tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71018676185202011042024-03-13T11:44:43.052-07:00Mark's Rando NotesRandom randonneur observationsMarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.comBlogger84125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-81874885273543932552022-09-03T20:43:00.004-07:002022-09-05T06:14:01.771-07:00Danube Road Randonneur<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT5BDMYAQNqdJu-WtihmJK0WSg8s2Hw4Hmxx3yjwY1CCQJD4qyXPWHiP1x_uyup14HK_LAo4HTMFXRuxQRjVGIVutroDH7Qa2MaaEHVZ2QQwiqbjlAedEYFxmQnCDgObMXedSsGXf7Byu4dlvEQGTqsb_xhlH2u0-GYUOhJ_Wd31SKbL0BHxlCmZvb/s1599/06DC3228-9EC5-4F7C-9F35-BCEAC0E7CB03.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1599" data-original-width="899" height="529" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT5BDMYAQNqdJu-WtihmJK0WSg8s2Hw4Hmxx3yjwY1CCQJD4qyXPWHiP1x_uyup14HK_LAo4HTMFXRuxQRjVGIVutroDH7Qa2MaaEHVZ2QQwiqbjlAedEYFxmQnCDgObMXedSsGXf7Byu4dlvEQGTqsb_xhlH2u0-GYUOhJ_Wd31SKbL0BHxlCmZvb/w297-h529/06DC3228-9EC5-4F7C-9F35-BCEAC0E7CB03.jpeg" width="297" /></a></div><br /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 19px;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 19px;">A 1400 kilometer brevet in Romania with less than 7000 meters of climbing would be a walk in the park (or a stroll along the Danube). Or so I thought.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 19px;"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Instead, wilting heat, less than ideal roads, sections of heavy and scary traffic, and an inattention to recovery during a busy summer of grand brevets all conspired to make the Danube Road Randonneur brevet a bit of a challenge for me. But as someone once said, I get by with a little help from my friends. Or in this case a lot of help, especially from Christopher (Chris) Graham, my partner in foolishness and a steady, caring companion throughout. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">To make a short story long . . . .</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">The ride started well. After bike inspection and registration formalities, we chatted with old friends and met new ones. The beginning of the ride was quick and we rode in groups to the first stop at a restaurant. One hitch: My attempt to set up Chris’s brand new wheelset tubeless was less than perfect and he had to stop a few times to top off, a circumstance that would repeat itself for the first three days until one last valve adjustment solved the problem for good.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">With the night start and an exceptionally flat first part of the ride, my plan had been to ride 500km through the first full day to an already-booked accommodation. By early afternoon, however, the heat of the near-40C day took a toll on me. I grabbed a few things from my drop bag in a sweltering arena in Dabuleni and searched my phone for hotels nearby. Chris signaled his flexibility and we stopped in the next town for a meal and an air conditioned sleep stating in the broad daylight.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">This stop was early enough that we had eight hours off the bike and were still able to have “breakfast” at a nearby pizza place before it closed. Rolling by midnight, we tackled the 200km to Drobeta-Turnu Severin on the Danube. Halfway there, we passed near a border crossing to Serbia and had to navigate around dozens of trucks parked in the right hand travel lane with no way around except on the left with traffic. Later, as we approached Drobeta in heavy morning traffic, I remarked to Chris that I didn’t see how the riding could possibly be any less pleasant. Hah. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">With no food at the Drobeta control, we figured we’d ride the 25km to Orsova and hunt up an early lunch. On the map, this section looked especially scenic, hugging the Romanian bank of the river through the Iron Gate Gorge and passing a major hydroelectric facility that we had been told was quite impressive. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I’m sure the gorge featured spectacular scenery, but I didn’t have a scintilla of attention available to observe it. Between scanning my mirror in search of the truck that would bring my doom and looking for a line among the potholes and disappearing shoulders (replaced by raised curbs within centimeters of the travel lane), every bit of my concentration was deployed elsewhere. Twenty-five of the worst kilometers of my riding life provided a clear answer to the earlier question of how a ride could possibly be less pleasant than that section. The next day a new Bulgarian friend asked our opinion of this stretch. “Not good,” we responded. He corrected us: “No, it was suicide.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">We calmed our nerves over a pleasant riverside lunch in Orsova. As the day heated up, we abandoned the notion that we could make it 130km to our planned sleep stop. Instead, we set our sights on the village of Svinita about 50km away. A quick scan of lodging booking sites suggested a couple of possibilities with available rooms where I could sleep off the afternoon heat. It took a solid 3 hours to cover that 50 kilometers as I halted our progress for shade (and two nice roadside springs) several times.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Despite the lovely scenery along the way, the oasis of my fevered dreams eluded us in Svinita. The options there, most of which were perched up on a hot hill, were deserted or had no vacancies. (Sometime the next day I would realize that, like Billy Pilgrim, I had come unstuck in time and had been searching for availability on entirely the wrong day.) Eventually, Chris coaxed me back onto my feet (wheels?) and we headed down the scorching road in search of alternatives. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">The next 27 kilometers took 3.5 hours. We stopped at a guesthouse with significant signs of life but no one to open the door. It also had a bench where my plan B to just nap away the hot hours proved completely unsuccessful. We stopped at another spot with no rooms, but a lovely riverside terrace with cold drinks. We stopped at some sort of egret-themed resort (possibly a hallucination?). I don’t know if they had rooms available, because the resort was also the scene of a divine intervention. Or near divine, anyway. Somewhere along the line, Chris must have informed his wife back in Switzerland of the sad plight of his pathetic traveling companion and Kristy had gone to work. So instead of an egret room, Chris got a text from her that we had a booking just up the road. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">The Belvedere “Yachting Club” marked the turning point of the ride for me. The joyful sounds of kids playing in and around a swimming pool greeted us before we found the German-speaking proprietor. “Zwei zimmer,” we splurged. Air conditioning proved more inviting than the pool. Food was ordered and delivered to the room. Plans were made to leave at 3am - another nearly 8 hour stop.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">We thoroughly enjoyed the next section of the ride as the third day began with quiet traffic-free riding along the river to the far western point of the ride and then around a loop away from the river over the highest climb of the ride. A lovely sunrise yielded to a cooling rain(!) as we returned to the river. At a grocery store stop (featuring hot dogs with “aroma of bacon” sauce), we ran into Lupo, with whom we had ridden some on the first night, and we would ride with him off and on until the finish. In an unwilted state, I could enjoy the scenery on the return section along the river back to Orsova. Near Dubova, we lunched on Romanian food (including the somewhat polenta-like mămăligă) at a roadside food stall.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXjDE0Ciy-af6HiL_xmCsCHiK6Lfe1IZMJgX9QYQOMVkBzUKy0HVeEGVC-tu5vj3V5ELV0vhJap5yF0pk6QCLOZZLuo61NP1QQdO-f0QI8J9Yy30g2lR0ZJ0GtOIjqhlRC1c1UZYIV5HTzpBdFDSSri737hjoHfPdFzp2HTepEy6XKYwKbRniUlgt0/s2048/71875C9C-2BA3-4A63-8DED-E50BF1199319.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXjDE0Ciy-af6HiL_xmCsCHiK6Lfe1IZMJgX9QYQOMVkBzUKy0HVeEGVC-tu5vj3V5ELV0vhJap5yF0pk6QCLOZZLuo61NP1QQdO-f0QI8J9Yy30g2lR0ZJ0GtOIjqhlRC1c1UZYIV5HTzpBdFDSSri737hjoHfPdFzp2HTepEy6XKYwKbRniUlgt0/s320/71875C9C-2BA3-4A63-8DED-E50BF1199319.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">The rain was gone and the day was heating up, so we planned to sleep at the next control town of Drobeta (100km short of our original plan for the day). Somehow the 25 kilometers of “suicide” road seemed to have been upgraded to merely “shockingly dangerous” on the return trip. Not enough of an upgrade to enjoy the scenery, but soon we were in Drobeta, where we raided our drop bag in another oven-like arena, found a nice hotel a couple kilometers down the route, and found kebabs and wraps for dinner (and breakfast) at the “Dooby Doner” kebab restaurant.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIf7VQVGUtZb6411rkT3O2en05JYYiS5T6cFDRpN_eWRp1Ql_pngOBQy9VnTsHQ0MwVDUPqu5z_GmIBaNw1QhueiXFK6VzBTA5t2FZ3svWxSnXcOLgguR0Cou0wjYIDgy1rrnRSBqa7Dit3DKEDOdDD-wEbkF36_1QgHZrHjj_8tyPwG7YRjuWXTsf/s4032/E0A73834-E3D5-49A7-A0A8-6AB96C8C828B.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIf7VQVGUtZb6411rkT3O2en05JYYiS5T6cFDRpN_eWRp1Ql_pngOBQy9VnTsHQ0MwVDUPqu5z_GmIBaNw1QhueiXFK6VzBTA5t2FZ3svWxSnXcOLgguR0Cou0wjYIDgy1rrnRSBqa7Dit3DKEDOdDD-wEbkF36_1QgHZrHjj_8tyPwG7YRjuWXTsf/s320/E0A73834-E3D5-49A7-A0A8-6AB96C8C828B.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">On the fourth day, our night start saw much lighter traffic on the Drobeta-Calafat section than we had endured outbound and after Calafat we left the highway and the traffic behind. We raced horse-drawn carts, mostly unsuccessfully, and tried to beat the rain showers, again mostly unsuccessfully. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdW_pZzvsuZCPWL6T1PQ00Bgv_JXyXdy-0u2rp8c1d2VbMnk6zwwMWbkOhSGBDmlUMZCHevTA6A6piRSEla5AxLLeybQVOzaP8Un3_fi7hSvIBv3oTJfZMqOioEC4fqO3ixHQk5qQY9EYkNSD5VD9XxUZXH51OwjgHpcRoAnhtyDVnkomT6Wm6HsjR/s1530/FAA9BD07-41FE-4265-82A3-FDECF18DF793.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1530" data-original-width="1148" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdW_pZzvsuZCPWL6T1PQ00Bgv_JXyXdy-0u2rp8c1d2VbMnk6zwwMWbkOhSGBDmlUMZCHevTA6A6piRSEla5AxLLeybQVOzaP8Un3_fi7hSvIBv3oTJfZMqOioEC4fqO3ixHQk5qQY9EYkNSD5VD9XxUZXH51OwjgHpcRoAnhtyDVnkomT6Wm6HsjR/s320/FAA9BD07-41FE-4265-82A3-FDECF18DF793.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">A tailwind took us to lunch with Jovan from Bosnia in Bechet, a look at our drop bags (clean jersey? nah, I’ve come this far; why change now), and hobo rando dining on the pavement in front of the Lidl supermarket in Turnu Măgurele with Lupo from Bulgaria. The tailwind deserted us, yielding to hills and heat for the last stretch to our planned overnight in Roșiori de Vede, where we would finally sync up with our original ride plan. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6R-GwPIXJkPoERW3xY5tVj28g0LL88TKfm7yHJRgcquziG1DEU_AaBNcSB_OZAczocIHnnXejlpML6mYZk57y_AQCIl08mz26rh43PnqJDnlzPUFjEnTEZEGCvn2yxa--jEP-fk8zFGD-b80-jOhDeMOSFWbq0vYZx94DijOIHZMCECD03kHCAycJ/s1286/1BF82062-46E1-4D4F-91B6-96543A523C89.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="965" data-original-width="1286" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6R-GwPIXJkPoERW3xY5tVj28g0LL88TKfm7yHJRgcquziG1DEU_AaBNcSB_OZAczocIHnnXejlpML6mYZk57y_AQCIl08mz26rh43PnqJDnlzPUFjEnTEZEGCvn2yxa--jEP-fk8zFGD-b80-jOhDeMOSFWbq0vYZx94DijOIHZMCECD03kHCAycJ/s320/1BF82062-46E1-4D4F-91B6-96543A523C89.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">The local volunteers turned out in force in Roșiori de Vede. A stylish lady on a city bike escorted us through town to the control (although we didn’t quite realize </span> <span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">at the time that we were being escorted). We passed under a banner strung above the street by local officials to welcome the ride to town. The control had sandwiches and drinks aplenty. </span><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">We desperately wanted nothing so much as a cleansing shower and comfortable bed, but apparently one of the selling points to the local officials was that the “president of randonnepuring” was coming to town on the ride. Much excited chatter (unintelligible to us except the word “president”) ensued and we doped out that we were expected to wait for a meet-and-greet and photo op with the mayor. Upon his arrival, I’m sure he was less than overwhelmed with the reality of the situation, but gamely posed for pictures and listened while I profusely thanked him (equally unintelligibly, it would appear) in English for his and the town’s hospitality.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6vjGEXCsj7iIs7oA_fIZFcY-TJ5TPvRF_yZ4yNu1PB7XXgE_jtWWRZYU8VZCrxWFBGZecJMAd7ObDJsr02DW-7JByRyxn-YgQhD4-h8i6pNPIMUghJrzPMBM2xbHbv-dA2IUqUt9JXgqXn-5fHq4MOQ2zx96Q0bsvTfkvMrejboJHy0aobCalkXMk/s1600/5ED8A584-F990-45B9-A731-41C64A08A0C1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6vjGEXCsj7iIs7oA_fIZFcY-TJ5TPvRF_yZ4yNu1PB7XXgE_jtWWRZYU8VZCrxWFBGZecJMAd7ObDJsr02DW-7JByRyxn-YgQhD4-h8i6pNPIMUghJrzPMBM2xbHbv-dA2IUqUt9JXgqXn-5fHq4MOQ2zx96Q0bsvTfkvMrejboJHy0aobCalkXMk/s320/5ED8A584-F990-45B9-A731-41C64A08A0C1.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Up again well before dawn for the last day, we met up with Lupo again as we headed to the penultimate control - at a mostly closed gas station. Dawn brought rain showers and a weird post-apocalyptic sunrise through the rainclouds as we approached Bucharest. About 30 kilometers from the finish, as we dodged truck traffic and carefully navigated chaotic construction zones, Chris remarked that he figured it would be “pretty much like this the rest of the way.” Little did we know. After one particularly hairy section I asked whether by “pretty much like this” he really meant “pretty much way worse than this.” </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMgpzzrOVu6Wm7VjEl6IfujURHnfe6sZX1JKUqXOSJMXwebidVTfNL9g4PvCqd-f5uM3-WEqEL664ZZ-YQTh_plEWrxwWr_1au7slbn3KL1mn9X_vFM3yITZbcCh1X2l4jl8z9GB0SEAAbd_8U5cnJdM-cbXC2o0Z2kCSzRrttAs_0gUqFjgHjfyYw/s1385/9E3CB976-63A7-4D0D-9B79-6FC5982313B3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1039" data-original-width="1385" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMgpzzrOVu6Wm7VjEl6IfujURHnfe6sZX1JKUqXOSJMXwebidVTfNL9g4PvCqd-f5uM3-WEqEL664ZZ-YQTh_plEWrxwWr_1au7slbn3KL1mn9X_vFM3yITZbcCh1X2l4jl8z9GB0SEAAbd_8U5cnJdM-cbXC2o0Z2kCSzRrttAs_0gUqFjgHjfyYw/s320/9E3CB976-63A7-4D0D-9B79-6FC5982313B3.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Through the city we tried using bike lanes that would disappear, plunge over curbs, or be interrupted by bomb crater sized potholes. We tried hugging the side of the right lane. We tried taking the lane. We plotted course across every-man-for-himself traffic circles. We played chicken with taxicabs. We finally found relative tranquility (and I mean relative) in the bus lane. Eventually Lupo, Chris, and I found the finish and a celebratory beer (or two or three). </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijTFcz3xCM6gk-U2vNfqj74IjBeMLPdd8FJmnEjz39BnwdQDuok4YBstxT_jHtrlGiPMIq46mMOlZafEnHDrwUiIYiNkmW6ak9jq88aphzrb5svjVuYFFi2dD6iCCjk_Qn_nRZG-7bXfh8ga_Z0J3cjS7mkp5x0ugzTTNaJzWZLAVPBcoxzW3zLqEz/s4032/B597BC59-2EF2-4FED-AAA6-13357154FFCB.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijTFcz3xCM6gk-U2vNfqj74IjBeMLPdd8FJmnEjz39BnwdQDuok4YBstxT_jHtrlGiPMIq46mMOlZafEnHDrwUiIYiNkmW6ak9jq88aphzrb5svjVuYFFi2dD6iCCjk_Qn_nRZG-7bXfh8ga_Z0J3cjS7mkp5x0ugzTTNaJzWZLAVPBcoxzW3zLqEz/s320/B597BC59-2EF2-4FED-AAA6-13357154FFCB.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Precious few pictures. Caught in my slimy sweaty pocket in the heat, my phone alternated among making emergency calls to family members at inappropriate hours, taking pictures of the inside of my pocket, and going into security lockdown from repeated phantom unlock attempts. (Apparently, at one point, I was one errant slime-click away from doing a full reset of the device). Some of the pictures are </span><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">courtesy of Chris, Lupo, ride volunteers, and the folks documenting the summit meeting at Roșiori de Vede.</span><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Thanks to Chris for the steady company. Thanks to Iulian Ene for organizing. Thanks to the many volunteers. Thanks to our fellow riders, including Iulian. Thanks to Carolin for all her help. Thanks to Kristy for the timely booking assist. And as always, thanks to Chris Thomas for putting up with yet another hare-brained trip of mine.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Good news postscript - The organizers are already developing a route for the next edition that will eliminate the worst sections from this time</span></p>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-61260445440871747202017-07-08T14:57:00.000-07:002017-07-10T15:09:30.881-07:00Cooked in Italy<div style="text-align: justify;">
Eighty-one kilometers from the start of the 999 Miglia, I made a wrong turn in the town of Anagni as we climbed to the first control. Not a big deal - the streets of the old town were confusing and I realized the mistake in less than a minute and before going more than 100 meters off course. As I turned around, I felt lightheaded. That seemed weird.</div>
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2500 meters later, I reached the control. I got off my bike and nearly passed out. I pushed the bike over to a shady spot by the church, but kept stumbling and running the bike wheels over my feet. Now I was worried. Although the day was hot, it was not yet noon and we had been on the bikes for less than five hours since the ride start. We had covered about 84 of the 1600 kilometers of the ride; we had climbed about 1400 of 20000 meters of elevation gain expected; temperatures were in the mid-30s C - certainly warm for a Seattle guy, but not yet the brutal temperatures forecasted.</div>
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Just like that, my scenic six-day randonneur tour of southern Italy had morphed into a battle. Gone was any thought I may have had of “competing” in the “Concorso 999 Selfie” contest to take pictures at a list of scenic spots on the route. This would be a fight and I wasn’t sure I was ready for it. Although I’ve had many a brevet experience turn into a “survival mode” ride, never had it happened with more than 1500 kilometers to go!</div>
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With the help of my extremely solicitous SIR ride buddies (Mark, Ricky, Bob, and Bill), who helped me find shade, soda, water, food, and coffee, I was back on the bike in about 30 minutes. Anagni would not be one of the highly efficient control stops that we had planned to get us through the long first day of the ride. A quick downhill and 40 km of flat riding helped the recovery, but perhaps the damage was done.</div>
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The next 130 hours of day and night riding up and down endless hills in a beautiful and hot country are a bit of a blur to me now a week later. In total there would be 85 hours on the bike at a pace of well under 20kph and a massive 50 hours of off the bike time, much of it spent cooling off with Cokes and and ice creams. (Probably only 15-16 hours was sleep - over five nights!). I would focus, as best I could, on getting enough water, electrolytes, food, and sleep and hope that the distance and time problems took care of themselves. There would be ugly attrition among our fellow riders including three of my Seattle friends, two who realized on the second day that they had better options than slow broiling under the Italian sun and one who succumbed to a nasty and fast-developing case of Shermer’s neck on the fifth day.</div>
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To get through, I resorted to every trick I knew and some that I made up on the spot. I rode at night. I rode slowly. I walked steep hills. I rode on the wrong side of the road to find scarce shade. I drank water; I poured it on myself. I looked for ice. I drank sodas. I dumped salt on food. I dissolved electrolytes in Cokes (after the first massive eruption, I learned to do this slowly and patiently). I whined incessantly. I gave myself pep talks. I sought sympathy on Facebook (“crowd sourcing good vibes,” I called it euphemistically at the time). I took pictures of fabulous scenery and uploaded them as if it were a normal ride, if only to fool myself. I laughed. I cried. I made silly bargains with myself (ride for 15 more minutes and then you can look at elevation on computer to see if you’ve made any progress). I begged Bob to go on ahead, probably because I knew that he wouldn’t and he’d tell me that I was fine and that we would make it. We changed our plan for sleep stops on the fly so we could have a short day (fourth day) which did (temporary) wonders for my outlook. I took Susan’s advice and tapped into my “vast reserves” of “bullheadedness” (her words). “Play all your cards,” Joe said. By the finish, I felt that I had done just that. Although I was bluffing most of the time, it sure felt good not to fold.</div>
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Even with all the cards I played, the truth is that I probably couldn’t have finished without the steady companionship and support from Bob Brudvik every pedal stroke of the way. He might say that he stuck with me because I’m a good navigator, but I know better. Support every night from Joe Platzner, who would help us get into our hotels and find food, proved invaluable as well. The many kindnesses from the event volunteers and fellow riders may not have cooled the air or flattened the hills, but they certainly lifted the spirits.</div>
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When I finished, Joe asked if it was the hardest brevet I’d ever done. To his surprise, I hesitated and equivocated. I’m well aware of my tendency to think that the ride I just finished is the hardest one that I’ve ever done, so I wanted time to think about it. Looking back on it now after a week of relaxing and walking and looking at art in the Netherlands with my daughter, I think I can say that Joe had it right. The hot temperatures (to 40C or more), the distance (1600km is a lot more than 1200km), the many kilometers of dreadful pavement, and the relentless climbing (18,000-21,000 meters, some of it steep) added up to a real challenge. I won’t pretend; I’m pretty damn proud of getting that one done. The beer sure tasted good.</div>
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Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-19745726544429443862015-09-30T20:14:00.000-07:002015-09-30T20:14:49.357-07:00A Perfectly Logical Obsession<h2>
The idea</h2>
“A perfectly logical obsession” - Bob Brudvik’s response to a text message from me at the end of April this year.<br />
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We were fresh off our attempt to ride a 24 hour 600k brevet. Although we didn’t make that goal, crazy ideas began to germinate. Less than two weeks later, I was starting to think about attempting to ride the 2015 Paris-Brest-Paris in <a href="http://www.rusa.org/societecharlymiller.html" target="_blank">Charly Miller</a> time (56:40 or less). Nutty, I thought. “Perfectly logical,” Bob said. </div>
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At the time, however, other cycling business dominated my thinking. After a wonderful week at PAC Tour’s Desert Camp in Arizona in the spring, I had flirted with the idea of, and ultimately signed up for, PAC Tour’s “<a href="http://pactour.com/elite.html" target="_blank">Elite</a>” Transcontinental, an 18-day tour across the United States from San Diego, California to Tybee Island (Savannah), Georgia. That I knew four other Seattle riders on the tour, all of whom were much faster riders than I, only augmented the trepidation with which I approached that adventure. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AdmvgDQHo8g/VgwiDjJhC1I/AAAAAAAAbcU/FHlZ3sf2VKI/s1600/Mississippi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="161" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AdmvgDQHo8g/VgwiDjJhC1I/AAAAAAAAbcU/FHlZ3sf2VKI/s200/Mississippi.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mississippi River</td></tr>
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On arrival in San Diego, Bob, who likes to plan a couple rides ahead, asked me about the Charly Miller idea. Much more worried about getting across the country, I deferred: “we can discuss that after we cross the Mississippi.” But as anyone who has ridden across the US knows, and as I was learning, it’s a really, really big country. I reached the Mississippi River still uncertain of the outcome of the tour. Indeed, the longest day of the tour was still a couple days away – nearly 200 miles into Camden, Alabama. So I deferred again, somewhat more colorfully: “F--- off; we can discuss that after Camden.” </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Atlantic Ocean</td></tr>
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Camden came and went and before long we reached the Atlantic. Deferring the discussion was no longer an option. And to be honest with myself, I realized that accomplishing one audacious-seeming goal only emboldened me to attempt another. So I was in. </div>
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Nothing in my long history of riding 1200 kilometer brevets suggested that this would be easy. I looked back over my times. Since 1999, I had finished thirty-five 1200km events (plus a 1400). My average time for the 1200s was a hair under 84 hours. I had finished under 80 hours exactly three times (Canada’s Rocky Mountain 1200 in 2002, Japan’s Hokkaido 1200 in 2010, and the Rocky Mountain again in 2012). None of those rides had the elevation gain of Paris-Brest-Paris. I had finished a 1200 in under 70 hours exactly zero times. Under 60 hours? Hah. My fastest 1000k took me longer than that (64:15). And on four previous PBPs my average finish time was 85:38; my fastest was 84:29. </div>
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I needed some encouragement, reasons to be hopeful, a plan, and a lot of help.
