The almost-not 400k

I had originally planned on doing the Apple Valley 400k.  With so many wonderful rides around, I've gotten picky about what I ride and this is just about the only Apple Valley ride I really like.  It's very hilly but has great scenery and I saw an elk being born on it once in 2009.  You can't get stuff like that on just every ride.

Then the forecast was for wind all day and night and massive heat.  Well, I just can't go on a ride without some kind of inclement weather.  I crossed my fingers and hoped for storms.  The last few years, i have spent so much time out in the wind that it doesnt bother me anymore; in certain circumstances, I like a headwind and enjoy the thrill of getting in my drops and cutting through it; randonneuring is a lot of lemonade and I love lemonade.  The morning was also hectic as IronK opted out of driving to the start forcing me to change cars at the last minute and I left my water bottles in the wrong car.  Bad move on a day promising to be in the 90s.  I had no clue who would be on this ride except for one person  either and being in a rushed state is just not a great way to start a 400k.

However, I was pleasantly surprised to see Phil and Craig A at the start.  Craig and I had been on a flèche and Phil and I had done the route a couple of times.

Mike R loaned me the only water bottle I was to have on the ride, a small 20 ounce one.  I would learn to buy a Sobe since the bottle held well in my cage and refill when I ran out.  This actually worked really well.  The ride was also such that many felt the heat (growing up in the hotbox of Cincinnati, I also do heat and humidity pretty well), so there were lots of social stops at bars in between controls.  Though many might have not felt so well, it did get us into some places we don't usually go.

I also got to ride with a few others that I don't usually get to ride with.  The first 30 miles wre with Mike R, who was pleasantly chatty and had some interesting stories about touring he had done around the country over the years.  Rob had told everyone at the start that 20 hours was a good time which turned out to be a bit optimistic and at least a couple people really hit it hard early to later slow down or DNF.  I have zero expectation of going that fast so I dont really appear on Rob's radar for "good" time, but i consider it to be a differing definition; any ride is good (honestly the desire to finish even if you dont make the time is in my mind, the best definition).  Phil stuck with me and we took it easy and managed to stay together for most of the day.

About 16 miles later, Mark O approached going the wrong way "my frame is broken, I'm done" was all I could make out.  In defense of my definition of "good", he drove back to Rochester, got another bike, drove to the Plainview control and continued the ride for no brevet credit.  "Hey, I really was looking forward to this ride".  He had a great ride in my humble opinion and I got a chance to ride with him as a result.  A man I can respect, I've always thought enjoying being on the bike is the most important thing.  There were quite a few DNFs on this route and with the heat and wind, I can understand why.  My feeling is that you should ride until you are sure you just aren't going to enjoy yourself and return wiser and more experienced another day with the caveat that a little food and a little rest go a long way to changing your mind.  No sense in riding yourself to a dangerous situation; at least one person I know on another ride in the Twin Cities on this day wound up in the hospital with heat stroke.

In Cannon Falls, we did a pretty fast turnaround, the wind was starting up and the control was not a friendly place (to be fair, lots of riders were skipping buying something and just asking them to sign cards and use the bathroom - that is uncool in my book - I always spend $$ at controls).  Then off to Goodhue.  This section rolls quite a bit and I enjoyed it myself.  The road into Goodhue had been ripped up and was unrideable, but we managed around it on a nearby bike path.

The haul to Plainview was hot, windy and full of hills.  Okay, I actually like this section quite a bit.  Phil and I plodded along and finally got to the gas station for refueling.  Everyone there was amazed we were out riding.  I have to admit we were looking a littler peaked from the sun, but air conditioning and food sure found for something.  We rolled out for the last leg to the turnaround not seeing anyone else.

At Rollingstone, I was out of water and there was a small bar with lots of bikes in front of it.  It appeared that many were stressed over the heat and the bar was making a killing on all drinkable items (really).   I got a nice cold soda and some ice to refill my bottle.  Phil had a seat, the sweat dripping off him.  He wanted to stay a bit longer to cool off.

