Foggy Four Hundred and other things that go snort in the night

This past Saturday was the Apple Valley 400k.  The 400k is my very favorite distance and this ride in particular was my first brevet ever.  This year was a re-route to cut a little climbing and add some scenic sections so I was quite happy to be able to ride.  Also, Rick from the fleche earlier this year was riding and it's always nice to have friendly faces.  The weather was predicted to be excellent.  What else could I possibly ask for?  This really did turn out to be a great ride, though not quite the one I was expecting.  But I will always remember it for the night ride and our encounter with the strange, snorting "possum".

It started from the AmericInn in Apple Valley at 6:00am on a VERY foggy morning.  Rob gave all his announcements standing on the bed of his pickup in the fog.  I remember thinking at the time that it was sort of like a surreal kind of randonneuring revival with him waving his cue sheets in the air, "let there be no detouring on highway 52 or suffer the wrath of the RBA!"  Maybe you had to be there.

So we started off.  The prediction was that the fog would clear around 9 or 10 am so I was quite happy to pedal off.  As we rode out of Apple Valley, I couldn't help but noticed that large groups of riders were staying together.  In fact, about a dozen of us were together for the first 30 miles to the first control in Cannon Falls.  I couldn't really say who they were or exactly how many there were because I really couldn't see more than out 10 feet in front of me.  This had everything to do with the thick fog and some to do with the fact that I had to take my glasses off due to water accumulation and without them, I can only see about 10 feet.

At Randolph, Rick and I were the only ones to make the turn and wound up leading for the 5 miles into Cannon Falls (at least there were no turns and the blind really can lead the blind at times).  I wondered about the irony of so many missing a turn that the two people with really bad vision made.  I have been on this section before so I know that it is very pretty and quaint with lots of farms. Of course, they were hiding.

The fog rolled in - can you see the bike ahead?

At Cannon Falls, we ran into Rob, who told us that he couldn't even see every one's lit tail lights.  I turned my amped up Dinotte on after that.  IronK bought it for me because it really can be seen from orbit.  I picked up water and ate a Clif Bar.  The humidity was about 95% and it was starting to get hot.  It was at this point that I realized that we were going quite fast for a 400k.  My average speed was 17.5 MPH!  Several people commented that we would be tuning it down soon since no one wanted to burn out early.

We then said goodbye to Rob and pedaled off to Goodhue, 23 miles away.  Here it got fun.  The fog continued to obscure everything in sight.  About 7 miles down the road, Rob had warned us about a road that had some packed gravel.  It turned out that today, it was being paved.  At least 10 trucks were lined up on the road and about 20 of us waited at a flagman to pass.  He had a long discussion with his counterpart on the other end about "low boys", "hot bellies" and some other things I didn't quite catch.  He then waved us through, though I thought he had sent us just about the time the other guy was sending something up the road.  If you have never descended on a bicycle through the fog and realized that a 10 ton truck full of tar was headed straight for you, you are really missing out on some of the great fun of the sport.  Indeed, as we descended the hill on REALLY fresh pavement, here came a tar truck and some really big flatbeds.  We rolled with it and it was a little like playing Indy 500 for Atari.

About 5 miles out of Goodhue, I realized that I was still averaging about 17 miles per hour.  I dropped off the end realizing that either my hamstring would burn out on a hill or my blood sugar would crash at about 10:00 pm that night.  As it was, I'd ridden too hot for too long already.  It isn't often that I do a 3 hour half century on a 400k.  I arrived 60 seconds behind everyone else and felt a bit less tired.  I then tried to compensate by eating fig newtons, a Naked drink, a V8 and another Clif bar.  Others were marveling at how quickly we were going.  By this time it was closing on 10:00 and still the fog was as thick as ever.  I really started wishing that I could see, but fortunately I knew this part of the route and my GPS beeped if I got off track.

Rick at Goodhue - He has really cool hammered fenders

The next section, between Goodhue and Plainview, is one of the hillier parts of the route.  4 of us, Rick, Andre, myself, and a very interesting guy from Madison, hereafter known as Dreadlock Guy,  started off together and toned down the pace to 15-16 mph.  We chatted for the next 10 miles and I wound up giving Andre my backup map.  It turns out that he had brought the 200k cue sheet and Rob had also accidentally given him yet another copy of the wrong cue sheet.  I had mine laminated in double sided sections.  It's a habit I picked up after my last 400k and it really is nice to not have to worry about wet or crumbling cue sheets.  $1 at Office Max and you are set to go with an indestructible cue sheet that doesn't flap in the breeze.

The big hills started at this point and I let the others go on since I still have to climb slowly from my lame hamstring.  At Millville, I stopped to see if I could help Mark O and Mike A.  Mike's hub had caved in and he and Mark were attempting to come up with some kind of on the spot repair.  Mark has ridden enough brevets to encircle the planet at least 4-5 times and is the only one besides myself who has an one-the-go chain whip in his bag (called a hypercracker).  They were able to get Mike at least to Plainview (the next control) where his wife brought him a new wheel (ah, the joy of being a rando spouse).  I talked to Mark briefly before letting him continue climbing at his own pace instead of my wimpy one.

When I got to Plainview a bit after noon, Rick was at the control.  We chatted and I bought a bunch of food.  We then both headed for Subway where others were waiting.  I decided at this point that I was in a more social mood so I took my food with me.  Sometimes, it's really nice to not be totally anal about rushing controls.  Bob, who I rode with last month in the 600k, was there along with Dreadlock Guy who had broken his cleat, and some others.  We ate and discussed the various ways to make his foot stick to the pedal - duct tape, super glue, etc.  In the end, he decided to rough it out on the broken cleat instead.  I amused, at least temporarily, by reading the nutritional info off my Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pie (see previous blog entry for details); this is my new favorite rando food dubbed by the group as "The Calorie Bomb".  I'm sure many would possibly give us an F in time efficiency, but it's quite late in the season and I don't think any of us were riding for a new record.  I always appreciate a good laugh.

So we all powered back up slowly for the 30 miles from Plainview to Stockton.  At this point, the fog finally lifted and the steaming hot sun made its first appearance.  The next section had some hills through Whitewater State forest and I again dropped back to enjoy the climb on my own.  Mark O and Mike F caught up to me and we rode on and off for a few miles until some shouted "Secret Control!"

First, there wasn't a secret control, but at least 5 bikes were pulled over next to a really odd looking metal scaffold and a guy carrying a big leather harness (no, not that kind of leather harness).  It turned out the owner was offering free zip line rides.  I don't know how many go by his setup since it's on a country road in the middle of nowhere, but wonders never cease.  As soon as he found out it wasn't a secret control, Mark O was gone like a shot.  I stopped long enough to take this picture.

Randonneurs ready for zipping

Okay, I considered my options briefly, but I was having to climb slowly and I decided that if I broke my neck on a brevet while not riding, it might qualify me for a Darwin award or something worse.  I opted out and Mike F and I attempted to catch up to Mark, who remained tantalizingly close but never caught.

Mike and I had a nice ride through rollers and down a screaming hill to Rollingstone, which is a very quaint little town with several bars and lots of big houses with porches.  Then we hit what may have been the hardest part of the ride: the hill out of Rollingstone.

This hill isn't that steep, or even that long.  But the slight wind was behind us and there was no shade.  The sun wailed down like a heat gun and at one point I considered walking, but realized that the bottom of my shoe might melt  if it touched the pavement.  Sweat ran off me like a river, and that doesn't happen very often.  About halfway up, a man and his wife were pulled over on the side of the road loading rocks from the cut of the hill into their truck.  I wonder if that is really legal, but I didn't stop to ask.  Mike was stopped at the top of the hill but I rode past since my brain was close to melting and I was nearly out of water.  He caught up to me about 3 miles later and we proceeded down another screaming hill to the control.

