Mark's Rando Notes

A Catch-Up Post

2009-10-16T13:42:00.000-07:00

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.

Mount St Helens

After flying high with a fun 1200k brevet on the plains and a fastest-ever 200k permanent, 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.

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.

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!

Barlow Trail

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 XTR.) 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.

The ride was spectacular. Michael was right, it was challenging, but the suffering was modest. We followed the Clackamas River upstream in the morning.

We left the river to climb through the forest on some delightful roads.

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.

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.

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.

After fueling up at the market, we headed into the hills on the Barlow Road Route towards Barlow Pass.

We felt pretty good on this stretch and climbed well.

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.

A great ride. Glad I didn't miss it.

Watching a Race

The following weekend brought something different. Bob Brudvik and I headed down to Southern California to crew for SIR member Chris Ragsdale on the Furnace Creek 508 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!).

Sunrise

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.

A wonderful day.

Something Different

2009-09-20T17:44:00.000-07:00

I'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.

Fresh off my dawdling ride 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 Three Rivers Cruise, a relatively flat (3000ft according to my Garmin), but still scenic, ride and we lucked into a beautiful day.

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.

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 previous best 200km 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.

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!

The riders in Marblemount:

The bikes in Day Creek. Guess whose bike has the most stuff on it?

Speed graph and map from Garmin.

Party on the Plains

2009-09-14T09:12:00.000-07:00

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.

"You're going to Colorado for a 1200k? Wow. That will be scenic. And difficult."

"Well, actually we're starting east of the mountains and heading further east into the plains."

"Oh. [Long pause]. Um, why?"

"Because I've never been to Kansas?"

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 Last Chance 1200k 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.

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 XTR 600k 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.

Wednesday - 250 miles to Atwood

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.

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.

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(?).

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.

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.

Thursday - 220 miles to Kensington and back

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Friday - 180 miles from Atwood to Byers

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.

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.

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.

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.

Saturday - 100 miles to the finish

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.

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:

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.

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.

Paul Shapiro, Ian Shopland, me, Hamid Akbarian, Paul Rozelle

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.

More photos from the ride are here.

Less Traveled

2009-09-05T10:52:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

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.

First we left the highway before the narrow tunnel and crossed the river toward the Money Creek campground for the back way around Skykomish.

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.

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.

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.

Of course, there was espresso. At Vinaccio in Sultan on the way up.

And lunch. At Skykomish Deli on the way down.

Maintaining my figure

2009-09-02T15:01:00.000-07:00

"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.

Probably so, I guess. But I really like to eat. Yesterday Amy and Robin Pieper joined me for a 200km permanent (#624) that loops from Arlington up to Bellingham and back. The Piepers claimed not to have been riding but were quite speedy.

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.

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.

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.

Nice Day

2009-08-30T15:27:00.000-07:00

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.

Pre-ride coffee - Seattle ferry terminal

On Common Grounds in Chimacum with riding companions Noel Howes, Ward Beebe, Joe Platzner, Greg Cox, and Andy Speier.

Thanks, Greg, for organizing.

Super Brevet Scandinavia 2009

2009-08-15T10:00:00.000-07:00

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.

BEFORE THE RIDE

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

With not much happening at the start hostel, I headed out for a stroll by the harbor. Looking for inspiration, I spotted the Northern Vitality. Sounded good.

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.

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.

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.

My bike was ready to go.

DAY ONE - The Theory Springs Holes

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

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."

DAY TWO - Finding the Way

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.

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.

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 SBS cue sheet 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."

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.

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.

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.

The "Welcome Bikers" sign outside Svenljunga beckoned around lunchtime.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

DAY THREE - Getting Better

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:

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.)

DAY FOUR - Feelin' Groovy

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.

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:

"Phenomenal cycling power. Itty bitty living space." Ha. Ha. Laughter is a sign. Of delirium, perhaps.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Celebratory beer ensued.

But the harder the battle you see

It's the sweeter the victory, now

You can get it if you really want

But you must try, try and try, try and try

You'll succeed at last

1200km Beer

2009-08-15T09:55:00.000-07:00

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.

1999 PBP - 1664, on draft back at the Campanile
2001 LEL - I don't recall the draft beer at the nearby pub
2002 RM - Heineken, handed to me by the late Roger Street
2002 BMB - Sam Adams, a ride sponsor
2003 PBP - 1664, on draft back at the Campanile
2005 C12 - Alaskan Amber
2006 BMB - Sam Adams, ride sponsor
2007 PBP - 1664, on draft back at the Campanile
2008 GSR - Cascade Premium Lager (Australia)
2009 SBS - Tuborg

Boy did they all taste good.

1000km Unsupported?

2009-06-26T13:19:00.000-07:00

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 Portland-Glacier 1000km. 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 here. 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.

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.

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:

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.
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.
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 here and Vincent's here).
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.
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).
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).
In addition to providing glorious scenery, Mother Nature supported us with 100 miles of wicked tailwind on the first day from Lyle to Plymouth.
Random by-standers assaulted with tales of our adventure provided the boost of acting suitably impressed.
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.
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, cola nuts 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).
After I started posting our progress on facebook (see below), many supportive comments from friends and family kept my spirits high and made quitting even less of an option than usual.
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.
Mile after mile, the steady friendship, strong riding, and good humor of Geoff and Vincent bolstered the spirit and enhanced the experience. Thanks.
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?"

What else indeed. Thanks for the support.

Facebook updates posted along the way:

June 19 at 9:39am
Mark Thomas with Vincent & Geoff at breakfast in Lyle,WA (108 km).

June 19 at 1:49pm
Mark Thomas in Roosevelt, WA (200km)

June 19 at 7:08pm
Mark Thomas is now having dinner in Kennewick, WA (320km).

