My Rando adventures.

SIR 600K: Taking the hard road home.

2011-06-21T01:33:00.002-07:00

First and foremost, many thanks to all the volunteers and organizers of this ride. We could not have done this without you. Thanks for taking the time and spending the weekend for us. I qualified for PBP thanks to you, and hopefully this time around, I will actually get to go to Paris! ;)

Prologue

I was pretty nervous before this ride. The 200, 300 and 400 had got me walking my bike at least once, and on my knees more than once. I was nervous in 2007, but I was quite nervous for this one. I didn't think I'd get any sleep, and the thought of Tahuya after 500 punishing kilometers was more than my mind could handle. I steeled myself for the first sleepless 600 of my Randonneuring life.

Sorry about all the annoying references to 2007. This is my second attempt at this route, and I kept thinking about how the present compared with the past.

Day 1: Start to Buckley

There was a nice group of riders at the start; some were laughing, and quite a few lost in thought. I was one of the latter. Mark Thomas gave me both of the wool jerseys that I ordered, and I stashed them in the drop bag. I was carrying Sustained Energy, in the vain hopes that it would be rocket fuel; I had enough - I thought - to last me until the overnight in Elma. The idea was to just get water and move on at the controls. We'd see how this would work out. I had more in the drop bag to last me day 2. I left all the rain gear at home.

After the usual pre-ride instructions, we set off into the slightly chilly morning. The weather forecast was spectacular, atoning for the dousing we got during the latter part of the 400k. I was dressed in shorts and a short-sleeve jersey, and though I was cold for the first little part of the ride, it wasn't uncomfortably cold. I found myself stopped at several lights with Jan Heine. Imagine that?! Even as we hit the hill leading to the International district, a significant proportion was still within eyesight, but I probably had the lights to thank for that.

This section of the route used to be my commute when I lived in Factoria and worked in Downtown Seattle, so I knew it pretty well. Several randonneurs whooped it up in the tunnel leading to the I-90 bridge. I found myself riding with Lynne from Portland (riding her first 600), and Mitchel Schoenfeld, but Mitchel quickly outpaced us on the bridge, and Lynne outpaced me on the hill into Mercer Island. I was alone with my thoughts again. We made a wrong turn (repeat of 2007), and Jeff Tilden's hand circling the air told us to retreat to the North Mercer Way turn. I was still in contact with riders and this was an encouraging sign. We made it across the slough and then onto Lake Washington Boulevard. My thoughts were focused on Coal Creek Parkway (on which I sucked in 2007), but for some reason only one hill bothered me. These rollers have gotten easier. I had some trouble shifting into the granny (bad sign on this ride), but somehow made it up.

May Valley road was idyllic and peaceful, and a cop car followed us patiently along until it was safe to pass, going by with a wave. Lynne was riding smoothly, and somewhere ahead were Jeff and Mitchel. I knew that there would be a secret control someplace on May Valley road, and sure enough we stopped briefly when Elaine Jameson demanded we produce our cards and then sent us along after signing it. Jeff Tilden was now riding with us, and this was another good sign. Jeff was a great source of encouragement as I made my way up the rollers of Issaquah - Hobart Road. My chain popped off once and Jeff left me, dancing on the pedals as he muscled his way over yet another roller. I caught up with him and Lynne, and we rode all the way to Buckley. There was quite a crowd at Buckley. More good signs.

Day 1: Buckley to Eatonville

I had a decent cushion in Buckley; more than an hours worth. I was determined to make a quick stop at Buckley, and left after refilling my water bottles and buying a PowerBar. As I made the turn onto SR-162, I reached down to get some water, and came up empty! I had left my water bottles at the Buckley control. I quickly checked for my control card, but luckily I had picked that up! I cursed my carelessness at the control, and rode back, seeing all those who had left a few minutes behind me, explaining to everyone why I was riding in the opposite direction.

The store owners had kindly stashed my water bottles. I thanked them and made way again, and had wasted 20 minutes. I was quite mad at myself and had to to calm myself down; I need the nervous energy to fret about the ride. I had more granny trouble along the next few hills on Orville Road, but finally figured out how to get it to shift to the granny. Yaay for me! Traffic was less than courteous on Orville Road, but luckily I sucked less than on the Fleche. SR 161 brought me crashing down to earth, as the climb into Eatonville in the hot temperatures slowed me down terribly. The granny got a workout, and I made it into Eatonville, and found the Truly Scrumptious Bakery, for the very first time.

Day 1: Eatonville to Packwood

There were quite a few bikes at the bakery, and I found Andy Speier, Mitchel Schoenfeld, Jeff Loomis, Joe Platzner and Chris Heg finishing up their food and getting ready to leave. I ordered a Maple Bar, quickly wolfed it down, mixed up more Sustained Energy and took off. I had stopped for less than 10 minutes. I would have spent less, but I had to text my wife and updated Facebook. Ah, the perils of modern technology!

Lynne had gone ahead of me, and I probably would never see her again given our climbing discrepancies. I spotted Dan Jensen at the convenience store, and knew he would pass me sooner than later. I ground my way towards Highway 7, the temperature veering towards hot. Not bad though. I thought about stopping at Elbe, having already finished off both my water bottles, but had a brain fart and suffered on through to Ashford, where I got a 1.5 liter bottle of water and refilled my supplies for the Skate Creek Road climb. A motorcylist and his son sitting outside the store were all ears about all the cyclists on the road, and were quite surprised when I told them where we were headed. He seemed familiar with the Tahuya hills, and wished me luck. Dan Jensen pulled in just as I was leaving. I knew he'd catch me before long.

After I turned onto Kernahan Road a coyote crossed the road and headed into the undergrowth, traffic stopped, and the temperature though still hot seemed to cool down a little. That there were ample opportunities for shade probably also helped. Dan Jensen caught me here, and I was able to stay with him, either because he was feeling charitable, or I had found a hidden fount of strength that I was previously unaware of. I am thinking it's the former. Dan was motoring along, but at a slower pace than normal; he let on that he doesn't do well in the heat. Our pace, surprisingly, was compatible, and we made our way up the 11-mile climb at a decent pace. I had used my granny in 2007, but somehow was able to make it up on my middle chain ring this time. Thanks, Erik Moen!

Dan was the powerhouse on our Fleche team (William Tell's Arrow), and his familiar company calmed my nerves down a little bit. He is a great conversationalist and we chatted about one ride or the other, one thorny issue or the other. We even share a taste for the crass: we are both fans of South Park! We stopped to take a photo of Mount Rainier, and I knew that the "summit" was someplace close. As we got to the top, Dan and I bombed down to the bottom, oftentimes riding side by side. I probably made him hit more potholes than necessary by riding alongside him, but he didn't seem to complain. We got to Packwood in plenty of time, and found almost nobody there. Ok, first bad sign.

Day 1: Packwood to Centralia via Morton

Dan went to get real food, and I ate another PowerBar, and lubed up. In my insane quest to eat fast and leave fast, I ate my Bear Claw too fast, and was rewarded with a bout of nausea. I forgot that I have to slow down my eating in the heat. I have been faced with some chafing issues since I switched away from Bag Balm and started wearing new shorts, and I was determined to avoid this if at all I could. We left after 2o minutes; this was my first long stop of the day, but my spirits were buoyed a bit at having done the first 200k in 10:30. Things were looking good. This was my fastest ever 200 this year. The next stretch threatened to take it all away though.

I had been dreading this stretch ever since the route was announced; all I can remember of this stretch from 2007 is the heat and the headwind packing a one-two punch and transforming me into a sweaty miserable mess. I can still remember Jon Muellner pulling slowly away as I struggled to stay in his slipstream. This time however, the weather gods seemed to make up for that tour of misery. We had a rousing tailwind, and though the temperature was hot and the shoulder inhospitable in places thanks to irresponsible beer drinkers, we made excellent time. I tucked in behind Dan, and was towed at a very comfortable pace, first into Randle (where the temperature read 87 deg F), and after a nice series of hills, into Morton. I knew that relief was up ahead on SR 508, and then the piano would get dropped on our heads.

We hit Morton, and decided to stock up for the night because of the paucity of services leading into Centralia. It was a welcome break. I had a brain fart and got my card signed here. The question from the store clerk "What's this?" should have clued me in, but I must have been a bit out of it. I had (very) briefly entertained thoughts of a secret control on Alpha - Centralia Road and thought of riding on, but wisely remembered that there hadn'd been one in 2007. We ran into David Harper who was having stomach issues, but decided to join forces with us into Centralia. David is a very strong rider and we just mowed down that stretch of 508 before the first hills hit. David took off leaving me and Dan in the dust, but we reeled him in. I was feeling surprisingly good after the last few miles, using the granny not once. I knew I'd pay for this hubris on Day 2, but I was having fun. Dusk was creeping on, and we stopped at the intersection of Alpha - Centralia Road to put on our reflective gear, and turn on our blinkies for the night.

This was another stretch I had been dreading. In 2007, I had ridden this stretch with Allison Bailey, Peg Winczewski, and Allan deCamp, and gotten a few miles ahead on this road before night fell. I was just a few minutes off my 2007 pace! This was good. Very good. I was feeling really good on this stretch. The combination of Sustained Energy, and regular Nuun intake was fueling me really well. I even engaged in a little "King of the Mountain" point sprints with Dan, and he effortlessly dusted me a couple of times before letting me "win" a couple of times. ;)

David's stomach distress made a roaring comeback unfortunately; he started dropping back and I passed him hurling his guts out, and kept going albeit at a slower pace to give him some privacy. When I climbed up the umpteenth dip in the road, he was nowhere to be seen. But David is nothing if not persistent, and in a few minutes I'd see his light bobbing in the distance. We repeated this exercise a few times, and then completely lost sight of him near that rousing descent into Centralia. No deer this time! We arrived at Centralia at 10:30p to find Lynne at the Chevron eating some hot soup.

Day 1: Centralia to Elma

A few minutes after I got my supplies and lubed up again, David entered the store announcing "I am not done yet!". His confident manner gave me great hope that he would continue the ride with us. I was unable to find anything vegetarian and hot, and I settled for another PowerBar. David sat down to have a nap, and when the three of us (Lynne, Dan and I) were preparing to leave we asked him if he wanted to join us. David replied in the negative, but I was sure he would continue on after a few minutes rest. In hingsight, I regret leaving him behind.

We left after about 15 minutes and surprisingly caught sight of two blinkies in the distance: Corey Thompson and Joe Platzner. We joined forces, and started to nip away at the miles. Joe, Corey and Dan took some monster pulls: Lynne and I hung on for dear life. I found Joe to be pleasant and funny, and was a great source of encouragement and mirth. The chipseal roads of Elma Gate Road slowed us down, and we made the easily-missed turn onto Cemetery Road.

Just after we turned onto South Bank Road, I begged the three of them to back of the pace a little bit, and we slowed down for a while, stopped to eat and take a potty break. We left as a group, but Corey and Joe dropped back a little, and Lynne and I rode side-by-side talking about everything from Software Development at Microsoft (our little secret) to her kids' education and careers. We finally got to Elma at 1.30a. I had Five and a half hours in the bank. I was positively giddy.

Day 2: Overnight

Don Jameson and Ron Himschoot were manning the overnight control, and they quickly signed our cards and showed us to the food. I quickly ate some Pizza, and then Dan and I headed for our room, while Lynne headed for hers. I wasn't sure how long she planned to sleep for, but in hindsight it would have been good to synchronize our schedules so we could ride together.

I showered first, and then hit the sack, and then Dan showered, but my night was fitful as the third member of our room - whose name I never did catch - was a snorer. I even considered waking up and taking off, but put that thought quickly out of my head. We woke up at 5, and I was rather slow in the morning. I tried to leave the overnight with just a short-sleeve jersey, but Ron Himschoot in his inimitable style said "Your'e being optimistic", and then asked me to carry a long sleeve jersey to help against the cold. I was slower leaving, but Dan and I left at 5.35a, a full hour and half in the bank. This was a luxurious 600k!

Day 2: Elma to Potlatch

The air was chilly, and a bit of a fog hung in the air as we rode away from the overnight, the denizens of Elma long having hit the sack after a night of fun. Traffic was light, and lighter after the turn onto Cloquallum Road. We made decent time rolling uphill along the false flat, but two or three riders passed us, and I only seem to remember Chris Willett now. You know what they say about old age? Oh, I forget now.

Just past the jail and before the turn onto the overnight, we caught up to our companion of the night before, said our hello's and passed him. We were a little surprised when a few seconds later, he clicked up and took off. Randonneuring is not a race, right ? In any case, Dan quickly dropped me, and got into Potlatch. There was another huge crowd again here: Jennifer Chang, Corey Thompson, Joe Platzner, Andy Speier, and others. We had more than 2 hours in the bank.

Day 2: Potlatch to Tahuya via Belfair

I had a Subway Veggie Footlong sandwich, and SIR took over this little Subway; I was one of the first to leave, and enjoyed the views of the Olympic mountains across the Hood Canal. The waters were calm, and there wasn't a wisp of a wind. Dan caught up and we were a team again. The Corey-Joe-Andy-Chris-Unknown train passed us at great speed, and Dan and I watched it fly by giving us no chance to jump on. We caught the train at the Starbucks at Belfair, where it was refuelling. Andy, Corey and Joe were there again, having stopped for refreshments (and cigarettes?). We left after a 10-minute break.

That little road out of Belfair and into Tahuya has increased in busy and decreased in courtesy towards bicyclists. Dan and I were subjected to several honks and close shaves, but we rode on. It seemed to ease a little after we passed the turn onto Belfair-Tahuya Road, and this was a good thing. We made decent time to Tahuya, where we were met by a huge gathering of volunteers: Don and Elaine Jameson, Willard Goss, Pamela Creighton, and Rick Blacker.

Day 2: Tahuya to Seabeck

The Tahuya control is always an oasis, and I have great regard for those who staff it: it was hot. The wind coming off the canal cooled us a little bit, and I crashed on the chairs, as the volunteers attended to my every need: food, drink and shade. I ate prodigious amounts of food, mixed up more Sustained Energy, and got ready to leave. Jennifer Chang took off just before I did, but I never had a hope of catching her. I left a little before Dan, sure in the belief that like yesterday he would catch me before long. I was so focused on what lay next that I almost forgot to thank the volunteers, and their friendly calls to "Have a nice ride, Narayan" woke me up. I said my goodbye's and settled into getting my butt kicked.

No matter how you slice it, the Tahuya Hills aren't to be conquered; they are merely to be survived. I find that this line of thinking calms my nerves down. I tackled the first of the hills at a somewhat moderate pace. The day was quite warm, and the hills came one after the other. I remember the spot where Paul Johnson got a flat in 2007 and encouraged us to motor on. I saw quite a few cyclists in the opposite direction, all of them waving or saying hello. There was a short-but-steep stretch on Tahuya River Road that got me begging for lower gears, but I made it to the top just fine. I knew Dewatto Road would bring along some misery, with the hill just past the County line of the choice kind. I stopped in the shade for a little bit, but before long I was staring at the Olympic Mountains in the distance and the waters of the Hood Canal at my feet. I made it down the hairpin bends just fine, taking them at a nice sweep before I was greeted by the welcome chill from being near water.

I slowed down here a bit to recover for the next little bit, as I knew there were two monsters coming up: the county line hill and Holly hill. I expected Dan to catch up to me by now, but I didn't see him. I should have stopped to meet him, but I kept on, mindful of the fact that I usually lose time in the Tahuya Hills. Dewatto Holly Road is a gentle uphill at first, but that only hides what comes next. A little past Oak Lake the Mason-Kitsap county line hill looms, and with it comes one of the steeper climbs of the Tahuya hills.

As I was climbing the county line hill, a large group of cyclists bombed their way downhill. I made it up the county line hill very slowly - zigzagging once or thrice - and was met with a second group of cyclists. One of them recognized us and yelled "Go Rando!". I was still recovering from the climb, and only had a muted "hello" in return. Ok, one devil done, another one to go. I remember riding portions of this with Vic Ringkvist and Steve Hameister in 2007, and this time around stopped at almost the same exact spot to pee.

I was passed by a few riders on this stretch of road: Andy Speier and Joe Platzner coming to mind. Joe rode with me for a little bit offering encouragement and joking around and this helped me take my mind off the ride. This was the second time Joe would be a welcome break, and it wasn't the last time I'd view him as a welcome break either.

I finally made it to Holly hill and crawled my way up. Andy danced up the hill, and so did Joe. I zigzagged a few times, but traffic was rather heavy and I couldn't do it quite as many times as I'd have liked, but in the end I survived. This hill tends to be more of a drag mentally than physically as it doesn't last long enough to cause misery, but leaves a welt nevertheless. I felt the effects of this climb all the way to Seabeck, which of late has taken forever to arrive! Traffic has gotten heavier too. I finally arrived at Seabeck having lost a half-hour of my cushion.

Day 2: Seabeck to the Finish

There was a very healthy group of Randonneurs here; Corey Thompson mentioned that there was a good amount of soup and sandwiches available in the back, but I was in no mood to waste time here. A friendly face was at the counter, having signed numerous cards from years past. Jennifer Chang left just as I was about to buy my food - two bottles of Gatorade and a Bear Claw. Dan Jensen showed up just as I was leaving, and looking good. He said he had me in his sights a few times, but he either had to stop or I pulled away. I felt guilty hearing this as he had done so much to pull me into Elma, but I was again sure he would catch up.

I downed a bottle of Nuun, and then made my way out, leaving the big group behind. Some company would have been welcome but I didn't want to burn daylight. They could make time on the road; I couldn't aspire to. A first time rider of this course hears so much about the Tahuya hills that he (or she) is tempted to think that the ride is in the bag at this point, and that little remains between here and the finish really worth losing any sleep over. A good deal more lies ahead: Anderson Hill Road.

The first little climb out of Seabeck was a rude shock, but I knew what was about to hit me as I pedalled my way down the first hill on Anderson Hill Road. I made it up the first bump, grinding my way to the top. The second descent hit me, and I made it halfway up and was still pedalling when I saw Chris Willett walking his bike up the soft shoulder. There was no riding area on this section, and traffic was heavy and fast. I got off my bike and walked up all the way to the top of the second hill; even that was tough. I rode all the way up in 2007!

We finally got off Anderson Hill Road, and onto Olympic View Road, but the rollers of Clear Creek road lay next. The rollers here really slowed me down; my chain dropped off a few times, and the miles in my legs started getting to me. I remember thinking it is going to be a long way back to the finish, but Andy Speier came along and rode with me for a little bit, cheering me up and then taking off on a small hill. I finally made it to Highway 3, and another series of small hills. There was much talk of a humorous sign for Robert Higdon ("Roberto, embrace your inner kitten"), but I never saw it. Crap! Would have been a nice diversion.

A few miles before Port Gamble, Joe Platzner caught up to me, and was kind enough to ride with me to the control. I am sure he recognized that I needed a pick up. Even after almost 550k, he was full of cheer, wit and vivacity, and did a great deal to change my mood. He was full of jokes and stories; we made it to Port Gamble effortlessly.

Little known Rando Fact: Joe Platzner is all awesomeness!

I spotted Andy Speier and another rider leaving the control just as we arrived.

Day 2: Port Gamble to the Finish

I was determined to get in and out of this control quickly, but my stomach played truant. I had to use the restroom and use it bad. I was in decent physical shape, and in good spirits thanks to Joe. I bought some more Gatorade, and a bear claw and left the control. The first few miles on 104 were full of cars, but Port Gamble Road was a welcome turn. Traffic calmed and the hills returned. I had done well on this stretch in 2007, and 2011 was no exception. I found myself making slow but steady progress up the hills, and got over them in no time. I was making pretty good time for the ride, and harboured ideas of a sub-37 hour finish which would be a first in almost 4 years. :)

The rest of the ride was uneventful: I made it across the Agate Pass bridge in no time, and the rollers on Highway 305 were no big deal at all. I rode to the finish control to be greeted by a cheery Mark Thomas. A large group of riders finished 2 minutes behind me, and Mark joked that I hammered to stay ahead of them. My final time was 37:32, which was 40 minutes slower than 2007, but I think I spent more time at the controls this year. If you had told me two days ago that I would get 3 hours of sleep and spend 4 hours at the overnight and still finish in 37:32 I would have cried "Impossible!". I was near 37 hours if I had avoided that Buckley misadventure.

There was a great group of people at the finish: Chris Thomas, Mark Thomas, Lyn Gill, Corey Thompson, Jeff Loomis, Joe Platzner, Andy Speier, Bill Kennedy, Don Jameson and Jeff Tilden. More importantly, there was beer at the finish! I had a Guinness and loved it. Downed about 4 slices of Vegetarian Pizza. I got a shower and changed into decent clothing. Lyn was offering free massages to people, but I couldn't avail myself of that benefit. It was awesome of her to offer massages to the riders though. Thanks, Lyn!

Shortly after I finished, Dan Jensen and Lynne Fitzsimmons came in. Dan had suffered in the heat, but persevered and finished. Lynne rode strongly on both days and picked a tough course to do her first 600. Ken Krichman finished after her, and it was great to see riders come in with megawatt smiles on their faces. We were a bit worried about Duane, whom I hadn't seen at all at any of the controls.

We couldn't stay long though. We had a ferry to catch back home. We sat on the ferry exchanging tales about the ride and about PBP. Mark and Chris were very kind and offered Joe Platzner and I a ride home, on top of all the things they had done for us this weekend. Thanks very much! As we were on I-405 we got a call from Don Jameson that Duane had finished with three minutes to spare! Go Duane!

I am headed to Paris!!!

Summary of rides from March to May

2011-03-08T12:44:00.000-08:00

Things have been quiet at RandoDud land. But that doesn't mean I haven't been out on adventures. It just means I've been a slave to work, and cataloguing my adventures has acquired a priority that I am not proud of. Let's go about rectifying that, shall we?

SIR 100K: It was a cold but clear winter day, and the weather got warmer and warmer until it felt like a crisp Spring day. Amazing. I rode with several people: Mike Huber and Millison Fambles on West Snoqualmie Road, some newbies, Don and Mimi Boothby near Sammamish, but finished with Mitchel Schoenfeld. Finished in about 5 hours and change. Met with a whole bunch of friends at the finish. Mike Huber bought me a beer. It was a fun day to be out on the bike.

SIR 200k: Kevin Humphreys gave me a ride north, and the Jenses provided the hospitality. We started off with a nice downhill, but you all know what that means for the finish right? Rode with Deirdre Arscott and Bob Lepage from Canada, and Ron. The ride had one mean b***h of a hill that made me walk. No shame in that. Mark was at the top taking photos. From Arlington, I rode with the Alaskans Jacques Boutet and his wife Donna and Jennifer Chang, but the whole train dropped me before I got to Granite Falls: Mark's new favourite haunt. It was absolutely a fabulous day by now, and we stripped down to just shorts and a jersey. The nasty hills North of Sultan slowed me down, but I met a rookie at the Sultan control: Kashina. She was riding strong, and left a bit ahead of me, but I managed to keep her in my sights until she dropped me just after the last info control. The hills to the Jensen's provided the last stumbling block, and but for a bad shift might have ridden up the whole hill, but my chain fell off my granny, and I was forced to walk for about 50 yards. Finished in 12:03. Not bad. Great day for a ride.

SIR 300k: Kevin again gave me a ride to the start, but this was a tough ride. I got lost and lost about 25 minutes, and did some bonus miles and climbing. I fought all afternoon to get an hour at Kayak Point, where volunteers Gary and David provided us with Bahn Mi sandwiches (yum!) from Saigon Deli. A bunch of school kids and their guide were all ears about our activity, and wished me luck. Near Mt Vernon, I hooked up with Ken Krichman and Jason Hansen, but the Dr dropped us on the steep hills out of Mt Vernon. We rode together almost all the way to hilltop control at Lake Cavanaugh, we had about an hour and half in the bank. Not bad, but the days climbing was taking its toll one me.

Darkness fell on us near Carnation, and we rode to the manned control with about 3 hours to go, and only 28 miles to go. We did leave together, and stayed together, but I suffered a flat just near that beast of a hill near Klahanie, and the Dr was getting antsy about finishing in time. We left together, but I had mounted the tyre the wrong way, and it was going kathump-kathump-kathump all the time. Just near the bike path, I lost sight of them, and then almost all the air in my front tyre. Took about 15 minutes to patch that, and there was only Duane behind me.

I got completely lost right off that steep hill off the I-90 bike path, and slowly limped my way home, getting lost several times near the U-district. I was near the Hec Edmundson bridge when I saw Duane riding ahead; he probably just took the trail all the way. I caught up to him, and we finished together: 25 minutes to spare. They had shut down the kitchens and we got no food. Duane gave me a ride home. I got my butt kicked on this one.

SIR 400k: I rode real strong until Concrete, and then Burbee Hill Road happened. Had to stop numerous times, and that road took its toll on me and slowed my journey to Baker Lake down. I got to Baker Lake in 10:36 and the proceeded to waste 35 minutes at that control; I must have really needed it. There was an awesome support crew there: Kole, Jennifer, Vincent and Theo from Portland, who had crashed within the first few miles, but had gallantly started volunteering.

I got back to Concrete, and Bill Gobie and I rode on South Skagit Highway until the first of the rain drops fell. We stopped to don all our rain gear, and then the skies opened up. Bill had eaten a burger at Concrete and that started bothering him. He started dropping back, but I wasn't in a mood to stop in all this rain. I made my way to Big Rock Grocery where Jennifer and Kole met us. She gave me a new route sheet, and I took off after eating a banana and spending too much time out of the rain. Bill didn't know if he was going to make it, so he urged me on. Made good time until a few miles out of Arlington, when the sleep demon overtook me. I stopped at a gas station, and the rain had stopped a little. Bill Kennedy and Doulas Migden caught up to me here, and we rode together from here on until the finish. I was really sleepy, but was riding strong on the hills, and making some time only to lose it by stopping.

I tried to nap again a mile from the control and Douglas gently prodded me with a "We are only 1 mile away from the control" to get me going. Jennifer met us again at the control. Bill had thrown in the towel, his stomach having gotten the better of him. We spend all together too much time out of the rain at Granite Falls. At least a half hour or so, and then took off again. I was their navigator having done this route many many times. We got to Monroe just before daybreak, and Jennifer was there again, giving us food, and getting us permission to use the restroom. (I am never using the 7-11 in Monroe ever again).

We got lost out of the control, but a call to Mark helped us find our way. We rode together until that long climb out of the Snoqualmie Valley. I was sleepy, tired and going backwards, but Douglas and Bill zoomed ahead of me, waiting for me at the turn. We were together until the Mark Thomas hill, which I tried to ride up and couldn't. I walked up. Douglas and Bill finished a few minutes ahead of me. Joe Llona and Ken Krichman finished a few minutes behind me. I had been doing so well, and went backwards for the second half. Need to practice my control stops during extreme rain.

Been gone a while...

2011-03-03T18:08:00.000-08:00

The Year in Review...

I've been gone a while. Work will do that to you.. The only thing I've been able to do is complete my R-12. Here is a brief summary of what I've been up to since the Oregon Randonneurs 600k in May.

June 2010: Rode Snoqualmie Valley and Falls on a warm Spring day. Tried to crack the 10-hour barrier, but fell short by about 6 or 8 minutes.

July 2010: Rode the Olympia 200 on a hot, hot, hot day. Was well on pace for a sub-10 hour finish, but the heat took its toll. Rode with Kris Symer a lot, and finished with a bunch of guys as Les Lanterne Rouges. :)

August 2010: U.W Granite Falls. Luckily, I rode with Duane Wright. Had two successive flats on the Burke - Gilman trail just east of Lake Forest Park. It rained fairly steadily through the day, and I had my third flat on NE 100th St in Carnation. I tried bagging it here, but Duane would have none of it. He gave me his last spare tube, and we rode flat-free to the finish. We only had a half-hour to spare at the end. Had we flatted again, Duane would have had his R-12 streak halted. :) Thanks, Duane!

September 2010: Rode Three Rivers Cruise again. It was a warm day, and I had the benefit of new tyres for a flat-free finish. Missed a sub-10 hour finish by about 8 minutes. Crap!

October 2010: Rode Camano Island - Bellingham with Mike Huber and Duane Wright. It was a beautiful fall day, and we had some early bonus miles, but thanks to Mike's observant eyes, we caught this soon enough. Mike suffered a flat on Chuckanut, but we stayed together until Bellingham, where we had a luxurious stop at the Starbucks. Mike left us here, but we met Mike's wife and his daughters near Edison. We finished just as darkness was falling. Had pizza near the finish. The warm rides were done for the year.

November 2010: Rode Leschi-Auburn-Redmond-Leschi with Kris Symer and Peg. The weather held until just south of Woodinville when the skies opened up. I finished in about 11 hours and change. It was so hard to ride not 2 miles from my home but still have 20 more miles to the finish line.

December 2010: On a cold, cold day in December I rode Three Rivers Cruise v2. Darrington was cold as heck, with snow piled up on the side of the road. Billed as a flatter alternative to the popular Three Rivers Cruise permanent, I still found it within me to suck. Had a nice break in Clear Lake, and chased a tractor down hear Conway. No rain though!

January 2011: Went down to California, and tried to do a Permanent on New Years day, but the wind out of the south was brutal and I missed the first control by 2 minutes. The owner of the permanent was in town but stayed back home thinking it was crazy to ride on such a day! I even saw a Police Roadblock checking up on drivers at 7 am in the morning. I was waved through though. Came back home to Seattle and rode Snoqualmie Valley and Falls in 11 hours and change. I don't remember the weather on this day. :)

I also rode the Lake Washington Cruise Permanent with Shan Perera. Shan was late to the start, but caught me soon enough, and we rode together off and on. I saw Brian Ohlemeier on a training ride. Don't know if he recognized me, however. Shan and I had lunch at Renton, and stayed together to the finish.

February 2011: Work was crazy, but I still found time to do one 200. Didn't ride at all in January and it showed. Did a Redmond start for the Redmond-Leschi-Auburn-Redmond ride. Some rain until Cumberland, but two guys scared me with 30 miles to go. They predicted snow, and I hightailed it back to Redmond. True to their forecast I was greeted by gusting winds, rain, snow and hail on East Lake Sammamish Parkway with barely 10 miles to the finish. Didn't see Mark Thomas and Joe Platzner at the finish in Redmond. I've now completed an R-12. Looking forward to starting a new R-12 this year.

I dropped the ball on the 100k for the month resetting my P-12 quest in the process. Oh well.

2011 Goals

I've been lusting after PBP for about 7 years now. Work has been crazy, but I need to make time to train, or the qualifying rides will do me in. Hope to finish PBP this year. See you at the start line of the SIR Spring 200!

ORR 600K: Several lessons learned.

2010-06-12T01:19:00.000-07:00

Before anything, thanks are due to Susan France, Britt and Joshua Bryant for their time, organization, support and encouragement!

Prologue

I'd never attempted a 600 on one week's rest. This would be a first, and the source of much thought before the ride. Lots of new roads, with some familiar roads thrown in.

The sound of rain against the window wakes me up, and my first thought is "Ugh". I briefly consider bagging the ride but quickly put that away. A brevet in the rain does wonders for one's confidence. The Grant Lodge is a smallish throng of riders. IanS, Corey, Mark, Geoff, Mike Richeson, Millison, and Vincent are here ably representing the Seattle Randonneurs. Roger and Ali Holt from the BC Randonneurs are here. The riders appear chipper despite the grim weather. It hasn't started raining. Yet.

Start [Forest Grove] to Vernonia

After a few pre-ride announcements, we leave. I leave first, and am ahead for all of 20 yards when the train passes me. Mark passes me with a "You are winning!", and I find myself at the back pretty quickly. Lanterne Rouge. I keep at least some of the riders within sight, but most of them are gone. I catch up to Bill Alsup, but he too pulls ahead of me, but unlike the others he stays in sight almost all the way to the Banks Vernonia Trail, which we both have trouble finding. Bill circles back, and rides with me, and we pick up the trail after a little hunting.

The trail is quiet and the gentle grade is enough to slow both of us down. The scenery is nice. There are a few rough transitions, and a couple of times we have to ride through some heavy rock filled gravel. I walk my bike, not wanting to crash. Bill is a bit more daring, and pulls ahead. Halfway along the trial, Millison passes us, and is gone from sight in a matter of minutes. Bill seems to know the trail well, and points out some of the recent improvements.

We eventually arrive at a freshly-paved road and cannot decide if this is the exit on to SR 47. Since we had the option of staying on the trail, we ride on and the going gets tougher and tougher. Lots of potholes, loose gravel, and mud. My tyres aren't built for this, but we have come too far. We stay on course, and arrive at a very steep downhill. Bill rides down, and I walk my bike again. We are now at SR 47 but have no idea which way to go. We try to flag some cars down but while they slow down, they do not stop. Roger and Ali Holt appear and they have exited the trail correctly. We get behind them and arrive at the Coffee store. I have about an hour in the bank. A good start.

Vernonia to Fort Stevens State Park

Millison is leaving as I enter the coffee store. We exchange our hello's and he is on his way. Bill, Roger and Ali have just arrived as well. A cookie, and a hot chocolate which goes into my bottle. It has been raining for a while now, and I put on all my rain gear. My helmet cover is safely home, so on goes the skull cap, which keeps me plenty warm. Bill heads out, and we leave after about 15 minutes. The three Canadians are now Les Lanternes Rouge. The rain mostly stops now that I have put on my raingear.

We ride mostly together, chatting about this and that. I ride mostly with Ali; Roger is much faster than us. We discuss topics thorny for most people: religion, politics, and government, living in the US vs living in Canada, the economies, personal integrity, our "beloved" Prime Minister, etc etc. We also discuss the state of randonneuring, of "macho" courses, the dwindling numbers of women, and the "glamour".

Roger pulls up next to us, and so we stop talking about him. I kid. Roger is a great sport, and rides off again. We've been riding two abreast for a while now, and I am slow to pull over for a truck. I ride ahead and wave my hand in apology, but the passenger is not pleased: he gives me the finger. I laugh it off, and increase my wariness on the road.

We discuss stopping at Birkenfeld but press on, our food and water stores adequate to get us to Olney. We start to climb over the Coastal range and all that rain gear generates a lot of heat. Ali is ahead, and Roger is with me. I stop to take off my clothing, and the climb is now much more pleasant. Not too steep, but quite steady. My pace drops horribly near the top and the first drops hit me near the summit. Time for a lesson on "microclimates": the rain starts pouring just past the summit. I brave it at first, but a few wet and soggy miles later it is time to find a tree and pull everything back on again!

Roger passes me again, and we plunge together to the other side. The roads are quiet, and there is a woman walking in the sun. We are hit by intermittent showers. A lovely creek flows by. I am wet all over, but warm. We regroup and Ali tells me to keep my raingear on and take one for the team because each time I take it off we get dumped on. I keep everything on, and we eventually get to Olney. Olney is little more than a convenience store and some houses. Ali is eating a giant burrito with some very spicy looking sauce.

I make a quick stop here to get PowerAde, and then set off again, confident that the Holts will catch up. Young's River Road is idyllic with not much traffic and better weather. We are riding to the East of Young's Bay, and the Holts join me as I jot down the Info Control answer.

We set off again together staying together most of the way. The road undulates with pleasantness, and the wind isn't that brutal. As we near the bridge on 101 it starts raining hard, then harder, and Bill Alsup is on the side of the road fixing a flat.

Roger stops to assist him, and Bill seems to be okay, and Roger moves on. I see all this unfold ahead and zoom by Bill. He is just finishing up. We are now heading straight into the teeth of the wind, and the rain is a drag. We get a little confused by the turn to Alternate-101, but Roger checks with someone and it turns out that we have to go a little further than the route sheet lets on. We turn onto A-101, and a few miles later we spot Ian Shopland and Millison. There are a couple of other rides heading back as well. The wind is relentless, but the sun seems to be out. No rain. The chip-seal is a drag. A Police car circles around, probably wondering why all these bicyclists are headed to a mostly empty parking lot. I finally get to the Info Control and regroup with Ali and Roger.

Fort Stevens State Park to Tillamook

We lean our bicycles on the ground and have something to eat. The weather is looking considerably better. Off comes the raingear. There are some dark clouds down the coast and I am sure I will get rained on again at some point, but it is too warm. We leave after about 10 minutes not wanting to waste daylight or the lack of rain. The wind is out of our faces, but we have a confused wind. Now a tailwind, now a crosswind, but generally favourable. As we turn back onto 104 we spot Bill coming out of a Porta-Potty. Despite the two flats he has had he is in good spirits. I give him my spare tyre, knowing that Roger has a spare that I could use. We say our farewell's and head on down the road towards Seaside. Traffic has picked up, but the weather is looking up. The day is warm, and the sun upon the waters lifts my spirits.

We make excellent time, and hit Seaside. Ali wants to eat, and the local Pizza Hut is too slow for our tastes. We order Vegetarian Sandwiches at Quizno's, and have a sit down meal. A welcome break. We leave quickly.