So I left with some others knowing that the next hill was a doozy.  Here I joined Craig from the flèche earlier this spring!  We regrouped at the top of the hill and cruised into Stockton for ice cream and (big surprise) food and water.  Many others were there including Mark O who despite breaking his frame had gone home, gotten another bike and was just riding for fun.  Alas, behind the station was another rider sick with heat issues.  But the heat of the day was passing.  Halfway done and now we should have a tailwind!

Of course, the tailwind just didn't seem as big an advantage as the headwind had seemed a disadvantage.  Craig, Phil and I stuck together and made an additional rest stop in Elba as the Cenex closed (no passing up water on this ride).  Laying around the gas station a couple other riders showed up, we hopscotched with them for the rest of the ride.

Back at Plainview with 100 miles to go, it was starting to get dark.  After subway and the requisite lights and gear, the three of us continued.   This was one of the nicest night rides ever.   Perfect temps and the wind picking up.  Just a beautiful night.  Phil had a flat and some digestive problems (I can so empathize with him) at the same time.  This was in Mazeppa and the bar crowd ploughed outside to great us and help us out.  I changed the tire, Phil got help from the bartender (what a guy).

At Zumbrota, we hit the new Kwik Trip for food and headed back to Cannon Falls.  Phil was tired and wound up stopping for a ditch nap (I might have been tempted to do that myself, but I was also thirsty yet again).  Craig and I continued on and I had to pause and change a flat of my own.  Not really all that fun in the dark.  Craig helped me change it.

We finally rolled into the finish for a pancake breakfast at Perkins!  This time it was late enough to avoid the bar close crowds but pancakes really taste good after a long, hot ride.

I am happy to report that Phil finished about an hour later.  Craig and I parted ways and I stopped at a friend's house to crash.  I never drive after something like a 400k.

This route is probably the only Apple Valley route I actually like.  The scenery is really nice and I like the climbing which is never gratuitous, though sometimes painful.  Next year, it looks like none of the Minnesota Rides are in my schedule so we'll see what new 400k rides can float onto the radar.

Tempest, Zephyr, Inferno: Road Pixie Meets Joe Goldrush

Prelude:

I once asked one the Olsen brothers (the quiet one) what a good way to prepare for a 1200k was.  The answer, "ride lots of miles".  Truthfully, there is more to it than that.  For my third 1200k, I picked the Gold Rush and did absolutely everything wrong and had nothing but disasters in the weeks before the ride.

First, Pecos Lara, who I had been training with for this ride for months, was hit by a wild boar on the Texas Rando Stampede and was laid up with a bad hip.  What are the odds?

Second, my trusty Summer Knight custom steel rando bike flew off the car rack and hit the pavement at 50 mph (it was followed by my car running into the ditch and hitting a tree as I retrieved the pieces of the bike).  I pulled all kinds of pieces out of the parts pile and quickly rebuilt the Princess, but not enough time to micro fit everything an no good handlebar bag option.  Then to rub salt in the wounds, 3 days before I left for California, epic storms hit Minnesota and knocked out a quarter million peoples' electricity, including mine.  I had to pack in the dark.

The ride forecast suddenly changed: an abnormal winter low was blowing in.  Temperatures were forecasted to plummet, record rains were on tap in the mountains.  I re-packed in the dark.

The Start:
So I got to the start with John, who picked me up at SFO.  I had met him at the Tombstone with Lara back in April and he had given up doing the Great Divide Ride to do the Gold Rush.  We shared a room, 3 lbs of grapes, an entire watermelon and war stories before heading to the start at Tandem Properties in Davis.

Road Pixie and John at the start, are we nuts?  Thanks Deb Ford for taking this shot.

There was some serious energy in the air.  At about 58 degrees and grey skies, you didn't know if it was going to pour rain or not.  Winds were from the south (an advantage).  Testosterone was high too - it manifested as a giant pack of riders blasting out of the gates at 6:00 pm going about 25 mph.  Normally, I NEVER go out that hard.  This time, I must have been nuts.  I flew along with the crowd at break neck speed - okay at least it was my definition of break neck speed.  The forecast had improved somewhat and though the roads were wet in places, it did not rain for about 100 miles.