June 19 at 11:52pm
Mark Thomas is having a beer and getting ready to shower and sleep in Connell, WA (398km).

June 20 at 11:03am
Mark Thomas - enjoying an iced mocha in Dusty, WA (half way!! - 505 km).

June 20 at 12:58pm
Mark Thomas at Colfax, WA control - 536km.

June 20 at 5:34pm
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).

June 20 at 11:04pm
Mark Thomas working on a Foster's oilcan and a cup-o-soup in Wallace, ID (715km). Sleep soon.

June 21 at 10:53am
Mark Thomas - Minnie's Montana Cafe!!! Thompson Falls, MT (807 km)

June 21 at 1:54pm
Mark Thomas checked into penultimate control in Plains, MT (849 km). A hundred miles to Whitefish finish.

June 21 at 8:20p
Mark Thomas - aargh! Lonepine closed. Limped into DQ in Lakeside, MT (955km).

June 21 at 11:19pm
Mark Thomas in Whitefish, MT. 1005km; 67:13 elapsed. Two 6 hour overnights. Two great riding companions. Thanks Geoff and Vincent!

Cool down

2009-06-11T08:12:00.000-07:00

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.

Instead of highs in the upper 90s, we had highs in the mid 60s.
Instead of 20k+ feet of climbing, we had 10k.
Instead of 6 climbs to above 3000 feet, we had one climb over 1500 feet.
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.
Instead of 32 hours in the saddle, I had 26.
Instead of an 11.8mph moving average, I moved at 14.4mph.
Instead of sun-baked desert, we had lush green Evergreen State scenery.
Instead of losing calories, I packed them in.

Just what the doctor ordered.

Come try it yourself on Saturday.

(Occasionally functional Google Maps link here)

Eat much?

Sear quickly, then cook slowly until done

2009-06-03T17:23:00.000-07:00

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.

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 here). 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 Oregon 600 XTR. 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.

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.

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.

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.

At Eric's control, I met up with legendary cross-border randonneur Ron Himschoot, honored in Canada and the US 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.

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.

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.

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 advised riders that it's not necessary to ride straight through a 600km, it would be so for me this time. Ugh.

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.

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 agony 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.

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.

Who knows where the time goes?

2009-05-14T21:09:00.000-07:00

(pdf version here)

"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.

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.

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.

Nice Road!

2009-05-11T08:00:00.000-07:00

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!

(click for Google Maps link)

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.

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.

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.

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.

(click for annotated version)

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 sunrise 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.

Hope to see many of you next weekend. Absolutely worth the trip.

See Duane's pictures here.

See Geoff's write-up here.

Signs

2009-02-08T18:14:00.000-08:00

The 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.

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.

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.

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.

See Geoff's story here.

See John's pictures here.

Peter posted some pics on FB here.

See Paul Johnson's (one of the earlier group) story here.

See David's pictures here.

Out of the woodwork

2009-02-05T12:56:00.000-08:00

Mother 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

-----

Dominique had his camera out all day. See the pics here and here.

100km. Beer. Repeat.

2009-02-02T09:00:00.000-08:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

Attitude adjustment

2009-01-29T20:31:00.000-08:00

Grumped around for a few days this week. Thought I was getting sick. Found the cure today. Leschi-North Bend Permanent 341. Mist to start. Nice day followed. Coffee everywhere! Geoff was patient company (and gave me a GPS tutorial).

Life is good.

Randos in the Mist

2009-01-24T17:20:00.000-08:00

Despite the heavy fog, a band of five randos was observed Thursday in the chilly wilds of King and Snohomish counties. Although each had a distinct "personality," all seemed to share a common purpose. The band included Lumbering Oaf, Chattering Hummingbird, Cheerful Doctor, Whiny but Happy, and the Grand Old One.

Wandering Habits. The randos range wide, but return at the end of the day to where they started. This band covered 209 kilometers, but began and ended at the same location.

Collection Behavior. The randos appear obsessed with collecting slips of paper at various stopping points. It can only be surmised that this band uses these scraps as a means of describing their travels to others of their species.

Feeding Patterns. An eclectic diet characterizes this group. Consumption of everything from plant products to meat products to barely identifiable synthetics was observed. Caffeine-based liquids appear to be a critical component of the randos' diet, especially that of Lumbering Oaf.

Avian Interaction. Although apparently uninterested in birds as prey, the randos would stop in their tracks to observe the local avian population. In particular, sightings of red-tailed hawks and bald eagles appeared quite distracting to the randos.

Temperature Adaptation. Clad in layers of wool and unnatural fibers, the band appeared almost, but not completely, adapted to temperatures that varied only from -2 to +2 degrees centigrade. Grunts were exchanged that appeared to signify complaints on this score.

Communication Patterns. Generalizations are difficult here. At one extreme, Chattering Hummingbird and Cheerful Doctor communicated freely and apparently quite happily. At the other extreme, Grand Old One and Lumbering Oaf appeared to issue only occasional grumpy grunts.

End-of-Day Gathering. After nearly twelve and a half hours of wandering, the band gathered, apparently to discuss how wonderful they were. A few partook of fermented beverages, which apparently enhanced and encouraged this discussion.

Not As Planned

2009-01-18T21:41:00.000-08:00

Had a wonderful 100km ride today. Unfortunately, I had embarked on a 200km permanent. Fourteen riders showed up in Arlington for the Three Rivers Cruise. A bad accident on I-5 delayed a number of riders, but soon we all had coffee and were ready to roll. With temperatures near freezing and a bit of frost on the pavement in the parking lot, Rick Blacker opted to pass on the ride. He sustained a broken hip a few years back after a slip on ice and had no desire to repeat the experience.