The descent is just along the side of this hill, it looks so benign in this picture

Mark was at the control already and we marveled at the hot conditions.  I drank a V8, a chocolate milk and a blue slurpee, which made my entire mouth blue for the next 40 miles.  Everyone else showed up about 15 minutes later with stories of the zip line.  Fortunately, no broken bones - maybe I'll try it next time.  By this time, it was about 4:00 pm.  Time to get going home, we were halfway there.

Mike F and Mark O climbing out of Stockton

The climb out of Stockton is really very pretty, not as steep as some, but it's long and is followed by lots of rollers.  Several people passed me on the climb and I had a nice talk with Andre about first bikes and being an adolescent cyclist.  At this point, we turned north and discovered that, indeed, there was wind on this day.  Andre went ahead and I rode with Rick and Price, from Iowa.  Price is just the type of guy I really like to happen across in a headwind: he has a big frame and can pull for a long time.  Chivalry is not dead.

Price, the pulling machine

We rode into Elba, which has a really beautiful old style church, to the sound of head banger rock'n roll coming from a log cabin.  No town festival, just some guy having some kind of time.  I separated from the group as we climbed out of Elba alone for sometime.  Somehow, I managed to pass Price and I caught up to Rick just outside Plainview.  We ran into Andre who suggested a departure from gas station food and Subway: a real chinese buffet.  Again, the anal randos might call us fools, but Price, Andre, myself, Rick, Richard and Dan all had a really nice Chinese meal full of rice and salt (everything a growing rando needs).  I ate 2 plates of fried rice, especially after realizing that I had a crusty salt layer on my face from the heat.  It was great.  Sure we blew an hour, but it wasn't like we were going to do anything else more fun if we go in an hour earlier. 

Knowing there was climbing coming, I took off a bit before the others.  Turns out that even fried rice needs digestion time and I was pretty slow for a few miles.  Some others passed me in a line, but I was having a little cramp and decided to let them go ahead.  Mark O and Mike F passed me, but I caught up to them at Millville, just as the sun went down.  Mark assured me that Millville to Hammond was a beautiful section.  I was glad we saw it because he was right.  At dusk, my picture didn't come out well but here it is.

Along the Zumbro River

We reached Highway 63 and paused as Rick and Price caught up to us.  The 5 of us wound up being together for just about the rest of the ride.  By this time, it was very dark and it's always a good idea to bunch up for night riding.

Just outside Mazeppa, Rick had a flat and all of us stopped to provide lights to fix it.  It was here that we had "the encounter".  I decided that while Rick change the flat, I would avail myself of the very nice patch of cornfield.  So I stepped off the side of the road and ambled into the dark for some illusory privacy (how private can it really be with 4 men standing 20 feet away).  As I paused with my shorts in a somewhat compromising position, something snorted quite loudly behind me.  Understandably, this was a startling event causing me to draw the attention of those 4 men standing 20 feet away; sometimes you just can't get the kind of solitude you really want in a cornfield in the dead of night.  As we finished the tire, whatever it was continued snorting at us from some unseen position.  Being a city dweller, I have no idea what it was.   Someone said it could be a possum.  Really are possums that big?  Whatever it was, it was getting distinctly more snorty until we finally rode off into the night.  Several have postulated everything from deer to coyotes to wild pigs.

The section from Mazeppa to Zumbrota had a few hills and we nearly missed a turn on a hill which I was just as glad not to miss (thank you Mark and GPS).  We rolled into Zumbrota at about 10:30 after being lost for awhile after an old arrow detoured us.  One of the riders that I knew was at the control looking somewhat sickly.  I asked and he said he thought he have passed a kidney stone.  Normally, I wouldn't mention a detail like this, but really this is the pinnacle of the randonneuring spirit: how many men can say that they would ride on even with a kidney stone.  That is dedication at its finest.

So 6 of us left the Zumbrota control and rode the final 60 miles back.  The major hills were all behind us and the last 30 miles back to Cannon Falls were gentle rollers.  The nearly full moon was a real treat as well and, sure enough, the road crew had completely finished paving the road that we had ridden through earlier in the day, not a hot belly in sight.

At Cannon Falls, we paused briefly but by this time, it was 1:30 am and I was ready to be done.  I always buy something at controls but this time, I was in such a rush I got into line with nothing.  Not wanting to break a habit, I grabbed the only thing close by: a blow pop.   Bob, Rick and I left Mark, Mike and Price and headed out.  We had put on some night gear at Zumbrota, it was getting a bit chilly in the low spots.  Unhappily, the fog had returned by this time.  I had to take my glasses off once again and it's really quite hard to be in the dark and nearsighted.

There is a bar outside Randolph and we got there just at bar close.  Several rather drunk people milling along the side of the road asked if they could borrow our bikes.  I have never had that happen before for sure.  About 5 miles later, a car was pulled over on the side of the road for yet another scene (really, they should have a soap opera about these people in Randolph).  A couple was having some kind of domestic dispute and the girl had gotten out of the car, run to the other side of the highway, and was yelling at the boyfriend, still in the car, that he was, in fact, an ass and some other things.  Really, the human drama that you find on a brevet in the dead of night is not to be missed.

About 5 minutes later, the other 3 caught up to us and we finished the last 15 miles together in the fog.  Nothing else really happened except I nearly turned wrong about 4 times due to inability to read and Mark boldly led us, incorrectly, around a traffic circle to dead end in a parking lot.  At least we were only a few feet off course.

Sign in at the AmericInn was bittersweet, the end of a brevet is always a sad/glad thing for me.  Let's face it, by the time you complete 250 miles, you are darn tired and at this point it was 3:50 am.  We all said our goodbye's somewhat quickly.

I will have the pleasure of riding with Bob at least one more time this year at the Apple Valley 600k in September.  Hopefully, Rick and some others will make it as well.  Still 3 brevets to go here in Minnesota.

Swans in Oz: Training with the Birds and the Wind from Hell

Most of the time I don't write up training rides.  But this one was different.  I haven't had my schedule coincide with Shredder's all summer, and he loves this route.  Of course, even he hadn't done it in weather like this.

For 2 weeks Minnesota endured a heat wave of titanic proportions.  Something like 10 days above 90 with dew points in the 70s, severe thunderstorms that brought no relief, nights in the 70s, etc.  I could have roasted a rack of lamb in my car during the day.  This past Sunday was the first day without major heat and humidity for a long time and all the cyclists were drooling over the weather report as though it were made of fudge sauce.  Finally, an end to the oppressive heat was in sight!  Of course, a front strong enough to push heat like that away must have some juice of its own: this one had wind.

I got up at 5:30 am and readied for a 7:00am start.  Course' about 5 'til 7, I got a phone call - "are we meeting at 8" asked a somewhat caffeine deprived voice?  We didn't leave until 45 minutes later.  I have to say, needing arm warmers and knee warmers was quite odd after practically wanting to shed my clothing for the past 2 weeks.  As we pulled onto the main road, the wind was already strong.  The loop we planned would take us northwest for about 50 miles, then north for about 15, then back east for 20, due south for 30 and angle back in for a total of 138 miles.  All the hills were to be in the latter part of the ride.

We stopped at 8 miles at a Caribou coffee in Wayzata.  A town right on Lake Minnetonka, Wayzata is one of those lovely lakeside towns that could be the setting for some kind of tv show on Scy Fy: everyone is just too beautiful and rich to not have something weird going on "just underneth".   But the coffee is good.  At that point, the wind was already a killer and it was 8:30am.  Thinking back to the wind on Day 2 of the Cascades, I suggested that we reverse the loop.  Do the hills first in the wind and leave that 50 mile flat part for the return (when we would have a tail wind).  Shredder agreed, he hadn't ridden this ride in reverse before.  I still maintain this was a sound tactic.