I stayed with John and I finally regained my senses about mile 53 and dropped off the crazy train with a guy named Alex, also doing his first 1200k.  The three of us stuck together until Oroville, but the Sutter control at 100k would come first.   Even having cut loses, I had set a personal best for 100k at 3:39 (gulp! that is so not what one wants to be doing at the beginning of a 1200k full of mountains).  At Sutter, I came to appreciate the sponsorship by Hammer.  Every control was loaded with bars, perpetual, sustained energy, and gel in ample quantities.  The 4H club and other local clubs also provided cookies, soda and smiles to everyone.

Rolling out of Sutter, we had 5 riders and gradually met up with others.  All these people would become constant companions on the ride.   There was Lothar, the Korean RBA originally from Germany and living in Maryland.  He was riding a rental bike he'd picked up the day of the ride.  There was Stacey and Greg, a couple on their first 1200, Martin, Manny, Kevin, Alex and Charlie.  We all made our way to Oroville quickly.  It was there that we saw the first casualty.

In the middle of town on a dark street were parallel ruts in the road.  I can only guess that these caught the wheel of one of the Japanese riders.  Emergency crews were there.  I found out later that he had broken a hip but was okay.

The Jarbo Gap
At Oroville, we stopped for food and rolled out quickly.  Here the climbing would start and it was about midnight.  Rollers out of the control for about 8 miles and then the ascent.  I was having some knee soreness which was a puzzler so I stopped very briefly and stretched.  Up, up, up.... Then the rain started.  Pretty soon it was pouring; I had to take my glasses off to see a little better (I'm quite nearsighted so that is saying something).  John had a flat behind me and I didn't hear in the rain.  I stopped at the top and waiting, the rain pouring down.  Finally, another rider named Charlie asked if I was okay and offered to guide me down since I couldn't see.  I followed his light down, but about halfway he swerved and before I could do anything, I hit a huge rock sitting in the middle of road.  Both tires hit, but did not flat.  I was thankful that I had 28mm tires and only 60 lbs of pressure.  Another rider hit was was probably the same rock with 23mm tires and double flatted.

At the bottom, Charlie and I spun the rear wheel and it seemed okay after adjusting the cheap fenders.  He went ahead while I got my head back together.  At this point, I was dutifully riding on the white line as the road was narrow along the canyon.  That proved to be a bad idea in the pouring rain.  First, I heard a roar, is that thunder?  Then I felt pings on my helmet, is that hail? Then a rock the size of a basketball hit the ground inches from my crank, no this is a ROCKSLIDE!  Another one hit my rear bag, bounced onto the rear wheel and I wobbled, but stayed up as it bounced off the fender.  I started riding in the middle of the road, getting over for the occasional car.

I rolled into Tobin at about 4:30 to hot food and many riders trying to dry out.  I saw Stacey and Greg and they took my picture.

Tobin Control with Greg and Stacey

There are just some great people on these rides.  This control was great and I took much better pictures of it on the way back.

I left with Charlie as dawn was coming and there was a lot of climbing ahead.

The Big Climb
The next 100 miles are almost all uphill.  But as I climbed alone along the feather river in the gentle rain, I was astounded how beautiful it could be.  The rain was at least a little lighter so clouds floated serenely above the greenery.  Trains run along the river and it was like being in my toy train set, only bigger!

After the turn to Greenville away from the river, I ran into Kevin and Manny.  I had to thank Kevin, whose artful cue sheet I was using.  I wound up on the same pace as them for about the next 100k.  At Greenville, I waved to Paul, the volunteer control worker whose wife, Ronaele, was also on the ride.  Small world again.  I find Ronaele to be incredibly inspiring - I think of her often when I have down moments.  One more info control and we rolled into Taylorsville, an Elks Lodge in a small town nestled in the high valley.  Here, I found myself abnormally un-tired and I had a sandwich, chips and as much as I could stuff in served by smiling 4Hers.  We pulled out and started the big climb up to Antelope Lake.

