SIR 400k: Fun and Games

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!

SIR 400k Pre-ride: A rookie mistake.

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 :)

The Baker Lake 400: A Mark Thomas Special!

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.

The ORR Covered Bridges 400

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 400K: I survived!

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!

Never do a 400k when you are out of shape.

Take a bow, Susan France! I had a fun time on the Poor Man's PBP 400K Pre-ride. Riders are in for a treat!

Dan Fender, Brian List, Peg Winczewski, and myself completed the Poor Man's PBP pre-ride. Dan didn't BBB (Brevet, Barf and Bail!). It was my first ever pre-ride where the content of the route sheet was in some doubt; I was quite amazed at the amount of work required of the people creating the route sheet and those doing the pre-ride, to ensure route accuracy. Susan France (OR Randonneurs RBA) created a great route with some new roads that I had never been on, and some utter beauties (Blue Slough Road, S Bank Road, Devonshire road), and some tried and tested (testy? Monte-Elma Road. UGH!) routes such as SR 105, SR 109, and 101 out of Aberdeen. The route sheet was pretty good, and when it wasn't the talents of my fellow riders, helped us get through. I was no use in this endeavour of course, but Brian, Peg and Dan were experts are figuring out things. My hat is off to them. I would have gotten lost countless times if it were not for the route finding and navigation skills of my partners.

We set out at 6a, to some showers, and climbed a short hill (Cooks Hill) which offered some fantastic fog-covered views of the surrounding valley. I got teased for getting excited about seeing deer. Traffic was of course very light at the time of day that we started, and was true of most of the roads that we cycled on, except SR 105, but even on that road, there was minimal traffic on the way back. SR 105 is heavy on debris and traffic. We even saw some Team Time Trials out on S Bank Road, a bike race of some kind. Lots of women teams, some of them said hi, others were just stone faced.

Weather was sporadic rain at the start, beautiful scenery and sunshine for much of the ride, and a deluge of epic proportions along a 3 mile stretch less than 5 miles from the finish. We were all soaked completely. I suffered a slow leak flat on the way to Pacific Beach, but caught up to Peg and Brian, who were camped out at Montesano market getting food. That bakery in Montesano seems to be closed always. We lost Dan Fender in that little excursion, and he finally caught us at the control in Pacific Beach. I got my rear tire slashed (with less than a 1000 miles on it) on SR 109 towards Aberdeen and never found the cause. It did leave a 1" gash on my sidewall. I improvised a $1 bill as a boot and rode gingerly (ka-thump, ka-thump, ad nauseum) to Swanson's market in Aberdeen, where Peg saved my rear-end by lending me her spare tire. Second time this year, I have had to borrow a spare tire. I shall never got out without a spare tire from now on.

The route was great for the most part, and riders are in for a treat, with some very lightly travelled roads and unavoidably, some heavily travelled roads. Susan France is the queen of finding lightly travelled roads, I think. Some dogs tried to chase us, but they were all quite overweight and were half-hearted in their chases and growls. Conversation was great, with Dan and Peg displaying a fantastic sense of humour. Dan is a fellow computer geek, and we had some fun discussions about PC's, Mobile Development, India, China and Prolog. Brian was navigator general, figuring out several tricky route cues. I, as usual, was the guy who can never navigate right.

I had not done a single long ride since the Tahuya 600, and it showed. I constantly brought up the rear, and my companions had to wait for long periods, in the rain at times, which delayed their finish times. Finished very weakly and am not very proud of that. My left knee hurt a little at the end, but as of Tuesday, my condition has greatly improved.

Here are some of the notes that I made. Peg made detailed notes, no doubt already mailed to Susan, and you shall see a very accurate route sheet.

- MP 54.8. Devonshire Road has some massive 1" wide cracks on the road running parallel to the direction of travel, filled with grass at places, not in others, that could be really dicey if you aren't paying attention. Make sure you watch where you are going.