So the other thirteen of us - Amy Pieper, Bill Dussler, Bob Brudvik, Charlie White, Eric Vigoren, Martin Knowes, Ole Mikkelson, Peter Beeson, Ralph Nussbaum, Robin Pieper, Thai Nguyen, Wayne Methner, me - headed off. The roads and the skies were clear and the riding was terrific - fast pacelines and good conversation. We saw quite a few bald eagles along the Skagit River and stopped in Marblemount for a nice lunch.

At 100km near Rockport on the way back, I decide to shift to small chainring on my compact for the first time this day. I wrap my chain into multi-pretzels in my front derailleur. About the time I figure out it's not an easy fix, I look up to tell my riding buddies, but I see the last of them disappear into the distance. After much time invested in useless futzing, I end up having to break the chain to fix it. In mid-repair, Peter shows up. I was thrilled that someone had come back. We rode a little ways and then I discover that if I shift back to the large chainring, my crank rubs on the front derailleur. So back to the small.

Given my notorious lack of leg speed, I spin out on this at a low speed. Peter is patient, and we make it to Concrete and turn onto S Skagit road. Happy sight: Robin, Charlie, Bob, and Eric are there waiting. After a few miles of my pathetic spinning they stop me and figure out a way to get the big gear working again.

A couple miles farther, we encounter ice on the road, a bit of a surprise, because the sign in Concrete had said 50 degrees. But all climate is local, I guess. In the shadow of the mountain along the river, a film of ice covered the road.

In front of me, Eric and Robin go down. I try to avoid Robin and I go down. Bob tries to avoid me and he goes down. Charlie goes down. Five bikes and riders skidding down the road on their sides. Peter, at the front, manages to stay upright. Batters, bruises, cuts, and scrapes, but no major injuries are immediately apparent. We walk for a while. We hurt. We try riding. Not a good idea. We walk some more. Finally we flag down a pickup, with a friendly, albeit puzzled, local at the wheel.

We put six bikes and three riders in the bed (along with the guy's scrap wood) and three riders in the cab. He takes us to Day Creek fire station and then alerts Wayne, Amy, and Bill at the church, who come back to meet us. Bill has also gone down and is not happy about it. Ralph and Thai, who have both tumbled more than once, have hitched a ride and are on their way back to Arlington. The gang of six is already DQ. Wayne, Amy, and Bill are actually still in it - having reached Day Creek with a combination of walking and riding - but decide to abandon. Soon SIRs Dave and Nina Johnson show up (called by Charlie). They start ferrying riders and bikes to Clear Creek (nearest tavern!). They take some riders and bikes back to Arlington. Thai comes up to Clear Creek and takes more riders and bikes back to Arlington. Ralph comes all the way to Day Creek and takes Peter and me and a few bikes back to Arlington.

Back at the start, we regroup and see Ole and Martin, who have finished the permanent under their own steam. Impressive.

I have raspberry on hip and mini-raspberries on shoulder and lower leg. Other than that, fine. The other fallen riders have similar aches and pains and some shredded clothing. If that's still the assessment in the morning, we'll consider ourselves lucky.

It was a lovely 100k. The rest - ugh.

Flooding

2009-01-15T14:40:00.000-08:00

With all the rain and flooding around here, I should not have been surprised to find that the river Lethe had apparently overflowed as well. The forgetfulness washed over riders at the first Ralph & Carol training ride last Saturday. One showed up without helmet. No problem, I have one in the shop. Another showed up with no helmet - no problem - and no shoes - problem. As for me, I forgot that I can ride with Bob, Robin, and Wayne only when there are no hills.

Yesterday, in search of a permanent on roads not washed out, I joined Matt Newlin, Geoff Swarts, Vincent Mouneke, Ralph & Carol Nussbaum, and Sue Matthews on the Hood Canal 2.0 permanent. Lethe's floodwaters nearly thwarted me, however. On the way to the ferry in the morning, I was dropping Chris off at the airport. Nearly to the airport, she asks if I'm going straight to the ferry after the airport. "Yes," I reply. "Well, where's your bike?" Oops.

Rescued by my son, who meets me with my bike, I make the ferry in time. Flummoxed, however, by the events, I forget to have coffee at the start, an oversight helpfully documented for posterity by Geoff. Espresso in Port Gamble and again in Chimacum proved restorative (and perhaps predictive of today's headline: "Midlife Coffee And Tea Drinking May Protect Against Late-life Dementia").

I may have forgotten my bike, but I do remember a wonderful ride around the canal, with good company and decent weather. I remember a great breakfast burrito at the Common Grounds Cafe in Chimacum. I remember a glorious descent off Walker Pass into sunshine and tailwind. I remember that a nice couple purchased and reopened the coffee shop in Hoodsport. I remember the good cheer and strong pulls of Vincent and Matt. I remember celebrating the finish with good beer in Bremerton. Thanks, Mnemosyne.

Stolen pleasure

2008-12-05T10:35:00.000-08:00

Winter let down its damp grey guard for just a moment Thursday. Opportunistically, Steve Davis, Matt Newlin, and I rushed in to snatch a beautiful ride from winter's clutches. Sunny skies and pleasant temperatures accompanied us on our ride of Permanent route 341: Leschi-Redmond-North Bend-Maple Valley-Leschi.

Although a perfect day for the Fenderless R-12 quest, a cold had sidelined chief quester Amy Pieper. So we all brought fendered bikes - Steve his shiny new old Schwinn, Matt his cream Kogswell, and me the back-from-Down-Under Serotta - as we made off with our prize. Included with our theft were mountain views (Baker and Rainier), glorious quiet road riding under the gaze of Mt. Si, the company of our fair-weather riding shadows, and good coffee. Sweet!