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The Planning</h2>
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Encouragement came readily. Bob never wavered in his insistence that we could do it. (We already knew that Bob could do it; he had made the Charly Miller Society at PBP 2011 with a strong group of SIR friends). He had watched me crawl across Alabama and Georgia at the end of the cross-country tour and he still thought it possible. Although hoping to keep the whole thing pretty low profile, I asked a few friends. They said “go for it.” Well, actually Mike Dayton said “Hell, yeah!” Joe Platzner tried to dope out if I really wanted it; concluding that I did, he cheered me on.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On-bike times.</td></tr>
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Looking for hope, I took a more detailed look at my previous dozen or so 1200s. Because I had used a GPS on those, I knew how much time I spent on the bike riding. The picture was not too pretty. Ride time was 53.5-61.8 hours for all but three of the events. Two of those three were extremely flat (less than 5000 feet of climbing), but one – the California Central Coast 1200 in 2014 – had PBP-like elevation gain and I had 51:47 of ride time. </div>
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What if I could cut that down to 50 hours, spend only 3 hours at the controls, and limit sleep to a two hour break for a nap? That would be good enough.</div>
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Every piece of that was a stretch. I felt that I had performed at the top of my ability on the 3CR and dropping two hours of ride time would not be easy. I rode that ride with three great overnight sleep stops (> 5 hours every night, as I recall). Surely limiting sleep to a 90 minute nap in a two-hour stop would slow me down. And three hours of off-bike time spread over 15 controls? Wow. (By comparison, Bob and his SIR Charly Miller cohorts in 2011 had spent seven hours off the bike with support.) Certainly I would need help. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chris and Marko Baloh</td></tr>
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With seven PBP’s worth of experience between us, we figured that we’d need support at the controls. Bob went right to work on that project. He lined up Chris Ragsdale and a friend. Really?!? Chris Ragsdale?!? The fastest American finisher at PBP in 2011? The guy that would have been the first finisher but for being led off course by a motorcycle “escort”? Yeah, that guy. Holy smokes, as Andy would say. I didn’t know Matt Smith, but I did know that he had crewed for Chris on RAAM and that Bob had spoken highly of him. So we had the resources we needed to keep us moving, . . . but could I move fast enough? (I wasn’t worried about Bob’s speed.) </div>
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Fully aware that I knew nothing about training for speed (or about training at all, for that matter – I just “ride lots”) and even less about getting ready for a specific event, I sought professional help. (And not the kind my family thought I needed.) My one previous attempt (thirteen years ago) to work with a coach had failed miserably – my fun activity turned into work and not only did I fail to stick with the training plan, I also just quit riding my bike for weeks. I didn’t know very much about coaches, but one had done well for friends of mine and was highly respected by people whom I respected. So I sent <a href="http://www.athleticexcellence.net/" target="_blank">Michelle Grainger</a> from Boulder an email asking if she’d take on a two-month project to deliver me to PBP in the best possible form. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GA-qf-DR9c0/VgyBTnhrPxI/AAAAAAAAbeo/pvFH5EmysQo/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-09-30%2Bat%2B5.39.36%2BPM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="156" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GA-qf-DR9c0/VgyBTnhrPxI/AAAAAAAAbeo/pvFH5EmysQo/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-09-30%2Bat%2B5.39.36%2BPM.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Help. Please.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div>
Michelle agreed and we were off. Will spare gory details on the training plan, which she developed as we went along. Essentially, we assumed the endurance was there already. Michelle focused on some intensity work and also a lot of recovery and rest. I chose to trust her recommendations implicitly, despite my nagging concerns that I was not doing enough. Although I understood why the volume of riding would be much lower than that to which I was accustomed, I still felt that I wasn’t working hard enough with the intensity drills. These varied from hill repeats to sprint drills, but never amounted to a lot of time/distance. Most of the time, I felt pretty good about progress, but not always. (From a mid-July email to Michelle: “Today really felt like a setback. By the end of today’s ride I was overheated, salt-encrusted, bonk-y, and discouraged. And a little mad at myself for mistakes made.”) Other days were awesome – on some of the “go hard” days, my Strava uploads were scattered with PR segments, which felt good.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The lower volume and strict limits on riding became a recurring source of amusement for my riding buddies. “Want to ride a 200k?” “No, I’m only allowed 60 minutes today.” Eventually they would just ask: “What does Colorado HQ have on your plan for tomorrow?” I was completely on board with letting CO HQ call the shots, however, and suppressed my urge to ride up to Mt. Rainier, go out on a 1000k, pre-ride the 300k I was organizing, and any number of other fun ride plans. On the other hand, I loved the 20-30 minute “easy spinning” days that allowed for a ride to coffee or beer.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In addition to lining up support and training, I obsessed over equipment. Bob encouraged me to bring my carbon Parlee rather than my usual travel coupled titanium travel bike. He said that I was faster on it. Although I strongly suspected that the bike choice didn’t matter, I couldn’t quite argue with the record – my fastest 1200 (Rocky Mountain 1200 in 2012), one of my strongest 1200s (California Central Coast Randonnee in 2014), my fastest 600 (in Wenatchee in 2015), my fastest 300k (a permanent in late 2014), my PAC Tour Transcontinental, and other good rides had all been on the Parlee. So I decided to suck up the airline bike fees and take the non-coupled bike. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In an obsessive effort to avoid mechanical issues during the ride, I outfitted the bike with lots of new stuff. With the help of Joe Platzner and my friends at <a href="http://www.elementcycles.net/" target="_blank">Element Cycles</a> in Redmond, the bike soon sported new shifters, new cables, new derailleurs, new chain, new cassette, new bar tape, new tires, newly rebuilt pedals, and new brake pads. Cranks, bottom bracket, and hubs were inspected. Sunday best wheels (Enve 4.5s) would make the trip, accessorized with new Continental GP 4000SII tires and latex tubes. Knowing that we would have support, I packed spares of all sorts – spokes, components, wheels, pedals, cleats, etc., etc. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zr62ZGXjnQI/VgxKuIFCJuI/AAAAAAAAbeY/CdQAaQD4pOI/s1600/IMG_8210.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zr62ZGXjnQI/VgxKuIFCJuI/AAAAAAAAbeY/CdQAaQD4pOI/s200/IMG_8210.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parlee Tour - fully loaded</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Over a number of pre-PBP rides, I fine-tuned the list of what I would carry on the bike. I opted for the Revelate Designs “Gas Tank” top tube bag and a small Ortlieb waterproof saddle bag. I added a strap for my reflective vest and one for my Spot satellite tracker. At the last minute, I chickened out on carrying a minimalist pump in favor of a Lezyne mini floor pump style pump strapped to one of my seatstays. I opted for battery lights front and rear. I decked out a raincoat with a ton of 50mm wide reflective tape to use in place of the reflective vest in case of nasty weather. In the bags, I would carry tubes (2), CO2 cartridges (2), CO2 inflator head, patch kit, valve extenders, tire boot, chain quick link, duct tape, multi-tool, sunscreen, lip balm, battery and cable to keep GPS running, electrolyte tablets, anti-inflammatories, caffeine tablets, and a few bits of emergency food. Other food would go in the jersey pockets. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
No surprise: it’s a lot easier to have a light load on your bike if you have support.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At Michelle’s urging, I thought a bit (well, a lot, really) about how I would handle my nutritional needs during the event. In a dramatic departure from my usual approach – eat real food, and lots of it – I planned instead to bring “bike food” along. The plan was to take on only 250-300 calories/hour during the ride. I would drink an Ensure at each control stop and then start out the next leg with a bottle of Perpetuem (270 calories and 50mg of caffeine) and enough other food in my pockets to reach the calorie target (a mix of Honey Stinger chews and waffles, Power Bar protein bars, and Clif “Builder Bars”). Bob and I figured that Chris and Matt could add some real food to the mix from time to time at the controls, but I wanted to be confident about the rate of calorie intake. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
With the lower than expected volume of riding, I had plenty of time to obsess over details beyond just training, equipment, and nutrition. I prepared an iPad for Chris and Matt with the support car route loaded into a mapping application and a couple of bookmarks for locating us via my Spot tracker. I loaded the PBP route into my Garmin GPS and into my phone.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I did about a million iterations of a spreadsheet with planned speeds/times for each leg and amounts of time off the bike. Lacking any hard data on my likely speeds over a non-stop 1200, I opted to pick two default speeds – one out to Brest and one back - and then adjust the speed on each leg downwards by a factor that depended on the climbing/distance ratio for that leg. I tweaked the numbers until I was close to 56:40 (53:27 riding / 3:00 stop time / no sleep). For comparison, I checked the overall time at each stage with Bob’s groups’ times from 2011. It tracked reasonably well. Bob and Chris both felt that the speeds were too low, especially at the beginning of the ride, but I thought it better psychologically (for me, at least) to have a plan against which we might build some margin early in the ride than to have a (possibly) more accurate plan that we were more likely to fall behind.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sleep presented another planning puzzle. We strongly suspected that we wouldn’t have time. (Bob’s group had slept maybe 10 minutes in 2011). Michelle believed that I could not afford not to sleep. Would a good sleep stop pay off with increased speed? I had no idea. One consequence of my somewhat faster brevets over recent years is that I slept more on longer events than before. As a result, I had lost experience about how I would handle a lack of sleep. We settled on a plan of sorts. We had access to beds at around 800km. (Rick and Barb had rented a gîte on the course). If we were doing really well, we’d sleep a couple hours. We were not at all sure that we could make up those hours with road speed in just 400km remaining, but it was possible – the difference between 25km/hr and 22km/hr, for example, would be 2:20. If we didn’t feel that we had time to risk, we’d keep going. (And if we were completely off any possibility of making CM time, then we’d have a good long sleep and a nice ride to a 79 hour finish.). With few good options for sleep during the ride, I resolved to get as much sleep and rest as possible leading up to PBP and as much sleep as I could manage immediately prior to the ride.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
To supplement all the planning, I did a lot of hoping. Seemed like a good use of time. </div>
<h2>
The Event </h2>
<div>
I love PBP. Love the traditions of it. Love the spectacle. Love the involvement of the local residents. Even like the route. But most of all I enjoy the big randonneur reunion that happens there. I know randonneurs from all over the country and the world from my travels (and theirs). And many more from social media or from reading their stories. The days before the start of PBP passed in a blur of faces of old friends.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SKHxFCA9WaM/VgxH-eD2G_I/AAAAAAAAbeM/OT-MjnNu9vk/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SKHxFCA9WaM/VgxH-eD2G_I/AAAAAAAAbeM/OT-MjnNu9vk/s200/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="183" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Colorado HQ</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
In front of the Campanile hotel one day, I ran into Coach Michelle. (In a nice little PBP vignette, I found her with her husband Steve, long-time randonneur and RUSA volunteer John Lee, first-time PBP’er Terri, and SIR’s Big Mark). I appreciated the opportunity to thank her for her work in preparing me for the event and just to chat in person after all the calls and emails over the prior two months. I confessed that I felt a bit anxious about the event. Not one to miss the opportunity for a little coaching, Michelle opined that the anxiety merely reflected the intensity of my desire to achieve the Charly Miller goal. She encouraged me to “be in the moment” during the ride (“whatever that means,” I thought) and wished me success.<br />
<br />
Bob and I had arrived in France a few days before the ride so we could get ready for the ride without stress. We took care of the necessities – building up the bikes, getting rental car, purchasing supplies, organizing our stuff – at a relaxed pace. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K_eP2STPdjo/VgwnN0peW0I/AAAAAAAAbck/tcw7uChu-XA/s1600/11228029_10152951579286513_7228405648253438708_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K_eP2STPdjo/VgwnN0peW0I/AAAAAAAAbck/tcw7uChu-XA/s200/11228029_10152951579286513_7228405648253438708_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>Sightseeing took a back seat to ride preparation; Bob and I managed one trip into Paris, including a nice lunch with SIR buddies Adam Morley and Vincent Muoneke. Remembering that one of the critical factors for the ride would be the ability to ride with little or no sleep and that one of the tactics was to sleep as much as possible, I tempered my usual inclination to stay up late catching up with friends. Even the usual pre-PBP shakedown ride – often 50km or more along the course – fell victim to the plan. (My instructions from CO HQ said 10-20 minutes easy riding – that didn’t get me very far.) </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Our selection of an early slot for bike inspection / registration worked well as we avoided the long lines that formed by midday. Again I had the chance to meet and catch up with a lot of other riders, while remaining mindful of Michelle’s admonition to stay off my feet as much as possible. At check-in, we were helped by the legendary Jennifer Wise (RUSA #1) as well as SIR members Renee Lewis and Deena Heg. As with all the volunteers that we would encounter during the ride, they were helpful, encouraging, and cheerful. Did I mention that I love PBP?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Finally the day of ride arrived and I could shift gears from obsessing to riding. In a final attempt to bank sleep, I went to be early the night before, slept 10-11 hours, ate breakfast, took a sleeping pill, and slept for 3-4 more hours. With the ACP’s excellent new start procedure for PBP, there was no reason to get to the velodrome too far in advance of our 4:15PM scheduled start time. Chris sent us a text message a little past 3 saying that lots of folks were massing at the start, so we headed over then, arriving at about 3:30. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9tGo9Rnn-FM/VgwoNgb45hI/AAAAAAAAbdA/ntNSnHNc80U/s1600/11903845_1194679827224638_5603443011272759293_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9tGo9Rnn-FM/VgwoNgb45hI/AAAAAAAAbdA/ntNSnHNc80U/s320/11903845_1194679827224638_5603443011272759293_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Let's ride.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Bob and I had signed up for the second start wave – the “B” group. We saw some familiar faces in that group and chatted with Grant and David from SIR, Wes from NC, Aaron from SF, Paul from Australia, and others. Bob also spoke with his friend Marko Baloh, a noted ultracyclist and randonneur from Slovenia. He clued us in about an expected ride dynamic – a number of folks who were out to “win” PBP had chosen the second wave with the idea that they would work hard, chase up to the lead group from the first wave, and then finish the ride in that group, but would be 15 minutes ahead. To the extent that we might have had any temptation to try to stay with the front part of our wave, that pretty much finished it off. That kind of pace would be out of our league (or mine at least).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As for Bob and me, our ride plan was a bit vague, but we assumed that to be successful, we’d need to ride with groups of compatible riders as much as we could. Our thought was to stay with a good group of riders from our wave for a long as possible, then pick up with folks from the “C” wave and just surf our way along in that fashion. If all went well, we’d pick up with a handful of agreeable companions to finish PBP in style. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We headed out to cheers (did I mention that I love PBP?). Great to be riding. Soon we were zipping through the countryside at 30km/hr or so. Although I knew that we were unlikely to sustain that pace, it sure was exhilarating. The first 100 kilometers passed quickly. Then disaster struck. The lead group from the “C” wave approached our bunch. On a mission, they passed our group on the wrong side of a narrow road only to be greeted by an oncoming vehicle rounding a bend at around 101km (before Mortagne-au-Perche). Everyone moved together and Bob was trapped behind two riders that hit their brakes hard.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
From my position (about 20 riders in front of Bob), I heard a crash, checked it out in my mirror, and realized it was Bob. Damn. Once the group cleared, I circled back and we began a damage assessment. Bloody hand, sore wrist and neck, non-functional front shifter, and a front wheel that wouldn’t turn. No dent in his desire to finish. We found a position for front brake that allowed him to roll. We called ahead to Chris and Matt at Mortagne-au-Perche and suggested that they get our spare front wheel and some first aid ready to go. Then we got back on bikes and rode like hell.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At Mortagne-au-Perche, Bob got a new front wheel. The shifter was beyond help. Bob would have to ride with just big chainring upfront for 1100km. He didn’t find this too intimidating because he had gears smaller than when he rode PBP on a single speed in 2007. And because he’s a badass. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I hoped and thought we’d stay together anyway and we did ride together until a little past the control at Villaines-au-Juhel when Bob sent me on. He basically pushed me up to a group of riders, told me to go on with them, and dropped back. Quite a disappointment. It was helpful that we had discussed in advance our plan to make sure that at least one person would be supported by crew to aim for the Charly Miller time. (Of course, it never occurred to me that that person might be me.) It did me a world of good later in the ride to see him on the out-and-back just east of the Roc'h Trevezel. I could see that he was in good shape, in good spirits, and would make it just fine. And indeed, he soldiered on despite aches and pains and finished well in about 70 hours with some of our SIR buddies and others. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For another 100km or so after Bob sent me on, I was able to stay with groups of riders that were moving along at a good clip and continued to stay ahead of the planned schedule. With the help of Chris and Matt, controls were astonishingly efficient. They’d give me an update on my progress against plan, check on my status, give me something to eat while I got my control card signed, ready my bike and bottles for the next segment, and stuff my pockets with food. In five minutes or so, I was back on my bike and riding.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
One unintended consequence of the great support soon became clear. Most of the riders that I’d see around me were faster riders than I. We were only together because they had spent more time at the controls. For a while, I’d try to latch onto some groups of riders, but it would never work. Too much effort. So I rode by myself. (With few exceptions, probably for the last 800 kilometers or more).
