Near the end of September, it looked like I was getting pretty close to 5000 rando kilometers for the year (for which RUSA gives out medals of recognition). In fact I figured I'd be 150 kilometers short if I kept doing a monthly 200k for the remainder of the year. Hence, I decided to ride the "Woodburn Heartbun 150k" on September 25 from Forest Grove to Woodburn and back.
It's a nice distance that's not commonly done ... longer than a populaire ... but shorter than the monthly requirement for an R-12. Since I managed to complete the SIR Northern Cascades 600k earlier in the month, 150k seemed just the ticket, especially since it included a number of close-in roads I hadn't been on before.
I left the McMennanmin's Grand Lodge in Forest Grove at 8:30, and proceeded down foggy yet familiar Spring Hill and North Valley Roads. Made a brief coffee stop in Newberg, then proceeded on Champoeg, Butteville and Crosby Roads towards Woodburn. Stopped to get a few pictures of freshly-harvested hop fields before crossing I-5, then headed directly to the far (East) side of Woodburn for a contrôle receipt at a local bank ATM. I then returned to Woodburn's quaintish "downtown" area lined with a large variety of small Mexican eating establishments (quite a contrast to the Factory Stores along I-5). I surmised it was probably here that this 150k acquired its "heartburn" moniker. I ate relatively lightly, though (soda and an fish taco), before heading back towards the start.
I had to backtrack a mile or so to correctly answer the contrôle question along Butteville Road, then proceeded to Wilsonville, where the route used the I-5 bridge to cross the Willamette River. From there, a newish (to me) selection of back roads took me to Sherwood. Crossing Hwy 99 and then onto Roy Rodgers Road, I was now back on relatively familiar territory ... except that I missed the left turn onto SR 210 (Scholls Ferry Rd), because there was no Hwy 210 sign. Once over Bull Mountain and onto Farmington Road, territory once again became again familiar (Rood Bridge, Burkhalter, Tongue, Golf Course, Lafollett and Geiger Roads) for the trek back to Forest Grove.
Once at McMennamin's Grand Lodge, I purchased a bottle of Hammerhead Ale (for the final contrôle receipt), which I enjoyed that evening with a lovely Amy-prepared meal.
Half a dozen photos from the ride are here on Flickr.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
North Cascades 600k
I initially planned to ride Michael Wolfe’s "Willamette Headwaters" 600k in late August, and was very much looking forward to it (even though i knew it wouldn’t be easy). But a conflict came up. A conflict called the OBRA Masters Track Championships. Now I’m not a "velodrome jock." But I do spend a fair amount of time at the Alpenrose track. And my coach is a track jock. And he wanted me to do this event.
Enter a 600k option from the Seattle Randonneurs, a mountainous ride starting and ending in Arlington, WA two weeks later (september 10-11). Joshua bryant’s friend Robert Higdon was putting it on. And even though it would involve a bit of a drive, the route would introduce me to some significant new territory (a good thing).
Ed Groth expressed interest in riding this 600k as well, so the two of us ended up carpooling to Seattle the day before the ride, and onwards to Arlington the morning of.
The ride commenced from the Arlington Motor Inn before sunrise, and headed East and Southeast towards Sultan. I fell off the pace of the main group (as it were) about 10-15 miles in (‘round Granite Falls), then proceeded to miss a turn onto Bollenbaugh Hill Road (around mile 32) which cost me about 5 bonus miles.
A lovely feature of this ride was the use of Old Highway 2 up to Stevens Pass. Robert, wife Jane, and friends Chris and Emily operated at a secret contole at the first turn onto this scenic and lightly traveled bypass. A footbridge further up ensured there was little car traffic. Upon reaching the summit, I texted to Facebook that "Stevens Pass (elev 4061 ft) hasn't gotten any easier! Leavenworth here I come!"
Leavenworth (34 miles past the Stevens Pass summit) has now become a familiar controle town, complete with cutsey signage on even the mainstream businesses. Once again, I ate and had my card signed at Subway and its adjoining convenience store.
Just before hitting Wenatchee, the route headed North along the West bank of the Columbia River on Alt Hwy 97. Now I was in new territory!, heading towards Entiat as the sun ducked behind the mountains on the left. Several hours later (but before 11:00 PM), I arrived at the controle in Pateros (fabulously manned by Joe Platzner and Vincent Muoneke) with over four hours in the bank. I then proceeded on the noctural journey towards mecca...no...I mean Winthrop.
I was still dark when I arrived at the overnight controle, but the cooks had already switched over from chili to pancakes. There was still some of the former left, though, so that's what I ate before a crucial two-hour nap. By the time I left Sunday morning, I had used up three of my four precious hours ... 1/2 hour on dinner, 1/2 hour on breakfast, and the rest in bed. None of that time would be made up on the second day.
After a gentle climb out of Winthrop, the last 16 miles up Highway 2 to Washington Pass were ... well ... long. Any spring I may have had in my pedal stroke the day before all but vanished. But eventually, the summit arrived. And with it, rain. Steady rain. For most of the way to Marblemount. No fast descents for this country boy!
The town of Newhalem arrived later than anticipated, as did the controle in Marblemount (after some ups and downs along the Skagit River). But now, Arlington was less than 100k away.
I stocked up on caffeine at a convenience store in Darrington (first cell connection since Pateros), then found the energy to "hoof it" the last 28 miles to Arlington. Arrived at the motel at 8:59 in the evening, one hour and one minute before the 40-hour deadline, and eight minutes before the laterne rouge. Was checked in by cheery Chris and Emily (in a motel room full of pizza), and greeted by Ed (who finished an hour and a half earlier).
Without lingering terribly long, Ed and I drove back to my friend Barbara's house in Seattle, where we were fed a lovely steak dinner. We rode a few warm-down laps around Greenlake the next morning, then drove the rest of the way back to Portland.
Thanks to Robert Higdon for organizing this memorable 600k, and to the SIR for this opportunity to complete a "super randonneur" series in 2010.
Pictures are here on Flickr.
Enter a 600k option from the Seattle Randonneurs, a mountainous ride starting and ending in Arlington, WA two weeks later (september 10-11). Joshua bryant’s friend Robert Higdon was putting it on. And even though it would involve a bit of a drive, the route would introduce me to some significant new territory (a good thing).
Ed Groth expressed interest in riding this 600k as well, so the two of us ended up carpooling to Seattle the day before the ride, and onwards to Arlington the morning of.
The ride commenced from the Arlington Motor Inn before sunrise, and headed East and Southeast towards Sultan. I fell off the pace of the main group (as it were) about 10-15 miles in (‘round Granite Falls), then proceeded to miss a turn onto Bollenbaugh Hill Road (around mile 32) which cost me about 5 bonus miles.
A lovely feature of this ride was the use of Old Highway 2 up to Stevens Pass. Robert, wife Jane, and friends Chris and Emily operated at a secret contole at the first turn onto this scenic and lightly traveled bypass. A footbridge further up ensured there was little car traffic. Upon reaching the summit, I texted to Facebook that "Stevens Pass (elev 4061 ft) hasn't gotten any easier! Leavenworth here I come!"
Leavenworth (34 miles past the Stevens Pass summit) has now become a familiar controle town, complete with cutsey signage on even the mainstream businesses. Once again, I ate and had my card signed at Subway and its adjoining convenience store.
Just before hitting Wenatchee, the route headed North along the West bank of the Columbia River on Alt Hwy 97. Now I was in new territory!, heading towards Entiat as the sun ducked behind the mountains on the left. Several hours later (but before 11:00 PM), I arrived at the controle in Pateros (fabulously manned by Joe Platzner and Vincent Muoneke) with over four hours in the bank. I then proceeded on the noctural journey towards mecca...no...I mean Winthrop.
I was still dark when I arrived at the overnight controle, but the cooks had already switched over from chili to pancakes. There was still some of the former left, though, so that's what I ate before a crucial two-hour nap. By the time I left Sunday morning, I had used up three of my four precious hours ... 1/2 hour on dinner, 1/2 hour on breakfast, and the rest in bed. None of that time would be made up on the second day.
After a gentle climb out of Winthrop, the last 16 miles up Highway 2 to Washington Pass were ... well ... long. Any spring I may have had in my pedal stroke the day before all but vanished. But eventually, the summit arrived. And with it, rain. Steady rain. For most of the way to Marblemount. No fast descents for this country boy!