Down in the Valley

2008-11-24T17:24:00.000-08:00

Apparently the Great Southern did nothing to cure me of the rando bug; instead it appears only to have deepened my affliction. In addition, a quick review of the year's rides found me just shy of 5000 RUSA km for the year. So out the call went for companions on a Saturday ride of Permanent 186 - Snoqualmie Valley and Falls. Mostly nice weather in the forecast tempted many.

Ralph Nussbaum brought the single bike this time.
Erik Andersen and Bob Brudvik brought the single speed bikes.
Vincent Muoneke brought a nasty cold. ("You shouldn't be riding," I said, mostly in jest. "Go downtown and find a few big guys and then try to stop me," came the response. He's got the bug bad).
Rookie randonneur Dan Rearden brought lots of questions and the right attitude. His e-mail full of questions the night before concluded with "Ah hell, see you in the morning."
Also responding were Danish transplant Ole Mikkelsen and Jeff Loomis, back in Seattle after some years in the Boston area. Both did a full ACP brevet series with SIR this year and Ole rode the scorching Cascade 1200 as well.
By coincidence, Jack Brace and friends (Tom Norwood, Ryan Schmid, Destiny Williams) had also arranged to ride the same permanent. Jack e-mailed me to say that they could join us for the start but would be in a bit of a hurry and would have to "hustle along" after the first control. You'll have to ask him how that turned out.

So a nice big group of twelve merry randonneurs set out from Redmond. Hammering along seemed to be the order of the day, and I only managed to eke out one legitimate coffee stop on the ride. The sun came out half-way through the ride and Bob and I stopped for espresso drinks at Vinaccio Coffee in Sultan. They roast their own beans and are delightful people as well.

We had a full regroup in North Bend about 160km and one good rain shower into the ride and all twelve of us enjoyed a nice fast paceline into the finish. A fun day. Tom took pictures and has promised to post soon.

Sunday Bob, Dan, and I still wanted more, so we joined Robin and Amy's training ride out of Renton. Great weather, great company, fast pace, and not enough coffee. Again. I'll have to offer a refresher course on the interrelationship of randonneuring and espresso.

More Great Southern Goodies

2008-11-17T15:07:00.000-08:00

Nice Medal

Google Map of Route (approximate)

View Larger Map

Before & after (Tired? Who, me?)

Maps by day (approximate)

Day 1

View Larger Map

Day 2

View Larger Map

Day 3

View Larger Map

Fenderless R-12

2008-11-15T20:03:00.000-08:00

Riding buddy Amy Pieper, who bills herself as a weather-wimp (and who is anything but), decided that she (1) wanted an R-12 award and (2) wanted to do all the rides on nice days. Living in the Pacific Northwest, with its 8 rainy months, makes this an audacious goal. Achieving the "Fenderless R-12" would require both a dedication to randonneuring and a keen eye on the weather forecast. In October, the Sunrise Climb fit the bill nicely.

This past week was dreary and wet in Seattle, but the Friday forecast looked promising. For the November installment of the Fenderless R-12, Amy first suggested the Crystal Mountain Climb, but a rain induced landslide closed the road to Greenwater (and high points beyond). A backup plan was hatched and the call went out for riders to come ride the Hood Canal Loop permanent on Friday instead.

Waiting for the 6:10AM ferry from Seattle to Bainbridge Island, I met Amy and Robin Pieper, Ralph and Carol Nussbaum, Matt Newlin, and Jack Brace. Robin was fresh off the plane from England the night before, so he was nice and jet lagged, offering hope to slower riders like me. (As it turns out, jet lag just makes Robin look tired; he still rides fast.)

But for a major coffee crisis, we had a great day. I had coffee in Bainbridge before we started, espresso at Port Gamble after 18 miles, and a bottled coffee drink in Quilcene after 38 miles. I was prepared to tough it out for the next 37 miles to the Hoodsport Coffee Company. But, I was not prepared for the sign on the door - "Closed. New Owners. Open Soon." Not only did this dash my dreams of a warm apple danish with vanilla ice cream washed down with a triple latte, I had to contemplate the darkness of an uncertain future of Hood Canal cycling coffee. Despite the nice lunch we had across the street, it took me miles and miles to regain any sort of equilibrium. A Starbucks DoubleShot in Shelton steadied my nerves, but barely, for the ride to the finish.

Thanks to Jack, Matt, the Piepers, and the Nussbaums for their good company. A nice (and hilly) day on the bike. No fenders required.

Great Southern Randonee 2008

2008-11-11T10:28:00.000-08:00

Background

In October 2001, fresh from London-Edinburgh-London and looking for my next randonneur challenge, I traveled to Melbourne, Australia for the 1200 kilometer Great Southern Randonnee (GSR). Despite being in relatively good shape, I came away with a Did Not Finish. I rode the first 500 kilometers of the ride under difficult conditions, including rain and 50-100kph headwinds. Of sixteen riders who started that year, seven were DNFs. I was the seventh rider to abandon; everyone who stuck it out just a bit longer was able to finish. As my Danish friend Stig Lundgard would remind me every time I saw him thereafter, quitting when I did was pretty stupid.

Despite the DNF, I had a great time in Australia. After abandoning the ride, I rode 250 kilometers back to the start, mostly on the course, but with a scenic detour. With tailwinds and nice weather (and a good night’s sleep), I thoroughly enjoyed the ride back, spending long periods at the manned controls and taking in the spectacular Great Ocean Road scenery. After the event, I had several opportunities to enjoy the company of the local audaxers, including on a nice ride partway around Port Philip Bay. My Audax Australia hosts were terrific in every respect.

Since 2001, the gut-gnawing memory of the DNF (to date my only DNF among ten 1200 kilometer or longer events) and the happier memories of riding and hanging out with the Australians have together exerted a strong pull to go back and ride the GSR again. The next edition was held in 2004 and I hoped to return then. Unfortunately, my 2004 randonneur season was shortened by injury after a 100 kilometer populaire, a 200 kilometer brevet, and a fleche. Returning to Australia that year was not an option.