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Despite this issue, the support was a wonderful benefit. Never having done an event with a crew before, I was quite astounded to experience how much the support freed me up just to focus on riding the bike and on achieving the goal I had set out for PBP. That focus stayed with me. It didn’t come and go. I guess I wanted it. A lot. On the road, I think I wanted it every minute. I thought about how good I’d feel when I made it. I stayed on plan. I didn’t waste time and energy thinking too far ahead. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On the bike, I freed my mind up further by ignoring the wealth of data available to me (on my Garmin and elsewhere). Normally, I like to keep myself occupied with things like figuring out my likely arrival time at the next control based on current speed, distance to go, and terrain. Or I’ll look at the upcoming elevation profile to see what was ahead. Instead, I kept the GPS on the map screen, showing only a field for distance to next turn (to keep me honest on navigation) and a field for speed (to keep me from fooling myself about how fast I was going). I’d look at the road ahead and try to optimize my gearing and cadence for steady climbing or for grabbing a bit of extra speed on flats and downhills. I’d notice how good I felt and allow myself to believe that it could continue that way for the rest of the ride. Maybe that’s what Michelle meant by “being in the moment”; I didn’t know, but it felt good. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NbDqVwrGcw8/VgwnOG2B0vI/AAAAAAAAbc4/RXdAKWNqmLM/s1600/11856413_10207008659045382_4893556446575774699_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NbDqVwrGcw8/VgwnOG2B0vI/AAAAAAAAbc4/RXdAKWNqmLM/s320/11856413_10207008659045382_4893556446575774699_o.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Under 24:00 to Brest</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Truth was that I was having a blast. The guys who rode on the SIR 2011 Charly Miller team warned me that it wouldn’t be fun during the ride, but it would be fun to have done it. Michelle had warned me that it would be work, not fun, even “very sucky at times." Others had said similar things. To my delight, that wasn’t my experience. I had fun and kept on having fun. Riding by myself through the French countryside, happy with my efforts, staying on plan, and at one with the bike, I was in heaven.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Throughout Monday, the ride just clicked along – out of Carhaix, up to Roc’h Trevezel, seeing the lead group coming back, out to Brest, back over the Roc again, seeing many friends heading out, coming back into to Carhaix. All good. At Carhaix on the return, I was more than 2 hours ahead of plan and decided to make a stop at Rick and Barb’s gîte. The next stretch was a little challenging. In the dark, with a steady stream of headlights aiming at me, my pace slowed a bit. Situational awareness suffered a bit too. I arrived at the gîte full of plans: I’d like to shower, I said, get some food, change my kit, sleep for an hour or so, and leave by 3AM. “You know that it’s 2AM?” Uh, no, I guess I didn’t. New plan: “I’m going to close my eyes for sixty minutes and hope for some sleep. Wake me up after an hour and get me going.” I probably slept for 45 minutes and felt ready to go. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t-hfAzBr2Hg/VgwnN66LoeI/AAAAAAAAbc0/OIVwQaJkD2s/s1600/11904102_10207014658155356_1677872020138193868_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t-hfAzBr2Hg/VgwnN66LoeI/AAAAAAAAbc0/OIVwQaJkD2s/s320/11904102_10207014658155356_1677872020138193868_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quiet Villaines</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
After Tinteniac, the sun came up again, the finish was less than 400km away, and I was an hour ahead of plan. The rest of the ride continued to be wonderful. I was riding faster than planned. Although I allowed myself some longer stops - to eat real food at Villaines and Mortagne-au-Perche and some recovery time at Dreux – I built a little bit more margin against the planned pace. I had some nice conversations with other riders – Ed from NJ, the screaming fast tandem of John and Ann, Paul from Ireland, Christiaan from South Africa, among others.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Chris and Matt never tired and kept me moving, even taking on a nice gentle coaching and encouragement role. One fun anecdote - at Dreux, I think Chris decided that I was slacking off (maybe because I took my shoes off). He told me that I should “get on it” for the last leg - even though the Charly Miller time was pretty much in hand, I should get under the time of the SIR CM team from 2011 or even break 55 hours. Whenever I had any urge to take it easy on last stretch, I’d hear him in my ear - “get on it!” - and I’d jump on it again. I attacked the hills in the forest like a lunatic. Not fast by any objective standards, but a wonderful feeling into the finish. I rolled into the final control a bit after 11pm, high as a kite. And a bit incredulous – it was a bit hard to believe. After all the obsession, planning, and riding, I had finished in 54:50. Chris and Matt performed their final support duties – handing me a beer and taking a finish picture.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EKBJwoynxIg/VgxBpjJtY1I/AAAAAAAAbdU/bpstNKi1mwc/s1600/IMG_8087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EKBJwoynxIg/VgxBpjJtY1I/AAAAAAAAbdU/bpstNKi1mwc/s640/IMG_8087.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">54:50 - Happy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h2>
Final thoughts </h2>
<div>
Fortune smiled on this PBP. I was very lucky – in many ways. Lucky to have the opportunity to ride my bike for fun, a luxury not available to the vast majority of people in the world. Lucky to have the support of my family and friends. Lucky to find and benefit from a great coach and wonderful support team. Lucky to have Bob’s inspiration, encouragement, and companionship. Lucky that my bike had exactly zero mechanicals. Lucky that my body held up - no saddle issues of any sort, no real cramping, no tendon issues, no real issues with feet other than a few bouts with hot foot, no problem with hands (a bit battered, but not numb or blistered or anything), no issues with digestion or nutrition. Lucky not to get sleepy (maybe a bit loopy once or twice, but not sleepy). Sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Wj-CI8bFbxY/VgxGg0xpCaI/AAAAAAAAbeA/2_bUvBJUpl4/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-09-30%2Bat%2B1.30.07%2BPM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="165" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Wj-CI8bFbxY/VgxGg0xpCaI/AAAAAAAAbeA/2_bUvBJUpl4/s400/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-09-30%2Bat%2B1.30.07%2BPM.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plan vs Reality</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-65369782024952849422014-06-18T13:29:00.003-07:002014-06-18T13:29:56.875-07:00Who's in charge anyway (Garmin notes)The SIR and other lists have recently recounted rider questions and irritations about the Garmin Edge bicycle GPS computers. Of course, I recognize that riders have varying tolerances for frustration, more or less time to devote to the problem, and different expectations for what the technology will do, but for what it's worth and on the off chance that it might help someone, here's my experience.<br />
<br />
Over the past few years, I have used the Garmin Edge GPS units with considerable success to keep from getting lost on more than a dozen 1200km brevets in numerous countries. Some of those brevets had fairly inscrutable cue sheets. I have used the Edge 705, the Edge 800, the Edge 810, and most recently, the Edge 1000.<br />
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To make the Garmin work for me, I focus on five key things. (Or perhaps these define how I work for the Garmin, but let's leave that philosophical question for another day).<br />
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<b>Maps.</b> Early on, I used Garmin's maps. Frustrated by the price and by Garmin's idiotic policies about transferring maps to replacement units, I switched to open source maps from the Open Street Maps project and have never looked back. Before traveling, I visit this <a href="http://garmin.openstreetmap.nl/" target="_blank">GarminOSM</a> and create a map for the countries to be visited. The coverage of OSM maps varies by country - sometimes under-inclusive (missing streets in Korea) and sometimes over-inclusive for my purposes (hiking trails, dirt paths). But they work. Inasmuch as OSM is an ongoing project, the more recent the download, the better the maps.<br />
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<b>Backup Plans. </b>I don't place complete faith in the GPS to stay on track. I also use the cue sheet and a smartphone application. When I started randonneuring, sonny, I had none of these new-fangled GPS thingys. My navigation came from the cue sheet and sometimes from paper maps (now replaced for me with maps on phones). My first long brevet was a 1000km from one end of Vancouver Island to the other and back. Cues were minimal and navigation not really a factor. My second was Paris-Brest-Paris and the route was signposted and navigation was again not a factor. (I did recover from a group navigation error by offering up my own hand-marked Michelin maps to some accompanying French riders, who were quite able to dope out the correct answer from there). My third long ride, however, was the 2001 London-Edinbugh-London 1400km brevet with, as I recall, a 14-page dense cue sheet filled with cues like "take right on unmarked lane." Fearful of getting lost in a land where I did not speak the language, I paid a lot of attention to that cue sheet - by studying with maps in advance, by trying to dope out the local customs of cue sheet presentation, and by paying careful attention to it on the road. Although cue sheets are not always perfect, I still consider them to be a very important navigation resource and a key backup to the GPS. In addition to the cue sheet, my second GPS backup is a smartphone mapping app the use of which I I've described <a href="http://blog.seattlerando.org/?p=57" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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<b>Power. </b>One significant weakness of the Garmin Edge units for me is that their batteries don't last as long as our rides do. So I add external power. Usually that involves bringing on a "power bank" type of device that charges from a USB outlet and provides power to one or two USB ports. I use these to charge the Garmin (and sometimes my phone as well). My preferred approach (works for me; others may have good reasons to do differently) is to have some idea of how long I can run the Garmin on it's internal battery. With my 810's bluetooth features off, it seems that I can rely on at least 12 hours of runtime. Based on that, if I expect to ride for 20 hours in a day, I'll run the GPS normally from its internal battery for 8 hours, then plug in the power pack and ride that way until the device shows 100% charge. Then I unplug the power pack and let the Garmin run down until I stop for the night. If possible, I charge it from the wall at night and repeat the next day. If not, I'll charge it up from the power pack while I sleep. With drop bag support, I'll have four smaller capacity power packs and carry a fresh one on the bike each day. With no drop bag support, I'll carry one large one sufficient to power the Garmin for the whole ride (and/or bring a charger for opportunistic recharging of the power pack and/or Garmin when time at a power outlet presents itself). As a backup, I carry a lightweight USB power pack that runs from 4xAA batteries. (Sometimes I carry it empty and sometimes with four lightweight Eveready Energizer Lithium batteries installed, but with some electrical tape over the ends to prevent accidental discharge.) With AA batteries fairly readily available at stores, this provides a backup power plan. One related problem to manage is that attaching the USB cable to the Garmin compromises the waterproofness of the Garmin. So some effort is required to manage the charging in inclement weather. Instead of following the script above, I'll take advantage of a dry spell or protected rest stop to charge up the Garmin or I'll use a long stretch without cues to put the Garmin, cable, and power pack all together in a waterproof bag and get some charge into the Garmin.<br />
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<b>Courses.</b> Most of my preride efforts as they relate to GPS navigation revolve around creating a "course" file in Garmin's TCX format. My goal is to have a file that has both a "breadcrumb" track that follows the course along with "course points" along that track that represent the entries on the cue sheet. I use RideWithGPS, but depending on what may be available from the ride organizers or fellow riders, the exact process may vary. Perhaps a rider who uses the same approach to their Garmin has created a course in RwGPS with cues for turns inserted automatically by the RwGPS application. Perhaps the organizer has provided a GPX file that traces the route that I can import into RwGPS. Perhaps I only have a cue sheet, in which case, I will make the effort to create a RwGPS route. From any of these starting points, I'll painstakingly follow the cue sheet along the course and edit the RwGPS route file. My goal is to have a course point in the TCX file for each line on the printed cue sheet. (RwGPS puts a course point in the TCX file for each of the route's cue sheet entries). If I start with a bare track, this means using RwGPS "add to cue sheet" function to add a cue for each turn or other feature (like controls). If the track has cue sheet entries already, I'll follow along, one-by-one, adding entries from the paper cues sheet that are missing in RwGPS route, deleting extraneous entries, or editing existing entries. Once done, I export a TCX file from RwGPS and copy it to the /Garmin/NewFiles folder on the GPS. Good practice is to divide a 1200 into smaller chunks, but if I have one that has fewer than 200 cue sheet entries, I'll often live dangerously by running a single 1200k course. (Side note: the Edge 800 can't record a ride longer than around 450-500km without crashing hard. So I reset the unit every 400km or every day, restarted recording, and then restarted the course).<br />
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<b>Defeat the Garmin.</b> I'm forever at war with my Garmin and its engineering team. They want to navigate for me. Provide them some parameters - destinations, waypoints, a track, whatever - and they'll figure out how to get me there and give me turn-by-turn directions. I want something else; I just want it to help my find my way around the course that I spent all that time creating. Garmin doesn't get it; so we are locked in battle. My happy place with the Garmin happens when I load the course, tell it to ride the course, turn off that annoying "virtual partner", and then have the GPS display a few pieces of key information to me as I ride. The two most important things that I want to see are the map and a field called "Course Pt Dist" that will tell me the distance, along the course, from where I am to where the next course point (i.e., cue sheet entry) is. The map should show my location and the line that is my course. With sufficient attention, this could be the only navigation aid. One would ride to stay on the course line and use the "off course" warnings to cover any misses. I've done that, but it's much better for me if I can see the distance to the next cue sheet entry. As that decrements towards zero, I'll look at the map screen or the paper cue sheet (or both) to familiarize myself with my next required course action. Usually that's good enough, but if I get it wrong, the "off course" warning usually helps me to recover. The Garmin folks have reluctantly conceded that one might want to navigate to a course, as opposed to destinations and way points, but they will not surrender easily their desire to calculate a route to do so. That route will get stuff wrong, so I don't want it. So I try to defeat that route calculation effort. Most of the time I can do so by starting the course, then going into the currently active "Activity Profile" and change the navigation method to "Direct Routing." Annoyingly, it will not save this a setting in the "Actiity Profile," so I have to do it every time. Idiots! I have occasionally resorted to turning off the routable maps in the GPS, starting the course, and then re-enabling the maps. A real nuisance.<br />
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On the road, I usually set up the Garmin to display five separate screens while I ride. One is a map screen with two data fields added. One of those fields is the Course Pt Dist that will tell me when I'll reach the next cue. The other may vary (sometimes I use a battery indicator if that's a key consideration, sometimes I'll use Distance to Go, sometimes current elevation. Second is the elevation profile screen that will show me the profile of the course behind and ahead of my current position. I'll usually put two fields there too - one with my all-important (to me) Course Pt Dist field and one the current elevation. Third is a screen, created automatically, that shows all the upcoming course points. The entries are severely truncated, but I can, for example, scroll down to the next control to determine how far away it might be, or I might want to look at next couple of cues to know if one comes fast after another (and therefore might be easy to miss). Fourth is screen filled with data that my geeky riding heart desires - elevation, grade, speed, distance travelled, time of day, etc. And of course my Course Pt Dist. The fifth screen is deeper geek - cumulative elevation, average speed, sunrise/sunset times and the like.<br />
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It's work, but it works. At least for me. At least so far.Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-66984541624176257962013-09-14T04:41:00.000-07:002013-09-14T04:55:46.138-07:00Southwest Washington 1000<span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Rick and I rode the 1000km course last weekend. See ride record <a href="http://www.strava.com/activities/81397935" target="_blank">here</a>. We thought it was a glorious ride. The first day took us around the sound, including a nice loop of Point Defiance in Tacoma, up to Mason/Limerick Lakes, before heading out to the coast for a nice dinner stop in Westport and a peaceful nighttime jaunt along the ocean and Willapa Bay.</span><br />
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The second morning, we took a detour around the peninsula at Bay Center before riding out to the Pacific in Ocean Park on the Long Beach peninsula. After a lunch stop with some liquid carbs, we rode along the Columbia past the Astoria Bridge and then over KM Mountain and through the Whitetail Deer refuge to a early dinner in Cathlamet above the Columbia. A wonderful detour around Longview provided great views of Saint Helens, Adams, and Rainier on the way to Castle Rock. The climb up to Toutle was rewarded with a butter-smooth pavement descent to Toledo with the Big Dipper guiding the way. The late night trip into Morton under the Milky Way was surprisingly enjoyable, even the sections on US-12, which was largely deserted.</div>
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Mount Rainier kept an eye on us for just about all of the last day. The backroads that kept us off US-12 for most of the way from Morton to Packwood were wonderful. Quiet and peaceful, although with some rough pavement. Skate Creek Road from Packwood to the huckleberry ice cream at Whittaker's in Ashford was a delight - a mostly gentle climb along a mountain stream on one of my favorite roads. Ashford to Elbe to Alder Lake was nice despite the headwinds. Not so nice was the Alder Cutoff Road into Eatonville. With WA-7 closed, this is the detour route and the traffic was fairly unpleasant. After Eatonville, it was calm again along Ohop and Kapowsin lakes on Orville Rd. Milkshakes and dinner at Wally's in Buckley fueled the trip home, which included the climb out of the Green River valley that we all "loved" from Greg's Chili Feed 200k all those years. And then the usual ride back through Black Diamond, Ravensdale, Hobart, Issaquah, and Redmond.</div>
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In summary, a nice tour of southwest Washington, with a good variety of roads and scenery. Hope many of you can make it. Any questions, feel free to ask. Pre-registration will be appreciated.</div>
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Some notes about support:</div>
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You should plan to be able to ride 100 kilometers without services on this ride. It's 100k from South Bend to Long Beach and it's 100k from Castle Rock to Morton.<br />
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On the scouting ride, we refueled at<br />
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Mile 52 - Sumner control in coffee shop. They have pastries and drinks.</div>
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Mile 83 - Lunch in Gig Harbor. This may be less necessary during the regular ride because there will be support at mile 121.</div>
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Mile 143 - Food at Matlock store. Note that this store closes at 8PM. You can get services before at mile 128.7 and after at mile 166.5.</div>
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Mile 200 - Dinner at Half Moon Bay in Westport. They probably close at 10PM, but we expect to provide support there for later-arriving riders.</div>
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Mile 240 - South Bend overnight control.</div>
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Mile 304 - Lunch at Pioneer Tavern. The stretch to here was probably the leg between services that seemed longest.</div>
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Mile 330 - Snacks at grocery store before Naselle.</div>
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Mile 363 - Early dinner at diner in Cathlamet.</div>
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Mile 397 - Snacks at convenience store WA-504 and I-5. The store at the control spot in Toutle (mile 408) was closed when we got there.</div>
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Mile 459 - Morton overnight control.</div>
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Mile 497 - Diner breakfast in Packwood.</div>
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Mile 523 - Ice cream in Ashford.</div>
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Mile 542 - Snacks at convenience store in Eatonville.</div>
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Mile 573 - Dinner at Wally's drive-in in Buckley. They close at 9PM. 24 hr services are available a short way off course at mile 576.</div>
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The longest stretches (40 miles or more) that will be without services, especially if you are running close the time limits:<br />
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Mile 121 - 166 (Vinny's cabin to 24hr convenience store in Montesano)</div>
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Mile 200 - 240 (Westport to South Bend. There is a 24hr convenience store in Raymond, but that's only about 3 miles from control.)</div>
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Mile 240 - 304 (South Bend to Pioneer Tavern or Pioneer Market in Long Beach)</div>
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Mile 397 - 459 (Castle Rock to Morton)</div>
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Mile 573/576 - 622 (Buckley/Enumclaw to finish. You may find stuff along the way, but not sure.)</div>
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Hope to see you there.</div>
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Mark</div>
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Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-83895437062834727822011-04-15T12:57:00.000-07:002011-04-15T12:57:53.779-07:001200k planningToday someone showed me a detailed spreadsheet for planning out a 1200km ride, complete with average speeds, control open/close times, sleep stops, and loads of other data. That set me to wonder why a data-hungry nerd like me has never been interested in using that sort of spreadsheet and to think about what I use instead.<br />
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Perhaps I fear that with too detailed a plan, I'll get overly concerned (especially when tired) about deviations from the plan and that the concern will do more damage to my ride than a lack of planning. Or maybe I just don't want to see just how slow I ride enshrined in Excel glory.<br />
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So for what it's worth (bring your own salt grains), here's my approach to a 1200km event (I'm up to 13 finishes):<br />
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<ul style="font-family: Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">Try to maintain 20kph (including stops) during the day.</li>
<ul><li class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">This is easy to calculate, even when tired.</li>
</ul><li class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">Keep stops short enough to keep on that schedule.<o:p></o:p></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">That gives me 6 hours in 24 for rest.</li>
<ul><li class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">18 hours x 20kph = 360km or 24 hours of brevet time.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">5 hours rest instead allows me to start with an hour in the bank.</li>
</ul><li class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">Don't panic if falling behind.</li>
<ul><li class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">I assume a shorter sleep break can fix.</li>
</ul><li class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">Be cognizant of the 10 hours extra time on return.</li>
<ul><li class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">Forgetting this can induce unnecessary panic (as it did on my DNF).</li>
</ul><li class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">Ok to settle for 15kph (including stops) during days 3-4.<o:p></o:p></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">Anything better than the 20kph/15kph is gravy. Stop for ice cream.<o:p></o:p></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">Did I mention already? Don't panic.</li>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">Looking over this, I can see why I almost always finish in about the same time (83-87 hours). My very few shorter times have generally come when I've only had 2 sleep breaks instead of 3.</span>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-83804868036683576122010-12-11T13:20:00.000-08:002010-12-11T13:20:13.352-08:00Fool<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Platzner Makes Fool out of Thomas in Media</span></b><br />
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Recently, in a (perhaps futile) effort to expand the appeal of the fringe sport of randonneuring, local club president Mark Thomas defended the sport against the charge that it was simply "cycling while sleep deprived." Mr. Thomas asserted to the Seattle PI that "sleep deprivation is not an inherent part of randonneuring." <a href="http://blog.seattlepi.com/velocity/archives/228172.asp">Article</a>.<br />
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In a deliberate attempt to embarrass the current leadership, Joe Platzner of renegade website <a href="http://bit.ly/do17fk">RandoLeaks</a> published not one, but two, all night rides, ostensibly to celebrate an invented holiday he calls Festivus. With plans to have "stupid fun" by "riding all night," Mr. Platzner actually encourages sleep deprivation on December 18th and/or December 21st.<br />
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Even the mainstream media was forced to take note, with the Seattle PI now printing that sleep deprivation "is definitely an intentional part of randonneuring events." <a href="http://blog.seattlepi.com/velocity/archives/231330.asp">Retraction</a>.<br />