There is some climbing, and I am the last one up on all of the little hills. Roger waits patiently atop the climbs for us. Cannon Beach with its beautiful rock; Arch Cape with its benevolent climb. The scenery is amazing. We regroup for the tunnel entering Oswald West State Park, and ride at a fast clip towards the end: we reach without incident.

I am slow up the Neahkannie Mountain climb, but Roger and Ali are waiting there again. They are going to stop and get a bite to eat at Nehalem. Quite a few tourists are enjoying the views, but we head further South. Roger and Ali are ahead of me, and I see them heading to a store. Mindful of being the slowest of the lot, I keep riding, my food stores sufficient to get me to Tillamook. And I am sure the Holts will catch me. I am alone now, bereft of any sense of urgency.

Onto SR53, and then onto Miami River Road. This is my second time here on a bike, the first time was on a fully-loaded tour of the Pacific Coast with my wife. I remember this road fondly, but the sharp little climb at the start jolts me out of my pleasant memory. The road is idyllic with plenty of farms and livestock. About halfway down, I spot some deer on the side of the road and sure enough they bound right in front of me. No danger of running into me though; they just send my heart racing.

I stop to change into my night riding gear. The route eventually leaves this road and the noise of 101 annoys me afresh. I ride through Bay City, and as I pass through Tillamook, I am struck by the number of businesses that have closed down. I eventually arrive at a Shell Gas Station near the end of town, around 9.45p. 3 hours and 15 minutes in hand!

Tillamook to Lincoln City

There have been several riders through the attendant reports. Bean burrito and some PowerAde is on the menu. She offers me a ladder as a chair and my legs catch some rest. It is such a simple pleasure, this sitting. The store closes at 10 as much of Tillamook does: Roger, Ali and Bill are going to have to stock up someplace else. All dressed up for night riding, I leave around 10.05, confident that I will make more time in the next 50 miles before the overnight. A gentle drizzle starts. A few miles out of Tillamook, there is some nasty road construction (which the organizer warned us about in his ride report), and a few miles down I find progress suddenly very onerous. My rear wheel is squirming around. Sure enough, my rear tyre is going soft.

This is my first night time flat on a brevet. I remove the tyre, and by the sound of leaking air, manage to locate the spot. A piece of metal has worked its way into my tyre. I am considerably slow doing this. I am a bit tired, the rain is annoying, and there is not much light to work with. There is a goat in a small hut nearby, and my presence makes him nervous. I spend about 15 minutes trying to locate other spots of trouble, and find none. Roger and Ali ride on by, and stop upon hearing my "Hello!". I change the tube, and Roger puts the tyre back on. I have lost about 20 minutes.

We turn onto Sandlake Road, and I hear yelling and screaming from a passing car: "buy a f***ing car" he advises. Roger and Ali are ahead and get the same treatment. We regroup a little down the road, discuss the car that just yelled at us, and ride along. We have ocean views for a while. The moonlit waves make the only sounds. It is lovely and peaceful. We descend Cape Kiwanda, and ride in together to Pacific City.

Pacific City to Lincoln City

The town is sewn up. We stop at the ATM and take turns getting receipts. A 2 minute-stop. The time is now 1:05a. We head out, and we stay together till 101, but the gentle rollers carry Roger and Ali away. My tyre has meanwhile gone soft again. Also, it is raining. Not a "make the pavement wet" type of rain, but misty rain. I harbor visions of pumping my tyre over and over again and reaching the overnight, and try this a couple of times. It doesn't last. I don't like this, so I finally stop and change the tube again. I resist the temptation to just RIP the tube to shreds. I may need to patch it tomorrow. It was a brand new tube, you see?

Another half hour wasted. Not in fixing the flat itself, but in dealing with the flat. I ride slowly along. I find the turn for N Slab Creek Road, and since the mileage is just a little bit off, I start the climb. It feels like a steep climb and I crawl along. The pavement is crappy, with potholes in places. The only illumination is my eDelux. I eventually get to the top, and am back on 101. This isn't expected! I was supposed to ride 4.5 miles to the Info Control. I flag down a passing car, and it is full of teenagers, with an adult at the wheel. The car reeks of alcohol. They have no idea where Slab Creek Road is. "What are you doing here, man?", the drunk in the backseat asks, clearly questioning my sanity. "I am on a long ride, but I need to take Slab Lake Road", I say. Oddly, they seem to understand. Or they think I am crazy and oughtn't to be messed with.

They wish me good luck as they leave, and I call Josh. He informs me that I am still on the course, and that I should ride a little bit further along and will see another turn for Slab Creek Road. Well, I diverged from the course at N Slab Creek Road, so I ride back down the same nasty road again, get to 101, and climb back again. I am not pleased with myself. A ton of time has been wasted, but I resist looking at the clock.

The real Slab Lake Road arrives, and it is slow going. I am tired, sleepy and not in good spirits. I wonder how much sleep I will get, and if I should just throw in the towel at the overnight. I put these thoughts out of my head. Not enough awareness to make such a decision now. A creek keeps me company, noisily running down the hill. I finally get to the Info Control sign, and ride on, not even stopping to write down the answer. The road seems to steepen now, and I decide to take a break.

After a minute or two of napping on my handlebars (the Harold Bridge technique), I wake up, and start pedalling, but cannot clip in my left foot. Not enough leg-cleat coordination left. I am now really not amused. I get back on again and somehow clip back in, and after what seems like forever, get to the top. Now the road is twisty, I am tired and sleepy, it is dark and so cannot ride down my at usual pace. I finally find the turn off for Three Rocks Road, and get back to 101. It is starting to get light out again. I climb the remaining few rollers to Lincoln City and find the Motel 6.

Lincoln City to Logsden

I find Josh, sign in, and find out that I have taken 6 hours and 20 minutes to go 50 miles. Truly pathetic! My dreams of having a 3-hour nap are now smashed. I shower quickly, and set a wake up call for 5.30, and hit the sack. 50 minutes worth of sleep. I wake up and Bill is still not in the room. This is not good. I was hoping to ride with him partly because that would prevent a DNF. I raid the control's food stores, and head down to the lobby, and Bill Alsup is finally there. He has a half-hour to spare. I try to cheer him up the best I can.

I feel decent. There are a few other riders at the lobby, but I leave ahead of them. They catch me a few miles as I am cresting one of those endless rollers on 101. I am a little bit worried that I missed the turn onto SR229, but I haven't. The day is cool, and the clouds are ominous. As I turn onto SR 229, a gentle shower descends. The Siletz flows gently by and eager anglers descend on the river. The road meanders gently with no steep climbs, but I suspect much of it is gently uphill. We are headed upriver. Cars pass us with plenty of room, save for one gentleman who decided that startling a cyclist was fun. I arrive at the Siletz store and find three other cyclists.

I drink a cup of coffee and refuel. As I wait outside drinking my coffee, the women inside the store are telling a local about our exploits. It feels good to hear someone talk about what we do in glowing terms. I set off down the road, and the two cyclists who left before me tell me I have missed the SR 411 turn. We find it together, and then they are gone. One small bump in the road, and a few miles later I am at the Logsden store. I have about 28 minutes in the bank. Great, finally a small cushion to build on. Ha!

Logsden to Blodgett

Time for introductions. There is Keith Kohan, Jim, and David. Every time I do an Oregon 600, I see Keith fixing a flat: the last time was in 2008 on the road to Prosser. I try and get out of here as soon as I can, but everybody except Keith has already left. I stop to take a leak, and Keith flies by. Bill Alsup is behind and probably gaining. This thought cheers me up a tad. Roger and Ali are nowhere in sight. I assume they are miles down the road, and have no hope of catching them.

The dreaded "Pavement ends" sign arrives. I stop to take a photo, and set off into the rather rough gravel. I freely ride down the opposite side of the road where the only clearly rideable surface is. I jump back to the correct side when the road improves. It turns out that going uphill was the easy part. David catches up and comments that the course while meant to be a recreation of Paris-Brest turns out to be a recreation of Paris-Roubaix. I get a good guffaw out of that. My tyres are suspect, and I decide to walk down the hill and David rides away. A spill here would be most painful. The scenery is spectacular, but the rain now decides to come down in sheets with some hail thrown in for good measure. Gone is the misty rain, and it is dumping. I cover my seat with my hand, and walk down, fully aware of the loads of time I am giving back. A truck coming uphill passes me at good speed, and I turn my back to them to receive the pelting of stones.

I resist the temptation to kiss the pavement, and start riding again. I arrive at the Nashville turn. A solitary cyclist on the other side of the road turns around and starts riding with me. He is full of questions about our route and destination. I tell him we are headed back to Forest Grove, and he says he saw a lot of riders at the Blodgett store. I descend into deeper depths of self-loathing. He bids adieu and heads downhill again, while I slog uphill. The scenery is again great. It is still raining rather heavily, and I find the livestock has taken cover under the trees. Horses run around. Cows lie in the mud and watch me go by. Sheep huddle under a tree, hiding away from the rain.

The road reaches the hamlet of Summit, and then decides to go down again, but instead of a sustained descent, we climb back up again. This pattern is repeated several times, but I arrive at the Blodgett store with 20 minutes to spare. That walk down the hill probably cost me a good 20 minutes.

Blodgett to Dallas

David is at the store, but he is getting ready to leave. I buy more Burritos and PowerAde. David leaves just as I start on my second burrito. I set off again, after about 10 minutes, mindful of the clock. Traffic is heavy, and I finally find the Priest Road turn. A Honda Civic, its rear seat full of stuff pulls over and waits. It is Josh and his wife, Britt. They enquire after my general condition, and I ask them about the road ahead. "You make the turn, and you hit a hill" he says. "I hate you!", I say, not really meaning it. I ask about other riders, and I find out that Ali left at 8a in the morning, well after the control closed. Bill was also behind me, but his friend was going to come and pick him up. I was the Lanterne Rouge!

I turn down their offer of food and regret it the moment they leave. I try to motion to them, but they do not notice, and make the left turn onto SR 223. I stop right after the turn, and eat something. I know that there must be a store somewhere down this highway, and I just don't know where. SR 223 is a rolling highway. Moderately trafficked, but the road isn't ever flat.

Upon cresting one of the innumerable hills my left knee starts acting up. I see a covered bridge but don't stop to take a photo. I would regret this choice later. At Kings Valley Store, I pull in and buy two Snickers bars: Payday bars are long gone. The woman at the store asks about our ride. I downplay it, telling her I am headed to Dallas and leave quickly. The rollers commence again. A few miles down this road, and I feel a pleasant tailwind, and life is good. One one of the longish climbs, two cyclists are flying down in a full aerodynamic tuck. Other cyclists are headed this way too: this must be a popular bicycling route!

The weather improves, and the tailwind is in full session near Monmouth. I arrive in Dallas, and ride through town not sure where to stop. I finally find an Espresso stand, and pull in. 25 minutes in the bank. Not sufficient, but at least I am not losing time.

Dallas, OR to Dayton

"I'll have your strongest coffee drink", I say. It turns out to be 5 or 6 shots of caffeine, with a really scary name. A Soy Latte will do just fine, thanks. There are two teenage girls ahead of me, and they seem to break out into giggles each time they see me. I am past caring. I sit down for a few minutes, but then decide that the Coffee is too hot. I pour it into my water bottle and head down the road again. I turn onto Orchard Road, and the first of the steep rollers comes into view. After the Kings Valley Highway, I am really past caring about my speed up the hills. I put my head down and spin. This road is a never ending series of rollers. I cross Highway 20, and it starts climbing up again. I just spin away. I know I have some time in the bank, and I know I am making steady progress, so why fret ? The right turn onto Bethel Road gives me a wicked tailwind, and I fly to the next turn.

I am suffering from some chafing (must be all that riding in the rain), and stop to put on some lubricant, and stuff my face. Traffic slows down to take a good long look at me. After a short flat stretch, we climb again. This must be the Eola hills. On this climb the rain starts. I stop to pull on my raingear, hoping it will ward off the rain. The rain does stop. These pants must be magical! The rain may have stopped, but the hills haven't. One roller after the other. I finally get to the left turn onto Hopewell, and am nearly taken out by a woman making a high speed left turn. My yell catches her attention and she veers to the right, but does wave apologetically as she passes by me.

Webfoot provides the first flat stretch for a very long time, but near the end it too throws some steep pitches at me. The road surface is chipseal which doesn't help matters much either. I finally arrive at the Dayton Control. I have 25 minutes in the bank.

Dayton to the Finish

I ask when the last rider came through, and the guy at the counter says "Oh, about an hour ago". I lose hope of catching David. Some company would have helped. In the hope of getting some quick calories, I drink a bottle of Naked Mango juice. I still have that Snickers Bar that I bought at the Kings Valley Market. I put on my night riding gear and set out. More rollers. My goodness. How did this man find so much rolling terrain? The waning sun is beautiful though, and I really enjoy riding at this time of day. Oregon has some of the prettiest sunsets I have ever seen.

I am hit by the first signs of heartburn, and soon my stomach starts churning. This is not good. I seldom suffer from GI distress on rides; this must be the juice. I get to Spring Hill Road, and the juice decides to exit; and now. I stop, lean my bike against a post box, and start throwing up.

I am reminded of Eric Ferguson's ride report from Paris-Brest-Paris, where he says "Your'e not a real cyclist until you've puked in a French ditch". This brings a smile to my lips. I am wary of the amount of time I am wasting, but I have no choice. I rinse out my mouth, and continue riding. Not all of the daylight has vanished and I think I spy a red light ahead. I accelerate into the Fern Hill Road turn, but the red light is nowhere to be seen. It is now completely dark. I sense that I am near the end, and finally make the turn onto the Grant Lodge. The parking lot is mostly empty. The time is 21:45. I have taken 39 hours and change on all my Oregon 600's.

Josh and Susan are waiting patiently for me, which makes me feel terrible about being so slow, but they are happy to see me finish. I thank them profusely. We chat about the course, the lack of hallucinations, and the weather. Most of the riders finished in around 37 hours. David finished about an hour and a half before me. Even Ken Bonner took 33 hours. I grab a couple of bananas, and prepare for the drive back to Beaverton.

Epilogue

This is a beautiful course. Yes, the weather was challenging, but the rain was never miserable. The gravel stretch was a pain, but I am sure those with wider tyres enjoyed it. I would love to do this course again. It would make a wonderful PBP qualifying course!

I learned several things about myself: 1) I can survive on 50 minutes worth of sleep, 2) I can finish a tough 600 one week after I do a 400, and 3) I need to avoid Apple juice during Brevets.

SIR 400k: Fun and Games

2010-05-17T23:07:00.000-07:00

Many thanks to all the volunteers for a fantastic event: Joe and Jesse Llona, Amy Pieper, Mark Thomas, Geoff and Dorothy Swarts, Mrs and Mr Morse, the Westhaven Hippie Association, Peter Beeson, Eric Vigoren, and Maggie Williams...

Somewhere on the road just past Elma...

Espouse; Equitable; Extirpate; Erudite; Emancipate; Eve... The words ring out in the cool clear night air breaking the silence. With not a car in sight, the three of us ride abreast on the road uttering strange words.. It doesn't look like there is any method to this madness, but there is. A pattern. A little game we used to play as kids. What better than a game to keep the brain occupied, melt miles, and avoid sleep? What is this game you ask? You are going to have to read on..

Prologue

I ride towards the Park and ride in the early morning mist, hoping to hook up with Mike Huber, my ride to the start. I arrive on time, and so does Mike, and we load up my bike in the car and head south, chatting about rides, times, and food. There isn't much chance of me finishing with Mike, but he does promise that if he finds me on the morning's first ferry he will give me a ride home as well.

We wait for a long time at the light to turn left, but finally we buy our tickets and head over to a huge group of riders assembled at the Bremerton Ferry. The ferry has just arrived, and cars unload at a furious pace. Riders mill about, some fiddling with their bikes, some with their thoughts; I greet the ones I know, and share a casual conversation with a few. We board the ferry, and make a beeline for the little ropes to secure our bikes.

I register with the ever friendly Amy Pieper, who this past week rode a "headwind in every direction" 400K down in Oregon. We are treated to a singing performance, and I can hear laughter behind me. Riders seem to be calm and relaxed. More familiar faces. Mark is here, volunteering as well. The ferry is late, and we we arrive at Bremerton at 7a. There are more riders in front of the Starbucks.

Start to Shelton

Joe gives us some pre-ride instructions, and we are off. The lights split the riders faster than usual, but at one of the lights I avoid a huge group by fighting to make the light. A few riders make it along with me, and we settle into a nice rhythm, riding by the big boats and the cool waters. Two hundred and thirty odd miles must elapse before we will see these boats again, some during the still of the night, others during the pre-dawn hours of Sunday.

The tricky left turn onto 304 has us climbing a little, and I am spit out of the group. Absolved of having to maintain any kind of pace, I slow down a little and watch the train recede smoothly into the distance. I am passed by more people, and we roll by dale, farm, lake and hill along W Belfair Valley Road. I ride a little with Ron Himschoot, and he pulls away too. I see Gary Prince fixing a flat, and offer to help. He waves me on, and I continue. A few miles later he flies low, a good 10 mph faster than I.

A few miles later, I see a rider on the wrong side of the road, and circle over to him. It is Gary. He is changing his tube again. He has no more spares. I assure him that I have 3 spares, and all he has to do is stay ahead of me, and help is assured. The beauty of being fast is that you can always wait for help. The lanterne rouges need to be self-sufficient. I press on, wary of wasting daylight. Gary flies by me again, and I hopefully will never see him again. For his sake. I arrive at Shelton and see Bill, Peg, Lesli and Jennifer. Ron is having a sandwich at a cafe, off the course.

Shelton to Cosmopolis

We make quick work of the control, and we all leave together, but I get dropped again. By the time I make it to the top of the little hill, they are nowhere to be seen. Solitude. Blissful at times. Stressful at times. I turn onto 108, and the dread of chipseal enters my mind. I almost catch Ralph and Carol, but it is not to be. Ron catches up to me with a "When did you get ahead of me?". We discuss our stops, and it turns out that he has had a nice Sandwich at that cafe. We ride through McCleary, where he bids me good day and is off down the road. I enter chipseal hell.

Monte-Elma road fills me with dread: the headwind is blowing strong, the road surface is what it has always been, and my pace has tanked. Bill and Jennifer pass me again part of a bunch of riders. There is little to do but put ones head down and crank away. "If you are going through hell, keep going" comes to mind, and I finally turn left onto Main Street.

I am slowly exiting my dark place when Alan Bell pulls up and says Hi! I ask him to not wait for me and press on, not thinking about what my words might mean. Alan says "Do you mind if I chat with you a bit?": a perfect gentleman. We ride together chatting about this and that, but a lot about Table Tennis, something his fiancée is very interested in. I play too, though I haven't played in a while. I resolve to play her, even if it means certain embarrassment.

We spy a rider ahead, but he isn't one of us. He is one of "them": fully-loaded bicycle tourers. Blue Slough arrives too soon, and we split from his way never to know where he is from, or where he is headed. The clock is a terrible dictator. Traffic free but still chip-seal bound, we make it to Cosmopolis where a huge group (Carol and Ralph, Jeff Loomis, Bill Gobie, Jennifer, Peg and Lesli) is present.

Cosmopolis to Westhaven State Park

After the usual control procedures, I leave before Alan, Bill and Jennifer. Alan is still in the loo, and Bill and Jennifer are just preparing to leave. I soft-pedal; Bill and Jennifer catch up. Alan is nowhere in sight. Shortly before the malls Alan joins us, and our tight paceline with me playing the tail cuts into the wind. I cannot ride their pace, even in their draft. Jennifer tries to motivate me into riding faster, but I beg her to go. She leaves, reluctantly, catching up to the group in no time.

The wind blows from the side, sometimes from the front, and I struggle. I struggled along this stretch in 2006, and why should this time be any different ? As I climb one of the few rises on this road, I find my rear wheel slipping and sliding. Dreading the diagnosis, I look down and sure enough, the rear tyre is slowly leaking air. I find a staple on the sidewall of the tyre, and remove it. I give the tyre the once over and as I am done replacing the wheel, Greg Taylor and Todd Black introduce themselves. Todd collects my tools from the ground while Greg engages me in conversation. We leave together, but don't stay together for long. These two are fast.

I collected some bonus miles in 2006, and I know exactly which mistake to avoid this time. I ride to the end of the beach, and find two bikes in the grass, and find volunteers Mrs and Mr Swarts and Master, Mrs and Mr Morse eager to help.

Westhaven to Raymond

I stuff my face with food, and am regaled with stories of "enthusiastic" people singing songs and forming arches for riders. I regret being slow. A woman offers a beer to Geoff and he politely declines. After a couple of vegetarian friendly sandwiches, two packs of cashew nuts. and a stashed banana, I bid them goodbye. I will see Geoff again next week at the Oregon 600. .

That unseen enemy, the wind, is now an ally. It shoves me through the pipe, and I find myself rolling along at a good clip, but not good enough to catch anybody. This is a lovely section of road, one that I have never tired of despite repeated journeys through. It does not disappoint. Greg and Todd pass me again a few miles South of Tokeland. They watched the surfers and the kites.. What a wonderful way to use ones speed!

I find myself alone again, my thoughts subdued, with the wind, and the water and the waves for company. Time flies (like arrows). I pull into Raymond, and see a small group this time preparing to leave. They stay back upon my request; I don't really want to be riding alone at night.

Raymond to Potlatch State Park

I leave quickly, my only luxury having called my wife to let her know my general location. Soon after we leave Raymond the road pitches up. Jennifer lags behind with me, while Bill rides on a few feet ahead. I try to exhort them to go ahead, but Bill rides back, and the three of us, with my sedentary pace as lead set off again. I am feeling low on energy and a few miles later I stop to eat. I've been bonking, and out come Bill's magic Peanut Butter and Chocolate Chip bars, and Jennifer's endurolytes, and my cashewnuts. Some water, and I am refreshed by the stop.

I find that I can now hold their pace, and we discuss our food strategies and the miles melt away along with the daylight. We stop a few miles before the turn onto 107 to wear our night clothing, and take bathroom breaks. We eat a little bit more, rest a little bit more. My companions are kind enough to stay with me, and I promise to ride hard for them. I pick up the pace into Montesano where we arrive just as darkness has started to fall.

There is a rider in a car, and it looks like his family has come to pick him up. I do not recognize him, but he assures us that he is ok. We buy food, water and Gatorade and eat some more. We stay for 15 minutes before setting off on the next torture fest: Monte Elma Road. Again. Luckily we spot a foot wide clean area and ride there, and this stretch too passes by quickly. We are still chatting, and it is clear that tiredness or sleepiness hasn't set in. The rare car flies by, but we can ride three abreast for a good part of it.

We make the Cloquallum Road turn, and the road pitches up again. Not steeply, but conversation ceases. There is not a star in the sky. This of course, does not bode well for the randonneur. The temperature has dropped too. I find myself under the grip of the sleep demon, and anxious to shake him off, I ask my fellow riders if they would play a little game with me.

My mother, who is a teacher by profession, got me hooked on the English language as a child. She would play little word games with me, most of them designed to bolster my vocabulary and my grasp of the language. Of course, we played word games at school too, and one of the more famous ones was the ones where you would try to keep a chain of words beginning with E and ending in E, going. The rules of the game were simple: Take turns, no repeats, only one form of a word to be used, and the words had to be found in a dictionary.

Bill and Jennifer consent. At first the words fly out fast, and the easy words are exhausted. The dynamics of the game become apparent. It is a test of memory, speed and diction. If you don't use the time you are idle productively to think of other words fitting the pattern you give other people time to think. We take turns pinning the other person to a corner, and we also learn new words in the process. Sleep has receded into some remote corner of our brain, as has the dark sky and the fallen temperature.

Our world is our game, and our lights are its only illumination. Oh, and the odd house: its dogs spooked by the sound (and probably the smell). Jennifer claims to be having a lot of fun, and we finally arrive at the turn onto US 101. Riding abreast at this point is impossible and so the game ends. We all revert back to silence. But it was great fun while it lasted. A mile or two out of Potlatch, we find a group of riders headed back to Bremerton. We arrive at Potlatch to a roaring fire and a warm welcome from the Llona family.

Potlatch State Park to Bremerton

We are shown to our seats. There are some riders sleeping in Joe's car. Joe and Jesse flit around us taking care of our every need. This control has been an enormous time hole for me. I spent about 45 minutes in 2006 trying to warm up after a chilly descent down to the Hood Canal. This time I eat two PBJ sandwiches and a Chicken-Flavoured soup. I start shivering and now I know that I am in trouble. I tell Bill and Jennifer that I am shivering and need to leave or I will never leave. They graciously allow me to leave.

I leave, and cannot warm up. I continue to shiver, and my bike shakes every few feet. I cannot control myself. A few miles later Stephen Barnes joins me. I am still shivering, and his arrival makes me pick up the pace. We chat about our entries into randonneuring, some of his long rides, some of mine and people we know of. I am still shivering. There are no climbs to speak of, and there is water nearby. By the time we reach Twanoh State Park, my shivering stops, but I am still cold. I finally warm up a few miles after Twanoh.

Just before the SR 3 turn, I run over glass. I swear and stop immediately, and Stephen and I go to work on my bike to make sure that I don't have any glass stuck to my tyres. We make the turn onto SR 3, and then onto Belfair Parkway. Traffic dies down, and we are alone with our thoughts again. Half-way down Belfair Parkway we see the first signs of daybreak. One of the greatest rewards of randonneuring is being able to ride late into the night and see the day break.

We turn onto Sam Chritopherson road, and we know that we aren't that far away from the finish. SR3's shoulder is a mess: we climb over, and then plunge back down to the water, seeing those big boats again. It has been 22 something hours since we went by those boats. I want to be done. The short and steep hill on Burwell hits me hard, but I see Stephen waiting for me at the top. We both turn onto the hotel lobby. The time is 5:50a. We are done!

Eric Vigoren and Maggie Williams offer us congratulations, food, drink and encouragement. We make a quick stop to get our cards signed, and take off to catch the 6:20 ferry. On the ferry, I see Bill and Jennifer. They finished about 6 minutes behind us. I catch Mike Huber and he drops me off home. Next week is the Oregon 600!

April's R-12: A truly last minute affair.

2010-05-02T08:32:00.000-07:00

Prologue

Cue whining music..

I have been horribly busy these last few months, often working late hours, and having no time to either commute to work by bike or do a permanent, because more often than not I was at work trying to get things done. Such schedules lend themselves very poorly to improving ones riding shape. The only day left was the last day of the month, which I had to arrange with my boss since I finished everything at work the previous day. Alan Bell rescheduled his Saturday registration to ride with me, and we met at the Haggen's in Arlington by around 6.45a.

Arlington to Sedro Woolley

We set off around 7.10a under ominous skies. I was greatly encouraged by the wide swath of clear sky to the far west and south of us hoping that as the day progressed the rains would get driven out by the brisk tailwind that we were supposed to get. It didn't quite work out that way, as there was still quite some darkness where we were immediately headed: North, and North-East.

I have ridden several times on Highway 9, but mostly only in the Southerly direction, the lone exception being the 300 where we headed North on Highway 9. Not for far though, as we turned off towards Conway on Highway 534. The road looks very different headed North, and it was like being on a new road. Traffic on Highway 9 was not bad with only the logging trucks showing signs of impatience. Wide load trucks were the best though, slowing down for us, maintaining a very good distance, and passing only when sight lines and traffic was clear.

Alan slowed down a bit to stay with me, and I sped up a little and we stayed mostly together on Highway 9. We chatted a lot, about our jobs, families, backgrounds, interests and so on. The miles melt away in such pleasant company, and you hardly notice the weather. We had been peppered by the occasional water drops here and there, but a few miles into the ride, the rain started. I had hoped that there wouldn't be much, if any, of the rain, and so left my helmet cover and rain pants at home. This would turn out to be the source of much consternation but little actual damage. We stayed warm from the slightly rolling terrain of the Highway.

Alan nearly missed the turn away from the highway, but luckily I was there close enough to avoid any Special Ks. The rain now started in earnest, but we got to the Sedro Woolley control in pretty good time. The time was 09:09.

Sedro Woolley to Bellingham

I got some Hot Chocolate, while Alan got some Fig newtons. The Hot Chocolate was truly hot and Alan suggested that I add some ice to it to cool it down so I could down it and go. Brilliant Idea! (filed away in the "Randonneuring Tips" section)

The rain had now thickened, and traffic along Highway 20 was quite busy, but we turned off on F & S Grade road, which offered a welcome respite from the traffic. I didn't even know that a "Off the Highway" route existed to Bellingham! There were a few locals out: one was clearly the local Adopt-A-Road guy, as he was walking the shoulder with an eagle eye and a trash bag. A couple of walkers looked at us and professed us "Hard-core". I agreed with them, equal measure of vanity and politeness.

We stopped briefly on Prairie Road for some clothing adjustments: I put on my skullcap. My gloves weren't soaked through and my feet were warm in my wool socks. We were among the trees so it was difficult to ascertain what the weather was going to be a few miles down the road. Old Highway 99 took us to the small town of Alger, which I would love to visit and spend some time in ("Cute Little Town", as my wife would put it). The Alger Cain Lake Road stretch, which took us past Lake Cain, Lake Reed, Lake Louise and Lake Whatcom was a lovely stretch, with lakes, verdant forests and farms: pleasing to the eye.

About halfway along Lake Whatcom Blvd, the rain stopped, even if the few people waiting for a bus in the little town of Sudden Valley looked at us like we were ghosts. There is a golf course here: I'd have to tell my brother; an avid duffer, I am sure would love play it. Seeing our shadows was much cause for cheer, even if the hill that followed made me suffer a bit. We got to Bellingham in good time.

Bellingham to La Conner

We were treated to a really grumpy clerk at this control last year, but this year there was an East Indian woman, who was polite but seemed bemused by my attire and mode of transportation. "Are you biking?" she asked me with a sort of disbelief. I bought some PowerAde, and a Bear Claw which I ate on the spot.

We made quick work of the control, and set off discussing whether we would stop at the Mambo Italiano for Lunch, a spot venerated by our very own Mark Thomas. Alan wanted to at least check it out since he had never managed to spot it, while I was wary of spending too much time at a restaurant, being fully aware of my status as the slowpoke.

We parted ways at the Cafe: I had just eaten a bear claw, had a PowerBar in reserve, and a bottle of PowerAde, and I knew this would tide me over for the next 30 miles or so, and I left Alan, and rode onto a mostly-empty Chuckanut drive. Not many tourists or locals on a Friday afternoon. I stopped a couple of times to adore the scenery while nibbling on some food. I expected Alan to catch me, but as I flew down the last hill towards Bow, I still hadn't spotted him in my rear-view mirror.

The wind hit me hard as I exited the hills of SR 11, and onto the flats of Bow. It was a W/SW wind, and it seemed like it was in my face no matter which direction the road took. We headed west on W Bow Hill Road, and my pace slowed quite a bit, with the chipseal offering another hindrance. I paused to admire the horses before the last of the small hills on Bow Hill-Edison Road, and the horses came over to take a look at what I was all about.

Alan caught me a mile or two before Highway 20 and passed me with a gentle "I am going to just putter along". I tried to stay in his slipstream but it was too much effort. I couldn't catch him while he was waiting at the light, and the result was another solo slog into the wind. I got to La Conner a little after 3p.

La Conner to the Finish

I tried to make quick work of this control as I knew Alan would probably leave ahead of me if I didn't. The clerk at the Pioneer store was familiar with our activities: she was full of questions about how far I had to go, and how ahead of time I was. When I replied "about a couple of hours", both she and the woman behind in line responded with a "Way to go". Excellent encouragement!

We left the control, and spotted a new Cafe/Bakery to our right (the right turn just after leaving the Market). This will be my preferred stop from now on, I think. Now headed in a Easterly direction, the winds turned favourable, and save for a small stop to eat on Pioneer Highway, we made excellent time. We finished a little before 6:47p, making it in a 10 h 47 minute excursion. Many thanks to Alan for sticking with me and heeding my call for a Friday ride. I was glad I played hookie from work!

SIR Spring 300K: Breathing room

2010-03-28T17:09:00.000-07:00

Prologue

After a "less than stellar but still good enough to finish" performance at the Chili Feed 200, I was quite excited about this relatively flat 300. I carpooled with Jason to the start, which featured an impressive array of food and drink. I downed a donut and some coffee there to start my day off right. A lot of riders, and a lot of new faces. This bodes well! But we shall not speak of "the" ride today. There were several BC Randonneurs: Ali and Roger Holt among them. It was good to meet them after a long time.

Start to Hollywood Hills

I was in front of the women's loo when the bulk of the pre-ride instructions were given, but I heard the words "train tracks"... (I was guarding the entrance because a dude was using it). We set off into the pre-dawn hours, and a trail of red blinking taillights could be seen climbing up the little hill. I found my natural position, and chatted with Roger Holt about the fine art of recovering from injuries, though his were far serious than my own.

Roger's pace was too good for me: I backed off and fell in line with a 'bent rider who was only headed as far as Marymoor. On the descent into Lake Forest Park, the 'bent vanished, and just before the turn onto the trail, I saw Ken Krichman walking up the road. He had let a bottle fly off. Ok, I would have some company shortly I thought, but kept riding on, mindful of the narrow time cushion I had survived on a fortnight ago.

I was a little nervous about the routing off the trail, having checked it out the previous day, but there was a rider wearing a Brooks jersey (Chris Stevens), who pointed me in the right direction: he had stopped to take off some clothing. I was making good time, and when I checked my watch as I was nearing the control. I found out that I had more than a half-hour on hand. This cheered me up considerably. I finally got to the Hollywood Hills control and met Mark and Chris Thomas, manning the control.

Hollywood Hills to Beaver Creek Park

I was planning to make a quick stop of it, and when Mark told me that I had 39 minutes in the bank, I was overjoyed. "You are on target for a 15 hour finish", he said. I live right up the hill from the control, and maybe I could take a half-hour nap ?

I set off again for the next control on my morning commute route, and as I was nearing the point where the brevet route diverged from my commute route, I saw Frank Kaplan (who I mistook for somebody else), coming toward me. "Do you know where you are going?", he asked. When I replied in the affirmative, he stuck with me, and we chatted along until I got him to East Lake Sammamish Parkway. Recognizing his superior pace, I told him that he was under no obligation to stay with me. After saying his thanks and wishing me a nice ride, he set off, soon a blur in the distance.

I didn't want anybody to see me suck climbing Louis Thompson Road, and more than a few zigs and zags later, I met a smiling Gary Prince taking photos at the top of a little rise. This is where I heard of the Tofu Sandwiches at the next control. I made it to the next control to see quite a few riders leaving the control. This was another good sign. On the Chili Feed 200, I had hardly met anybody at the controls.

Beaver Creek Park to Sultan

In the randonneuring world, there are controls, and there are controls. This was of the latter kind: Food and drink of every kind was laid out in front of us. Vernonia is the gold standard of Controls, but this one was almost as good as Vernonia (they have French-press Coffee).

A smiling Geoff Swarts welcomed me along with two other volunteers whose name completely escapes me now. She even affixed a "wow" sticker on my fender. Shame on me! I had more than an hour in the bank. This was welcome news, and some much needed breathing room. I saw Jason, and Peg at the control, and this gave some hope that I would actually make decent time. I spent about 15 minutes doing control activities and eating the Tofu sandwich. Just as I was readying myself to leave, the rider in the Brooks jersey rode in, looking all classy. And so did Chuck Hoffman.

I took off again, not wishing to waste any more time, and after a easy-looking-but-not-for-me climb up Ames Lake, I found myself on the gentle rollers of W Snoqualmie Road. The day had started clearing up, and I could see signs of blue everywhere. Pacelines of bicycles littered the roadway. The day was warming up, but not enough for me to take off my jacket. I was passed by a couple of riders on this stretch, and just before the next turn on Crescent Lake Road, Chris passed me too. I was now pretty sure that I was Lanterne Rouge. No matter, I had time in the bank.

I have always suffered on Ben Howard road going East. That one sharp climb always kicks my tail. Zig and Zag to the rescue again. After that one climb things eased up a bit, but we will be visiting these parts again on the 4-Pass 600. Gulp! I thought Chris vanished off in to the distance, but somehow I got to the Sultan Coffee shop only a couple of minutes after him.

Sultan to Granite Falls

I got some chips at the Sub Shop, and mixed up the last of my Sustained Energy: two bottles worth. The next stretch was not easy. Reiner Road would take a healthy bite out of my leg. I finally got to take off my jacket and gloves. I left before Chris and the first little climb up (which I most dread for some reason) wasn't very hard. The area doesn't seem to have escaped the turmoils of the housing market: I noticed that several of the houses were subject to foreclosure. There is a lovely little descent down Reiner, and then a gentle flattish stretch after which the road takes a turn for the worse: Up. I zig-zagged my way, and I spotted a smiling Mark Thomas with his camera ready to capture every wince and whine.

