PBP Randonneur 2011, Part 2: Mortagne-au-Perche to Loudeac

August 22, 2011: Mortagne-au-Perche to Villaines-la-Juhel

Mortagne-au-Perche isn't a control on the way to Brest: it is termed a "ravitaillement" control and is housed in a very modern-looking building, but I don't need to enter it. I only need water and that need is very quickly satisfied thanks to well-placed spigots. Just ahead a food truck is doing brisk business. There is a mechanic station (with one very bored looking mechanic) and another booth selling Overstims products and even bikes. There are volunteers near the bike parking area which is overflowing with bikes. Finding a spot to park my bike is a challenge, so I lay my bike down on the ground and mix up food. I post a photo of the control on Facebook. I had been quite excited about keeping my friends up-to-date on my activities in France; This is my preferred way of sharing my journey with family and friends all over the world. After about 10 minutes I ride away. Helpful volunteers help us stay on course right out of the control, and yell "Brest, Brest" as they wave riders through. After several solitary miles I am back in the company of quite a few riders, most of whom have arrived here before me, but have taken the time to nourish themselves with that fancy French faire.

The approaching dawn rears her head behind me and my mind rejoices at having almost successfully navigated the first night on the course. The roads get hillier the closer we get to Villaines-la-Juhel, but with the exception of a couple of steep little hills the course has been very benevolent so far, but who knows what lays ahead. The rain is gentle at first and then gets annoying in a little while. I am not far from the first control as my bike computer informs me and we finally get to the top of the hill and the road takes a sweeping left. The crowds start appearing, slowly at first and thickening the closer we get to the control. The first signs that we are near the control comes from the tons of RVs parked along the road with riders from various nationalities being helped by their attentive support personnel. I get to Villaines-la-Juhel a little past 7:30a and now have a 3 hours and 15 minute cushion. I might have had more but I try to put the hilly bonus miles out of my head as things are going so well.

August 22, 2011: Villaines-la-Juhel to Fougères

Inside the Villaines-la-Juhel control

The control has very nice wooden bicycle racks alongside a stone wall that runs for quite a while, but every single one of them near the entrance is taken! It takes a while to find an empty spot but it isn't that big a deal. It is actually cause for cheer because it means I haven't been spit out the back yet. The control building is to the right and this is my first control! There isn't any confusion or a stampede. The ACP has a fantastic system in place for signing cards, with two tables to our left and right with 3 persons each. There is not even a trace of a wait to get one's card signed. A volunteer directs me to the correct table (plenty of volunteers, might I add?), and I exchange a merry Bonjour with the person who signs my card. It is of paramount importance to stay respectful and not act like an express train making a cursory stop. There isn't anybody else in line, so I take my time: they've taken the time to be with us and see us through. I ask them how they are doing and thank them for volunteering (Thank you, Google Translate!).

They forward me along to the food room, and I dutifully follow instructions, though I am not planning to stop here for food. I step out and survey the scene. Most of the people present are riders and their support staff, but there are a noticeable number of townsfolk nearby cheering the incoming and the outgoing. I've finished my control formalities and am ready to go in about 10 minutes. I feel pretty good. Looking west I see some gray skies with a tell tale trail from the clouds to the ground. Being from the Pacific Northwest, I have no trouble identifying rain nearby or in the distance. A bit of nervousness at the prospect of harsh conditions further ahead is quickly pushed down by the excitement of being in France and amongst these riders. It begins raining softly barely a few dozen miles west of Villaines-la-Juhel. I do have all my rain gear and that will tide me over. Things have been going well and I have 3 hours in the bank. I've ridden through the night and now have the day to look forward to. Riding in France at night has been wonderful and I've just done something that I've never done before: ride through the night and feel good after.

Lassay-les-Châteaux Castle on the way

On a long ride like this, the details of the latter parts of the ride cloud any memories one may have from the earlier parts of the ride: this is both good and bad. Good because it allows you to stay in the moment and forget any misfortunes that may have befallen you, and bad because you don't really recall the earlier stages when you are trying to write a report on the event. I confess that I don't remember the intricate details of what happened between Villaines-la-Juhel and Loudeac, but a lot of what I recall are standout moments: the mundane has been washed away as the detritus of a long ride.