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Worldwide reaction has been swift and derisive. Unable to defend itself in the court of public opinion, the SIR leadership has attempted to have RandoLeaks shut down and deprived of funding. Rumor has it, however, that this attempt has resulted in swift an furious retaliation, with hactivists shutting down Mr. Thomas's paypal account and preventing him from registering for future rides. It also appears that RandoLeaks has now raised vast sums through the <a href="http://subterraneanhomesickrandonneurblues.blogspot.com/2010/11/order-beer-glasses-by-dec-1st.html">sale of glasses</a> ironically used for Mr. Thomas's drink of choice.<br />
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More as this story develops.<br />
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Ed note: Further research has uncovered evidence that Mr. Platzner's vendetta against Mr. Thomas started long ago. Poisoning?!?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/TQPpNLJDl8I/AAAAAAAAE98/PeFj32CPIOE/s1600/4204394239_0a5e91a2e7_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/TQPpNLJDl8I/AAAAAAAAE98/PeFj32CPIOE/s320/4204394239_0a5e91a2e7_z.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-741285434346417642010-11-05T20:46:00.000-07:002010-11-05T20:46:14.213-07:00Out CollectingYesterday, I joined Alan Bell, Joe Platzner, and Ken Ward for a wonderful 200km permanent ride around Seattle. At a time of year when Seattle randonneurs can expect to ride in cold rain, the four of us instead enjoyed a gloriously warm and sunny day. At the finish, we celebrated Ken's successful completion of his <a href="http://www.rusa.org/award_r12.html">R-12</a> quest and I happily collected another nice randonneuring memory.<br />
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</div><div>My blog updates have been scarce since last summer, but not from any lack of riding. Although my motivation to write about randonneuring disappeared, my motivation to ride stayed strong as ever. In 2010, I've added quite a few gems to my collection of randonneur experiences. Looking back today, I see two grand randonnees, eleven other brevets, one populaire, and one fleche on my 2010 list of event finishes, matching exactly my totals for 2009. Along with a good collection of permanents, these made for a lot of nice days on the bike with good friends already this year. As is often the case for me, the standout additions to the collection in 2010 came from the longer rides. </div><div><br />
</div><div>In June, I traveled to Oregon for John Kramer's Oregon Blue Mountains 1000km brevet. I saw the OBM1000 as a rematch for his <a href="http://rusa64.blogspot.com/2009/06/sear-quickly-then-cook-slowly-until.html">XTR600</a> that nearly did me in the year before. Getting shelled out of the back of the pack within the first 10 miles put an early dampener on my hope for a triumphant return to central Oregon. With cooler temperatures than 2009, however, I manage to ride myself back into the ride. As with my <a href="http://rusa64.blogspot.com/2009/08/super-brevet-scandinavia-2009.html">Scandinavian adventure</a> in 2009, I felt better each day of the ride. By the third day, I was boasting on Facebook: "What else you got?! Clarno Climb? Bah! I killed it!" Although vicious headwinds turned the last 40 miles into a slogfest, I finished happily with Rick Blacker (SIR) and Karel Stroethoff (Montana) and the year's adventures were off to a great start.</div><div><br />
</div><div>July brought the opportunity to participate in the Hokkaido 1200, which would be the first RM 1200km brevet held in Asia. As a collector of rando doodads, I was quite eager to join this ride. It would give me the chance to be one of the first, if not the first, rider to earn an International Super Randoneur 1200 (4C) patch for collecting a 1200km ride from each of four different countries on four different continents. I had previously collected an ISR 1200 (3C) and an ISR 1200 (2C) and had a European and North American ride already collected towards this one.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Although not the most challenging or the most scenic 1200 in my collection, the Hokkaido 1200 may be the most unique. Some extraordinary help and generosity got me to the start line in Sapporo. David Thompson of Tokyo, whom I had met on his trip to Seattle in June to participate in the Cascade 1200, and his wife Tomoko rolled out the red carpet for us. Chris accompanied me to Japan and we had a lovely time touring Tokyo, Kyoto, and the Izu peninsula before she returned home and I headed north with David for the ride. I scarcely had to think about any logistics and could just show up and ride.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Before I had even left home, Toshio Muto, ride organizer, and Hiroshi Horikawa, my anglophone correspondent, had done everything possible to welcome me to the ride and to make me feel like an honored guest of Audax Japan Hokkaido. As it turned out, I was the sole rider from outside Japan. Despite the language barrier - my Japanese consisting solely of a vague ability to say hello or thank you while grinning enthusiastically - I felt immediately at home with the riders from AJH and elsewhere in Japan.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Careful work by the organizers and some advance GPS prep effort on my part kept me on course for the entire ride despite the mysterious (to me) cue sheet and indecipherable (to me) street signs. Staying fueled in a different culture proved to be no problem - great food was offered by the volunteers at the few manned controls, including the first octopus that I can recall consuming on a brevet. The other controls were at convenience stores (including the ubiquitous 7-11s) and I soon found a routine that worked for me - a coffee drink, a sports drink, water for the bottles, and onigiri. These seaweed-wrapped rice balls with mystery fillings (I couldn't read the labels) proved to be perfect ride food for me. I probably had at least 50 of them!</div><div><br />
</div><div>My friend Peter Donnan from Australia describes randonneuring as a sport where one can make up "lack of ability with lack of sleep." For various reasons, I only managed one good night's sleep on the ride - six comatose hours at about 850km. With little sleep, I collected the fastest 1200 time of my slow career - 76 hours, 34 minutes. An extraordinary adventure.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Back home, I rode very little until my next long event. A 200k permanent in California highlighted the two months between big rides. Chris and I took our bikes along when we drove our daughter to her first year in college in Southern California. On the way back we stopped to visit friends in Santa Cruz. While Chris went off mountain biking, I rode a bit with rando legends Lois Springsteen (current Randonneurs USA president and five-time PBP finisher) and Bill Bryant (prolific writer and historian of all things rando) and completed their hilly, scenic Skyline permanent.</div><div><br />
</div><div>The hill training of the Skyline permanent proved quite useful for my next long event - the pre-ride of a one-way 1000km brevet from Seattle to Crater Lake in Oregon (and on to Klamath Falls for train ride home). As a public service, Geoff Swarts, Vincent Muoneke, Kole Kantner, and I went out the week before the scheduled date of this brevet to take all the bad weather that might otherwise mar a great event. We had headwinds and hours and hours of torrential rains (whitecaps on the road?!?) to enjoy.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Having seen pictures of Crater Lake, one of the natural wonders of the world, I had eagerly anticipated the chance to make my first visit there and on a brevet, no less. After a difficult couple of days along the Washington and Oregon coasts, I almost didn't get going for the challenges of the last day of the ride. But Roseburg (Oregon) is a very long way from home and the 100 mile climb from there to the crater rim seemed like the best among various lousy options to get home. Happily for me, Vincent hung back with me for the long climb. His company proved a great counterweight to the disappointment of the day's weather. The crater was in the middle of a raincloud. No views of the lake were to be had. Indeed, I could barely see my front wheel. I could, however, see Vinny's ever-present smile, appearing Cheshire cat-like out of the mist. We regrouped with Geoff and Kole at the top for a long last 100km to the finish. (Happy postscript - the big group of riders the next weekend enjoyed fabulous weather and beautiful views on this terrific course).</div><div><br />
</div><div>Next up was Australia (I needed another continent, after all) for the fourth edition of the Perth-Albany-Perth 1200km brevet in Western Australia. I turned 50 in the company of great randonneuring friends in Perth before the ride. As I've noted before, one of the great joys of this sport for me has been the collection of friends from all over the world that I see over and over at these events. Nearly 90 riders made for a great field. Common overnight stops led to a very social ride. I saw riders that I knew from the US, Canada, the UK, and Sweden along with the many Australians that I've met on two prior riding visits to Australia (and at other rides).</div><div><br />
</div><div>Many things came together to make this a terrific 1200k for me. Nick Dale and his colleagues did an extraordinary job of organizing the ride. The weather was perfect for me - cool evenings and temperate days. Not a drop of rain (until our plane taxied off to the runway as I left Perth after the ride). Although I usually spend a fair amount of time riding alone (which I enjoy) on long rides, I rode nearly the whole ride in the company of other riders. In particular, I spent much of the ride with Greg Courtney (Iowa), Spencer Klaassen (Kansas City), Maile Neel (DC), and Jos Verstegen (Holland). In addition I rode the first night and most of the second day with Vincent and all of the last day with Peter Donnan (Melbourne), who had hosted me (and towed me in) at the <a href="http://rusa64.blogspot.com/2008/11/great-southern-randonee-2008.html"><span style="color: #3400ee; text-decoration: underline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Great Southern Randonnee</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> in 2008. Varied scenery and interesting wildlife added to the fun. (Some pictures of my ride can be found online - </span><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/SIR.RUSA64/PAP2010"><span style="color: #3400ee; text-decoration: underline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">mine</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">, </span><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/spencerklaassen/PerthAlbanyPerth1200#"><span style="color: #3400ee; text-decoration: underline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Spencer's</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">, </span><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mcn7/collections/72157624944886003/"><span style="color: #3400ee; text-decoration: underline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Maile's</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">, and </span><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/gwcourt/PerthAlbanyPerth1200K2010#"><span style="color: #3400ee; text-decoration: underline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Greg's</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">).</span></div><div style="font: 16.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 19.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>All in all, a wonderful collection of randonneur memories already in 2010. A great year. And I collected some new stickers for my luggage box too.<br />
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<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/TNSzBHET7PI/AAAAAAAAE5g/GN-ZUhuS3PA/s1600/Stickers2010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/TNSzBHET7PI/AAAAAAAAE5g/GN-ZUhuS3PA/s320/Stickers2010.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-70900751994564630512010-01-23T17:04:00.000-08:002010-01-23T17:04:51.904-08:005000 Kilometers BehindLast October , sitting on a train to California and feeling behind on my randonneur blog, I wrote <i>A Catch-Up Post.</i> Little did I know that it would be three months before I wrote another post. As someone commented recently, "isn't about time for a catch-up post to your catch-up post?" But I'm five thousand kilometers behind - that's a lot of catching up.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uWOCrW_bI/AAAAAAAACeI/Bz7aB9sJKic/s1600-h/Amtrak.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="194" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uWOCrW_bI/AAAAAAAACeI/Bz7aB9sJKic/s320/Amtrak.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Randonneurs are fond of joking that they ride for trinkets. I sure do. In the last three months, I've happily collected all sorts of doodads. An offhand comment from frequent riding companion Vincent Muoneke launched one quest. Vincent mentioned that he had earned his third 5000km RUSA distance medal. (He would subsequently earn another one and finish the year with over 22,000 RUSA km, an amazing record!). Having once been a bit of a math nerd and thinking of 15 as a nice triangular number, I figured that if I ever rode 15,000 RUSA kilometers, I'd want to commemorate the achievement with a full set - a 5000km medal, a 4000km medal, a 3000km medal, a 2000km medal, and a 1000km medal. Suddenly I had a distance goal for the rest of the year.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uRuPOjsoI/AAAAAAAACdA/gAi8UBIsmz0/s1600-h/The+Triangle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uRuPOjsoI/AAAAAAAACdA/gAi8UBIsmz0/s400/The+Triangle.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
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Along the way, I found all sorts of other blankets and baubles in my mailbox.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uRvWuJPZI/AAAAAAAACdI/RyZNLsq-39M/s1600-h/SR+Medal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uRvWuJPZI/AAAAAAAACdI/RyZNLsq-39M/s400/SR+Medal.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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A 2009 ACP Super Randonneur medal (for riders who complete a 200, 300, 400, and 600km brevet in one year),<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uUy9hoZpI/AAAAAAAACd0/pRuTx_jAZ5Q/s1600-h/SR+RUSA+Jersey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="386" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uUy9hoZpI/AAAAAAAACd0/pRuTx_jAZ5Q/s400/SR+RUSA+Jersey.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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a RUSA Super Randonneur jersey (for riders completing the same series of RUSA events),<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uUl8y4ajI/AAAAAAAACds/KEnbrdJ4P9Y/s1600-h/SR+PCH+Jersey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uUl8y4ajI/AAAAAAAACds/KEnbrdJ4P9Y/s400/SR+PCH+Jersey.jpg" width="338" /></a><br />
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a PCH Randonneurs Super Randonneur jersey (for riders completing the same series, with at least one of the events done with the PCH Randos in Southern California),<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uU_2u2VqI/AAAAAAAACd8/rtfZSms9D_U/s1600-h/LC1200+Jersey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uU_2u2VqI/AAAAAAAACd8/rtfZSms9D_U/s320/LC1200+Jersey.jpg" width="312" /></a><br />
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a Last Chance 1200 commemorative jersey (for the summer's party ride),<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uRyS-X3FI/AAAAAAAACdQ/NjnDD1A7bVY/s1600-h/ISR+Patch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uRyS-X3FI/AAAAAAAACdQ/NjnDD1A7bVY/s400/ISR+Patch.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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my second International Super Randonneurs patch (in this case for a ISR1200-3C - completion of a 1200km event in each of four different countries on three different continents),<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uSGh4VJkI/AAAAAAAACdY/jrR_TdMACKw/s1600-h/R-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uSGh4VJkI/AAAAAAAACdY/jrR_TdMACKw/s400/R-12.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
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my third R-12 medal (at least a 200km event in each of 12 consecutive months),<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uSITqYwNI/AAAAAAAACdg/q9pNAjWpiJs/s1600-h/Mondial.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="387" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uSITqYwNI/AAAAAAAACdg/q9pNAjWpiJs/s400/Mondial.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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and a beautiful new Randonneurs USA Mondial award globe (for RUSA lifetime achievement of at least 40,000 RUSA kilometers).<br />
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Of course, I really ride for the joy of the time on my bicycle, so it's more fun to recall the rides that generated the trinkets. The train ride to California in October took me to Salinas, the start of a one way 600km brevet down to Ventura/Oxnard with the PCH Randonneurs. Spectacular scenery, good company, lots of climbing early in the ride. Worth the trip.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uW0Rd5YzI/AAAAAAAACeY/NDXmgE7Zy4A/s1600-h/PCH600+Scenery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uW0Rd5YzI/AAAAAAAACeY/NDXmgE7Zy4A/s400/PCH600+Scenery.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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In December, I flew to Dallas to ride a 300km brevet with the Lone Star Randonneurs. Good friend and LSR RBA Dan Driscoll hosted me and took me out for a nice RUSA Permanent ride the day before the event. Having a local rider came in handy when looking for a place to stock up along the way.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uXJdpIbQI/AAAAAAAACeg/KImbFM2-am4/s1600-h/Texas+Scenery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uXJdpIbQI/AAAAAAAACeg/KImbFM2-am4/s320/Texas+Scenery.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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On the 300k, it was a treat to ride with many of the legendary Texas K-Hounds. A rite of passage for the local randonneurs is to complete 10,000 kilometers of randonneur events in a single year and get recognized as a K-Hound.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uWjEqAM1I/AAAAAAAACeQ/j4B8z2qOrXY/s1600-h/K-Hounds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uWjEqAM1I/AAAAAAAACeQ/j4B8z2qOrXY/s320/K-Hounds.jpg" /></a><br />
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On the 300km brevet, I rode with Dan and Mark Metcalfe, each of whom has had a 20,000 kilometer year, Gary Gottlieb (above right), who was on his way to his own 20,000 kilometer year, Val and Robin Phelps, both on their way to more than 15,000 kilometers for 2009, and Vickie Tyer (above left), a RAAM-qualified (at the 2009 Last Chance) K-Hound. In training for an upcoming 24-hour event, Mark was off the front early, but the rest of the group stuck together all day, building camaraderie by enduring chipseal, headwinds, and Val's jokes (that's him below, laughing at one of his own now).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1ucP6gMLDI/AAAAAAAACe8/EzAxb1IS-o8/s1600-h/Val.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1ucP6gMLDI/AAAAAAAACe8/EzAxb1IS-o8/s400/Val.jpg" width="255" /></a><br />
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In between and after these two out-of-town brevets, I rode nearly 4000 kilometers worth of local permanent events. Some were epic, like the all night ride in torrential rains to greet the arrival of the winter solstice. Some just good rides with food.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uXLmSmsCI/AAAAAAAACeo/KwDIPT3HS5s/s1600-h/Yummy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uXLmSmsCI/AAAAAAAACeo/KwDIPT3HS5s/s400/Yummy.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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And many, many were a chance to spend the day with good friends Vinny and Geoff, who are handy with a flat.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uXZMK1VII/AAAAAAAACew/ykWFMsygduQ/s1600-h/Vinny+%26+Geoff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="388" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/S1uXZMK1VII/AAAAAAAACew/ykWFMsygduQ/s400/Vinny+%26+Geoff.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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And I'll admit that a few fell into the "yeah, I've done this one before, but if I still want 15,000km . . . " category.<br />
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Looking forward to 2010.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div><span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-19261246716331986072009-10-16T13:42:00.000-07:002009-10-16T13:42:16.487-07:00A Catch-Up Post<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">The longer I go after posting to this blog, the harder it is to get started again. So here's a bit of a catch-up for the last three weeks.</span><br />
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<b>Mount St Helens</b><br />
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After flying high with a fun <a href="http://rusa64.blogspot.com/2009/09/party-on-plains.html">1200k brevet</a> on the plains and a fastest-ever <a href="http://rusa64.blogspot.com/2009/09/something-different.html">200k permanent</a>, I came crashing back to earth. In Icarean fashion, it was a too much ascent that caused the big descent. On a Wednesday (9/23) a collection of usual permanents suspects met in Winlock for a permanent up to Johnston Ridge Observatory on Mount St. Helens (and back). For years, I've meant to do the organized Tour de Blast ride, but somehow never got around to it. Geoff's Winlock-MSH-Winlock permanent wraps the same climbing in another 40 or so miles of gentle rollers to get the magic 200k distance for the permanent.<br />
<br />
My performance peak came early as I staved off a convenience store stop in Castle Rock with a timely spotting of an espresso serving bakery. After that, it was a bit of an ugly-fest for the rest of the way up to Johnston Ridge. I augmented my usual climbing prowess with a series of rookie mistakes - not enough sleep, not enough food, not enough hydration, and starting the climb too hard. The 4000 foot climb to Johnston Ridge is interrupted by a 1500 foot down hill, making it more like a 5500 foot climb (somehow the whole route was 9000 feet of climbing). By the time I reached the top I was a bit of a wreck.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/StiYAgpVcPI/AAAAAAAACOE/Hw0syqnn2pg/s1600/MUT+MSH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/StiYAgpVcPI/AAAAAAAACOE/Hw0syqnn2pg/s320/MUT+MSH.jpg" /></a><br />
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But it was a beautiful course with great views of the mountain, so it was a good day anyway. More than 50% more elapsed time than the last 200k (nearly 12 hours total), so back to normal!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/StjXYGuLY7I/AAAAAAAACQ4/PCmMeWi1WOw/s1600-h/MSH+Close.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/StjXYGuLY7I/AAAAAAAACQ4/PCmMeWi1WOw/s400/MSH+Close.JPG" /></a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/StjXarKh0YI/AAAAAAAACRI/jBoTep0Qbfo/s1600-h/MSH+Map.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/StjXarKh0YI/AAAAAAAACRI/jBoTep0Qbfo/s320/MSH+Map.jpg" /></a><br />
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<b>Barlow Trail</b><br />
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The next order of business (Saturday, 9/23) would be the Barlow Trail 300k put on by the Oregon Randonneurs. Michael Wolfe, who has recently moved from Portland to Seattle, created this route, pre-rode it during the summer, and then had to postpone the event because of record heat. (Warmer, even, than that I enjoyed on the <a href="http://rusa64.blogspot.com/2009/06/sear-quickly-then-cook-slowly-until.html">XTR</a>.) Somewhat humbled by my torturous ascent of Mount St. Helens, I asked Michael about the climbing on this ride. "I'm not gonna lie to you, this is a challenging ride" was not really the reassurance that I sought. My usual riding buddies were iffy as well. Geoff thought that some rest would be a good idea. Vincent was about to leave for the Endless Mountains 1240. Might good sense prevail? Not likely - there was a ride to do. As Geoff's e-mail put it, "Sanity is overrated; suffering is temporary; I’ll be there." So Friday, Geoff, Vincent, Michael, and I are carpooling to Portland. Well, to Sandy, OR, where the ride would start.<br />
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The ride was spectacular. Michael was right, it was challenging, but the suffering was modest. We followed the Clackamas River upstream in the morning.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/StjYEjVt8fI/AAAAAAAACRQ/DZP8JCcRxrc/s1600-h/Clackamas+Morning.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/StjYEjVt8fI/AAAAAAAACRQ/DZP8JCcRxrc/s400/Clackamas+Morning.JPG" /></a><br />
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We left the river to climb through the forest on some delightful roads.<br />
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One in particular was made all the more delightful by a relative lack of traffic. The paucity of cars could be attributed to the fact that instead of a bridge over Anvil Creek, the road simply ended on one side and restarted on the others. No problem for intrepid randonneurs, but not so good for cars.<br />
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We screamed downhill towards Maupin and the Deschutes River. Without the incinerator heat present on my only other trip to Maupin (on XTR), the town seemed quite pleasant. I even felt like eating this time. Geoff and Vincent joined me for a nice sit-down lunch. As with the XTR, we left Maupin for a stretch downriver and upwind along the Deschutes.<br />
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A familiar climb brought us out of the river to Tygh Valley. The painful, guardrail-sit inducing, never-ending climb up Tygh Ridge from the XTR was not on this route. Instead we headed for Wamic Market, climbing out of the valley on a different road.<br />
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After fueling up at the market, we headed into the hills on the Barlow Road Route towards Barlow Pass.<br />
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We felt pretty good on this stretch and climbed well.<br />
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It was dark when we reached the summit and then descended and climbed to the last control in a chilly Government Camp. At this point I was acutely aware of my mistake - forgetting my arm and knee warmers - so I begged for a soup stop before going on. The tomato soup at the Ice Axe Grill did the trick. After donning every item of clothing I had with me, including my always-carried but seldom-used Gore jacket, we zipped down the hill to pizza and beer at the finish in Sandy.<br />
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A great ride. Glad I didn't miss it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/StjYdexZKMI/AAAAAAAACSQ/I_7BxKq7xBg/s1600-h/Barlow+Map.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/StjYdexZKMI/AAAAAAAACSQ/I_7BxKq7xBg/s400/Barlow+Map.jpg" /></a><br />
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<br />
<b>Watching a Race</b><br />
<br />
The following weekend brought something different. Bob Brudvik and I headed down to Southern California to crew for SIR member Chris Ragsdale on the <a href="http://www.the508.com/2009web/">Furnace Creek 508</a> ultramarathon cycling race. Being in the crew van gave us a front row seat for Chris's impressive win over rival (and winner of the last three FC508s) Michael Emde. The FC508 bills itself as “The Toughest 48 hours in Sport” with a race course that is 509.58 miles long and has a total elevation gain of over 35,000′, while crossing ten mountain passes, and stretching from Santa Clarita (just north of Los Angeles), across the Mojave Desert, through Death Valley, to Twenty Nine Palms. An already difficult event was made even more challenging this year by DNF-inducing winds gusting to 60mph+ (and not tailwinds, either!). <br />
