The Tahuya 200K

Prologue

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

Start to Purdy

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

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

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

Purdy to Kay's Corner

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

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

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

Kay's Corner to Seabeck

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seabeck to Lofall [Union 76 Minimart]

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

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

Lofall [Union 76 Minimart] to the Finish


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

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

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

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

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

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

My first R-12!

July 20, 2008: Prologue



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

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

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

Start to Cumberland

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

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

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

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

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

Cumberland to Carbon Glacier

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

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

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

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

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

Carbon Glacier to Cumberland

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

I finally got to Cumberland around 2.45p.

Cumberland to the Finish

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

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



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

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

The ORR Covered Bridges 400

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

Photos are here

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spring 600K: Three little letters...

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

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

My whinefest follows...

Start

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

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

Skykomish to Leavenworth

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

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

Leavenworth to Ellensburg

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

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

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

Ellensburg to Naches

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday

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

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

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

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

Spring 400K: I survived!

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

Photos are here

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

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

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

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

Start to Cle Elum

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

Cle Elum to Leavenworth

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

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

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

Leavenworth to Skykomish

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

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

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

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

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

Skykomish to Maltby

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

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

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

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

Maltby to Finish

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

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

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

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

Bring on the 600!

A beautiful Spring day is not to be wasted

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where have all the cars gone?!

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

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

Rick Blacker: "That was the idea".

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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