- MP 73.2: Don't get confused by the left turn to go to Pacific Beach (a major highway) with the turn you ACTUALLY need to make, Ocean Shores Road, which is a beautiful, low traffic alternative.

- Pacific beach Control: The market is up the road and the folks there were nice, but their Teriyaki was a bunch of fiction; the food place immediately to the right is a better option. Don't expect great service, or copious refills of your water, if they are busy. They were fast, have Veggie Burgers, and their Onion rings were great. The sun was out, and it was a beautiful place to just sit and enjoy being outdoors.

- MP 109.5: The route sheet was a huge mess at the end of SR 115, but Peg and Brian figured this out. You will have an accurate route sheet, so don't sweat it.

- MP 116.7: The turn to Greenview Road seemed longer than 0.8 miles to me, so don't fret if you don't see it for a while.

- MP 120.3. The road morphing into Discovery is not very obvious, and you may be tempted to stay on Discovery, but you need to make a right turn here. Brian set me right pretty quick, here.

- MP 134.7: Narrow shoulders on SR 109 make it a challenge. I lost my rear tire here, so be careful and ride to the left of the white line, despite traffic. Otherwise you have thorns, and glass, and metal shards to contend with. Pick your poison.

- Aberdeen: The bridge to go over the river, just after Swanson's Market is a pain. No shoulders and high traffic. Take the lane, and pedal with all your might.

- MP145.3: It is not Industrial way, but Earley way (sp?).

- MP 189.8: The quiet section of the ride begins. We encountered very little traffic past SR 105, and whatever we encountered was very courteous. Relax, and enjoy. This is where we started seeing some ominous clouds ahead.

- MP 242.4: Keep a weather eye out for this one. A Right on Old 9 (at what looks like a huge roundabout), an immediate L on Tea St, immediate R on Grand Mound Way. Blink and you will miss this. So watch out. I certainly would have, if it were not for my companions waiting for me on Grand Mound.

- MP 243.5: You better pray for better weather along this stretch. The last 15 miles featured very light rain, but for a 3 mile stretch on 99, the faucets opened up, and we were drenched. But, the finish is nearby. I was ruing my very existence here.

- MP 249.8: The most welcome sight ever. The Travel Inn. After the right turn onto Lakeshore, pay attention to the bumps on the road. I almost wiped out here, and you don't want to crash 100 yards from the finish, do you?

Not that it is important, but our time was ~ 22h 28m. We had 3 big stops of at least a half hour or more, and if you keep your control stops short, you will do much better. Peg said this is an "easy" 400. When you ride as much as Peg does, every course is easy.

SIR Spring 400: No signature for you!

Many thanks to Bob Magyar, Amy Harman, Rick Haight, Dan Turner, Mike Richeson, Steve Hameister and Kent Peterson, for some very admirable support at the start, along the way, and at the finish. We could not have done it without these folks.

A course without major hills promises a fast day. The distance was obviously a challenge: no 400K is to be taken for granted; however, a 400K with mountain passes is considerably more challenging than the 400 that was planned for today. Having recorded either a personal best or course best on each of my brevet rides this year, I entered the day with a great deal of confidence. The Fleche was a very enjoyable experience and maybe, just maybe I would lower my personal best. Reality however, was different. My body did not react very well at all to cycling at that early hour. I let everybody go, and rode for a while with Ted Vedera, who volunteered at the Kalaloch control last year, during the Spring 600K.

The day had begun fairly well. I caught a ride with Shane to the start, meeting him at the Jack in the Box, in Woodinville, a leisurely 10 minute ride from my house. 3.50a. We reached Arlington at 4.35, and I hurriedly pumped up my tires, and got my stuff ready. There was a huge crowd, at least 85 people, and it certainly was the biggest 400k I have ever seen. We set off at the stroke of 5, after Bob gave us some pre-ride instructions.