The town of Newhalem arrived later than anticipated, as did the controle in Marblemount (after some ups and downs along the Skagit River). But now, Arlington was less than 100k away.
I stocked up on caffeine at a convenience store in Darrington (first cell connection since Pateros), then found the energy to "hoof it" the last 28 miles to Arlington. Arrived at the motel at 8:59 in the evening, one hour and one minute before the 40-hour deadline, and eight minutes before the laterne rouge. Was checked in by cheery Chris and Emily (in a motel room full of pizza), and greeted by Ed (who finished an hour and a half earlier).
Without lingering terribly long, Ed and I drove back to my friend Barbara's house in Seattle, where we were fed a lovely steak dinner. We rode a few warm-down laps around Greenlake the next morning, then drove the rest of the way back to Portland.
Thanks to Robert Higdon for organizing this memorable 600k, and to the SIR for this opportunity to complete a "super randonneur" series in 2010.
Pictures are here on Flickr.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
RSVP 2010
The 2010 “Ride from Seattle to Vancouver (BC) & Party,” (August 13-14) like many of this year’s longer bike trips, came rather quickly. Oh sure I pre-registered sometime last Winter (it’s a popular ride that sells out quickly), but then a lot of stuff pushed its way to the front of my consciousness, leaving preparations for RSVP to hibernate till a couple days before the ride.
And then I freaked out. How am I gonna get back to Seattle? How am I gonna get my bike back to Seattle? Will I be able to find a place to sleep in Bellingham?
When going through my packet a day and a half before the ride (which had languished under a pile of paperwork for a couple of weeks), I discovered a bike pass for the trip back to Seattle. Whew! As for the overnight in Bellingham, I’d take my chances. Fortunately, the overnight stay in Vancouver wouldn’t be a problem, as I have some accommodating tango friends there.
Unpreparedness extended to the morning of the first day, when I didn’t get out of Portland till 4:00 AM. I arrived at the start in Magnusun Park in Seattle a few minutes before check-in closed, dropped off my overnight bag, then unloaded my bike and suited up for the ride.
Much of the early part of the ride is along the Seattle’s Burke-Gilman trail. I didn’t linger much, but was still passed by quite a few riders. Hmmm. A bunch of hares, I suppose.
My first real stop was in Arlington (about 50 miles into the ride), where I found Cecil and Lynne lunching at a healthy food café … with (of course) their shiny Sweetpeas right behind them. This was my first time to see Lynne’s new rando bike, and (of course) I pulled my camera out for its first pictures of the journey.
About 40 miles later, while stocking up on liquids and pizza in Bow, I ran into randonneur Nat Beagley and a couple of his friends from Richland, WA. The headwinds that greeted us as we headed North towards Chuckanut Dr. and Bellingham were memorable.
It was along this stretch that my rear tire flatted. I had a heck of a time getting the bead of the Gatorskin back over my fairly new Velocity Fusion rim.
I ran into another randonneur, Albert Meerscheidt of Seattle, at the Samish Bay overlook. Had to stop for a couple pictures there.
One needn’t have worried about housing in Bellingham … that is if one doesn’t mind a room with a lot of residual smoke. In my case, I adjusted quickly, falling asleep shortly after an efficient Mexican dinner, and departed not that long after sunrise.
A bi-annual trip across the Canadian border accounts for all my “international” travel of the last four years. Northbound customs at the Aldergrove Broder Crossing was a breeze, mostly because of preparations made by the Cascade Bicycle Club. Show your passport. Get your name checked off a list. You’re good to go!
After the fairly lengthy rest stop in Ft. Langley (it was hot), the route took us over a new, modern bridge over the Pitt River that replaced the Albion Ferry. Continuing on, it was a bit of a trudge to Burnaby (perhaps cuz I didn’t stop at the rest area in Pt. Moody). The Frances/Union Bike route then provided a good quasi-suburban transition into Vancouver proper.
Once at the finish (at Vancouver’s Coast Plaza Hotel), I doused the complementary hamburger with an expensive (but ordinary) beer, then was picked up by tango friend Wendy and taken to the Granville Island brewery (recommended by Canadian track cyclist Jamie Shankland). Then after a shower and power nap, it was off to a tango dinner/dance in North Vancouver.
Bike and I got safely onto the first bus back to Seattle Sunday morning. Southbound customs back into the States took a lot more time than the previous day’s Northbound crossing. The rest of the trip, though, was mostly (and pleasantly) uneventful. Almost forgot to pick up my drop bag at Magnuson Park, though, before driving home.
Good ride. Maybe I’ll do it every other year. I find Vancouver intriguing. Plus, there are some good friends who tango there.
My pictures from the ride are here on Flickr
And then I freaked out. How am I gonna get back to Seattle? How am I gonna get my bike back to Seattle? Will I be able to find a place to sleep in Bellingham?
When going through my packet a day and a half before the ride (which had languished under a pile of paperwork for a couple of weeks), I discovered a bike pass for the trip back to Seattle. Whew! As for the overnight in Bellingham, I’d take my chances. Fortunately, the overnight stay in Vancouver wouldn’t be a problem, as I have some accommodating tango friends there.
Unpreparedness extended to the morning of the first day, when I didn’t get out of Portland till 4:00 AM. I arrived at the start in Magnusun Park in Seattle a few minutes before check-in closed, dropped off my overnight bag, then unloaded my bike and suited up for the ride.
Much of the early part of the ride is along the Seattle’s Burke-Gilman trail. I didn’t linger much, but was still passed by quite a few riders. Hmmm. A bunch of hares, I suppose.
My first real stop was in Arlington (about 50 miles into the ride), where I found Cecil and Lynne lunching at a healthy food café … with (of course) their shiny Sweetpeas right behind them. This was my first time to see Lynne’s new rando bike, and (of course) I pulled my camera out for its first pictures of the journey.
About 40 miles later, while stocking up on liquids and pizza in Bow, I ran into randonneur Nat Beagley and a couple of his friends from Richland, WA. The headwinds that greeted us as we headed North towards Chuckanut Dr. and Bellingham were memorable.
It was along this stretch that my rear tire flatted. I had a heck of a time getting the bead of the Gatorskin back over my fairly new Velocity Fusion rim.
I ran into another randonneur, Albert Meerscheidt of Seattle, at the Samish Bay overlook. Had to stop for a couple pictures there.
One needn’t have worried about housing in Bellingham … that is if one doesn’t mind a room with a lot of residual smoke. In my case, I adjusted quickly, falling asleep shortly after an efficient Mexican dinner, and departed not that long after sunrise.
A bi-annual trip across the Canadian border accounts for all my “international” travel of the last four years. Northbound customs at the Aldergrove Broder Crossing was a breeze, mostly because of preparations made by the Cascade Bicycle Club. Show your passport. Get your name checked off a list. You’re good to go!
After the fairly lengthy rest stop in Ft. Langley (it was hot), the route took us over a new, modern bridge over the Pitt River that replaced the Albion Ferry. Continuing on, it was a bit of a trudge to Burnaby (perhaps cuz I didn’t stop at the rest area in Pt. Moody). The Frances/Union Bike route then provided a good quasi-suburban transition into Vancouver proper.
Once at the finish (at Vancouver’s Coast Plaza Hotel), I doused the complementary hamburger with an expensive (but ordinary) beer, then was picked up by tango friend Wendy and taken to the Granville Island brewery (recommended by Canadian track cyclist Jamie Shankland). Then after a shower and power nap, it was off to a tango dinner/dance in North Vancouver.
Bike and I got safely onto the first bus back to Seattle Sunday morning. Southbound customs back into the States took a lot more time than the previous day’s Northbound crossing. The rest of the trip, though, was mostly (and pleasantly) uneventful. Almost forgot to pick up my drop bag at Magnuson Park, though, before driving home.
Good ride. Maybe I’ll do it every other year. I find Vancouver intriguing. Plus, there are some good friends who tango there.
My pictures from the ride are here on Flickr
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
3 Volcanoes 300k
I had a choice for the first weekend in August: ride 400k out of Wilsonville on a route that featured some of Oregon's illustrious historic covered bridges (a route I had ridden a few months earlier), or ride 300 mountainous kilometers on roads through the Gifford National Forest that I had never seen. As someone who doesn't even like to drink the same beer twice in a row, I chose the latter.