Me: "I hate you" (this is a running joke between us).

MT: "Hahaahaha. It wasn't even my idea. You look like you are enjoying it though"

Me: "There is some pleasure in pain, I guess"

MT: "But not as much as watching others suffer"

Me: "You know how I console myself?"

MT: "How's that?"

Me: "I am not doing these hills after climbing 3 Mountain Passes!"

I stopped for about 10 seconds to take a breather on the last vicious stretch, but didn't stay to chat with Mark once I made it to the top. Mark didn't mind. Pipeline road offered some reward for that last nasty climb. The roads after the Woods Creek turn were something else. Chris saved me from bonus miles when he read the BL instruction on Roesiger Lake Road which I completely missed. :) When I crested the vicious little hill on N Lake Roesiger, he was gone. I got to Granite Falls eventually, losing about 10 minutes of my buffer, but I wasn't complaining.

Granite Falls to Conway

I found out that Chris had arrived here only moments ago, and so I made quick work of this control. Got myself a snickers bar, filled my water bottles (no more Sustained Energy, alas), and took off with Chris, who then dropped me promptly. When we got to Arlington, I saw him atop the steep little hill and was happy to keep somebody in my sights. A vicious crosswind greeted me on Highway 9, but there are no steep pitches here. The crosswind turned into a nice tailwind on Highway 534 and blew me into Conway in no time. I saw a blue jersey leaving Conway, just as I pulled in to the gas station there. More time in the bank!

Conway to Stanwood

Chris had gotten there a while back, and looked set to leave. I made a pact with him to ride at night, and we left together after I lubed myself and filled my bottles with Powerade. We would have the dark hours upon us in a little while, and so we put on our night gear as well. I rode behind Chris, and we made it to Stanwood in no time. Again that blue shirt was leaving the control as we were arriving. Drat!

Stanwood to Machias

We just got our cards signed. I called my wife to tell her that I was doing well, and promised to call her again when I knew of my finish time estimate. The wind was quite merciless. After we passed Interstate 5, Chris took off. 43rd Ave delivered a little kicker, but the pain was short-lived. Thank goodness. I had resigned myself to riding by myself again, seeing that I was visibly slowing down Chris, but he was within sight. I passed him fixing his water bottle cage just before the trail, and stopped there to use the restroom. Chris caught up here.

Centennial Trail's gentle little climb has always owned me, but today the story was a bit better. Although I lost Chris again, I found myself in the company of a woman who had just bought a bike, and was trying out clip-less pedals for the first time. "How long does it take for one to get used to these things?" she asked. This brought back memories of my first first clip-less pedals usage in 2001. We engaged in some friendly conversation, and the topic came around to how far I was riding today. I just told her that I was out to get to Snohomish. She mentioned seeing a lot of "you people" near the end of the trail where she got on (this meant that they were at least 3 hours ahead of me).. ;)

She took off into the distance, and I settled into a comfortable rhythm, the blinkie lights of Chris gradually fading off into the distance. I got to Machias station, and saw Mark Thomas again, signing cards in lieu of the info control question. He truly was all over the course. Lyn Gill, Jennifer Chang and Bill Gobie were preparing to leave just as I entered. Chris had already made himself comfortable.

We all know that Mark is a class act, but he goes above and beyond: He offered to come and pick me up at the finish and drive me home. Thanks Mark, for all you do.

Machias to Woodinville

After eating some chips and donning our night gear, we set off down the trail again. Chris decided to stick with me, and we rode together all the way up the climbs on Springhetti and Broadway. Broadway just climbs forever. Its several false flats are annoying to say the least, and we finally got to Yew and made it safely across 522 to the turn on Bostian. Now this road also owns me. I lost Chris here, and didn't meet him until the control. Traffic was non-existent so I survived by zig-zagging up some of the steep ones. I arrived in Woodinville at the stroke of 10p.

Woodinville to Finish

Bill Gobie, Lyn Gill and Jennifer Chang were getting ready to leave again. Chris took off too about a couple of minutes ahead of me. I figured he was cooling down, and had to take off. A scintillating descent later, I spotted Chris a half a mile away from me, and all my insane attempts at catching up to him failed. I settled into a comfortable rhythm on the trail, which was completely deserted. The tree roots were a bit annoying though, but nothing to really whine about. A few miles away from the finish I saw some blinking taillights again, and caught up to Jennifer Chang.

It had been a while since I met her (on my ill-fated DNF of the 4-Pass 600), and we caught up on "old" times. I was a little confused about where to get off the trail, and we stopped and chatted with some U-Dub students, and they eased my mind a bit. Jennifer also seemed to know the area, so we stuck together, and Jennifer let out a "So, we're going to finish" when she saw the QFC.

We rolled into the Pub at exactly 11:40. 17 hours and 40 minutes. Bill and Lyn had finished 10 minutes earlier. The kind organizers, David Harper and Gary Prince, were with Bill Gobie, sitting inside nursing their drinks, and Jennifer and I joined them. The food tasted so good.

Ron Himschoot finished a few minutes later.

Epilogue

I received a message from Jason Dul. He trounced his 17:03 previous best with a 15:11. Way to go! Bill made a habit of leaving controls just as I was arriving. I think next time I will wear some cologne.

My thanks to all the volunteers: You pre-rode in not-so-great weather, had excellent food at the controls, were all over the course, stayed late at the finish, ordered perfect weather for us, and made it a fine day to ride. See you on the 400!

SIR Spring 200K: Au Revoir et Merci

2010-03-15T22:48:00.000-07:00

Prologue

If the entries in this blog are any indication, I've been off the bike for a while. Since November. My R-12 streak - which was at 27 months - came to an end. I think Thai Nguyen is the current leader at 48+. Four R-12s: Mon Dieu! Duane Wright is not that far behind Thai. Enough about them; this is about ME! :)

5:40a: I rode to Kingsgate Park and Ride in Kirkland to be picked up by Thai. I forgot my helmet and had to ride back, which means I missed my appointed hour of 6am by 2 minutes. I didn't know this at the time, but slogging to make time was going to be the theme. We chatted about randonneuring, PBP 2007, and rides past, including Thai's 1000k-on-fixie.

The start was full of riders, fulfilling Greg's desire to go out with record participation. The Coxes, like the Thomses are one of the two ride organizers who open their homes to us. The hill to Greg's house, and the hill up to Mark Thomas' house occupy a special place in SIR ride lore. Greg has helped out more than one rider (including this one) with his endless supply of gloves, helmets, water bottles, and bike parts saving many a rider from a DNS or a DNF. The food, course, attention and encouragement are all top notch. I was a bit sad about this being the final Chili Feed. Maybe Greg will do it again in a few years time. ;)

Start to Town and Country Foods

After some ride instructions, which included the ominous insertion of "a bonus vista", we set off. I hung out safely in the back, no point venturing forward when you are going to get spit out faster than a rotten peanut. I knew exactly where this "bonus" vista would be, having ridden one of the Winter Training rides in years past up that very "vista". I was quite nervous about this ride: I was croaking. Only seeing several well-known faces (though some friends were nowhere to be found) kept my mind off my task for the day: to show up back at Greg's house riding my bicycle before 8:30p.

I rode with a huge bunch, flying down the hill on 240th street, and braking severely at times for the lights. Mike Huber, an old buddy on these rides, pulled up next to me and we started catching up with each others lives. Just before the first climb, Mike found out that he forgot his water bottles at the start. I had two, and I was pretty sure I could buy another water bottle along the way, and so I gave him one of my water bottles.

They pulled away on the climb, and the first of many chain popping offs started. I had just replaced the chain, and it kept falling off the back when I attempted to use the lowest cog in the back. Frank Wilson, stopped to see if I was ok, but I waved him on, leery of delaying him. I eventually made it to the top, and I pulled over to look at my problem. Eric Simmons and Frank stopped, and Frank adjusted my derailleur, and hopefully things would be well again. Things improved tremendously after that, but I couldn't use my lowest cog throughout the ride.

As we headed toward the water, I knew that I was in for some pain. I made it up the first little grade ok (and Frank even rode back down to see if I was ok, when my chain popped off again), but I didn't have it in me to ride the next little bit. Halfway up, I swallowed my pride and started walking. The 24" gear to the rescue! I didn't want photo evidence published, but I was in no shape to ride up that grade. Eventually near the top I got on my bike again, and Joe Platzner took a photo of me riding up that grade on my bike. I finally got to Town and Country Foods, and met Mark Thomas, Vincent Muoneke and Amy Pieper, and was told that I had a whopping 13 minutes in the bank. The first "Should I just quit?" thought just entered my mind, but I quickly put it away: there was no way I was going to DNF the final Chili Feed!

Town and Country Foods to Black Diamond Bakery

At the coffee store, I ate a couple of donuts and some salted peanuts in record time, and got back on my bike. There were four of us vying for Lanterne Rouge: Eric Simmons, Frank Wilson, David Smith and myself. (though I didn't know that Paul Johnson was behind us, having suffered an endless succession of flats). This group helped me forget my "DNF' thoughts, and I focused on getting to the next control. Another climb and no chain incidents.

Green Valley Road was as pretty as ever, with the farms, the fog, and the blue skies. I was stopped just before the Black Diamond climb to apply bag balm, and Chuck Hoffman passed me with a "stop lollygagging, and start riding". The climb went rather uneventfully, but I did have to zigzag to reduce the grade. I finally made the control to a huge collection of volunteers: Mark Thomas, Peter McKay, Amy Pieper, Bob Brudvik, and the Nussbaums. I had 8 minutes to spare. Duane Wright was leaving the control as I pulled in.

Black Diamond Bakery to Greenwater

An enthusiastic and cheerful group of volunteers will do for your brain what several hours in the bank cannot do, and that is provide welcome distraction through conversation, and lots of encouragement. When I professed doubts about making the Greenwater control it was quickly shot down by Mark and Amy with a look of absolute certainty on their faces (fakers!): "Oh, you will make Greenwater". Ralph was adamant that I would make time on the next leg: "We got here at about the same time as you did, and we finished in 10 hours and change". It is words like these that help you keep going for it's harder to quit when you know that others want to see you succeed. Thanks guys! I might have thrown in the towel here had it not been for you.

All of the randonneurs had left. I got two blueberry strudels, sat outside and and joked with the volunteers about the fastest riders, and moved on right as the control closed. The rain started on Black Diamond Road, and matured to a full-on hail session just before the "Secret" control on Cumberland-Kanaskat Road. There was also a bit of headwind, but when I arrived at the "usual" location of the control, but there was no one to be found. I soldiered on, into the wind and the hail, and the downpour, and after about 2 miles, I saw Mark Roberts on the side of the road with the SIR control sign. I stopped just enough to get my card signed and see if they had any food. But Mark and Rick Haight were both out of food, and so I went to the Cumberland store to get a Pay-Day bar.

At the left turn onto Greenwater, David Smith and I pulled over for a moment. We had 2 hours and 2 minutes to go 17 miles. I was sure I wouldn't make it, but I was determined to try. I took off at first, and the climb to Mud Mountain Dam Road had me by the @#$@#, but I got to the top, and started seeing riders coming back to make the left turn. I would have killed to be in their shoes. Dozens and Dozens of cheering faces went by, offering recognition and encouragement. The temperature kept dropping as I neared Greenwater, and I could see my own breath for the first time all day. I had no time to stop and put on clothing.

Riding with no time banked isn't a problem IF one has the ability to bank some. The prospect of a mechanical delay or getting lost was terrifying. Mike Huber was headed back the other way and rode over to my side to thank me for lending him my water bottle. I feel now that I acted rudely by not slowing down to talk to him, but I had no choice: I was focused on making Greenwater. Sorry, Mike!

I had dropped Dave Smith, and he hadn't caught up to me at all, and I suspected a DNF. Two miles from the control, he blew by me dead set on making the Control. I pulled into Greenwater at 4:06 with 2 minutes to spare. I got the clerk to sign my card, and he signed it with "4:11", which was 3 minutes outside the time limit. I had to show him my phone to get him to change the time. The store had a nice sign inside that said "Welcome, Bike Racers".

Greenwater to Enumclaw

I was relieved. The hardest section of the ride was over. Sure, 218th Ave loomed large, and so did the final climb to Greg's house, but they were minutes of effort, not hours. They were all out of Pay-Day bars, and so I was forced to buy a Snickers bar. Duane Wright was leaving the control, and I found out that Dave Smith had suffered a flat, which was why he wasn't ahead of me by a half-hour at least.

The ride back from Greenwater wasn't quite as fast as I expected, but I felt good nevertheless. David Smith again blew by me, and this time there was no catching him. A wee bit of rain also started falling at this time. The misty sort. The splash from vehicles on the highway made things dirtier than they needed to be.

As I made the turn onto Mud Mountain Dam Road, I saw two people pulled over on the side fixing a flat, and after a quick "Are you ok?" I moved on (shame on me!). The rain started hammering down, and the descent down Mud Mountain Dam road, ordinarily no cup of tea, was pretty painful. Stinging rain on ones face while going downhill in excess of 20+ mph! Yippee!

I spied a green jacket ahead, and caught up to Duane Wright, with whom I rode to the Enumclaw control under clear skies. The time was 5:57. I had more than 25 minutes in the bank for the first time. I finally knew that I would finish the ride.

Enumclaw to the Finish

We drank Hot Chocolate, commiserated with the clerk who had been signing cards all day. Our riders were well behaved however, and she had no complaints. We all donned out night riding gear. As the clock struck 6:10, I had the hankering to move on again, so telling Duane that I would ride slowly, I took off into the fast approaching darkness.

I knew this next stretch almost by-heart, so I made my way as fast as I could, but upon starting the climb up 218th, I finally remembered that I told Duane that I would soft pedal, so I really backed off, and waited for him about a 100 meters up the climb. Duane wasn't far behind, and by virtue of his fixed-gear, had only one speed to go. He didn't weave back and forth, and maintained an even pace straight up the face of the hill. We were also joined at this point by two other gentlemen, who I didn't catch the name of, and the three of us caught Duane waiting for us at the next turn.

The next few miles are almost entirely downhill, so we all hammered to make some time, and when we got near the fire station, the two gentlemen peeled off. Duane took off again up the hill, but I wasn't that far behind. We rode in together to finish. I was so relieved! No DNF! But a new Personal Worst at the 200k distance. 13 hours and 6 minutes. As Jason Dul says, DFL (Dead F-ing Last) is better than DNF. :)

Post ride

There were several volunteers cheering for us at the finish: I saw Dan Jensen, Eric Vigoren, Maggie Williams, Greg Cox, Lyn Gill, Mark Thomas, and Peter McKay, all of whom offered congratulations. I picked up the water bottle that Mike Huber had returned. I had some incredible Vegetarian Chili, and fruits. Thanks Greg and Mary for so many years of fun.

Mark gave me a ride home, and I tried my best to butter the President by saying nice things about Apple. Time to get in shape for the 300! It promises to be considerably flatter than this one. I'd be happy to just finish that one too :)

R-1 in the books.

R-12 #2 completed

2009-07-14T21:44:00.000-07:00

Short version: Finished the Three Rivers Cruise Permanent in 10:46 to complete my second R-12. Au Revoir!

Long version, below:

I have been off to Europe for darn near three weeks, but I had some unfinished business over in Randonneuring land before I could leave: my July 200k ride. I started rather late (around 8.45 on a day that promised to be hot. (I should have left early and maximized my time in the cooler temperatures).

Start to Marblemount

- I stopped in Darrington for food and water, and met Andrew, a Coloradoan bicycle touring from Steamboat Springs, and spoke to him for 20+ minutes.

- Nice tailwind on Highway 530.

- Lots of traffic on Highway 20. Hhhmmn...

- I got to Marblemount in 5 hours. Maybe I can finish this ride in 10 hours or so?

Marblemount to Concrete

- Headwind: not bad. Heat: not so good.

- Crawled up the not-so-steep climb to Rockport State Park, and took refuge in the shade.

- Regrouped by getting more water at the State Park.

- Stopped at the convenience store in Concrete before the turn, and chatted with some teenagers on bikes. It's always great to stun the young crowd. (The bathroom was disgusting. Would not recommend this store).

- Chip-seal on South Skagit Highway as nasty as ever. The heat was bad. Traffic: low.

- Ran out of water just past the information control, and knocked on a house to get some water. A very helpful lady tied up her dog and gave me bottled water. Thanks very much!

- Rested in the shade a little bit and then took off for Clear Lake.

- Getting off the chip-seal was awesome...

- Stopped at the store in Clear Lake to get some more water, and some Ice Cream.

Clear Lake to Finish

- Had a bit of a cross-wind but felt good on the rollers of Highway 9.

- Stopped once at the bar near the roundabout to get some water and Ice Cream. Chatted with the locals drinking, who warned me that Highway 9 was a bad road for bicyclists. I headed out after thanking them for their warnings.

- Stopped again a little while later to use a porta-potty on a construction site, after getting permission.

- Finished in around 10:45.

- Yaaay! R-12 #2.

SIR Spring 600: Truth in advertising

2009-06-17T22:59:00.001-07:00

Prologue

Starting a 600 without first completing a 400 is something I have never done before. Endless promises of a flat 600 had me fantasizing about a strong finish, something very quickly dispelled by the organizer, Albert. "The course is not flat", he said while shuttling between the drop bag truck and the hotel lobby. A lot of new roads, and a lot of familiar roads awaited.

I met a lot of the usual suspects at the start. Michael Huber was there and confessed to being quite strong on the bike this year and was having grand ideas of riding straight through. I found myself on the opposite side of the spectrum. Having DNF'd the 400 in Ephrata (at about 300k), I was wondering how I would fare. My only goal was to finish, and I rode with precisely that aim in mind. I would keep my control stops short, and en route dalliances to a minimum. Three hours of sleep at the overnight would be nice, but not necessary.

Start to Ruston

I rolled out at the back of the pack, having stopped to use the restroom to apply bag balm. We stayed in a big bunch, aided by the red lights on 15th and the West Valley highway, though Bill Alsup, Duane Wright and I were already at the bottom end. I caught up to Rick Haight. Rick volunteered on the PBP qualifier of 2007, and I joked about how I begged for coffee on the road to Whitney, and Kent Peterson, mindful of not supporting outside the controls, offered a "You are only a few miles out of the control!"... He was just getting warmed up and separated himself on the initial incline of Military Road. When I crested that hill, all I could see was The Kramer on his 'bent and Rick pulling away. The pack was gone.

I somehow found myself alone on the turn onto S 360th, and thought Duane would have trouble with this turn, and as I stopped to fix my dropped chain, I saw Duane fly by the turn. I tried waiting for him at the SR 99 intersection, but he didn't show up quickly enough for me. I caught up with Bill and passed a crouched Dan Jensen, fixing a flat. Bill stopped to take a picture of the bridge and I kept riding (having left the camera at home as a time-saving measure). The trail along the water was full of runners and even some cyclists getting their bikes off their cars. I got through the tunnel, and crested the little hill to the first control at Ruston, where I was met by Robin and Amy Pieper, and Charlie White and his son.I had about an hour in the bank. This was unexpected good news.

Ruston to Waterman Point

Amy and Robin filled my water bottles, and after a brief discussion on who was behind me, I left for the next control. The left turn onto Pearl put me in the company of a few "normal" bike riders, and on a mostly shoulder-less road with cars trying to get to the start of a run. I was off the madness quickly though and onto the Tacoma Narrows bridge which shares quite a few similarities with Vancouver's Lions Gate Bridge: Great views and Green in colour.

After a nice scenic stretch next to the water in a still sleepy Gig Harbour, I found myself on some of the roads that we rode on the Tahuya 200 last year, except in reverse. Orchard Road bit me a couple of times, the first bite forcing me to zig zag. The second bite was a bit less painful than the first, and reminded me of Port Gamble Road. After some more riding along the water, Dan Jensen caught up to me, and we rode maybe a mile together before we found ourselves face to face with Eric Vigoren, manning this control.

Waterman Point to Cosmopolis

After a few cookies, some nice catching up, and a visit to the porta-potty, I took off with Dan Jensen. He was clearly a faster ride than I was, and dropped me, but I passed him when he stopped to take a picture and then went to a bike shop. On Clifton Road we passed by Anderson Hill Road, and I could only think of thanking Albert for resisting the temptation to put us on that three-headed monster during daylight hours.

This section - Clifton Road - was a low point for me. There was a nagging uphill grade, a headwind and I found myself not going fast enough for my liking. However, Feigley Road changed all that. The descent was awesome but somewhat ruined by a pickup truck illegally backing uphill to make a left turn. I wasn't going down quite as fast as I usually go, and that saved me from just rear-ending the idiot.

The day was quite beautiful and a lot of cyclists were out riding their bikes. As I slowed down to make the left turn onto West Belfair, a couple of riders stopped on the road to ask me about the ride we were on. They knew we were together, and I did my best to give them a 2-minute summary of what we do. They were suitably impressed when I described the ride I was on. I gave them our website, but I think that a few little scraps of paper with our website written on it would be a brilliant idea. We parted with mutual wishes for a good ride.

This section of W Belfair was new to me, as I had only ridden it in the opposite direction on last years Tahuya 200. More flat riding, and as I went by Bear Creek - Dewatto Road, I uttered another round of thanks to Albert. It certainly looked like he spared us some major heartburn. After a brief jaunt on the high-traffic SR3, we were led to the chip-seal hell that is SR 106. I arrived at the Union Country Store, filled my water bottles and took off again, while Dan Jensen waited to get a sandwich.

Oh, I forgot to mention this. Since my DNF because of running out of food, I kept a solid supply of food on board. This was perhaps overkill, but I figured I needed the practice. I have cycled many a time on SR 106, but never on Purdy Cutoff road. It was a lovely stretch of road, and I greatly enjoyed the shady respite it offered. My shorts were rubbing me raw, and I stopped to put on some bag balm, and traffic got backed up behind me (I thought it was a low traffic road!). Dan passed me here.

After a steady slog uphill, I made the turn onto Dayton Airport Road, but the stretch to Matlock was new terrain. Mostly flat but the wind wasn't cooperating. I made good progress and just as I got into the Matlock store, I saw Dan Jensen pulling out. I didn't see any other rider until the overnight in Centralia. I refueled at the Matlock store and stayed about 10 minutes. Gatorade, some salted peanuts and more PowerBars. When I left the store I was met with an immediate gust of wind that told me that the wind wouldn't be doling out any favours today. It was put-your-head-down-and-slog time. Some clear cuts, some forests and distant mountains. Oh, and some "transformation centers" (Euphemism for "Pray the Gay away" ?). I also spotted what looked like Nuclear Power plant cooling towers a little before Monte-Elma Road.

The wind was nothing compared to the 4 mile stretch of chip-seal hell called Monte-Elma Road. In previous years, we have ridden this entire stretch, but today was only 4.2 miles, but I was still glad to get off it. I didn't think to stop at the Bakery in Montesano this time around. Blue Slough Road was another lovely stretch, completely shaded and totally traffic free. Lovely, indeed. I arrived at Cosmopolis with plenty of time to spare. I was greatly disappointed to see that Dan Jensen had already left. I was hoping to coax him into riding a slower pace with me at night.

Cosmopolis to Westport

A lot of brevets go through towns and villages instead of cities, and you do meet a different kind of humanity here. The Cosmopolis Chevron had a nice owner who promised to keep his store open an hour later than normal and I made it a point to refuel all my food and hydration stores here to show a small measure of gratitude for such kindness. I also informed him about Bill and Duane being behind me, and that he probably wouldn't have to stay open until 10. I left fairly quickly as I wanted to get to Westport before dark.

A nice wind-aided stretch followed where the only source of trouble was the shoulder-less bridges. However, these were dispatched with aplomb, and I found myself at Westport fairly quickly.

Westport to Rainbow Falls State Park

I had promised myself a bit of a breather here, but considering the wind, I took off in about 10 minutes after filling up on water and food, and using the restroom. I knew that darkness would fall on this stretch, so I wore my reflective ankle bands, but left my jacket off. I had brought leg warmers, but it looked like that would be overkill. The shoulder was filled with debris and a few miles out of Westport I started to ride on the main road, and moved into the shoulder only when I spied a car in my helmet mirror.

To avoid psyching myself out over the distance to the overnight control, I folded the route sheet to the Raymond turn, and focused on getting my butt to Raymond. The Peninsula is a great place to ride. Mostly flat, little traffic and features the soft sounds of waves crashing on the beach. I made good time, but about two-thirds of the way to Raymond, I stopped to don my jacket and reflective vest. I also turned on my E-delux light, a birthday gift from my wife.

What a difference this light made!! It is a totally awesome light. The E6 has a yellowish light, but the E-delux throws a white light. I had it mounted on my front rack braze-on, and though there was some wheel shadow, the light was simply superb. Pricey, but good. It light up at far lower speeds than the E6 and features a standlight, which is a great addition.

I got to Raymond in good time, and since I was ok in terms of food and water, didn't bother to ride into town for either of those necessities. I had trouble getting the left turn light onto SR6 to trigger and used the pedestrian sign to get it to turn on. I was starting to feel a bit tired a few miles out of Raymond, but kept on, hoping I would see a grocery store where I could get some coffee. Having woken up at 4a to catch a ride with Duane, I was starting to feel a bit sleepy, and after about 15 miles, I saw a sign for a tavern in Lebam, and figuring I'd take a chance, I entered. A little apprehensively, I admit.

There were only two patrons (read: drunks) there, but the bartender was a friendly sort. They already knew about what we were doing, so I guessed that other riders must have stopped here for refreshments. They were full of conversation: "You have to ride to Centralia, huh? That's a far ways away", one quipped, while the other filled me up on the long and steep climb ahead of me in the next three to four miles. Not to be outdone, the first one made comments about bears, mountain lions and drunks ("like myself", he said). I never got the impression that they were trying to scare me, just filling me in on the road ahead. :)

I got Coffee with some milk and sugar and after making quick work of it, I got up to pay, but was told that the coffee was on the house. Awesome! I thanked the patrons, and the bartender and made my way out, refreshed. It was only a 10 minute stop, but it was a very welcome stop. Now fully awake (those months of drinking decaf now suddenly seeming worthwhile), I continued on. I half-hoped Bill or Duane would catch up to me, but that didn't happen. The roads were traffic free and I made excellent time, even climbing hard amid a very soft rain and enjoying the descent. I made the left turn onto Pe Ell, and only then did fold the route sheet all the way to the Centralia Control. When I got to Rainbow Falls state park, I saw a red blinky and turned left into the park looking for Paul.

I didn't find Paul. The time was now 2.05a. I had made good time, and with any luck I'd get my three hours of sleep tonight. I rode all over the park, but it looked purely residential. I started yelling "Paul, Paul", in the vain hopes that they might hear me. I met a trucker who told me that they were on a turn next to where the bridge was washed out. So, I made my way out of the park and onto a second road, where disaster struck.

I was met by three barking dogs, the smallest of which went straight for my ankle. It was too late when I realized what the stupid thing was about to do, but I had the presence of mind to kick out and off it went whining. I fought off the other two with my front wheel, and as the clearly inebriated owners fought to maintain control of their dogs, I fought with the dogs to stop them from mistaking me for food.

Finally order was restored, and I asked for help in the form of a phone call. One of the family members actually drove out to go see where the control was. (I didn't realize this). To say I was incensed at this point would be a severe understatement. My inability to find the control, the dogs, the wasted half hour all added up. I called Albert to ask about the control, but I used an F-word "adjective" to describe the control (I apologized to Albert at the finish). Albert didn't know where it was, and referred to Peter, who tried to calm me by telling me that getting mad wasn't productive. He asked me to continue on SR 6 and that I would find it. I thanked the couple and left, and a few hundred yards down the road, I was met by a girl who slowed down to tell me that "they" were setup a mile or two down the road. I thanked her and kept riding.

I got to the Rainbow Falls Control at 2.45a, about 35 minutes behind schedule.

Rainbow Falls Control to Centralia

I was met by a smiling Paul Johnson, Sheila Johnson and John Vincent. I was still seething from my lost time, and after a few minutes of ranting and raving, and poor Paul apologizing profusely, I sat down and was treated to a great array of Vegetarian food (excellent Szechuan Noodles). John took my bike, Sheila gave me food and drink, and Paul fought with Raccoons, that were trying to get their hands on some randonneur goodies.

After some pleasant conversation (I stopped being an a-hole), I left around 3a. I told them that Bill and Duane were behind me, and that I hadn't seen them for well over 200 miles. I didn't even know if they were still riding at this point. I was now feeling the effects of the 230-odd miles that I had ridden, but the last few miles went by without incident. I do remember riding by Curtis Hill Road and thanking Albert yet again.

I got to Centralia at 4.37a and was met by Peter Beeson, and some others getting ready to leave. Peter took my bike and escorted me to my room.

Day 2, 7:20a: Centralia to Morton

I told them I was good on food, and after asking for a 645a wake up call, I brushed my teeth, showered, and hit the sack at 4.45a. Yes, 8 minutes. The next instant Peter was waking me up. I brushed my teeth, changed into bike clothing and took off around 7.10am, but had to turn back when I got confused by the route sheet. Peter set me straight, and I rode on worried about the measly 2 hour buffer I had.

I had ridden Centralia-Alpha road in the other direction with Peg and Allison in 2007. It wasn't that terrible, but then I was in great shape that year. This year would be payback. I saw Matt Dalton and another rider fiddling with their bikes at the base of the initial climb, but they started back up, and disappeared around the turn, before I could get to them. I slowly climbed the initial leg, and as it flattened out, I saw Peg down the hill behind me.

She caught up to me on one of the steep sections, and when I hit the top. she was gone. I just slogged through this section. I knew I would be losing time, and I didn't care. I just wanted to make the Morton control on time and I would see what I could do after that. SR 508 was another hard stretch. I didn't have energy and I started stopping to eat my PowerBars. Apart from one nasty climb SR 508 was all right, but my legs weren't. It was just that the 250 miles I had ridden the previous day were getting to me. I took frequent breaks to adjust clothing and eat.

When I am tired, I try and ways to introduce some humour into my ride. One such instance was when I saw a mailbox with the name Studhalter on it. I don't know if you know my sense of humour but it leans towards the juvenile. My immediate reaction: that last name would be a death sentence to a woman. She might as well have been called Ugly. I know this is not funny now, but for some weird reason, it offered me comic relief for a few miles. Eventually SR 508 flattened out and I was riding next to a nice river, and arriving into Morton. I saw Peg leaving the control. She would be the last rider I saw on the ride. I wish I had ridden a bit fast and left with her, but it was too late.

Morton to Enumclaw

I had about 3 hours in the bank when I got into Morton. Feeling tired despite having taken many a breather everywhere I decided to stay about 15 minutes. I bought some Powerade, some salted Cashew nuts, Sprite, more PowerBars and some jojos. The jojos were very poorly made, but I still ate them knowing that there would be some more climbing. I used the restroom, chatted with the friendly clerk, and rested my head on the table.

I filled the Powerade in my water bottle and left Morton on SR7 with a nice crosswind. Shortly after the control, the road tilted up, and traffic was pretty high. The jojos I ate gave me horrible heartburn, and I didn't like this section as a result. The shoulder was inadequate, and I slowly made my way up the climb. I stopped a few times to "adore the scenery". I got to Summit Cr at 1700+ feet, and then had a nice descent into Elbe.

I tried to stop at the bar, but it was overrun by bikers (the motorized kind). One of them commented "So, you made it here all the way from Canada, eh?", looking at my BC Randonneurs jersey. I left the area before they started "joking" more. The wind was now in my face, but Alder Cutoff saved me from the wind, and threw me onto a hill, with cars buzzing by. There was a fantastic downhill on SR 161, and we turned onto Orville Road.

Now, I had great dreams for Orville Road. I was hoping it would be a quiet road with no traffic and lots of views of Lake Kapowsin and Lake Ohop. I stopped to eat off the side of the road, and was met by the rudest honk off a guy driving a huge pickup. He gave me the "get moving sign", but all he had to to was go around me. When I motioned for him to go around me, he threw up his arms in disgust. I wasn't very happy with this, and said "hey", and threw up my arms in disgust. He drove a few feet away and then stopped to backup, but there were other cars behind him, and he just took off. I kept a wary eye out for him.

Pickups, pickups, and more pickups. The surface was not the greatest either, and it had the kind of short choppy lumps that were pretty annoying. My heartburn showed no sign of abating, but my appetite was still there. The grades on some of the gravel roads that led off of Orville Road were unreal. I stopped to admire as an SUV drove down one of those inclines, and progress was slow. It seemed like some sleep would help, but there was nowhere I could stop and nap.

The right turn to stay on Orville Road helped the quality of the people on it. I stopped to admire another nice view before a descent (or I may be making this up). After a few miles I stumbled upon some grass by the side of the road (near an entrance to an RV Park), and napped for a good 20 minutes. My aim was twofold: to allow Bill Alsup to catchup, and get some rest. The constant steady stream of traffic was my way of making sure I didn't sleep for a few hours.

Of all the signs you want to see in this world, "Volcano Evacuation Route" is not what you want to see at the end of a 600k. But my sleep had refreshed me, and though I wouldn't say I powered up the hill, I got there in good time. My mother called to talk. Talking to her was refreshing, even if she didn't understand why I was doing it. I turned left on to familiar roads now, having done the Redmond - Carbon Glacier only last month. The small climb just past Buckley was a kicker, but I arrived at the Enumclaw Control with plenty of time to spare.

Enumclaw to the Finish

I bought some Sprite, some salted cashew nuts, and a couple of PowerBars, and I knew that I would finish in under 37 hours. That felt good. I helped a woman operate the gas pump (she didn't know how to get that thing started). I left after about 15 minutes. The next section was completely known, except the little stretch past Main Street in Auburn (Leschi - Auburn - Leschi permanent). As I rode up the last little incline, my bike suddently downshifted, and the chain fell off, but only after making an awful noise. I stopped to put the chain back on, but I found that the chain had wedged itself between the chainstay and the small chainring. This was not good. I knew there was a killer descent onto Green Valley Road, and I could basically walk my way to the finish in under the time limits.

I tried doing all kinds of things, jiggling it, trying brute-force, and finessing it. Nothing worked. I flipped my bike over and started to work on getting the chain off, when a car pulled over and asked me if I wanted a ride somewhere. He was a cyclist himself, and when I told him about the ride, he immediately parked his car, and came over to help. We discussed our options, and he said he didn't haveto tools to get the chain off. I replied that I did, and he offered to get the thing off. After what seemed like 10 minutes of jiggling, he finally pulled it off! He was my saviour! And, I didn't even get his name.

I thanked him profusely, and he didn't even complain about having to work on a dirty chain! I wasted about 30 minutes in the process. Oh well. I knew that the finish was less than an hours ride away. The descent to 212th and then onto Green Valley Road was awesome. Green Valley Road was uneventful, but this was the first time I rode in this direction. It felt completely different. I felt strong on the bike, and soon I was cruising past Main Street and onto heavily trafficked roads. I could finally relax. I was going to make it. It is possible to finish a 600 without a 400. I finished in 37:39.

Albert was there at the hotel lobby. The room had Beer, Pizza and snacks. I shoved my face with whatever I could get my hands on, and then called my wife to let her know that I finished. Albert told me that Duane had decide to end his ride someplace near Cosmopolis, and decided to get a room in Aberdeen. I met Karel from Montana. As I was getting ready to hit the showers, Bill finished. He was only 20 minutes behind me, but he had really hammered to the finish. He had a lot of off the bike time that really added up. Karel and I discussed some permanent options that he could do if he wanted to try for an R-12. The Colbert-Metaline falls permanent (seldom ridden) was something he expressed some interest in, but it isn't rideable in the winter. Talking to him made me realize how lucky we all are to have such a living thriving randonneuring community right at our doorstep. And our weather. I know we love to complain, but atleast we can do 200's in the winter. Montanans cannot.

Thanks to all the wonderful volunteers on this ride. The Rainbow Falls control was excellent and so was the support at the overnight. It was a great 600. And it most certainly was NOT flat.

Epilogue

Duane had sent word that he would like me to call him, and when I did, he offered to come and get me. I thought his car was still in Auburn and so he was coming down with his friend to come and get his car. I showered and waited for Duane, and talked with Karel. When I left the hotel, I found out that Duane had driven down just to get me. It turns out that Duane had already retrived his car in the morning, and was just offering to come and pick me up. Duane's Nice!

SIR 400k Pre-ride: A rookie mistake.

2009-05-22T16:50:00.000-07:00

I will update this post with photos once I have had a chance to upload them.. :(

Short version

DNF!

Had the beginnings of a cold. Didn't bank much time at any of the controls. Had 26 minutes at Farmer, where I just stopped to take a picture of the hall. Had an hour and 8 minutes at Pateros. Lost time on the section to Twisp. Nice headwind and a crosswind. Rode strong over Loup Loup pass. Had about 40 minutes at the Omak Store. Made good time on Columbia River Road, but ran out of food about 5 miles from the turn onto 155. Called Shane and Chantel, who came and picked me up: he said I was slurring my words, which is not a good sign.