One may spend an inordinate amount of time on a ride like this living in his own head, but one clambers out of it often: there is one word that my mouth utters constantly, and that word is Merci. The French are out everywhere and are at key intersections guiding us along the right path, silently clapping sometimes, raising a glass to us other times, increasing the probability of our success, and expecting nothing in return: okay, they want a high-five every once in a while. You have to admit this though: we cyclists make a stunning spectacle. Different physical shapes, speeds, bikes of all types, riders from several nations, multi-colour jerseys, the differences so stark and yet the purpose so similar. I'd be fascinated by this stuff if I lived along the route too.

I remember riding along on a fairly lumpy road and in the company of a few riders when the rain takes a turn for the insistent. Gentle reminders about the precipitation that envelopes us are replaced with nags, with each nag getting more and more severe as we ride further west. My head is still clouded from not having slept the previous night, but because of the sleep that I've accumulated over the last few days, I am still functional. We are riding on a ledge cut into the mountain with green fields receding downhill to our left and  the road heading more or less straight toward another cluster of hills. A town lies ahead in the distance, covered by the misty fog of the early morning rain. It could be a scene from a hundred years ago as I see very little of the vestiges of a modern civilization: no skyscrapers, no disgusting industrial plants, no neon signs, and no malls. Stone buildings, farms, barns and forests. Delightful. I ride on, not worrying about putting any rain gear on, but my determination is being tested with every dollop of rain that hits my face.

I come to realize I have to stop and put my rain gear on, but there is no place to stop and change. I finally see a tree along the edges of a farm, and decide to stop there. Another rider has the same idea, and we both open our bags to get the rain jackets out. We introduce ourselves and I find out that he is from Canada and discuss people we know in common. I am embarrassed to say that I have no idea who he is now. So, if you are reading this and you are that person, please drop me a line. We leave together but the Canadian drops me easily, no surprise there. I settle into my former rhythm, the speeds of the previous night a distant memory, and continue on straight, when I am woken up from my reverie by the sound of a man yelling, and yelling it sounds like, to grab my attention. I am intent on riding straight ahead and the gentleman wants me to turn right and up a nice hill. It seems that I would have ridden off course if this genial gentleman hadn't interfered. Merci, Monsieur!

Back to the task at hand: the hill. We climb slowly up the hill and I get a good look at what I am trying to ride over. This climb is hardly steep but I am slow and for the first time in almost 13 hours I am reminded of how mediocre a rider I really am. The course shows its teeth and there isn't much flat land here. The rain has stopped, but the air still a wee bit on the chilly side. I am still doing decent time, which surprises me greatly. I half-expected myself to be dead after the first control and I take some comfort in my rate of progress. Despite the rain, the day is warming up and after a while, the rain stops completely. We pass a beautiful chateau in the town of Lassay-les-Châteaux, and I stop and take a picture and upload that so my friends can feel jealous of me. Quick stop though, no faffing, though we are in France. I do have to hit a bed around 9p.

After a long and gentle climb through a forest that felt like it went on forever, the delightful little town of Ambrières-les-Vallées materializes out of nowhere. The town is picturesque, lampposts and balconies are bedecked with flowers, and the bridge over the river is beautiful, and the town center is teeming with bicycles. Houses are arranged in rows up along the hillside. The river Varenne overflows a brilliantly constructed embankment to create a sort of faux waterfall. There is a wonderful painting of a horse drawn carriage on a wall that advertises the local bar and restaurant, which looks very inviting. It is a lovely spot for a bit of breakfast: it is around 10 am now. That would be too decent and not fit in my plans, so I keep riding, but in hindsight, I would rate this town along with Sizun as must-stop along the PBP route. Next time, I am taking a break here.

We hit a T-junction and are directed right towards the town of Gorron, whose significance I would never have recognized if it were not for Jeff Tilden's 2007 PBP report: Gorron has the highest per capita ridership of any town in the world at PBP (at least, it did in 2007). We start climbing a few hundred yards away from the bridge and traffic is now heavy. Unerringly courteous though, as we snake left and right, climbing away from town. I find myself overheating on some of these climbs out of town and stop to take off my jacket. A few miles later we are up against yet another hill when the first heavy droplets of rain hit. Serious rain. No messing around. I ride on, not wanting to stop and lose time, but I am not going as fast as I'd like. The legs aren't quite spinning right, the power is absent and the brain is feeling the effects of that last all-nighter.