This was a beautiful climb, long, but the rain had kept temperatures down in the 70s instead of upwards of 90 which was more normal.  At the top, a forest fire had been through some years earlier and the barren landscape was crawling with new plants getting a start.  Manny proved to be king of rollers and the rolling hills on the top went quickly.  We hit the Boulder Creek Water stop, filled bottles and took off for the Janesville Grade with Roland, who I knew from the Cascades 2 years earlier.  We had a great time, even with the climbing.  Pretty soon we were at 6,400 feet, the top of the Gold Rush.  Then a few more rollers and the rain started back up.  Just in time for the descent down the other side of the grade.

IronK always makes me do grip exercises because she is worried I won't be able to hold the brakes.  I've always found that silly, until now.  Going down a double percentage, twisting hill in the rain for 7 miles with sand and bad pavement requires a lot of brakes.  I had no problems holding my brakes tight for about 15 minutes.

At the bottom, I met Patrick who had lost his cue sheet.  I gave him my spare (I always carry a spare).  He was to be a good friend on this ride.

Susanville, Decision Time
The rain paused coming into Susanville and I ate, changed my shorts and had a bit of a nap.  The recommendation had been that it was a better strategy to push on to Adin.  Which I did - but it was going to be about 2:00 am when I got there.  That's a lot considering I had already been awake for 36 hours.

I started up antelope pass with the guys, a double rainbow floated above Susanville.  The clouds were finally parting.  About 24 hours after it rolled in, the big storm was starting to roll out.
At the top of Antelope, it was getting cold and I blasted down the other side.  The next climb was long and I was feeling great so I skipped up to the top.  Kevin came up behind me, "I'm going to tell your RBA what a killer climber you are!" he joked.  "He won't believe you," was my response.  My asthmatic lungs must have really liked that spaghetti back in Susanville.  But I was about bonked at the top and Patrick loaned me some food.   We rolled into the Grasshopper control and I had some noodles to warm up.  The night was quite cold; the clouds were parting and the moon was coming out.

Patrick and I rode together as both of us were having trouble staying awake.  We talked incessantly about nothing, chewed gum, did caffeine and he eventually watched me nap for 5 minutes as we cruised down seemingly endless hills to Adin.  As expected, about 2 am in Susanville.  I decided to sleep until 5:30.  Another Elks Lodge, I had a sleeping bag and I pulled up some concrete.

The Turn Around
Since I decided to sleep until 5:30, cleats on concrete woke me up at about 4.  I decided that I might as well be riding, ate some custom food cooked by the many volunteers and left on my own for Alturas.  Not a soul was in sight all the way up Adin Pass and at the top I had a sudden sense of loneliness.  On cue, Deb Ford, on sag support stopped and gave me a pep talk and some cliff shots.  Both made me feel better and I made a beeline for Alturas.  This was a lovely, flatish section with some rather nasty expansion joints.

But I rolled into Alturas to be greeted by Rob Hawkes, who I remember from the Winters 200k.  Alturas was great and I had waffles, syrup and other fun things to eat.  I knew a big wind was coming so I was anxious to get to the turnaround, only about 20 miles away.  My shoulder was unexpectedly hurting, I had picked up a camelback at Alturas and it wasn't feeling right.  Someone gave me a massage that made it feel much better.  It's a little uphill but pretty flat to Davis Creek and the tailwind was disturbing.  I could sit up, hold my hand up like a sail and go about 25 mph.  It also felt as though I had water in my rear wheel.  I wondered if perhaps there was water in my frame from the storm.