In hindsight, I should have just asked him to bring me some food and continued, but I didn't want to get support outside of the controls. I learnt that I needed to carry more food than necessary. This was particularly stupid, because I carried lots of food for the first 75 miles which lasted me almost till Omak. So, it is not as though I am stupid all the time, but, in this case, with no support until Electric City, my mistake got magnified.

Long Version

Prologue

Duane and I drove together to the start, and had a nice dinner with the pre-riders at a restaurant in Ephrata. We Woke up early, and got dressed up for the early morning chill. It was cold at the start, maybe in the 40s. There were several of us: Geoff Swarts, Matt Dalton, Mark Thomas, Mike Norman, Thomas Martin, myself, Duane Wright, Tom Brett, and Bob Brudvik. This was an almost entirely new route to me. The only section that I was familar with was the section on 97 from the 97A intersection to Pateros, and the section from Pateros to Twisp, both of which I rode on the 2006 1000k. Not what I would call "hard".

Ephrata to Farmer

The first section was to go through the Sagebrush Flats, and the Moses Coulee. "A whole lot of nothing" quipped Mark Thomas. Kent Peterson that quotable ex-randonneur once said of the Sagebrush Flat "It gets the 'flat' part its name for the same reason that three-hundred pound tattooed Harley riders are sometimes named '"Tiny'. It is a description that stuck to me. Since there were no services for the first 75 miles, I was well stocked up with food and water: I had 3 Bananas, 3 PowerBars and 12 Pepperidge Farm cookies in my bag, and two water bottles. I stashed a 1-liter bottle of water in my Carradice.

The road tilted up immediately, and Duane and I quickly dropped back, while the group took off ahead of us. Duane was riding his fixed-gear, an insane choice considering the length of some of the climbs and the descents. To top this off, he had just ran a marathon the previous weekend. Not my idea of a recovery ride. The terrain was mostly dry, not much vegetation except sagebrush. The first few miles were mostly up, and once we got to the "top" of the climb, we had a nice descent on which I lost Duane. I descend like a rock, and Duane was on fixed-gear. I didn't know this then, but this was the last I would see of Duane for a while.

After a couple of bone-jarring gravel stretches of just a few feet in length, I got to a T-junction. The route sheet said make a left turn onto Highway 2, and that didn't register until I started riding towards a sign that said Highway 2 West. This was a steady climb again, and I soft-pedaled several times to let Duane catch up. But he was nowhere in sight. I had a bit of a tailwind as I approached th Farmer Control. I took a few pictures and checked th clock, and sure enough, I only had about 26 minutes in the bank.

Farmer to Pateros

My mental strength on rides is directly proportional to how well I am riding. If I am too close to the cut-offs I am not at my happiest. I ate a couple of cookies and left immediately from Farmer, and was met with long rollers. Spectacular views of the mountains everywhere, but the immediate vicinity was mostly farms. The rollers on this stretch were vicious. The paucity of training miles showed. Every mile there would be a road cutting across, going to some farm, but apart from that there was precious little.

I turned onto McNeil Canyon Road and was met with more uphills, but a little while later, I stopped to see if Duane was behind me. I thought I saw his jacket, but I wasn't too sure. I kept on and after some climbing, I saw a sign that said "McNeil Pass Summit". I hadn't expected to be climbing a mountain pass, but this was another pass climbed. The next few miles were all downhill, and I lost altitude like I have never done before: I didn't touch the brakes once, but the winds were vicious. Tucking in helps lose in minutes what one spends hours to climb.

I thought about stopping at Beebe park for water, but I had a half a bottle. I thought about turning back, but decided to keep going to save time. The day was warming up and I stopped to take off some clothing, and who should swing by but Shane, who gave me a hearty hug. I hadn't met him since we rode the Three Rivers Cruise permanent right after PBP 2007. It was fun catching up with Shane and Chantel. I got some water from him and took off again, aided by a nice tailwind. Familiar roads again. I rode this stretch at night in 2006 and it was good to see the sights during the day. I got to Pateros a couple of minutes before noon, and had about an hour and 12 minutes in the bank.

Pateros to Twisp

Shane was here to sign my card, and I filled my water bottles again with the left over water from the previous riders. Apparently the other riders had left only 15 minutes earlier, but coupled with my 10 minute stay here, I was 25 minutes behind. I had no chance of catching up with anybody. I left without waiting for Duane, figuring that his superior speed would help him catch up. The road follows the Methow river, and the wind was picking up a little bit. I had a headwind for the most part, and it turned into a cross-wind after a few miles. I saw people on boats coming down the Methow, and stopped to take pictures of interesting road names, bridges and the river itself.

I was heading straight towards an area with dark clouds and about 10 miles, I was pelted by a brief shower of sorts which dried off almost immediately. I went by the store in Carlton not buying anything as I still had a PowerBar, a Banana and about 7 cookies. Just before the Highway 20 turn off, I knocked on a house for water, but nobody was around. I just filled up water from their hose. I now had about 50 minutes in the bank. Not very good with a mountain pass coming up.

Twisp to Omak

I decided to just follow the route sheet instead of the discussed Lower Beaver Creek Road. The road tilted up for a bit, but flattened out for pretty much the rest of the way. I first tried accelerating every few hundred meters and then slacking off, but that burned me too quickly, so I just started pedalling at a consistent rate. The shoulder was not that awesome, but the grade was quite gentle. I reached the summit of Loup Loup pass in about 2 hours and 18 minutes, which put my speed at just about 5-6 miles an hour. I took a few photographs, and then left.

The descent from Loup Loup for the next 7 miles was something else. Going West on this Pass would be a bit of a pain, but I was going down this time. I had a steep pitch after 7 miles and that got me crawling again, but it wasn't for very long. I really enjoyed that 7 mile stretch: it was my high-point of the ride. I stopped to eat the last of my cookies and got to Omak around 7.20, but not before I got confused about the Main Street turn (it was 2 miles further than advertised). I had 40 minutes in the bank. Not very much, but I still had a shot at finishing.

Omak to DNF

I always pictured Omak to be a cute little town, but sadly it wasn't. Oh well.

I bought and stashed three Bananas for the road ahead. I filled up my water bottles, and then sat down to eat the Cheese Burrito that I also bought. I thought for an instant if it was adequate food, and then I remembered thinking that Shane would be some 40 miles up the road in Nespelem. Figuring that I would last 40 miles on the food I had, I waited for Duane. A bunch of kids on bikes chatted with me as I waited. I told them that I was headed to Nespelem, and they said "Wow! That's far", almost in unison. I also dressed up for the night. I made two critical mistakes here: I forgot to buy a Starbucks DoubleShot and extra food. My plan was to restock with Shane and Chantel.

Around 7.40, I figured I had to get a move on. I left Omak and turned right on to Columbia River Road. I expected it to be a very quiet road, which it was. The road surface wasn't bad either. I thought the road would follow the river downstream, which meant a whole lotta downhills, but sadly that wasn't true. The road was rolling, and I ate the first of my Bananas a little too quickly for comfort. I was feeling strong however. The hills weren't that bad and the wind had completely died down. Darkness set in, and the only things I heard were the buzzing of my tyres, critters and barking dogs. After a brilliant Sunset, I saw the Columbia River flowing to my left, and the road tilted up again. I was treated to a most spectacular moonrise above some lake, which I enjoyed greatly.

I eat a lot when I climb a lot, and this meant that I was eating the second of my bananas even before I got to about the 20 mile point. I still felt good. After about 10 miles, I ate the last of my bananas and that was when I knew I was in trouble. I thought I still had 10 something miles to go before I could possibly get my hands on food, but I was wrong about that too.

Usually pretty good about just being in the present and not worrying about the road ahead, I started thinking about the 70 miles or so that I had to the finish. This was my first clue that I was "off". I stopped for about 5 minutes to try and gather my thoughts, and I started riding again. The road tilted severely up, and I found myself having no energy to turn the pedals. I was falling asleep on the bike, and zig-zagged up this climb, whose top I couldn't see. I was completely demoralized. I knew that there would be nothing open in Nespelem, and I knew that I didn't have the energy to get to wherever Shane was.

I thought I could stop somebody and get some food, started flagging down cars, but nobody stopped. It didn't look like I was going to make it to Nespelem. It is very hard to identify the exact process by which one says "I am going to DNF", but mine came half-way up the climb to Nespelem. I was tired, hungry, and demoralized. I started walking up the hill, thinking if I could only get to the top of this climb, I would be ok. After all, I had more than an hour in the bank. But even walking felt hard.

I called Shane to let him know that I was done. I was apparently slurring my words, and not really coherent. I sat down and a car pulled up. It was a driver asking if I needed help. I asked him to give me a ride to Nespelem where Shane would come and pick me up. Shane and Chantel showed up a little while later. I got something to eat, and we loaded up my bike in their car and went looking for Duane, who I had not seen since that climb to McNeil Pass. We couldn't locate him. We loaded up the car and headed back to Ephrata.

We were really worried about Duane, but he showed up around 9.30. He had ridden through the night after taking several catnaps. That was pretty good. We drove back on Sunday, stopping at Ellensburg for a nice lunch.

I rode Redmond-Carbon Glacier the following week in 10:43. My first sub-11 hour 200k in a while... That kept my R-12 streak going :)

SIR 300K: Well, I finished.

2009-04-05T12:21:00.000-07:00

Prologue

I haven't had the time to sit and and write a detailed report, and I forgot my camera. So, this is going to be just like all my previous reports: boring! Geoff gave me a ride to the start, and I found out something very interesting about him. Can't share, though. The ferry ride was fun: I sat near Jan Heine and had a nice little chat with him. My first memory of Jan is hearing him say that he wanted to finish the Tahuya 300 before dark (2006), and being in awe. I searched for Mike Huber, but I couldn't find him for some reason.

This is SIR's 15th year: it was great to meet John Wagner, one of the founders of SIR. Ron Himschoot introduced him, and John spoke a few words to us, before we set off. I had a few goals on this ride: 1) No candy bars (dentist's orders), 2) Finish, and 3) Get off Highway 9 before dark. I accomplished #1 and #2.

Start to Joseph Whidbey State Park

Very few sections of this route are new to me, so navigation wasn't going to be a problem. The first 20 miles were a touch cold, and I historically take a while to warm up. I rode with Rick Groth for long periods on this stretch. I also met his wife, Julie, who stopped at quite a few spots to take pictures of us.

There are two dogs about halfway into Highway 525 and they were in their usual spot, but they were too tired to give any chase. Greg Cox bounded by with a cheery hello: he had to drop Mary off at the airport, and had started late. The turn onto Libbey Road marked the first new section of the ride, but I loved it, as it took us off of Highway 20 traffic. We hugged the water, and arrived at the first control, where quite a few folks: Ole Mikkelsen, Ron Himschoot and Geoff Swarts were manning it.

Joseph Whidbey State Park to Bellingham

Ken Carter was indeed riding near me. Hhmmn. After mooching a banana off of Ron, I took off. I had been bonking a bit before the the Libbey turn, and it felt good to get something in the system. The water at the park had been shut off right after it opened, which was very weird, but there was a gas station not a mile away from the control, and I stopped there for food and water. The clerk there was very kind, and full of questions about our ride. She had moved up here from Oregon, and was enjoying it so far. I took this opportunity to take off my booties, but left the leg warmers and the skullcap on.

I spied Ken a little ahead of me, but instead of making the turn onto Golf Course Road, he kept going. He turned around after I called out to him a couple of times, muttering a "I wasn't paying attention" with his thanks. We rode a little while together sharing tales of not having enough miles in our legs. His superior climbing took him away, and I never saw him again. Or maybe I saw him near Mount Vernon. Don't remember.

I crossed Deception Pass during a nice long break in traffic, and found Rick again. We swooped down the descent on Deception Road together, and I passed another tandem on Satterlee Road. I saved Sylvia (new?) from a wrong turn (though she would have dead-ended pretty soon had she kept going), near Thompson Road. She wanted to wait up for her buddies, and I kept on. On the descent to the Farm to Market turn, the tandem went by. Instead of making the turn, we all pulled into the gas station together.

This wasn't a control, but should have been. It was fairly far to the next control with almost nothing in between until Bellingham, so it was a good stop. Several randonneurs and randonneuses had the same idea, but after food and water and more clothing adjustments, I set off again. Thai on fixed-gear, caught me near the Museum on Bayview-Edison Road, and disappeared. I found out that the nature foods store at the corner of Bowhill Road and SR 11 had closed. They had some good stuff and I have stopped there at least a couple of times.

I stunk pretty much all the way through Chuckanut drive, but since I didn't see anybody for a while, assumed that I was the last. Chuckanut was beautiful as always, and traffic was moderate. I made it through the core of Bellingham without getting lost (though I almost missed a left turn). Crossing I-5 was, well, fun.

Bellingham to Deming

I found a cheery Dan Turner manning the control with an assortment of goodies. He warned me that Deming was a better place to get food, and signed my card. The store had the most dour-faced convenience store clerk in the world (he even trumps the one I met in 2007 in Mount Vernon). He didn't want anything to do with me, except money of course. Dan gave me a brief run down of the next few miles, and renewing my promises to ride his 300k, I took off.

This stretch was extremely pretty, as I was able to see the snow covered peaks in close proximity, and the wind seemed like it would be favourable the moment we turned south. The fluttering flags were a great comfort. I was sad to leave Highway 542, but we shall see more of it, and at a slower pace to boot, courtesy of Dan (he promises a climb up to Artist's point). The moment I turned onto Highway 9, I felt the tailwind. I met Peg at the control together, eating an Ice Cream, and I resolved to get some for myself.

Deming to Arlington

Wanting to get off Highway 9 before dark, Peg and I left the control together, and rode in a pace line for a while, but the conversation was too good to ride like zombies. So, we pulled next to each other, started yakking it up, and the next few miles just blew by. Peg has an excellent sense of humour, and we tease each other almost constantly on one thing or the other, but all in good fun. For a while there we were doing good time, but eventually I tired and Peg slowly pulled away. She wasn't very far away, and I could still see her. We regrouped near Sedro-Woolley, where she ate something and I made a phone call to the Home Department. When she stopped to put on her night-gear, I caught up to her yet again, and were joined by a smiling Jim Jensen, who apparently rode 20+ bonus miles, having missed the SR-9 turn. Jim usually rides a tandem and was clearly missing his navigator, Ann. Instead of being 2 hours ahead of us, he was near the back of the pack.

We all dressed up, and figuring the temperatures would drop, I wore my skullcap, and was really warm for the next few miles. We stayed mostly together till Arlington, but I think Jim and Peg got there a few minutes before me. The Tandem (the Sneed's), and two other women also pulled in shortly after. Another rando reunion at the Arlington Haggen's.

Arlington to the Finish

I spent about 25 minutes here, and I don't know why. A combination of poor planning and general tiredness. I need to get back to my in-and-out-of-controls-quickly mindset again. However, sometimes you need to rest a while to recuperate, and I took off first, knowing that Jim and Peg would catch up to me. I almost missed the turn onto the Centennial Trail, but made a U-turn and got on where I was joined by the two.

The gentle uphill grade of the trail gets me each time. I soon dropped off the back, and while I could stay near them, the gap wouldn't close . The downhill bits on the trail had me catching up to them though, and we rode through Machias to the information control. Ron, with the thoughtfulness of a very experienced randonneur, had included the Info Control question on the route sheet, so there was no need to whip out the card. I made a mental note of the answer, and set off again. We rode together tight and fast on Lowell-Snohomish road, but my riding companions pulled away near the climb.

The climb: Luckily for me there were no witnesses. The two red-blinkies were gone by the time I got to the left turn on 41st avenue. I spent some time there recuperating from the climb, but it wasn't over yet. I knew I would finish, and typically near the end of rides, I lose all motivation to get there as fast as I can: the road curved left and then right, and with that the steep climbing would be over. Mukilteo Boulevard is a never-ending series of rollers, but the last few hundred yards are all downhill.

Ron Himschoot and Mark Roberts were at the finish with pizza, and Peg was just about to hit the showers. I ate the last two slices of veggie pizza (colossal mistake), and the Sneed's, Sylvia and another woman whose name I didn't catch, all finished. Sylvia wanted veggie pizza, and there was none left. Very sorry about that, Sylvia. I showered, and after a bit of a nap, got a ride home from Mark Roberts. What a fun way to celebrate SIR's 15'th year!

ORR Birkie 200: A thorough soaking

2009-03-28T17:43:00.000-07:00

Prologue

Happy birthday to my dear Father-in-law.

What is the definition of a rainy ride? According to David Huelsbeck, it is any ride where one needs to stop and wring the water out of ones socks. By that definition, the 2009 Birkie wasn't a rainy ride. But by most peoples' definition, this one was a soaker.

Having missed the Chili Feed 200k for the first time in 3 years, the Birkenfield 200k in Oregon beckoned. After months of Permanents, it felt great to start with a new group of people, renew old acquaintances, and ogle new bikes. Despite the weather forecast calling for some rain, there were more than a few of us. This is a brevet of great vibes for me as my brevet personal record was set here in 2007. Of course, I had a whole lot more miles in my legs then than I do now. Today, completion was the goal.

I had two layers on top: a synthetic inner layer and a wool jersey on top, topped off by my Showers Pass jacket. I wore Pearl Izumi shorts and Ibex Leg warmers, with my prized Chili socks, with booties on top. I neglected to wear my rain pants and my helmet cover, and would pay dearly for this.

Start to Vernonia

There was a slight drizzle, but the dark skies tempered any enthusiasm. After a few words, the group took off, and the lights of Forest Grove even at that early hour, broke up the pack quite quickly. And of course, my pace didn't help matters either. I was by myself before long, and tooling along, when Joe Platzner came riding by, and we chatted for a few minutes before his natural pace took him gently away from me. Gales Creek Road meandering along the eponymous creek has some nice vistas of the mountains, and the rain made the greens pop out.

The climb up to Timber was much easier last time around. It was raining heavily by the time I reached the clear cut top, and plunged down the other side. We wouldn't climb for a while. My gloves were soaked through, but I was warm everyplace else. I should have found an awning and stopped to put the last remaining stuff on, but I was too dumb. The Vernonia control is always well-stocked: in 2007 it saved me from the cold. I kept turning the pedals thinking of the well-stocked Vernonia control. Hot Coffee or hot Chocolate was sure to be served, along with muffins, nuts, donuts and cookies. Just as I was entering the control I saw Cecil leaving on her beautiful Sweet Pea. She looked cheery despite the conditions. She almost always is. We shouted out our hello's and she went on by.

Vernonia to Birkenfeld

The control didn't disappoint. There was a huge group still there, and Peg was there as usual to give me grief. I had Del retrieve and sign my card: I was too far wet to consider touching my card. I had two cups of excellent (french press) coffee, by far the best I have had at a control. I stuffed my face with Cookies and nuts, and spent about 10-15 minutes at this control, just recovering in general. Paul Johnson was also there, and we caught up some. I took off, but not before I heard Peg share "too much information". :)

It was still raining, and as I took off for the info control, I didn't even realize that I had forgotten to put on my rain pants and my helmet cover. I pulled over at the school and saw Paul Johnson go on by as I covered the last of my exposed areas. My face was the only area left uncovered. I would have made the Taliban proud!

I pulled up next to Paul, and we shared memories of wonderful rides (that dry and hot 1000k in 2006), to make us forget the current drudgery. Ron Himschoot, that fount of wisdom, calls randonneurs "too dumb to quit". Having signed up for this ride despite knowing the weather forecast, I could find very little to change his opinion. Peg, Lesli and Sara were pulled over fixing a flat, and I just assumed that they were heading back to Stoney Point Road: they hadn't yet.

Everybody stopped at the info control, but I knew the question, and the answer, and just made a U-turn and headed back. Stoney Point Road climbs gently, and offers more of a chance to admire the scenery. I half-expected Paul to catch up to me again, but somehow that didn't happen. It was raining in earnest now, and I stopped every 5 miles or so to wring out the water from my gloves. I would squeeze my fingers together in a fist and more water would come out.

I have always cruised on this stretch: I do not know why. We had a monster headwind in 2007, but I still made good time. This time, it felt like there was a tailwind, and I cruised by. I should have noticed that the water was flowing in my direction. I was headed generally downhill. Quite a few riders were headed back to Vernonia, and I calculated - correctly - that most of them were hours ahead of me. I passed a pensive Bill Alsup, and reached the Birkenfeld control. There was a small group there trying to warm up, and stay next to the heater.

Birkenfeld to Vernonia

I bought some food and huddled up, and warmed myself. I ordered the biggest Hot Chocolate they sold, and drank it down. It was pretty demoralizing to have to go out in the rain again, but I took off again after about 15 minutes, warmed up considerably. The ride back to Vernonia was mostly a very gentle uphill, but the winds were generally co-operative. I made it to the Coffee shop with grand plans of another excellent Hot Chocolate.

Vernonia to Glenwood

I have long wondered why some coffee shop workers have lousy reputations. They supposedly ignore people and do not have the right attitude. I had never been exposed to this kind of behaviour before, but I guess there is always a first time. I am being generous when I say I got my "Hot Chocolate": it was neither. I ate my cookie, told Peg (and Lesli and Sara) about the general standard of the refreshments, and took off, confident that they would catch me before the Timber climb.

Rain, rain and more rain later, I climbed the Timber incline. My rear-view mirror showed three hard-charging randonneuses, who I tried to beat out for "person of the mountain" points, but Peg cheated and beat me (she stood on the pedals) :) I am the heaviest of the lot but somehow they bombed ahead of me, leaving me quite shocked. I finally caught up with John, who has a very interesting name, and pulled into the Glenwood control.

Glenwood to Finish

There were quite a few bikes at this control, and we made quick work of this control. None of us argued when the clerk commented that she hadn't seen rain like this for a very long time. John and I left together, but not before the trio of Lesli, Peg and Sara. Just before the tavern on Gales Greek Road, they pulled into the covered area, and I thought they were pulling over for clothing adjustments. It turns out that they had another flat. We were rewarded by a nice tailwind. This has always been a great benefit of this ride. A nice 10 mile jaunt to the finish, but I somehow got separated from John.

About 3 miles from the finish, a stranger made his (?) appearance: the Sun. We had about 15 minutes of dry weather on this ride. John and I pulled in together to the control, where our cards were signed by a smiling Sam Huffman. We were done! I chatted with Susan and Sam for a little while, and then took off for Beaverton.

I am wondering if I can get David to change the definition of a rainy ride to gloves and/or socks!?

Work is a four-letter word...

2009-03-01T19:40:00.000-08:00

February

Work pressures have dominated my riding, and I have been able to duck out just enough to continue my R-12 going. I met up with John Vincent and Peg and rode Leschi-Auburn-Leschi on February 21st. It was a fun-day and we stuck mostly together. Traffic was light, and my right leg didn't complain much, except that little stretch past Auburn. Peg has an amazing sense of humour, and teased me all day. Our back-and-forth kept John entertained, I bet. I don't remember how long we took, but it certainly was a great day to ride our bikes, even it was a tad cold.

March

I pre-rode the 100k, and rode most of the day with Ralph and Carol Nussbaum. Walked up that brutal hill again, but didn't walk up any of the other ones. We had some snow, sleet, hail, rain, and icy rain for parts of the ride, but never to give one much trouble. Near the finish, on Lake Washington Blvd, the tandem turned on the jets, and I got dropped for good.

I think I finished in 6 hours and change, and right after I finished we had sustained pea-sized hail for about 20 minutes, and I was glad to be sitting in the comfort of the pub, sipping on a nice beer and eating nachos instead of slogging through it.

I was supposed to volunteer at the Golden Gardens control, but the ride got postponed, and since my nephews were coming over the next week, I couldn't make the new date. One of my spring traditions has been broken (volunteering at the Spring 100k).

Last Chance 200.

2009-02-03T11:59:00.000-08:00

Prologue

I am the past-master of postponing things until the last moment. I have pulled off several last day of the month rides to extend my R-12. There is a certain pleasure - maybe it is relief - at continuing your streak under dire circumstances. After successfully hurting my left knee and some tendons/ligaments/whatever on the outside of the right knee and not very sure about completing a 200k, I joined Albert Meerscheidt and rode the Snoqualmie Valley and Falls permanent. Again. This time, for January.

Ride.
- Met Don Boothby near Snohomish.
- Broken Chain just after we said bye-bye to Don. Albert fixed it in a matter of minutes, and we were off. This is the second time in January that Albert has saved my ride.
- A huge group of people caught us on Highway 9 (they had left an hour behind us), and we rode together to the control in Lake Stevens.
- Chatting with Albert was great. He kept my mind off of my leg.
- Uneventful ride to Sultan, and a nice heavy Sandwich.
- Ben Howard wasn't bad. I started slowing down with some pain near West Snoqualmie Road, and realizing that my knee was opening up more, I closed it (keeping it in line with the red tape on my handlebar).
- 20 miles later, pain gone. I limped into North Bend.
- We dorked up, and left North Bend to light tailwinds. The descent down the mountain was awesome.
- Saw a nasty accident near Tolt Hill Road. 4 cars, not good. Walked around, and had no cars for a few miles, save for those who were making U-turns on 202.

Finished in around 12 hours and change.

R-12 streak extended!

Familiar roads, unfamiliar pain.

2008-12-06T18:00:00.000-08:00

Prologue

Familiar roads are fun, like visiting an old friend. While some things remain the same, there is always great pleasure in noticing something new about them. Some permanents qualify as old friends. Some of the perks include not having to consult the route sheet much, being aware of what turns are to be made, and what each turns looks like, and the scenery in general terms. Some of the newness comes from construction, the weather, seasonal changes, time-of-day changes, your body, and the like.

Pain however, is not much fun. It's like visiting a few relatives of mine. When I was at their homes, all I could do was try and find something to alleviate the "pain". My body betrayed me on this ride. My mileage this past few months has been very low. It's my own fault of course, but it gave me a good reminder of how little we can take for granted in the randonneuring world.

Needing a 200k for December, and seeing a rare (for December) above freezing day, I set off for the Arco Gas station in Redmond to do the Snoqualmie Valley and Falls Permanent this past Saturday. I rode to the start, and as the fog thickened I stopped a couple of times to seriously ponder whether I should even do this ride today. But, nice days in December are not to be wasted. This kept me going.

My original plan was to start at 5a, but I overshot the Arco gas station, and then rode back to get a receipt, only to find out that I really needed to use the bathroom. The Arco station had no food and no restrooms, and so I was forced to go to the 7-11 near Sammamish Valley Cycle. The clerk there refused to let me use the bathroom, so I just bought food. As I lined up to pay, he asked me if I was from India. When I replied in the affirmative, he let me use the restroom in the back: no lock on the door, and the door didn't close completely. Lovely! Apparently he thought that an Indian wouldn't mind the substandard restroom facilities. I was in no position to argue the injustice of it all to him however. Redmond 7-11 bathrooms are apparently for Indian looking people only.

6a: Start to Lake Stevens

It was foggy. The climb up Novelty Hill Road wasn't particularly cruel, and the turns came fast and easy, and the route sheet was rarely consulted. The joy of riding familiar roads. The sun started poking his head out of the mountains near Snoqualmie Valley Road, and I stopped to take a picture of the glorious light on the greenery.

Traffic was light, but the lights at all of the farms were on. Some people start early. I reached Lake Stevens with plenty of time to spare, and took off after about 10 minutes. My left knee let me know that it was still in trouble, but nothing untoward.

Lake Stevens to Sultan

The fog was lifting, and the trail was full of runners, and quite a few men wearing "Army" uniforms running on the trail. I almost took out one gentleman who hastily turned left with nary a warning, and my "On the left" went for nought: iPod. Just before the climb up Old Owen Road I met another bicyclist out on a permanent ride:

Unenventful roads and an even more uneventful climb up Old Owen Road later, I was at the SubShop in Sultan, which is a faster stop than the Bakery (blasphemy!). My plans of holding off Mark Roberts (who was to start an hour and a half later on this same ride) succeded. But as I was finishing my food I was greeted with "Narayan, what are you doing here?". It was Mark. I had only beaten him here by 10 minutes! ;)

Sultan to North Bend

I set off ahead of Mark (who got a nice Coffee and a sandwich), knowing fully well that he would catch me before long. This has always been the stretch where I have lost time in the past, and this was no exception. However, I pushed the pace a little, trying to gain some time, and this had disastrous consequences. Shortly before the return trek on W Snoqualmie Valley Road, my left leg started troubling me too. It wasn't the knee, but rather the outside of the right knee right where the upper part of the leg attaches to the lower part of the leg (hey, I am not a doctor).

I slowed the pace down, and stopped to stretch the IT Band. Mark caught me just as I started back up, and rode with me for a while. My evening plans included the Nutcracker at McCaw hall (My wife's company Christmas Party), and Mark's included dinner with friends. After asking me to raise my saddle a little bit, Mark took off. Did I stop and raise my saddle? Nope. I was quite sure that it wasn't anything to do with fit. After all, I had completed a 1000 with this same fit. Near Sandy's, my right knee started hurting a "tad". I didn't have time to stop and have coffee at Carnation. I was riding slower than 15kmph now as I ignored my legs' request. This weather may not come around again. I did stop and stretch a few times.

The climb up to the falls, was not quite as bad I thought it would be. I half expected to not encounter Mark on his way back from North Bend, but I did see him in Snoqualmie, shouting encouragement. When I got to North Bend, I was thankful for the break.

North Bend to Redmond

A sane man would have bagged it here. Home wasn't that far off. I thought about the weather, the R-24, and plodded on after about a 10 minute break. Darkness was falling all around us and Mt Si was lit up beautifully from the setting sun. I was running late, and didn't manage to win any brownie points on this ride, that's for sure. I don't remember much of the details of this section, except to say that I tried to find every conceivable leg position, pedal action and muscle pressure. The final solution (shudder!) was to move my knee towards the top-tube, and not apply any pressure at all on the downward stroke of my right leg. This gave me relief from the pain, but the pace was horrible. I finally arrived at the Fred Meyer about 11 hours and 45 minutes after I started. I was running late for the Christmas Party and in some pain.

My left knee hurt, but my right knee was in a class apart. I saw a doctor, and have been recommended Physical Therapy, and a bike fit at the hands of Mr Erik Moen.

Nutcracker Update

I came home, showered and very quickly set off for Downtown Seattle. We were quite late to the Christmas Party and all the vegetarian food was gone. Nice! To top matters off, I kept nodding off during the Ballet, and despite my wife's best attemts at keeping me awake by nudging, hitting, and tapping all failed. I don't think I am a ballet man.

Knee Update

Having been thoroughly freaked out by the experience, I visited Erik Moen at Corpore Sano, and got a bike fit. He was aghast at my bike fit. My self-guided idiocy was hard on his eyes, and he set me up the right way (My saddle was raised 3 cms). The benefit he said, will be better climbing ability and better speed. I have been cleared to ride 10-20 miles on flat lands only. My January permanent is now under serious jeopardy. However, all this snow and ice has meant that I haven't been out to test my new position.

Randonneuring sometimes involves mountaineering.

2008-11-17T15:26:00.000-08:00

Somewhere near the end..

There I was, 118-odd miles into my Whidbey - La Conner permanent. Riding the flat sections near the river, I was making good time. I had taken my time at some of the contrôles using it to recover and such, but I still had plenty of it to fritter away. After all, how much would I need to cover those last 8 or so miles?! All good.

The scene now shifts to barely a half-mile away, and I think you know what is coming: I am on all fours, climbing this terrible mountain, wondering if I am ever going to get to the top?! I am in my lowest gear, with a howling left knee, looking up at this wall, and wondering where the clichè'd crampons were in my Carradice. SIR has struck again!

Start to Coupeville

It began much better than this, honestly. I got an early start on the permanent, leaving home at around 5.20. My wife dropped me off at the Ferry terminal, and I was second in line. A nice breakfast on the relatively short ride ferry ride to Clinton left me fueled for the ride ahead. Time was 6:30. Not wishing to waste these empty roads, I left Clinton at 6:30, after a nice break at the Passenger wait area. Downtown Clinton was empty, and not a soul to be found.

My mind wandered back to those empty roads... Why do we love to ride? We love riding at night because of the stars, the lack of traffic and the melancholy stillness. We love riding during the day because we'd enjoy the outdoors better and daylight is not to be wasted. We love riding early in the morning because of the sunrise, the quiet, and well, empty roads. Is there ever a time of day we don't love to ride?! A randonneur uses every excuse in the book. Someday someone is going to have to write a book about randonneuring. I bet it will become some kind of classic like "Old Man and the Sea" (which is required reading for a randonneur by the way).

The next few miles were spent climbing and descending over and over again, but on perfect pavement, clean empty roads and wonderful greenery. The odd car would go by, but the stillness was mostly broken by a cough of mine that I couldn't shake away. Every now and then a dog would bark in the distance, unnerved undoubtedly by this oddly-attired man on this weird rolling contraption. Boundaries were respected, and knowing glances were exchanged, one side curious, the other side, wary.

Near the Keystone Ferry Terminal turnoff, I was back on familiar ground. My wife and I toured these parts in 2005, and took this very same ferry to Port Townsend. Plesant memories. I pondered stopping for coffee at one of those wheel-away huts, but the call of the general store was too strong. By the way, it hides inside a gas station.

Coupeville to La Conner

Coupeville is a small town. A gas station to the left, and a mall to the right. You'd miss the commercial area if you blinked. But the town had the first traffic light in the last 27-odd miles, and so missing the contrôle was pretty much out of the question. I am sure somebody (no names!) will prove me wrong! ;) I was greeted by a cheery clerk who informed me that there were no services between here and Oak Harbour, a hardy 10-mile ride. No point bragging. But this is a nice contrôle with all the rando essentials: clean restrooms, perfect location, food and water.

I was genuinely excited about the next few miles. I knew I was going to go over Deception Pass, but it has been a few years since I passed this way by bicycle. There are some wonderful-but-devious roads away from SR20 (Madrona Road being one of them). This road features 18-20% hills, and we found it hard going on our tour. We didn't take any of these roads today, as the road hugged the coast, and the waters of the sound glistened blue in the distance.

I rolled through Oak Harbour, but traffic - though heavy - was extremely courteous, with everybody moving to the left lane at the first sight of a cyclist in the distance. Oak harbour has some of the very few traffic lights on this route. The wide shoulders of SR20 gave way to narrow shoulders and somewhat oddly high traffic past Oak Harbour, where the uber-strong rider Ward Beebe lives. Now Ward is one of those people who I get to see at the start of the ride and never again. I half expected him to be out riding. This weather was not to be missed.

Deception Pass is oddly not that hard of a climb, but the road does climb gently for a little while, but you are completely in the shade and concentrating on riding the narrow shoulder that the grade passes by in no time. Around a little bend, and suddely you see the structure ahead, with beautiful ocean views opening out in front of you. I rode the two bridges quickly through, waiting for breaks in traffic each time. This was a time to stop, admire, and EAT! I spent about 10 minutes eating and gawking much to the amusement of the people passing by.

The turn to Deception Road comes just as a tempting downhill beckons, and caution is recommended. However, this is the end of beautiful pavement for a while, as chipseal takes over, but cannot ruin a beautiful descent to the water, and a nice sequence of turns. This stretch is hilly though. Snee-Oosh road reminded me of the Tahuya Hills. Narrow roads, chipseal, and no traffic. You go through a beautiful red bridge (which had me ruing forgetting my Camera), and you are in La Conner. My preferred stop is the grocery store.

La Conner to Arlington

This was a nice stop for me. Eager to get some rest, I lollygagged (or faffed around, take your pick), eating, drinking, getting rid of trash, and basking in the sun. It was a glorious day, and plenty of people were out enjoying the many little shops that make up La Conner. Many of the roads from this point on were completely familiar to me. These roads are really busy during Tulip Season in April, where these fields are full of tulips of every conceivable colour, and lots and lots of people and traffic. Do not ride this route on an April weekend. Save for a little hill on Fir Island Road, the route turns completely flat. I was also treated to several beautiful vistas of Mount Baker, with just a little cloud on top. Not very many cyclists out today, but I saw my first cyclist on Cemetery road, just before I found myself in Arlington.

Arlington to Snohomish

Arlington serves several roles in our permanents. Starting contrôle, ending contrôle, and of course, contrôle. Today, it was just a contrôle. I was bonking a bit on Cemetry road, and ate my fill here. I waited about 10 minutes for the cleaning of the bathrooms to finish, and spent a good 20 minutes here. I left a little upset about wasting so much time, but I shouldn't have. Worrying about a fast time on a permanent isn't worth it.

