spit out the back. I figured Allen would be the perfect riding partner since at this point neither of us had any loftier goal than to just finish the ride. Allen and I pedaled together at a pitiful pace into Raymond.

At the convenience store in Raymond we saw Michael, Mark, and Peter just about to head out, and then a few minutes later as we were about ready to get back on the road, another group pulled in made up of Bob Brudvik, Robin Pieper, Jan Acuff, Erik Anderson and Rick (?). We chatted briefly and then Allen and I got on the road figuring the group would catch up to us soon enough.

From Raymond we headed North on hwy 101 up and down hills that all looked exactly the same. It was like ground hog day. Climb for twenty minutes, descend down the back side for a couple minutes, repeat. On about the fourth or fifth hill, the group that we saw back in Raymond caught up to us. Neither Allen nor I were completely recovered yet but we decided to join the group so we could get through the rest of the ride a bit faster. At first it felt like a repeat of the too fast freight train from earlier in the day, but eventually we got our legs back and started enjoying the group thang again.


The group I finished with, near Elma

After Elma, the route headed North on a beautiful back road with gentle rollers which was definitely my favorite part of the ride. With very little traffic, we got into a double paceline and chatted and peddle at a comfortable but still fairly quick pace. The sun was getting low in the sky and the light was beautiful. The highlight of this part of the ride for me was riding by the maximum security prison near Shelton. I've never seen so much razor wire in my life. Not that I've ever really considered a life of crime, but that place is enough to keep you living right. As we rejoined 101 again, it was getting dusky so we turned on lights and rode the last couple miles up to Potlatch State Park on Hood Canal.

Joe Llona was at Potlatch with his son and a nice spread of typical Rando food. A cup of noodles was exactly what I needed and Joe had it. The group relaxed and kicked back for a few minutes as we did the math on what we had remaining. We were about 39 miles from the end, and it was a little after 8:00pm. All we had to do was ride 15 mph to make it back to Bremerton with plenty of time to catch the 11:40 ferry. So we rolled out as the last light was fading away with little pressure and a few easy miles remaining.

The last part of the ride was fun. I love riding in the dark. Somehow the aches and pains of a long ride seem to diminish once the sun sets. Again we were in a double pace line and traffic was light. We chatted and dreamt about greasy, salty meals as the final miles ticked by.


Queuing up for the last ferry back to Seattle

We pulled into the finish at the hotel in Bremerton a little before 11:00pm. We had plenty of time for some pizza and a beer before getting on the 11:40 ferry. I think several of us set personal best times for a 400k on that ride. More importantly, I did some good learning on how hard I can push myself before it all falls apart. And I also learned that I can push myself over the edge, and if I take some time, eat some food, get some fluids in me, I can even recover enough to finish the ride. Yep, another good day on the bike.

Pre-Blog Ride Reports - May '09

Originally emailed on Tue, May 19, 2009 at 11:30 PM under the Subject, May Ride Report (kinda long, sorry)

My original goal to ride a century ride in every month of 2009 has been completely subsumed by my new found obsession with the wacky sport of Randonneuring. I'm now shooting for the "Super Randonneur" designation for 2009. To be a Super Randonneur you just have to complete a series of four rides 200km, 300km, 400km and 600km in length. Each ride has to be completed within a set time limit. If you do that, you win the right to buy yourself a medal. Woo hoo! I already reported on the 200km and 300km rides in March and April. Last weekend I completed the 400km.

The 400km route started in Ephrata, about 180 miles east of Seattle. The route was to head North from Ephrata up the Methow Valley to Twisp, then over Loup Loup pass to Omak, down to Grand Coulee and then back along Banks Lake to Ephrata. I drove over to Ephrata after work Friday night, getting stuck in traffic on my way out of town. I got to the camp ground I was staying at about 10:30, so by the time I got situated it was pretty late. The ride started at 5am and I needed to ride the three miles into town to the start, so I got up at about 4am and geared up. It was a bit chilly, but I knew it was going to warm up so I dressed light and shivered on the ride into town.

About 60 of us set out from the Ephrata Travel Lodge. The first 20 miles were through rolling wheat fields and sage brush. The wheat was young, green and tender, and the sun was just coming up. The road climbed gently, gaining about 1,000' in the first 20 miles. The riders were starting to spread out, but at this point I was passing people and being passed as everyone was trying to settle into a pace that would work for 400km.

The first big challenge came about 20 miles in where the road turned to deep gravel with chunks of bigger sharp rocks. It was borderline unrideable and several riders actually got off and walked it. The gravel lasted for about 4 miles. The great thing about biking a road like that is how it makes pavement feel so wonderful when it's over. Somehow I came through without a flat and continued on on Hwy 2. Ten miles later I arrived at the first control at Farmer, a town with a grange hall, a silo, a cemetery, and apparently no living people. The ride organizers had some hot coffee there which made me very happy.