I jumped off the bike at Davis Creek, took a picture, used the bathroom, drank a coke and turned my bike upside down.  A little water came out, but not a ton.  Puzzling, why did my bike feel so wobbly?
There was one rider at the turnaround and I offered to work with him in the wind.  His name was Todd.  We took turns in the wind, 1 mile each.  I think we might have picked up others at one point.  Todd was fading a bit and at one point I turned around to see him gone.  I slowed and finally rejoined him a bit further down the road.  We got back to Altruas before noon.  A group including Manny, Kevin and Bill Olsen were heading out.  I got a suggestion for stretching to help my shoulder.  Curious, my right butt was killing me and my left shoulder hurt.  Also my left hand was hurting.  Seems like a diagonal...

So I left with them, but my sore butt was really killing me on the  expansion joints.  I dropped off and did more stretching and massaged a little.  Roland came up, with sore feet and both of us walked up a bit of Adin Pass.  A wise person knows when NOT to jeopardize a 1200k.

Climbing Adin Pass

I finished the Adin climb and cruised back to Adin.  I had no more clothes so I ate more food an prepared for the ride back to Susanville, remembering that long descent that was going to be an ascent.  Right outside was John, who I had hardly seen since Jarbo Gap.  We decided to join back up and I availed myself of the time by eating more.

John and I left together and had a pleasant ride up to Joe Goldrush summit.  My asthma acted up just a bit and I used my inhaler.  We summited at dusk and with cold coming on, we suited up for dark at the top.  I had some tylenol for my shoulder.  The moon was high and the night clear.  No sign of the clouds.  After a long descent and a climb, we got back to Grasshooper almost exactly 24 hours after I first got there.  More noodle soup and both John and I were tired.  We decided to have a sleep in the Budget truck and laid down for 45 minutes. I should have realized that after all the pollen, laying down near someone else was a bad idea. I coughed until everything came up.  But I slept too.  I had to apologize to John for the racket.

We continued, just the two of us along a lake reflecting the moon.  Gorgeous, but cold.  We cruised along and finally reached the Antelope Pass summit.  It seemed quite a bit warmer on the other side and  we were spared an expected cold descent.  I also noticed again a disturbing wobble in my bike.  At the control, Dan, the RBA, took a look and noticed the rear wheel was off true.  I discarded the fenders fearing they would start rubbing.  I filled up my drop sack with as much as I could and took a nap.  I also strapped a pair of tennis shoes to my bike.  Neither John, nor I had plans to ride up Janesville Grade.  The steepness and length had me too worried about my hamstring which ripped on a steep climb in the Cascades a couple years ago.

The Easy Bake Day
John and I got started at a bit after 6, eager to get to the top of the grade.  I immediately wished I had been able to leave more things at Susanville.  As we approached, the rear wheel wobble was a bit worse.  Happily, no climb for it and the top of the Janesville Grade was the last big hill.  We loaded our bikes with water, it was already heating like crazy and the Grade faced the sun.

The hike up to the top was fine, in tennis shoes, I could walk nearly as fast as I could ride.  The best part was that I got to turn around and take pictures of the incredible views that I would never have seen had I ridden it.  I also actually saw how bad my wheel was getting.

At the top, John and I had some food and decided that removing as much weight as possible from the bike was a good idea.  I rode conservatively to Boulder and dropped everything except my reflective gear and things to change tires.  It was hot by this time.  But the big descents were before us.  So was a headwind!

We quickly went down, down and about 8 miles from Taylorsville, John seemed to clip out of his left pedal unexpectedly.   It was actually his left crank cracked in half.  He tried vainly to continue with one crank but we pulled over in front of the closed Genesee Store.

Fortunately, in not 2 minutes, a sag vehicle started by and I waved them down.  In it was Tim Sullivan, who had DNF'd due to bronchitis on Day 1.  After half an hour of fiddling, we pulled out with John on Tim's bike wearing Tim's shoes.  So neither of us had exactly the bike we'd started with.

We got to Taylorsville mid afternoon with heat guns going.  A quick stop for food and we were anxious to get to Tobin.