So we wound northwest out of Wayzata, past a golf course (anyone thinking devil worship here?) and out onto the western rollers to Delano.  This section is basically rural with many hobby farms whose cows and donkeys look like they eat better than I do.  The wind was getting quite a bit worse, but otherwise, the weather was perfect: 60s with bright sun.  Then "pop goes the tire".  Shredder lives up to his name once again.  As we pull over and yank the rear tire, he first tries to convince himself that the stem just wasn't screwed on well enough.  We pump it up with my road morph and hear hissing from a huge hole that needs a boot.  "This is a brand new tire!" Of course, when you have brand new tires is always about the time you ride through a massive glass field.  We boot the tire and get going again, stopping in Delano about 2 miles later.  It's here that I make my first mistake of the day: failing to estimate just how long it will be before we have another stop.  It's about 10:00am and we fill bottles, I eat a Skor bar.  I think we will be stopping in Rockford, not realizing it's only 5 miles up the road and that we won't stop there.  I also have only one package of Clif Shots.  We are heading into a section with about 20 miles of heavy cross winds followed by 25 miles of heavy headwinds.  Should have eaten up half the store.

After Delano, we wind north to Rockford.  Rockford is another pretty town right on the Crow River.  We pass Lake Rebbeca Park, which is always very pretty.  Thanks to the many thunderstorms, everything is lush and overgrown.  I am sad to see that one of the roadside farms has hacked off their overgrown arbor.  Last summer, it was full of grapes and plums that hung over the road and were a nice snack.  None of that ever again, instead we see only a worn fence.

It's River Days in Rockford and we can just smell the saturated fat as we ride into the park alongside the Crow River.  There are all kinds of food options here, but I breeze right by (must have still been full from the candy bar).  A church group is singing a hymn right in the middle of it.  Shredder warns me to avert my ears, lest I burst into flames (evangelicals sometimes don't like us lesbians).  I try to be nonchalant in my spandex.  As we pass the various stands, I am struck again by the Stephen King'esque booths.  One is actually full of dolls just staring into space, the old fashioned kind with the moving eyes.  Now that is something you just don't see on every bike ride.

We climb out of Rockford on a steady hill and see a juvenile bald eagle circling on the wind.  The river valley had been a shelter from the wind, but it's back in full force now.  We press on for about 10 miles passing farmland and wetlands interspersed with each other.  Before farming, this area was probably crane territory and it still has lots of birds.  It is here that we pass our first batch of swans.  The road is north-south and sits atop a levy with water coming right to the edges.  2 full sized Trumpeters, one banded, float serenely on the water with 6 large cygnettes.  They are within 20 feet and are unconcerned about us: must be the spandex.  We stop and watch them, amazed at how big the cygnettes are.  Probably all of them will at least take off on the migration.  I have a thing for swans being somewhat of an ugly duckling myself.  Course, I'm still waiting for the "turn into the beautiful swan thing"  maybe that comes at 50.  The swans finally glide off into the cattails and we continue on.  We amble our way around, side stepping the town of Buffalo Lake and staying on nice rural roads with rollers.  The wind is so strong that it keeps us riding tilted.  We stop at Bebee Lake for free water (but no food).  2 days ago we would have been swimming here, but the lake is rough and only a few brave souls are out on the beach in a 20-30 mph wind.  One water skier makes about 5 attempts and gives up.

We are approaching Monticello and I am getting hungry and ready to stop.   About 3 miles out of town, Shredder suddenly turns left.  "We don't actaully go through Monticello," he says,"the next town is only about 25 miles and the easy part is over".  The wind hits me dead in the face and I nearly stop from the resistance.  I wonder how long the next 25 miles will be.

The answer is: long.  This is a hilly section with large rollers, at least the rollers give some break from the windiest part of the day (it's now noon and we have managed only 40 miles in 4 hours with the strong winds and 3 stops).  It's very pretty though with more wetlands, though there are white caps on some of the bigger ones.  I eat my Clif Shots and wonder about how long this can feel.  But I amuse myself by appreciating the sights.  I am careful here though, my hamstring starts feeling the pressure of the climbing coupled with the wind: this was the combo that eventually tore it to pieces in the Cascades.  I vow this will be different and back off as needed.  As we crest a hill, vultures are near motionless in the air at about 10 feet as they swarm some roadkill.  I haven't seen vultures up that close in flight before; it's a real treat.

It's about an hour and a half later that we hit Clearwater Lake and turn south.  The wind is so strong that flag poles are bending.  Clearwater is a large lake and it's full of 2-3 foot swells, not a boat in sight on the water.  We wind around it, bending the bikes to stay upright.  Annandale is still 5 miles aways and we continue west fighting the wind as we go.  Fluffy cumulus clouds skip through the sky.

It's about 2:15 when we chug into Annandale.  I haven't been to this town and on a Sunday afternoon, most of the bars are closed (there are at least 6 of them on Main Street).  We find a Holiday gas station, which appears to be the local hangout du jour.  We stop for food.  I was famished.

If you have never been starving in a gas station, you can't really appreciate how good truck stop food actually is.  I got a chicken salad sandwich, a big bag of potato chips, V8, peanut butter cups and, on a whim, a Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pie.  It's  a few minutes later and I peruse the wrapper of the cream pie.  The thing is the size of a 3 inch oatmeal cookie.  BUT, it has a whopping 410 calories!  I read on, 66 grams of carbs, 15 grams of fat (4.5 staruated), 3 grams of protein and 8% of my daily iron requirement for a low, low price of 75 cents.   This is even cheaper than a quart of chocolate milk (which I have also been known to drink).  Sure there's enough saturated fat to up my cholesterol count about 10 points,  but fortunately mine is only about 140 anyways. 

We chow outside on a picnic table.  I eat everything and try to call IronK (she's on her 3 round of chemo and it's time for those pesky mental tests to make sure the chemicals are eating her brain too much).  I leave many messages, but she doesn't call back - kind of odd.

At least we only have about another 5 miles of westerly travel. Then the wind should become our friend.  At Annandale, we are at around 64 miles and it's taken almost 6.5 hours to get there.  My legs ache from the effort and I do some quick yoga to stretch them.  We take off again and just outside of town, we see our second batch of swans.  This set is also just near the road, hidden in a gulch.  They have 5 cygnettes all beginning to turn white.  Really cool to see.

We pass a really cool motorcycle sculpture at a farm about 5 miles down the road.  The farm is off a roller and usually Shredder just whizzes by (going the opposite direction).  But we are climbing into the wind and we take a short break to admire it.  Then we finally turn south for 5 miles and head back east.

If you have never fought wind and suddenly had the tables turn, it's a real treat.  We went from working hard to make 12 mph to easy cruising at 25.  Of course Lance probably rides at these speeds in the wind, but I imagine that I have a rocket mounted on my chainstays and feel good anyways as we begin the trip back.  It's just outside the town of Cokato that I nearly encounter death by schnauzer.

Dogs hate me.  I don't know why.  This one came out of nowhere through a soybean field. Ususally, I just speed up and as soon as I hit the property line (e.g. the territory), they quit.  Not this one.  It just kept coming and fast.  I looked over my shoulder and it was catching up quick.  About this time, we hit a big grinding roller.  Not really what I want to sprint on.  Of course, the dog is still going so I go too.  I race up the roller, he matches my speed (this dog must be on crack).  Shredder starts laughing, I tell him that it's his responsibility to slow down and get bitten for me, the whole chivalry thing.  The dog is with us for nearly a mile.  Finally, we got to the top of the roller and outran him at 20 mph or we would never have gotten rid of him.