I was clad in my usual Blue Jersey, which sadly is getting a little frayed around the pockets, and my trusty Showers Pass jacket, which shows the battle scars of one too many road repairs. My shorts are getting frayed too, and I am scared of buying wool shorts because they will boil me when it's hot out. I bought these cheap shorts in Canada for about 20$ a pop, and they have worked well for me. Would be hard to replace these, but a trip to Sammamish Valley Cycle seems imminent [eDelux, here I come!].

I took the Centennial Trail option, and sucked for the first few miles that the trail gently climbs. But, the lack of traffic was a great thing indeed. My goal was to get to Snohomish by dark and that goal looked pretty much unattainable. A lot of walkers, some with dogs, some on roller blades, and precious few on bikes littered the route. Leaves were aplenty on the trail, as is a nice coating of the green stuff. Takes careful riding sometimes.

Just before Snohomish, I met two riders with Carradice bags, and when I called out to them thinking they were randonneurs, they stopped and turned around to meet me. It turned out to be un-randonneurs, but people who were interested in our style of riding anyways. I did my best to get them to come and ride with us, using the Winter Ride Series as bait. I told them about our website, and hopefully they remembered the spelling of "rando". After an enjoyable tete-a-tete, I bid adieu and continued after dressing up for the night.

Snohomish isn't far away from the trail, and the 76 gas station was a welcome sight indeed.

Snohomish to the Finish

The ride had been very enjoyable thus far. The hills were manageable, the weather was awesome, the wind wasn't too strong, and my spirits were high despite a nagging pain in my left knee that I had been feeling since Arlington. I have been focussing on improving my pedal stroke, and putting extra effort seems to mess it up sometimes. This was the kind of pain I experienced on my 600 DNF, and that went away after about 4 days.

I left this contrôles pretty quickly, in under 5 minutes, a commendable achievement for me these days. The next 5 or so miles was very straightforward as we hugged the Snohomish river. The lights of Everett gleamed in the distance, and traffic was fairly heavy through here, but courteous.

I have read a few reports of this route, and almost everyone mentions the hill at the end. I scanned the route sheet futilely for where the hill would hit. Nothing could be gleaned from the names of the roads, but I needn't have worried. A left turn and I was face to face with the WALL of Everett. I slowly chugged up, and about halfway my left knee told me that it wasn't very happy to be around me anymore, and promptly quit. Not being able to apply much force on one left quickly left me sore in the other, but I made my way to the right turn on S 3rd st, but stopped there to rest for about a minute. I saw 3kmph on my computer once. Terrible! My memory fails me on the nature of 52nd st, but I am guessing that was a climb too. I stopped again to rest after the right turn onto Colby Avenue, which thankfully had a nice downhill stretch to boost my spirits.

One does not lose elevation for nothing on these hills; one loses it to be subjected to further torture. 41st was a windy road, which also featured some climbs, but thankfully none were as obscenely steep as Lowell Road. The next 5 miles were all up and down, and I was left wondering if this were how the PBP course would be. That thought shut my whining up pretty quick, as I slogged through the last 3 miles to be rewarded with a nice gentle downhill to the finish.

I got my receipt at the seafood restaurant, and beat a hasty retreat home with my wife. My left knee still hurts. I really missed my camera today.

Correction: Original post quoted the trail as Cedar River Trail. It was actually Centennial Trail. [Mark Thomas provided correction].

Fall Colours, rain and euphoria

2008-11-01T15:17:00.000-07:00

Prologue

My October has looked like this: work work work, vacation (or pacation, as my nephew puts it), and sickness. Each of these things eliminated all the nice weekends. My addled brain somehow remembered that an October ride was yet to be recorded, and ailments be damned, I set out to do Leschi-Auburn-Redmond-Leschi, under the threat of oodles of precipitation. Fact of life in the Northwest.

I took the bus out to Montlake from my house, and then rode the 3.5 miles to Leschi in the early morning darkness. It wasn't cold and it wasn't raining yet. The pavement on Lake Washington Boulevard was atrocious. The wet pavement sucked up all the light my E6 was shining on the road. I got lost a few times, but made it to the start around 6.45a. It wasn't the last on this day. After munching on an Apple Fritter, I set off under threatening skies. It was dry, as of now. I briefly pondered abandoning the ride and restarting my R-12 quest #2 again, but pulled that thought out of my head pretty quick. It must have been the Apple Fritter at work.

Oh, and I forgot to take my gloves. I only had my Outdoor Research rain mitts; it turned out to be the only glove I would need all day.

Leschi to Ravensdale Market

The first part of this ride is almost completely flat, with very few inclines to worry about, but the steep little pitch to get to the turn on Seward Park Ave woke me up. The traffic on this road and on Rainier Avenue even at this early hour was enough to keep me on tenterhooks, but the turn onto Perimeter Avenue brought some respite from the automobile. I got completely confused by the directions to Cedar River Trail, and spent a good 1o minutes trying to find the parking lot mentioned. I chased after a passing cyclist (riding on the wrong side of the road), and asked her for directions. She pointed me the right way, and I resolved to update the route sheet when I got home.

It was one thing to find the trail, but another thing to follow the right trail. I took the right fork, and that lead me straight to huge pile of gravel. I beat a hasty retreat and was greeted by a little suicidal dog. I slammed on my brakes and yelled "hey!", while its owner about 50 feet away walked without a care in the world. The morning was cold and foggy, and the trail was chock full of leaves. The hills that parallelled the trail were full of trees changing colours, and I felt like a complete idiot for flying to the East Coast to see the fall colours. Much leaf peeping can be accomplished right here in the Pacific Northwest.

A couple of hours into the ride, and the rain started. It started slow, a gentle mist, and rose to a crescendo and pretty much stayed there until I got to Issaquah. Places to pull over and don some clothing were hard to come by. I kept on, passing the Maple Valley IGA that a few SIR riders have missed (while riding the Leschi-North Bend-Leschi permanent), not realizing that I had to get off the trail here. I thought briefly about it, but then continued on, thinking that the trail would end with a way to get to Highway 169. I found a nice tunnel to stop and don my helmet cover, and avoided wearing my rain pants and booties. I should have.

I must have paid more attention to my cyclecomputer. I overshot my turn, and ended up where the paved trail ends and the gravel starts, without a nice way to get back to the highway. I turned around mad at myself for missing the turn. Leaving the serenity of the trail to head over to the truck-infested Maple Valley Highway was hard indeed. The next two or so miles were some of the longest of my life: I kept thinking I was lost as the street numbers first went up, and then down, and then up again, making me want to stop and reconsider my route each time this happened. I eventually reconciled myself to just riding bonus miles when suddenly 244th St appeared to the left putting me out of my misery (in a good way!). The next little stretch was hilly with narrow roads, but beautiful as we went through steep pitch after steep pitch, making up for the ugliness of SR 169. The rain had thickened, and my lower body was completely drenched by this point. I arrived at Ravensdale market, completely drenched.

Ravensdale Market to Auburn

The look the woman womanning the store gave me was one of pure pity. A guy in a pickup, buying his favourite cancer stick asked me if I was commuting or out on a fun ride. When I mentioned I was out for fun, he said "Some fun this is!", and left after a cheery "stay safe out there!". I donned my rain pants and my booties, and my rain mitts, and not wishing to lose anymore of the measly 30 minutes that I had banked, left into the rain.

I got to SR 160, and the directions mentioned an immediate right turn onto Auburn Black Diamond Road, but I only saw Roberts Dr. Figuring that the route sheet was wrong, I kept on, hoping to come across an Auburn Black Diamond Road somewhere in the next half mile or so. Unfortunately, after about 2 miles in the pouring rain, I didn't find it. So I did the unmanly thing and asked for directions. I was told to head back the way I came and turn on Roberts Dr. (I came home and found out that the route sheet hadn't completely printed. Roberts Dr was mentioned in line 2). I had bombed down and climbed up some rollers and I had to repeat all of this again. I had lost precious time, and wasn't pleased.

The rain intensified, and though I was covered from head to toe in waterproof gear, my rain mitts had started letting water in, and my fingers were quitesoaked. I rued starting, and just hoped the ride would be over. I even thought about calling Sound Transit and plotting a bus ride home. I wasn't even halfway there, and I was already hating this ride. Thankfully not long after this low-point I found myself in the Valero gas station. I had all of 40 minutes in the bank. My excursion had probably cost me around 20 minutes.

Auburn to Cumberland

I must have been quite a sight as I entered the store and got my food and receipt. The woman at the counter looked oddly harried, and I did my best to not worsen her mood. Another dude in a bicycle stopped by and bought his favourite cancer stick. Of course, I have never met a rando who smoked. We may be of questionable sanity, but we aren't stupid. The restroom at this gas station was terrible though. I recommending going somewhere else.

I set off once again with a half hour in the bank. This was going to be one of those days. I felt weak on the bike, and weak between the ears. Neither did I have the power to make this ride go any faster nor did I have a way of making it more enjoyable. So I wallowed in a sea of self-pity, and cursed the weather in colourful language. I knew that the first few miles on Green Valley Road (from Greg Cox's Chili Feed 200) were mostly flat, and I looked forward to that stretch of road. Of course, Green Valley Road also features a climb for the last 2 or 3 miles, but all of it is pretty gentle grade. The farms along Green Valley Road were bare, but the stench of manure was thick in the air. In the spring Canadian Geese make their homes here in these farmlands temporary immigrating to the south. But this late in the year, they are probably in more comfortable environs.

My mood was quickly lifted up by the next few miles of road. I wasn't going anywhere fast, but at least I was in pleasing surroundings. The hills along this road featured trees of glorious yellow, the last hurrah of the leaves before they fell down dead. The trees were shrouded in fog and it was a very pleasing sight. I love the combination of fog and trees. The climb upto SR 169 was slow and painful, but completely bereft of traffic. There would be no stops at the Black Diamond Bakery, as we turned off onto Lawson. Feeling a bonk coming, I stopped and ate food in the rain, as car after car drove bemusedly by.

Some parts of this leg were completely new to me. I looked forward to the Green Gorge Road, as I was sure there would be some climbing, and I would get warm. The gradual plummet towards the gorge was pretty good, though the slippery conditions meant I couldn't quite let it rip downhill. A police car drove slowly by, and the officer waved to me as I started the climb out of the gorge. I arrived at Cumberland Grocery at 1.40, maintaining my nice 40 minute cushion. My only hope of banking some time would be on the flat stretches of E Lake Sammamish and the Burke Gilman Trail.

Cumberland to Woodinville

The stop at the controle was short, as I purchased supplies and left intent on eating on the go. The next few miles were familiar roads, and I knew that short of a mechanical problem, I would gain some time. The rollers before Issaquah went by, with my strength gradually returning. The rain stopped about 5 miles away from Issaquah, and while it didn't do wonders for my speed, it did make me feel better. I fought the traffic through Downtown Issaquah, and made it to the lakeside in one piece, where a fat shoulder insulated me from the cars. The hills to the west of the lake were chock full of leaves and the fiery reds in the sky from a sun making its way down were a special sight indeed. Not many cyclists out on the road, but I did see a few getting their rides in. The one thing about this route is it passes tantalizingly close to my house, but I resisted the call of home (near Chateau St Michelle), and pulled into the 7-11 dreaming of more food.

Woodinville to the Finish

A fast, flat and familiar section awaited: I left about 10 minutes after I arrived, but sunset was fast approaching. I donned all my reflective gear, dumped all my raingear and took off blissfully, knowing full well that most of the hills were done for the day. The trail was full of leaves and bicyclists without lights! I got confused by the "Turn RIGHT towards Hec Edmundson pavilion" clue and since I am not that familiar with the U-district pondered over why I had to ride in the opposite direction. The cue for Hamlin was a left turn, and that set me straight pretty quick. The last few miles are very turn heavy, so I carefully stopped at each turn making sure I wasn't getting lost. 12 hours and 20 minutes, but I had finished. My October Permanent is in the books. I hope I can recover well for getting in a November ride.

A highly recommended route!

OR Fall 600K: The strange case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde

2008-09-22T16:30:00.000-07:00

Pictures are here

Cecil's pictures are here (BETTER set)

Matt Mikul's set is here

Prologue

First you make plans. and then they go all awry.

I had it all figured out. When I looked at Jan's insane (sorry, Jan) course for the Windy Ridge 600, I knew immediately that it wasn't a course that I could finish - I just wasn't there. His recommendation? The Oregon 600 was an "easier" alternative. I am all for easy. I made arrangements to ride that one, thinking it may be a tad easier than the Fall SIR 600. It turned out to be the hardest 600 I have ever ridden. I don't know how it compares to the Jan 600, but this was not an easy ride.

Mike Richeson and I decided to carpool together, and we left early Friday afternoon, went over Snoqualmie and Satus passes and got to The Dalles around 6.30p.

Mechanical troubles

We had some time to kill before dinner, and I decided to pump up my tyres using Mike's floor pump. And stupidly overdid it! My front tyre just would not hold air. The flat was due to perforations along the spoke holes in the tube. Gary called to say they had arrived at the restaurant so I didn't think much about it. We had made dinner plans with Gary Prince and Eamon Stanley, and I was most surprised to see Matt Mikul there, nursing a beer. SIR was out in full force for this event, with several trying to get their Super Randonneur awards: Matt Mikul, Gary Prince, Mike Richeson, Bill Gobie, Chuck Hoffman, Eamon Stanley and

myself. Eamon had already finished the 4-Pass 600, so this was going to be a gimme for him. Or so I thought.

After dinner we headed back to the motel, and as we were chilling out, my front tyre, sans provocation, completely let out all air, yet again! We took out the tube, and this time examined the rim a bit closely: The idiot (from BC) who built my wheel, had used rubber instead of a proper rim strip, and that was failing to hold the tube in. "Ace mechanic" Eamon and Mike both recommended some Filament tape as a stop gap, but asked that I remove them immediately after I got back to Seattle, or it would become near impossible to remove.

We set out to the Safeway, bought some tape, and after some cutting and dicing, we fixed it. It was a great joint-effort. I held the rim, Mike cut the tape, and rolled it in, while Eamon guided both of us. I changed tubes, Eamon put the tyre in for me, and I pumped up the tyre (this time using my own pump!). We went to bed around 10p, and I woke up to find that my front tyre still held air. Hooray!

We got ready to leave the motel around 5:35, and after a quick registration with The Kramer, I received my route sheet. It was only one sheet of paper! We must be riding on a lot of highways I thought. My brain was still on at this point and checking the first cue indicated that the ride started at mile 184. That would be a problem. A general alarm was sounded, and new route sheets - complete this time - were provided.

Some old pals from Oregon were there: Bill Alsup and Cecil. I was sure to see more of them on the road. My quitting the Spring 600 had sapped me of some of my confidence, and in my mind, there wasn't much certainty about my ability to finish. I had no idea how much sleep I would get, what my average speed would be, or how I would feel after a few hundred kilometers in the saddle. Not knowing the terrain does that to you, as do DNFs. I vowed to not waste much time at the controls, and be ruthlessly efficient. As usual, my plans and their execution didn't exactly agree.

Day 1: Start to Roosevelt

My rim was constantly on my mind as we set off, and I thankfully had the foresight to ask Paul if there was anything between the start and Roosevelt. Nae was the answer, so though I was leading the pack out of town, I had to pull into the gas station and buy two bananas and a Snickers bar. The whole gang went ahead, and I managed to keep my stop short and stay within view of the taillights in the distance. Crossing the bridge was quite an experience, as traffic slowed to a crawl, but remained courteous. There was quite a vicious wind coming from the W or maybe WNW, but I made it across incident free, and started the long climb up to SR 14. The wind was constantly in our faces, and now screamed from the left. The peloton pulled away further. I was travelling along usually at a princely 13kph, and this was not looking good.

I passed Bill Schell on SR 14, and the cross wind was quite vicious. I heard from Cecil at the overnight, that the wind had picked her up and almost thrown her into a ditch. Progress was slow, and I crawled up the little incline before the right hand turn that would mean a rousing tailwind for at least the next 100-odd miles. There would be hell to pay on the way back, but who worries about those things when faced with a 100 mile relax fest ? We literally flew to Roosevelt, covering the 57 miles at an average of almost 18 miles per hour. The wind was an invisible hand, pushing us along, wiping out every single hill on the course. I shifted to the granny twice, and Bill Gobie had a field day, swooping down the hills, and leaving me agape at the pace of his descents. The route paralleled a train track for much of the route, and train traffic was present even at this early hour on both sides of the river. The Oregon side had the interstate, and was much more traffic filled than the Washington side.

Oh the river! It was so wide, and coming from a part of the country with a serious water shortage (my mother is fond of asking for some of our water), such amounts of fresh water were a sight to behold. The last such big river that I had the opportunity to see was the Mississippi. The white caps on the water told us that the wind was being kind to us. The pavement was excellent, and largely devoid of any debris. It started raining on us after about an hours worth of riding. A rain jacket was needed, but I didn't bother wearing my rain pants or my helmet cover. I pulled into Roosevelt, in the rain, severely ahead of the control opening time. Ray Ogilvie, Andrew Black, Cecil, Bill Gobie, and Sal were already there, with Cecil and Sal getting ready to leave. It was my fastest ever century.

Day 1: Roosevelt to Umatilla

A sub-8 200k seemed very likely, if only I could get in and get out of the control quickly. I forgot to get water the first time, and thought I could save time by using the water from the rest room but there was so much chlorine in it that I came out and waited in line. And then her cash machine was broken! I had already spent 10 minutes at this control, and was getting impatient. I asked her if $2 would cover it, and when she said yes, I just left $2 on the counter and fled. Ray Ogilvie was leaving as well, and we left together.

The hills to the left of Roosevelt looked daunting. I thought we were going to climb Roosevelt Grade, but thankfully the road still hugged the train tracks, and we saw the hills recede harmlessly to our left. It seemed like we were cycling on top of a plateau, because the Oregon side was much lower than the Washington side. I kept a careful eye for traffic, and moved into the shoulder each time I spied somebody flying by. Traffic though light was still courteous, but why take the risk?

After milepost 154, I got a rather rude shock. I saw a pickup first drive on the shoulder, and then veer into the lane at a terrifying speed. So, I moved well to the right and got out of their way. As the truck passed me, I felt something really hard hit me on my left hip, and the pickup drove away. The pain wasn't stinging, and I stopped to see what it was. It was - I kid you not - a used diaper. It was sealed up pretty good, and that probably prevented it from exploding. Had it exploded, I would have been in a very bad position (mood?) indeed. I think the intent was to hurt rather than embarrass. I guess I was determined to look at the good. I stopped there for a few minutes to gather myself and let the venom seep out of me, and then started riding again.

I felt great through the next 50 or so miles. What was not to like? A blistering tailwind drove me into Plymouth, where we finally left that highway. The wind was coming from my right and it was very clear that the next day would be challenging. I quickly put that thought out of my mind and concentrated on finding the bike trail over the Columbia. Umatilla surfaced a short jaunt later, dominated by bicycles of the Oregon Randonneurs. Matt Mikul and Mike Richeson were about to leave, but there was still a huge contingent of us there.

Day 1: Umatilla to Pendleton

I got water, some Snickers bars and left the control in under 10 minutes. This was a good stop. Several folks were enjoying a sit down lunch at the Subway. The crosswinds were still strong, but there were trees here and there to break the wind and offer some relief. Settling into a nice post lunch reverie, I was rudely awakened by a dog chasing me, and I put on a good sprint to get rid of it. I wonder how many more riders it chased. Riding through Hermiston was a huge pain as the relentless traffic made relaxing riding impossible. Highway 395 soon gave us a nice shoulder, and I was passed by a relaxed rider who soon vanished off into the distance. I didn't catch his name.

When we finally headed straight towards Echo, I stopped to take a picture of the "Entering Echo" sign. I have no idea why I thought that was interesting. Ray Ogilvie passed me as I clarified the route with a gardener, and then we continued on together. At first this road looked like any normal road, but after a sign that showed an alternate route to Pendleton, we entered the sheltered confines of a narrow road, taking us deep into a canyon of sorts. The pavement was not too bad, and traffic was non-existent. There was a nice river flowing to our right, and the walls of the canyon to our left. The peace would be shattered by the odd train, but the tailwind had returned. Three miles into this road, we hit the 200k point. I looked down at my watch and saw that we had covered it in 8 hours and 20 minutes. This was a new personal record! No time to stop and celebrate. We made excellent time, with Ray and I repeatedly leapfrogging each other through this area. We saw all of SIX cars on this stretch, and joked about complaining to Paul that we actually saw CARS on this stretch, and that he should be ashamed for bringing us into contact with these vile things. We also saw signs for the Oregon trail, but didn't stop to explore. This is one of the things that I miss in Randonneuring: the ability to stop and wander to my hearts content, and not be a slave to the clock. Well, that is a discussion for another day.

Twenty-two blissful miles. All too often the stretches that you want to last forever are gone sooner than you want them to, and this road was no exception. We finally started seeing some signs of civilization. We saw the sign for a Shell gas station, but the name of the gas station that was to be our control was nowhere to be found. As we seemed headed to the center of the town, we met Mike Richeson coming back towards us, and he told us that he had just gone into town to do his control necessities. We did the same thing, stopping at the Chevron for about 20 minutes. It was a well deserved break. In hindsight we should have left sooner than that.

Day 1: Pendleton to Holdman (an informational control).

The break rejuvenated us, and we left together, navigating through the one-way streets of Pendleton. The right turn onto Northgate took us out of Pendleton traffic, but the road started tilting uphill almost immediately. Ray dropped me on this climb, and I suffered through the next 10 or so miles, with its non-stop rollers. As amply documented earlier, I am not the greatest of climbers. I wanted to just get through this stretch, and sure enough, I arrived at the Informational Control in Holman, to see Ray Ogilvie dressing up. He was prepared to wait for me, but I had to don my night clothing. Heeding my request to move on if he felt like it, Ray left shortly after I arrived. I took a photograph of the info control question as I didn't want to get my card out with wet hands and ruin it. I dorked up, and as I was dressing up, I heard voices. They were of Cecil, Sal and Andrew. The rain looked like it was returning: misty at first, so I wore my helmet cover and my rain jacket.

Day 1: Holdman to Hermiston

It wasn't going to be very far to the next control, and I was sure that this speedy group of randonneurs would catch me in no time, so I begged their leave and took off, now comfortably attired in my night clothing and rain wear. The sun was now losing much of its power, and I set a good pace into Hermiston. A nice descent later, I was down at a T-intersection on US 730, not knowing whether to go right or left, as the route sheet just said "- take the". A couple in a car stopped and offered me help. "Is it a race?" they asked. I was apparently making excellent time on the "10 or so people" behind me, and told me to turn left to go to Hermiston. They were from Richland, and were surprised that we had to get there to sleep. I almost embarrassed myself by questioning how well they knew the route, as I didn't to be led astray by tourists.

I turned left as they said, but I called Paul just to make sure who confirmed what the couple said. I was back in business. A couple of miles later, I was at the Safeway where there was a huge bunch of randonneurs hanging out. I was determined to get in and out of this control really quickly, so I bought two snickers bars and some chips, and left with the gang which had arrived earlier but were waiting out the rain.

Day 1: Hermiston to Richland (the overnight control).

There was some confusion in the ranks as to how to interpret the directions on the cue sheet ("its the main road, heading away from the way Safeway faces"). I interpreted it exactly the wrong way, but thankfully the collective brains of the group helped me out. On the longish climb out of town, the group dropped me, and I was separated from them by a light and some traffic. I saw their lights vanish in the distance, and cross the Columbia. We had bombed down a nice hill on Plymouth Road, and now it was time to regain that lost altitude. After I crossed SR-14 a lot of souped up cars on the road forced me to pull over, not wishing to become road kill.

Plymouth Road just took off into the sky. We knew we had 40-something miles to the overnight control in Richland, but we didn't gamble on the fact that the next 12 miles were almost entirely uphill. I caught up to Ray while he stopped for something, and then we rode mostly together, but I was greatly demoralized by my slow pace up this hill. I was making slow progress, and I didn't know whether there would some time to make up on any downhills, so I plodded on. There was a watering machine prowling the fields and its eerie on-off-on-off light sequence was very weird in the dark. Far ahead the lights of the others who I had been with barely 5 miles ago were receding into the distance. Cecil was riding strong all day, and she just put me away on that hill. I later heard from Mike that her pace resulted in everybody getting dropped except Mike Richeson himself.

When we made the turn onto Clodfelter, I had put a decent distance between myself and Ray. I stopped for him but figuring he would catch me in the next few miles, I started riding again. Clodfelter is one wicked descent in the direction we were going. I am a decent descender, and I just let it rip on the descent. About a couple of miles into this descent, hardly 10 feet ahead of me, a coyote/fox crossed my path, its coat lit up by the bright lights of my E6. It bounded off into the undergrowth. There was a lot of development on Clodfelter. The 9 mile descent was going to be the last easy navigation for a while.

I was worried about finding the bike path, but found it after about a minute of feeling around the area with my headlamp. I was headed towards crossing the Yakima River, when I spied a Randonneur climbing up a hill away from the water towards the bike path. It was Andrew. He had gotten confused by the "Follow bike path Downhill" bit, but had missed seeing the "but generally straight" bit. Riding bike paths can be hard, and is harder at night in unfamiliar territory. We rode together after this, and arrived at the Days Inn, at 0113a. Cecil was already there as was Sal.

Paul, his wife Julie, Gary's wife (whose name I now forget), and Jason were helping riders with food and accommodation. I ate two helpings of some delightful Vegetarian Chili (with Tofu), and tried showering in the room where the control was, but there was no hot water. I went to my room, and showered, and the three riders who had arrived were all up and getting things done, so it was hard to go to sleep. We finally turned off the lights at 2p, which meant I would get 3 hours of sleep before the 5a wake up call. I hit the sack, and went out like a light.

Richland to Prosser

Day 2 of a 600k is always a day of trepidation. You never know how your body is going to react. Some times 3 hours of sleep makes you feel great, sometimes it does not allow you enough time to recover at all. On my first ever 600k, I had felt great when I left the control, but started feeling like old crap, about 15 miles into day 2. My second 600k, the Tahuya Hills, I felt like a god on Day 2 hammering over the Tahuya Hills, which were genially introduced to us at km 494.

I woke up, got dressed, but somehow lallygagged for too long. I ate some food, and after filling up my CamelBak, I left. It was 5.50a and I had hardly 15 minutes in the bank. This was terrible. I didn't know if the terrain would have allowed me to gain some time, and in hindsight, I should have gotten to bed sooner, and left at 5.30, which would have given me an hours cushion.

I watched the Sun come up shortly after I left, and soon riders started passing me. I rode through Benton City, and saw the most beautiful clouds in a gentle blue sky. Well at least we'd have nice weather today. Jim Cox and Matt Mikul both passed me near Benton City, and I saw Cecil, Andrew and Sal at the gas station before the turn onto WA225. I almost missed the turn onto Old Inland Empire Highway, but another rider made the turn before me, and I turned along with him. Otherwise I would have missed this turn completely.

My rear wheel was giving me some worry: the sensation from the back wheel felt alien and sure enough when I looked down, I saw the rim moving left and right, and that was not good. My wheel was out of true! I didn't stop to check for any broken spokes, but I was sure that a loose spoke was the culprit. I had 31 others I could depend on, so I just kept on.

OIE Highway was rolling, but I was feeling good. A river to the left and a river to the right made for some pleasant riding, and I had lots of company on this road. Cecil, Andrew and Sal caught and passed me, and Cecil was very clearly in a photographic mood. We also had another kind of company on this road: the four-legged kind. At one point, two small dogs chased the three of them, and it was funny to see Cecil stop, turn around and keep repeating "let's all go home". Here I was, hyperventilating about not having enough time in the bank, and here she was mothering dogs back home. When you are strong, you can do a lot of things. I rode on, and she caught upto me again. We made decent time to Prosser, and just before the turn onto the Control, I saw Paul Whitney and Eamon Stanley waving to me from the confines of their mini-van. I made the Prosser control shortly afterward, and had about 55 minutes in the bank. This was promising.

Prosser to Sunnyside

I took some pictures, and got some food and water, used the restroom and mounted my steed to leave, all in the space of about 5 minutes. It was my fastest control stop in a while. Hardly beats the 1 minute stop I took at the first control of my first 600k, but hey, that was my first 600k. Newbie exuberance. I also dropped my rain jacket, and drank a V8 from Paul's supplies. Shortly after the control, I came to a very confusing cue. The direction said go straight ("S"), but the instruction was "Straight onto Wine Country Road". I went straight to cross check, but that road name said "CR12" and was NOT mentioned on the route sheet. So, thinking I had to make a left to stay on Wine Country Road, I turned left. For some weird reason, I was not sure about the left turn. Hadn't the directional cue said go straight? I went about 5 miles before I found a convenience store and asked them where Grandview was. Their answer confirmed my suspicion, but I called Paul (which I should have done in the first place), and he was quite apologetic about this mistake.

I knew my 55 minute cushion was now history. In fact I would probably be behind time. So, I started hammering the best I could back up to Prosser. I had enjoyed an nice downhil out on Wine Country Road, and how had to make it back up again. It wasn't that big a climb, but a bonus climb nonetheless. Paul and Eamon were stationed at the turn warning other riders of the mistake. I just said my hello's and rode on. Just past Grandview, I was passed by two recumbents travelling about twice as fast I was (Alex and Keith Kohan, I would later find out). They stopped to talk to Ray (or was it Andrew?) who was fixing a flat, but I kept on, finally making it to a gas station right where I needed to turn left onto 16th Ave. I had about 20 minutes in the bank. Instead of riding 13 miles to Sunnyside, I had ridden 23 miles.

Sunnyside to Goldendale

I felt very deflated mentally here. I knew the next stretch was hilly, and that we would be going into the wind. Not having any cushion at all meant a certain DNQ. I didn't know if I had any realistic chance of finishing. But somehow the thought of quitting never entered my mind: I left the control in 10 minutes time, getting water and applying some Sunscreen. The day was warming up. I ate on the go, and was joined by Andrew and Cecil shortly afterward. I had seen quite a few bikes parked outside the McDonalds.

Shortly after the right turn onto Glade Road, the pavement severely deteriorated into coarse chipseal, and the wind turned into our nemesis. The heat wasn't that bad, but my speed dropped. Cecil rode away from me, and it was clear that we were headed towards the hills. It was the only road for miles around. I spotted the switchbacks, and Andrew and I compared notes. When Andrew stopped to get something out of his jersey, he dropped both of his long finger gloves, I called out to him, and he came back down to get them. My good deed for the day!

Cecil and Sal pulled away for good, and Andrew and I were the tail. I climbed at a steady pace determined not to redline too soon, while Andrew took frequent breaks and still outclimbed me. The switchbacks were easy at first, but at the end they weren't quite so easy as the climbing took its toll on me. Andrew and I are both purveyors of Computer Science, and we discussed mundane things on our climb up. He eventually left me for good on one the last climb, and when I got to the very top, I was overjoyed. I needn't have bothered.

The switchbacks had brought us to the top of an endlessly rolling plateau, with the wind straight in our faces. I was travelling 7.5 miles downhill. I would gain maybe 1 mph if I went into a full aerodynamic tuck. The wind was simply relentless. I ate one of my Snickers bars right after I passed the cellphone towers stop the hills, but all I remember (and this is bad rando amnesia), is crawling. The desert, the tumbleweeds that would occassionally roll across the road, the weather: nothing would give me joy. I was riding like an automaton, completely devoid of any pleasure. The terrain was most unvarying, so it didn't leave much of an impression. I stopped every hour or so to catch a break, but I knew that I had to ride a 10 mph average to make it to Goldendale. Problem was I was just a hair short of that average hour after hour.

Bickleton was nowhere to be found. Thankfully I had enough water and food, and was set as far as those two were concerned, but I could have used some stronger legs. We eventually crossed from Yakima County to Klickitat County, and the pavement nosedived. The trauma my rear wheel already reeling from, was now being kicked up a notch. It was terrible. Simply terrible. I started paying close attention to the road from this point on, as I didn't want my rear wheel taco'ing on me on a 600 out in the middle of nowhere.

In my reading up of the towns along the route, I had found out that Bickleton is the "Bluebird capital" of the World. I did see a lot of these small blue houses on this road, surely to house these birds. I spotted one sitting atop a fence, but (s)he flew away as I approached. Oh, well. Finally, I saw the sign for the highschool, and Bickleton came into view. I had done the 25 miles in slightly under 3 hours. This was not good. To use a one-day cricket analogy, the number of balls was going down, and the number of runs was staying the same!

I saw Sal here and he said that I would have time to get some Candy bars, but that I would not make it if I sat down for lunch. The Bluebird Inn was open, and it looked like a very quaint old building. In fact, it is the oldest tavern in the state of Washington. There were a bunch of antique cars parked across the street. The grocery store was closed, and the Bluebird Inn was the only choice. I entered the Inn, and all heads instantly turned in my direction. I did my best to fit in (in my Canada Jersey and Lycra!). I went up the counter and got more Snickers Bars, and as I was waiting for the waitress to ring me up and fill my CamelBak, a gentleman sitting at the bar struck up a conversation with me. He asked me where I was going, and when I said Goldendale, he asked me "Do you know what is between here and Goldendale?". When I shrugged my shoulders he said "Rock Creek Grade" in a sort of horror movie voice, clearly indicating that a man on a bicycle should not aspire to head to Goldendale over this road.

"You will see when you get to it", he said, and I parted company with him. As I was about to exit the Inn, another older gentleman called out to me. "You all walk funny" he said, and I showed him my cleats as proof of our duck walking. He laughed at my self-deprecation, and I took off into the sunshine again, eager to make progress. Thirty Five miles more left. and 3 and a half hours to do it in. If only I had those 55 minutes now... It makes no sense to dwell on these things, and all I could do was hope that I would make it. I really hoped that the road would tilt downhill after Bickleton, but I was grossly wrong. The road did tilt down, but then it tilted back up again, and it was a while before I hit the true downhill to Rock Creek Grade. And what a descent it was!

It started off like a normal descent, and I could see where I was headed. The wind buffeted us making riding a bit scary. Shortly afterward, we got a series of 20mph recommended turns, and to my left was the great canyon and Rock Creek flowed in the middle somewhere. I was going to lose all that elevation in a matter of minutes and spend the next hour climbing back up. Well, maybe the climb would not be that bad, and maybe the road would flatten out, and maybe I would make it, eh? This is all I did in my head as I plunged down that canyon, moving my weight backward, pointing my heels towards the turn, and using countersteering around the tight corners. At the very bottom of the climb, I started a clink-clink from the rear wheel, and after completely losing my momentum on the uphill, I stopped to look at the reason.

This was it:

I was stunned. This was going to be a disaster! My Super Randonneur dreams for the year would go down in smoke. I thought of calling for help and ending my ride, but there was no cellphone reception. I quickly placed the spoke back in its place and hoped for the best. It seemed like I had to climb my way out of this canyon anyway, so might as well do it and get to safety. I knew Paul would come and get me in a pinch. But why not try ride it gingerly and see if it holds out ? Why despair when I don't have a Taco yet ?

I remounted and began the slow climb up the other side. Luckily we wouldn't be gaining as much as we had lost, and though I was slow, I moved shifted my weight as far forward as possible, and leaned on the front wheel a lot. This had the effect of slowing me down (as I put more energy into grinding my bike into the ground than forward progress). More hills followed. This was not a flat ride. The headwind, powerless in the uphills of the canyon was now rearing its ugly head again. I miraculously caught up with Matt, Jim, Bill Alsup, Andrew and a whole bunch of other riders, but they all dropped me on the steep little climbs before Goldendale.

I had 20 minutes to go 5 miles. My thoughts went out to Duane Wright, who so often finishes at 89:59. I would die of a heart attack a few miles before the control if I didn't know I had some time in the bank. I tried stepping up the pace, but there was no chance now. The steep little rollers before Goldendale got me, and all the riders vanished out of sight. As I looked at each mile marker roll by, I despaired more, and then finally with about a mile to go, I saw 6:20 click on my computer (I forgot that it was 5 minutes fast). I tried to hammer again, but I knew that it was a lost cause. I limped into the control about 5 minutes behind. 6:25p. I had missed it by that much. Had I spent 5 minutes less somewhere on the course, I would have made it. This made me even sadder. I finally realized the importance of the every second counts mantra.

It turned out that everybody had missed the control except Sal, who had made it in with 3 minutes to spare. I called Paul and tried to see if I could continue, and begged him to give me some credit for the Wine Country Rd miscue. I needn't have bothered: Paul immediately said "keep coming". Once inside, I looked at the route sheet and noticed that we were going to go left onto SR-14, which would give us a tailwind. When I mentioned this inside, I was told that we would get a headwind into the finish. This could not be. My understanding was that we needed to go left based on the route sheet. Jim said that the wind would have either died down or switched, so we would have a headwind. I didn't quite understand how this could be. Matt tried to say he wanted to quit, but he was drowned out by a chorus of people asking to ride on. He was guilty that Gary would be waiting for him, but quitting 30 miles from the finish was indefensible. He changed his mind shortly after. I got some water and some food, and remounted my bike and set off again looking for any and all time that I could make.