The next 2.5 hours were gorgeous and downhill.  If it hadn't been for that headwind and 105 degree temps, I'd have been singing.  I had to settle with humming.  A volunteer came by with leftover ice.  I had him dump it down my jersey.  We quickly ran out of water and for several miles, things were rather grim.  Then more volunteers showed up with ice and we made ice socks from my arm warmers.  John perked up and we continued on to a small store 12 miles from Tobin for cokes.  Nice break here, John was still trying to catch up on sleep and the people in the store were super nice and didn't mind 2 tired looking cyclists laying around their patio.  I took a picture of an old fashioned safe with a gold painted rock on it; at last, we found the gold.  Another 45 minutes put us into Tobin.

The Final Summit

At Tobin, we ran into Ken K from our Tombstone 600k - that makes 3 of the 4 riders all from the same 600k.  The heat has taken its toll and we decided on a 2 hour snooze; pointless to fight the heat.  A volunteer took us to a room in the resort after really tasty pasta; this was a great control.  I handed over my shorts to the volunteer to lay in the sun.  I couldn't change them, no drop sack, but at least the sun could kill anything and dry them out.  I switched out for a hand towel and slept with my feet up on a couch.  Extreme temperatures changes aggravate vasculitis and I could feel the itching beginning under my socks.  Having the feet up helps.  I was up early and availed myself of a hand towel to go and find my shorts.  Okay, that was a little weird, but I ran into Stacey who had a big smile.  "You saved my ride".  I was somewhat stunned, I hadn't seen her since night one.  "I was going to DNF at the turnaround", she went on,"then I saw you pulling those guys through the wind with a big smile on your face.  I couldn't quit after that and here I am!". It's the nicest thing anyone has ever told me on a ride.  What a pick me up.  I guess you sometimes never know; so it is always nice to say thanks.

Ken and others had also had a look at my wheel.  They had attempted to true it with no success.  Several spokes had apparently stretched that wheel had simply detensioned.  But we figured it could get to the end.  We left around 7:30 with Bob Lockwood, an SF Randonneur.  The three of us stuck it out basically until the end.

Forecasted temps for the Central Valley were about 120 degrees for the following morning so getting there was a priority.  The climb back up Jarbo Gap was beautiful with the setting sun; though I eventually had to open my rear brake all the way.  The woggling was just something to live with; at least only one more descent.

Okay, descending with a bad wheel at 35 mph in the dark with no rear brake is a little disconcerting.  I was happy when it was done.  Back we were in Oroville almost exactly 3 days after leaving.  I had some hand made quesadillas, more food and a nap along with John and our trio pulled out around 11:30 for the last 100miles.  It was still hot from the previous day, at least in the 80s.  Hydration would continue to be important.  We would also have to ride through the zombie hours.  Ugh.

The Central Valley Square Dance

The next miles were boxes over and over.  Hence the nickname.  With the flat lands, the fog rolling in and the bugs, it was certainly a lesson in agriculture.  Huge fields were everywhere.  The monolithic nature of the ag business was impossible to miss even in the dark.

The next few miles were long and we stopped for drinks at a service station.  The previous rain had really soaked the valley and the Mosquitos were having a field day.  The second to last control, a small gas station, had porta potty for visitors.  I rode over to be assaulted by biting ants all over the ground.  That gets a girl going!  Several riders were there and made navigational errors here; happily, we did not.  25 miles to the final control.  Humidity soared on the straight, flat Reclamation Road.  I thought it would never end in the misty, hot fog.  We laid down once and John walked his bike briefly to stay awake.  Kevin, Manny, and Martin were behind us and we finally rolled into the outdoor stand around 4:30.  I really wanted food, but was assaulted by Mosquitos.  The buzzing and biting on my swollen ankles.  It drove me nuts quickly and several of us cut the break short, literally driven back to the road. It turned out the big rains had also opened a sinkhole that swallowed CA110 so we had a detour and bonus K along a canal.  I was alone just as the sun came up and finally realized I wanted to ride back in with John and Bob.  The sun was just cresting and my knees were freezing so I sat down along the canal and watched the sun come up and warmed my knees.  I ate the small amount of food I had left. Several riders passed me.