When I pulled out from Farmer, there was a group of riders about a quarter mile ahead moving pretty fast. For a minute I thought about going after them. As the gap increased, I decided to let them go since I would definitely have to burn some matches to catch them. So as the group ahead pulled off into the distance, I found myself completely alone. You can definitely travel faster as a group but there's something to be said for the peace and solitude of riding alone on lonesome roads with no cars. As it turned out, I wouldn't see any other bikers, other than way off in the distance, for the next 100 miles or so.

After Farmer the road continued to climb slowly up to McNeil Pass (which I'd never heard of before) at 3,011 feet. From McNeil pass, you get about six miles of screaming descent with grades up to 12%. It would have been easy to hit 50mph or more, but I kept it to about 45 not knowing what the turns were like.

The route then followed Hwy 97 along the Columbia River. The scenery was beautiful, but hwy 97 is a little too busy for my taste. I arrived at the control in Pateros at about 10:30. From Pateros I started up into the Methow Valley with a nice little tail wind to help me along. I pulled into the next control near Twisp at around 12:00. The organizers had sandwich makings and other snacks there. So much for "unsupported" riding. At this point I was still maintaining a pace that worked out to about 4 hours per 100k, which would get me to the finish at about 9:00pm. Ha. Folly.

Immediately after the Twisp control, the climb up Loup Loup pass starts. It never gets super steep, but after 10 miles of consistent 6% grade it gets old. It was also starting to get hot with temps in the 80s. Something about the climb and the temperature sort of messed up my 4 hr/100km pace. On the climb, I could see a group of three other riders keeping pace with me about a 1/4 mile back. These were the first other riders I had seen on the road since Farmer. The volunteer at the Twisp control told me it was about 12 miles to the summit, so the summit came 2 miles before I expected it. :) I'm sure he did that on purpose. After the summit, it's nearly 20 miles of coasting down into poor, depressing Okanogan and slightly more upscale Omak. The group of three caught me on the descent and we rode together into Omak.

From Omak the route goes through the most desolate stretch of the course. This is also where the 20 mph headwinds started. I decided to stick with the three riders that caught me on the descent. With the four of us taking turns breaking the wind, we averaged about 10 - 12 mph for the next two hours into the wind. At that point the wind started dropping off a little, and I was having some leg cramp problems, so I let the others go. It was still 20 miles to the next store and I was getting low on water, but I figured I could make it. I was really hurting on this stretch of road by myself. But just when I was about to pull over and take a nap beside the road, I came upon a "secret control!" The support volunteers had hot Cup o' Noodles and Ibuprophen which surely saved my life. Thanks guys!

After the secret control there was a brutal 8% - 10% climb for about a mile. But I was feeling so restored by the Cup o' Noodles and the vitamin I that it didn't bother me too much. And somewhere near the top, I came upon a big old full grown black bear about 20 ft off the side of the road. We stared at each other for a while and said our Hullos and I kept riding.

The desolate road finally came out on Hwy 155 near Nespelem where the route heads south, finally back in the direction of Ephrata. After an hour or so on Hwy 155, the sky and my mood started getting dark. Hwy 155 has these nasty expansion joints every 20 or so feet, so you're constantly riding along going, "bu-bump... bu-bump... bu-bump..." Eventually I pulled in to the final control in Electric City. I sat far longer than I should have at Electric City, probably a half hour at least which made getting back on the bike tough. The sun was down now so I turned on my lights, put on all the reflective gear I had and pulled on my arm warmers. I think it was about 8:30 when I left Electric City.

This is where I entered completely unexplored territory. E City was about 200 miles into the ride, and I had another 55 miles to go. This was my first time beyond 200 miles, and my first time doing some serious night riding. The next four hours were a bit of a blur. I was completely alone, not many cars, on very lonely stretches of road. I talked to myself a lot but I wasn't very interesting to talk to. Every few minutes I'd start thinking about how far I still had to go and how slowly I was moving and how easy it would be to just lay down on that nice little piece of pavement between the highway and the guardrail. And then I would tell myself, "come on, it's not that hard. All you have to do is just sit here and pedal." That became my mantra, "just sit here and pedal." Somehow 50 miles became 40, then 40 became 30... then eventually I found myself just sitting there and pedaling into Ephrata at 12:30am.

It turns out I was the 9th to finish out of the 60 who started. One group of 3 finished about 15 minutes before me and another group was 15 minutes before them. And one other solo rider finished TWO HOURS before me! The two groups ahead of me had both been together for the whole ride. So the first finisher and I were the only riders of the first nine who rode solo most of the way. The next rider behind me was nearly an hour back.

It was a very tough ride, but also incredibly beautiful with some wonderful cycling roads. The organizers did a fantastic job. I was hurting at the finish, but I had enough left in me to have a beer at the Travel Lodge and then pedal back to my campground three miles out of town.

By the way, sorry for not having pictures. I meant to bring a camera but forgot.

Some other stats:
Distance: 264.26 miles
Time: 17:56 in the saddle, 19:32 total
Climbing: 13,071
Dead rattlers on the road: 1