The "Three Volcanoes 300k" started in the small town of Packwood, WA (about a 2.5 hour drive from Portland), which serves as a gateway of sorts into the Cascades (about 50 miles south of Mt. Rainier). The ride featured many narrow-ish, scenic national forest roads, and about 10 miles of gravel. Because of this last detail, I elected to take my 'cross bike, which accommodates wider tires than my LeMond. The last time I rode a cyclocross bike on a rando ride was Michael Wolfe's "Alsea Falls 400k" about a year earlier. (After that ride, my Shimano generator hub was converted for use with my LeMond.) On this ride, I used my old Nite Sun battery-powered handlebar-mounted light, which turned out to be problematic on the final mountainous descent of the ride.
Amy Peiper put out an email a couple days before the ride that a cabin room in Packwood became unexpectedly available before and after the ride. Four others and I signed up, and I drove up from Portland pretty much straight from work on Friday afternoon/evening. 'Twas nice to wake up in the town from which the ride commenced.
From the local Shell station, the ride started out briskly enough, with plenty o' pacelines from Packwood to Randle. Things spread apart a bit after the first contrôle, (at the Iron Creek Picnic Grounds), but I ended up riding the next 15 or so miles with the likes of Chris Heg, John Perch, David Rowe and Jon Muellner.
After watering up at the Blue Lake Creek Campground, I rode solo for most of the remainder of the ascent to Baby Shoe Pass, which included a fair amount of gravel for the last 5 or 6 miles. At the summit, I arrived at about the same time as bike builder Dan Boxer, but before I left, several other people arrived (as evidenced by this group picture).
A few more miles of gravel on the descent, then some fast pavement to Trout Lake. Lotsa riders stopped here for Huckleberry Shakes (which included a long wait), but I elected for a shorter contrôle stop at the Trout Lake grocery store (as did Dan Fender).
The next section included section of Kramer's SxSW 200k (that was held in July 2009). Some hills, some drops, a few spots of gravel, and finally a well-attended contrôle at Northwoods .
From there, the final ascent up to Windy Ridge and Elks Pass was challenging. And then there was the descent. A moist and foggy descent. My Nite-Sun didn’t illuminate things in a very confidence-inspiring way, and I ended up being passed by a few people on the way to Randle, including "Levis on Litespeed" Steven Barnes. After the right-turn-onto-smaller-roads back towards Packwood, Steve started to fade a bit. The two of us basically finished at the same time with a far-from-lanterne-rouge time of 18 hrs and 15 minutes.
Three hundred kilometers, 12,000 feet of climbing, 10+ miles of gravel, and 3 passes over 4000 feet. What co-organizer and tandem pilot Amy Pieper later described as “truly the full meal deal of brevets.”
Some excellent photos and description of the ride were posted here by Chris Heg.
John Muellner has a detailed account here.
The rest of my pictures are here on Flickr.
The "Three Volcanoes 300k" started in the small town of Packwood, WA (about a 2.5 hour drive from Portland), which serves as a gateway of sorts into the Cascades (about 50 miles south of Mt. Rainier). The ride featured many narrow-ish, scenic national forest roads, and about 10 miles of gravel. Because of this last detail, I elected to take my 'cross bike, which accommodates wider tires than my LeMond. The last time I rode a cyclocross bike on a rando ride was Michael Wolfe's "Alsea Falls 400k" about a year earlier. (After that ride, my Shimano generator hub was converted for use with my LeMond.) On this ride, I used my old Nite Sun battery-powered handlebar-mounted light, which turned out to be problematic on the final mountainous descent of the ride.
Amy Peiper put out an email a couple days before the ride that a cabin room in Packwood became unexpectedly available before and after the ride. Four others and I signed up, and I drove up from Portland pretty much straight from work on Friday afternoon/evening. 'Twas nice to wake up in the town from which the ride commenced.
From the local Shell station, the ride started out briskly enough, with plenty o' pacelines from Packwood to Randle. Things spread apart a bit after the first contrôle, (at the Iron Creek Picnic Grounds), but I ended up riding the next 15 or so miles with the likes of Chris Heg, John Perch, David Rowe and Jon Muellner.
After watering up at the Blue Lake Creek Campground, I rode solo for most of the remainder of the ascent to Baby Shoe Pass, which included a fair amount of gravel for the last 5 or 6 miles. At the summit, I arrived at about the same time as bike builder Dan Boxer, but before I left, several other people arrived (as evidenced by this group picture).
A few more miles of gravel on the descent, then some fast pavement to Trout Lake. Lotsa riders stopped here for Huckleberry Shakes (which included a long wait), but I elected for a shorter contrôle stop at the Trout Lake grocery store (as did Dan Fender).
The next section included section of Kramer's SxSW 200k (that was held in July 2009). Some hills, some drops, a few spots of gravel, and finally a well-attended contrôle at Northwoods .
From there, the final ascent up to Windy Ridge and Elks Pass was challenging. And then there was the descent. A moist and foggy descent. My Nite-Sun didn’t illuminate things in a very confidence-inspiring way, and I ended up being passed by a few people on the way to Randle, including "Levis on Litespeed" Steven Barnes. After the right-turn-onto-smaller-roads back towards Packwood, Steve started to fade a bit. The two of us basically finished at the same time with a far-from-lanterne-rouge time of 18 hrs and 15 minutes.
Three hundred kilometers, 12,000 feet of climbing, 10+ miles of gravel, and 3 passes over 4000 feet. What co-organizer and tandem pilot Amy Pieper later described as “truly the full meal deal of brevets.”
Some excellent photos and description of the ride were posted here by Chris Heg.
John Muellner has a detailed account here.
The rest of my pictures are here on Flickr.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
A tale of two rando rides [out of Olympia, Washington]
100k (July 8, 2010)
When Paul (Dr. Codfish) Johnson described the Seattle International Randonneurs' populaire on July 8th as a good introduction for non-initiated friends to the sport of randonneuring, I thought, "Hmmmm. Maybe Amy could take her recently-acquired Surly Crosscheck on a 62-mile romp through central-Western Washington." Never mind her longest ride to date had been about 10 miles, and that she dislikes hills with a vengance. At least now she had a bike better suited to this sort of adventure than her garage-sale Huffy.
We arrived in Olympia on that Saturday morning just in time (sort of) for Paul's pre-ride announcements in the parking lot of Olympia's Fish Tale Brewery. Once the ride commenced, Amy and I promptly took our places "off the back" from stream of 40-some-odd riders. A few early rollers had Amy wondering if this was really a good idea.
The first contrôle was in the small, smelly town of Rainier. WA. Amy and I got our brevet cards signed at a little cookie shop (the shop was small, not the cookies), and Amy considered hanging out there for the rest of the day while I would continue to the finish, then go to fetch her. But fortunately, she continued on instead.
This 100k ride was relatively flat (especially by SIR standards), but the ensuing hills did not agree with Amy's respertory system. It was like an athsma attack would happen every time the road angled upwards
.
The half-way point was at the Skookumchuck River dam, where John Vincent and Millison Fambles manned the controle. Amy was hoping to catch a ride from one of them back to Olympia, but instead they encouraged her to continue, saying the worst of the hills were over. In the meantime, fashionably late starters Robert Higdon and Jane Hudson arrived!
Amy's actually a strong rider when the terrain is flat. And when she gave herself "permission" to walk her bike up hills, things went fine. We leapfrogged Robert and Jane, then donned "Cyclos Escargot" jerseys at the Scott Lake Store contrôle (~10 miles from the end). We took off before Robert and Jane, thereby making it likely they would receive "lanterne rouge" honors.
Nice welcoming crew outside the Fish Tale Brewery. Amy ended up pleased that she stuck with it through the end. 'Twas quite an accomplishment for her first rando adventure. In retrospect, I wished I had ridden a fixie (as Robert did), but of course didn't think of it in time.
200k (July 22, 2010)
The brevet two weeks later also started in downtown Olympia, in nearby Sentenial Park, and headed almost due South. I was able to latch onto some relatively fast pacelines most of the way to Centralia (averaging nearly 18 mph!), and didn't linger long at the first controle. The route continued on Alpha-Centralia Road (which was also part of the SIR 600 route 14 months earlier), then South to Mayfield Lake and Mossyrock.
