SIR 600K: Taking the hard road home.

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!!!

ORR 600K: Several lessons learned.

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

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!