A few miles before Gorron the rain thickens. My brain tells me the rest of the ride is going to be like 2007, my energy is at an all time low, and I am search for the power button. I have to stop and put on my rain clothes or I will be soaked to the bone. I find a huge tree to hide under and lay my bike against the dry ground. On the other side of the road, a small group of people waiting under an awning watch riders go by and they observe as I go about my business. My sense of urgency vanishes as I slowly pull things out and begin to dress up to head into the deluge. I take a good 15 minutes and eventually get going, but I am disappointed with the length of that stay. I suspect I am bonking but I am powerless to do anything about it. My brain is fried just a wee bit.

I haven't advanced a few hundred yards when Ken Krichman catches up to me. Ken is in great spirits and I tell him that I am not doing so well. Ken reaches into his jersey pocket and hands me a half-eaten baguette wrapped in white paper, which he has been carrying for who knows how long. "Eat this; you'll feel better", he says. We ride together for a little while, finally entering the town of Gorron and before we exit it, Ken has gone on down the road. Baguettes are easy to eat on the bike, as they are long and not that bulky. It is also my first solid food since yesterday afternoon, and the taste is everything you want in a piece of bread. I have been bonking! As I chew, the baguette rips into the soft tissue at the roof of my mouth and I wince in pain. It is another one of those glorious experiences that you can only get in France. Where else do you recover from a bonk by eating a baked-this-morning baguette ?

Gorron is motivating in several ways: first of all, it is a decent-sized town which means that there are lots of people at every curve and crossing cheering us on, the weather an afterthought in their minds as they hoot and holler and raise our spirits by just speaking their language. French is a delectable language and, along with Italian, is one of my favourite languages. Second of all, the townsfolk of Gorron have scribbled down numerous names and motivational phrases on the road exhorting us to ride with courage and ride well. How could one disappoint them? After Gorron, the rain seems a little less strident and the brain a little more aware as we enter Bretagne and finally the outskirts of Fougères. Not an inch of pavement is dry anywhere in Fougères. A big banner proclaims this as as "Haute Bretagne". The time is a little past 12:30p.

August 22, 2011: Fougères to Tinténiac

Sign welcoming us to Haute Bretagne

There are volunteers everywhere helping us find the control. The control is in a little building on the left, and straight ahead is the cafeteria. I lean my bike against the wall and go inside to get my card signed. I am dressed from head to toe in rain gear and the person doing the signing registers surprise as I amble to his table. I ask him how he is doing. He clearly doesn't expect me to ask him how he is doing. I get my card signed, tuck it away, and head out, not spending any more than 5 minutes off the bike. It is still raining as I leave. It is only 54 kilometers to Tinténiac. I am happy with myself for having left the control this fast. I feel pretty good and that is never a bad thing. I leave with a huge swarm of riders, bent on making Loudéac by nightfall. 445k in 24 hours would give me with a huge cushion - something I could draw upon to the end. The rain stops and temperatures warm up. This is most welcome.

SIR has arranged for riders doing PBP to get small souvenir pins to hand out to folks along the route. Naturally, I waited too long before I decided to get some. These pins haven't really been occupying my mind until now and have been lying in my bike jersey pocket, clinking away. I don't know why but I suddenly remember that I am carrying these pins to give out, and I am not exactly being diligent or appreciative of the cheering crowds and children. I vow to hand them out at the next village. In front of house with a small table, sit 5 kids: two of them, boys of about 10 or 12 years of age, and three little girls. I stop and the kids come over, not knowing what I stopped for. The oldest kid is clearly in charge.

When I reach into my jersey pocket, their eyes light up. I give them a pin each, one after the other, and they all look at it with wide eyes. Merci, they say; their parents have taught them well. But, there's one more child than I have pins for, and he is the oldest. One of the hardest things to do in the world is to disappoint a child. I confess to not having the heart for it. But I've handed over whatever I had and am one pin short. I dread what I have to do next...

Je suis très désolé, I tell him. His face changes to one of sadness, he stomps his feet and runs back into the house, crying. The other children look in the direction of the house, bewildered. I spend the next dozen miles regretting putting off buying these pins until the last minute. Next time around, I'll probably carry more than what I need and buy them early. Better that than disappoint a child. I have no recollection of which town this happened in, but I remember it was shortly after 1p. I am quite disappointed by how little I remember from this leg. Sorry. Slate written over by memories more recent. I do arrive at Tinténiac shortly after 3:30p.