By that time, my average speed had crept down to 16 mph (still good by my standards). Warm weather created a large demand for ice there at that mid-way controle. From there, the route continued back West-Southwest to a rural-intersection info contrôle, then up to Chehalis, Centralia, and finally Olympia. I rode mostly solo for the remainder of the brevet. And even though my average speed continued to decline, I kept pushing. I wanted to break the 10-hour barrier for the first time on a 200k, which was made more difficult, not only by the heat, but by the fact that this ride was actually 213 kilometers (which I didn't realize till North of Centralia). It was also made more difficult by leg cramps that occured around 90 miles and again 110 miles. After walking them out and then continuing, I finally arrived at the Fish Tale Brewery. "Did I make single digit hours?," I asked organizer Josh Morse. "Yes," was the answer. My time was 9 hours and 57 minutes. Average speed: 13.5 mph.
Seems like I'm doing a lot of Seattle International Randonneurs rides lately instead of ones put on by the Oregon Randonneurs. Trust me, it's just timing and scheduling (juggling work, tango and velodrome events). But it also means that my next 300k and 600k will happen North of the state border.
Rest of my SIR 100k Populaire photos are here on Flickr.
Rest of my SIR 200k Brevet photos are here on Flickr.
Monday, July 12, 2010
rough around the edges
A report on my first 6-Day races at Alpenrose
About a month or so ago at the local velodrome, I naively asked my cycling coach (who primarily works with track racers) if there was gonna be a novice category for the upcoming Alpenrose 6-Day races. (The centerpiece of the 6-day is the madison, a two-person-team event that involves hand/arm slinging your partner around the 45-degree banked turns of the track on alternating laps.) Rather than give me the concise and later-obvious answer of “No,” Brian offered to be my partner.
After a couple sessions of practicing madison exchanges, we showed up (along with 12 other teams) at the Alpenrose Velodrome on Monday evening, June 28th for the 1st day madison pursuits. These timed pursuits (with two teams on the track at a time) established a ranking which was used to group riders into categories. As it turns out, there was an A group (fast boys with qualifying times within seconds of each other), a B group (all of them faster than me), and a Women’s group (all 8 ladies students of Brian). That evening’s pursuits were followed by the week’s first madison. We survived! … cleanly making most of our exchanges. And I went home thinking that Brian was going way beyond the call of duty as a coach.
The 2nd night of the 6-Day started with a couple omnium events for each group before their respective madisons. One of the races for the B’s was “point a lap”, which is really not my thing … racing against 9 other faster guys who are motivated to finish each lap as quickly as possible. I remember yelling up to Jen Featheringill (who was in the stands) something about not knowing what I was doing here, and she’s said “You’re there to suck wheel!” During that evening’s B madison, I remember being passed on the inside by one of the Godfrey brothers on the final approach to the finish line. ‘Twas kinda like being on an L.A. freeway.
The 3rd night was kinda like the 2nd … two mass-start races for each group before the final madison. For the first two races, I basically tried to simultaneously go fast while staying out of people’s way. And during the madison, there was one time when I was in a crowd of multiple exchanges that felt a bit dicey. But things basically went okay.
Nights 4 and 5 (July 1st and 2nd) were rained out, so Saturday’s start time was pushed up an hour so racing could begin with an additional (and rather memorable) morning madison. About 3 or 4 laps into that first “B” race, my front tire slipped in turn one, and I was suddenly down. Not only that, 3 other riders fell as well, including my coach. Whistles blew, and I somehow moved (too quickly, according to Luciano Bailey) to the infield, not knowing if I was okay or not. Turns out all my limbs still worked. Brian, however, had a messy broken finger, for which he stayed amazingly un-phased (even smiling at times) while it was treated. My turn in the medic’s chair was next, and I more-or-less assumed that my 6-Day was over. (Everything I thought was “more-or-less” at that point.) After my more obvious abrasions were treated, Bike Central mechanic Dean came over and told me my bike was ready to roll. I asked him how damaged it was, and he said all I needed to know was that it was rolling straight and ready to go. What I learned later is that Brian had asked Dean to put a new rear wheel on my bike, cuz he wanted me back on the track. This also meant that Brian would be riding again, as I sure as heck wasn’t gonna be doing the final 45-minute madison without him.
Turns out my helmet was cracked, so I borrowed team-member Emily Charbonneau’s for the next B group (mass-start) race. Don’t remember what kind of race it was, except that it was a relatively short one of 10 laps.
And then the final madison … this one 45 minutes long! Brian and I finished, although during it we had to alter our exchanges so that I pulled on Brian’s left wrist rather than his hand. I missed a couple of exchanges, but was most bummed on the two laps when Brian took off like a bat-out-of-hell (he is a master sprinter) and I wasn’t ready in time for the subsequent exchanges.
Brian was amazingly upbeat and cheery through the whole day’s events, even though I knew he was riding (and coaching) though considerable pain. He’s gotta be the most tough-as-nails guy I know. But on top of that, he’s also always strategizing and thinking big-picture.
Brian’s assessment while cooling down after our last race was that I was “a bit rough around the edges”, but that I did well. About the crash, he said that I was probably going a little slow in turn one, and that when I made a little steering correction, the wheel slipped. At the end of the day (after the A group’s final one-hour madison), Brian asked what I thought about the 6-Day, but then quickly added that it would probably take a week of processing to come up with an answer. Well, that was nine days ago, and I’m still not sure. I do know that the 6-Day became as big a deal as the 1000k rando ride three weeks earlier, even though it’s at the total opposite end of the cycling spectrum.
Another memorable impression from the 6-Day is how kind and encouraging several of the B riders were afterwards. Of those, Eric Nachtrab of Portland Bicycle Studio was particularly friendly all week long.
Brian had said earlier that one always comes out of a 6-Day a better rider than before. I hope that’s true. But I also know by bike handling skills still have a lot of room for improvement (as does my still under-powered motor).
As I write this, the bruise on my left waist and hip area is still sizable, and the abrasions on my right side fairly sore. But getting in and out of a car (or in and out of bed) is finally getting easier. Ironically, pedaling hasn't been a problem. In fact, a leisurely 100k ride last Saturday felt just fine.
Big congratulations go to teammates Camille Hook, Heather VanValkenburg, and Zak Kovalcik for impressively winning their respective categories at the 6-Day races.
More photos by my friends Amy and Michael from the last day of the 6-Day are here on Flickr.
About a month or so ago at the local velodrome, I naively asked my cycling coach (who primarily works with track racers) if there was gonna be a novice category for the upcoming Alpenrose 6-Day races. (The centerpiece of the 6-day is the madison, a two-person-team event that involves hand/arm slinging your partner around the 45-degree banked turns of the track on alternating laps.) Rather than give me the concise and later-obvious answer of “No,” Brian offered to be my partner.
After a couple sessions of practicing madison exchanges, we showed up (along with 12 other teams) at the Alpenrose Velodrome on Monday evening, June 28th for the 1st day madison pursuits. These timed pursuits (with two teams on the track at a time) established a ranking which was used to group riders into categories. As it turns out, there was an A group (fast boys with qualifying times within seconds of each other), a B group (all of them faster than me), and a Women’s group (all 8 ladies students of Brian). That evening’s pursuits were followed by the week’s first madison. We survived! … cleanly making most of our exchanges. And I went home thinking that Brian was going way beyond the call of duty as a coach.
The 2nd night of the 6-Day started with a couple omnium events for each group before their respective madisons. One of the races for the B’s was “point a lap”, which is really not my thing … racing against 9 other faster guys who are motivated to finish each lap as quickly as possible. I remember yelling up to Jen Featheringill (who was in the stands) something about not knowing what I was doing here, and she’s said “You’re there to suck wheel!” During that evening’s B madison, I remember being passed on the inside by one of the Godfrey brothers on the final approach to the finish line. ‘Twas kinda like being on an L.A. freeway.
The 3rd night was kinda like the 2nd … two mass-start races for each group before the final madison. For the first two races, I basically tried to simultaneously go fast while staying out of people’s way. And during the madison, there was one time when I was in a crowd of multiple exchanges that felt a bit dicey. But things basically went okay.