2008 would bring the fourth running of the Great Southern and another chance at redemption. Already burning bright, my desire to return was stoked further by time spent with the Aussies at PBP 2007 and by the presence of old friends Peter and Barry Moore and new acquaintances Martin and Libby Haynes at the 2008 Cascade 1200, for which I was a volunteer.

To my dismay, 2007 ended and 2008 started with injury and my 2008 season was a bit challenged, to say the least. After a slow 24-hour 400 kilometer brevet and a similarly undistinguished time on the 600 kilometer brevet in our spring series and after being sick in June, I pulled out of the Rocky Mountain 1200 in July. I strongly suspect that skipping that ride was the correct decision, but I wasn’t particularly happy about it. Glowing reports from the participants only added to my grumpiness.

Our summer brevet series went a bit better, but culminated in a 600 kilometer brevet in September that I finished with less than an hour to spare. Despite the uninspiring time, the 600k actually boosted my confidence. I fought through a very deep low point before the overnight and finished a difficult course feeling pretty well. After the 600k, a few fun rides and permanents with friends kept me tuned up and brought me to the time for the GSR.

Before the Start

The randonneur (or audax, as the Brits and the Aussies say) club in the Australian state of Victoria owns a place as one of the premier randonneur clubs in the world. Each year it ranks at or near the top of the ACP points ranking of brevet participation. They have an extensive and diverse ride calendar and some of the most accomplished and fun randonneurs that I know. Extraordinary hospitality must come with the territory. When I told organizer Peter Moore that I would be coming for the event, he let me know that club members would take care of picking me up at the airport, putting me up in Melbourne before and after the ride, and getting me and my bike to and from the start/finish in Aireys Inlet.

Trusting in the offers, I made no plans of my own. Audrey Adler, a randonneur friend from southern California, was on my flight from LAX. In addition to riding the 1000 kilometer GSR route, she was also visiting family in Melbourne. In baggage claim, she asked if I needed a ride from the airport. Her cousin could drive. No, I said; “I have a ride.” “With whom?” “Well, I don’t know for sure.” “We could give you a ride.” “Not really,” I said, “I don’t know where I’m going.” I’m sure she thought that I was leaving a lot to chance.

No worries, as they say. Andy Moore, another of the Magnificent Moore Brothers, awaited outside baggage claim. He loaded me and bike up in van, pointed the way to the correct passenger side of the car, and dropped me off at the Surrey Hills home of Peter and Eileen Donnan (and their charming son Stuart).

I would be in their care for the next two weeks, and they couldn’t have been nicer. They have travelled the world by bicycle and are stalwarts of the local audax community. Peter is a three time PBP veteran (1991, 1995, and 2007) and was the routesheet guru for the GSR.

Saturday before the ride (which would start Monday afternoon), Barry Moore collected me at the Donnans and we rode into downtown Melbourne and back. Less than 40 kilometers, but a great opportunity to catch up and to regain the feel of riding on the “wrong” side of the road.

Using the right-side version of the Take-a-Look mirror was a helpful reminder. On the way, we stopped into Peter Moore's bike shop, home to the largest collection of Brooks saddles that I've ever seen.

In South Bank, we met up - for coffee of course - with Hans Dusink, former president of Randonneurs Mondiaux and of Audax Australia, and Carol Bell, a US resident (DC area) New Zealand expat in town for the GSR. Hans and Carol planned to ride the GSR together. Carol turned in a smoking performance at the 2008 Cascade 1200, so I didn’t expect to ride with them much on the GSR.

Sunday, Peter Donnan, Jan Erik Jensen (a Dane living in Sweden), and I went to Aireys Inlet to spend the night before the start. Eileen and Stuart met us there, and we walked around, checking out the nearby lighthouse and giving me my first real experience with the flies of Australia, seen here dotting Jan Erik's back. Riding closed-mouthed is a good idea!

Ride Plan

The GSR consists of an initial 210 kilometer loop to the east, followed by a 1000+ kilometer out-and-back to the west. A supported stop at Port Fairy (500km and 925km) divides the ride neatly into 500 kilometer, 425 kilometer, and 290 kilometer pieces. (My altimeter would later report that these segments had elevation gains of 4600 meters, 4200 meters, and 3200 meters, for a total elevation gain of 12,000 meters or 39,000 feet).

Although 500 kilometers is a lot for me to take on at once, the ride start would be at 5PM on Monday, so I thought it a reasonable plan to ride 500 kilometers straight through, to spend Tuesday night at Port Fairy, to ride a long (425km) day on Wednesday, to spend a late night back at Port Fairy again on Wednesday, and then to ride 300 kilometers to the finish Thursday and Friday. Bag drops would be available at Port Fairy and also at Port Campbell (370km/1050km). A bag left at the start could be accessed at 210km. Supported controls could also be found at Halls Gap (680km and 745km), Hamilton (840km), and Apollo Bay (1150km).

I didn’t have a very detailed ride plan in mind. My main plan was not to quit again. Recalling that I had quit just outside of Port Fairy in 2001, I told Martin and Libby Haynes, who would be volunteering there this time, that all I needed from them was to make sure that I kept going.

As always, I hoped to keep my stops efficient and try to build a time cushion that way, knowing that my on-the-bike speed was unlikely to be anything to write home about. Peter Donnan figured me out early, counting me among those randonneurs “who make up for lack of ability with lack of sleep.”