Goldendale to The Dalles

Andrew told us that there was a screamer of a descent on Highway 97, but it took its sweet time coming. Once it hit, it was unreal. Traffic was light, so it was possible to ride on the roadway and not the roadkill littered shoulder. I tucked in and zoomed down, intent on not missing the left turn onto SR 14. Jim caught up and vanished off into the distance, and I saw Matt and Andrew less than a mile behind me. Matt and I both came down to SR-14, but Jim was nowhere to be found. We both stopped as the cue sheet said "Go Left", but instinct and memory told us that we went away from The Dalles yesterday morning past this very point. We decided to wait for Andrew. Three minds after all are better than one. When Andrew didn't show up, we surmised that he had gone straight, and then continued in the Westerly direction.

That decision made me immediately long for the route sheet to be correct. Sadly the route sheet was flawed. The wind was still in our face, and it hadn't died down at all. The Gorge was acting like a funnel, and the winds were screaming down the gorge, literally stopping us in our paths at times. Traffic was high, and the shoulder, though adequate in most places, had this most undesirable habit of narrowing at times of most need. Progress was slow. After all, I had to go 17 miles on this leg. I tucked in and worked against the wind, watching as Matt pulled away. Andrew had a Dinotte taillight that is visible from miles away, but the curvy nature of SR14 removed any chance of seeing his taillight in the distance.

The miles could not have ticked down any more slowly: Each mile dragged on, and on. I strained my neck to see if the bridge would come into view, and it never did. The bright lights of the Oregon side were a constant reminder that somewhere out there the town of The Dalles existed, but it wasn't getting closer with any urgency. What can you do, but hunker down and ride? The wind actually got harder as we neared The Dalles, and I had to stop each time a semi passed, because the combination of the narrow shoulder and the wind meant that I could get tossed onto the traffic lane at any time. Each stop and start cost me time, but I was past caring at this time. I wanted to get home safely first, and finish the 600 on time next.

The one good thing was the number of stars that you could see to the right. For a city boy not used to seeing many stars, it was the one great thing about riding that night. I remember the last 5 miles into The Dalles. Uphill, windy, with narrow shoulders and inky blackness. When I finally made the left turn onto 197, I knew I would finish, but I had to take extra care on the bridge decks to prevent my wheel from taco'ing. I swooped down, but took the bumps gingerly at first, and then agressively when I realized that my wheel was holding up to the abuse.

The lights of The Dalles were great. The shoulder along some of the roads was not that great, littered with glass and wires, and I rode on the main lane as traffic was non-existent. I straggled in to the motel, the blinking red light the greatest sight in the world. A personal worst, yes, but by far the toughest 600 I have done, and I was just happy to finish.

Thanks to Paul, his family and friends for putting on a wonderful event. The wind could not be helped, but it was a very very challenging ride. The first day was easy and nice, and the second day showed the other side of the coin.

The Baker Lake 400: A Mark Thomas Special!

2008-08-24T01:11:00.000-07:00

Many thanks to Mark Thomas, Chris Thomas and Owen Richards for a fantastic 400k! The course was very beautiful, the route sheet was perfect and the post ride food and hospitality were awesome. The secret control stop at 210 miles was very welcome. Mark and Chris open their home up to us each year, and it is always great to partake of their hospitality.

Prologue

Pictures here

Normally, I give up riding brevets this time of year as I have completed my SR series. But this year has been different. Driven by my DNF of the Spring 600, and my desire to stay in reasonable shape for the OR 600, I have ridden a lot more, a lot later into the season. However, no amount of riding can prepare one to deal with Mark Thomas specials. Hilly rides! This ride was no exception. Last weekend, I set out with a bunch of randonneurs and randonneuses to try the Baker Lake 400, hosted by Mark and Chris Thomas out of their Redmond home. With no elevation totals published, I went into this ride blissfully unaware of how hard (or easy) it would be. And I got my tail kicked.

Mark's house is about 5 miles from my house, and I rode to his house. However, instead of turning left for his house, I turned right, and went about 2 miles before realizing my mistake. I beat a hasty retreat and climbed the hill into his house. I got there with about 25 minutes to spare. A lot of familiar SIR faces, but we were only about 14 of us.

Sharon Stevens was there, and it was great to see her again. I did a 200k with her in Texas, and she was very nice to me: a fabulous ambassador for the Lone Star Randonneurs. On a family visit to Washington, she was doing a 400 with us. I also met Peg, who was doing the ride. Teresa (from BC) was doing this ride as well, and this was her first 400. I had promised to ride with her to make her feel comfortable, and our paces seemed more or less the same.

Start to Arlington

After chowing down some food, we set off. The roads near Mark's house are very easy to get lost on, and so I kept a watchful eye. We were a small group, comprised of Teresa, Sharon and myself. It was good to catch up with Sharon again. I implored her to take off, but she didn't. She could have easily found somebody to ride with, as she is much faster (and rapidly nearing 10,000k for the year). We missed the turn onto NE 160 (as that was not on the 1000 2 years ago), but a quick descent later, we found out we were lost. The three of us retreated, and bombed down NE 160th. We paid the price for this fun descent, and on Paradise Lake Road, Sharon left us for good, effortlessly spinning up the hills, while Teresa and I crawled our way up. The 522 light split us up for good, but we did get to enjoy the descent on Broadway (which I have never gone downhill on) onto Springhetti.

The roads were foggy, but thankfully not freezing cold. I wore just shorts and had forgotten my leg warmers, but I did carry a full assortment of rain gear - to appease the rain gods - that I could use in a pinch. There were some flat portions! Thankfully not all of this ride was going to be hilly. Ha! All of the hills had made us overheat, and so we pulled over at Snohomish to take off our jackets and ride in just our jerseys. (we did keep our shorts, however). I took the opportunity to eat the Banana that I had carried with me from Mark's house. I was sick of eating Candy bars on these rides, and so resolved to not eat any Candy bars. I was going to try and eat sandwiches, chips, burritos, etc.

We hopped onto the Centennial Trail and enjoyed 17 miles of bliss. Teresa greatly enjoyed this stretch, and as two Canadians, we talked a lot about Canada. The trail was full of early morning cyclists, runners, and walkers, and we were able to ride side-by-side for almost the entire time. We made good time to the end of the trail, and our troubles began shortly after we turned right. There was a section of road with no shoulder but a very wide sidewalk, and we chose to ride on the road. No sooner had we gotten to the part with no shoulder, than a pickup truck accosted us, and asked us to ride on the multi-user path, as that path was built with his tax dollars. As if I hadn't paid any taxes last year! Teresa told him that we had a right to be there, but I told him something far less charitable (only after he was out of earshot, hee hee).

We arrived at the Haggen's in Arlington, and saw Sharon pulling out of the store and onto SR 530. We had just missed her. Bill Gobie was just getting ready to head out of the control. We were les lanterne rouges, but her pleasant company made the miles melt away.

Arlington to Marblemount

We had made pretty good time, and had about an hour in the bank. This was great. Another change that I was going to do on these rides was to take off my shoes at the controls. Life is too short to be walking around stores in Look cleats. I bought two Bananas and a Bear Claw, while Teresa being allergic to bee stings, told me that she couldn't eat bananas because - get this - if you eat Bananas you become more susceptible to bee stings. Those damn banana loving bees. Albert Meerscheidt, are you paying attention? Lay off the bananas, comrade! We blew the cashier's mind, as usual, by telling her where we had set out from.

We all know of randonneurs (and randonneuses!) preoccupation with creams that help us ride longer. Apparently one of Teresa's doctor friends told her that one of the best things for the butt was the cream used by breastfeeding mothers! She carried a small tube of this stuff, but it was so hard to get it out of the tube. Teresa had to put pressure with her shoes to get some of the stuff out. I had Bag Balm, which I offered, but she was set of using "her" cream. The store was nearly deserted at that time of day, and so were two jugs of water, which we used to fill our water supplies.

After about 10 minutes, I put my shoes back on again, and we set off for Darrington, which I mentally pegged as my next stop for food and water. We have ridden this road many a time, but it never ceases to make me happy. Traffic was heavier than usual, but that was not a problem as vehicles gave us quite a wide berth. Teresa was a good climber, and a great rider. We talked about some of the things that we could count to pass the time. Teresa came up with a good one: the number of espresso stands that we would pass. They have become ubiquitous, but are seldom open when a randonnneur needs them!

I was feeling pretty strong, and so was Teresa. A few miles out of Darrington, I dropped Teresa completely, as I suspect she was undergoing a bonk. I waited for her, but she was nowhere to be found. Just as I was about to turn around, a car pulled over and told me that my buddy was behind me, and catching up. That put my mind at ease. I would have felt horrible not being able to help her with mechanical issues and such, but as it turns out, she had some shifting problems and stopped to get that sorted out. Her handlebar bag was causing her shifter cables to get compressed, and they weren't doing very well. Kind of like golfers and camera clicks. The slightest thing puts them off.

We stopped at Darrington, and I got water from the soda fountain (no trash generation!), and bought Bananas and Jojo's. After a 10 minute stop, we set off again, but were warned by the construction crew right outside the store that the highway was closed. Visions of the brevet coming to a close danced in my head, and we travelled along mostly deserted roads. The bridge over the Sauk River allowed us some fun, as we looked down the grates to the water.

When we got near the scene of the accident, there was a small line up of parked cars and people sitting in the shade or using the time to do some picnicking or some angling. The crew told us to walk as far away from the roadway as possible, and we did just that, with my stupid Look cleats making me go sideways. When we really got near the scene of the accident, a very polite policeman asked us to walk far away from the roadway. Another man warned me of thorns. Very nice bunch. I didn't bother to look left at all. Teresa didn't look either, though she appeared curious after we started riding again. Normally, my mind would dwell on such things, but the conversation that we held put that out of our heads.

When we got to Rockport Cascade Road, I knew the honeymoon was over. That is 10 miles of nothing but the worst chipseal imaginable. I tried riding along the smoothest part of the road when I could find it. The mountains were all out, and All bad things must come to an end (The Bush Administration, for example), and we were soon making the left turn to get back to US20. Bill Gobie was the only person at this control again. No sign of Sharon. I think she truly took my imploring her to go ahead to heart! ;)

Marblemount to Baker Lake

More Bananas, and some chips from Teresa, and a bit of R&R later we set off again for Concrete and the road that even Geoff Swarts called hard. Now, I don't know if you know Geoff, but he is one strong rider. Teresa and I left first, but Bill caught us just before Rockport State Park, and we entered the back roads of Concrete together. Our first vision of Burpee hill road was one of disbelief. I thought it was loose gravel, and the first little while was indeed pure gravel. There was no pavement to ride on.

The heavy traffic, the sun, and the complete lack of wind were all minor annoyances compared to the road surface and the grade. It was simply unrelenting. No let up at all. I almost crashed once when my tyre got caught in some gravel, and I dismounted, but my tired legs couldn't hold me up, and I started sliding backwards. I just stood there waiting for the burn in my legs to subside. Teresa had started riding up, but she stopped after a while and began walking up the hill, and so did Bill. I got back on, and started riding, slowing my pedal strokes when I felt like I was getting near burnout. The hill simply would not quit. We saw the town of Concrete below us and to our left.

After numerous false tops, the hill "flattened" out, as in wasn't 10% anymore, and we were provided with a fantastic view of Mt Baker in all its glory, right in front of us, the view ruined by power lines. I stopped again for Bill and Teresa, but they didn't show up, and I had to take off. My thought was to catch up at the Baker Lake Resort, as I didn't want to be riding across the "Bridge of Death" at night. Just after I turned right on Baker Lake Road, which was mercifully paved (with chipseal), I saw Mark Roehrig very purposefully heading back towards Sedro Woolley. I guess that he was at least two and a half hours ahead of me at this point. Kevin Humphreys was right behind on his tail, probably a mile behind. They would be done long before me.

Baker Lake Road was not flat. It was severely undulating terrain, but the views it offered were spectacular. I saw a huge clump of riders just before the Bridge of Death, and in that group was Sharon. It was the last I was to see of her on this trip. I saw Geoff, and my first thought was that he had somehow figured out his vacation, and was doing the 1000, 2 days after finishing a tough 400! The man was a stud! (Well, it turns out that he only did 255k on the day).

Just past the campgrounds, Baker Lake Road redeemed itself completely with a fantastic vista of Mt Baker. A fast moving river with hundreds of dead trees in its wake cascaded down rocks, and flowed under. I stopped to admire the view and take a picture, and was immediately rewarded with a fantastic descent down to Baker Lake Resort. I saw Matt Mikul just before the resort: he was maybe a mile ahead. Milking the downhill, I arrived there a touch after 5.20pm, I think.

Baker Lake Resort to Sedro Woolley

Chuck Hoffman was eating a sandwich. I went in, and got a Bear Claw, and something else (can't remember now). The resort was in full swing, as a summer weekend does not go wasted in the Pacific Northwest. I stayed for maybe 5 minutes, and took off again with Chuck, eager to catch Matt and maybe have some company. Halfway up the climb to the bridge, I saw Teresa and Bill flying down. Teresa had apparently suffered from symptoms of heat exhaustion and had slowed down. Wise choice! She was tough, still continuing in the face of severe discomfort. We agreed to meet up in Sedro Woolley, and I kept plodding on.

I got ahead of Chuck somehow, and on the steep pitch just before when the pavement starts deteriorating again, I dropped Chuck for good, and started racing up the inclines. I felt good. The food was hitting my blood stream, and I made pretty good time back to the turn onto Burpee Hill Road, stopping to take a picture this time. The descent down to SR20 seemed to go on forever, and thought the pavement was bad in spots, I tucked in, and swooped down. I waited for Chuck at the turn, but he was nowhere to be seen. I dorked up, and left for Sedro Woolley. I made decent time to Sedro Woolley, and reached there without incident.

Sedro Woolley to Granite Falls

Despite the cute name of the town, I have always been leery of the areas near Sedro Woolley and Highway 9. I don't know why, but that place gives me the creeps. On a Saturday night, the place was busy, and full of weirdos of every shape and hue, led of course by a dark-skinned man, wearing Lycra and reflective stuff everywhere (that would be me!). I got to the control, got some more food, and started waiting for Chuck, Teresa and Bill. I thought we would make a nice Lanterne Rouge foursome.

Chuck arrived after about 15 minutes, and moved my bicycle out of the way of harm from the local inebriated population when I was in the restroom applying a fresh coat of Bag Balm. I had drawn some stares and snarky comments from some youngsters, commenting (OK, mocking) my Canada jersey and my Lycra. One particular mean girl, made casual conversation with me, and then proceeded to mock my shorts. Oh, well. Another girl introduced herself as Lorenza, and was actually the only nice one of the lot. Maybe she was the only one who wasn't sloshed.

I asked Chuck if he would ride at night with me, and Chuck felt like I was too strong for him. I waited 10 more minutes, and then figured that I would get a move on. Bill would probably ride with Teresa and so would Chuck, and I would just have to make do by myself tonight. The route was no stranger to me, and as I headed towards Highway 9, I made sure I didn't see any bike lights coming towards me in the distance.

Contrary to my thoughts traffic on Highway 9 was sparse and courteous. I made excellent time, and felt really strong on this stretch not stopping once. The stars were out, but there was a dangerous hint of dark clouds to the right. There was probably a tailwind. There is no other explanation. I got to Arlington, and found that Matt Mikul had already left. That was a bummer! Oh well.

Arlington to Granite Falls

Though I was disappointed, I quickly downed some food and took off again, but Burn Road slowed me down. I have always crawled up this road even though its grade is pretty gentle. I was feeling a bit chilly, and the climb served to warm me up. I just spun my way, and got to Granite Falls in slightly more than an hour, and found the control closed. This was a bummer. However, the woman delivering newspapers told me about the Shell station down the street, and I rode down and got my card signed.

Granite Falls to the Finish

The convenience store for some reason tends to attract a "different" kind of crowd. There was a policeman standing behind the counter watching the crowd, and I quickly got my card signed, bought some food, and felt like I had to get out of there as soon possible. I stood outside eating my food, and the scene was even more unreal. I am not going to go into details, but I will say that the girls that I saw that night in Granite Falls were very "interestingly" dressed, and participated in some fun activities with their boyfriends.

I headed out in about 5 minutes watching for Chuck, but I didn't see him. I would have waited for him had I seen him. The sleep demon was raising its ugly head, and naturally my speed slowed down. Progress was slow, but I didn't feel like I was lollygagging. There was nothing to be done for the next 40 miles, except perhaps something in Monroe. However, as I dragged my body on Woods Creek Road, looking for the info control near 84th, I spotted a blinkie. There was Owen Richards, a friendly face waiting for riders with food, water and encouragement. I got my card signed, and as I was good on food (I wasn't), I left immediately. I gave up on catching up to Matt, as he had left this control a half hour ago.

The last 25 miles were truly a contrast, as the first stretch was deceptively simple, but soon after the turn onto NE Woodinville Duvall Road, the character changes to downright nasty. I was tired and probably bonking on this stretch, and dragged my way up. Even in my lowest gear, it was hard. There was no traffic, which thankfully made the narrow shoulder somewhat inconsequential. I was also afraid of missing the turn onto Mink Road. Daylight was beginning to break, as I made the turn onto NE 128th, I had no idea of the horror that lay ahead. I had to start zig zagging across the road to get over this stretch, and the bomb down to 202 was awesome. I made the correct turn this time, and the next half a mile was no slouch either. More zig zagging. I had climbed this hill yesterday morning fairly easily, but now every pedal stroke was hard. We climbed the ridge to Mark's house, and I finally got to his house at around 5.20. I was done!

Matt was sitting inside, having arrived about 50 minutes ahead of me. That man is fast! I saw Sharon and Peg's bikes parked outside. Chris is always very nice and made me something vegetarian. She always makes something just for me. Mark heated it up, and I stuffed my face silly. After a nice nap of about an hour on Mark's couch (needs to be sterilized now), I rode home.
Congratulations to Teresa who finished her first 400k despite suffering from heat exhaustion and numb hands. VERY Gritty! Bill rode all night with Teresa and guided her to the finish. Thanks Bill. You did what I was supposed to do! Now begins the preparation for the Oregon 600. I am carpooling with Shan Perera, Gary Prince, and Noel Howes.

Happy 10th Birthday, RUSA!

2008-08-16T22:27:00.000-07:00

Many thanks to Eric Vigoren, Maggie Williams and Peter Beeson for organizing an awesome ride. There was another woman volunteering at both the bad carb and good carb controls, but I didn't catch her name. Thanks go to her too! A very enjoyable day.

Prologue

It has been 10 years since RUSA came together thanks to a few visionary randonneurs and randonneuses. To celebrate this August (pun intended) occassion randonneuring clubs across the nation organized rides, and the Seattle Randonneurs were no exception, hosting a 100k populaire and a 200k RUSA brevet out of Bremerton. Lured by the tantalizing pictures of the medal, I set out to ride to the ferry terminal from my house in Kirkland, at 2.35 in the morning. The roads were mostly without traffic, and the highlight was the 45 mph swoop down Kamber Road in Bellevue. Some things are worth climbing for. I reached the terminal at 4.05a, a bit too early for my tastes. I could have had atleast 30 minutes more sleep. Several riders showed up slowly, but I can happily say that I was the first. I was wearing the SIR wool jersey, but had my Canada Goose jersey in my saddlebag as insurance. However, I had forgotten my camera, and lousy cellphone photos would have to do. I can imagine Dave Read chuckling.

I didn't realize this at that time but I would also go over 10,000k in brevet/permanent distances, if I successfully completed this brevet. Now, when compared to the accomplishments of several randonneurs, this is a very puny milestone indeed. Karen Smith completed 40,000 brevet kilometers last year, and Ken Bonner has probably a million kilometers under his belt. But 10,000 was where I was, and I hope the next 10,000 doesn't take 5 years!

People slowly started arriving at the ferry terminal, and I sat and chatted with the riders who arrived. When the counters opened, I went first to pay, and the woman asked me if I was paying for everybody. You should have seen the look on her face when I said "No". The huge number of cyclists completely swamped her, and I am sure they had fun with the 30 or so cyclists each paying individually. Is there a better way ?

Registration and Start

We registered on the ferry, and Peter Beeson took our money and made us sign autographs, and arranged for some entertainment from a fully stoned young man on the ferry ride to Bremerton. There were about 40 riders at the start, and I spotted several familiar faces: Robin and Amy Pieper, John Vincent, Dan Turner, Chuck Pailthorp, and a few others. A few words from Eric about the route, and we were sent off in one big bunch. The first hills on SR 3 had me at the back of the pack, my rightful place. Huge warships lined the Bremerton waterfront to our left, as we headed on "familiar" roads (we had just ridden this stretch on the Tahuya 200k). A very relaxing stretch along the waterfront with Dan Turner later, we were at the Bad carb Control, staffed by several people, including Peter, Maggie Williams and Eric Vigoren. The cookies were delicious, but the strident calls for poetry began to be heard. Paul Johnson pulled in, and then pulled out immediately afterward. That was the last I was to see of him.

Bad carb control to Good carb control

Thoroughly sated, and fully protected from the sun, I set off with Dan, who promptly dropped me while cheating with his aerobars. Banner Road certainly caught my attention, but thankfully it was only a mile and half or less. The info control question was a big vague, and I put down both possible answers to it, while promptly spilling the entire contents of my wallet on the ground. Charles Pailthorp, the genial professor from Olympia (who makes killer fruit smoothies) picked the contents up for me, and we left the control with cries of "Bring back Fleche Gordon's space cadets". True to the words on the cue sheet, we endured the rolling hills, some better than others, and it is a very easy guess as to how I endured them. The day was warming up and that proved to be a challenge as well.

SR 106 has some of the nastiest chipseal and I made my way to the control, hoping all the while that history would not repeat itself: I have suffered flats each of the last three times I have cycled along this route (though in the opposite direction everytime). Thankfully, my luck held, and I didn't suffer any flats. A lot of riders were making their way back to SR3, and Shan Perera was ahead of almost everybody. The good carb control was at Twanoh state park, which is right on the waters of the Hood Canal. There was a new, massive landslide across the water on US 1o1, and I wondered about how they had patched the road up. Riding the North Hood Canal permanent seems to be imminent. Responding to comments that I look "toasty", I took off my wool jersey, and donned my Goose jersey, to which Robert Higdon remarked "Keep it on buddy". Ouch! I had a two V8s, some chips, some bananas and a bagel. I bonked a little before the control, and wanted to make sure that I was well fuelled.

Good Carb control to Camp Union grocery

After enduring several requests to write poetry, but hardly budging, I set off to do the Tahuya portion of the ride, on many new roads. Accompanied by a hot sun, and a nice westerly wind, progress was somewhat unspectacular, but the sight of the day was the wooden bicycling sculpture advertising some local politician. I hope she wins!

The turn onto Old Belfair road was not so hard to spot anymore (not to Matt Mikul however), and as I was merrily chugging along when I was caught by the ever smiling Ray McFall, who aparently did some "bonus" miles. "How is your navigating?" he asked. I replied that I was slow but not that bad at navigating, and he responded by staying with me till the turn onto Bear-Creek Dewatto Road. This road however starts climbing at a decent clip into the hills of Tahuya, and even though we both were seriously bothered by the heat, Ray pulled away. I plodded along, stopping at whatever shade I could find. The road gently climbed after its initial assault, into logging territory, just like any other road in Tahuya. We were blessed with some new and nice views of the mountains, before the control at Camp Union. Ray was chilling out there, pointing me to water and a nice bag of ice left behind by some kind soul.

Camp Union to Liquid Carb control

I filled my CamelBak with water, drank about a liter of it, and then proceeded to fill it with water again. After I filled the bag with water, I put some ice between my back and the plastic to cool me down further, as I rode further. Ray set off before me, but I got my card signed and took off into the heat of the day. We may have left the general vicinity of the Tahuya Hills, but the climbing had not come to an end. Eric does not organize "cake walk" routes, that's for sure.

On Clear Creek road, the first mechanical problem of the route reared its head. When shifting up from the granny to the middle chainring, the chain slipped and fell between the small chainring, and my chain stay and lodged firmly there. Attempts to pedal my way out of it didn't help, and it only got further lodged in. I laid the bike down, and then after several attempts finally got the chain free and back on the middle chainring. Of course, Clear Creek also featured some headwind, but the downhill on Sherman Hill was lovely. I saw a huge group of 100k riders at the Bond Road intersection, and recognized Mark and Chris Thomas.

Big Valley road, although mostly flat, had some wicked headwind, and I was clearly not my best here. I suspect I was bonking here, as the road didn't seem particularly harsh, and I remember it fondly from previous brevets. I stopped at the info control, and was now on some very familiar roads. The last few miles of my first ever 600k was in these parts, and I remembered being passed by Chris Menge just before the Hood Canal turn.

I saw the huge giraffe, but went toward the driveway past it, but I had to turn back around to head to the control, where I was met by Eric and Peter. Jon Muellner was fixing a flat, and set out before me. This control was awesome, and I spent a little too much time here. I drank a small beer (which I almost never do) to celebrate RUSA's 10th birthday, compliments of the club. This beer at controls is a fabulous idea. Maybe we should have them at the end of 600 PBP qualifiers! I stuffed myself silly at this control: courtesy of some veggie dogs which Eric very kindly made, Sprite, Chips and water, I was a new man! I spent about 25 minutes here but what the heck? It's not often that RUSA celebrates its 10th anniversary! In fact, after careful analysis, I concluded that it would only happen once.

Liquid carb control to the finish.

"How good are you at navigating?" asked Dan. Hadn't I been asked this question already? Dan dropped me (again!), and I could not catch upto him, despite his stopping to lend Jon Muellner a tube. Poor Jon was fixing another flat! Tyre woes! It would have been nice to stay with him, but he assured me he was okay. After helping Dan with the left turn onto SR 308, I slowed down to enjoy the ride , as I was not going to make the next ferry anyways. The nasty bad pavement towards the end was a downer, but I made it to the finish in 11 hours and 5 minutes. A fantastic way to spend a day on the bike!

Happy Birthday, RUSA! I have to wait 10 years for the next Anniversary ride ? Bummer.

The Tahuya 200K

2008-07-26T01:46:00.000-07:00

Prologue

Having successfully completed my R-12 quest, it was time to enjoy the brevet season one more time. I rode the 8 miles or so to the Starbucks near Lake Forest Park, and Wayne Methner gave me a ride to the West Seattle ferry terminal. We talked about our riding so far, and it was pretty much the same thing: life getting in the way of riding. We got to the ferry terminal with plenty of time to spare, and rode down to the start from the parking lot, and found a gaggle of randonneurs. I chatted with Mike Richeson and John Morris, whose company I have only experienced at the start of these rides. The ferry crossing was great. This was going to be a mixture of old and new routes for me, and I was looking forward to a nice ride. Even if the fact that Mark Thomas took 13 hours to complete this ride indicated I would most likely end up with a Hors Delais.

Start to Purdy

After some pre-ride instructions from Peter McKay, who referred to this ride as a certifiable "Ball-buster of a ride", we all set off. It takes me a while to warm up, and the rolling terrain meant that I was very quickly spit out the back. I settled into a comfortable rhythm on the rollers that marked the first few kilometers, but I misread the sign for Olalla Valley road and wondered if I was going in the right direction. I shouted this thought out as I passed Tom Barocan on a sweeping downhill, thinking I would have to climb this hill if I was wrong. I needn't have worried because the road only went that one way. However, this little logical gem didn't hit me as my brain was addled without the effects of Caffeine. The faster riders had long since vanished, but Bill Gobie, myself, Jeff Loomis and Chuck Hoffman were all strung out on the roads within sight of each other. The roads were bereft of traffic, and new roads are always a joy to ride in. The 0.4 mi stretch on Burley Olalla Rd caught my attention courtesy of the short-but-steep climb to the turn onto Fagerud road. The tone of the day's ride had been set. A few of the roads on this stretch had very Scandinavian names.

The first inkling of the existence of cars in this world came on 144th Ave, which had a steady stream of traffic. Peter and Amy passed me just before the route left 144th, in a car stuffed to the gills with control paraphernalia. I knew I would be seeing them before long. I caught upto Jeff Loomis near Carr Inlet and had a nice chat with him, soon lost him and managed to reel him in, only to lose him again. The route was relatively flat till the first control, where I found a huge group. I had my sights set on a short stop, and was quite pleasantly surprised that I had made pretty good time to this control, getting there at 8.35 or so.

Tom Barocan is visiting India and wanted to talk to me about this...

Purdy to Kay's Corner

I refilled my CamelBak, bought food, and rushed out to the roads, after bidding bye bye to Bill Gobie, knowing that he would catch me in no time. He was riding strong. About a mile out of the control, I reached in my back pocket to get some food, and quite annoyingly couldn't find it. Of course, I had paid for my food and left it behind at the counter. Very smart. I rode back and saw some riders wondering where I was going and I had to fess up. Bill and Tom were still there, and I quickly picked up my food, and went in the wrong direction. After about a 100 yards, I realized that I was going in the wrong direction, and turned myself around. My navigational brain was mostly unavailable.

The road seemed wet, but there was no rain. Ten pleasant kilometers later, I found myself on SR3, leading into Belfair. I took the previous turn than the one I was supposed to (the easy to miss turn), but quickly corrected myself when I saw the yellow "Dead End" sign. Shortly after this I left the world of smooth pavement, and entered the world of chipseal. Now, if you have ridden this particular part of the world before, the surface may not surprise but is sure to shock. SR 300 had a fresh coat of chipseal. The other thing is the absolutely certainty of you being accosted by a bad driver. Luckily, I got mine out of the way, right after I started on SR 300. Let's just say that the driver's horn was stuck and he could not find a way to get it unstuck.

I was completely alone on this stretch, and I looked south to see SR 106 snaking its way along the South shores of the Hood Canal. More housing developments could be seen on the hills along the highway, but the road I was on, the North Shore road seemed mostly unchanged. A gentle mist provided some wetness, but no water droplets. North shore road was quiet, except for people mowing their lawns, and coming outside to get their newspapers. The miles ticked away and pretty soon I was at Kay's corner, to be pampered by the volunteers who staffed this control: Amy Pieper, Peter McKay, "Sandwich man" Robin Pieper, iPhone photographer Mark Thomas, Eric Vigoren, his dog, and "Write a poem!" Maggie Williams.

Kay's Corner to Seabeck

I forgot the time I got here, but I had gained some more time. This boded well, as I was not hoping to gain any time in the next 50 or so kilometers. Robin made me a fantastic PB&J sandwich (I was one of the very few creamy PB takers), which I ate along with a Granola bar, and some fruit. I had some Snickers bars in my back pocket. Robert Higdon was working on his rear wheel at the control. Bill Gobie, John Vincent and Chuck Hoffman all rolled in minutes after me. After hanging out for about 10 minutes, I took off. No time to be wasted. Chuck Hoffman impressed me by staying less than 5 minutes at this control.

I caught up with Chuck shortly afterward on an uphill stretch, and we were riding together when a young dog [often referred to by the moniker "puppy"] came towards us. I had heard tales of a monster lurking at the base of Holly Hill, but this was way too early. I yelled at the top of my lungs as I passed the dog, and it had the undesired effect of making Chuck jump. I didn't scare the dog, but I sure got Chuck's attention.

Now, there are some secrets to riding the Tahuya Hills. I didn't know any better the first time I rode through these hills, and they ate me alive. I hope you are paying attention because I am not saying this again: Fresh tyres, food, water, and bombing down every single downhill so you have enough momentum to climb the uphill. You can dispatch about 90% of this hills on this leg, if you follow this simple advice. Of course, Dewatto Road will make you cry for your mother, and Seabeck Holly Road is a beast, but most of the roads are handled thus. This being my fourth go-around through this area, I was well armed with food, water, fairly new tyres, and the right attitude. Doing hill repeats up the Winery hill (Chateau St. Michelle) probably also helped.

What Tahuya takes away in terms of hills and pavement, it gives back in scenery and lack of traffic. There was quite a lot of cars parked on Tahuya River Road, and it looked like they were hunters. I saw a dog walk back towards its master with a rabbit in its mouth. But, I could be wrong. This was the first time I have seen more than 10 cars in Tahuya.

I was passed by a blue jersey on Dewatto road, but it turns out he was not on this ride, but lived locally and was out for a ride. He was surprised to see a control at Kay's corner. He wished me well, and left me behind. The floods of last year had affected this area pretty badly, and the scars were there in plain sight. Mudslides, washed out roads, and hitherto unseen stop signs for one-way traffic. The hill past Bear Creek - Dewatto Road got my attention as it always does, and this was one of the few hills that I crawled up on. I stopped to eat something just before the great climb on Seabeck-Holly road, and saw Robert Higdon at the bottom of Holly Hill with a dog running towards him, and knew that the monster had returned. He stopped to take a picture, and rode off.

I charged towards the hill with all the speed I could muster, and yelled at the top of my lungs, and the poor dog ran away into the thickets, not wanting to deal with another brown behemoth on two wheels. Of course, all my momentum came crashing down on the hill, and I crawled up the incline, fighting every pedal stroke, and every breath. This hill is always hard. I pity the riders who do loops on this course, in the annual Tahuya-Seabeck-Tahuya Road race (TBT, if you will). By the time I made it to the top, Robert was nowhere to be found. It usually takes me a good 3 or 4 miles to recover from Holly Hill, and this time was no different. Peter and Amy passed me just past Holly Hill, shouting words of encouragement, but it didn't help my speed any. I slowly plodded my way to Seabeck, expecting the downhill to start anytime now. However, it took forever for the road to decisively point downward. I tucked in, and let it rip, dropping several cars, foolish enough to try and keep up with me. I rolled into the Seabeck General store, and found out that I had banked a further half-hour. This has never happened to me, and I was pretty happy about that.

Seabeck to Lofall [Union 76 Minimart]

The store owners of the Seabeck General store have always laid out a welcome mat for SIR riders, and we in turn have managed to not ruin our reputations. The display case at the store features two cups, proudly displayed for one to see. The store owner, was chatting outside with Robin Pieper. The fantastic four (Robert Higdon, Matt Mikul, Chris Gay and Joby Dorr) were at this control, as was Albert Meerscheidt. Matt laughed about every rider walking into this control being worried about Anderson Hill Road. Chuck Hoffman pulled in about 10 minutes after I did. I refilled water using Peter McKay's supplies, got some food (and took it with me!), and took off for the most infamous 4.3 kilometers in SIR lore.

I survived the next 4.3 kilometers, with the last hill really kicking my butt. My chain dropped off once when I tried to shift too quickly, and I stopped under the pretext of having to fix my chain. This happened again on the next steep climb. I finally made it to the turn onto Olympic View Road, which indicates the end of the worst hills on the course. Or does it ? For some weird reason, I have always been slow on Clear Creek Road. Last years 600 was the first time, and this was the second time. The wind was unfavourable too. I spotted Robert Higdon first and Albert Meerscheidt next, fixing flats on this stretch. There was quite a large amount of glass on this road. Robert looked very disconsolate. I should have stopped to chat with him, but somehow didn't. I limped my way in to the next control, my average speed being about 15 kph. I pulled into this control wanting water, and food, and something salty.

Lofall [Union 76 Minimart] to the Finish

Lofall is the town featuring the controle. I could only think of offal. Pardon me. I bought some jojo's and some water. The heat took my desire to eat Snickers bars completely away, and I longed for a PB&J sandwich. I must have made Robin make me another one for the road. I filled up on water and left this control in record time, spending under 5 minutes at this control. Chuck beat me again though, spending less than a couple of minutes. I never saw him again until the finish. The day was now hot, and I was sweating profusely, and going through water fairly rapidly. My poor riding speed continued, and I limped my way through Chico way. I should have probably stopped to eat something cold somewhere, but I wasn't very keen on stopping. I was keen on finishing.

Silverdale, came and went, its lack of shoulders and high traffic a bit disconcerting, but traffic was uniformly courteous. Lots of cars before the turn onto Chico Street for some reason. I was amused by the name Chico; it was the silly nickname of a neighbourhood boy (and his brother, Bingo, both of whom I hated!). I had completely forgotten their nicknames, and Chico street reminded me of both of them. Go figure!

I got on SR3, and a few cars started honking their horns, as if to warn me that I was prohibited from riding on the freeway. The shoulder was littered with debris, and a short bridge with a narrow shoulder provided some quickening heartbeats, but it was nothing to be scared of. I was mostly scared of getting a flat, not by the traffic. Ditto for SR16. When I got to Tremont St, I could smell the barn, and tried to ride as fast as I could. I stopped on Lund street (which also made me chuckle, but I won't tell you why!) to call Wayne Methner, and ask him to leave without me. I had not seen him at a single control, and it didn't make any sense for him to wait around for me just because I was a slowpoke.