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<b>Sunrise</b><br />
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Watching a race is all well and good, I suppose, but I needed a ride. Happily Geoff was game for a weekday ride up to Mt Rainier on the Sunrise Climb permanent from Black Diamond. A picture is worth a thousand words.<br />
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A wonderful day.<br />
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</div>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-86009879123650103242009-09-20T17:44:00.000-07:002009-09-20T21:29:58.116-07:00Something DifferentI'm not known for speed. In 2002, some SIR riders and visiting riders got together to carpool in a small caravan from Seattle to the Rocky Mountain 1200 in British Columbia. I warned the other driver that some regrouping might be necessary because, as I put it, "I drive kinda slowly." Greg Cox heard this and exclaimed, "Geez, don't tell me you drive that way too!" Not much has changed in the years since.<div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Srb_Gg_0IeI/AAAAAAAABLc/APN3jfuld54/s1600-h/Follow+the+Valleys.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 117px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Srb_Gg_0IeI/AAAAAAAABLc/APN3jfuld54/s200/Follow+the+Valleys.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383770891969896930" /></a>Fresh off my <a href="http://rusa64.blogspot.com/2009/09/party-on-plains.html">dawdling ride</a> of the Last Chance 1200, yet oddly emboldened by how good I felt on and after the ride, I suggested to my fast friends Bob Brudvik and Robin Pieper that we go out this weekend and ride a 200km permanent for speed. We picked the <a href="http://permanents.seattlerando.org/2007/01/0085-three-rivers-cruise.html">Three Rivers Cruise</a>, a relatively flat (3000ft according to my Garmin), but still scenic, ride and we lucked into a beautiful day.</div><div><br /></div><div>We rode three versions of a fast paceline throughout the ride: Bob pulling Robin pulling me, Robin pulling Bob pulling me, and Robin and Bob side by side pulling me. To be fair, I think I may have been in front for a kilometer, early in the ride. So call me the Sandy Pittman of the ride, short-roped to the finish. They pulled when I could hang on and they slowed when I drifted off the back. Very generous.</div><div><br /></div><div>And it worked. We finished in 7:30. (Elapsed time was actually 7:25, but we started 5 minutes past our scheduled start time. Knocked 1:05 off my <a href="http://rusa64.blogspot.com/2007/07/chinook-pass-200km.html">previous best 200km</a> time. We averaged 30km/hr for the 6:40 that we were on the bike. Absolutely outrageous. It may take me longer to recover from today's ride than from the Last Chance 1200km. </div><div><br /></div><div>As a footnote, today's ride pushed my total randonneur event distance for the year to 11,604km, another personal record (I rode 11,541km in 2007). What a fun year it's been!</div><div><br /></div><div>The riders in Marblemount:</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Srb8vSQp2BI/AAAAAAAABKs/Bk0HygcI1Cw/s1600-h/P1000512.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Srb8vSQp2BI/AAAAAAAABKs/Bk0HygcI1Cw/s400/P1000512.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383768293853747218" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Srb8v3qyY5I/AAAAAAAABK0/vfAFEi9DuFI/s1600-h/P1000513.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Srb8v3qyY5I/AAAAAAAABK0/vfAFEi9DuFI/s400/P1000513.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383768303895470994" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Srb8wWkkr9I/AAAAAAAABK8/YkMtPduZGKA/s1600-h/P1000514.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Srb8wWkkr9I/AAAAAAAABK8/YkMtPduZGKA/s400/P1000514.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383768312190906322" /></a>The bikes in Day Creek. Guess whose bike has the most stuff on it?</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Srb-rvontfI/AAAAAAAABLU/kbWpbDUQ4wA/s1600-h/P1000515.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Srb-rvontfI/AAAAAAAABLU/kbWpbDUQ4wA/s400/P1000515.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383770432042677746" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Srb-rAq6KaI/AAAAAAAABLM/9qiClCu5BJE/s1600-h/P1000517.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Srb-rAq6KaI/AAAAAAAABLM/9qiClCu5BJE/s400/P1000517.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383770419435809186" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Srb-qasp4OI/AAAAAAAABLE/SnqzCjq77UE/s1600-h/P1000518.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Srb-qasp4OI/AAAAAAAABLE/SnqzCjq77UE/s400/P1000518.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383770409242583266" /></a>Speed graph and map from Garmin.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Srb_as9yZuI/AAAAAAAABLs/lLQdJ-2qvfM/s1600-h/20090920+Speed.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 163px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Srb_as9yZuI/AAAAAAAABLs/lLQdJ-2qvfM/s400/20090920+Speed.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383771238780004066" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Srb_aYFbWjI/AAAAAAAABLk/ArlAr4BO1uo/s1600-h/20090920+Map.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 338px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Srb_aYFbWjI/AAAAAAAABLk/ArlAr4BO1uo/s400/20090920+Map.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383771233174903346" /></a><br /><br /></div>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-36964705446993849792009-09-14T09:12:00.000-07:002009-09-17T07:54:43.240-07:00Party on the Plains<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Reader note: If you are seeking an epic tale of rando suffering, you'll need to look elsewhere. Looking for a story of one lonely randonneur fighting time cutoffs, sleep deprivation, relentless hills, and epic weather? Move along.</span></span><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></i></div><div><i>"You're going to Colorado for a 1200k? Wow. That will be scenic. And difficult."</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>"Well, actually we're starting east of the mountains and heading further east into the plains."</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>"Oh. [Long pause]. Um, why?"</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>"Because I've never been to Kansas?"</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrHGoJLEN0I/AAAAAAAABFU/sElRCfmo4Nw/s1600-h/Last+Chance+2009-136.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrHGoJLEN0I/AAAAAAAABFU/sElRCfmo4Nw/s400/Last+Chance+2009-136.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382301422643853122" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrHGpi2vzFI/AAAAAAAABFs/pL8tFMIQIXA/s1600-h/LC+Map.jpg"></a></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrHGpi2vzFI/AAAAAAAABFs/pL8tFMIQIXA/s1600-h/LC+Map.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 162px; " src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrHGpi2vzFI/AAAAAAAABFs/pL8tFMIQIXA/s400/LC+Map.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382301446717819986" /></a><br /></div><div>In truth, Kansas never exerted much of a pull. I'm just drawn moth-like to the flames of these 1200k events. Each brings some unique adventure and a group of old and new friends with whom to share it. Colorado's Rocky Mountain Cycling Club's <a href="http://www.rmccrides.com/lastchance.htm">Last Chance 1200k</a> would be my eighth different 1200. Even the repeated 1200s have offered a different experience each time. Variations in the scenery, in the terrain, in the local culture, in the rider field, in my fitness, in the weather, in my approach, and in a multitude of other factors yield vastly different stories for each 1200.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrHGoagDHUI/AAAAAAAABFc/-hRgzcFBeg0/s1600-h/LC+Elevation+v+Distance.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 219px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrHGoagDHUI/AAAAAAAABFc/-hRgzcFBeg0/s400/LC+Elevation+v+Distance.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382301427295264066" /></a><br /></div><div>For me, the theme of the 2009 Last Chance 1200 would be to relax and enjoy the party. With relatively friendly terrain, the event is only as difficult as the weather makes it. I had heard stories of riders seeking shelter from near-tornado conditions, of soaking rains, and of wicked winds. The possibility of high temperatures frightened me as well; as I was reminded on John Kramer's <a href="http://rusa64.blogspot.com/2009/06/sear-quickly-then-cook-slowly-until.html">XTR 600k</a> earlier this year, heat is not my friend. But the weather gods would smile benignly on my ride. Temperatures ranged from upper 40s to 80 (F), well within the comfort range of my SIR blue wool jerseys. Rain fell only on part of the last day of my ride and was relatively light - more Seattle misting than diluvian soaking. Winds blew weakly when head-on and from the sides when strong.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Wednesday - 250 miles to Atwood</i></div><div><br /></div><div>At an astonishingly early time of 3AM, 36 riders headed off in the dark towards Kansas. About half that group held together to the first control in Byers, Colorado. In contrast to the confusing cue sheet of my last 1200 in Scandinavia, the Last Chance cue sheet was a model of simplicity. Only the first 70 miles and the last 100 miles had turns. The 580 miles in between were a giant out-and-back on US-36. The only good opportunity to get lost and accrue bonus miles came in the dark on the first day on the way to Byers. As a result, many of us saw the wisdom in staying with a big group that included the ride organizer, John Lee Ellis.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrHFI5fX6AI/AAAAAAAABFE/69XzSKxr9l0/s1600-h/Last+Chance+2009-123.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrHFI5fX6AI/AAAAAAAABFE/69XzSKxr9l0/s400/Last+Chance+2009-123.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382299786346489858" /></a><br /></div><div>I worked harder than planned to stay with this well-guided group and dropped off the back just before Byers as the sun came up. Super-volunteer Eric Simmons had brought a truckful of breakfast burritos for the riders.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrHFJkglOQI/AAAAAAAABFM/lS2JiQwdaBw/s1600-h/Last+Chance+2009-124.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrHFJkglOQI/AAAAAAAABFM/lS2JiQwdaBw/s400/Last+Chance+2009-124.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382299797894281474" /></a><div><br /></div><div>The remaining 180 miles of the first day passed uneventfully. I rode with a shifting group of riders in about the third quartile of the field, sticking to my plan to stop at every possible source of nourishment from Colorado into Kansas and to enjoy the scenery(?).</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrHKUoReobI/AAAAAAAABGc/nvHWg8o4cV4/s1600-h/Last+Chance+2009-130.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrHKUoReobI/AAAAAAAABGc/nvHWg8o4cV4/s400/Last+Chance+2009-130.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382305485441376690" /></a><br /></div><div>Along the way, Paul Rozelle was corrupted by the ride-for-fun posse and abandoned his plan to qualify for RAAM (again, but this time on fixed gear). Sharon and Vickie from Texas were incorruptible and did ultimately qualify for RAAM. I rolled into Atwood with Paul, Bill Olsen (on his 4th 1200 of 2009), the Florida tandem of Alain Abbate and Viktoriya Shundrovskaya, and their fellow Floridian Hamid Akbarian. Setting a tone for the rest of the ride, Paul, Bill, and I stopped first at the convenience store for some tall cans of 3.2 beer.</div><div><br /></div><div>Charlie Henderson (RUSA #6) and Jim Kraychy manned the Atwood control and doled out pizza and room assignments. The no-rush plan firmly established, we opted for a 7+ hour stop and a 3AM departure.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Thursday - 220 miles to Kensington and back</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Bill, Hamid, the two Pauls (Paul Rozelle was joined by Paul Shapiro), and I rode into the pre-dawn fog with a morning plan that would repeat itself for the rest of the ride. Pre-departure snack, ride to sit-down breakfast in next town, arrive in next town to find eatery closed, curse and grumble, ride on to next town, and finally enjoy a wonderful breakfast in the second town. On Thursday, we landed in the Town & Country Kitchen in Norton, Kansas, where a kindly waitress brought piles of food, pitchers of water, and bottomless coffee cups.</div><div><br /></div><div>Riding 60 miles before breakfast put us more than halfway to the turnaround point of the ride in Kensington, Kansas. With one relatively brief stop in Phillipsburg, we arrived at Kensington just after noon. It was 11:20 by my watch, so I was disappointed to discover that the post office was closed for lunch. I would have to deposit the ceremonial postcard in the mailbox rather than handing it to postmistress Beverly. Absent any spatial navigation challenges in the Kansas part of the ride, we contented ourselves with temporal confusion arising from keeping official "ride time" (Mountain) on our watches, while the locals went about their business on Central time.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrHED1iySII/AAAAAAAABEg/siy_CQgVips/s1600-h/Last+Chance+2009-147.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrHED1iySII/AAAAAAAABEg/siy_CQgVips/s400/Last+Chance+2009-147.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382298599876085890" /></a><br /></div><div>A nice surprise offset the disappointment of the closed post office. As we rolled down the main street of Kensington, I spied a familiar looking flash of blue. A pedestrian sporting a blue wool Seattle Randonneurs jersey? How was that possible? Well, SIR's own Guy Oldfield has a place in the next county and came out to man a table covered with pie and other goodies. A welcome sight.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrHD1AHMiTI/AAAAAAAABEY/x10FYn8rINM/s1600-h/Last+Chance+2009-142.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrHD1AHMiTI/AAAAAAAABEY/x10FYn8rINM/s400/Last+Chance+2009-142.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382298345015118130" /></a><div><br />Heading back west, the morning's light headwind became a happy tailwind blowing us quickly to lunch back in Phillipsburg. At the town's fine sandwich establishment, a Subway, we fueled up for the 90-odd mile return trip to Atwood. Also patronizing the Subway were SIR's Ian Shopland and the Colorado tandem team of Beth and Brent Myers. Our six single bikes and two tandems would ride most of the way back to Atwood more or less together, interrupted by stops in Norton and Oberlin.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the dark on the final stretch, the unintelligible but unmistakably angry screams of a parked eastbound trucker interrupted the night's stillness. We shrugged it off and continued back to Atwood. Paul, Paul, and Bill stopped off at the convenience store for more yummy 3.2 beer, a somewhat inopportune mission, as they were greeted by the local sheriff investigating a 911 complaint of cyclists all over the road. Our 18-wheeler driving friend was apparently quite unhappy to share the relatively deserted road with any 2-wheelers, even those traveling the other way. With two lawyers among the three riders in the store, not much happened and we were soon again enjoying pizza and beer and the luxury of 12 hours "in the bank" (up from 10 when we arrived in Atwood the previous evening). We made a plan for another 3AM departure and headed off to bed.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><i>Friday - 180 miles from Atwood to Byers</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Deja vu all over again. Although the cook could be seen in the window, the diner in Bird City was still closed when we arrived for breakfast. So, on to St. Francis, another 15 miles. A desperate inquiry in the local convenience store yields a recommendation that we stop for breakfast at the bowling alley, of all places. To our surprise and delight, breakfast was delicious. Closed lanes squelched the thought of a bowling a frame or two for dessert.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrG-xVfEr-I/AAAAAAAABEA/MzJ2EUelmHo/s1600-h/Last+Chance+2009-157.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrG-xVfEr-I/AAAAAAAABEA/MzJ2EUelmHo/s400/Last+Chance+2009-157.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382292784474796002" /></a><br /></div><div>Soon we were back in Colorado and greeted by brisk winds. Happily, they were mostly crosswinds. Spreading across the road in semi-organized echelons with the strongest riders on the wind side, we made good progress through the winds. Too much fun at ever more frequent stops proved the more serious impediment to forward progress. Stop 14 miles past St Francis at state line for photos? Check. Stop 14 miles later at Idalia control for snacks and ice and nice conversation with the friendly store clerk? Check. Stop 24 miles later in the town of Joes for photos and to make "eat-at-joes" jokes? Check. Stop 11 miles later in Cope for soup and sandwiches in the nice little cafe in the store? Check. Stop 20 miles later at the Anton store control for refreshments including beer? Check.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrG-x0eTjHI/AAAAAAAABEI/qwUqAiAd0qw/s1600-h/Last+Chance+2009-161.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrG-x0eTjHI/AAAAAAAABEI/qwUqAiAd0qw/s400/Last+Chance+2009-161.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382292792793074802" /></a><br /></div><div>The group of riders with which I would finish the ride had coalesced by now. Hamid, Ian, the two Pauls, and I proved to be quite compatible. With some trepidation we left the Anton store for the 55 miles leading to the third overnight. Our sense of dread about the rollers and net elevation gain between Anton and Byers (back up to 5000ft) proved unwarranted as we powered through this section feeling great. Along the way, I noted a comment posted online by Amy Pieper back home - "Where is the suffering?" Apparently it would have to wait for another day.</div><div><br /></div><div>Arriving in the daylight a bit after 7pm meant that we had nearly 26 hours to ride the last 100 miles to the finish. Many riders saw personal best times in reach or were simple eager to get the ride done; they planned short sleeps and early departures. We had other ideas. Over a delicious dinner of corn chowder, grilled sandwiches, pasta salad, cold beer, and other goodies served up by Eric Simmons and Bobbe Foliart, we argued and negotiated over just how late in the morning we could leave. The compromise reached was not to wait for breakfast to open in Byers, but instead to leave at 5am and seek breakfast 34 miles up the road in Prospect Valley. Surely we could get enough sleep with a 9+ hour overnight stop, a luxury previously unknown to me in my 12 years of riding brevets.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Saturday - 100 miles to the finish</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Groundhog Day! We reached the Sodbuster Cafe in Prospect Valley only to be greeted by a sign: "6am - 2pm Mon-Friday - Weekend open soon." Aaargh! Off we rode to the next town, but only eight miles this day. In Keenesburg, we found yet another wonderful breakfast at the Korner Kitchen restaurant.</div><div><br /></div><div>Just out of town after breakfast we rode headlong into the first real drama of the ride. All pretty experienced riders, we would know better than to say "wow, no flats" and thus taunt the tire gods. A reasonable corollary rule would be to avoid any statement like the previous night's "Sure we can spend 9 hours at the overnight. We'll have 16 hours to ride the last 100 miles. It would take a catastophic failure for that to be a problem." A mile past Keenesburg we noticed Ian's wheel out of true. An experienced bike mechanic, Ian found some loose spokes and looked for a broken one or other signs of damage. Instead we spotted this:</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrG-yYAgF7I/AAAAAAAABEQ/BpHdyYgYHNs/s1600-h/Last+Chance+2009-171.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrG-yYAgF7I/AAAAAAAABEQ/BpHdyYgYHNs/s400/Last+Chance+2009-171.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382292802331744178" /></a><br /></div><div>Uh-oh. Cracked hub?!? We could feel pretty foolish now for tempting "catastrophic failure," but putting our ride-fried heads together we formulated a plan. First, we added the ziptie seen in the picture in hopes of retarding the progress of the crack. Then we called ride central back in Louisville to inform them of our trouble and to beg for some help. John Lee Ellis, who had finished much earlier (around midnight), offered to bring a replacement rear wheel to the next control in Platteville. Ian rode as gingerly as possible towards Platteville to meet him.</div><div><br /></div><div>Outside of Platteville we encountered rain that would stay with us for the rest of the ride. Not particularly substantial, it did give me an excuse to put on a few extra items that I had carried unused for 700 miles - wool headband, toe covers, overmitts, etc. (I did keep the raincoat safe and dry in my bag.) The rain also gave us an excuse for a long lunch stop at the cafe in the control. Finally at 2:45pm, barely the worse for wear, we showed up at the finish at John Lee's house. Not the most scenic or challenging 1200 I'd ever done, but certainly one of the most fun.</div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrG83lCyznI/AAAAAAAABDg/Py0xTJ8qsYY/s1600-h/Last+Chance+2009-174.jpg"></a><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrG83lCyznI/AAAAAAAABDg/Py0xTJ8qsYY/s1600-h/Last+Chance+2009-174.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrG83lCyznI/AAAAAAAABDg/Py0xTJ8qsYY/s400/Last+Chance+2009-174.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382290692707110514" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Paul Shapiro, Ian Shopland, me, Hamid Akbarian, Paul Rozell</span></i>e</div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrG83DFNz8I/AAAAAAAABDY/XM5iipMhSwI/s1600-h/Last+Chance+2009-175.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrG83DFNz8I/AAAAAAAABDY/XM5iipMhSwI/s400/Last+Chance+2009-175.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382290683590463426" /></a><br /><div>Postscript: My ride wouldn't be complete without a nerdy time-motion study courtesy of my Garmin 705 GPS. The GPS was aided on the Last Chance by my latest gizmo, the V4 power pack and universal cable from PedalPower+ in Australia. Using the PedalPower+ stuff, I ran the GPS continuously for 84 hours. Attaching the cable (with appropriate adapter tip) between my hub and the GPS charged the GPS during the day. At night the generator powered my light and the GPS ran off its internal battery. The cable could also charge the power pack allowing the stored energy also to be used to recharge a phone etc. Very nice setup.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrHGpFpTiRI/AAAAAAAABFk/xMln66ZC5HQ/s1600-h/Progress+Chart.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 277px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrHGpFpTiRI/AAAAAAAABFk/xMln66ZC5HQ/s400/Progress+Chart.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382301438876813586" /></a><br /></div><div><i>More photos from the ride are </i><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/SIR.RUSA64/LastChance12002009#slideshow"><i>here</i></a><i>.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrHK-WT-JUI/AAAAAAAABG4/oSzojfQlOqs/s1600-h/Last+Chance+2009-165.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SrHK-WT-JUI/AAAAAAAABG4/oSzojfQlOqs/s400/Last+Chance+2009-165.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382306202174498114" /></a></div>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-68146542021132872822009-09-05T10:52:00.000-07:002009-09-05T13:31:10.879-07:00Less Traveled<span style="font-style:italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div><br /></div>THE SNOW LEVEL WILL FALL TO AROUND 6000 FEET BY SUNDAY... AND ONE TO TWO FEET OF NEW SNOW IS EXPECTED TO FALL ABOVE THE SNOW LEVEL.</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKs3tTUToI/AAAAAAAAAqI/RwT-Z1Sopmo/s1600-h/P1000380.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKs3tTUToI/AAAAAAAAAqI/RwT-Z1Sopmo/s400/P1000380.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378050978087194242" /></a><br />With the weekend forecast looking decidedly non-summer-y, I thought that sneaking up the back roads to Stevens Pass on Friday sounded like a good idea. So did Lyn Gill, Michael Huber, Jeff Loomis, Vincent Muoneke, who joined me at Duvall for the ride.<div><br /></div><div>Earlier this summer, Geoff Swarts had created an up-and-back 200km permanent to Stevens Pass. From just before Skykomish up to the summit, sections of the old highway are still open and make a nice alternative to US-2. Along with the back road from Gold Bar to the control at Index, these sections provide a wonderful diversion from the highway.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKs5MhpeEI/AAAAAAAAAqg/-0iHs9QUjeM/s1600-h/P1000394.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKs5MhpeEI/AAAAAAAAAqg/-0iHs9QUjeM/s400/P1000394.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378051003648669762" /></a><br />First we left the highway before the narrow tunnel and crossed the river toward the Money Creek campground for the back way around Skykomish.<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKti-4jQrI/AAAAAAAAAqo/7V6FbgMjzGw/s1600-h/P1000398.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKti-4jQrI/AAAAAAAAAqo/7V6FbgMjzGw/s400/P1000398.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378051721541141170" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKtjuDZP9I/AAAAAAAAAqw/kBZAd1-OnJA/s1600-h/P1000401.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKtjuDZP9I/AAAAAAAAAqw/kBZAd1-OnJA/s400/P1000401.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378051734203088850" /></a><br />After Skykomish and before Scenic, there is a lovely and well maintained section of the Old Cascade Highway. Although it provides access to the Iron Goat Trail, we saw only two or three cars, one of which was parked.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKwDfnFnYI/AAAAAAAAArQ/4Ay118xJsEg/s1600-h/P1000416.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKwDfnFnYI/AAAAAAAAArQ/4Ay118xJsEg/s400/P1000416.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378054479105334658" /></a><br />After rejoining the highway for a very short stretch, we left for the section of the Old Cascade Highway that loops up over the railroad tunnel and heads for the summit. A bridge on this old road is gone, replaced by this lovely wooden structure too narrow for cars. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKtkrtWMlI/AAAAAAAAArA/WQQsjf7AG6A/s1600-h/P1000407.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKtkrtWMlI/AAAAAAAAArA/WQQsjf7AG6A/s400/P1000407.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378051750753612370" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKtkKu5LAI/AAAAAAAAAq4/UoDefPs81H0/s1600-h/P1000406.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKtkKu5LAI/AAAAAAAAAq4/UoDefPs81H0/s400/P1000406.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378051741901728770" /></a><br />Although vehicles can access the road from either end, the lack of through access means very little traffic on a lovely road up to the summit. We saw one car and used the whole road.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKwCwMVqFI/AAAAAAAAArI/wy0933-4W9A/s1600-h/P1000414.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKwCwMVqFI/AAAAAAAAArI/wy0933-4W9A/s400/P1000414.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378054466376673362" /></a><br /></div><div>Of course, there was espresso. At Vinaccio in Sultan on the way up.