We stop for water and I try IronK again, and again.  Then I get a call from another friend who has also been trying to reach her.  Where can she be?  I get another V8 and marvel at the nicely decorated bathroom.  It's the only gas station I have ever been in with artwork and mood lighting in the ladies room.  Outside is drama in the form of a hot roded 60s' Plymouth.  The owner is attempting to get it started and asks Shredder to watch it while he is away.  We marvel at this car; it has a massive amount of rust, a harness for a seat belt, the speedometer is mounted outside the car, the hood is bolted shut with what looks like some kind of rube goldberg device.  There is no muffler and the exhaust is just sticking off the side of the car.  Eventually, the owner returns with a portable battery and gets it started.  The car lurches out of the parking lot and onto the street like the transmission is about to go at any second.  There are times I really wish I brought my camera.

We have only 50 miles to go and a tailwind. But I am nervous about not reaching IronK.  It's 4:30 now.  We cruise in the tailwind for another half hour before I can't take it anymore and call BigG to do an emergency home invasion.  These things we can do with cell phones now.  He and Barb go over and finally rouse IronK out of her chemo-induced stupor.  She finally calls me:  wow was she out of it.  It's hard to see her so wacked out, but the relief is huge.  The oncologist added a new anti-nausea med which apparently works by inducing 24 hour slumber.  I guess that kind of works.  I give her the mental tests, takes awhile, but she can still add.  BigG says she sounds out of it but she is okay and I can enjoy the tail wind home.

And the tail wind is glorious!  We cruise 50 miles in only about 2.5 hours.  I am briefly charged by a herd of cows (they must be collaborating with the dogs), but otherwise the pavement is good and my legs are doing okay as well.  We are back home by 8:00pm, about 12 hours total with a really big negative split.  I ice my hamstring later that night.  It's still not up to snuff but the PT is helping and I am pretty sure the damage won't be permanent. 

Next weekend is the Apple Valley 400k.  This was my first brevet ever, so it has sentimental value.  No Shredder this time, he has vowed to never do another brevet, but at least one friend from the fleche will be there so it should be a good time.  Let's hope for just a little less wind.

Road Pixie R&R - That's Redemption in Rochester

This July 24th marked the date of the Rochester 600k.  This ride was a huge thing for me.  Last year, it was my second brevet ever and, at that time, I rode it nearly solo in 38 hours and 40 minutes.  During that 38 hours, I nearly passed out from an electrolyte imbalance, created a major problem with tendinitis in my left knee and finished hacking some kind of unidentified, solid stuff out of my lungs: it was really great but I always left feeling like the ride beat me.  This year was payback time!  Completing this ride well was a big deal.

I had also stopped at the overnight (210 miles) for 4 hours in which I never really slept and I had always wondered if I would have avoided problems by just riding through the night and taking a cemetery nap.  In reading many sources, it's recommended to do a sleepless 600k because it is much harder than taking a traditional break and prepares you better for the completely obscene fatigue that is part of a 1200k.  Having now done it both ways, I have to agree with everything said.

Finally, this ride went from important to near must-complete status after failing to complete all 1000k in the Cascades.  I still had a major injury and with 21,000 feet of climbing, this 600k has as much climbing as the Cascades.  I had not, and still have not, fully healed; that will take many months.  So no sprints, no sudden jarring, no heavy duty pedal mashing.  Failure to heed such rules might mean permanent damage.  The rule is that if the hamstring starts to hurt, the ride is immediately over.

So on to the ride...

The ride starts at the Walmart parking lot in northern Rochester, Minnesota.  It's 6:00 am and I am there with Paul, who rode in my fleche team earlier in the year.  It turns out that his wife really likes him to ride with people as much as Kathy likes me to ride with people.  Must be a spouse thing.  We had a tacit agreement to ride through the night as long as nothing horrible was going on at the overnight.  I did insist on stopping for long enough to rinse the outer layer of salt and grim off and change clothes.

The forecast had been everything from a massive heat wave to thunderstorms to glorious during the 10 days before the ride.  Turns out, the ride started after the thunderstorms had moved through.  We didn't even have that much wet pavement.  At the start were 12 people including Kenny from Chicago (who I remembered from last year), Ralph from Missouri, Bob from Madison, Paul and myself.  Also present were Martin, who may be the fastest long distance rider I have ever seen, and Mike the RBA.  Martin is a rider that I see 3 times on this brevet.  First, I see him at the start.  Second, I see him as he passes me on the way to back to the overnight.  Third, I see him as he passes me again on the way into the finish after I have ridden all night long and he has had a full 8 hours sleep, probably seen a movie and had a 5 course meal.  The guy is amazing.  It's always a bit of a race to see how far I can get before he passes me for the third time.  We leave right on time and immediately, the group splits into 2 groups, the fast guys and the scenic pacers.

The weather is still quite grey as we head down US 22.  It's gently rolling and the pavement is good.  It is, however, very humid from the previous night's rain and my rear view mirror actually fogs up.  Paul, myself, Kenny, Ralph, and Bob all introduce ourselves since we will all be more or less keeping each other company for many miles.  What a difference from last year when there was only me.  This picks up my spirits enormously, I won't be listening to my IPod continuously for 30 hours.  We roll through Stewartville, still no sun.  But everything is incredibly green.  This summer, we've had so much rain that the normal fried look is nowhere to be found.  Even the cows look relaxed.

Ralph and Paul on the way to Chatfield

By the first control at Chatfield, I am ready to refill my bottles.  I'd been noticing a little strain on my hamstring, so I pulled off my shoe to put another plastic shim under the cleat.  To my horror, 2 of 4 screws are missing!  Fortunately, I have one extra so at least I can ride with 3 instead of 2.  Ralph loans me a screwdriver since my new cleats (I just switched to Speedplay) use phillips and it turns out my multi tool doesn't have one.  I decide to really torque down the rest of the screws just to be sure.  This winds up being an error (Speedplay pedals don't work that way).  It puts a bit more stress on the knees since the float is comprimsed by the torqued down screws.  I grab bananas, drink some V8 and chocolate milk and off we go.

Kenny (in the distance), Bob, Me, and Paul

The weather continues to be gray with temperatures now in the low 70s.  Perfect weather, at least for me; there are some more threatening clouds to the north, but none to the south (which is happily where we are going).  I spend time chatting with Bob, who crewed last year's 1000k.  I always say that the best part about randonneuring is the people you meet: Bob is one of those super nice types.  His girlfriend, Melissa, is driving support for the ride.  How cool is that?

The first inkling of how bad the previous night's storms were is evident going down the hill into Rushford.  There are blasted bits of tree everywhere and when we get to the control, it's closed.  It turns out the power has been out for hours and virtually nothing is open in town.  Fortunately, Pam's Convenience Mart is open.  Still no power, but Pam has a calculator and is taking cash and signing brevet cards.  We buy supplies and I realize that I left my patellar tendon strap back in Rochester.  I quickly make a temporary replacement with a bungee cord and an arm warmer.

The climb out of Rushford is a very long one.  Basically 6-8% with occasional spikes into 9-10.  It's about 3-4 miles long.  Since this is the first major climb of the day, I fall back quickly wanting to protect my hamstring.  I climb at my own pace which is slightly faster than Kenny.  Bob, Paul, and Ralph go on.  This stretch, Rushford to Harmony, is possibly my least favorite stretch of road ever.  Most of it is just fine.  But it is long and uninteresting and full of rollers.  It also has a 4 mile stretch at the end of some of the worst pavement ever laid down by MnDOT.  I also find myself fighting a substantial northwest wind that up until now had been a friend.  I don't catch Bob, Paul, and Ralph until the Harmony control.  Kenny rolls in about 3 minutes after I do.  At this point, we are quite near 100 miles and it's just past noon.  I am certain to eat well here: sandwich, V8, cookies, chocolate milk, bananas.  I take food for to road too.