For food, I imported Ensure and Clif Blox from home with the idea that I could count on base calories from those items. I expected that I could carry food for the first 210 kilometers, restock at Aireys Inlet with food for the next 160 kilometers, restock at Port Campbell for the next 130 kilometers, restock at Port Fairy with emergency food for the next 425 kilometers, relying for that stretch on the legendary Pam and Grant control at Halls Gap and other roadside resources, restock again at Port Fairy for 130 kilometers, and finally restock at Port Campbell again for the last 160 kilometers. For rest, I planned to sleep at Port Fairy twice (at 500km and at 925km) and to grab naps as necessary along the rest of the way.

Bellarine Loop (0-209km)

From the traditional gravel start, the first 210 kilometers of the ride loop eastward to make a tour of the Bellarine Peninsula, the west pincer of the claw that surrounds Port Philip Bay. The first 85 kilometers took us generally eastward past the 2001 start location in Anglesea to Queenscliff (from which a ferry can connect you to the Mornington Peninsula curving around the bay from the east). A lovely tailwind and the last of the daylight joined us for this stretch. Typically, I started out from Aireys Inlet with some faster riders, who immediately dropped me on the first hill of any consequence. I rode much of this stretch alone, enjoying the brisk pace and great scenery, including the ocean views around Barwon Heads. For a bit, I chatted with Julian Dyson, one of two UK riders (Judith Swallow the other) visiting for the GSR 1200.

The staffed control at Queenscliff provided water refills and great sandwiches. I worked through the control quickly and headed out with Hans and Carol and John Retchford, an accomplished mountain climber and cyclist who was fascinating company. When I could keep up, that is.

We rode together along the bay at Portarlington, with the lights of Melbourne visible across the water in the distance, and then I fell off the pace before the cafe control in Geelong. I kept that stop to a minimum as well and rode most of the way back to Aireys Inlet with a quick moving group of cyclists. Hans and Carol dropped off in Anglesea for a pre-planned sleep break and I continued to Aireys Inlet, arriving a bit after 1:30AM. Even acknowledging the wind assist, covering the first 210 kilometers in 8.5 hours and putting more than 5 hours in the bank provided a nice confidence boost. While some riders stopped for a sleep break, I moved through the control fairly quickly, just eating from the great spread offered by the volunteers and restocking my handlebar bag with more base calories.

To Apollo Bay (209-273km)

The road from Aireys Inlet to Apollo Bay is spectacular, hugging the coastal hills and bathed in the sound of the surf below. For the visual part of this, I have to rely on my memory from 2001, because this time I traversed this section in the dark both ways. The night riding was peaceful and fast. I enjoyed most of it solo, with brief chats with faster riders catching up and passing me after their longer stops at Aireys Inlet. Volunteers Simon and Gordon served coffee and snacks at Apollo Bay because the store would not open for another hour or so.

The Otways (273-371km)

From Apollo Bay, the road leaves the ocean for an 80 kilometer tour through the Otway Range, returning for a brief kiss at Castle Cove before heading up into the hills again. Simon warned that the toughest hills of the ride were in the next section, and suggested that the ride would be easier after that. “Wouldn’t we be riding the same hills after 1000 kilometers?” “Oh, yes, there is that.”

The road climbs immediately out of Apollo Bay. Moseying (at best) up the hill in a drizzle, I was startled to note that I had company in the other lane. Displaying a gait somewhere between a bear’s trot and a beach ball’s roll, the koala seemed unfazed by the nearby cyclist with its strange lights. Remembering the camera in my bag, I fumbled for a picture. (One of only about 5 that I would take over 3.5 days of the ride. That camera represents weight I could probably eliminate!)

After the first climb, the route rewarded us with a beautiful stretch along a river valley toward the sea at Castle Cove. As I approached the cove, I could see the start of the Lavers Hill climb soaring off to the right. Lavers Hill is the highest point on the GSR at 472 meters. Although not a climb with the insistent length of a Cascade mountain pass back home, the trip up to Lavers was still a full breakfast of up with which to start the day. I reached Lavers Hill with speedy riders Tim Stredwick of Tasmania and Keri-Ann Smith of Canberra. I would see them from time to time on the ride as they’d pass me after some stop or another. Always cheerful, they made the ride look effortless. Keri-Ann and Tim sensibly stopped for some “brekky” in Lavers Hill, but I took off down to the sea.

Some 20 kilometers out from Port Campbell, the road returns to the ocean and takes you past the Twelve Apostles. These spectacular rock formations in the surf look, as best I can tell, nothing like apostles. And there aren’t 12 of them, either. Nonetheless, this is a glorious section of the ride. In need of a break, I struggled up and down the little hills on this section before arriving at the control at Port Campbell.

Encouraging volunteers swarmed the control, cooking and catering to riders’ every need. I had the chance to catch up with Bob Bednarz, who (along with Ann) hosted me in 2001. Feeling quite grubby, I happily recalled that I had tucked extra base layer and shorts in my drop bag, so I headed off to take a shower. Aaaaah! I washed my shorts and hung them up to dry in the cabin so I could enjoy the same great feeling on my return two or so days later.

Port to Port (371-498km)

From Port Campbell, the route leaves the Great Ocean Road to head inland. Other than the nice bakery control at Cobden, there is little to recommend this choice. After DNF’ing in 2001, I rode back along the omitted section of the Great Ocean Road and thought it spectacular.

The 40 kilometers to Cobden has some nice riding as the road rolls along from creek to creek. I had plenty of time to enjoy it as my pace slowed. At the bakery in Cobden, I found the three keys to my getting through the upcoming 90 kilometers to the overnight stop in Port Fairy. Predictably enough to those who know me, the first two were a deep black cup of coffee and an apple pastry. Even more welcome, however, was the company of Greg Lansom, one of the “mongrel dogs” of Wollongong (outside Sydney) that I had met on the 2001 GSR. We had suffered together in the headwinds in 2001, but while I quit, he and his riding buddy toughed it out and finished just within time. Riding alone this year, Greg agreed to ride the next stretch with me.