SE Mile Hill reminded me of Port Gamble, with its long climbs which one could see from miles away. Not as vicious, but it definitely was not an easy ending to a hard ride. I rode through two solid patches of glass, and started wishing that I would not get a flat so close to the end, and thankfully I didn't. I caught up with a gentleman riding a road bike, who turned out to be a ferry worker. He was quite interested in the activities of randonneurs and SIR in general, and had met several of us in the morning.

The last miles featured more rollers, but the smell of the barn was too strong. I finished to applause I might add, from the spectators at the finish: Amy, Mark, Peter, Robin and a few other riders who were waiting for the ferry. A V-8, some sprite and more food later, I was happy again. Had a good time chatting with Albert and Amy. It was a fun but hard ride indeed. 8300 feet of climbing, give or take. Final time: 11 hours and 6 minutes (which translates to 666 minutes). Albert Meerscheidt finished, despite all his punctures, only 5 minutes after me. Robert Higdon, much to his credit, considered DNFing, reconsidered, and rode to the finish. Way to go!

I caught the next ferry, and rode leisurely to Downtown Seattle with Mark, who then gave me a lift home. Now, I get to write a ride report as a poem. I suggest you buy a vial of cyanide and keep it handy. Don't blame me, blame the newsletter editor.

My first R-12!

2008-07-20T00:51:00.000-07:00

July 20, 2008: Prologue

The first time I heard about this R-12 thing, I thought it was crazy. Riding in the cold, icy months weren't very appealing, and so I conveniently filed that under the "I am not doing it because it is too hard" category. It's funny how repeated mentions on the SIR mailing list and casual conversation can force you to refile things under the "I wonder if I could do it" category! Several of our club friends and American Randonneur reinforced the opinion that R-12 honorees from the Pacific Northwest were studs. Keen to prove my stud credentials, I started my R-12 quest in March of 2007.

And then the "I am not going to France because of the USCIS" malaise hit me, and I forgot to ride a single 200k in July of 2007. Oh well! Started again in August of 2007 with the 400k ride of Poor Man's PBP, organized by the Oregon Randonneurs. Peg W, ever the subtle motivator, told me that I was being "crazy", trying to ride outside during the winter.

This July is my final 200 towards my first R-12. I was planning to ride the Tahuya 200, but I wasn't sure I could finish that ride in time (my confidence is at an all time low), and as insurance I planned to ride a permanent the weekend before, and picked a "new" permanent: Redmond-Carbon Glacier. Thai Nguyen, Shan Perera and Galvin Chow are perpetual riders of this route that takes you through Issaquah, Cumberland, Buckley, Enumclaw, Wilkerson and Carbonado, to the lovely Carbon Glacier entrance on Mt Rainer National Park, and then back. They were full of praise for this route words. I'd never ridden this route before, so I looked forward to some new, some old, roads.

Start to Cumberland

I set off from home for Sammamish Valley Cycle, around 6.45 in the morning. The air was chilly, and the descent down the winery hill was cold. I stuck to the trail, and saw the earlybirds running and cycling along. A couple of miles after I entered the trail, I was forced to stop for geese crossing the trail, a once in a lifetime shot that my early-morning-brain failed to recognize. That moment is lost forever! When I got to the start at around o710 the shop was closed! I knew this, so, I visited the nearby coffee store, Victors to get my receipt. Victor's Celtic Coffee is very highly recommended. It is the creme de la creme of local coffee houses!

The day was forecast to be warm, so I had taken my CamelBak, but forgotten my camera. The wussy cellphone camera would have to suffice. The route starts off completely flat, save for a few bumps on East Lake Sammamish Parkway, and I made pretty good time to Issaquah, which was just barely awake as I cycled through. The roads were empty, and I knew that it would be a handful on the return journey. I passed the Darigold plant on Front Street and thought about the vast amounts of Chocolate milk consumed on randonneuring rides across North America. These guys should sponsor us! The first real turn after getting onto East Lake Sammamish Parkway would be the left turn onto Kent-Kangley Road, and so there is a minimum of navigation required to the first control at Cumberland.

Lapsed Randonneur Kent Peterson lives in Issaquah, and as I crossed Sunset Way, I thought of him. I came into randonneuring reading Kent's mentions (and reports!) of PBP on the touring mailing list. Kent has been nothing but helpful whenever I have approached him for help, and it would have been nice to have shared this day with him. However, Kent is no longer a member of RUSA! Terrible! Come back Kent!

South of Issaquah, the first few rollers are encountered, a recurring theme through several sections of the route. Not new roads by any means, as this permanent is a combination of some of the roads from last year's Spring 600 and the Greg Cox 200 out of Kent. The terrain was rolling, and had very few true flat spots, and there was almost no traffic for much of the morning. Lots of cyclists were out enjoying the day, capped off by the two lovely ladies who passed me on the uphill just before the turn onto Kent-Kangley road. There was a nice tailwind going to Cumberland, but these being the summer months, a headwind on the way back was inevitable.

I reached the first control at around 9.55a, a bundle of sweat.

Cumberland to Carbon Glacier

The Cumberland store functions as the control, and since a lot of riders do this permanent, the store owner at Cumberland was more than conversant with who we were. He had nothing but glowing words for the behaviour of past permanent riders, which is always good to hear. I didn't expect anything else. I called my wife to let her know I was making good progress, and set out, spending not more than 10 minutes off the bike.

Familiar roads followed but not for very long, and the stretch on SR-410 was fairly high in traffic, not to mention the presence of "objectionable" members of the passenger population. Some yelling, some screaming, some cussing, but little in the way of harm. I was glad to get out of this road, and onto SR-165, which features moderate traffic, but the vehemence of the drivers on SR-410 was missing.

I think the beauty of the next 16 or so miles cannot be overstated. It starts out being very ordinary, but rises to a crescendo in the last 13 miles. Great scenery with decreasing traffic the further you went along, this stretch was truly enjoyable. I would recommend refilling water at Wilkerson. I ran out of water at Carbonado and turned around to get some water at the house of a very helpful gardener. "If you run out of water on the way back", she said, "feel free to stop by and use my hose again". Her help and friendliness were most appreciated, on a hot day, and made the next 10-odd miles even more enjoyable. SR-165 soon transforms itself into a twisty narrow two lane road which gradually snakes its way up to the turn onto Carbon River Road and features great views of the flowing river. It also features a narrow bridge which accorded great views of the surrounding hills.

Carbon River Road has an even lower volume of traffic, which I am sure none will complain about, but gently tilted up in the direction of travel. More chance to enjoy that scenery I keep yammering on about. The chipseal was only a minor deterrent, and progress was strong towards the end of the road. There are some road markings which inform you of the distance to the end, but those are for some ride that stops about a mile short of our intended destination, the Carbon River Ranger station. Just before the control, somebody had drawn the male anatomy using a spray gun. I chuckled to myself as I rode past, hoping that this little piece of "art" wouldn't survive for long.

I finally got to the control around 12:20p, and wrote down the info control answers. I visited with a couple of New York, who had driven across America, and were now going back to New York, through Canada. They were very interested in what I was doing, and I chatted with them about our sport, the places one should not miss in Canada [Icefields Parkway], and was glad to find that they planned to go along that way too.

Carbon Glacier to Cumberland

I knew the next few 15 or so miles would be mostly downhill, and I was eager to enjoy the tranquility of these roads again. I hammered the downhill to SR-165 and stopped for a picture of the narrow bridge. The days heat had started melting the tar and as my bike went over the little bubbles that form on such days, I could hear their pops. Since I had water, I didn't bother to stop in Carbonado, and thinking I had enough water and feeling good, I rode on without stopping at Wilkerson, which in hindsight was a colossal mistake. I had food, but I ran out of water about a couple of miles past Wilkerson, and suffered in the heat of the day. I should have made excellent time back to Cumberland, but somehow it took almost the exact time to head back to Cumberland as it took to get there from Carbon Glacier, this despite the route back featuring a large downhill section. I resolved to get water at Wilkerson from now on, no matter how good I felt.

I finally got to Cumberland around 2.45p.

Cumberland to the Finish

I really wanted to see if I could crack 10 hours on this ride, but unfortunately, I had lost that opportunity on the stretch back to Cumberland. I sat down and ate some food inside the store, as the heat outside was not inviting. Cold water, some nuts and an ice cream later, I was ready for the ride home. The wind had picked up, but luckily it became a cross wind, which wasn't that bad. I was on the home stretch to finishing up my R-12 and that felt good.

There was a 10 minute construction fuelled delay near Issaquah, which allowed me to eat some more and drink some more, but the days heat was getting to me. I dreamed of stopping somewhere out of the sun for a while, and sure enough there was a McDonald's on East Lake Sammamish Parkway. Not my preferred stop, but I got some ice-cold water, gratis, out of their soda fountain, and chilled out while feasting on an Apple Pie. I spent about 20 minutes here, and then finally took off for the home stretch.

Through the efforts of one Ms Amy Pieper, SIR is the adoptee of a section of road on East Lake Sammamish. I stopped by the sign to adore it, gloat and take a picture. I remembered that cold morning that we gathered together, to clean our stretch for the first time. I was in a cheerful group and we got through our portion in no time at all, sorting garbage and recyclables. I wasn't in town for the second cleaning, but will not miss it the next time.

Traffic through much of the core area of Redmond was busy, but around 5:51p I turned onto Sammamish Valley cycle, and my R-12 quest was over! Well, I need to start R-12 quest #2. It was a beautiful route, and I highly recommend you check it out someday. It features an average amount of climbing, and features great scenery. What's not to like?

The ORR Covered Bridges 400

2008-06-16T20:48:00.000-07:00

This is a very late ride report. Very late indeed.

Photos are here

The past few years - two to be precise - I have been lusting after the Covered Bridges 400K brevet run by the Oregon Randonneurs that takes you on a tour of - you guessed it - a few pretty covered bridges. I missed out in years past, but this year I made it a priority, and saved myself for this ride by DNFing the SIR 600. Not. I was going to do it even if I had to crawl to the finish, but the DNF just helped matters some. I rested my aching knee and it cleared up finally on Friday, so my wife and I set off for Portland under crystal clear skies. We stayed at our friends house in Beaverton.

The weather was for clear skies and warm temperatures. There were a fair number of riders at the start, with a very high number of recumbents. Portland of course is renowned for its cycling diversity, but this was my first real introduction to it. I met Ken Carter (for the first time), Gary Prince (on his first 400), John Vincent, Susan France, Paul Whitney, Brian List and Dan Fender, who had ridden down to Portland from Olympia a few days prior. Brian, Dan and I rode last years Oregon 400 together from start to finish, and I was looking forward to Dan's humour, if I could hang with them.

Coming in with a semi-functional knee, I was determined not to push the pace at all and enjoy a more pedestrian pace. The route was advertised as being without much climbing, and visions of cracking 21 hours danced in my head, and if I could keep my controls short maybe just maybe I could set a personal record for the distance. After a few words from Susan, we headed out, and as everybody took off quickly, I picked a faster-than-normal-for-me pace as my knee felt fine and found myself in a group consisting of Brian List, Dan Fender and Paul Whitney. We were on a busy road for a while, but cars were courteous and there were enough numbers of us for cars to be oblivious. The turn onto Champoeg Road (pronounced really weirdly) brought about welcome respite from the behemoths.

I find myself able to hang with Paul Whitney on the early part of most brevets, but finishing with him has proven elusive so far. Even last year, when I possibly was in the best riding shape of my life, I still could not finish the Tahuya 300 with him, as he took off early from Seabeck, wanting to catch the earlier ferry [he ended up missing it]. We rode along the blissfully quiet roads, admiring the scenery and talking, and the miles flew by. We watched Brian and Dan make a right turn on the wrong road, and Paul and I almost followed them, but seeing a woman headed straight we checked out route sheets only to notice that they had gone down the wrong road. "I should have known those two would get lost", said Paul, fully conversant with their wayward ways. We continued straight along on Case road until the correct turn on St Paul Highway, which was marked. I telepathically thanked the woman who went the right way. I suspect it was Lynne Fitzimmons.

We rode over I-5 and through a sleepy Gervais. The store was closed, but I had a stash of food to dig into, and kept riding on. We spotted a rider stopped near Howell Prairie and wondered if she was ok, and after her reassurances we kept on. We saw another bicycle , so there must have been another rider in the vicinity paying closer attention to the water needs of some plants! Shortly after this we were at the first information control at the Gallon House Covered Bridge. Took off some clothing and took some pictures (my first covered bridge!), and we set off again for the next control.

We rode through a barely waking Silverton, and were boosted by a nice tailwind for the stretch into Sublimity, but the rollers did slow us down. John Vincent was riding strongly, and we weren't able to close the gap between us at all. We finally caught him at Sublimity, but he was just getting out of the gas station, and we were getting ready to stop at Safeway to get some water and make some phone calls. I used the restroom and Paul made some phone calls. I helped a woman with a child with getting her cart, and Paul remarked that I had done my good deed of the day. A randonneur aims to please! The temperature was warming up, and I took off my leg warmers and my jacket. Ahhh, wonderful warmth. I set off knowing full well that Paul would catch me.

The route sheet warns about Cole School road and the warning is well deserved. Since I was alone, I didn't have to suffer Paul as witness to my pathetic climbing skills. The first one was not hard, but the second one took a bite out of me. The descent down Richardson was something to cheer about though, and I made it to the next info control in no time, where I met Dan and Brian. More pictures of Schimanek Covered Bridge, more bridge ogling and more ribbing from Dan later, we headed for the next control where we were promised a coffee shop. Somebody must have been joking. I saw quite a few riders heading back from the bridge, and we cheered each other. I found myself alone to the Hannah Covered Bridge, but Paul, Brian and Dan weren't far behind. A short while later I was at the first control at Scio, being accompanied by Paul, who caught me a touch before the control. I am sure he relished riding at his own pace for while.

I have read a few of Lynne's postings on the Oregon Randos discussion list, and this was the first time I got to meet her. She looked about mid 30s to me, and I was shocked to read that she has two grown kids (whose allowance she is cutting off, the heartless woman!). The store's walls were lined with bicycles, and the riders included Dan and Patti Austad, John Vincent, myself, Paul Whitney and others I am forgetting. This is where the 400 and the 200 diverged, and after digging into the communal water and Frito's supplies, we took off again for parts unseen around 11am. We were making good time.

A uninspiring RR crossing info control later, we were at the Hoffman Covered Bridge, and then shortly afterward at Larwood. The control questions all involved the colour of zipties put down by the pre-riders of the course. Very novel idea! I left Larwood before everybody else, but shortly after the bridge, I saw huge amounts of riders and it wasn't until the turn onto McDowell Creek Road that I summoned the courage to ask what ride they were on [Strawberry Century]. Wonder of all wonders. Lots of people of all abilities littered the route. The riders at the front of that ride looked miserable, while the ones at the end looked happy. The roads that we were on now were clearly the favourites of some local riders, because there were Dan Henry-like markings on the route that we were taking. Pleasant Valley Road took us again along the river, and more riders, now the tailend of the riders went by in the opposite direction. The loose dogs mentioned in the route sheet were absent, and I for one didn't rue their absence.

A huge group of riders was still at the control and I felt a surge of hope. Maybe I would be able to hang with somebody and have some company for the night. A rejuvenating stop at the Sweet Home Thriftway served as the springboard onto the next section, but shortly after Terrace all the usual suspects - Dan, Brian and Paul - passed me. Paul tried to stay with me, but I released him from bondage, and asked him to go find Brian and Dan. After a few more minutes Paul peeled off to catch Brian and Dan. This was the worst stretch of the ride for me. The slow climb up to the "summit" of Marcola was agonizing and I was slow slow slow. I regretted not having the power to stay with the three of them, and my poor conditioning. The road had a wide shoulder and almost no traffic and I suspect I had a nice tailwind, but these niceties were lost on me. I did however make it to the "top" and then bombed down the other side, but alas, my fellow riders were long gone when I got to Earnest Covered Bridge. A very short stop later, I proceeded down to the Mohawk Post Store.

Just before the control I spied a Turkey Vulture sitting on the road feeding on a dead carcass. He (it?) heard me coming and flew away, and I could not take a picture. Paul, Brian and Dan were just leaving the store, and I met Jane and Chris on recumbents. I had an Ice Cream and a Snickers bar, and the 'bents set off for Harrisburg. I was pretty sure I heard Dan mention that they were going to stop in Coburg for sandwiches and I was confident I would catch them there, and they would slow down anyways for the night, and so I would be able to ride with them!

Alas, Coburg came and went, and the wind was now a terrible crosswind as I made my way over to the chipseal of Coburg Road. Having experienced the nasty headwind on US 12 a week ago, this was nothing, and I mentally kept telling myself that the wind was not strong. I put my head down and plodded on at a pretty pathetic rate, but I did make forward progress and I am happy to say no thoughts of quitting entered my head. As the years go by, my mental strength seems to be waning, and I find that the only thing that saves me is company.

I got to Harrisburg, and found Jane and Chris at the control. Chris told me that Jane was in bad shape, and that she could not keep any food down. I bought some water, ate some food and when I met Jane I told her to avoid Cola Drinks and try some Sprite or Ginger Ale, as that settles my stomach, and may work for her too! I then took off to find the public restrooms near the river. After a short break, I circled back to the store, but the recumbents weren't there. Figuring that they were gone, I set off for Peoria all alone. The wind was still strong, but the sun was now in his last gasp for the day. The route was completely flat and the river flowed to my left as I continued to ride on the drops in an attempt to beat the wind.

Peoria Road goes by a bird sanctuary, and I saw quite a few species of birds, chirping, eating, flying and hunting all over the place. The 19 mile stretch took forever though, and halfway through the stretch I stopped to put on my leg bands, my jacket and my vest. I pulled down the pit zips to allow better air flow as it was still a warm evening. I called Susan for clarifications at the Orleans Road turn, and was helped out by both Susan and a local teenager who told me that Bryant was straight ahead, and I shouldn't hit the Railroad tracks. I forgot where I got caught by Jane and Chris, but when I asked Jane how her stomach was doing, she called me a "Life saver". I was happy to have been in a position to help her, and now I had somebody to ride with me through the night. We got to Albany around 10.43, and found to our horror that the store was closed. We begged the manager to allow us to shop for food and water, and he relented, and I bought two bottles of Gatorade, and 2 Snickers bars for the road ahead, and then we set off again for the finish.

Jane and Chris are very strong riders and they stayed with me as we got to the town of Independence, where nothing was open except the Bar. We went in and were treated to a surreal scene of drunk people, loud music and a kind bouncer who signed our cards for us. I was accosted by a rather drunk Mexican man, talking to me in Spanish figuring I was hispanic. I had to tell him that I was from India and not Mexico. We were brothers in skin colour, if not linguistically.

I thought we had 6 more miles to go to Independence! Riding with company makes the miles melt away, I said, and Chris responded that those were the longest 6 miles of his life. We turned back the way we came, and I got dropped before Salem. On a stretch of particularly well lit road, I was pulled over by a cop who wanted to find out if I had seen a severe damaged Black Honda go my way. Of course he pulled me over ever-so-gently saying "I am sorry to bother you". Ah, sometimes the Police are so kind. Not one word about what I was doing riding my bicycle in the middle of the night. Of course, once I saw the well-lit stretch I figured that I was in Salem but that was not to be. When I finally did get to Salem I hated riding through town. There were no shoulders on the road, and it went through the heart of Salem. I thought of the fast riders who probably rode through this stretch in heavy traffic and as I comfortably coasted through the night in the traffic free roads.

It took me forever to get out of the lights of Salem, but the lights of Salem had performed a very valuable service. They kept me awake! When I hit the darkness sleep started to become a problem. Had I been a smarter man, I would have socked away a Starbucks DoubleShot in my bad as a way of warding off the sleep, but alas, I have no such distinctions. Half way through the River Road stretch, I saw little peeks of red come out from behind the ridges. This gave me a great boost of energy, and that helped me ward off some loose dogs that strayed onto my path to see what I was all about. That helped!

I was confused about the left turn towards St Paul, and stopped for some Gatorade and Snickers, and who do I see but Chris and Jane again. They had stopped at the 7-11 to get some Soup as Jane was bonking. We rode through the desolate stretches again, and I was dropped again before the downhill stretch into St Paul. It was daylight now and traffic started flowing, even if in fits and starts. One final crossing of the great river, and I finally got to the finish, and found out that Jane and Chris had also just finished. They must have stopped again someplace as I had been dropped fairly convincingly on River Road. Susan France was at the finish, and she babied me with food and drink, and made arrangements for me to take a nap. I was the last finisher, and so was responsible for her staying up as late as she did. I thanked her for her help and apologized for being so slow. She even moved my bike to near my room!

I was happy to be done. A Shower and a nice nap later, I found my way back to Beaverton.

The best way to get over a DNF is to get back on the bike and complete another ride again!

Spring 600K: Three little letters...

2008-06-09T22:32:00.001-07:00

D.....N.....F.

I read a wise man's discussion list posting when I was new to randonneuring that the memory of failing due to lack of time was pale in comparison to the haunting memory of quitting a brevet. I am here to report that the gentleman knew what he was talking about. I quit the SIR 600k at Naches, having called Jeff Tilden about 5 miles prior, with knee pain and cramps in my legs. And I now highly regret that choice. It pains me greatly that all these volunteers spent all this time, money and effort into ensuring that we had a good ride, and I wasted their effort. This one stings!

My whinefest follows...

Start

I was still sore from a fairly strenuous hike the Sunday prior, and was in two minds about starting the ride, as my legs didn't feel fresh at all. I made a day-of-ride decision to show up at the start. 50+ randos were gathered around, and I registered. Brad Tilden's dog greeted the riders, albeit with a stick in his mouth. A sign of things to come!

The skies threatened, but didn't open up at the start. I rode in a big pack, but lost them all to the hill on Black Nugget Road, and further lost them when my wife called barely 5 miles into the ride. I had forgotten something very important: a bye bye kiss. I caught up to and passed Bill Alsup just before Novelty Hill Road, but had to stop and don my helmet cover and rain pants when the rains came down in earnest. Ron Himschoot and Don Jameson stopped along with me, and we all changed. The next few miles can only be described in one word: miserable. The rains were coming down hard, and I was mostly dry save for my hands, which were wet from my gloves letting water in. Eamon Stanley passed me just before the two lumpy bits on Ben Howard Road, and I slogged along at a pedestrian pace, until Skykomish, facing headwinds every now and then, but mostly just regretting not riding much in the past 8 or 9 weeks. I was slower than normal, but I had a bank of an hour and 45 minutes at Skykomish. This was to be my biggest comfort margin throughout the ride.

Skykomish to Leavenworth

I didn't stop here for very long, but did buy a Pay Day bar, and ate my on bike food stores. I left Bill Alsup at the control, because I could not afford to waste one moment. The climb up the pass was slow and I thought back to the last time I climbed Stevens: We had a roaring 30mph tailwind that pushed me all the way to the left hook. This time progress was slow, and just before the hook, I pulled up with a severe cramp in my left leg. Bill had passed me a few miles earlier and I saw him pull away, and disappear. Resting for about 5 minutes alleviated my cramp and I continued on, slowing down further. I had to stop a few times to wring out the water from my gloves. Ugh! This is when the first thoughts of quitting the ride entered my head. On a 600, I aim for 3 hours of sleep at night, and based on the amount of time I was giving back on these climbs, I didn't have a chance of sleeping that much. My goal was to make up 15 or 20 minutes per leg and somehow get to 3 hours of a bank. I made it to the top [I forget the time now], but I was the last one over. The first few miles of descent were cold, but I was dressed to the core anyways, and just bombed down the other side, pedalling every now and then when I felt the speed come down.

The skies really cleared about 2000 feet down the summit. Living on the west side of the Cascades does stink! The weather was spectacular here. I warmed up, and got to Leavenworth with about an hour and 35 minutes in the bank. I had passed Bill somewhere, but told him I would be at the Subway. We met there, had food and set off again, after about 15 mins.

Leavenworth to Ellensburg

The first few miles were a nice downhill to the turn onto US 97, but soon after we were buffeted by headwinds, but not for long. I felt really strong on the initial bit of Blewett Pass, which means that I able to maintain my momentum. I left Bill behind, but my wife called a couple of times to report some trouble, and Bill caught and passed me on my second or third stop. Brad drove down to check up on us. That was very nice of him. This however led me to believe that the summit was closer than it actually was. The last 5 miles to Blewett were total torture for me. I thought it was 3 miles but it turned out to be 5 miles, and we finally got to the top at around 7.47p [To compare, Urs Koenig to the overnight control at 8p]. Brad Tilden nursed us back to health, and I took off again, bombing down the descent to the left turn to stay on US97. In hindsight, I should not have stopped at the top, and just continued on, as I didn't feel the need to eat. That may have saved me 15 minutes.

The descent was windy but I enjoyed it, making myself small and going down to the drops. I dispatched the long uphill with relative ease, thanks to the wind. I did notice that there was a flat alternative that we didn't take! This stretch featured a lot of tumbleweeds. The descent down that road to the plains was something I will remember for a long time. A road with a surface like butter, a rip-roaring tailwind and a overweight rider all contributed to a smashing 40+ mile per hour descent. I knew I had to turn right at some point however, and the flags were pointed full east, which was not a good sign, but I lived in the present, milking the downhill for all it was worth.

The directions regarding Faust Road confused me and I took a couple of minutes to make sure I was headed the right way. When I pulled off my glove, the liner inside and the outside of the glove separated, so I spent 10 minutes trying to finagle that thing back in. Didn't work. I just rode on with my fingers shoved into whatever slots I could find. Ugh! I remembered Brad telling me up at the pass that he would meet me in Ellensburg and I rode slowly through town, and finally stopping for food at the Shell gas Station near the end of town. The time was 9.55. I had an hour and 48 minutes in the bank. My record of having 3 hour sleep breaks on overnight rides was going to be history now.

Ellensburg to Naches

I think I was the first person to stop at this gas station because the counter person didn't recognize the card. I sat down for 10 minutes and ate HALF of my Candy Bar [NOT GOOD] and took off. The first few miles of Canyon Road had rumble Strips, and I rode to the left at first, unsure of the riding conditions. Traffic was practically non-existent, but I rode comfortably. Eventually the rumble strips went away, and I was able to ride in great peace. The river flowed idly by lit by the moonlight, and the soft silhouette of the mountains in the background dotted by the occasional house or farm was a great sight. And the stars! OH the STARS! Being a city boy means too much light pollution. Two shooting stars! Not the massive ones like the ones Paul and I saw near Pateros a few years back, but good ones. About 5 miles from the end of Canyon Road I saw two lights flickering in the distance, and thought somebody had flatted. It turned out to be Matt Mikul and Jennifer Chang taking a break. Jennifer gave me some very nice treats from Trader Joe's, and we set off.

The hills on Canyon Road separated us, but we regrouped at Selah. Now, I thought there was going to be a good stop somewhere here and was riding to make it there. That point however was not anywhere near where I was riding. I had no power for Pleasant Hill Road, which true to its name had a hill, and this is where my left knee started hurting, and the cramp in my right leg was back with a vengeance! I lost Matt and Jennifer. I wasnt going to get any sleep, my legs were cramping, and my knee started throbbing again this time with a vengeance. The flat portion of Mapleway offered no succour. I stopped to call the organizers, but my cell phone battery was dead! Did I heed this sign? Of course not.

Matt and Jennifer, bless their hearts were waiting for me at the turn, and I mentioned my cramps and my knee pain to Jennifer and Matt, and told them I wanted to quit. Jennifer gave me Electrolytes to calm down the cramping, and offered to ride with us, but faced with the ghastly wind and the knowledge that a 25 mile climb where I would lose all my time lay ahead, my resolve was gone. I now knew that I would not get any sleep. I was a bit daunted by this prospect. I told them that I had mentally checked out. Jennifer gave me her phone, but my ride buddies would not let me quit. They offered to slow down and draft to save me from the wind. So, we continued on along these truly nasty rumble strips, but despite their reduced pace, they pulled away. Oh, if only I had thought to eat!

I think I was lost mentally. The wind was horrid, and I could not see the point in continuing. My knee was now yelling at me full force, and I just stopped riding. I forgot the cardinal rule of brevet ending: EAT before you decide. I had a Half a candy bar, a bag of Sustained Energy and I still didn't think of stopping to eat. How completely stupid! All those years of reading ride reports was to avoid precisely this situation. But, I didn't recall any of those words of wisdom that I had so ravenously coveted. I left word with the organizers that I was planning to bag it.

Shortly after, Mark and Jeff Tilden pulled up, and I told them I was done. I am quite surprised now that Mark didn't try to knock some sense into me. Over the years, he has given me a good look in the eye or a real positive word, and that gave me confidence that I could do it, even as I doubted my own abilities. I must have looked really really bad. They loaded me up in Mark's car and we drove back towards Ellensburg to check on Bill Alsup, who had just gotten into Ellensburg after taking a while to figure out a nasty flat. He decided to bag it too, and we headed back to the "secret" control on US12, and checked up on several riders. The fact that I quit didn't grate on me as much as it does now. At the lodge, I met Allison again after a long time, and saw several riders sitting there, probably getting ready to head out. I would get my three hours of sleep after all, but not the way I wanted to earn it.

Sunday

Jeff Tilden us woke up with a cheery "Breakfast is served", and we all headed out to the main cabin, where I met Paul Whitney, who had also DNFd. Mark Thomas remarked that I had the classic signs of regret on my face. That was true! We left after some tricks to get Bill's bike up on Shan's roof rack.

We checked up on the riders climbing White pass: Peg Winczewski, Lesli Larson, Matt Mikul and Jennifer Chang. We waited for them at the turn off to Cayuse, where I met another old friend, Paul Johnson, who comforted me about my DNF. We saw the last few riders off and headed for home, passing several as they were climbing spectacular Cayuse Pass. It was cold and foggy at the top, and several riders were also descending the pass. Ron Himschoot stopped to talk to us even as he was putting on a second skullcap! Shan Perera drove me home, and the regret began in earnest.

The Oregon Fall 600k is my only chance of continuing my Super Randonneur streak (now at 2 years). Paul Whitney the organizer, promises to make it reasonable! I have no plans to ride the Jan Heine 600k. No way, Jose! My poor heart cannot withstand another DNF. However, one thing is certain: the next time they run this ride, I am going to hammer this course into submission.

I am planning to ride next week's OR Covered Bridges 400 as penance. As of Thursday, my left knee still hurts, even when I walk.

Spring 400K: I survived!

2008-05-19T22:50:00.000-07:00

Many many many thanks are due to the volunteers for organizing this 400. I can honestly say that I would not have finished without their support, especially the controle at the top of Blewett Pass, and the Dubuque Cutoff controle. Brian Ohlemeier, Geoff Swarts, Mark Roberts, Erik Anderson, John Morris and Mark Thomas: Thanks very much!

Photos are here

I wasn't so sure of finishing this one. The Fleche and the Tahuya 600 rides last year were two that I remember being nervous for. But, not so much. The ride was constantly on my mind. The three passes were daunting, and my familiarity with the hills north of US2 didn't help matters any. None of the 4 400ks that I have done have been particularly tough. I pegged my odds of DNF'ing higher than my finish odds. I knew precious little about Snoqualmie and Blewett passes, but I was no stranger to any of the roads after US2. Duane Wright and I had ridden the Woodinville - Granite Falls permanent, and the latter half of this route reuses most of the latter part of that permanent. Reiner and Dubuque Roads were fresh in my memory.

Preparation: Swapped out the 28s for 23s. The weather was slated to cooperate, and so I could leave most of my rain gear behind, but I needed some for those pass descents. I was tempted to leave the Carradice behind, but left it on. In preparation, I cleaned out the old CamelBak, got lots of sleep and kept myself hydrated. I had to be quick at the controles: could not afford anymore than 5 minutes [I was woefully wrong about this].

There would be lots of positives: I would add to my collection of passes (current tally: Steven's going East, Washington and Rainy going West, and Barlow North). I would be in good shape to ride the 600, with more new passes to bag. The ride was four parts: The three passes and then the stretch to Maltby. The route after that is largely devoid of climbs, save for the climb to the Falls, and maybe some climbing on Paradise lake road and Woodinville-Duvall Road. The goal was to survive the passes, fly down the descents, and somehow make each control: just hang on to finish. Seemed like a plan.

Kevin Humphreys was to give me a ride to the start, and as I bombed down the hill at 70kmph I hit the train tracks hard, and my rear tire went soft. I walked to the Tully's. This was not a good start to the day. I hadn't seen Kevin since 2006, when we chatted for a while in Bellingham: he on the 400, and I on the 1000. I usually don't see him because, well, he is hours ahead of me. Once we got to the hotel area, I fixed the flat real fast, and we set off for the hotel, where I missed the pre-ride instructions thanks to lining up for the bathroom. Met Matt Mikul in the line.

Start to Cle Elum

I left about 5 minutes late. I saw the Fantastic Four in the distance, and then I was all alone. The initial bit was granny gear time, but about 3 or 4 miles later, the grade evened out and I was able to make progress at better than "crawl" pace. The weather was cool, and the scenery was spectacular. I have never travelled very far east on 90, and this was a fantastic first time. I passed Ward Beebe fixing a flat, and shortly after the summit, met up with Paul Whitney. Paul and I rode last years Spring 300 together, and we spent the stretch to Cle Elum catching up on the past year. We got to Cle Elum around 8.55.

Cle Elum to Leavenworth

A small group was still there: Peg, Lesli (from the OR group), Michael Norman, and Gary Smith. We left about 10 minutes after we arrived. The day was slowly starting to warm up, but I didn't feel then need to use sunscreen yet. Paul and I rolled out together, and I lost Paul just before the turn to Highway 97. I slowly caught up to somebody I thought was Michael Norman, but it turned out to be Jeff Tilden. Jeff is very gregarious, and we proceeded at a very decent clip up the mountain. Jeff pulled off at a restaurant after Liberty Cafe to get some water, but I soldiered on. I stopped to apply sunscreen, and Jeff joined me shortly after. It was pretty good scenery. I saw Old Blewett Road go by wondering what challenges lay ahead on the 600.

About 4 miles from the top, my CamelBak became empty, and I only had one full water bottle, which I promptly fnished off before the top. I was thirsty when I got to the top, and met Brian and Mark Roberts. They were a very comforting sight. Apparently we weren't Les Lanterne Rouge. It was Bill Alsup from Portland. Drat! They had all kinds of goodies on them, chief among them being water. I refilled, stocked up on food, and started the descent. Jeff had left about 5 minutes ago, laying down a "catch me" challenge. It was a fantastic descent! However, Mark Roberts caught me on the descent and proceeded to drop me like a hot potato! Quite a few riders were out climbing, and it was a rip roaring descent for me. I watched for rocks as Geoff pointed out in his report, but didn't touch the brakes until the turn off to US2. A fast flowing river provided the scenery for the last few miles before US2. I saw Mark Roberts returning along Highway 97, returning to the top of Blewett Pass.

Six hot hot miles later, I was in Leavenworth, and at the Subway. Jeff was already here, and so were Peg and Lesli. Peg was filling a tube sock with ice. The old Cascade 1200 trick!

Leavenworth to Skykomish

I wanted to eat solid food, but I figured I would save all the time I could, and decided to just eat candy bars. I refilled my water supplies and food, and set off for Skykomish with Jeff. Peg and Lesli left after us, but my last image of the two of them, was them flying by me with an "on your left". How they do it I know not, but they were fast. Jeff was fast too, but the heat soon took a toll on us. This is also where I started suffering some rather serious cramps, and I would just stop, wishing the pain to go away. I almost crashed once. These cramps would plague me all the way to the top of Stevens.

Progress was pitiful, but I finally made it to Coles Corner, where I saw Jeff's bike parked against the store wall. I ate a ClifBar that I had taken from the Blewett Pass not-so-secret control, and nearly threw up. The heat had melted the bar, and it was almost inedible. I ate it anyway! In hingsight it was a mistake to force it down. This started a 15 mile stretch where I was nauseous constantly. A great many negative thoughts flourished in my mind: I could just turn left on JW Mann Road and then take Ben Howard Road, and then ride home. My wife could come and pick me up. I could always do the Oregon 400 and the Oregon 600. I didn't know how I refocused, but arriving at Nason Creek rest area probably helped!

I had planned to refuel on water at Nason Creek (a tributary of the Wenatchee River, I found out), and it was a relief to find some shade. I filled up all of my water containers and just slumped to the ground. Several helpful people came up to talk to me, wanting to make sure I was ok. One guy, a cyclist, asked me how I was doing on supplies. He said he had food and water that he could share with me, and then asked about the route. I doused my head with water to try and cool off. After about a 10 minute break, I set off, confident that Jeff was still behind me, but as it turned out he had missed seeing my bike. Oh well. I caught him sitting on a shady spot, and we rode together for pretty much the entire climb. Jeff kept me from quitting. His humour, and timely witticisms helped me tremendously.