August 22, 2011: Tinténiac to Loudéac

Entrance to Tinténiac control

I leave swiftly again ever mindful of the clock, and the steel reputation of the course from this point on. I remember precious little about the terrain itself. One of my motivations in writing this was to report on the exact nature of the course, but unfortunately I seem to have mislaid the details somewhere. Out of the controle, I start riding with Bill Russell. Bill is on a beautiful bike with even prettier panniers. We talk about SIR and I remember making inane jokes about him being the wrong skin colour for a Bill Russell and Bill being a good sport about it (having heard the same joke for the 900th time in his life).

A little past 5p and about 15 miles out of Tinténiac, in the little town of Quédillac, we come upon some commotion in the middle of the road; it is one of PBP's secret controls. "Controle", "Controle", the volunteer repeats as a fellow volunteer steers us towards a row where we are to park our bicycles. I get my card signed and leave immediately, quite proud of the fact. Out of Quédillac, the road flattens out as we make a left turn onto a major roadway with wide shoulders. We are on this for a few kilometers before we are sent off the main drag again making a right turn towards the town of Saint-Méen-le-Grand. There are farms to the left and right, lavender fields to be precise, and the warm air is rife with the smell of lavender. A brown brick shed sits not-quite in the middle of this field. A powerline runs along the road, interrupting my view of the farm. A tree stands amidst the greenery, its leaves shaking gently in the evening breeze. The memory is seared in my brain. The fantastic fragrance doesn't last for every long though, and we enter the town proper.

After the lavender fields, the buildings of a village ought not to impress one too much, but Saint-Méen-le-Grand has other ideas. It is a pretty town with a very imposing Hotel de Ville (City Hall, to the uninitiated) straddling the city square, sporting a giant banner welcoming cyclists to the town, it stands almost like a palace. Onlookers on both sides of the street yell out encouragement and applause. The reason I describe this scene in vivid detail is because I just rode on by, wanting to get to Loudéac before dark. Next time, I'll stop for a photo.

A little past this beautiful sight I spot an arrow pointing left mounted on a street sign and dutifully follow it. I don't go 200 yards before an elderly gentleman working in his garden signals me to stop. I ask him if I am on course and he shakes his head and points back in the direction where I came from. He waves as I thank him, and turn my bike around. Cyclists are streaming ahead on the main road and now I cannot even fathom how I could make such a simple mistake. I am guessing somebody - or the wind - turned the arrow a bit left to lead people astray.

The closer I get to Loudéac, the more excited I become. With a few miles to go I see the lead group with a very focused Chris Ragsdale near the head of the peloton. They are only a few hundred miles ahead of us. "Go Chris!" I shout, Chris looks at me, but is going at a speed that discourages identification of voices and faces. Still, seeing a familiar face is a big boost and seeing one of ours in the lead group is a giant morale booster. It looks like Chris is going to be one of the top finishers! Club Pride! The approach to the town is littered with farms but it slowly transitions to an urban environment: it cannot be long before the control now. The RVs give away the proximity of the controle. My pace quickens. We enter a roundabout and past it is a crowd two or three deep behind barricades, lining the road all the way to the controle. A few hundred meters of riding through this and the entrance to the controle emerges. It is 8:40p.

PBP Randonneur 2011, Part 1: Start to Mortagne-au-Perche

I've written two versions, one short, one very long. The short version is for the sane and the long version is for me when I am 80 years old, so please excuse the level of detail. I've tried to share as much of what I can remember and sometimes I may remember wrongly. Please excuse any omissions or errors, and the "me" centric writing: I thought I'd just keep it private for the longest time because of this reason. If you want an idea of what the ride was like, read the stretch from Fougères back to Villaines-la-Juhel. It consists of some of my best experiences during the event.