Ralph and Kenny taking off from Harmony

The next 40 miles to Decorah, Iowa are mixed.  Outside Harmony is the only stretch of the entire ride that you can argue is kind of flat (the rollers are pretty benign).  Turning onto Pole Line Road, the rollers return to full strength and then descend into a river valley near the town.  Red wing blackbirds usually dive bomb cyclists here, but I fall back into conversation with Bob and don't really see any.  By this time, the clouds have rolled out and the sun appears.  The wind is, once again, a friend and we fairly fly into Decorah.  It's at this point that we realize that our average moving speed is over 15 mph, quite fast for those riding in our little group.  We roll into the control at about 2:45: a sub-9 hour 200k.  At this point, the temperature goes up into the 80s. 

Looking Down: At this point, we have averaged 15.1 mph for 147 miles

Decorah is a nice town.  This weekend turns out to be the town festival so the main street (our route) is blocked off and filled with food stands, music and other entertainment.  We get yelled at for riding in the festival. However, it doesn't really sink in fast enough to do anything so we decide to just finish getting through town and not do it again.  We ride through anyways, at this point, I am searching for a pharmacy to attempt to get a real patellar tendinitis strap.  Finally, I spot it on the corner.  Racing in, I ask and they have an entire wall of various straps, but no patellar tendinitis strap.  Just as I decide to settle on an ace bandage, I notice an elbow strap that looks similar.  I pull it off the wall and sure enough, it fits my knee.  Now, I'm not exactly Kate Moss so I marvel that anyone's elbow can be as big as my knee.  I ponder the question of obesity in America for at least 50 miles.  But my left knee is very happy.

Bob and Paul with some nice rock cliffs

The climb out of Decorah on CR9 is about 3 miles long and for the first time all day, it feels hot.  That tail wind is just not a friend when climbing.  Finally we reach the top and turn onto W42 for the final 25 miles to West Union.  This stretch is really quite pretty with wild flowers and some nice rural houses.  I manage to drift off the road and and cross country for a few feet, losing my bottle and eliciting lots of laughs.  We wind our way up and down until finally coming into West Union at mile 180.  From here, we have an out-and-back to Elkader and est Union is the official overnight.  We see Melissa at the control and she leaves Bob a key for the room.  We will have a place to shower!

The ride to Elkader is a fun one.  We join up for the night with Ralph, who has been riding a couple minutes ahead of us for miles.  I really enjoy this particular part of the ride.  It's early evening and the sky is full of nice clouds.  Just outside Elgin, we see Martin (#2) on his way back in.  It's about 6:30 pm.  I take pictures and we cruise along to the control, the Cross Roads Convenience .  Elkader sits at the bottom of a somewhat hilly valley.  We see Kenny's wife there as well.  Actually, it turns out we have seen her at every control, but I have just not really be with it enough to notice that the woman with the dog is the same one every time.  Must be blood sugar, I think so I eat 2 servings of mashed potatoes, a can of V8, a bottle of chocolate milk and take Powerade for the road.   The mashed potatoes taste fabulous, even the unidentified chewy parts!

On the way back we are treated to a great sunset.  It's about 9:00 pm and spirits are really good.  I am looking forward to the night ride.  We get back to West Union at about 10:30 and head for the ahotel.  We spend an hour there showering, changing out gear and talking to Mike and Melissa.  Mike vows that the next time I see him he will be "in shape", I laugh because even out of shape, he rides much faster than I ever will.  We only have 165 miles left when we pull out of West Union at midnight.

Sunset on the way from Elkader to West Union

Up until now, Bob has theorized that my bad hamstring has been making us go faster than normal.  Sound odd?  His reasoning seems sound.  Because I am forced to not push it up hills, we are riding at a more stable pace.  Since we have for the most part stayed together, the theory is that no one tires on the hills and everyone is ready to get in a group and ride faster on the flatter sections.  There are 4 of us now and as we leave West Union, which is a nice size for a night group (more lights=more visible=safer).  We mistakenly think Kenny has stayed for a sleep in West Union when he actually is ahead of us.

The moon is a waxing, gibbous one and the stars are out as well.  The temperature hovers around 64 for most of the night.  It's possible one of the best night rides I've ever done.  At Decorah (400k), we stop at 2:30 am for food.  It turns out this is a college town and bar close is at 2:00 so the streets are packed.  The police are investigating goings on at the pizza place and there are 20 surly people hanging out at the Cenex station.  Strangely, this turns out to be the only place we actually don't feel comfortable leaving the bikes alone.  I eat well here, a sub, some Mountain Dew, and a cup of mandarin oranges.  But I also only have to refill one of my bottles.  This is the beginning of trouble, even though I didn't realize it at the time.  We pull out at 3:00 am, headed for Cresco, 20 miles away.

Sunset with Reflective Gear

There is a long climb out of Decorah and it goes slowly.  I continue to climb slowly and the other's lights disappearing up the hill makes it seem a little more lonely.  Paul goes ahead, but Bob hangs back.  Ralph is getting tired and having stomach problems.  It is the dead of night and I find myself sleepy.  I take a caffeine pill to stay up.  That makes my stomach not so happy as well.   Our pace gets much slower.

It's about 5:00 when we finally pull into Cresco (mile 270), passing an unidentified rider in the dark that turned out to be Kenny.  At this point, I am approaching the time of day that I usually wake up (yes, I am an early bird).  That's when I am the most tired and unintelligible.  I tell Paul that I really need a nap and flop down, face first, onto the pavement.  I am instantly asleep.  Sleeping face-down on concrete in front of an all-night Kwik Trip is generally not seen; this turns out to be the best picture I didn't take for the ride.  I at least got enough sleep to convince myself that I felt refreshed.  I think the others napped as well.  At this point, it's 5:30 am, the sun is up and Paul is anxious to leave.  Here I make the biggest mistake of the day.  I rush things.  I don't eat hardly anything.  I'm feeling cold from the concrete so I get a small cappuccino and a Starbucks double shot knock off. I haven't even finished a quarter of my fluids from Decorah.  I should have taken 15 minutes, eaten a sandwich, drank more fluids, and fully woken up.  As it was, aside from forgetting to eat and drink, I forgot to change GPS batteries, stretch (another huge error) and buy food for the next section.  Note to self: self, print a laminated sheet of everything to do at a control and use it as a checklist when sleeping face-down on concrete. 

It was a really nice dawn as we rode out of town.  The lack of food and fluids for so long hit me in the 15 miles between Cresco and Harmony and I asked Bob to stop there even though it wasn't a control.  Even so, by this time, I found myself unable to eat and rushing.  I had gotten through half a bottle but was still fighting back sleep.  The next 30 miles (of my least favorite stretch of road) were pretty un-enjoyable.  I rode mainly alone with the others in the distance.  I finally caught them in Highland where I silently wished I could stop at the cafe for a piece of pie.  Instead, we rode the final 12 miles into Rushford. Another rider, not Martin, passed us.  He had chosen to stop and sleep but not the full 8 hours. By this time, tired or not, I knew eating was critical and I forced myself to eat a small sub, a cup of fruit, a V8, and a chocolate milk.  I should have pushed even more fluids, but I did start feeling better.  We left at about 9:30 am with only about 70 miles to go.  It had gotten hot and sitting out in the sun, the thermometer on my bike had soared to 113.