The road from Cobden to Warnambool seemed dismal. Thoroughly boring countryside offset by the adrenaline rushes of big double trucks coming past on the shoulderless road. The highway through Warnambool wasn’t much more fun. After 400+ kilometers on the bike and a night without sleep, my attitude could have been better. Greg’s company on this stretch was a life-saver. After Tower Hill we left the highway to take the back way into Port Fairy. Here we encountered the stiffest headwinds of the ride, but they were but a whisper compared to the 2001 winds. We arrived at the control around 6:30PM, in great shape as far as time went, with close to 8 hours up on the brevet time clock.

I craved a beer, but none was to be had. Aside from that, however, no rider need went unmet at this terrific control. Libby and Martin Haynes and other wonderful volunteers had delicious soup and other goodies. Hot showers, clean clothes, and bunk beds awaited. My goal was three hours of sleep, which normally works well for me on longer rides. I asked for a wake-up in 3.5 hours and clambered into my (upper) bunk for some sleep. Sad to say, however, sleep didn’t come my way at all. The same thing had happened to me in 2001 and I believe that my DNF was attributable, in part, to that lack of sleep.

After 3 hours of tossing around, I got up and had a second dinner. Although too nice to mention it at the time, Martin told me later that I looked awful. I didn’t feel too good either, with my stomach complaining angrily about the whole endeavor. I figured that if I headed out slowly my stomach would settle and that I could nap as needed along the way. I was on the road before midnight Tuesday.

To and From the Grampians (498-840km)

Wednesday would be a very long day. Only 425 kilometers, but over 25 hours on the road. The first stretch, an 85 kilometer run to the next control at Hamilton, found me moving particularly slowly. Partially this was intentional, as I sought to calm my grumpy stomach. Partially, I suspect, it was the result of the sleep failure. Only the occasional stump fire spewing sparks ahead of the impending burn ban broke up the monotony of the relatively featureless terrain. I reminded myself that I quit on this stretch in 2001 and that I was determined not to do so again.

“Oh look, it’s Mark,” I hear through a bit of a fog as I catnapped on the sidewalk outside the public restrooms in the small town of MacArthur, 50 kilometers into this stretch. Keri-Ann and Tim were coming through, as were a few other riders. I stumbled back onto the bike seeking company for the next 35 kilometers into Hamilton. With my anemic pace, this effort proved only modestly successful, but I ran into a group of riders at the dreary service station control in Hamilton.

I headed out of Hamilton solo but was soon joined by Peter Donnan for the 30 kilometer stretch to Dunkeld, where he dropped me off at the town park in the first light of morning for another go at a nap. The baby changing room looked like a cozy spot, but the door opened only a bit before hitting another dozing rider. I leaned on the wall outside instead. As I started to drift off, I sensed a companion presence and opened my eyes to find the biggest spider I’ve ever seen perched on my knee. (Presumably a huntsman spider). That sight proved more invigorating than any coffee and I remounted my bike for the trip into the Grampians National Park.

The wildlife of Dunkeld had not finished with me. Not 3 kilometers out of town, I’m startled with what feels like a stone smacking into my helmet. The flutter of wings tells me that it’s not a stone. My sleepy brain figures out that it must be a magpie. (“Spring in Australia is magpie season, when a small minority of breeding magpies around the country become aggressive and swoop and attack those who approach their nests, especially bike riders.” - Wikipedia). Just as I figure this out, SMACK - he nails me again. Not interested in finding out just how many times the bird (birds?) would attack the same cyclist, I sprint off -- aided by a handy bit of downhill. I catch up to the riders ahead and proudly report my initiation into the fraternity of magpie-swooped Australian cyclists. If you ever see cyclists with cable ties sticking straight up from their helmets, they’ve probably been riding in Australia. Barry Moore showed me this defense before the GSR, but then told me that the magpie-swooping season was over and that he’d be taking the cable ties off before the ride. Barry’s cycling is much better than his ornithology.

The next 65 kilometers brought some of the most spectacular scenery of the ride. At the southern gateway to the Grampians, the morning sun turned Mt. Abrupt orange. The road rose over a foothill and then down into the park. Kangaroos (or perhaps wallabies - I’m fuzzy on which is which) would bound out of the bush, hop along the road for a bit, and then bound back into the bush. A few stumpy-tailed lizards oozed along the roadway; many more had met their fate at the hands of passing vehicles. Traffic was low and the surroundings captivating; I felt strong and full of energy for the first time this day.

Anticipation of the control in Halls Gap provided further impetus. The hospitality of Pam and Grant Palmer is legendary. Missing their control in 2001 was yet another reason to regret my DNF. Sure enough, I pulled in around 9:30 to a roaring outdoor fire, delicious soup and other goodies, and kind ministrations from Pam and Grant. I briefly retired to a bunk for a nap, but decided that I was more interested in riding. I felt great, despite the contrary evidence of a contemporaneous photo.

Peter Donnan and I left together around 10:15AM for the 65 kilometer out-and-back segment to/from Moyston. The road, at least at the start, was less flat than advertised, but nonetheless was a nice break from the hillclimbing before Halls Gap. The opportunities offered to see other riders spaced out on the road make out-and-backs great fun on long rides. We saw the leading riders as we headed out and the rest of the field as we returned. The store at Moyston marked the turnaround point for the GSR, but because of the initial loop to the east, it was well past the halfway point of the event. Only 500 kilometers to go. A celebratory ice cream bar seemed in order. A tailwind back to Halls Gap rewarded our work into the wind on the way out and Peter and I arrived back at the control at around 2PM and availed ourselves of more of Pam and Grant's hospitality.