The Short Version

I have long lusted after PBP and in 2011 I finally got to experience it firsthand. In my first attempt at this distance I finished in 88 hours and 35 minutes. I was aiming for 9 hours of sleep, but got 5. I rode a few bonus km (see longer version for details). There were two secret controls and I have no recollection whatsoever of hitting that second secret control (one group says it was between Villaines-la-Juhel and Mortagne-au-Perche, and another group claims it was after Loudeac). I had some mechanical problems which forced me to use the granny for about 80 kilometers, but I had no flats. The course was fantastic, the people were amazing and I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

Would I do this again? Yes. Would I recommend that cyclists do it? Yes. As Ron Himschoot says, you just need the desire to finish it. Paris-Brest-Paris is simply the most fun you can have on a bike, due in no small part to the French who fill the course at all hours and in the unlikeliest of places to cheer for us, help us with food, water, a place to nap, and show how much they love this event and those that ride in it. If you are a randonneur or a randonneuse and are wondering if Paris - Brest is worth it, take the plunge and come ride it in 2015. You will see and experience for yourself and probably come to the same conclusion. I can say honestly that I cherished this experience and will go back for more (if body and finances cooperate, perhaps). PBP is a huge commitment, but something to be experienced at least once.

My ride would not have been possible without help. There are simply too many people to thank... So, thanks are due to everybody who has ever encouraged (or discouraged), ridden with, supported, listened to, or simply commiserated with, me. Special thanks go to my wife Raji, the volunteers of PBP, ACP and RUSA: without you none of this would be possible. Thank you.

August 21st, 2011: Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines to Mortagne-au-Perche 

As we wait for the ride to start I find myself among a huge group of Seattle riders with the closest being Erik Nilsson, a first-timer and a much stronger rider than I. All around us, riders are capturing the scene on little point-and-shoots and cellphone cameras. We are quite surprised by the number and length of the pre-ride speeches, but knew we'd start at 8p. More waves were unlikely: there hadn't been very many people behind us as we waited behind the gymnasium. One final speech in English, a Mexican wave, and a countdown (in French!) later, a horn sounds. The cheers of the people in the background, the clipping-in sounds of hundreds of cleats, the look of determination descending upon the few hundred faces, and the beginning of a much-awaited journey: sweet. A chorus of beeps from the electronic chip-readers gives us a fine send off into the very warm French summer night.

I think I am all set for the road ahead: I have my reflective vest on - despite the warmth - and two bottles full of liquid nutrition to avoid stopping for the first 60 kilometers at least. I expect the first few kilometers to be dicey but riders are courteous and give wide berth. We start off riding on what looks like an expressway for a few kilometers, but take an exit on to the usual quieter roads. The road narrows a little bit and brakes squeal, the group compresses and decompresses at each of the roundabouts that litter the first few kilometers as we ride through the last of the suburbs of Paris. Several motorcycles escort us, volunteers cheer while holding traffic up at every intersection as riders take charge of the road. My initial miles are an avalanche of new discoveries, emotions, sights and experiences.

Hundreds of people of all ages lining the right side of the road cheer us, hoist placards that wish us luck, courage and a happy ride. Pedalling seems effortless: I am quite surprised to see that I am doing 30 km/h and don't know what to make of that. I surprise myself by keeping at that speed even up slight inclines. I am powerless to control myself. We have a peloton and a nice little tailwind, I reckon. I don't want to go out too fast but being in such a throng of riders is exhilarating and I'll get dropped when the serious hills hit anyway.

We are still flying and I am in a group of about 10 riders. I am passing people too! We make our way past the first few suburbs of Saint-Quentin and into the last vestiges of the Paris metropolitan area, parts where the number of spectators dwindles. It is almost entirely flat for the first 10k or so and as we arrive at the first little climb of the ride the setting on either side of the road is spectacular. It is one of my best memories from the ride. We are near the village of Jouars-Pontchartrain; there are huge fields on either side and the crest of the hill is punctuated by the silhouette of a church on the left and a row of trees lining the horizon darting to the right, with a spectacular pinkish red sunset on its way. I want to stop and take a photo but don't. Dumb! And it isn't the last dumb thing I do. This first little hill marks the end of the flat section of my inaugural Paris - Brest, and the rollers start. I shift to my granny for the very first time and hordes of riders stream past me. We are the last group and the hill is nothing serious mind you, and I am still flying, in general terms. No sign of the excitement ending and my familiar pace (between 15 and 20k) to show up. I keep at it, figuring that I might as well ride this horse till it tires.