Nights 4 and 5 (July 1st and 2nd) were rained out, so Saturday’s start time was pushed up an hour so racing could begin with an additional (and rather memorable) morning madison. About 3 or 4 laps into that first “B” race, my front tire slipped in turn one, and I was suddenly down. Not only that, 3 other riders fell as well, including my coach. Whistles blew, and I somehow moved (too quickly, according to Luciano Bailey) to the infield, not knowing if I was okay or not. Turns out all my limbs still worked. Brian, however, had a messy broken finger, for which he stayed amazingly un-phased (even smiling at times) while it was treated. My turn in the medic’s chair was next, and I more-or-less assumed that my 6-Day was over. (Everything I thought was “more-or-less” at that point.) After my more obvious abrasions were treated, Bike Central mechanic Dean came over and told me my bike was ready to roll. I asked him how damaged it was, and he said all I needed to know was that it was rolling straight and ready to go. What I learned later is that Brian had asked Dean to put a new rear wheel on my bike, cuz he wanted me back on the track. This also meant that Brian would be riding again, as I sure as heck wasn’t gonna be doing the final 45-minute madison without him.
Turns out my helmet was cracked, so I borrowed team-member Emily Charbonneau’s for the next B group (mass-start) race. Don’t remember what kind of race it was, except that it was a relatively short one of 10 laps.
And then the final madison … this one 45 minutes long! Brian and I finished, although during it we had to alter our exchanges so that I pulled on Brian’s left wrist rather than his hand. I missed a couple of exchanges, but was most bummed on the two laps when Brian took off like a bat-out-of-hell (he is a master sprinter) and I wasn’t ready in time for the subsequent exchanges.
Brian was amazingly upbeat and cheery through the whole day’s events, even though I knew he was riding (and coaching) though considerable pain. He’s gotta be the most tough-as-nails guy I know. But on top of that, he’s also always strategizing and thinking big-picture.
Brian’s assessment while cooling down after our last race was that I was “a bit rough around the edges”, but that I did well. About the crash, he said that I was probably going a little slow in turn one, and that when I made a little steering correction, the wheel slipped. At the end of the day (after the A group’s final one-hour madison), Brian asked what I thought about the 6-Day, but then quickly added that it would probably take a week of processing to come up with an answer. Well, that was nine days ago, and I’m still not sure. I do know that the 6-Day became as big a deal as the 1000k rando ride three weeks earlier, even though it’s at the total opposite end of the cycling spectrum.
Another memorable impression from the 6-Day is how kind and encouraging several of the B riders were afterwards. Of those, Eric Nachtrab of Portland Bicycle Studio was particularly friendly all week long.
Brian had said earlier that one always comes out of a 6-Day a better rider than before. I hope that’s true. But I also know by bike handling skills still have a lot of room for improvement (as does my still under-powered motor).
As I write this, the bruise on my left waist and hip area is still sizable, and the abrasions on my right side fairly sore. But getting in and out of a car (or in and out of bed) is finally getting easier. Ironically, pedaling hasn't been a problem. In fact, a leisurely 100k ride last Saturday felt just fine.
Big congratulations go to teammates Camille Hook, Heather VanValkenburg, and Zak Kovalcik for impressively winning their respective categories at the 6-Day races.
More photos by my friends Amy and Michael from the last day of the 6-Day are here on Flickr.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Oregon Blue Mountains 1000k Ride Report
I finished. All 622 mountainous miles ... with 13 minutes to spare. Don't really have words to describe the range of emotions and sensations experienced in this 74-hour 47-minute ordeal. But among them is a sense of relief that Paris-Brest-Paris may actually be feasible next year.
Prior to this ride, I failed to write about my previous two significant brevets. Before last month, I documented every randonneuring event I've ridden since the Desert Rivers 600k back in September, 2008 (which has meant a report at least every month since then). But recently, I’ve been so involved with moving, housewarming, continued unpacking, and busy-ness at work that blogging has taken a back seat. But in this report, I'll play catch up, by dedicating a paragraph each to the previous two brevets.
Eden's Gate 400k on May 1st was a pleasant if not headwindy tour of the Willamette Valley and several of its covered bridges. It started and ended in Wilsonville. Initially, I had plans of significantly improving my time for this awkward distance. As it turns out, I did set a PR, but simultaneously "lanterne rouged" it (with three others) as well. I was doing okay mid-ride (which means while not setting any self-powered land speed records, I was still tracking for a decent time), leapfrogging some with Dan Jensen and his friend Richard Hornung. I then joined a pretty good paceline near the southern-most point (around Coburn), but then flatted. In Harrisburg, I caught up with Dan, Richard, and Amy Pieper. We had some pretty good pacelines heading up into Albany (with Dan doing most of the pulling). After Albany, Amy's stamina began to falter, and we slowed down momentarily to walking speed to recover. Around Salem, we were passed by other groups of riders, but by then our quartet had formed enough camaraderie that it seemed best to ride with them to the end. We finished what Amy called “the most difficult easy 400k she’s ever done” with a time of 23:28.
The Oregon Coast 600k on May 22-23 was really nice (if not hillier than expected), at least the 2/3 of it I did. The main pack pulled away fairly quickly not far from the start in Forest Grove. Nevertheless, I felt like my pace was pretty good through Birkenfield and Warrentown.
When I flatted (twice!) near Ft. Stevens State Park, I was a little surprised how quickly Roger and Ali (from BC) and Narayan caught me. My flat-changing skills still not being up to snuff, I was quickly put in the position of fighting the clock. And in case you're wondering, Highway 101 between Seaside and Lincoln City isn’t flat. By the time I got to the overnight contrôle (at 6:00 AM), my average speed had decreased to the point where I had no time in the bank. Nevertheless, I continued along the attractive Siletz River to Logsdon. But because I was continuing to lose time, and with a significant hill in the distance, I decided to call it quits. Then while continuing at a very slow meander, organizer Joshua Bryant drove past (directly witnessing my disappointment). As soon as he got a cell phone signal, he called my friend Amy to pick me up in Blodgett. The disappointment of dnf’ing lasted a few days. But in retrospect, maybe it wasn’t all bad. Maybe the conserved energy helped three weeks later with the OBM1000k.
June 12th seemed to arrive rather quickly, so much so that I didn’t obsess much about the upcoming Oregon Blue Mountains 1000k. I had pre-registered in early Spring, and had for quite some time established it as my main goal for the 2010 season. But it wasn’t like I spent a lot of time analyzing the route and becoming familiar with the details. Sure, I printed out the 36,000-ft net gain elevation profile, but those lines don’t mean the same thing on paper as they do when you’re on the bike.
The day before embarking on this potential 75-hour adventure, I took the LeMond into my LBS for a final once over. Lo and behold, when refilling the rear tire with air, the rim blew! (The walls of the rim had become excessively thin from a lot of braking.) So, I embarked on this particular rando journey with a hastily borrowed (and noisy) rear wheel from the Beaverton Bike N Hike. Hey … it worked!
My friend Amy drove me out to The Dalles on Saturday morning, getting us there within a half hour of the start. Once the ride was underway, most of the riders hung together through The Dalles, but began to separate on the Hwy 197 bridge over the River Columbia. Eastbound Highway 14 out towards Umatilla didn’t have the favorable tailwinds that swiftly pushed the riders of the Desert Rivers 600k 21 months earlier. Nonetheless, the first 200 kilometers were mostly free of the hills that defined the remaining 800k.
I intermittently rode with a couple other riders during the course of the 3-plus-day brevet, but hop-scotched Peg Winczewski and Lesli Larson for almost the entire event. The two of them tended to climb a little faster than me, but they also tended to take slightly longer food breaks at the contrôles. What was most remarkable about them, though, was their unflappable steadiness despite never accumulating a lot of time in the bank. If they were ever concerned about not finishing in time, I would have certainly never guessed it.
The first major climb was Eastwards on Hwy 204 out of Weston, and lasted about 30k (19 miles) to the summit in Tollgate. Prior to this climb, Peg, Lesli and I had stopped for dinner at a café in Athena. I arrived and left there a little before the two of them, assuming they would catch me on the long ascent. While the sun was setting (and afterwards) during the climb, I would occasionally hear Peg’s and Lesli’s voices approaching from behind. But surprisingly, I arrived at the contrôle at the top before them. There at the Tamarack Inn volunteers served warm soup and made-to-order sandwiches before sending us out on a long dark 35k (22-mile) descent to Elgin.
The next contrôle was 33k (20 miles) after Elgin on the outskirts of La Grande. What was remarkable about this major Eastern Oregon town was the amount of major pre-dawn freight train activity. I must have waited for or ridden along 3 different 100-plus-railcar trains in my brief stint there.