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKs4jl1t1I/AAAAAAAAAqY/AyebtYkF9NA/s1600-h/P1000392.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKs4jl1t1I/AAAAAAAAAqY/AyebtYkF9NA/s400/P1000392.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378050992660395858" /></a><br />And lunch. At Skykomish Deli on the way down.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKwESahj7I/AAAAAAAAArg/pjnZxdBJgF8/s1600-h/P1000422.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKwESahj7I/AAAAAAAAArg/pjnZxdBJgF8/s400/P1000422.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378054492742848434" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKwDwfylmI/AAAAAAAAArY/lpg0dqUz1r8/s1600-h/P1000420.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqKwDwfylmI/AAAAAAAAArY/lpg0dqUz1r8/s400/P1000420.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378054483638130274" /></a><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqLJSrbef5I/AAAAAAAAAro/x2n4Wq6VVzA/s1600-h/Route.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 162px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqLJSrbef5I/AAAAAAAAAro/x2n4Wq6VVzA/s400/Route.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378082227766591378" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqLJTWYWMzI/AAAAAAAAArw/cccdSF_M64k/s1600-h/Elevation+Profile.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 141px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqLJTWYWMzI/AAAAAAAAArw/cccdSF_M64k/s400/Elevation+Profile.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378082239296189234" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqLJT52rSjI/AAAAAAAAAr4/exZrc6da910/s1600-h/Speed+Chart.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 140px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SqLJT52rSjI/AAAAAAAAAr4/exZrc6da910/s400/Speed+Chart.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378082248818641458" /></a>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-86762755093347170692009-09-02T15:01:00.000-07:002009-09-02T15:58:27.504-07:00Maintaining my figure"With all your riding, shouldn't you be a lot lighter?" A simple question, as my roommate at PAC Tour Desert Camp this spring tries to reconcile my stories of randonneuring with their Clydesdale-ish teller.<div><br /></div><div>Probably so, I guess. But I really like to eat. Yesterday Amy and Robin Pieper joined me for a 200km permanent (<a href="http://permanents.seattlerando.org/2008/12/pending-little-arlington-mambo.html">#624</a>) that loops from Arlington up to Bellingham and back. The Piepers claimed not to have been riding but were quite speedy.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sp7zhJocKQI/AAAAAAAAApw/lee0TPEpwT0/s1600-h/P1000365.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sp7zhJocKQI/AAAAAAAAApw/lee0TPEpwT0/s400/P1000365.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377002755973720322" /></a><div><br /></div><div>After 45 kilometers, we stop in the control town of Sedro Wooley at a bakery cafe. I order an apple fritter larger than my head to go with my latte. The clerk hands me the fritter in a bag, then realizes that we are planning to sit and eat. She puts the fritter on a plate but gives me the bag anyway. "No one finishes those; you'll need the bag." I didn't.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.mamboitalianocafe.com/welcome.html"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 126px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sp7zgfAnPTI/AAAAAAAAApo/9aT7rPRg46s/s400/Mambo-art.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377002744532385074" /></a><br /></div><div>In Bellingham, we met Dan Turner for lunch at the Mambo Italiano Cafe. I have the spaghetti carbonara, a caesar salad, a pint of Mac & Jacks, and bread and olive oil while waiting. After the meal, Robin gets the check. I look over his shoulder. Nearly half the bill for our party of four is for my stuff.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sp7zhRUW12I/AAAAAAAAAp4/rF4dzdEQ4Bw/s1600-h/Mambo.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 312px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sp7zhRUW12I/AAAAAAAAAp4/rF4dzdEQ4Bw/s400/Mambo.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377002758036969314" /></a><br /></div><div>A lovely, scenic 200 kilometer ride with nice views along Lake Whatcom and Chuckanut Drive consumes 9900 calories according to my GPS. The Garmin provides a wealth of information, but it doesn't provide a net calorie reading. If it only knew what was happening during those zero kph pauses.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sp7zhyRxO-I/AAAAAAAAAqA/uXtYMrK5Ong/s1600-h/Mambo+Chart.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 132px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sp7zhyRxO-I/AAAAAAAAAqA/uXtYMrK5Ong/s400/Mambo+Chart.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377002766884486114" /></a>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-82233082802371553542009-08-30T15:27:00.000-07:002009-08-30T15:45:48.516-07:00Nice Day<div style="text-align: left;">Simple pleasures. 200 kilometer Hood Canal Loop permanent. Good riding companions. Coffee en route. Ice cream in Hoodsport. Beer at the end. Early rain yielding to sun.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Spr-i3g_nvI/AAAAAAAAAow/c9AE6StQFiM/s400/Pre-Ride+Coffee.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375888980191452914" />Pre-ride coffee - Seattle ferry terminal</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 209px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Spr-jWkay0I/AAAAAAAAAo4/jF2_4wOza8M/s400/Chimacum+Coffee.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375888988527315778" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>On Common Grounds in Chimacum with riding companions Noel Howes, Ward Beebe, Joe Platzner, Greg Cox, and Andy Speier.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks, Greg, for organizing.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Spr-kUH4eZI/AAAAAAAAApI/oej5qSjOS2w/s1600-h/Hood+Canal+2+Map.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 395px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Spr-kUH4eZI/AAAAAAAAApI/oej5qSjOS2w/s400/Hood+Canal+2+Map.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375889005050624402" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Spr-jgiAspI/AAAAAAAAApA/WxZjwhpemB0/s1600-h/HC+2+Graph.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 289px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Spr-jgiAspI/AAAAAAAAApA/WxZjwhpemB0/s400/HC+2+Graph.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375888991201571474" /></a>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-3859207818454706232009-08-15T10:00:00.000-07:002009-08-20T10:16:33.240-07:00Super Brevet Scandinavia 2009<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof_bOKsVFI/AAAAAAAAAoQ/X0mnOoo49VY/s1600-h/0806D+Complete+and+return+IMG_0456.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof_bOKsVFI/AAAAAAAAAoQ/X0mnOoo49VY/s400/0806D+Complete+and+return+IMG_0456.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370541923787101266" /></a><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div>Riding a 1200km brevet after more than four weeks off the bike - not a single pedal stroke - appeared to be a bad idea, but I had a theory. Spending four weeks on a wonderful family vacation in South America would be restful and rejuvenating. Spending nearly a week of that vacation above 3000 meters elevation, including a four-day trek to Machu Picchu with climbs to over 4000 meters would build red blood cells. The combination of the rest and the natural blood doping would set me up perfectly for the event. Okay, so it was more a hope than a theory, but it's what I had, so I was going with it.<div><br /></div><div><b>BEFORE THE RIDE</b></div><div><br /></div><div>I nearly didn't get the chance to test the theory. Just as we started our South American vacation, I discovered that I had been watching the wrong Danish randonneur website. I probably should have wondered why no signup formalities had been posted, but sometimes I can be a bit casual about these things. Or perhaps, too willing to assume that others are being casual. I spoke to my Danish randonneur friend Stig Lundgaard four weeks before the brevet and discovered two things - the ride was full and anyway I had probably made air reservations for the wrong day. You are arriving in Copenhagen Thursday, he noted, and the ride starts 500 kilometers away on Friday morning with a pre-ride meeting on Thursday evening. Oops.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SogAufXjYJI/AAAAAAAAAog/nwxiLv0ddt8/s1600-h/stig.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 102px; height: 156px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SogAufXjYJI/AAAAAAAAAog/nwxiLv0ddt8/s320/stig.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370543354333585554" /></a>Stig is one of the great guys of randonneuring. He's incredibly accomplished, with more than 20 grand randonnees (1200km or more) completed at only about 40 years of age. These have included 4 Paris-Brest-Paris finishes, including at least one at right around 50 hours. Although it's possible that he and I met at PBP in 1999, our friendship started with a meeting in Australia for the 2001 Great Southern Randonnee. A stronger rider than I, he was nonetheless behind me when I turned around after Port Fairy to DNF the ride. He saw me riding the wrong way and endeavored to persuade me to continue. Of course, I persevered in my determination not to persevere on the ride. Our paths would cross at numerous events since 2001, and Stig would never fail to remind me that it was "stupid" to turn around. Never said in a mean way, that comment matched perfectly my view of that long-regretted decision.</div><div><br /></div><div>At Boston-Montreal-Boston in 2002, I arrived late to the Bullard Farm control on the third night. I was cold, wet, and way behind my riding buddies as a result of a mechanical problem. Knowing that I wouldn't have time for a long sleep, I passed out on a chair instead of seeking a better place to sleep in the control. A photo captured this not very pretty sight. That photo has illustrated this blog since its inception (see right) because it reminds me of a lot of things that I have learned about this sport. One is about how one can feel pretty good on a brevet after feeling pretty bad - the next day I felt great and took, according to my friend Peter McKay, a fifty-mile, beer-at-the-finish-inspired pull of our little four person group most of the way home. It also reminds me, and this is the reason I bring this up here, of the great care that randonneurs take for each other. Shortly after the photo, I awake to the gentle crinkling of paper. Stig, Mr. 50-hour PBP, is stuffing newspapers into the wet shoes of Mr. 86-hour PBP (me), not just offering unsolicited but welcome help to dry the shoes, but also teaching me a little trick of the trade. In the years that I've been involved in the sport, I've witnessed (and been the beneficiary of) many instances of such kindness and instruction, but that one has always stuck with me.</div><div><br /></div><div>As I said already, Stig is one of the great guys of the sport. So I suspect he may have had a role events leading to the e-mail that I received about 10 days after our call. From Per Rasmussen, the organizer of the 2009 SBS, in key part it read, "We have some participants who have canceled. So if you are quick, you can make a registration." Sweet. Stig also let me know that I could stay with him and Trine while in Denmark and that he would assist with all the pre-ride logistics. I delightedly informed my family that I was SBS-bound. On hearing how soon after our trip I'd have to leave (on a Tuesday morning after arriving home on a Sunday evening), my family gave me the "you're nuts, you know" look that I know so well. An e-mail to Jon at SVC ensured that my bike would already be in a travel box when I returned from South America.</div><div><br /></div><div>After some frantic packing, several plane rides, great hospitality from Stig and Trine, and a long drive (I had no idea Denmark was that big), I arrived Thursday afternoon at the ride start location in Frederikshavn on the east coast of Jutland, facing Sweden across the Kattegat.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof_Z46CdzI/AAAAAAAAAn4/dcEHdp_3Oeo/s1600-h/0806A+Looking+for+Inspiration+P1000034.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof_Z46CdzI/AAAAAAAAAn4/dcEHdp_3Oeo/s400/0806A+Looking+for+Inspiration+P1000034.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370541900900235058" /></a>With not much happening at the start hostel, I headed out for a stroll by the harbor. Looking for inspiration, I spotted the <i>Northern Vitality</i>. Sounded good.</div><div><br /></div><div>As I had been in Copenhagen, I was amazed by the number of bicycle riders everywhere. Riders came past of every description. I did a double take as one rider went past me on one of the zillions of bicycle lanes I would see in Scandinavia. "John?" I asked his back.</div><div><br /></div><div> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof_afyJmnI/AAAAAAAAAoA/YMpZVrrUVDo/s1600-h/0806B+John+Evans+P1000030.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 317px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof_afyJmnI/AAAAAAAAAoA/YMpZVrrUVDo/s400/0806B+John+Evans+P1000030.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370541911336131186" /></a>Sure enough, the rider brought his fixed gear bike to a stop and I had a chance to connect with John Evans, a Brit now living in Australia. I also met him for the first time at the GSR in Australia in 2001 and have seen him at several events since. Not content to rest on his laurels as a rock star and successful businessman, John is now one of the overachievers of the rando world. The SBS would be his 27th grand randonnee (I think). More astounding to me, however, was that it would be his third within five weeks; he had just completed the Gold Rush in California and London-Edinburgh-London in the UK.</div><div><br /></div><div>The reunion quality of these grand randonnees was further evident later that evening, when I saw Jan-Erik, a Dane living in Sweden whom I had met at the 2008 GSR in Australia. He brought along Russ Hamilton from Australia. In 2008, Russ had hosted him for the GSR and now Jan-Erik was returning the favor. Along with one rider from Finland and one from Germany, John Evans, Russ Hamilton, and I constituted the non-Scandinavian contingent for the ride. Most riders were from Denmark. There was a decent sized group from Sweden and two riders from Norway. I think there were 46 starters in all.</div><div><br /></div><div>My bike was ready to go.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof_ahXBYaI/AAAAAAAAAoI/bpcXAN9RgH0/s1600-h/0806C+At+least+the+bike+is+ready+to+go+P1000038.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 275px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof_ahXBYaI/AAAAAAAAAoI/bpcXAN9RgH0/s400/0806C+At+least+the+bike+is+ready+to+go+P1000038.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370541911759217058" /></a><br /></div><div><b>DAY ONE - The Theory Springs Holes</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The stories I had heard of the ride told tales of riding like crazy to make ferries, resting on the ferries, and repeating. Most of these ferries, as I would learn, are on the first day of the ride. Even now, the route only makes sense to me with a map.</div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 309px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SogS7FWD4dI/AAAAAAAAAoo/VvAMPlUgZsw/s400/GPS+MAP.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370563361895604690" /></div><div>We would ride generally south along the east side of Jutland, including two short ferry crossings, to Ebeltoft where we would take a longer ferry ride to Zealand (the main island of Denmark). We would ride generally east along the north edge of Zealand, with another shortish ferry crossing, until we reached the Helsinger-Helsingborg ferry that would take us into Sweden, where we would ride another 65 kilometers to the first overnight stop in Laholm. There would be five ferries in the first 275 kilometers. Of course we would get no credit for the distance covered by the boats, but we would also get no allowance for the time spent waiting for or riding on the ferries.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof8mi-BYoI/AAAAAAAAAnY/9IcPIXbul2c/s400/0807A+Breakfast+P1000069.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370538819814777474" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>None of this seemed especially concerning at the start, however. A group of Danish riders invited me to head out with them and we started at a ripping pace ahead of most, if not all, of the other riders.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof8nej4CyI/AAAAAAAAAng/zBidwUm_Odw/s400/0807B+Fast+moving+cycleshadow+P1000074.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370538835811240738" /></div><div>As we approached the first ferry near Aalborg at 58km, they told me that their plan was to make the 2PM long ferry at Ebeltoft (190km). At the pace we were going (well over 30kph average), that would be no problem at all. No other riders joined us on the ferry, so we were still at or near the front of the pack.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof8oEMWpVI/AAAAAAAAAno/YFma8S1z3Pw/s1600-h/0807C+Ferry+No+1+P1000083.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof8oEMWpVI/AAAAAAAAAno/YFma8S1z3Pw/s400/0807C+Ferry+No+1+P1000083.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370538845913130322" /></a><br /></div><div>In the sixty kilometers or so before the next ferry, the rest-and-altitude-training-will-be-enough theory sprung a hole big enough to let the North Sea flow through. Not only did I let my riding companions know that I would have to drop off, before long I also watched as dozens of riders passed by me as if were on a kid's trike. I boarded the second ferry alone.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof8o9GoU0I/AAAAAAAAAnw/fU3c1vzmJZo/s1600-h/0807D+Ferry+No+2+P1000100.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 254px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof8o9GoU0I/AAAAAAAAAnw/fU3c1vzmJZo/s400/0807D+Ferry+No+2+P1000100.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370538861189944130" /></a> After the second ferry, I found myself alone in the wind and busy calculating that not only would I not make that 2PM ferry at Ebeltoft, I wasn't likely to make the 3PM one either.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof6fI5w_iI/AAAAAAAAAm4/jbD8cmhdtJg/s1600-h/0807E+Headwind+P1000105.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof6fI5w_iI/AAAAAAAAAm4/jbD8cmhdtJg/s400/0807E+Headwind+P1000105.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370536493535264290" /></a><br /></div><div>As a rule, I don't mind riding by myself on long brevets, but I was struggling to maintain a positive mental attitude as my pace dropped further and further and the field moved away from me. As I neared Ebeltoft, I rode along a bay with a number of nice beaches. Lots of folks were out enjoying the beautiful day and I started to think that hanging out on the beach would be more fun than struggling through the ride against my lost fitness. Not where I wanted my thoughts to go wandering.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof6f_gUkQI/AAAAAAAAAnA/zU9cm4Ngee0/s1600-h/0807F+Beach+sports+look+nice+P1000111.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 282px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof6f_gUkQI/AAAAAAAAAnA/zU9cm4Ngee0/s400/0807F+Beach+sports+look+nice+P1000111.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370536508192493826" /></a><br /></div><div>In the last 15 km or so to the Ebeltoft ferry, another group of seven Danish riders (three women and four men) swept me up. I had some hope of a group to join. They dropped me in the last 3-4 km to the ferry. I could see that we'd be on the same 4PM ferry (it was just past 3PM and we could see the 3PM ferry heading off), but my inability to hold their pace suggested that I'd be riding alone once we reached the other side.</div><div><br /></div><div> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof6ggJMI4I/AAAAAAAAAnI/gmbo-LHMdkg/s1600-h/0807G+I+guess+we+missed+the+3pm+P1000116.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 224px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof6ggJMI4I/AAAAAAAAAnI/gmbo-LHMdkg/s400/0807G+I+guess+we+missed+the+3pm+P1000116.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370536516953842562" /></a>Watching five of the seven riders light up cigarettes while waiting for the ferry did nothing good for my attitude. Waiting for the ferry, we were joined by Lasse and Annie, father and daughter from Sweden. (I did not know it at the time, but a small handful of riders, who had spent part of the day lost, would not cross until the 5PM ferry).<div><br /></div><div>Happily for me, I could ride with some or all of these riders for the last 150km of the day, including two more ferry crossings. Here's the first.</div><div><br /></div><div> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof6hIzSsvI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/0Mb7STxCGFs/s1600-h/0807H+Ferry+No+4+P1000138.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 273px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof6hIzSsvI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/0Mb7STxCGFs/s400/0807H+Ferry+No+4+P1000138.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370536527867851506" /></a>Waiting for the 22:10 ferry (#5 for the day) to cross from Helsinger, Denmark to Helsingborg, Sweden at 275km into the ride, I realized a couple of things. First, the sky was dark. The advertised possibility that the ride, which was all north of the 55th parallel) could be completed mostly without light would be reserved for other riders, not for me. Second, my pace including stops had barely topped 18kph for the day so far, considerably short of the 20kph minimum that I hope to maintain in the early part of a long ride to build cushion for sleeping, eating, and slowing down.</div><div><br /></div><div>In a positive sign that my ride would improve, I found neither of these realizations discouraging. I don't think that I've ever done a brevet of 400km or longer without some night riding. Not only would this be nothing new, I have good lights and I like riding at night. And although I would prefer to go faster, 18kph pace for a 1200 leaves nearly 24 hours for sleeping and slowing down. Being at or near the back of the ride need not be discouraging, either. Via Facebook, my friends provided a good reminder. I had been posting updates on my (slowing) progress throughout the day. Jason Dul had commented on one such posting that I should follow his motto: "DFL is better than DNF." Words to live by. I resolved to keep posting updates throughout the ride - not wanting to post a DNF update might prove to be just the right motivation at some future low point.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the ashes of my rest-and-altitude theory, I developed another one: My overall fitness was fine, I would just need time to get my long-sidelined legs back into riding. As another randonneur once told me, the advantage of a 1200km brevet is that you can use the first days to train for the last ones! I decided that my operating assumption was going to be that each day, I would feel stronger than I did on the one before. I was far from sure that this theory would hold any more water than the original one, but it would have to do. We found the overnight hostel at Lanholm around 1:45AM. I updated my Facebook status: "can get 3 hours sleep before breakfast. Woo-hoo."</div><div><br /></div><div><b>DAY TWO - Finding the Way</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The organizers' conception for the Super Brevet Scandinavia contemplates a common start each morning. We could expect a breakfast each day around 6AM and those who wanted to start together could head out around 7AM. For a brain-dead rider arriving late at night, this provides the further advantage of pre-determining all of the usual how-much-sleep / what-time-should-I-rise calculations. Our 1:45AM arrival had given me time for a warm shower, a pasta dinner, three hours of sleep, and a good breakfast before starting again. Over breakfast, I was the recipient of numerous sympathetic comments about my late arrival, but honestly, I felt pretty good to be back on the bike again.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 276px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof4QsZw75I/AAAAAAAAAmQ/6EeQy0xTI5k/s400/0808A+Let%27s+go+IMG_0465.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370534046343425938" /></div><div>I started out with the six remaining riders from the group of seven riders that had picked me up on the way to the Ebeltoft ferry. One, who had been sick but attempted the ride anyway, had headed home from Helsinger the previous evening. I was happy to have the company as we were able to pool our ignorance in navigating the often cryptic cue sheet.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof4RtgV0DI/AAAAAAAAAmY/HIA23UaoNZ0/s1600-h/0808B+Danish+escorts+P1000152.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof4RtgV0DI/AAAAAAAAAmY/HIA23UaoNZ0/s400/0808B+Danish+escorts+P1000152.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370534063819313202" /></a><br /></div><div>It's always interesting to ride somewhere new where the cue sheets may follow different customs than those at home. Over the first day, I had tuned into the basic difference in format. On our SIR cue sheets, each line says, in effect, "at cumulative distance X, which is Y from the last cue, take the following action." The <a href="http://www.audax-club.dk/modules/ContentExpress/docs_repository/SBS/1200-09-08-07-SBS-endelig-udgave.pdf">SBS cue sheet</a> had distances at the end of the line and the syntax was "turn this way, you will possibly pass through these named towns or streets as you ride for distance A to cumulative distance B, at which point look at the next line for your next action."</div><div><div><div><br /></div><div>Knowing the general approach was only part of the battle. I still might have to deal with a bicycle path which diverged from the main road on the cue sheet or which took me through an intersection in such a way that I could not see the signs. Or perhaps the road on which we should continue would take a left or a right at an intersection which was not noted on the cue sheet. I had one extra weapon in my navigation arsenal - my GPS. This might have solved my navigational challenges better but for one fundamental problem. I had programmed a track into the GPS based on a map of the 2005 route, not based on the cue sheet which I didn't have at the time. My track creation skills were less than perfect in the first place and then the route had changed, particularly on the way into some changed overnight control locations. At least, however, I could watch the map on the GPS and slow down to be more careful about navigation when the lines on the screen stopped following our actions on the road. When riding with others, I'd ask them if they were sure about the direction followed. Usually they were.</div><div><br /></div><div>About 40 kilometers into the day, the line on my GPS made a left turn where the cue sheet was silent. I slowed the other riders enough to allow us to be the beneficiary of a course correction shouted from a porch by a bathrobed fellow who seemed bemused at all the cyclists that had been by in the morning. I found out later that this had been a good save; continuing straight, we could have reconnected with the route, but only after extra distance, some navigational guessing, and a long stretch of gravel road.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof4SD1sWsI/AAAAAAAAAmg/BH_w7yTTIWY/s1600-h/0808C+Second+breakfast+IMG_0466.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof4SD1sWsI/AAAAAAAAAmg/BH_w7yTTIWY/s400/0808C+Second+breakfast+IMG_0466.