Several houses along the course have bicycle related adornments, the pavement features messages encouraging us, and roundabouts have motivational placards with the names of riders on them. You are going to have to trust me because I have no photos to prove it. People sit on lawn chairs and keep clapping as we ride on by. Spectators line the streets in small towns and cars are always courteous. They drive a safe distance away and pass with plenty of berth, displaying none of the urgency that North American drivers seem to suffer from. Riders fill the roads and yet the cars are patient, only passing when safe, and never in an aggressive manner. I have read about this, but it is something else to experience. There aren't very many cars, with most of the locals probably figuring out that this night the roads are for the bicyclists. In the little town of Gambais which was situated on two lovely left turns, there is a house where a big group of people are sitting down to a very civilized family dinner and they let out a giant holler each time a group of riders goes by. In one village, there is loud music playing and every villager seems to be out cheering the riders.

We are riding in a foreign country! The houses, the roads, the signs, the company, the flora: all different. This is my first time riding in Europe, my first brevet out of North America and it is exciting. Riders everywhere and of national identities very different from what we see on a traditional brevet. People carry their gear differently: panniers, saddlebags, backpacks(!), CamelBaks, trunk bags, etc. Fenders are rarely to be found, and if they are found, it is most likely a Brit, or an American rider. A lot of riders just have small seat bags, like they are out on a 200k. Some don't have helmets. Lot of road bikes with skinny tyres. Some things remain true no matter where I ride though: I get dropped just as fast. I am dropped by Brits, Swedes, Australians, Bulgarians, Chinese, French, Spaniards, Japanese, Taiwanese, Serbians, Danes, and Germans, and some of our own.

On all of the rides that I have done, be it permanents, populaires or brevets, I have always had the security blanket of a route sheet. A small sheet of paper that controls your every move and vaguely assures you that you are on course. The advantage of knowing the distance to the next turn is that one can turn one's navigational brain off and just enjoy the countryside, by day or by night. PBP's route sheet was pronounced useless on the Internet because the course was marked with little flèches indicating the turns, but as with anything in life, this convenience comes at a cost: one can never turn one's brain or eyes off from navigation. It is unnerving at first but the combination of one's own wariness plus the security of having other eyes on the road makes it almost a non-issue as the kilometers go by. I have no trouble following the arrows - almost always at eye level or lower - but one has to be constantly on the lookout for these things. Much like a junkie looking for his next fix I keep thinking about where I can spot the next flèche. This is foremost on my mind as I navigate those first few kilometers in the dark. I am having good luck spotting the arrows and staying on course so far.

Dusk starts to fall as we enter the French countryside. We sail through the now dark night and the vision that I have been looking forward to the most finally materializes: a clothesline of red taillights dancing off into the distance, their gentle bobs divulging the effort required ahead. One look at my helmet mirror reveals a bevy of white head lights. It is quite the sight and is every bit as invigorating as previous ride reports have made it out to be. You will not see this anywhere else in the world, but at this great randonneur get-together. A Brit and I fall into conversation and agree that this is awesome fun. Lesli Larson catches up and I keep pace with her to chat for a little while before she slowly pulls away. We make a right turn onto a fairly large road and are faced with truck traffic for a little while. It is also here that I finally put my fears to rest about how we would be treated as bicyclists in France. Cars and trucks are uniformly courteous and I needn't worry about night riding in France. After a few miles we are taken off the major road and onto a minor road. I am getting comfortable on the ride and feeling good about how I am faring.

My stomach begins to grumble barely a couple of hours into the ride and by this time I have covered 40+ km. The only thing I can think of is the "Pria" bar. Dang it! My worst fear has come true: I am going to have stomach problems at PBP! We go by a few small towns and I look for something to be open, but no luck, and I really don't want to ask any spectators if I can use their restroom. The pack has spread out and while I am still in sight of riders, I am not right with them. A dozen kilometers later, I decide that I can't wait any longer: I'd have to ask to use somebody's bathroom and do it quick. We enter a long straight climb into the town of Le Breuil and halfway up the climb a group of three are on the side of the road cheering us on. They are my first hope!

I have anticipated this problem and know what to say (respectfully) when wanting to use the bathroom. The three of them are surprised that I stopped and when I ask to use their bathroom in my "French", the trio immediately swing into action: the man takes my bike, while the woman and her husband lead me straight into their house. They understood me! They understood my French!! I can hardly believe it! As I enter the threshold I bend down to remove my shoes like a proper Indian and the woman says "Non. Ca va". I could have hugged the three. Their house is simply decorated and looks cozy. When I came back outside they offer me water, tea or coffee and I refuse as politely as I can: I am now in "protect my stomach" mode. I thank them and take off to cries of Bon Courage. I didn't take a photo of them and I seriously regret that now. I rejoin the relentless stream of riders making their westward journey which is now a trickle. I still have some company but there aren't the dozens of riders nearby that I experienced for the first few hours.