The climb out of Rusford is dead ahead

The climb out of Rushford is a long, hard one.  I did it alone again knowing the others were waiting at the top.  I had a brief wave of nausea and finally settled into the climb.  At the top, the others were waiting and calling spouses.  I called Kathy only to find out she didn't feel well enough to come to the finish.  Though I understood, it was still kind of tough to hear.  The next 20 miles to Chatfield, I started getting frustrated with my lack of sprinting and did some fast, hard pedaling.  Fortunately, nothing too bad happened, but it wasn't wise.  We made it to Chatfield (mile 330) at 12:15.  My stomach was still unhappy and I drank a coke and had a banana.  We had one major climb to go out of Chatfield and again, I slowly mustered up while the others got to the top and took a break.  Nearly at the top, my knees were hurting badly and I finally got off the bike, cranked up my seat, took 6 endurolytes and took off as fast as I could.  I waved at the others who got on their bikes and followed.

For the next 7 miles I sprinted at between 22-24 mph, all the way to Stewartville.  In retrospect, it was really not a very smart move.  We pulled into Stewartville at about 2:00 pm, even with the big sprint it still took 1:15 to go 15 miles.  I stared into the cooler and suddenly had an overwhelming desire to drink water.  I bought a bottle (should have bought a whole gallon).  Then Martin finally caught us.  We chatted for awhile.  He wasn't there for very long, but it was a sort of marker point in the ride.  Only 30 miles to go.

The next 20 miles had some tough pavement.  Lots of cracks that seemed to be somehow much worse than last year.   At this point, it manifested by making me a little cranky and paranoid.  The other 2 finally went ahead and it was on the big rollers before the last control that my hamstring suddenly went boom.  It was really hot and I was alone on a climb when I cramped severely in the side of my leg.  Though it was not in exactly the same place as before, it was so painful that I couldn't really say where it was.  Only 10 miles to go!  I took 3 more endurolytes, realized I hadn't drunk hardly a thing for 10 miles and downed half a bottle of sports drink.  Then I got back up, walked carefully to the top of the roller and realized it was all downhill to the control.  I coasted down and rode one-legged into the gas station.  The other two were there resting; it was very hot in the afternoon sun.  I told Bob to just go on with Paul and that I needed to go at my own pace or just stop now; I was really worried that I had actually severed my hamstring.  He and Paul convinced me to try and stretch it out.  I had another coke and some chocolate milk, but they didn't have V8 unfortunately.  I took the rest of my Endurolytes and tried to lay down and stretch.  After about 5-10 minutes, the cramp began to subside.  I told Bob and Paul that I was either going to get up and ride out, or the heat was going to start cooking me alive.  So we got back on the bikes.

Happily, there is about a 3 mile downhill outside Byron.  There were a couple of climbs, but by the time we got there, the cramping had subsided enough so that I could definitely tell that it was my IT band and not my hamstring that was causing all the pain.  That made me feel so much better, at least I was only mostly maimed.  We finished at 5:08.  35 hours and 8 minutes from the start.

The 3 of us at the finish: I am really working hard to smile here, 600k is always a long, long way

At the finish were Melissa, Kenny, Paul's wife Karen, and some others.  Mike had had some issues and stopped outside Rushford.  I think 2 others were still out when we left.  We changed quickly and Karen drove both of us back to the Twin Cities.  I iced my knees because I promised my PT that I would, but my legs really felt very good once the cramp was gone. 

Looking back on it and comparing with my original ride and the Cascades, I realize just how much harder it is to ride through the night than it is to just take 4 hours off and sleep well at an overnight control.  I am oddly more pleased with last year's ride since I had always wondered if I should have skipped what I thought was a useless sleep stop.  Even though I didn't sleep, I still rested enough so that in terms of moving time, I rode a little faster last year than this year.  I also think that spinning up hills slowly really made my overall pace faster.  For me, I suspect it was because I was ready to take off at the top when normally I am wanting to take a break.  A valuable lesson.

As usual, this was a great ride because of the people I was with.  It was great to ride with Paul again and I really hope that I see Ralph, Kenny and Bob on other rides in the future.  I hope I was at least an amusing sight (on the pavement and on the bike) so that they will want to ride with me again.

Road Pixie Rehab: 200k in Iowa

After tearing my hamstring in the Cascades, I saw every possible health care professional I could think of: chiropractor, MD, physical therapist, massage therapist, master bike fitter, and acupuncturist.  Since this is an area of which I knew nothing, I figured each of these would have a piece of the bigger healing puzzle.  Opinions varied on how long it would take to heal, it wasn't like I didn't still have lots of rides that I really wanted to do.  Most agreed that it would be months - it takes a long time to heal a muscle and my tear was quite deep.  Happily, after the acupuncture, which I had never tried and really was amazed at the results, I got some good news: "you can ride this weekend", Dr Thuy said, "but no hills, no sprints, DO NOT TEAR THE TEAR!"

So this weekend's Iowa 200k was officially a rehab ride.  Chris Balser, the bike fitter, refitted the princess in PT mode with a very short stem and a fit that took pressure off the hamstrings.  I also managed to talk our friend, Barb, into coming along.  Barb is a surgical nurse, how better to do a rehab ride?  It was her first brevet as well and she is probably the first person that I have ever managed to convince that this riding is actually a good idea.  Her husband may never forgive me.

So we went down to Waterloo, IA.  I drive like I am 90 years old so Barb driving probably saved several hours in the car.  After an okay meal at the local sports bar, we had the misfortune of witnessing a drug deal in the parking lot.  This got us a lot of dirty looks from the dealers. We left very quickly.

The weather had been saying all week that there was a 0% chance of rain and that highs would be in the mid to low 80s.  So when we woke up that morning to rain, we were nonplussed.  Fortunately, it ended before the ride started and all we really had to deal with were some wet roads.

At the sign in, I had the distinct pleasure of running into familiar faces.  Nancy and Chad, from the Great Lakes 400k, were there on their first 600k (there were 4 brevets going on simultaneously).  Also, Ken, who I rode with last October, and some of the other Minnesota Randonneurs.  Most were doing the 600k which had the same route as the 200k until the 200k turnaround.  After brief directions from the RBA, we were all off.

The ride out of Waterloo was about 5 miles through the city.  It's really a very interesting town and I hadn't ever seen it.  We rode past farms and a huge John Deere farm equipment factory.  At this point, the sun was obscured by the passing rainstorm and it was about 75 degrees but very humid.  The purple clouds, sun, blue sky and deep green was really pretty.

Barb in the first leg of the ride

It was still very nice with an increasing tailwind when we rode into Oelwein (pronounced OL-WINE).  This is a really nice town, well kept, that had partially flooded the previous week in some stellar rainstorms.  We passed a cemetery with hundreds of flags up which was a really cool sight.  Since the flags were gone on the return, we suspect there must have been a special event going on that morning.

Flags in Oelwein

At the Oelwein control, we saw most of the 600k riders for the last time because about 2 miles out of town we looked ahead and saw three riders clustered around a bike, several others stopped, then continued on before we finally got to the scene.  In the group was Ken, Scott R, and another man.  Scott had broken a spoke and his wheel was unusable.  They were all on the 600k and debating how Scott would get back to Waterloo.  Happily, I had a Fiber-Fix spoke and in a mere half hour, we had the wheel working again.

Typical DOT scene: 2 people do the work, 2 sit around and watch and

one investigative reporter takes pictures

We ran into Scott later in the day, though the fix worked, he wasn't feeling quite right and decided to turnaround near Volga and head home anyways.  I have to say that the fiber fix spoke is a great addition to any rando bag, but a pair of needle nose pliers helps too.

Barb and I made good time to Volga.  This part of Iowa is dominated by gently rolling hills (hence very little elevation change) with many well kept, small farms.

Farms in Iowa: Note the quilting pattern on the barn, this is a uniquely Iowa thing

By the time we hit Volga, it was about 11:30 am and it started getting hot.  After sandwiches at the Volga Convenience Store, we started back.  That really nice tailwind was now a headwind. 

Just outside Volga, we went up the only hill on the entire ride.  It was about 1 mile long and after the Cascades, it didn't really even seem like a hill.  I was true to my rehab plan and Barb beat me up by several minutes as I patiently spun up in the lowest gear I had.  Not one pain in the hamstring.