Dawn and a very beautiful sunrise occurred in the rolling hills between the contrôle in Union and “overnight” stop in North Powder. After a few pieces of pizza at the North Powder Motel, Paul Whitney steered me to a room for a 90-minute nap. By the time I was up and about, there were Peg and Lesli again, having breakfast.
Jim Hinkley passed me going South on Hwy 30 to Baker City. I drafted him a little bit, but that was short-lived. Baker City was hosting a rather large Harley-Davidson convention during the weekend. In fact, every motorcyclist in Eastern Oregon appeared to be out on the road on this particularly bright and dry Sunday afternoon.
The next series of serious hills happened on the Sumpter State Hwy between Baker City and Prairie City. John Kramer marked the elevations of the summits on his route sheet (5118 ft, 5117 ft, 5268 ft), so I had some “fun” (as it were) with knowing how much vertical ascent I had left on any particular climb (with help from Garmin’s altimeter function). Between the 2nd and 3rd passes was a contrôle at the Austin House, where Alan Woods was departing at about the same time Lesli and Peg settled down for a proper meal. I purchased only a milkshake, and after pouring much of it in one of my water bottles, headed to the 3rd summit (this one on Hwy 26), then Prairie City.
I missed Logan Valley Road out of Prairie City, and instead took an extension of what was marked as Bridge St. (which zigzags out of town, and which I understood “ran into” Logan Valley Rd.). This unfortunately cost me an extra 11 kilometers. But it cost Alan Woods a lot more, who independently made the same wrong turn 20+ minutes earlier. Alan was understandably perturbed. I was thankful, though, that he saved me from further bonus miles. With somewhat diminished enthusiasm, the two of us rode together 15 miles up to Trout Farm, a nice little campground with fresh water and the cleanest non-porta-potties I have ever seen. While doing a wardrobe change, Lesli and Peg caught up with us. The four of us then continued together to the next summit (5,950 ft) and onward an additonal 15 miles to the contrôle at Parish Cabin Campground. Well, actually, I lost Alan, Peg, and Lesli about a dozen miles shy of the campground, their taillights disappearing into the distance. This section of the journey was unexpectedly difficult, and was where I came closest in the whole 3+ days to abandoning. My bike suddenly felt very ill-fitted (I’ve had the fitting on my LeMond fine-tuned three times!), and I ended up walking up a couple of the rollers on the way to the campground. I finally got there with 5 minutes before the contrôle was scheduled to close, about 15 minutes behind Alan, Peg, and Lesli. There I plopped down next to a campfire and was fed a warm cup-o’-noodles and 1 ½ sandwiches. Alan thankfully had some ibuprofen that he shared with me, so that when we finally left, I was relatively good to go.
Alan was anxious to get going (a little more so than Lesli and Peg), but he was also concerned about my safety. He accompanied me during the entire 28-mile descent to John Day, during which we were able to make up considerable time (despite the darkness and the cattleguards). Once on Highway 26 (heading westwards), Alan took off at his own pace, and was napping in Scott Peterson’s van at the Dayville contrôle when I arrived. Once Alan left, I took over his space in the van. Peg and Lesli arrived a little later, and took naps in the pleasantly heated park restroom.
Thirty-eight miles later (after the scenic river-hugging John Day fossil beds) was the 2nd “overnight” contrôle … in Mitchell. But in that 38 miles was another summit that took me forever to climb. Peg and Lesli passed me while I stopped to remove some layers of clothing, and I never saw them again (until Mitchell). Once I arrived, the place was swarming with attendant volunteers (including speedy Kole Kanter, who obviously I’d heard of before, but had never met). The rooms in the Oregon Hotel in Mitchell are quite charming, and warrant a future visit … longer than the 90-minute nap that Vincent Muoneke woke me from.
Fueled and somewhat rested, I headed northwards towards scenic Girds Creek Rd. Lesli and Peg once again passed me during the ascent, and I passed them on the descent to the John Day River. Once on Rowe Creek Rd, they again passed me, and I would not see them again till Fossil. In the meantime, there was significantly more climbing, and a few miles of chip seal to deal with (problematic only during the descending portion).
Once in Fossil, Peg and Lesli were finishing lunch at a charming local café when I arrived. Rather than shorten my stay in order to hang on with them, I elected to have a proper sit-down burger. The benefit was I got relatively well-fueled. The downside was I’d be riding solo (as lanterne rouge) all the way to Antelope.
Six miles out of Fossil was the next summit (3,710 ft), up to which I steadily churned, followed by a long descent to the John Day River (again), this time at Clarno. The actual final approach to that river crossing was uphill, and happened during blinding sunset. On the far side of the bridge waited roving Paul “Dr. Codfish” Johnson, who had been busily offering valuable impromptu aid and encouragement to all the riders throughout the entire event.
This crossing of the John Day River was perhaps my most pivotal moment in the whole 1000k, as the next contrôle (in Antelope) was 15 miles away, the first 8 of those miles being literally straight uphill. Paul’s advice was to keep pedaling. My solution was to lessen the pressure on my handlebars (push on them rather than pull, thereby lessening the tension in my shoulders), and to find a cadence that I could steadily maintain for two hours. It meant not letting up for 120 minutes of ascent at a 4 mph pace. I didn’t even stop to turn on my lights until the summit, but rather switched on the helmet-mounted lights while pedaling. My legs (and palms) got sore during the last two miles, but I finally made it. After adding layers of clothing and reflective gear at the top, I descended into Antelope, where I found Dr. Codfish, Dave Read, Peg, Lesli, and some more warm soup!
From Antelope, I rode with Lesli and Peg to Shaniko, then to Bakeoven Road. On that infamous stretch of road, I fell behind the two of them, needing to eat something and rest. When I got going again, it wasn’t in a very determined way. In fact, what transpired was one of the most surreal and hallucinogenic experiences I’ve ever encountered on a bicycle. I had no way of telling where I was. For all I knew, I could have been in the middle of the Florida Keys surrounded by water … on some canopy-covered roadway. My headlights were playing tricks on me. I felt like I was operating a pedal-powered delivery cart, and I kept getting off the machine (my bike) every five minutes to make sure the road was still passable. How I kept going, I don’t know. The last thing on my mind was the brevet card in my back jersey pocket that needed to get signed in a place called Maupin.
Eventually (after a cold bit of eternity) Bakeoven Road turned and descended into Maupin, whereupon some energy and lucidity returned to my body. For some reason, though, I was expecting signage directing me to the contrôle, and didn’t realize how far I needed to ascend the other side of river to find it. So I wasted several trips back and forth over the bridge before I gave up, taking a picture of the Maupin City Park sign to prove my existence there. I called Dave Read with the intention of letting him know where I was (wasting more time looking for a cell signal), when he told me the contrôle was further up the road. When I finally found it, Ian Shopland and Alan Woods were leaving. Peg and Lesli would leave a few minutes later, and Dr. Codfish (who seemed very happy to see me) tried to get me to leave as soon as possible. But it wasn’t gonna happen until I downed a warm cup-o’-noodles. The order in which the five of us departed Maupin would determine the order in which we finished in The Dalles 46 ½ miles later.
The headwinds on the grade out of Maupin were worrisome, but The Dalles-California Hwy (US 197) finally flattened out into the Tygh Valley. Then the last big challenge, a 6-or-7-mile climb to Tygh Ridge, appeared as a swoopy ascending multi-lane asphalt ribbon with no immediate end in sight. I started to get woozy on the bike ‘round then, and quickly ingested a 2-ounce bottle of “5-hour Energy” that Dr. Codfish had given me way back around Clarno. That foul “sugar free – Only 4 calories” substance seemed to do the trick as I re-started pedaling up the grade. In fact, I actually spun pretty freely, and even managed to stand up in the pedals and mash it a few times (which I thought was remarkable after 71 hours).
The Eightmile Road turnoff from Hwy 197 occurred much later than I anticipated, though. Supplemental batteries weren’t recharging my Garmin properly (so it was turned off), and my Cateye Strada was set to the metric system. Basic math had become challenging at this point in the ride, and I was considerably worried that I had missed the “Easy to Miss!” turnoff. I even stopped to ask a couple highway workers where Eightmile Road was, and was quite surprised when they said 6 or 7 miles further.