We pass the odd village and vast expanses of farmland. Some of the fields have labels of what are being grown, but I cannot remember a thing now. The frequency of houses reduces greatly. Farmhouses dot the countryside, their lights the only indication that there are people in this landscape. Lots of farmhouses. The character of the houses changes too the further we go away from the Parisian suburbs. Modern construction recedes and old stone buildings become the norm. Streetlights are few too with an abundance inside towns and villages. A lot of riders new to Randonneuring are worried about riding at night. It can be the cause of even more consternation riding at night in a foreign country, but I find that riding at night brings on a rare-to-find familiarity. It is very new at first, but as the miles pass under our wheels the newness remains but without the butterflies at the bottom of one's stomach.

We have a good descent down into the town of Coulombs where townsfolk are gathered on both sides of the bridge to give us a good cheer. As we leave the throng and make a right turn to climb out of the town we are subjected to cheering of a different kind: three teenagers moon us, two show us their posteriors and one regrettably, the front. We all laugh: it is all in good fun. The former controle town of Nogent-le-Roi comes and goes but there isn't a reason to stop. I see a few Seattle jerseys inside a small bar here. We are back out in the country side and after a few dozen miles I am out of water.

We enter the town of Tremblay-les-Villages and even at this late hour TVs flicker and people are active. A few smokers cheer from their balconies. The bar is doing good business. We have been fed so many stereotypes of rude French waiters: the one that meets me at the door is anything but. I greet him with a bonjour and spying my water bottles he immediately leads me to the kitchen and leaves me there with a small pipe that has running water. I fill up my bottles and clumsily drop one onto my shorts. Water and Sustained Energy splatter everywhere, and the waiter comes running over. I brace for the worst but am faced with a smiling visage: "Pas de probleme, monsieur", he says and fills the bottles again himself. There is a mop nearby and I offer to clean up but he will have none of it. "Bon Courage!" he says and gives me a push out the door.

As I start riding again I am reminded that Sustained Energy is a bit of a sticky mess. My shorts are covered with white powder and my shoes are wet. My gloves are sticky. Fabulous. I have created extra work for a poor waiter on his busiest night of the year! The night is sure to get colder and my wet pants won't be an easy thing to deal with. I don't have two bottles of food either and have to stop again. And at this dark hour I have no chance of finding more water. One of the things that I was worried about before the ride was the 140 km stretch to Mortagne-au-Perche at night in a country with a reputation for having nothing open past 6pm even on a weekday. However, I needn't have worried (as I was told): there are bars open and when they aren't the townsfolk along the course stand cheering with bottles of water, food and even coffee as we ride past. And not just one or two little bottles for the sake of appearances: many have several two liter bottles of water sitting on tables along the side of the road. Some have Orange Juice, milk, and coffee.

I spy a car with its emergency blinkers turned on to the left, but I plow ahead into the inky darkness, a nice long downhill invitingly ahead. I hear a shout to my left "Paris - Brest": figuring this is somebody encouraging riders I shout a quick "Merci" and keep riding on. After a good three-quarters of a mile of downhill later I consider - albeit very briefly - that I am lost, but I see three red lights in the distance. Figuring I was on track and completely ignoring the lack of headlights behind me I keep riding. I arrive at a little pharmacy and find a Japanese rider looking at his map. We exchange hellos but the rider is consulting his GPS. We are now in another town and not another rider is in sight. I keep riding and come upon two Chinese riders: I pull over next to them to confirm if I am still on course and the man assures me I am, and the woman gives me one of those "Search me!" looks. I keep riding on and after about 3 miles (over a second ridge), I come upon a roundabout but there aren't any route markers: this is unusual. I wait for a few minutes hoping some riders will show up, but after a five minute wait a car comes by and doesn't stop for me.