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370534069814450882" /></a><br /></div><div>Twenty five kilometers later, we found a bakery in Torup and the opportunity for delicious baked goods, for water bottle refilling, and for a little sit and rest. (Also a smoke, but I wasn't tempted yet). Also coffee. Not to seem ungrateful, but frankly most of the coffee I had in Scandinavia was horrible. This cup was no exception, but I was happy to have it nonetheless. As we were preparing to leave, John Evans rode up. Unhappily for him, he had taken the extra distance, extra navigation, gravel road option earlier. Happily for me, John would provide good riding company as we rode more or less together for the next 100miles, both with and without our pack of Danes.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof4TJt_lVI/AAAAAAAAAmo/ewcyq-0irr8/s1600-h/0808D+John+fresh+from+Gold+Rush+via+LEL+P1000162.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof4TJt_lVI/AAAAAAAAAmo/ewcyq-0irr8/s400/0808D+John+fresh+from+Gold+Rush+via+LEL+P1000162.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370534088572638546" /></a><br /></div><div>The "Welcome Bikers" sign outside Svenljunga beckoned around lunchtime.</div><div> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof4TvCP82I/AAAAAAAAAmw/XfFr3IHMzFA/s1600-h/0808E+Welcome+Bikers+P1000164.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 260px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof4TvCP82I/AAAAAAAAAmw/XfFr3IHMzFA/s400/0808E+Welcome+Bikers+P1000164.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370534098589709154" /></a>However, it called to cyclists of the motor-assisted sort; we had apparently stumbled on the Sturgis of Sweden. In general, this was no problem. Like virtually all the motorists that I encountered in the three countries of the ride, the bikers were unfailingly courteous of us on bicycles. The bikers did make lunch a bit more complicated than usual. The restaurants were packed, making lunch a slow process. (Foregoing lunch was not even considered). Also, it would appear that Swedish bikers are untrustworthy with credit cards, so the stores and restaurant that I visited all had "no cards" signs out. I had been hoping that I could use my bank card to avoid getting a different currency in each of the three countries of the ride, but now I was reduced to going around to my fellow riders and begging for Swedish crowns.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thirty kilometers later, completely befuddled by the bike lanes and highways on the way into the town of Borås, John and I stopped near the train station for our second attempt at asking a local for directions. The first had elicited a "yes, I think you could go that way, or perhaps this other way" response that had solved none of our confusion. The second time was a charm, however, as we received some very precise directions out of town to our next destination. Upon our successful execution of these directions, John suggested that we replace the cue sheet with the nice young woman that had provided them. I'm certain that his motivations were entirely navigational and had nothing to do with the striking nordic looks of our guiding angel.</div><div><br /></div><div>On the way up the hill out of Borås, I stopped for a rest and John disappeared up the road ahead. I was now, to the best of my knowledge, dead last among the riders. The prestige of "lanterne rouge" designation provided small comfort, but the "better DFL than DNF" admonition was sufficiently motivating to keep me going to the convenience store control in Alingsås. Several riders were still there, providing me with connection to the field. The father-daughter Swedish riders provided good directions out of town before leaving.</div><div><br /></div><div>Despite being last on the road, I felt pretty good. Fifty kilometers later, however, I found myself totally lost. The highway on the route sheet was clearly marked with a "no bicycles" indication. My GPS track was no help on this section where the 2005 and 2009 routes diverged substantially. Following the bike route that I vainly hoped might lead back to the highway, I was soon dodging Saturday night party-goers on the cobbled streets of Trollhattan. And I had not even reached the two ominous sounding cues on the route sheet that both identically read "Y-kryds ved ôre Sjö - ingen kendteskilte/no known signs." Whatever that might mean.</div><div><br /></div><div>Finally I gave up all hope of finding the route and programmed the overnight hotel into the GPS and beseeched it to find me a way there. Which it did. I'm convinced that it found the darkest, hilliest, most deserted route to the overnight stop, but it got me there. After gingerly carrying my bike downstairs to the basement for the second night in a row, I was directed to the room I would share with John Evans. It appeared that he had not preceded me there by too much and I was soon showered and down in the dining area sharing lasagna and beer with the other late arrivals. With only 305km on the second day, it was not even 1AM when I went to bed with the prospect of nearly 5 hours of sleep.</div><div><br /></div><div>A word about the support on this ride. To my amazement, the entire support crew consisted of organizer Per Rasmussen and his wife and daughter. They would drive the bags to the overnight location and then split duties. The women would care for us on arrival each night, then sleep. Per would sleep first and then care for us at breakfast. The good humor and helpful assistance offered by Betty and her daughter even to the latest arrivals each night cheered me tremendously. Thanks to them.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>DAY THREE - Getting Better</b></div><div><br /></div><div>With almost 350km to cover, Sunday would be the longest day of the ride. (In prior years the second overnight was further along the route, providing a more normal distribution of distance than the 340/305/346/230 of the 2009 edition). Seventy kilometers after breakfast would be the first control of the day in Ed, which seems like a friendly name for a town and which was the last control in Sweden. I rode some of this stretch with John and the six Danes and some alone. I felt pretty good and was content with my exploration of the better-each-day hypothesis. The camera suggests a somewhat grimmer determination:</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof2sWJShUI/AAAAAAAAAl4/dCWlfRVPFR0/s1600-h/0809A+Grim+Determination+P1000168.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof2sWJShUI/AAAAAAAAAl4/dCWlfRVPFR0/s400/0809A+Grim+Determination+P1000168.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370532322381825346" /></a></div><div>After entering Norway, the route ran north for a while along the Iddefjord which separates Norway from Sweden (which, to my modest confusion, is to the west of Norway here). As a cool drizzle settled in and as the route added more hills (short rollers), I could feel my legs coming back. It was a nice sensation to hit the rises pretty hard and feel good doing it. We enjoyed a nice lunch stop in Halden, Norway. We waited a while for one of the Danes, who was not feeling as chipper as the rest of us, but before long we were pushing on to the control in Rakkestad (km 813), which we reached before 4pm.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof2s_9yekI/AAAAAAAAAmA/XUioJL1_wJE/s1600-h/0809B+Breaking+Away+P1000172.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof2s_9yekI/AAAAAAAAAmA/XUioJL1_wJE/s400/0809B+Breaking+Away+P1000172.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370532333607877186" /></a><br /></div><div>After Rakkestad, the route headed north east of the Glomma (largest river in Norway) to Askim before turning south and then west to the last ferry of the brevet at Moss. Along the way, I lost track of my riding companions. John rode off ahead and the others stopped somewhere. I also blithely followed the cue sheet on roads clearly not meant for bicycles rather than repeat the bike path misadventures of the previous evening. As a result, I found myself the lone rider on the 7:30 ferry from Moss to Horten across the Oslofjord. A beautiful sky beckoned.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof2teYUqNI/AAAAAAAAAmI/nIS7VkW-0d8/s1600-h/0809C+Beautiful+skies+IMG_0467.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof2teYUqNI/AAAAAAAAAmI/nIS7VkW-0d8/s400/0809C+Beautiful+skies+IMG_0467.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370532341772232914" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>With 100km to go from Horten to the overnight, I was expecting, but not dreading, a long evening of riding. Once off the ferry, I again followed the highway instead of the bike paths for the first part of the route out of town. In the middle of a no-shoulder tunnel, this started to seem like a really bad idea, but I survived. About 15 km or so after the ferry I came upon the father-daughter cyclists having an animated discussion in Swedish. For my benefit, Lasse summarized: "This is shit!" he said, pounding the route sheet. Apparently they had spent at least a half hour lost in the last town. It was also apparently not their first such incident of the day. They had started the day early before breakfast and were clearly not happy to be losing time. I suggested that we pool our navigational resources and ride together, at least to the next control in Larvik. They liked the idea of having a GPS on their side, so off we went.</div><div><br /></div><div>Happy to say, our navigational misadventures were few and short before we found the lovely, if hilly, road into Sandefjord and the much less scenic road from there to the next control in Larvik. We arrived in Larvik around 11:30 or so to discover that the ferry terminal (for a ferry to Denmark) that was suggested as the control point had long since closed for the day. After much perplexed wandering, we found a gas station / convenience store and proceeded to fritter away time unnecessarily.</div><div><br /></div><div>The last 35 kilometers of the day seemed much longer. A series of seemingly gratuitous descents and climbs eventually gave way to a long flat stretch into Skien, our overnight control town. A pretty good rain started just as we were wandering around, quite confused and lost, within 100 meters of the control location. It was nearly 3AM when I stumbled into my room for a shower before dinner. They planned to send John in to share it with me when he arrived. (I never saw him, and found out later that it was 8AM before he came through the control, asked for his bag so he could change to dry gloves, and then immediately headed out again.)</div><div><br /></div><div><b>DAY FOUR - Feelin' Groovy</b></div><div><br /></div><div>After my shortest sleep of the ride, I joined most of the other riders for breakfast, again receiving sympathetic comments for my late arrival. Others had arrived later, however, and even some of the earlier riders had chosen to sleep longer. So with a quick breakfast and an eagerness to "git 'er done," I left at about 6:30 for the 230km push to the finish. The report on the remaining course forecast a hilly, challenging 105km to the control at Treungen and then an easier 125km to the finish. Although a few left before me, I was one of the first riders on the road.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof0GLO-zTI/AAAAAAAAAlo/JjB9KkHIKZ0/s1600-h/0810B+Nice+road+P1000201.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof0GLO-zTI/AAAAAAAAAlo/JjB9KkHIKZ0/s400/0810B+Nice+road+P1000201.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370529467594624306" /></a><br /></div><div>The first 60 kilometers included some of the hilliest and prettiest riding on the brevet leading to the town of Drangedal. (In a sign of my mental decomposition, I found the name of the town hilarious. "Where did the beer go?" "We Drangedal!" This amused me for longer than I care to admit. Then this:</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof1Jb5guLI/AAAAAAAAAlw/6mE5HWhor0Y/s1600-h/0810A+Small+but+cozy+P1000194.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sof1Jb5guLI/AAAAAAAAAlw/6mE5HWhor0Y/s400/0810A+Small+but+cozy+P1000194.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370530623119210674" /></a><br /></div><div><i>"Phenomenal cycling power. Itty bitty living space." </i>Ha. Ha. Laughter is a sign. Of delirium, perhaps.</div><div><br /></div><div>To my surprise, I saw only a handful of riders go by along this stretch and I was feeling pretty full of myself when I stopped for a mid-morning snack at a convenience store. A huge pack of riders came in as I was leaving and I vowed to conserve enough energy that I could hang onto at least some of that group when it came by later.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SofyxFH7ABI/AAAAAAAAAlY/8NAYAK-1riw/s1600-h/0810C+Lake+P1000205.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SofyxFH7ABI/AAAAAAAAAlY/8NAYAK-1riw/s400/0810C+Lake+P1000205.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370528005665521682" /></a><br /></div><div>The forty kilometers to Treungen included the most sustained climb of the ride, up 500+ meters to the alpine ski resort of Gautefall. To my further surprise, only one rider came by me on the way up the hill or down the other side. It must be my intensely competitive nature, but this further improved my good mood of the day.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SofyyB8uhuI/AAAAAAAAAlg/8YhG7g-b3-k/s1600-h/0810D+Lake+2+1000210.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SofyyB8uhuI/AAAAAAAAAlg/8YhG7g-b3-k/s400/0810D+Lake+2+1000210.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370528021993129698" /></a><br /></div><div>Just before the control, the route sheet said to take a left onto 41 and go 1 km to the control at Treungen. With local knowledge, other riders instead went right a short ways where they could find many control options. Following the route sheet to the left, I found just one, a gas station/convenience store. Once again, however, the quality of the offerings pleasantly surprised me as it had at many a convenience store along the route. A less pleasant surprise was the reaction of the clerk to my request for a stamp. "It is not usual," he said and made it clear that no amount of pleading would yield a stamp. I settled for a receipt and made my way down the road.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the next stretch I was overtaken by one rider and then swept up by a group of three Danish riders. These included Per and Flemming who were in the group with which I had tried to ride on the first day. I recalled, and was reminded at the next control, that Per was the one who would smoke a pipe at each stop. Apparently this works well for him; he has many 1200s to his credit.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sofx4QvtVmI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/5crZCbBdnEo/s1600-h/0810F+Per+and+Flemming+P1000228.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sofx4QvtVmI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/5crZCbBdnEo/s400/0810F+Per+and+Flemming+P1000228.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370527029532644962" /></a><br />The third rider was Thomas, who wanted to know if I knew Brian Ohlemeier in Seattle. Thomas had ridden part of the way to Brest with Brian at PBP 2007 before dropping off, but still finishing in a fast time. Latching onto these guys was a kick. They were strong and fast, but with few hills remaining (and perhaps a helping of discreet assistance), I could stay with them.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SofwuNigOgI/AAAAAAAAAlA/03vSGzcWC3M/s1600-h/0810G+Thomas+P1000230.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 221px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SofwuNigOgI/AAAAAAAAAlA/03vSGzcWC3M/s400/0810G+Thomas+P1000230.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370525757361633794" /></a><br /></div><div>We rode into the penultimate control at a campground. In 2005, there had been a camp store and possibly more. In 2009, we instead found a common room showing signs of a desultory renovation project. The man who greeted us, however, was quite enthusiastic to hear of our ride. Apparently he was also delighted to learn that I had come from the USA and that a rider from Australia was just behind. He reported that it had been over ten years since he had seen an American and that he had never ever seen an Australian. He insisted on making a pot of coffee for us. Thus stoked for the 75 km homestretch, we headed out.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SofxUuutuGI/AAAAAAAAAlI/vuDonZ3ET48/s1600-h/0810E+From+USA+really%3F+P1000222.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 314px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SofxUuutuGI/AAAAAAAAAlI/vuDonZ3ET48/s400/0810E+From+USA+really%3F+P1000222.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370526419106248802" /></a><br /></div><div>Following the Tovdalselva river to the sea, we zipped along the scenic and flat next section of the course. To my surprise, Thomas called for a food stop in Birkeland, only about 30km from the end. Jan-Erik and Russ rolled up with another rider. I had a soda while some riders waited for real food. Seized by stiffening legs and by a burning desire to finish the ride, I took off alone, figuring I'd see the others soon.</div><div><br /></div><div>At an intersection less than five kilometers from the finish, I studied the signs, the cue sheet, and the GPS for hints about the route. Finally, I headed off downhill to the right. Before I got far, I heard my name being called and looked around to see Jan-Erik racing down from the intersection after me. He escorted me back up and pointed the correct direction (uphill to the left). Thus saved from much lost wandering, I happily followed him and Russ and the other rider to the finish, where we arrived at 7:20pm, nearly 85 hours after starting this adventure.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SofwHYoahjI/AAAAAAAAAk4/ct3TnnNiGIc/s1600-h/0810H+Finished!+P1000231.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 292px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SofwHYoahjI/AAAAAAAAAk4/ct3TnnNiGIc/s400/0810H+Finished!+P1000231.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370525090324317746" /></a></div><div>Celebratory beer ensued.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SofvT7GVsWI/AAAAAAAAAkw/j3eyNXfiaqg/s1600-h/0810I+Aaahhh+IMG_0478.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SofvT7GVsWI/AAAAAAAAAkw/j3eyNXfiaqg/s400/0810I+Aaahhh+IMG_0478.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370524206223438178" /></a></div></div></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">But the harder the battle you see</span></i></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It's the sweeter the victory, now</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">You can get it if you really want</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">You can get it if you really want</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">You can get it if you really want</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">But you must try, try and try, try and try</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">You'll succeed at last</span></i></div></div>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-29368991277291935842009-08-15T09:55:00.000-07:002009-08-16T07:18:24.575-07:001200km Beer<div>After seeing a picture of me at the finish of the Super Brevet Scandinavia with a beer in hand, Tom asked what kind of beer I drink at the end of a 1200. The honest answer, of course, is whatever's handy, but I thought back to see if I could reconstruct a more specific answer.</div><div><br /></div>1999 PBP - 1664, on draft back at the Campanile<br />2001 LEL - I don't recall the draft beer at the nearby pub<br />2002 RM - Heineken, handed to me by the late Roger Street<br />2002 BMB - Sam Adams, a ride sponsor<br />2003 PBP - 1664, on draft back at the Campanile<br />2005 C12 - Alaskan Amber<br />2006 BMB - Sam Adams, ride sponsor<br />2007 PBP - 1664, on draft back at the Campanile<br />2008 GSR - Cascade Premium Lager (Australia)<br />2009 SBS - Tuborg<div><br /></div><div>Boy did they all taste good.</div>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-23919309665067117872009-06-26T13:19:00.000-07:002009-06-26T16:12:56.704-07:001000km Unsupported?Susan France, the indefatigable RBA for the Oregon Randonneurs, asked if I would be interested in a check-out pre-ride of the 2009 edition of the <a href="http://www.orrandonneurs.org/rba/2009/Glacier/Glacier_Info.html">Portland-Glacier 1000km</a>. With my usual careful "What? A ride? How far? Where? Ok, I'm in!" analysis, I agreed. It would be a reprise of the pre-ride that Greg Cox and I did of the same route in 2007, my story of which can be found <a href="http://rusa64.blogspot.com/2007/06/montana-1000km.html">here</a>. For this year, the easiest part of the ride was persuading fellow ride junkies Geoff Swarts and Vincent Muoneke to come along for the fun.<div><br /></div><div>Other riders seemed surprised or impressed that we would be riding "unsupported" - no help along the way from the ride organizer and no personal support at any of the controls. Although unsupported riding is the essence of randonneuring, our longer NW brevets typically have club-organized support at the overnight stops or out on long, service-less segments of the courses. The unsupported nature of the ride fazed me only a bit, however - Greg and I rode it that way in 2007 and had a grand adventure of it.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I also knew from years of riding these events that there would, in fact, be lots of support for us. That support would take many forms, some expected or planned, some much less so:</div><div><ul><li>The organizer, Susan France, had created a wonderful route that would urge us along with promises of varied and wonderful scenery around every (rare) corner.<br /><br /></li><li>The United States Postal Service cycling team is no more, but the USPS can still deliver - in my case a support package at each of our overnight stops - fresh shorts, additional bike food, etc.<br /><br /></li><li>My riding companions carried cameras and good memories. They would take pictures and do great post-ride accounts, so I wouldn't need to. (See Geoff's <a href="http://greenhornetrandoing.blogspot.com/2009/06/1000k-portland-to-glacier-pre-ride-no.html">here</a> and Vincent's <a href="http://spokesong.blogspot.com/2009/06/blue-shirt-runs-through-it.html">here</a>).<br /><br /></li><li>Nice folks served us food in restaurants along the way, including great sit-down breakfasts in Lyle, WA on the first day and in Thompson Falls, MT on the third day.<br /><br /></li><li>The friendly residents of La Crosse, WA lined the main street of town to witness our arrival. (Possibly they were waiting for a parade, but we didn't see one.) The residents of Tekoa celebrated our transit with an egg toss contest (happily completed before our arrival).<br /><br /></li><li>When Geoff and I crashed in a deep sandy shoulder just north of the Tri-Cities, a passing motorist stopped to offer aid and wouldn't leave until she was convinced we were ok (which we were).<br /><br /></li><li>In addition to providing glorious scenery, Mother Nature supported us with 100 miles of wicked tailwind on the first day from Lyle to Plymouth.<br /><br /></li><li>Random by-standers assaulted with tales of our adventure provided the boost of acting suitably impressed.<br /><br /></li><li>The passing RV from which a "Yeah, Go Seattle!" cheer came our blue-shirted way over 900km into the ride nearly made up for the idiot RV'er that almost ran us off the road a bit later.<br /><br /></li><li>Regular support came from caffeine, my favorite performance enhancing drug, in its many and wondrous forms: diner coffee, Starbucks DoubleShots and Frappucinos from convenience store refrigerators, chocolate bars, iced tea, caffeine tablets, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cola_nut">cola nuts</a> from Africa (courtesy of Vincent's dad), caffeinated Clif Blox, and of course, espresso wherever possible. (I couldn't, however, bring myself to go for the Red Bulls that worked so well for Geoff).<br /><br /></li><li>After I started posting our progress on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/rusa64">facebook</a> (see below), many supportive comments from friends and family kept my spirits high and made quitting even less of an option than usual.<br /><br /></li><li>Although it came after the ride, we welcomed the offer by the night clerk at the finish motel of her car so we could get a post-ride meal without having to ride into the torrential downpour again.<br /><br /></li><li>Mile after mile, the steady friendship, strong riding, and good humor of Geoff and Vincent bolstered the spirit and enhanced the experience. Thanks.<br /><br /></li><li>And of course, neither this or any other ride would be possible without the bemused support of my family at home. On hearing that I planned to ride a 1000km to Montana, my daughter said "Yes, of course you are. What else would you be doing?"</li></ul>What else indeed. Thanks for the support.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Facebook updates posted along the way:</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><br />June 19 at 9:39am<br />Mark Thomas with Vincent & Geoff at breakfast in Lyle,WA (108 km).<br /><br />June 19 at 1:49pm<br />Mark Thomas in Roosevelt, WA (200km)<br /><br />June 19 at 7:08pm<br />Mark Thomas is now having dinner in Kennewick, WA (320km).<br /><br />June 19 at 11:52pm<br />Mark Thomas is having a beer and getting ready to shower and sleep in Connell, WA (398km).<br /><br />June 20 at 11:03am<br />Mark Thomas - enjoying an iced mocha in Dusty, WA (half way!! - 505 km).<br /><br />June 20 at 12:58pm<br />Mark Thomas at Colfax, WA control - 536km.<br /><br />June 20 at 5:34pm<br />Mark Thomas is dining in style on sidewalk in Plummer, ID (610 km). A hundred km of bike trail before bed. (Trail of the Coeur d'Alenes).<br /><br />June 20 at 11:04pm<br />Mark Thomas working on a Foster's oilcan and a cup-o-soup in Wallace, ID (715km). Sleep soon.<br /><br />June 21 at 10:53am<br />Mark Thomas - Minnie's Montana Cafe!!! Thompson Falls, MT (807 km)<br /><br />June 21 at 1:54pm<br />Mark Thomas checked into penultimate control in Plains, MT (849 km). A hundred miles to Whitefish finish.<br /><br />June 21 at 8:20p<br />Mark Thomas - aargh! Lonepine closed. Limped into DQ in Lakeside, MT (955km).<br /><br />June 21 at 11:19pm<br />Mark Thomas in Whitefish, MT. 1005km; 67:13 elapsed. Two 6 hour overnights. Two great riding companions. Thanks Geoff and Vincent!</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><br /></div>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-66786404042293996142009-06-11T08:12:00.000-07:002009-06-14T22:34:13.760-07:00Cool down<div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">After cooking the previous weekend in Oregon, this past weekend I set off with a merry band of SIR volunteers on the workers' ride of the SIR 600km brevet.</div><div><ul><li>Instead of highs in the upper 90s, we had highs in the mid 60s.</li><li>Instead of 20k+ feet of climbing, we had 10k.</li><li>Instead of 6 climbs to above 3000 feet, we had one climb over 1500 feet.</li><li>Instead of only 1 sleepless hour at the overnight stop in Prineville, we had about 7 hours in Centralia, much of which, admittedly, was spent in a bar.</li><li>Instead of 32 hours in the saddle, I had 26.</li><li>Instead of an 11.8mph moving average, I moved at 14.4mph.</li><li>Instead of sun-baked desert, we had lush green Evergreen State scenery.</li><li>Instead of losing calories, I packed them in.</li></ul></div><div>Just what the doctor ordered.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Come try it yourself on Saturday.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 270px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SjEi6iYtk0I/AAAAAAAAAis/gUp5FR2Bhrs/s400/SIR+600.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346092621723702082" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">(Occasionally functional Google Maps link </span><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?q=http:%2F%2Ftrail.motionbased.com%2Ftrail%2Fkml%2Fepisode.kml%3FepisodePkValues%3D8413729&ie=UTF8&ll=47.063332,-123.054865&spn=1.698848,3.606262&t=p&z=9"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">here</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Eat much?</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SjEqdkKV4mI/AAAAAAAAAi8/lNRq5EN25X0/s1600-h/SIR+600k+Eats.