Rural Eightmile Road is an exquisite way to approach The Dalles at the end of a journey such as this. And even with headwinds, I was no longer worried (short of a mechanical) of finishing in time. At the last contrôle (junction with Fifteenmile Road), I stopped to call Amy to see if she had the time and would be willing to drive out to The Dalles to pick me up. Turns out she was already in The Dalles, breakfasting at Dennys, and watching the previous four riders come in. I took it easy for the last five miles, even keeping an eye out for a store from which I could purchase a little symbolic red light bulb. No such luck, though. As I finally turned into Motel 6 parking lot, it was moving to see John Kramer, Dave Read, and “Dr. Codfish” so happy to see me.
Mark Thomas (a three time PBP veteran) told me afterwards in the motel room that this was harder than Paris-Brest-Paris. I think that’s encouraging, although I’ve decided that any ride in this league will be considerably more enjoyable if I can gain some more speed, thereby enabling longer naps.
This ride was memorable; I still get emotional just writing about it. It was also quite a feat of organization. Many thanks go out to John Kramer (who told me he probably drove the entire length of the route three times in preparation), Dave Read (who coordinated a terrific crew of volunteers), and Paul “Dr. Codfish” Johnson (whose timely acts of encouragement were invaluable). And while this ain’t the Academy Awards, I also want to thank Alan Woods for his Advil, his company from Parish Cabin to John Day, and his saving me from additional bonus miles outside Prairie City. I also want to acknowledge the steadfast cheerfulness of hopscotch partners Lesli Larson and Peg Winczewski. Thanks also go to coach Brian Abers for believing I could do this, even after DNF’ing the 600k three weeks earlier. And finally, to Amy for getting me out to The Dalles and back (thereby allowing me extra sleep in each direction!).
The rest of my pictures are here on Flickr.
Kramer has links to many other reports and pictures here on his blog.
Prior to this ride, I failed to write about my previous two significant brevets. Before last month, I documented every randonneuring event I've ridden since the Desert Rivers 600k back in September, 2008 (which has meant a report at least every month since then). But recently, I’ve been so involved with moving, housewarming, continued unpacking, and busy-ness at work that blogging has taken a back seat. But in this report, I'll play catch up, by dedicating a paragraph each to the previous two brevets.
Eden's Gate 400k on May 1st was a pleasant if not headwindy tour of the Willamette Valley and several of its covered bridges. It started and ended in Wilsonville. Initially, I had plans of significantly improving my time for this awkward distance. As it turns out, I did set a PR, but simultaneously "lanterne rouged" it (with three others) as well. I was doing okay mid-ride (which means while not setting any self-powered land speed records, I was still tracking for a decent time), leapfrogging some with Dan Jensen and his friend Richard Hornung. I then joined a pretty good paceline near the southern-most point (around Coburn), but then flatted. In Harrisburg, I caught up with Dan, Richard, and Amy Pieper. We had some pretty good pacelines heading up into Albany (with Dan doing most of the pulling). After Albany, Amy's stamina began to falter, and we slowed down momentarily to walking speed to recover. Around Salem, we were passed by other groups of riders, but by then our quartet had formed enough camaraderie that it seemed best to ride with them to the end. We finished what Amy called “the most difficult easy 400k she’s ever done” with a time of 23:28.
The Oregon Coast 600k on May 22-23 was really nice (if not hillier than expected), at least the 2/3 of it I did. The main pack pulled away fairly quickly not far from the start in Forest Grove. Nevertheless, I felt like my pace was pretty good through Birkenfield and Warrentown.
When I flatted (twice!) near Ft. Stevens State Park, I was a little surprised how quickly Roger and Ali (from BC) and Narayan caught me. My flat-changing skills still not being up to snuff, I was quickly put in the position of fighting the clock. And in case you're wondering, Highway 101 between Seaside and Lincoln City isn’t flat. By the time I got to the overnight contrôle (at 6:00 AM), my average speed had decreased to the point where I had no time in the bank. Nevertheless, I continued along the attractive Siletz River to Logsdon. But because I was continuing to lose time, and with a significant hill in the distance, I decided to call it quits. Then while continuing at a very slow meander, organizer Joshua Bryant drove past (directly witnessing my disappointment). As soon as he got a cell phone signal, he called my friend Amy to pick me up in Blodgett. The disappointment of dnf’ing lasted a few days. But in retrospect, maybe it wasn’t all bad. Maybe the conserved energy helped three weeks later with the OBM1000k.
June 12th seemed to arrive rather quickly, so much so that I didn’t obsess much about the upcoming Oregon Blue Mountains 1000k. I had pre-registered in early Spring, and had for quite some time established it as my main goal for the 2010 season. But it wasn’t like I spent a lot of time analyzing the route and becoming familiar with the details. Sure, I printed out the 36,000-ft net gain elevation profile, but those lines don’t mean the same thing on paper as they do when you’re on the bike.
The day before embarking on this potential 75-hour adventure, I took the LeMond into my LBS for a final once over. Lo and behold, when refilling the rear tire with air, the rim blew! (The walls of the rim had become excessively thin from a lot of braking.) So, I embarked on this particular rando journey with a hastily borrowed (and noisy) rear wheel from the Beaverton Bike N Hike. Hey … it worked!
My friend Amy drove me out to The Dalles on Saturday morning, getting us there within a half hour of the start. Once the ride was underway, most of the riders hung together through The Dalles, but began to separate on the Hwy 197 bridge over the River Columbia. Eastbound Highway 14 out towards Umatilla didn’t have the favorable tailwinds that swiftly pushed the riders of the Desert Rivers 600k 21 months earlier. Nonetheless, the first 200 kilometers were mostly free of the hills that defined the remaining 800k.
I intermittently rode with a couple other riders during the course of the 3-plus-day brevet, but hop-scotched Peg Winczewski and Lesli Larson for almost the entire event. The two of them tended to climb a little faster than me, but they also tended to take slightly longer food breaks at the contrôles. What was most remarkable about them, though, was their unflappable steadiness despite never accumulating a lot of time in the bank. If they were ever concerned about not finishing in time, I would have certainly never guessed it.
The first major climb was Eastwards on Hwy 204 out of Weston, and lasted about 30k (19 miles) to the summit in Tollgate. Prior to this climb, Peg, Lesli and I had stopped for dinner at a café in Athena. I arrived and left there a little before the two of them, assuming they would catch me on the long ascent. While the sun was setting (and afterwards) during the climb, I would occasionally hear Peg’s and Lesli’s voices approaching from behind. But surprisingly, I arrived at the contrôle at the top before them. There at the Tamarack Inn volunteers served warm soup and made-to-order sandwiches before sending us out on a long dark 35k (22-mile) descent to Elgin.
The next contrôle was 33k (20 miles) after Elgin on the outskirts of La Grande. What was remarkable about this major Eastern Oregon town was the amount of major pre-dawn freight train activity. I must have waited for or ridden along 3 different 100-plus-railcar trains in my brief stint there.
Dawn and a very beautiful sunrise occurred in the rolling hills between the contrôle in Union and “overnight” stop in North Powder. After a few pieces of pizza at the North Powder Motel, Paul Whitney steered me to a room for a 90-minute nap. By the time I was up and about, there were Peg and Lesli again, having breakfast.
Jim Hinkley passed me going South on Hwy 30 to Baker City. I drafted him a little bit, but that was short-lived. Baker City was hosting a rather large Harley-Davidson convention during the weekend. In fact, every motorcyclist in Eastern Oregon appeared to be out on the road on this particularly bright and dry Sunday afternoon.
The next series of serious hills happened on the Sumpter State Hwy between Baker City and Prairie City. John Kramer marked the elevations of the summits on his route sheet (5118 ft, 5117 ft, 5268 ft), so I had some “fun” (as it were) with knowing how much vertical ascent I had left on any particular climb (with help from Garmin’s altimeter function). Between the 2nd and 3rd passes was a contrôle at the Austin House, where Alan Woods was departing at about the same time Lesli and Peg settled down for a proper meal. I purchased only a milkshake, and after pouring much of it in one of my water bottles, headed to the 3rd summit (this one on Hwy 26), then Prairie City.