I know now that I am in trouble. If there are no headlights or taillights may be I should ride back ? The thought of the long uphill keeps me hoping that I am still on track. But, I come to the realization that I am lost and have to head back until I see more riders. As I ride back I see another car coming up the road, but it doesn't stop either. The Japanese rider hasn't passed me and neither have the two Chinese riders, so they must have backtracked! I decide to ride back up the hill and as I reach the base of the climb, what do I see halfway up?! Two taillights bobbing in the distance. It is the two Chinese riders. I am really annoyed with myself for not having turned back sooner. Bonus miles aren't that bad, but when you factor in the distance we are aiming to ride, every little mile counts. I finally make it to the top and see the man who had yelled out to me when I was going downhill. He is a ride official sent out to warn riders that a left-turn sign is missing. I say "Merci Beaucoup" and ride on. I've lost about an hour.

Making a mistake is a common occurrence on a ride and the best course of action is to just forget about it and plow on ahead. Of course, my brain can't let go so soon: I keep hammering myself for the bonus miles. I have also run out of water. The fields along the course are now littered with riders suffering from sleepiness. We have been riding only for a few hours and dawn is a few hours away, but I can see riders pulled over and trying to deal with sleep. Their strategy seems to be to survive the night by all means necessary, while mine is to keep those cranks moving despite the loss of sleep. I am so overcome by the excitement of the event that sleep is an afterthought at the moment. Escort Motorcycles whiz by every once in a while keeping tabs on riders. The terrain also seems flatter a little bit after Chateauneuf-en-Thymerais and I make excellent time to Jaudrais. Some way to get water would be nice...

At a farmhouse under a whole bunch of streetlights I see a bunch of teenagers on the side of the road with bottled water. I pull over and much to their amusement, first fill my bottles with Sustained Energy. The oldest of the group, a lanky lad, waits for me to finish and then fills water politely while the rest look at me with curiosity on their faces. Not wanting to assume this is a free service, I innocently ask "C'est combien, monsieur?". The water filling teenager has a surprised look on his face; "C'est gratuit, monsieur" he says, almost offended that I brought the subject of money up (which I know is anathema to the French). I thank them all for their help, clip in, and am about to ride off when a voice from the back asks: "Quel Pays, monsieur?". I forget about my embarrassment and think about how I really want to answer. How does a man born in India, having Canadian citizenship, living in the United States answer this question? Of course, we aren't in Seattle and these kids probably have little chance to meet people of my ilk or so I flatter myself. Or maybe they just need confirmation. I think briefly for a moment; "Je suis né en Inde", I say. This seems to satisfy them. With a "Merci Beaucoup" I ride on while they holler out encouragement. In the last few hours I have barged into somebody's house, messed up a French Bar's kitchen, gotten lost, and the Coup de Grace, almost offended the French! I haven't reached the first control yet!

Past Jaudrais there are almost no people as we ride on narrow roads with only our headlights to lead the way. There are some people out in the town of Senonches, but I ride on, merely thanking the onlookers. Most of the little villages that we ride through are deserted, just like back home but every once in a while in some completely unexpected little village a voice would ring out disturbing the still of the night: Bonne Courage. The road flattens out again as we approach Longny-au-Perche and I find myself ratcheting up the speed again. The legs feel good, the sleep demon is away and there is constant company within sight. The roads are well paved, litter-free and uniformly excellent. Life is good! If only I could get that hour I lost back!

The closer we get to Mortagne-au-Perche the lumpier the course becomes and a few long steep rollers slow my progress. I am in a small group of riders as we make it to the center of town which is filled with bicycles and riders. The famous bakery (with it's bicycling man sculpture) is doing very brisk business. The control is a little further out and I make it to Mortagne-au-Perche around 2.45a. I am averaging almost 20 kmph. This is very good considering the terrain, my stomach and my navigational faux pas. With the first controle at 220k it will be a while before I find out how much time I've saved (or haven't), so it is 80k more on pure faith.

Mortagne-au-Perche

PBP Randonneur 2011: Kings of the road

This is a newbie's perspective.The Report itself is 8 parts, which makes the whole thing readable.

Enjoy!

Part 1: Start-to Mortagne-au-Perche

Part 2: Mortagne-au-Perche to Loudeac

Part 3: Loudeac to Carhaix-Plouguer

Part 4: Carhaix-Plouguer to Brest to Carhaix-Plouguer

Part 5: Carhaix-Plouguer to Tinteniac

Part 6: Tinteniac to Villaines-la-Juhel

Part 7: Villaines-la-Juhel to Dreux

Part 8: Dreux to the Finish

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!!!

Summary of rides from March to May

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Been gone a while...

The Year in Review...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2011 Goals

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