The next 18 miles was a study in contrasts: The temperature got colder as we climbed up, but the heat was searing at the lower elevations. Jeff and I stopped in the shade quite a few times, there simply was no other way to cool down. I had severe hot feet issues throughout the latter part of this ride. Of course, had we been faster, our pain would have lessened. I had left my bike computer at home (I get depressed looking at my low speeds), and so I had no way of tracking progress. At near 2000 feet, the air started to cool, and life was good again. Our slow pace also afforded us great views of the mountains, literally hundreds of waterfalls, and several thundering creeks, and raging rivers.

We arrived at the summit at around 7p, I was about an hour behind my fantasy schedule, which wasn' that bad. Jeff set off again for the bottom, and another fantastic descent ensued. I tucked in, and bombed down, and got to Skykomish at 7.37p, to be faced with the worst restroom ever known to man. Jeff was polishing off a Burrito.

Skykomish to Maltby

We spent about 15 minutes here, recovering from our exertions of the last 150-odd miles. I figured I was going to finish with about an hour to spare. We milked the descent some more, and pulled off just after Sultan (or was it Gold Bar?), where we stocked up on food, water and ate a little. This was mostly a 20 minute Rest and Recovery stop for us. We shared some chips: salt never tasted so delicious. It was around 10p, and we were set for the next punishing stretch. The horrors of Dubuque Road lay ahead, as did that killer uphill before the turn to Old Pipeline Road.

Three down, one to go. A beautiful golden moon lit the night. Just after the turn to Old Owen Road, I saw somebody sitting at the Chevron, and Jeff and I rode back thinking the more the merrier. It was Dave Harper who was having stomach problems and was done for the day, having eaten anything since Stevens Pass. I tried to talk him out of it, but he was firm. He wished us good luck, and we were on our way. I had to zig-zag across much of Old Owen road, and same for Reiner Road. When we got to the top it was great relief. I knew the route pretty well, and Jeff and I stuck together.

Dubuque Road was next. Dubuque is the Anderson Hill Road of this ride. After the initial steep pitch, I met a smiling Geoff Swarts driving the route in reverse trying to track riders. It was great to see a friendly face. Geoff is also one of our permanent co-ordinators. Apparently they were worried about us. He warned me about the two U's coming up, and after a short chat, I rode on. Jeff somehow was behind me at this point. I bombed down the first hill, pedalling like a madman, and tried to use the momentum to go up the other side, and miraculously it worked. It was harder on the second try, because the gap is a bit longer, but I made it to the other side somehow. After that, it was just a series of small hills before the turn to Dubuque Cutoff Road, where Geoff told me, more goodies were in store.

I waited for Jeff at the turn, figuring it was easy to miss, and sure enough, he showed up a few minutes later, thanking me for waiting. We made it to the secret control where Erik Anderson and John Morris both filled out water bottles, and a Coke. We left fairly soon from this control. The Coke cooled me down, and I was shivering on some of the descents. I was feeling quite good through Snohomish, and the climb on Springhetti and Broadway didn't seem so bad. We saw blinkies at the Shell gas Station and knew at once that some other kind soul had volunteered to serve us in the middle of the night, even when the controle was at a 24-hour location. It was Mark Thomas, with donuts, cookies, and all other goodies. Time was 0210.

Maltby to Finish

Mark was full of good cheer, and his humour provided a very welcome diversion from the tiredness that plagued me. We talked about the heat and how people were coping: one rider, Vincent, had thrown himself on a snowbank. When I told him that I wasn't ready to do the 600, he cautioned me against making a decision at this very moment. We had passed the four major tests with time to spare, and we only had the Falls climb to really call a climb. We took off after about 10 minutes of chatting. Paradise Lake Road and Woodinville-Duvall Road did have some climbs, but they were of the short variety, nothing really steep. A teen in a mini-van yelled something obscene at Jeff who was a ways behind me, and I pulled over to the gravel to let the morons pass. Sure enough, they yelled the same thing at me. No points for originality.

I came upon the sounds of water on the road on NE 100th, and slammed my brakes hard. Jeff was quite worried about me, and stopped too. We then gently observed the water using our headlamps and the water was only a few inches deep. The still of the night amplifies sounds. I mistook it for a raging river! I saw light to the East on Carnation Farm road, and the birds started chirping, but the moonlight was still strong.

Our collective wheels began to fall off on 203, I think. Our pace slowed to a crawl, and Jeff took up my offer of a hundred miles earlier of salted cashews, at the intersection of 203 and 202. It was Jeff's wife's birthday on Sunday, and he jokingly said that he might not have the energy to celebrate with her! We made slow if unspectacular progress, and it was a joy riding on this road with such little traffic. The last few miles to Downtown North Bend were excruciating as were the 4 miles to the Inn, which even featured a gravel stretch. I deeply hoped to not have a flat! Thankfully, I didn't. Around 628a we arrived at the Inn. 25 hours and 28 minutes later, we were done!

Brian Ohlemeier took our cards, and Jeff immediately left for home. I chatted with him about the ride, the heat, and the great support, while chowing down pizza. A nice long shower and a nice chat with Jan and Ryan Hamilton ensued. They looked as fresh as daisies, and I looked like death warmed over. Jan is not a fan of US2: he said it was hard to have any kind of rhythm. I slept for a couple of hours, after they left. My wife and I were meeting friends from Canada for lunch, so I had to get home quick. As we were getting ready to leave, we were greeted by Paul Whitney and his daughter. Paul planned to sleep in the car while his daughter drove him back to the Tri-Cities. Smart man!

Bring on the 600!

A beautiful Spring day is not to be wasted

2008-04-28T12:35:00.000-07:00

This all started when Duane sent me a note asking me if I "wanted to fall sick" on Wednesday. I replied in the affirmative as the weather forecast was slated to be good. A few hours later the man writes to me again, this time wanting to ride on Saturday, because it was going to be "spectacular". After the soggy 300, I was entitled to a spectacular ride. So, we made a deal to ride Woodinville - Granite Falls on Saturday.

Since I am one of the permanents co-ordinators, I get to read first hand accounts of people's rides. This ride was initially reported to contain 3300 feet of climbing. And then Shan Perera, Galvin Chow and Thai Nguyen rode it one time and sent me a note informing me oh-so-politely that the total elevation gain posted was wrong, and it was more like 5500 or 6000 feet, depending on who you ask.

This was our chance to find out. I rode down to the Tully's (being only a mile away from my house) and was pleasantly surprised to see randonneur like bikes sitting in the parking lot. Maybe Duane had some of his friends show up too. I sat there eating a donut while waiting for Duane. He arrived only 5 minutes late, and after some food and conversation, we got up. The other riders introduced themselves as SIR riders by asking "Are you guys doing 359 today too?". (359 is the Permanent # for this ride). The riders were Jack Brace and Ryan Schmidt (sp?) of SIR. Jack is a current member, while Ryan is not (I found this out on Sunday). I asked them if they had paperwork, but they didn't. Jack was going to get no credit for his ride, but that is not the only reason why we do these things, do we ? We left the controle at 0715.

The morning was chilly. Temperature were in the low 40s, and we set off on the flat stretch towards Issaquah. We talked about Duane's running, and his bike riding, and my past running days, and my wife's recent troubles with injury problems. There are no real hills between Woodinville and Issaquah, and the first controle was upon us in no time. I almost spaced out, but luckily read the cue sheet properly. After the usual control rituals we headed out to climb Issaquah Fall City Road.

Our legs were sufficiently warmed up for the nice climb up the ridge, and after the Endeavour School turn, the low traffic allowed for more conversation and side-by-side riding. We plummeted down the valley, I more than Duane, who took the descents a bit more cautiously. After the SR 202 crossing, the route is more or less flat all the way to Carnation. However, we came upon a "Road Closed" sign before Tolt Hill Bridge. Construction workers littered the bridge, and I politely begged my way across, making sure I asked permission and remembering to thank each of them as I passed. We were in Carnation in no time, but not before Duane peeled off to use his favourite Port-A-Potty.

Ryan and Jack joined us here. I had a cookie, and took off my jacket. The day was warming up, and near 10a. We never saw the two again, not even at a controle. Quite a large contingent of cyclists were out riding. It was too beautiful a day to not be out and about. Of course, this also meant being passed like we were standing still on some of the roads of the Snoqualmie Valley. A huge contingent of riders led by a woman hammered past us on W Snoqualmie River Road, as did a rider on his beautiful Trek 5500. Duane was ahead of me on most hills, and I was better on the flats and the downhills. We saw SIR rider Urs Koenig riding in the opposite direction from us, and waved to us. Duane opined that Urs beat a hasty retreat from us, because he was scared of us "hammerheads". We had spectacular views of the snow covered mountains to the east.

Ben Howard road was as beautiful and quiet as always. Not as many anglers today, and surprisingly not a lot of bicyclists either. This was also the first time that I rode Ben Howard road towards US 2, and it was a different experience. After the left turn onto US 2, we had to hold up traffic, and were greeted with some nasty honks, not from the car right behind us, but somebody behind that vehicle. I mentally steeled myself to not react, and the moment we pulled over to the shoulder, the SUV passed us and so did the offender, yelling something that rhymed with Crass and Dole. I have ridden with Duane on several Permanents, and I have never heard him swear. It was funny to see him yell an obscenity, while I was waving my hand to the offending driver, all while the driver was flipping us off. Duane's philosophy was to use voice (which the driver could not hear), rather than sign (which the driver could see), and get it out of the system. As we pulled into the gas station, the same car driver was there, but he drove off after making a right turn onto Old Owen Road.

Drivers are a constant when riding in the Seattle area, so we started talking about some unforgettable incidents that our riders have had over the years: The one where a BC randonneuse was so harassed by drivers in Snohomish county, that she was almost on the verge of abandoning her ride, and the one where a man threw a full pop can at one of our riders.

I got rid of my leg warmers, booties, and skull cap, and swapped the heavy gloves for some SmartWool full finger gloves. The easy part of this ride was done, and now began the "lumpy" bits. After averaging the better part of 20kmph, we would get introduced to single digit riding. Duane was not using his granny at all, which meant he powered up hills. I was slow, dragging my ugly carcass all over the road. I have never ridden north on Old Owen Road, and this was the first time. Reiner Road was more of the same. Rollers, and some nice steep but short pitches. Duane wondered if Old Pipeline Road would come at the bottom of a hill, but I had to demoralize him by telling the truth (not to mention SIR tradition).

The steepest part of Reiner Road slowed me to a crawl, and Duane pulled ahead and kept riding uphill, while completely ignoring the left turn onto Old Pipeline Road. I of course, was a touch familiar with these roads as they were on the Fall 1000 that I did in 2006, albeit in the opposite direction. A big yell caught Duane's attention and he came flying down informing me that he was testing my navigation skills! Old Pipeline is a private road, had very little traffic and had good pavement. The next few stretches were extremely low traffic, but I was low on power for much of it, and it was very obvious that I was weighing Duane down. The calmness of Woods Creek was great, as were the beautiful views on Lake Roesiger and Menzel Lake Road. The latter two roads punished me though, and all I wanted to do was survive them. We finally arrived at the Granite Falls Chevron, not a controle but a good spot to get some food. I had some Jojo's and some Gatorade. I sat down while Duane patiently waited for me.

Not wanting to waste more time (Duane called me a "Slave Driver"), we set off and made excellent time on Jordan Road to Jordan Trails park. We were greeted by cheers from the folks below on the river and we waved, but pressed on. A special treat was seeing the bird pictured. He (or She) looked beautiful. Duane kept saying redhead, and I kept looking for a pretty redhead :) The climb out of the park was a bit severe, but not very long, and we arrived at the Burn Road intersection. Duane spotted the Info control and we didn't write the answer down, as it was easy to remember, but hard to guess.

I had ridden Burn Road in the opposite direction on the 1000, and I forgot that I was going to get a nice long downhill. We bombed down the hills and got into Granite Falls again, for more Gatorade and water. This time Duane wanted a sit down, and we relaxed for about 10 minutes before heading out again. Some not very hilly stretches later, we arrived at the very easy to miss turn onto N Carpenter Rd. The only reason I saw the turn was because I spied painted Dan Henry's on the road, and looked up to see the turn. Duane was very appreciative of my efforts: he said it was above and beyond the call of duty for me to have driven the route and marked Dan Henry's. :)

We hit the last Info control of the day, and just as we were writing the info down, Duane threatened to quit on me. He said he was going to ride back the way we came. I wanted his company, and so had to beg him to reconsider and ride with me. A big dog stood about 200 yards from where we were. Duane graciously allowed me to go in front, and I kept yelling "Go home", and even though the dog was wagging its tail, I took no chances. After a few warning barks, the dog went home, as commanded. We headed on, until we hit Dubuque Road.

Our first vision of Dubuque road was a wall. A wall rising about 200 feet into the sky. We started plodding out way to the top - Duane in front as usual - when we started hearing the unmistakable signs of an aggressive vehicle: A SUV was driving towards us, with the passenger yelling out at us with the usual invective directed at cyclists: "Get off the road", and the words that rhyme with Crass and Dole. However, as this mania jumped out the window curse at us, he also lost something that flew onto the grass. The Vehicle itself gave us lots of clearance, but the passenger was not so nice. He was either high or really drunk.

Duane stopped to pick the object and stuffed it in his jersey: they were the maniac's sunglasses. Now, a lesser human being (say myself), would have either smashed the thing with a stone, or thrown it in the nearest trash can or left it in the middle of the road to be crushed by a vehicle. Duane is not such a human. He crossed the road and left it atop a green power box, so that somebody might find it. I told Duane that he was a better man than I was.

After a few more walls, and a few very exhilarating descents, we turned left on Dubuque Cut off road, only to be met with the same type of riding. I crawled uphill, while Duane powered uphill and slowed down for me to catch up. We rode through Snohomish, and its traffic, and finally found our way to Springhetti Road, where we saw a bike commuter. We almost caught him, but he turned left just before the turn onto Broadway. Broadway of course, had been on the tail end of the 2006 Fall 1000k, so I knew it was going to be a while before I made it to the top. Duane became a dot in the distance and I plodded through the false summits, before finally reaching the top.

Duane guided me through the next few turns, and pretty soon we were on Bostian Road, where I stunk again. The steep slope to Woodinville-Duvall Road was the end of this long day of climbing, and we hammered down to the left turn and then again down to 140th. In my infinite wisdom I turned left onto a shopping mall, and then jumped on the sidewalk. Duane followed me, and we used the pedestrian crosswalk, before continuing on 140th. We were at the finish in no time, and saw the bicycles of Ryan and Jack at the Gas Station across the street.

We got more food and Duane gave me a ride home up the Winery hill, before setting off for Seattle. A wonderful day to be on our bicycles.

Where have all the cars gone?!

2008-04-07T18:19:00.000-07:00

Me, eating at the finish: "I don't think I have ever ridden a course with so little traffic!".

Ron Himschoot: "Yeah, I think so too. This was like some sections of Last Chance!".

Rick Blacker: "That was the idea".

A hearty dose of thanks go to the organizers, the volunteers who braved the rain and the cold to help us on our way, and the creators of this route. The secret controle in the morning had great goodies, as did the controle atop Tono Road, staffed by Jane and Emily (the wives of two riders), and John Vincent. Mike Richeson standing at the corner on the last informational controle was a comforting sight. Many thanks to all.

Heeding the warnings for good lights, I switched out the bulb on my E6, and it made a huge difference on some of the gravel sections. One car even honked at me to lower the beam a little bit (before the Mike Richeson Info Controle). I carried two Biscottis and a ZipLoc bag of Sustained Energy. I ate one of the biscotti's on the drive there :)

If you didn't get to do PBP last year, all you had to do was show up at the Spring 300k. We got everything you got in France, the wind, the rain, the waterlogged feet, but without the language barrier, adoring crowds, ham baguettes and pain au chocolats. A fourth of that distance at a tenth the price, this was an offer I could not refuse. So I planned to ride it, while fully realizing that the organizer combination of Blacker and Sprague meant only one thing: hills. I always appreciate a good training effect in Spring, the whining was kept to an absolute minimum. And yes, the hills were plentiful, and came often. The number of roads where I saw more than 5 cars on one stretch could be counted on one hand. Truly a great route.

I met a lot of the regulars for the first time this year - having finished the Greg Cox 200 on the pre-ride- and quite a few new faces. No rain at the start, and Ron Himschoot, ever the purveyor of good news, told me that there was a 70% chance of rain after 11a, which meant I had about 4 hours to finish the course in, if I wanted to stay dry. As the current President would say, "Mission accomplished!".

After the pre-ride announcements, we were off and I was oh-so-ahead of everybody else for a while, but then reality set in and was quickly passed on the first few lumps on South Bay Road. Bob Lagasca introduced himself, and rode with me for a few minutes. He does quite a few permanents, and it was good to put a face to a name. The first few miles featured some rollers, and the lovely Barbara Blacker was there shooting pictures of the riders, and offering encouragement. We hit the first controle, and made quick work of it.

After more rollers, I stopped at a gas station just before Downtown Olympia, to buy some water and a Snickers Bar. I usually eat on the go, and as I was finding a place to dispose my wrapper, Ron Himschoot passed by, and after a brief conversation he pulled away on the Lakeridge climb. There was a secret controle somewhere before Porter, but though I can see it in my head, I am writing this too late, and I don't remember the street it was on. Rick Blacker was there, along with Jane and Emily, and they signed my card, and even filled my water bottles. Top notch support! There was an excellent assortment of food, and I ate a cookie before leaving.

Shortly after a left turn, I saw a group of 4 folks were pulled over on the side of the road, and one person seemed like he was fixing a flat. I made sure they were ok, and kept on. It was not the last time I would see them pulled over. :) They passed me in short order on Bordeaux Road, which I just loved. It felt like a gentle uphill, with great scenery. I would have completely missed the D-Line turn, had I not seen John Vincent driving downhill, at the intersection. I stopped to chat, and he warned me that D-Line road was "Gut Check Time". I would have done some bonus miles had he not warned me. I chatted with him for a while, and then took off. I was in my lowest gear pretty soon, but the climb itself was not very long. I paused at the top to make sure I didn't plummet down the wrong road, but another rider came up and stopped and we compared notes. I rode on, while he waited for another buddy.

The descent on D-Line road was wonderful and one of the highlights of this ride. No traffic, and it wound through forested land, with a gentle river running right by it. The pavement was not the best I have ever seen, but it was excellent riding. The trees were blooming, a river flowed nearby, and the weather was perfect. One particularly beautiful stretch is captured by Barbara Blacker:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/seattlerando/2393044217/in/set-72157604417052597/

A beautiful downhill, and another Barbara sighting later, I made the turn onto 12, and had the first - and last - tailwind of the day. I saw the same group of 4 riders (whom I shall affectionately name the Flat Four) pulled over just before the Porter Creek Controle, fixing a flat, I think.

The tailwind didn't last for very long, and I was at the Porter Creek Grocery Store. The lovely Cindi Holmstrom was there: I hadn't seen her since the 2006 Dan Turner 300k, and it was good to meet old acquaintances. She took off fairly quickly though. I refuelled and was ready to take off when the Flat Four rolled in. Apparently one of the riders had trouble with a fender (Honjo), and they had stopped to fix that.

I left the Porter Creek controle, and the first drops of liquid sunshine hit me. A rider was pulled over trying to don his rain gear, and I should have taken that cue to put on my helmet cover, but I kept on. The wind was now in our face, and the chipseal didn't help matters much. In a matter of a few hundred yards, it started raining in earnest. Did I stop then? No. I kept on. There was a spectacular house fire on this road just before the turn to Garrard Creek. I wanted to take a picture, but then decided I didn't want to make a spectacle of somebody else's misery. Turns out it was just a fire drill. The name South Bank Road told me that SIR Member (currently in hiding) Paul Johnson's (aka Dr Codfish) house was not very far from here, and I was wondering about him before the right turn onto Garrard Creek Road. Two riders were pulled over, and I rode with them for a while. It turns out that his house was only a mile away from the turn onto Garrard Creek Road. :(

I don't even remember now if Garrard Creek road was hilly, but I think it had chipseal. I do remember Manners Road. Immediately after the right turn we started climbing, and the climbing was relentless. A farmer out in his farm, waved to me. I remember that stretch as being hilly, rainy and cold. My "waterproof" gloves had now let some water in, and my fingers were waterlogged. Some of the descents on Manners Road were intense, with the rain pelting my face. I rode a little with Eamon Stanley, who warned me about Jan Heine's plans for the fall 600k (6 passes over Hwy 20), and said he was planning to ride it. We stopped at the store near the end of Bunker Creek Road to get some food and water, as I started feeling a little low on energy.

We made the turn onto SR 6, and saw traffic for the first time today. I kid you not: this was the first time I saw 5 cars together since the start. I think the low traffic really made this an awesome route. It is worth registering this ride as a permanent, I think. Geoff, are you paying attention? :)

John Vincent had warned me about Curtis Hill Road. This is also where Steve Hameister breathed his last on last years 300k, shortly before PBP. The hill just looks like a wall, and Eamon effortlessly pulled away. I plodded, plodded and plodded, and the nadir was seeing 4kmph on my now-suddenly-functioning bike computer. It had been puttering on and off throughout the day, and it picked this exact hill to tell me that I stink. Thanks Cateye!

I eventually made it to the top of this road, and bombed down the other side to Boistfort Road. The market looked like it was in renovation, or I might have stopped there for a little break. This hill was a toughie. The 16 or so miles on Boistfort road was my low point for the day. I hated the chipseal, hated the weather, hated the wind, hated my speed. But luckily I clued in on this early, and pretty much knew I just had to get through it. The route sheet mentions Camels, but the only Camels I saw were inside the J&S Grocery Store (which was also a controle on last years Fleche). I loved SR 506. It was a wonderful little stretch dotted by farms and beautifully coloured homes, with fantastic architecture.

I bought some food and water at the controle, and finally put on my helmet cover and rain pants. I had ridden without donning these for the better part of 61 miles. Not very smart. The Flat Four rolled in just as I was heading out. They mentioned that they had to dump his Honjo fender because they got tired of fixing it and lugging it around when they could not. Jan Heine, our expert equipment note taker might want to make a note!

The next few stretches were also rolling, but somehow my riding picked up right after I left the controle. The rollers didn't weigh me down, and I realized that I knew some of these roads (from the Fleche). When I got to the Main Street Food Mart in Chehalis, it was late evening, and the light was starting to look dim. This was also the other spot where I saw more than 5 cars in one stretch.

I refilled my food stores. After a hot chocolate, some Snickers, some Gatorade, I left. The woman at the controle was very helpful and encouraging, and gave me some zipties to hold my helmet light in place. I think Dan and Patti Austad pulled in just before I left. I also dorked up here, putting on my leg bands and my vest. A beautiful ride past the Steam plant, and a short climb up Tono Road brought me to the most wonderful sight of the ride: a bunch of selfless volunteers, sitting under a canopy awaiting the arrival of the next rider: mine was greeted with hooting and hollering! John Vincent, Jane, Emily, and another gentleman helped me the instant I came in. John took my bike, and the women pampered me with food and encouragement. It is here that I found out that Jane and Emily were the wives of two of the Flat Four. I thanked them mightily, had some hot chocolate, some Peanut Butter and Jelly Bagels, and a cookie, and took off into the night. Comfort, on such events and especially in adverse conditions, is to be partaken in little amounts: too much of it, and you either end up wasting a lot of time or losing sight of the goal completely.

The women warned me again about a sharp turn, and I was off. About a mile downhill, I heard my helmet cover fly off into the darkness. DRAT! I pulled over, and looked hither and thither, but no sign of my helmet cover. I started riding uphill looking for it, and I could not find it. I felt pretty sad that I had lost my nice rain cover. I resigned myself thinking I would ask John Vincent to come looking for it for me, and rode on. After about a mile, I stopped, took off my gloves and felt the top of my helmet. And there was my faithful helmet cover. I have heard of bad brains at rides longer than 600k, but this was a first and a new low. :)

I came upon a smiling Mike Richeson at the informational control; the answer was fairly easy to guess. Seeing him was reassuring, and I committed the information to memory, and headed out. It started raining a tad heavily now and I could hear the rain drops hit my helmet cover with alarming intensity.

Fairly deep gravel marked the trail, and I walked to the pavement, not wanting to risk my noggin. Careful riding ensure that I made the easily missed left turn to Chehalis-Western Trail. 10 miles of flat land bliss followed. After exiting the trail, I could not find the connection to continue on to the trail, so I rode back up a short steep hill, back the way I came to find out if I spaced out. I had not. Under the trestle (new word learned!) I went, and saw the left turn, and continued on.

This stretch saw the worst of the rain of the entire ride. It poured mercilessly down, and all the way through the streets of Lacey. I arrived at the finish, completing the ride in 17:54. I had grand plans of finishing in 16 hours and change, but the rain had me spending more time at the controls than necessary. Rick and Barbara Blacker, James Sprague, and Jane and Emily were there, along with Ron Himschoot, who had showered. Over great food (Vegetarian Pizza with Cashew nuts, and cookies) we talked about the ride, and the lack of traffic, and the hills, and Steve Hameister. A nice hot shower made me a new man. The Flat Four finished, a testament to their perseverance. I think Eamon finished a touch behind me, and I don't know where I passed him.

I should have stayed and napped and then left in the morning, but I chose to drive home not knowing the effect of tiredness. I nodded off a couple of times, before good sense kicked in, and I napped for an hour at a gas station, and then took off for home. Not a mistake I will repeat, ever (meaning, please don't yell at me for this!).

A little indecency in my garage.

2008-03-11T17:05:00.000-07:00

Get your mind out of the gutter!

I have a Fixed Gear bicycle sitting in my garage, courtesy of Mr Duane Wright. I have "borrowed" it and am going to try and commute on it tomorrow.. Let us hope that I arrive at work in one piece.

The motivations are many: get stronger (the ever-quotable Kent Petersen would say "Gears make you weak"), experience something new, and get some training miles in while my bike sits at the bike store awaiting a new shifter cable. And no, I am not going to try and ride the 300 on a fixie. I offer no competition to the likes of Mr Brudvik and Mr Petersen (though I may solicit his help in getting my own, out of a beater bike).

Have fun on the 200 folks.

A sneak peek at the 200k brevet.

2008-03-09T14:38:00.000-07:00

Many a theory has been proposed about why 218th Ave is named the way it is... I spent the better part of 12 minutes climbing this little nugget of a hill and I came up with a few....

* The number of times you will swear at Greg Cox (unoriginal)
* The number of times I had to stop before I got to the top in 2006 (too inaccurate)
* The number of people who have died on this climb. (too dramatic)
* Distance in kilometers you will suffer AFTER you finish climbing this hill (perfect).

... and so on. If you do not know what I am talking about, next Saturday is a fine way to find out.

A fun bunch of randonneurs rode the SIR 200k pre-ride yesterday and lived to tell the tale. We met at the Cox residence and took off shortly after 7a. Since we started from the house, we got to climb an extra hill to the start as warmup. I DNF'd on this ride last year because I left an hour late and missed the first control by 12 minutes. That one stung! This time I arranged to be there on time, and leave on time, and yes, I did make all the controls on time.

We kept together until the little climb up Reith Road, except Mark who stopped to pick up a detached taillight (the tracks on 240th are deep). The sky looked ominous, but it was not raining quite yet. The weather forecast for today had varied so wildly that I brought everything, except a pair of gloves; I borrowed some from the host, and the spent the next 200k worrying about accidentally wiping my nose on my gloves (I didn't). We got some sprinkles on Dash Point road, but nothing to get us wet. Mark caught me just before the Town Center Foods control, telling me very kindly that I need not worry about taking the bus home, as he was not at his finest (ha!).

The speed at which this group of randonneurs cleared this control was impressive. I figured the others had gotten in a little earlier than Mark and I, but Mark got in, bought some Nesquick Chocolate Milk and took off, all in the matter of 3 minutes. I did the same, and the only people behind me were the Nussbaums. They of course caught me soon after the turn after I5, and dropped me on Green Valley Road, an idyllic stretch until you hit that climb up to Black Diamond. The climb lasted forever, but the Nussbaums proved hard to catch. I caught them just before the turn onto Highway 169, but they got ahead of me again just before the bakery.

Black Diamond Bakery is situated perfectly and has many redeeming qualities, chief among them being the BAKERY. I bought myself a Blueberry Strudel and a cookie, and proceeded to wolf them down as quickly as I could, but I still could not latch onto the group as they left. The food was great though I had to turn down Peter McKay's offer of free coffee. My sensitive stomach needed some babysitting (no Milk, only Soy Milk). I took off my jacket here as it had warmed up considerably.

Black Diamond represents a kind of transition point; from more houses to more open spaces, and far less traffic. After Black Diamond Ravensdale Road, the houses thin out and you get more fields and farms, which is a welcome change. It was good to be in this part of the world again. The turn onto the highway was the end of the fun though, and I suspect I was going through a micro bonk, not a good thing when you are faced with the climb to Mud Mountain Dam(n) Road. I suffered on this climb, and was the low point of the ride for me. In 2006, I averaged about 12kmph to Greenwater, but this year I was faster and it was mostly fun heading to Greenwater, with nice scenery and clear skies, even if the clearcuts were an eyesore. The river was beautiful and is sure to take your mind off the riding. I was filled with negative thoughts, and it got cold on this stretch. I saw the gang returning: Ward Beebe 10 miles ahead of me. But Mark and his group was only 4 miles ahead of me, and the Nussbaums had just left Greenwater.

I sat down to have some Gatorade and a Pay-day bar, and then took off. Bolstered by the nutrition, I pretty much hammered all the way to the top of Mud Mountain. This was great fun, and the reason why we do these rides. No need to get down on oneself. This is my 5th year randonneuring, and I still have not learned to recognize my low points. The descent on Mud Mountain Dam Road is exhilarating, but the curvy nature takes away the potential to bomb down without a care. There was some gravel too, and I was a bit more cautious. The rest of the riding to the control is all flat, and I got there a shade after 3.30, I think. The gang had all left.

I left almost immediately, filling my water bottles with Gatorade and munching on half a PayDay bar. It was only 20 miles to the finish, but I knew that a behemoth lay between me and the finish: 218th. But I also remembered two exhilarating descents, and sure enough, the descents on Whitney Hill Road and 212th were great fun.

The first part of 218th is flat, but right after that little bridge, the climb begins in earnest. I was at the lowest gear, but shifted up every once in a while to stand and "muscle" my way over. My admiration for people like Bob Brudvik (who rode today on Fixed/SS), increases by the day. I did make it to the top, and shortly after the turn I tried to shift to the big ring and my front shifter broke. Fantastic. just what I wanted! Thankfully it didn't break on 218th.

I had fantasized about finishing near 10 hours, but with the chain rubbing repeatedly against the cage, my speed tanked. I also didn't want to stand and pedal in case the darn thing completely gave away. The climb up to Greg's house was a little painful, but short. I finished in little over 10h 30m. A fine ride, on a fine day.

Ralph and Carol had bought some brownies, and they were delicious. We shot the breeze a little with Mark and Greg reminiscing about their Glacier 1000k ride last year. Mark outlined plans for the Fall 1000k, and it was scary. Let me put it this way: the Cascade 1000k will be easier than the fall 1000k. Eek!

Riders Greg Cox, Bill Dussler, Ward Beebe, Bob Brudvik, Ralph and Carol Nussbaum, Peter McKay, Mark Thomas, Rick Haight and myself.

Spring 100k Pre-ride report.

2008-03-04T13:25:00.000-08:00

Yes, it is a little late. But I was wiped out from riding it and didn't have time to write it up that night (Saturday), and I volunteered at the Seward Park control the next day. But, I was the guy who rode onto the Freeway! .

It was the best of rides; it was the worst of rides. The hills were constant, and when respite came in the form of a reasonably flat stretch (such as E Marginal Way, or the Alki Trail) it came with the dread of how Eric was going to compress more hills in the ensuing stretches to make up for "lost time". My fears were often proved right. I only got lost twice and added about 5 miles in bonus miles to the process.

Thanks go to Eric for proving that one can be riding 200s all winter long and still stink on a 100k. 91st, the climb away from Lake City Way and Henderson Road, all genuinely kicked my butt. The descent down Fauntleroy was something to remember though. As was "What was the sign before the bridge?". I just had to turn around and take a picture.

Volunteering on Sunday was infinitely more fun. I got there 10 minutes after the control opened. Jennifer saved me by appearing at the control very early, and I saved her by wearing the Blue SIR Jersey that made me easy to identify. Duane brought us supplies, and Eric made us the "junk food" control. Pop, Chips, Pretzels and Cheez-Its; his control probably had nice wine, Camembert Cheese, Clotted Cream and Blueberry Scones (Maggie told me at the pub that they had boiled eggs with custom painting on them!).

I probably bored Jennifer to death. She was great company! This is her first year as a rando but that hasn't stopped her from registering for the RM1200. I saw the fast guys for more than a minute! Duane dumped us to go see a basketball game (he has got this thing for the Huskies). The pub was also cool; as was seeing Allison, Peg and a lot of other friends after a very long time. Since it has been a while, Peg decided to start razzing me the moment she saw me. Mark Jackson, Steve Davis, Theresa Garl, Peter Beeson and Mark Thomas were just some of the familiar faces. Rosie (Albert Webmaster's daughter) completed her first 100k. Congratulations!

A fun way to spend a day with the randonneurs.

This is February?!!?

2008-02-19T01:01:00.000-08:00

Mark Roberts, Duane Wright, Theresa Garl and I rode the Snoqualmie Falls permanent on 02/16, and I must say, we were most pleasantly surprised by the weather. It was nice and warm all the way through. Not a single thing to complain about. Great company, excellent weather, and good scenery. I felt great for all of the ride; the Leschi-North Bend-Leschi permanent that we did towards the end of January probably whipped me into shape. And , I didn't mess up like I did last time. I stayed hydrated, never bonked, but did unlerlube my chain, so I had to borrow lube from Duane.. again!

Mark of course, started an hour after us, and caught us just before the turn onto Old Owen Road, rode with us for a little bit, and then was an hour ahead of me by the climb upto the falls. The three of us had a nice relaxing lunch at the bakery in Sultan, where I polished off a Split pea soup and Vegetarian Sandwich, and a piece of Theresa's left over bread in no time! Gotta get those eating muscles in shape for the season! Mark Roberts ate at the Sub Shop, which is closer in location and faster with their service.

The three of us rode fairly close to each other until just after Carnation, where Duane suddenly vanished, and Theresa who was behind me also vanished. I waited for them for a while, but not wanting to burn daylight, I headed on, and never saw either of them till the finish. I feared the worst! How I missed Duane, I do not know, but Theresa decided to end her ride at the top of the Falls, and rode back, not making the North Bend Control. Traffic near the finish was atrocious to say the last, but I finished just a shade after 6pm - just after Theresa - and Duane finished about 45 minutes behind me, I think.

Duane and I finished in 11hours and change; Mark probably in about 9 hours and change. As Permanents Co-ordinator, I have decided to add a 2 hour penalty to Mark's card for being "Too fast!". Mark of course, completes his R-12 with this ride. Congratulations!

Glorious weather indeed. As good as Saturday was, Sunday turned out to be a better day. I toyed with getting up early and heading to the start to see some folks I had not seen in a while, but decided that a warm bed was more important. :)

Ride Notes

* I ride better in warmer weather.
* Apparently Duane and Theresa ride with me for the "Unwholesome conversation" I provide. Low Blow.
* W Snoqualmie Road is where old appliances go to die.
* Bald Eagle sightings never get old. This time, we even saw a "bird of prey" on W Snoqualmie Road.
* 203 stinks. Especially, in Carnation.
* Mmmm. Split Pea Soup.
* One King-size Snickers bar has 510 calories ?
* Ben Howard Road is great. Each time I ride this, I thank whoever made this possible.
* JW Mann Road must hate my bike computer. On the fritz, again! New batteries?
* The climb to the Falls is still painful.
* RM 1200. Maybe. $535? I guess not
* Not seeing friends on the way back and pondering what I could have done to save their ride is painful.
* Seeing one of them finish is ecstatic!
* The final few miles of this ride are a nightmare because of traffic.
* Next up: Three Rivers (or) Woodinville - Granite Falls.

RIP, Sheldon Brown.

2008-02-04T20:52:00.001-08:00

A very sad day indeed... Sheldon Brown, the all-knowing master of human-power vehicles died last night (February 3rd) of a massive heart attack. I never talked to him, but corresponded via email several times in my formative days as cyclist, and he was very helpful, and was a pleasure to deal with.

I also came to Randonneuring via Sheldon's encyclopaedic knowledge. It was also Sheldon who explained in great detail on the touring mailing list, the difference between a brevet and a randonee, and who a randonneur is. He also posted a link to Harriet Fell's 1975 PBP ride report and it was a source of great inspiration.

He shall be sorely missed, as shall be his April 1st announcements.