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 180px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SjEqdkKV4mI/AAAAAAAAAi8/lNRq5EN25X0/s400/SIR+600k+Eats.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346100920077116002" /></a>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-67459617965974553512009-06-03T17:23:00.000-07:002009-06-04T12:37:44.389-07:00Sear quickly, then cook slowly until done<div style="text-align: left;">Not good. I'm semi-collapsed in the shady backseat of a volunteer's car trying to figure out what's going wrong and how to right it. I'm only five hours into a two day ride, so I shouldn't be tired yet. It's only 9:30 in the morning, so I shouldn't be overheated yet. I'm less than 100km along a fabulous course, so I shouldn't be short of enthusiasm yet. But I seem to be all of those things. Not good.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?q=http://trail.motionbased.com/trail/kml/episode.kml?episodePkValues=8364932"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 395px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SidWBQ2zLnI/AAAAAAAAAhk/trEpKJ73XjA/s400/Course.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343334062603054706" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The Oregon Randonneurs 600km brevet this year followed in the footsteps of John Kramer's famed "Big Lebowski" 600 from 2006 (see Kent Peterson's entertaining write-up <a href="http://kentsbike.blogspot.com/2007/02/big-lebowski-600k-sept-30th-oct-1st.html">here</a>). 380 miles of riding in north central Oregon, hotter and drier than my usual environs, will include many exposed, extended climbs. For 2009, John christened it the <a href="http://randobiker.blogspot.com/2000/02/oregon-600-xtr.html">Oregon 600 XTR</a>. I'm not sure what XTR means, exactly, but it sinks into my head as "extreme" and I easily conclude that I should skip the event. A winter and spring of a few thousand km of brevets and permanents performs its usual magic trick, however, and any common sense that I might otherwise possess disappears into thin air. A late registration is made, and the next thing I know, I'm heading to the start in The Dalles, Oregon with Bob Brudvik and Erik Andersen, looking nervously at the forecast of hot temperatures along the route.</div><div><br /></div><div>In addition to the 3 of us, SIR would also be represented by Peter Beeson, Rick Blacker, Bill Gobie, Ron Himschoot, Ole Mikkelsen, Vincent Muoneke, Brian Ohlmeier, Ian Shopland, Geoff Swarts, and Peg Winczewski. Vince Sikorski, a long-time SIR stalwart and multiple PBP finisher since 1995, now lives in OR, so we'll put him on the south-of-the-Columbia team. The proximity of two other outstanding randonneur clubs counts as one of the joys of being a randonneur in Washington . The wealth of offerings from the BC Randonneurs to the north and from the Oregon Randonneurs to the south gives us even more opportunities to ride.</div><div><br /></div><div>The pre-dawn initial stretch of riding east along the Columbia to the initial information control in Rufus passed quickly and uneventfully. The climb up Scott Canyon spread the riders out - it certainly spread me towards the back. I attributed my rearward drift to the strength of the field; probably correct, but perhaps the flu symptoms that had passed over me earlier in the week were more significant than I had imagined. By the second significant climb - from the John Day River up to Condon - the trouble had started. Although only a 2500ft climb, I suffered early. Although too soon in the ride and too shallow a grade to be justified in doing so, I was off my bike walking due to leg cramps soon after the climb started. I guess climbing up Devil's Butte had appropriately landed my ass in hell. Near the top (and after the back seat incident), Eric Ahlvin had a secret control. I could still fake a smile for Eric's camera, but I was worried.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sic93f4QEMI/AAAAAAAAAhc/k6AkGnGBCrE/s400/IMG_0893.JPG.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343307506557915330" /><div><br /></div><div>I would see Eric quite a few times over the rest of the ride. As "sag" for the ride, he'd be at most of the controls, at least for the slower riders. His good cheer, helpful advice, and cold drinks, along with his refusal, even once, to offer me a ride, were invaluable to my progress. A small, but incredible, team of four volunteers kept riders moving and fueled through a difficult and remote course. Eric, David Rowe, Dave Read, and organizer John Kramer share part of the credit with the riders for the low DNF rate on the event.</div><div><br /></div><div>At Eric's control, I met up with legendary cross-border randonneur Ron Himschoot, honored in <a href="http://www.randonneurs.bc.ca/awards/40000-pin-explained.html">Canada</a> and the <a href="http://www.rusa.org/ultrarando.html">US</a> alike. With many consecutive weekend rides of 200+ miles under his belt, he was riding slowly but consistently and strongly. A bit later, at about 150km into the ride, we linked up for the remainder of the brevet. Ron's patience, experience, and no-quit attitude filled in perfectly when mine were insufficient.</div><div><br /></div><div>Luckily for me, the mental low on the way up Devil's Butte would be the worst of the day, though eating and staying cool would prove to be challenges. Hell, I even passed on a milk shake at Condon. My speed was low and my non-riding breaks too frequent. Really nice scenery provided a counterweight. A relatively nice climb to Butte Creek Summit was followed by a great descent to the John Day River and some really nice, relatively flat riding along the river. By the time we reached the control at the Fossil Beds Interpretive Center/Cant Ranch (250km), I guess I actually felt pretty decent. That it was already 8 o'clock and much cooler contributed, no doubt, to this feeling.</div><div><br /></div><div>The next stretch, a long, long, gradual climb to the Keys Creek Summit was quite pleasant as night fell. From other riders after the ride, I heard that this section had been brutal in the heat of the afternoon. Along with the substantially cooler temperatures, the inability to see the climb ahead contributed to making it go ok. Sounds odd, I suppose, but usually true for me. David Rowe's rest stop at Mitchell awaited, just a screamer of a dark descent away.</div><div><br /></div><div>As I settled in for an over-long stop, the reality of my brevet pace started to sink into my consciousness. Arriving at the last control before the overnight stop with an hour in the bank (and spending 3/4 of that at the control), meant that I wouldn't be sleeping on this 600km brevet. Although I've often <a href="http://rusa64.blogspot.com/2008/06/sleeping-on-600km.html">advised</a> riders that it's not necessary to ride straight through a 600km, it would be so for me this time. Ugh.</div><div><br /></div><div>The highest point of the course and a 2400 foot climb awaited. In the cool of the night, a fairly substantial meal of a sandwich and a cup-o-noodles sat well with me. The climb was slow, but uneventful. As expected, we cruised into the overnight control with no more than about an hour to spare, at 4:30AM, 24 hours from the start. (24 hours for 375km - painfully slow, even by my standards). An inability to eat more than half a small bowl of pasta and a few bits of potato foreshadowed what would be a calorie-deprived second day.</div><div><br /></div><div>The first 40, mostly downhill, miles of the day were easy enough, although nearly four hours passed including a breakfast attempt at the Madras Safeway. From Warm Springs at 278 miles, however, my ride went from merely ugly to turn-the-other-way-and-cover-the-children's-eyes hideous. Detailing the <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sifwnk-noLI/AAAAAAAAAiE/0RBzu1-RNkk/s1600-h/XTR+600+-+Annotated+Chart.jpg">agony</a> can do no one any good, so suffice it to say that I ruined some spectacular scenery with some ugly riding. Lots of calories exited the same way they entered, but faster. Slow progress on the bike was interrupted by stretches of no progress on the side of the road. Several bags of ice deployed in waterbottles, in fabric around the neck, and in jersey pockets came and went with little discernible effect on my overcooked state. Some occasional cloud cover and a lot of patience and encouragement from Ron kept me going toward a less than triumphant finish with a half-hour or so to spare on the clock.</div><div><br /></div><div>John supplied pizza and beer at the finish. My favorites. I couldn't look at them. A bag of ice in my jersey and a coke seemed just about right. Maybe not. The ice didn't last long and the soda hit the eject button. Charming. But hey, I finished the ride before it finished me. Barely.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sifwnk-noLI/AAAAAAAAAiE/0RBzu1-RNkk/s1600-h/XTR+600+-+Annotated+Chart.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 133px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sifwnk-noLI/AAAAAAAAAiE/0RBzu1-RNkk/s400/XTR+600+-+Annotated+Chart.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343504045630267570" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SigiS8s4CkI/AAAAAAAAAiM/-ephqbxcQ14/s1600-h/DSC_3294.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SigiS8s4CkI/AAAAAAAAAiM/-ephqbxcQ14/s400/DSC_3294.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343558666802432578" /></a>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-77589711439303569872009-05-14T21:09:00.000-07:002009-05-14T21:53:34.002-07:00Who knows where the time goes?<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/Sgzzkal7jdI/AAAAAAAAAgU/Grjb3anqvd0/s1600-h/Speed+Distribution.jpeg"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SgzsV5qzqoI/AAAAAAAAAgM/nNfCeXImql0/s1600-h/400km_2009_Time.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 180px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SgzsV5qzqoI/AAAAAAAAAgM/nNfCeXImql0/s400/400km_2009_Time.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335899519528970882" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.muthomas.com/misc/SIR/400km_2009_Time.pdf">(pdf version here)</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span>"Who knows where the time goes?" asked Judy Collins from my dad's record player when I was a kid (the first time). With my new bike toy - the Garmin 705 GPS/bike computer - I have a bit of an answer to that question, at least for a ride. I still can't figure out a decent way to navigate with the damn thing, but I love all the data I get when I'm done. <div><br /></div><div>In the plot of time vs. distance, the vertical segments show where time passed but distance did not - i.e., where I was stopped. On the pre-ride, we previewed the Farmer control (and used the outhouses), but without any support there, we had to stop for water at the bottom of McNeil Canyon at Beebe Park. Next, a nice sit-down lunch in Pateros. With no manned control near Twisp on the pre-ride we stopped at the store in Carlton on the way up the Methow and regrouped. Stops at the Omak and Grand Coulee controls were augmented with a brief stop at the store in Nespelem and one at the (heated!) bathrooms at the Dry Falls overlook. Total time off the bike - 2 hours, 40 minutes.</div><div><br /></div><div>The line shows slow pace as steeper slope (more time, less distance) and fast pace as shallower slope (more distance, less time). The correlation to the overlaid elevation chart is unsurprising - to me or to anyone that's seen me climb.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></span></div>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-67261400425452946122009-05-11T08:00:00.000-07:002009-05-11T12:25:21.787-07:00Nice Road!<div style="text-align: left;">If your friends found a perfect cycling road which you had never seen, much less traveled on by bike, would you want to go? Of course. What if it were in the middle of nowhere with no services? No problem, stock up. What if you had to ride 140 miles with 8000 feet of climbing to get to it and then 70 miles to get back afterwards? Hmm, still sounds pretty good!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 374px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SghLMnyLRoI/AAAAAAAAAfk/A5oMCWy5nvA/s400/400km+Route.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334596438830302850" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?q=http://trail.motionbased.com/trail/kml/episode.kml?episodePkValues=8192376">(click for Google Maps link)</a></i></div></span><div><br /></div><div>The Columbia River Road / Omak Lake Road runs a bit over 40 miles between Omak and Nespelem on the Colville reservation in north central Washington. It climbs over Antoine Pass (~1500 feet), runs along Omak Lake, past Big Goose Lake, then follows the Columbia River, before climbing out of the valley to Nespelem. The pavement is perfect; the scenery is amazing. The endorheic (I learned a new word today!) Omak Lake off to the left is a sapphire gem. This road is a wonderful highlight of SIR's spring 400km brevet, but by no means the only one.<div><br /></div><div>A wealth of rider-volunteers has made SIR one of the premier randonneur clubs around. A joyous by-product of all the volunteer support has been the constant development of new routes that show off the diversity of bike riding available in Washington. Rare is the complaint from a rider who is tired of the same routes on the same roads. From the urban streets of Seattle to the mountain passes of the Cascades to the vast spaces east of the mountains, I've been lucky to experience an extraordinary variety of roads in my 12 years of riding SIR populaires, brevets, and permanents.</div><div><br /></div><div>For this year's spring 400k, Mike Norman and Shane Balkovetz cooked up a wonderful route. A remote start in Ephrata 175 miles from Seattle (but only 2 blocks from an Amtrak station) creates some logistical challenges, but the reward is in the riding.</div><div><br /></div><div>On Saturday, a big crew of volunteers gathered in Ephrata for the volunteer pre-ride of the route. Mike and I were joined by Tom Brett (one of SIR's original riders), Geoff Swarts and Narayan Krishnamoorthy (our Permanents czars), Bob Brudvik, Tom Martin (resident GPS guru), Matt Dalton, and Duane Wright. Bob, Geoff, Mike, Tom Brett, and I rode together for much of the day. Our ride was uneventful, with no flats or mechanical issues, no major navigational mishaps, and great weather. The other riders absorbed all the issues - Matt had a flat in the middle of the night, Narayan ran out of fuel, Tom Martin took a fifty mile (!) wrong turn, and Duane ran out of time. During the event next weekend, SIR will have support at several spots along the ride. On the pre-ride, however, the paucity of services and support added to the challenge. There would be at least three stretches of 40-50 miles without any water, stores, or other services. But with good company and great roads, we had a wonderful day.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SghgpJ1gnWI/AAAAAAAAAfs/aguIUaHR8Ys/s400/400km+Elevation.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334620018751610210" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 180px; " /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><a href="http://muthomas.com/misc/SIR/400km_2009_Elevation.pdf">(click for annotated version)</a></i></span></div><div><br /></div><div>The route features a fair amount of climbing; my computer registered about 12,500 feet. About 2/3 of the climbing comes in the first half of the ride, although the last half contains the two steepest climbs. The ride starts with a nice climb up Sagebrush Flats Road from Ephrata. With a 5AM start, clear skies, and cold overnight temperatures, the initial climb was quite welcome. After a quick, cold descent we rode through the Moses Coulee. I've always enjoyed riding this road along the base of the steep cliff wall of the coulee. (Note to riders: three of the five teeth-rattling cattle grates had been replaced by similarly jarring gravel-filled ditches. Be careful).</div><div><br /></div><div>Climbing out of the coulee on US-2, the route makes a right turn at the old Farmer Hall where Bob and I will be manning a control next weekend. Going north on SR-172 and west on McNeil Canyon Road took us to the rim of McNeil Canyon (the sign heralded the hitherto unknown, to me anyway, "McNeil Pass" at 3100 feet). The road down to the Columbia River from here is an E-ticket highlight. Recently improved and repaved, the road gives up nearly 2400 feet of elevation in about 5 miles. A sign warns of 12% downhill grades. Partway down, I was greeted by a chase party of five dogs. I faked them by slowing to about 25mph, then sped to 40mph to ruin their closing angle calculations. Whee! I slowed again to say hello to a cyclist coming up the hill. She did not look happy; then and there I resolved that I would only ever ride down this road and would never, never, ever ride up it. We'll see. A really nice sight on the descent down McNeil Canyon is a view of Lake Chelan across the Columbia and several hundred feet above the river.</div><div><br /></div><div>Crossing the river, we rode up the Columbia on US-97 and Starr Road to Pateros. Eager to take advantage of pretty much the only option for real food for most of the route, we had a nice sit-down lunch at the restaurant behind the Chevron/convenience store before heading up the Methow River. The road up the Methow is another favorite of mine. With no support or services on the pre-ride until Okanogan/Omak, we stopped at the store in Carlton for candy bars and water. At Ralph Nussbaum's suggestion, we turned off before the usual SR-20 intersection to use Lower Beaver Creek Road as a cutoff. A nice choice which will be on the final route sheet.</div><div><br /></div><div>Since adding an altimeter to my bike, my new form of entertainment on long climbs is to try to identify the point up ahead on the road where I will hit the next hundred foot elevation mark. With 25 such benchmark points, I got lots of practice on the climb up Loup Loup Pass (or "The Loup" as the nice lady in Carlton called it). We regrouped at the summit and then screamed down the other side (with one annoying little uphill). I ran out of gas riding into a headwind in the flat section through Okanogan to the control in Omak, but the guys were waiting there for me.</div><div><br /></div><div>The road to Nespelem along Omak Lake and the Columbia couldn't have been nicer. Worth the trip. Even worth the painful 800 foot, 10% climb out the other end to meet SR-155 near Nespelem. The faster climbers made the store just in time and got water for all of us. From there it's mostly downhill to the Grand Coulee Dam. After crossing the river and passing the dam, another nasty steep climb took us up to the control spot in Grand Coulee. Shane and Chantel previewed the great support they will provide the riders next weekend. Soup, sandwiches, coffee, chairs, and good cheer set us up nicely for the last 55 miles of the ride. Having this kind of support on a volunteers' ride was amazing.</div><div><br /></div><div>The remainder of the route does a lake tour - Banks Lake, Dry Falls Lake, Park Lake, Blue Lake, Alkali Lake, Lake Lenore, and Soap Lake. For most 400km riders (including us on the pre-ride), this section will be done at night. Fast riders will see these before sunset and slower riders may see the <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/8169895@N03/3521217165/sizes/l/in/set-72157617988511726/">sunrise</a> over a lake. We thought that riding this in the dark would be a disappointment, but a beautiful nearly full moon lit up the canyon cliffs and brought a silver shimmer to the lake waters. Beautiful.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hope to see many of you next weekend. Absolutely worth the trip.</div><div><br /></div><div>See Duane's pictures <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/8169895@N03/sets/72157617988511726/">here</a>.</div><div>See Geoff's write-up <a href="http://greenhornetrandoing.blogspot.com/2009/05/spring-2009-400k-pre-ride-report.html">here</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-31544454785137924062009-02-08T18:14:00.000-08:002009-02-09T08:31:53.882-08:00SignsThe sign said "Road Closed Ahead." A more informative version might have said "Road Completely Gone Ahead." But then we might have turned back. Or not. After all, some willing suspension of common sense seems to be a prerequisite for randonneuring.<div><br /></div><div>Maybe there will be a ridiculous little muddy catwalk above the gash in the ground that used to be the road. Sure, that's good enough. After all, three riders started an hour and a half before we did, and we haven't seen them come back. John Kramer snapped a picture of me pushing my bike along. I think you can see my discomfort even from behind.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SY-nwQQGXLI/AAAAAAAAAco/UwJ7Zdokkds/s400/Biking+006.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300639733876415666" /></div><div>Fourteen miles of gravel and two missing sections of road led us into and out of the town of Brooklyn. "Why go to Brooklyn?," asked the friendly guy we met at the first control. "Why?" is always a challenge for me, but I ventured a guess. "Because there's a tavern there?" Looking a bit disappointed to be the bearer of bad news, he let us know that it was not the original one - "the one with the urinal all the way around the inside wall." Not at all sure that this loss was bad news and not really planning to stop there anyway, we had pressed on.</div><div><br /></div><div>After the gravel, we had lunch and hosed down our bikes in Raymond, before returning on relatively tame, yet oddly puncture-inducing, pavement to the Lacey start. A great day on the new Lacey-Raymond-Lacey permanent for Bob Brudvik, John Kramer Peter McKay, Vincent Muoneke, Ian Shopland, David Rowe, Geoff Swarts, and me.</div><div><br /></div><div>See Geoff's story<a href="http://greenhornetrandoing.blogspot.com/2009/02/pavement-ends-road-disappears.html"> here</a>.</div><div>See John's pictures <a href="http://randobiker.blogspot.com/2009/02/sir-little-muddy-200k.html">here</a>.</div><div>Peter posted some pics on FB <a href="http://www.facebook.com/photo_search.php?oid=10008403551&view=all">here</a>.</div><div>See Paul Johnson's (one of the earlier group) story <a href="http://drcodfish.blogspot.com/2009/02/r2-r-not-to.html">here</a>.</div><div>See David's pictures <a href="http://flickr.com/photos/readytoride/sets/72157613546809090/">here</a>.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SY-nwttuaxI/AAAAAAAAAcw/9Zi8A0jPTiA/s1600-h/Lacey+Map.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 241px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SY-nwttuaxI/AAAAAAAAAcw/9Zi8A0jPTiA/s400/Lacey+Map.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300639741785303826" /></a>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-31803432121104046972009-02-05T12:56:00.000-08:002009-02-09T08:37:09.679-08:00Out of the woodworkMother Nature decided to slip a 60 degree sunny day into the midst of a Pacific Northwest February. Like a light coming on in a dark city kitchen, the sun shone on randos scurrying everywhere. Thirteen of us met for a ride of Permanent 401 - Leschi-Auburn-Redmond-Leschi. Dominique Blachon (sporting his soon to be famous (on RoadBikeRider) GPS setup), Steve Davis, Frank Kaplan, Martin Knowles, Vincent Muoneke, Thai Nguyen, Carol and Ralph Nussbaum, Amy Pieper, Mike Richeson, Kristie Salinger, Andy Speier, and I would be the beneficiaries of the glorious day.<div><br /></div><div>My fourth ride with my new GPS started inauspiciously. I left my cue sheet on the printer at home. Rather than worry about it, I figured the GPS and the large crowd would keep me on track. I got caught flat-footed at the start, filing paperwork away in my car, and the crowd was gone. I realized, as I headed off alone, that I had no idea where the route went. South yes, but up and over I-90 or down to Renton? I just didn't remember. By the time I figured out how to zoom out on the GPS and get an idea of the route, the other riders were long gone.</div><div><br /></div><div>As consolation, the pre-dawn sky put on an incredible color show, reflected in the waters of Lake Washington. My camera was not with me, but my photographic skills would probably not have captured the beauty anyhow. The Kodachrome of my memory ("gives us those nice bright colors") will just have to do. If I would be spending the day riding by myself, a gorgeous day would make it just fine.</div><div><br /></div><div>A couple miles down the road, I ride past a cyclist staring at her bike. Stranded cyclists usually get a "you ok?" and almost not enough pause to hear the answer. This cyclist, however, looked truly baffled, so I stopped. A bag strap had found its way into her chain and cassette and turned into macramé. After a bit of fussing, I saw that the wheel would have to come out. I suggested that she release the brake. Blank stare. "I ride my bike, but I don't know anything about it." That sounds really odd from a cyclist, although it's true of most car drivers. Maybe the planet would be better off if it were the other way around.</div><div><br /></div><div>Another rider stopped to offer welcome assistance. I looked up and saw that it was Dominique, who was catching up after a late arrival at the start. Even better, although a GPS user, he had a cue sheet! We made quick work of getting our commuter friend back on her way and started off.</div><div><br /></div><div>A few miles later, in Renton, Dominique and I spot bikes and riders outside the cupcake & coffee shop. The last late-arriving rider had been located by phone, and all were waiting for her (and for us). Soon we were all caffeinated and reunited. We were also joined for a bit by fellow SIR member Urs Koenig, off for a training ride for his RAAM adventure this summer.</div><div><br /></div><div>Although this permanent route leaves a bit to be desired in the lunch stop and coffee break areas, the company and the weather made for a great day on the bike. Two wonderful rides in the first four days of February. Not your typical Northwest winter experience, but I'll make do somehow!</div><div><br /></div><div>-----</div><div>Dominique had his camera out all day. See the pics <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5GyESELstVg">here</a> and <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/NuitsBlanches/SIRPermanent401090204#">here</a>.</div>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7101867618520201104.post-91201041467077492422009-02-02T09:00:00.000-08:002009-02-02T10:02:14.540-08:00100km. Beer. Repeat.Talked long-time riding buddy Peter McKay into riding a permanent yesterday. We joined up with Jack Brace, Tom Norwood, Ryan Schmid, and Andy Speier to ride the Whidbey-La Conner permanent.<div><br /></div><div>We had a brisk but happily dry day as we zipped up Whidbey Island in the tow of Ryan's monstrous draft. It was a great day for a bike ride and the start, for me, of a new R-12 quest. The newly Reverend Jack is moving to Pennsylvania next week, so it was great to get another ride with him.</div><br /><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SYcyIvLFjoI/AAAAAAAAAbY/mcDIt0desfQ/s200/n702382126_1774682_3925.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298258612307988098" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RmNSmzFoAmo/SYcyy6vCfxI/AAAAAAAAAbg/-ScLp5Ik5o0/s200/n702382126_1774677_200.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298259336966078226" /><div>After a latte in Coupeville, we headed up across my favorite Washington bridge over Deception Pass and past my favorite wheel-sucker road sign (Pull & Be Damned Rd) to the half-way point at La Conner, where we stopped at the La Conner Brewing Company for lunch. A pint of their brown ale made the perfect accompaniment for the thai chicken soup / sandwich combination.</div><div><br /></div><div>Gentle riding from La Conner to Snohomish took us to the base of the "wall-climb" into Everett and the rollers to Mukilteo. Our reward: pizza and brews at the Diamond Knot brewpub at the finish. Their Steamer Glide Stout provided all the carb replenishment that I could want. Other patrons were watching some sort of football game, but we had our own super day to celebrate.</div>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15885294842214877171noreply@blogger.com1