I missed Logan Valley Road out of Prairie City, and instead took an extension of what was marked as Bridge St. (which zigzags out of town, and which I understood “ran into” Logan Valley Rd.). This unfortunately cost me an extra 11 kilometers. But it cost Alan Woods a lot more, who independently made the same wrong turn 20+ minutes earlier. Alan was understandably perturbed. I was thankful, though, that he saved me from further bonus miles. With somewhat diminished enthusiasm, the two of us rode together 15 miles up to Trout Farm, a nice little campground with fresh water and the cleanest non-porta-potties I have ever seen. While doing a wardrobe change, Lesli and Peg caught up with us. The four of us then continued together to the next summit (5,950 ft) and onward an additonal 15 miles to the contrôle at Parish Cabin Campground. Well, actually, I lost Alan, Peg, and Lesli about a dozen miles shy of the campground, their taillights disappearing into the distance. This section of the journey was unexpectedly difficult, and was where I came closest in the whole 3+ days to abandoning. My bike suddenly felt very ill-fitted (I’ve had the fitting on my LeMond fine-tuned three times!), and I ended up walking up a couple of the rollers on the way to the campground. I finally got there with 5 minutes before the contrôle was scheduled to close, about 15 minutes behind Alan, Peg, and Lesli. There I plopped down next to a campfire and was fed a warm cup-o’-noodles and 1 ½ sandwiches. Alan thankfully had some ibuprofen that he shared with me, so that when we finally left, I was relatively good to go.
Alan was anxious to get going (a little more so than Lesli and Peg), but he was also concerned about my safety. He accompanied me during the entire 28-mile descent to John Day, during which we were able to make up considerable time (despite the darkness and the cattleguards). Once on Highway 26 (heading westwards), Alan took off at his own pace, and was napping in Scott Peterson’s van at the Dayville contrôle when I arrived. Once Alan left, I took over his space in the van. Peg and Lesli arrived a little later, and took naps in the pleasantly heated park restroom.
Thirty-eight miles later (after the scenic river-hugging John Day fossil beds) was the 2nd “overnight” contrôle … in Mitchell. But in that 38 miles was another summit that took me forever to climb. Peg and Lesli passed me while I stopped to remove some layers of clothing, and I never saw them again (until Mitchell). Once I arrived, the place was swarming with attendant volunteers (including speedy Kole Kanter, who obviously I’d heard of before, but had never met). The rooms in the Oregon Hotel in Mitchell are quite charming, and warrant a future visit … longer than the 90-minute nap that Vincent Muoneke woke me from.
Fueled and somewhat rested, I headed northwards towards scenic Girds Creek Rd. Lesli and Peg once again passed me during the ascent, and I passed them on the descent to the John Day River. Once on Rowe Creek Rd, they again passed me, and I would not see them again till Fossil. In the meantime, there was significantly more climbing, and a few miles of chip seal to deal with (problematic only during the descending portion).
Once in Fossil, Peg and Lesli were finishing lunch at a charming local café when I arrived. Rather than shorten my stay in order to hang on with them, I elected to have a proper sit-down burger. The benefit was I got relatively well-fueled. The downside was I’d be riding solo (as lanterne rouge) all the way to Antelope.
Six miles out of Fossil was the next summit (3,710 ft), up to which I steadily churned, followed by a long descent to the John Day River (again), this time at Clarno. The actual final approach to that river crossing was uphill, and happened during blinding sunset. On the far side of the bridge waited roving Paul “Dr. Codfish” Johnson, who had been busily offering valuable impromptu aid and encouragement to all the riders throughout the entire event.
This crossing of the John Day River was perhaps my most pivotal moment in the whole 1000k, as the next contrôle (in Antelope) was 15 miles away, the first 8 of those miles being literally straight uphill. Paul’s advice was to keep pedaling. My solution was to lessen the pressure on my handlebars (push on them rather than pull, thereby lessening the tension in my shoulders), and to find a cadence that I could steadily maintain for two hours. It meant not letting up for 120 minutes of ascent at a 4 mph pace. I didn’t even stop to turn on my lights until the summit, but rather switched on the helmet-mounted lights while pedaling. My legs (and palms) got sore during the last two miles, but I finally made it. After adding layers of clothing and reflective gear at the top, I descended into Antelope, where I found Dr. Codfish, Dave Read, Peg, Lesli, and some more warm soup!
From Antelope, I rode with Lesli and Peg to Shaniko, then to Bakeoven Road. On that infamous stretch of road, I fell behind the two of them, needing to eat something and rest. When I got going again, it wasn’t in a very determined way. In fact, what transpired was one of the most surreal and hallucinogenic experiences I’ve ever encountered on a bicycle. I had no way of telling where I was. For all I knew, I could have been in the middle of the Florida Keys surrounded by water … on some canopy-covered roadway. My headlights were playing tricks on me. I felt like I was operating a pedal-powered delivery cart, and I kept getting off the machine (my bike) every five minutes to make sure the road was still passable. How I kept going, I don’t know. The last thing on my mind was the brevet card in my back jersey pocket that needed to get signed in a place called Maupin.
Eventually (after a cold bit of eternity) Bakeoven Road turned and descended into Maupin, whereupon some energy and lucidity returned to my body. For some reason, though, I was expecting signage directing me to the contrôle, and didn’t realize how far I needed to ascend the other side of river to find it. So I wasted several trips back and forth over the bridge before I gave up, taking a picture of the Maupin City Park sign to prove my existence there. I called Dave Read with the intention of letting him know where I was (wasting more time looking for a cell signal), when he told me the contrôle was further up the road. When I finally found it, Ian Shopland and Alan Woods were leaving. Peg and Lesli would leave a few minutes later, and Dr. Codfish (who seemed very happy to see me) tried to get me to leave as soon as possible. But it wasn’t gonna happen until I downed a warm cup-o’-noodles. The order in which the five of us departed Maupin would determine the order in which we finished in The Dalles 46 ½ miles later.
The headwinds on the grade out of Maupin were worrisome, but The Dalles-California Hwy (US 197) finally flattened out into the Tygh Valley. Then the last big challenge, a 6-or-7-mile climb to Tygh Ridge, appeared as a swoopy ascending multi-lane asphalt ribbon with no immediate end in sight. I started to get woozy on the bike ‘round then, and quickly ingested a 2-ounce bottle of “5-hour Energy” that Dr. Codfish had given me way back around Clarno. That foul “sugar free – Only 4 calories” substance seemed to do the trick as I re-started pedaling up the grade. In fact, I actually spun pretty freely, and even managed to stand up in the pedals and mash it a few times (which I thought was remarkable after 71 hours).
The Eightmile Road turnoff from Hwy 197 occurred much later than I anticipated, though. Supplemental batteries weren’t recharging my Garmin properly (so it was turned off), and my Cateye Strada was set to the metric system. Basic math had become challenging at this point in the ride, and I was considerably worried that I had missed the “Easy to Miss!” turnoff. I even stopped to ask a couple highway workers where Eightmile Road was, and was quite surprised when they said 6 or 7 miles further.
Rural Eightmile Road is an exquisite way to approach The Dalles at the end of a journey such as this. And even with headwinds, I was no longer worried (short of a mechanical) of finishing in time. At the last contrôle (junction with Fifteenmile Road), I stopped to call Amy to see if she had the time and would be willing to drive out to The Dalles to pick me up. Turns out she was already in The Dalles, breakfasting at Dennys, and watching the previous four riders come in. I took it easy for the last five miles, even keeping an eye out for a store from which I could purchase a little symbolic red light bulb. No such luck, though. As I finally turned into Motel 6 parking lot, it was moving to see John Kramer, Dave Read, and “Dr. Codfish” so happy to see me.
Mark Thomas (a three time PBP veteran) told me afterwards in the motel room that this was harder than Paris-Brest-Paris. I think that’s encouraging, although I’ve decided that any ride in this league will be considerably more enjoyable if I can gain some more speed, thereby enabling longer naps.
This ride was memorable; I still get emotional just writing about it. It was also quite a feat of organization. Many thanks go out to John Kramer (who told me he probably drove the entire length of the route three times in preparation), Dave Read (who coordinated a terrific crew of volunteers), and Paul “Dr. Codfish” Johnson (whose timely acts of encouragement were invaluable). And while this ain’t the Academy Awards, I also want to thank Alan Woods for his Advil, his company from Parish Cabin to John Day, and his saving me from additional bonus miles outside Prairie City. I also want to acknowledge the steadfast cheerfulness of hopscotch partners Lesli Larson and Peg Winczewski. Thanks also go to coach Brian Abers for believing I could do this, even after DNF’ing the 600k three weeks earlier. And finally, to Amy for getting me out to The Dalles and back (thereby allowing me extra sleep in each direction!).
The rest of my pictures are here on Flickr.
Kramer has links to many other reports and pictures here on his blog.
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