Paul Whitney rode with me for about a mile or two. I had made a rear-mud flap for him, and though we talked about stopping and handing it over, we never did, and as his pace was definitely higher than what I could muster, I sent him on. He was filled with disbelief. "Oh, really?", he asked. My legs at 5a, replied in the affirmative.

I was under dressed, and stopped to put on some clothing, and pretty much was at the back of the pack. Gradually however, the legs kicked in, and we made good time to the turn onto Cascade-Rockport Road, which was the nastiest chip seal. Ron Himschoot, normally not one to complain, said 7 miles in to the road, "just 3 more miles of this nastiness". Couldn't agree more.

The day was warming up as we got to Marblemount, where I spent some 20 minutes, getting water, mixing up my Sustained Energy, and using the restroom, which was busted. So, it took a long time. I set off alone into the wind, and it would be my constant companion for the next 40 miles. I almost caught up to Ron a few times when he stopped to pee, but as I got to within a few hundred yards of him, he would jump on his bike and set off. It would have been great to have somebody to share a paceline with, but it was not to be. Blame it on my own lack of speed.

When I finally got to Sedro Wooley, I was very irritated with the adverse turn of weather. My average was still higher than 20kph, but I realized that as I got slower as the day progressed, my demeanour would change significantly. After the usual control activities, I set off for Sumas, and the Canadian border.

Highway 9 was scary at times, but overall had great views of Mt Baker and Mt. Shuksan (sp?). Quite a few cyclists were heading South, probably on some organized ride. I also had the great fortune of seeing a very old train compartment heading South. The train itself had only one coach, and was preceded by one of them trolleys on the tracks. That was interesting. The 4 guys on the trolley all waved to me like I was a rock star or something.

A little before the Xtreme Bean turn, I passed 200K, and since I had hit this point in 9h 40 minutes, I entertained fantasies of finishing in 19+ hours. This despite not feeling that great. The stretch to Sumas was on roads that I cycled during my first 300K, and it is amazing what the brain can remember of roads and places. It was Deja vu all over again. I didn't however get honked at like last time.

I finally got to Sumas, and most of the folks left before I got my control card signed and used the loo. I looked for Allison, but she was either ahead of me or behind me, and there was no chance I could ride with her at night (I had promised to, if we were nearby). Joined forces with John Vincent and the vegetarian brigade fought the endless winds again, and got to Birch Bay around 6.30, shortly joined by John Vincent, Paul Johnson (who was ahead of me at some point) and Chuck Pailthorp. The latter two are from our Fleche team. The control was staffed by Kent and Mike, who made sandwiches for us, signed our control cards and were an ocean of cheer, something I sorely needed after my angst against the wind.

Not wanting to burn daylight, I took off, promising to cycle (relatively) slowly, and then made my way to Bellingham, where I saw the most incredible of all sunsets. Great fiery reds and a subtle pink coloured the dusk sky, and made me appreciate the beauty nature can sometimes display. When I reached Bellingham, Noel Howes was at the Chevron station.

The clerk at this Chevron station was talking to his friend about some of his escapades with girls at the store. One of them involved him, and his topless girlfriend in the store cooler. I don't know if all the stuff he mentioned were real or not (my money is on not real), but they certainly was not something my poor tired brain could handle. After retrieving a (yellow) cap left behind by a fellow randonneur, Noel and I set out to handle Chuckanut Drive at night.

I have only cycled Chuckanut Drive during the day, and this was the first time I was dealing with the curvy road at night. The climbs were not that hard, but Noel was a considerably stronger rider than I am, and he took off, never to be seen again. Bow-Edison road was a nasty morass of chip seal, and just as I started yawning again, Kent and Mike drove by. I asked them if they had any coffee, but they mentioned that the next control would surely have some. I wonder now if they refused help because of the no-help-except-at-controls rule. Or maybe they just didn't have any spare coffee on them. I got to Whitney around 11.40a, somehow with all my bones intact, and sure enough the aforementioned "gents" were staffing the control. I met Steve Hameister there too.