At the top of the hill, the wind was probably about 15 mph coming from the southwest.  Of course, we were headed southwest for the rest of the ride.  The heat really started cranking up too.  By this time, my thermometer was registering about 96 degrees and it's reliable.  The wind, though it slowed us considerably, was a blessing in that it provided at least some relief from the heat.  No wind and the sweat would have just run instead of evaporating and cooling us.  Even so, by the time we got back to Oelwein, there were several 200k riders at the control, most looking a little heat stressed.  We made it quick since we only had 36 miles to go.

By Fairbanks, only 26 miles to go, Barb was feeling the heat and we made an extra stop for ice, V8, and endurolytes.  This proved to be very helpful.  I put a ton of ice in my water bottle.  This is one time I missed having a Camelback.  A Camelback loaded with ice water has enough insulation to keep water really cold for hours, bottles warm in about half an hour.  My face was caked with salt.  With the wind evaporating the sweat instantly, it's hard to judge how much sodium one is losing.  Both of us felt much better after a bunch of V8 and endurolytes.

In the next 10 miles, we picked up our pace and passed another rider just before the control.  A group of about 6 of us chatted for awhile at Dunkerton about the heat.  Everyone was feeling it.   Barb and I took off only to be caught by two others shortly outside town.  One of them, Tom, we wound up riding with for the rest of the ride.  Being a local to the area, he knew all the turns which saved us from having to think about navigating Waterloo at the end.

At the end, we cooled off before heading home.  I put on compression tights, a rare gimmick that actually works.  Barb had finished her first brevet ever and my legs were feeling fine.   All the riders we ran into along the way made it with plenty of time, some a little worse for the heat than others.

Me and Barb at the finish

The forecast was for continuing wind and a warm night with showers and thunderstorms and more of the same the next day.  We are sending the 600k riders good karma vibes.  Hopefully, their ride is going well.

Cascades 700k is a stunning success!

Well okay, there isn't an official Cascades 700k, but I was so pleased with this ride that I feel like the accomplishment is worth the title.  I actually think that my threshold for pain is so high that I could have finished the 1000k, but I might never have ridden another brevet.  Ron Himschott reminded me of some very wise advice to anyone in randonneuring: know the difference between pain and injury.  It's a fine line that must be understood completely if one is going to push one's body to the physical limits.

Make no mistake, I came to the Cascades to finish.  Anyone who rode with me knows it was a miracle I even made it to the start.  I was riding after spending the last 2 months dealing with 2 major lung surgeries and chemotherapy for my spouse, diagnosed with a sarcoma in the last week of April.  The past 2 months were a meat grinder both physically and mentally with the only release coming 10 days before the Cascades began.  "You can do it," my spouse told me, "just think of me when you need to pedal more".

So I wrote and offered to pick people up at the airport since my flight came in a day early (a personal preference for out-of-town rides).  I wound up sharing a room and driving around with Vickie Tyer, who is a great rider and one of those people who just makes you want to ride fast.  She introduced me to many others from near and far.  A great way to start a ride.  I have the distinct feeling that I will see many from the Cascades over the next years as we all meet for the various long rides that we all love so much.

Day 1

The day started quite grey, which I had expected.  Seattle isn't exactly known as a sunny spot.  Plenty of sun coming in the following days.  I was elated to be there and the ride started with almost 100 people tearing down the road at about 18 mph.  I have never ridden in Washington so I found myself out of the main pack at about mile 25 riding alone.  I started getting a chance to look around at some really beautiful flowers.  The big, pink spikes of penstemon were everywhere along with lush ferns.  There were some rollers in here and I met Wolfgang, a rider from Germany, briefly who was puzzling over the cue sheet (it had some tiny type).   We were passing each other on and off for the next two days.

Pretty Roads in Western Washington

At Cumberland, I refilled my bottles, used some facilities and powered on.  I really don't like to spend time at controls.  Sometimes, I don't actually spend enough time at them and leave without enough food or other amenities.  At this point, we were only about 50 miles in and I grabbed some peanut butter cups and was off.  Over the next hour or so, the road flattened and the sun started peeking out.  I rode with Roland, who had a most interesting bike from Kansas (I can't remember where Roland was from, just his bike).  We had some issues getting through a big festival in one of the small towns, but continued on until I had to stop to use the restroom (remember how I fail sometimes to stop for long enough?).  About 10 miles later, I passed a Canadian, Ron, who I wound up riding the rest of the day with.  By this time, the sun was out in force and we both stopped to remove arm warmers and other layers.  Orville Road was simply gorgeous with tall pines, flowers, lakes, and virtually no traffic.  We rode up a long hill into Eatonville and opted for the quick grocery instead of the bakery.  He and I both belong to the "I'd rather sleep than sit" philosophy.  He also introduced me to the idea of drinking most of a quart of chocolate milk at a control.  About 800 calories, electrolytes, and 100 grams of carbs.  Good advice.

We spent the next couple of hours doing lots of climbing up medium sized hills that reminded me a lot of hills in Minnesota.  The views were amazing with the mountains against the now clear sky.  Mt Rainier suddenly came into view at this point and it's the picture I most regret not taking.  I hadn't seen it before so it had that kind of impact that only a first sight can have.  We refueled at Morton at about 3:00 and ran into the sweep vehicle, which was early.  Saying hi, we powered on to Randle.  At this point, the wind became a big ally and we were cruising on this stretch all the way to Packwood.  US 12 was a nice road and I also enjoyed the side trip onto Silverbrook which wound its way through small farms.  We fairly flew into Packwood at about 20 mph at around 5:30 and stopped for sandwiches.  There we met another couple of riders, one from Ireland.  I loaned him some lube, which I carry after having a squeaky chain drive me nuts on a ride once.  At about 6:00 pm, we headed out of Packwood towards White Pass.

View From White Pass

We went a bit slower coming out of Packwood.  I learned a long time ago that if I eat a sandwich, I better give my stomach a few minutes of free reign on the bloodstream or risk some really bad things.  We reached what Ron called the start of White Pass (which wasn't the first climb out of Packwood) at about 6:45.  White Pass was really beautiful and I enjoyed the climb, but it was at this point that I noticed my right hamstring being tight.  That had never happened before and I was puzzled.  I stopped and dropped my seat a couple millimeters.  At this point, a car drove up and some helpful people called out  "Do you need anything?".  I looked at the loaded bike rack on their car, smiled and said, "Well, I could use a new ass!".  "Already?", Ron came back.  We all laughed.  They made a vain attempt to tell us that we were nearly done, but we actually knew we had 6 miles to go.  It's the thought that counts.

We got to the top of White Pass at about 9:00 just as dusk started.  We stopped at the sweep vehicle, put on layers and sped down the mountain.  I have to say that I became a much better descender as a result of going on this ride.  Going down White Pass was just plain fun!  We turned off onto Tieton Road and made our way to the control where we spent about 20 minutes eating cookies, ramen noodles and drinking cokes.  Then it was off again.  We had a couple of pretty long climbs on Tieton before arriving back on US 12 for the final descent to Naches (pronounced NAA-CHEESE, I was informed by a local).
We arrived at 12:30 am.  I had hoped to arrive sometime between 12 and 1 so I was pretty happy.