The 65 kilometers back to Dunkeld provided the same great scenery as we had in the morning, but somehow the hills seemed steeper, longer, and more numerous. In particular the climb back out of the park sapped my energy. Peter and I stopped for a soda in town and took a break. The next 30 kilometers from Dunkeld to Hamilton seemed twice that distance. All told it was almost 6 hours for the 100 kilometers between Halls Gap and Hamilton and we arrived at the control about 8PM.

Rando Purgatory (840-925km)

On the return trip, Hamilton had a manned control. Although a vast improvement over the morning’s gas station stop, it somehow didn’t do much for me. I wasn’t interested in the food offerings and decided not to nap. Clean clothes, a shower, and a real bed awaited back in Port Fairy and I really wanted to get there.

After some faffing around at the control, I headed off with Peter Donnan and Greg Lansom. Without their company, I might still be wandering aimlessly on the Hamilton-Port Fairy road. At this point, I was well over 50 hours without sleep. The road seemed endless. I was somewhere in a land beyond Tired and bordering on Delirium. I couldn’t keep firmly in mind exactly what it was that I was doing out there. For a while I was convinced that I was a headlight and taillight tester, but couldn’t keep track of what I was supposed to be testing. Occasionally I would drift into the shoulder, which would momentarily bring alertness. Then a whole cycle of weirdness would start again. Complete rando freak show.

About 25 kilometers before Port Fairy, I could see its lights. But I would ride and ride and they seemed to get no closer. Nothing about the terrain was difficult, but the distance felt infinite. Rarely has my rando soul been more tortured.

Eventually, of course, we reached Port Fairy and despite a few questionable turns found ourselves in the randonneur heaven of the youth hostel control. Despite the time-warping ride in, we were 12 hours up on the clock on arrival. Kind volunteers brought welcome food and plenty of encouragement. This time, Martin Haynes had a beer in his hand for me. After a delicious dinner and a hot shower, I crawled into the top bunk with my beer bottle. I finished it off and fell happily and deeply asleep for the first time in days. Bliss.

Port to Port - Reprise (925-1053km)

Peter and I awoke and had a fine breakfast before heading out in daylight around 6:00. Despite the squalls heard on the roof during breakfast, dry weather greeted us on the road. We were in great shape for time, with more than 28 hours to cover the last 290 kilometers and with 7 hours up on the clock. The long slog to Cobden brought us back to the bakery. A bacon and egg pie made a great second breakfast and another “long black” coffee stoked the fires for the trip to Port Campbell.

Although the 40 kilometers from Cobden to Port Campbell gives up elevation as the road returns to the sea, this leg sure had more ups and downs than I remembered from Tuesday. But the weather was beautiful and the riding joyful.

In before 2PM, we once again had about 10 hours up on the clock and only about 160km to go. The Port Campbell control was wonderful. I took a shower and changed shorts and then sat down to lunch. Merryn offered banana splits and I opted to start lunch with ice cream. Peter Donnan, who was brought up to eat the good-for-you food before dessert, looked over jealously. Quite a few riders were around and the atmosphere was festive. Jan Erik celebrated his birthday with a nap on the grass.

The Otways - Reprise (1053-1151km)

From Port Campbell we returned to the lovely road along the ocean.

The scenic ocean stretch gave way to those “toughest hills of the ride” - a bit tougher the second time around. Greg caught up and snapped a few pictures.

Earlier, Peter Donnan had tagged me with a nice euphemism for slow, saying that I was “a diesel” chugging steadily up the hills at a grind-it-out cadence. Along the way up to Lavers Hill, however, the diesel stalled and I sat on a guard rail looking for some spark to continue. A bag of Clif Blox (Black Cherry, with caffeine) provided the necessary fuel and I caught up with Peter and Greg and other riders hanging out at the store in Lavers Hill.

After Lavers Hill the route takes in some pretty sections down to the ocean at Glenaire/Castle Cove, then rolls along nice flats to Hordern Vale, and then climbs uphill again. No koala sightings this time, just some good riding (and more slow dieseling up the hill) in the last light of the day. A screaming descent brought me to the Apollo Bay control, just a few minutes behind Peter and Greg.

Andy of the Magnificent Moores brought his family to the Apollo Bay control to care for the riders. His son Aidan checked us in and his daughter Siobhan made wonderful food. I had soup, pasta, and other goodies. Peter, Greg and I decided to ride into the finish. Other riders were choosing to stay the night and to finish the ride in the morning. We may have been the last night departures and would have left sooner except that I spied another rider eating something I had missed. Our departure had to wait for a made-to-order grilled cheese sandwich with tomatoes and ham.

To the Finish (1151-1215km)

The Great Ocean Road from Apollo Bay to Airey’s Inlet is beautiful. Many of the riders opting to sleep at Apollo Bay did so with the idea of riding this scenic section by daylight. Peter, Greg, and I enjoyed a different, but no less marvelous, experience. Minimal traffic, maximal stars, and a wonderful soundtrack of surf below. Interrupted only by a short break in Lorne and a pause to fix a balky shifter on Greg’s bike, these 64 kilometers were a magical end to the ride.

Well maybe 63 kilometers of magic. The motel in Aireys Inlet sits on top of a hill. I attacked the hill for all I was worth for a triumphant finish. Unfortunately, all I was worth at that point was about half of the hill. So instead, I limped into the finish deep in my granny gear. Greg and Peter waited so we could finish together.

Over beer we celebrated. The next morning, a different finisher was heard on the phone telling her husband that she wouldn’t be home for a while, because everyone was still busy “talking about how good we are.” It took us a while, and another beer, to get off to sleep because I, too, needed to talk about how good we were. Funny, I certainly remember feeling a lot better than the picture suggests!

My time of 80:10 was my second best 1200km time in nine finishes. The monkey that had been on my back since 2001 found itself suddenly homeless.

Many pictures borrowed from GSR gallery. Thanks to all the photographers.