I went in to the control, hunted for some Starbucks DoubleShot and headed back to the Cashier to pay. He refused to sign my card! There is a first time for everything, I guess. He would gladly sell me my drink, but "I don't have to sign this, you know?", he said. I didn't ask why, just said it was all right. He opened up. Apparently he was pretty peeved about somebody "throwing" money at him (as a tip?), "throwing" their card at him, and also leaving all kinds of garbage out on the sidewalks. "It is not your fault", he continued, "but I have had enough". I apologized again, on behalf of the riders and the club, and he climbed down. "I will sign yours", he said.

Now, randonneurs are first class people. I know that is a self-adulatory statement, but it really is true. The proportion of classy people to the jerks is far higher than the general populace, and I am yet to meet a single jerk on any of the rides. In 2 countries to boot. I have only met polite and kind people, and helpful souls. Kent, Mike and Steve were in utter disbelief when I mentioned this incident to them, and Steve offered to sign my card. I was wondering why the clerk would have had a negative experience with our riders:

I came up with a few reasons:

1) With the increase in new riders among our ranks some may not know how much we owe these clerks, who really go beyond the call of duty, and sign our cards, take the time to find out what we do (and then pronounce us insane).

2) Huge numbers of riders? This being PBP year, we are seeing double the number of riders than is usual. Being asked to do something 80 times over, may be stressful to these clerks, and he was just irritated? (Maybe we should ask for a receipt?)

3) The 400 being one of the toughest distances to get through, in concert with the terrible head and cross winds we all experienced, riders could get crabby, and hence not be on their best behaviour.

4) He was just being too sensitive?

In any case, we depend on these controls a lot, and though it is good business for them, I have a feeling we need them more than they need us.

When Mike saw me buy the DoubleShot, he went in and bought a few for the riders coming in, as they would not have a chance to buy Coffee after the store closed. Very thoughtful indeed. Fantastic support on this ride. I left the control, eager to get back on the road and do the final push towards Arlington. Any hopes of a sub-20h finish were now dashed, but I didn't have far to go.

The knowledge that some quiet back roads lay ahead, some coffee in my system, and the satisfaction of having mostly completed the brevet filled me with great energy as I set off. Tulip Gardens abound in the first few sections of road, but now that the season was over, were all empty. Pioneer Highway was a long, dark in places stretch of road, with wide shoulders in most places, and some seemingly forever gentle uphills, and the noxious smell of animal farms. Didn't feel like the Skagit "flats" to me.

About 7 miles North of Arlington, I saw a white mist in the glow of the Sodium Vapour lamps, and thought it was mist, but a few miles later it was rain. Not very hard at first, but it started coming down a bit more insistently. A cursory observation of my computer revealed that I had a mere 5 miles to go, so I didn't bother to put on booties or waterproof gloves. Silvana's bars were closing and the drunks were getting out, but I kept a watchful eye and thankfully rode uneventfully to I5.

Crossing Interstate 5 was sweet, and the turn on to the motel meant PBP Step 3 was now over. The time was 02:29a, not a personal best time, but considering the wind and the time I spent at some of the controls, a good time. Bob signed my card, and Amy was there to offer congratulations and some much needed nourishment. As I was pigging out, I heard a tale I won't soon forget. My good friend Mike Huber had crashed, broken his collarbone, called for help, drove himself to the hospital, came back, asked to be taken to the exact spot where he crashed, and rode to the finish. Now that is what I call determination.

I went to bed at 3.30a, and caught a ride with Paul Johnson back home. I now await the ultimate in butt-kickings at the 600.

PS: Allison Bailey fueled by some pie, finished in an impressive time of 19h 45m. And, she hung with fast people all day, so she didn't need my help. Peg and I speculate that her pie contained "performance-enhancing substances". RUSA take note.

PS2: Peg is in no position to criticize, as she had some of that pie herself.