Day 2

At this point, I realized that I had made a pretty crucial error in my decision to ride the 1000k.  I had assumed that the traditional rule of doing the first 600k in 40 hours would be the same.  Alas it was not.  That meant that to leave the control 2 hours before close, I would have to leave at 4:00 am while Ron would not leave until 7:00 am.  In all honesty, though, it probably made no difference, I woke up at 3:30 anyways (living in the Central Time Zone, I woke up 2 hours before my normal wake up time of 5:30 am).  But I left Naches alone and fought a ferocious headwind for about an hour before really seeing any other riders.  That was when my hamstring really started getting angry.  Vickie and friends blew by in a paceline and said "hop on!".  But at that point, I knew they were going too fast.  Lodgepole was basically a 44 mile climb and sometimes, you just have to take climbs at your own speed.  I got to Lodegpole at around 9:30 am.  5 hours to go 44 miles uphill.

I iced my hamstring for the first time at Lodgepole, taking longer than normal.  Jennifer Chang and her friend Steve showed up a few minutes later.  We started down, but they descended faster than I did.  I stopped at Cliffdell to get another coke and take off some clothes.  It was at this point that I picked up George Moore, a very nice guy from Virginia.  I wound up riding in front from Cliffdell to the Fruitvale control, though George had a goat-like triple setup that allowed him to spin up vertical surfaces with ease (he outclimbed me).  We rolled into Fruitvale around 2:30 pm, the ferns from the previous day replaced by irrigated desert.  I iced my knee again.  We ate some food at Starbucks and ran into Paul Bacho, another 1000k rider.  The next control, Mattawa, was about 60 miles away.  We made it out and managed to lose some time getting lost on the bike trail.  I was amazed at the impact of irrigation.  Big trellises of grapes stood with water pounding down on them.  Everywhere, there were sprinklers of all kinds.  Without these, it would be a scrub desert; I'm really not sure how I feel about this.  The temperature was about 95 degrees on US 24. 

Paul and George in the Rattlesnake Hills

Thus began the Rattlesnake Hills.  At this point, I was feeling quite strange and we stopped in front of a somewhat decrepit looking house with a sprinkler.  Jennifer and Steve rode up and suggested I shower in the sprinkler.  Good advice.  I figured it was the heat, but now I know that it was actually the start of a larger issue in my hamstring.  Jennifer very kindly offered some Endurolytes which I took since I had already taken most of mine.  If only that had been my problem!

The 5 of us fought the Rattlesnake hills for what seemed like forever.  I road behind Paul for a long time until I couldn't keep up then dropped back awhile.  False flats are really demoralizing - even when you know they are false flats.  Three of us finally came over a short climb to find George and Paul under a tree (it was 95 degrees).  "The top is right there 3,046 feet", said George.  A welcome sight.

The descent was long and fun.  Jennifer and Steve continued on to Vernitas while Paul, George and I stopped for water at a cafe.  The idea was that we would skip the rest area and continue on.  We had a climb up to a stunning view of the Columbia River and whizz-bang descent.  We turned at the Hanford Nuclear site and were finally descending to the river when we were buzzed by a red sedan that came dangerously close to hitting Paul.  I took the license plate number; we heard later that a car had been harassing cyclists in the area.

"That Hill" - Note: The tandem climbs with ease

At Vernitas (a green, irrigated square on the banks of the Columbia), there was Ron, resting at a picnic table.  "How'd I pass you?", he said.  I tried to stretch and settled for about 4 advil instead.  We cleared out quickly since we didn't need water.  Then it was up  "That Hill".  My computer clocked a continuous 19% grade and Paul and I both walked it.  By the time we got to the top, George was already there (like I said, his drivetrain could have climbed the Matterhorn).  We rode along the plateau and my hamstring was crying out in pain.

Paul, it turns out, was a certified athletic trainer.  I told him I was thinking of stopping and asked for an opinion.  We discussed my spectacular crash last February and he offered to take a look at it when we reached Mattawa.  At Mattawa, I iced the hamstring yet again.  Irene was passed out from dehydration (she later finished the ride which is really impressive).  Paul suggested there might still be hope, but I would need to get to Quincy, a mere 41 miles away.

I am a big believer in cosmic karma; what goes around comes around.  There have been many rides that I have slowed to help others or pulled someone through a bonk.  This time, 4 guys (Ron, Paul, George, and Wolfgang) offered to help me make it to Quincy.  They say that camaraderie is the hallmark of randonneuring, what sets it apart from the standard club hammerfests that are so common.  These guys all deserve medals for adhering to what I think is the best part of the sport.  I'd pedal every stroke, but at least I wouldn't be alone; at night it's so much safer to be with a group anyways.  Just being in a line for the first 8 miles after the control saved me from the very nasty wind.  The volunteers at Mattawa went beyond the call of duty.  I shed everything I possibly could so that I would hold up others at a minimum.  But I really felt that I could continue, Kathy, my spouse, has no options, she takes the chemo and smiles no matter how lousy it feels.  Getting to the second overnight became like that for me.

We cruised quite well and hit the first hill on Beverly Burke road.  The full moon was out and the view of the setting sun on the Columbia was magical.  I had to stop and pull glass out of my tire after rolling over a giant glass field, but my Armadillo tires did not puncture.  This section was quite hilly and just when we thought we saw I-90, it turned out to be a line of farmhouses.  I got ahead with George, who was having serious problems falling asleep on the bike.  We set his bike up to take a short nap, but I continued, figuring that to let my hamstring cool down would be deadly.  Wolfgang, Ron and I rode on (Paul stayed with George) and finally made it to I-90.  With only 10 miles to go, I briefly separated from Ron and Wolfgang while Wolfgang changed some batteries.

Everyone caught up to me just before Quincy and we rode in together at about 2:30.  I've never been so happy to reach a control.  It was an accomplishment that I will never forget.  Inside, I had soup, chocolate milk and Paul did some chiro moves on me.  I went to sleep at about 3:00 and woke up at 5:30.  My hamstring was still painful, but I could walk on it (carefully).

George had lost his GPS routes while changing batteries, my bracket had broken, but the GPS itself was usable.  I offered to give him mine (the same model).  "Let's do it the old-fashioned way and read the cue sheet", he said.  That might have saved my leg.

We rode out of town and missed the turn onto Martin Road.  Instead of a nice flat to Ephrata, we headed up a hill.  The hill was about a 4% grade, something I would normally do at about 12-13 mph without thinking twice.  I looked down and, even though I didn't feel winded, I was going 4 mph.  I tried very hard to push, but there simply wasn't anything there.  I called back to the other two, who turned around.  I thanked both of them profusely, but I knew then that I was at the injury line.  I had made it to Quincy and it was time to wish them both the best.  Paul finished the 1000k with about 4 hours to spare.  George DNF'd sometime after Farmer due to sleep issues.  Ron completed the 1240k without issue (though he has done 14 of them and may be the most experienced rando that I know).

I rode back to Quincy (okay we were a mile out of town).  The volunteers there were great.  By that time, my hamstring had seized and I couldn't clip out.  The ironic thing was that other than that, I felt great!  That more than anything else lets me know that it's just a set of circumstances.  I know that the distance is in my grasp and that is a success no matter how far I actually made it on this attempt.

Mark R, Charlie and his wife, Kathy all were great.  They got me back to Monroe and to the hotel where I checked in.  Even the hotel manager was great - she gave me a room on the first floor since I was having a hell of a time walking.  That night, I could barely sleep and I wrote letters to the riders that helped me along the way.  I hope all of them got theirs, I know that Ron did.  It was the least I could do.

I'm already conspiring to return to Seattle and try another 1000k.  I have quite a bit of rehab to do.  I have a slight rupture to my hamstring with some broken blood vessels.  Paul did me a huge favor of pointing out a major hip alignment issue that is left over from a crash in February.  2 MDs and a PT missed it so just finding it is halfway to fixing it.  I feel like I owe him a consultation fee.

Me - Still Strong in Packwood (Mt Ranier in the background)

I always say that I ride to meet great people and see beautiful things.  I can't wait to come back in two years, stronger, faster and wiser.  Then I'm hoping karma will come around and I can be there for someone else.