John and Bob came by and we were off to Knight's landing, 17 miles from the end.  We stopped for fluids and the bathroom.  This was envigorating, must have been the electrolytes in the coconut water. we pulled out and hammered our way to the finish at 20 plus miles and hour.  Just in time to avoid the heat rolling in.  We had photos and a drink at the finish.  "As strong as you were at the end, you must feel pretty good about LEL, one month away." And I did.

The big finish: John, Road Pixie, and Bob - may we ride together again someday..

Epilogue

We did have to pedal back to the La Quinta Inn in rapidly ascending temperatures.  John took his truck and went back for the bags.  I checked in and sat in the tub with my legs covered in ice.  Boy, did that feel good.  A quick nap and we were off to the victory lunch.  Huge social hour and I got to say thank you to the constant companions I had had on the ride.  I also bummed some Advil to get rid of the expanding vasculitis (thanks again Deb).  I got my finisher's jersey; you only get a jersey in the Gold Rush if you finish the ride.  So it's one that will always be extra special.

This is a truly epic ride.  With 30,000 ft of climbing scrunched into about 400 miles, it is in a league of its own.  Strategy and riding your own ride were critical.  I've found that it is unique in a 1200k that you can do a ton of 600ks and still have to change the whole approach to the ride to have fun on a 1200.  That is, I think, their strength.  They are the reward for a thousand hours of training and a thousand personal examinations of how you are feeling at any given time.  Those were skills that I would certainly use again as I mentally mapped out LEL.

Road Pixie's Complete Photos

It takes two to be really crazy

Post Tombstone has been a blur, in a fit of confidence, I committed to riding the Gold Rush Randonnee in June.  With most of the 26,000 ft of climbing crammed into the middle 500k, it's a monster.  It's at altitude too!  So I resolved to do lots of hills.

As a result, I've been back to the Hills of Wisconsin, done the brutal GLR 300k (with 100 miles of 20 mph headwinds), and a relatively hilly fleche.  I've also been hard at work in the gym and paying attention to the advice of my gastroenterologist, the excellent GI Dave.  Finally, it appears that all my body parts are actually working.

The weather here in Minnesota has been an epic of pain and suffering.  It's cold, wet and generally unpleasant.  We are still waiting for spring; for now we are stuck in sprinter (halfway between spring and winter).

Last week, my frame builder, friend and soon to be wedding celebrant (really, he was ordained on the internet), Vincent, wanted to go for a spin on the tandem.  Previously, I'd never ridden a tandem with anyone but IronK, but she gave her okay.  After a 20 mile spin after work which included the very public demonstration that you cannot have the captain and the stoker dismount on opposite sides of the bike, Vincent declared this to be the greatest thing since sliced avocado. 

So we decided for our second ride, to do the second most challenging hill ride in the Upper Midwest.  Second only to Nelson's Folly, the Coulee Challenge in Black River Falls boasts about 9,000 ft of climbing and many of the hills are crazy steep.  The saying goes "if the road has the word coulee in it, the town has the word valley in it or the hill has a posted name, you are in for epic pain".  Fortunately, the weather in Black River Falls was to be dry, unlike the Twin Cities where it promised to storm non-stop.

So we got up and drove 2.5 hours west to BRF and got started at about 8:00am.  Dan, the permanent owner, was going to ride with us but appeared in jeans.  "I wasted myself riding yesterday and I've got nothing left".  Oh well, Vincent and I were still convinced that we would ride the whole thing at 30 mph.  "at least you won't have any rain", was Dan's parting comment.

So we took off from BRF with a light tailwind to the town of Taylor.  This turned out to be a most interesting time to ride in the area.  There is a large Amish community and I have never seen so many buggies on the road.  We totally dusted them too, but we waved and smiled to and said, "guten morgan".  Vincent thinks the Amish all speak German.  Not sure if they do or do not.  It could be that they all thought that we were German tourists.

We puzzled at the control, The Corner Store.  It appeared to be under construction.  Vincent was navigating and we spent at least 15 minutes running around trying to figure out that we were indeed at the wrong corner.  We finally found the right corner store; who knew there would be two corner stores in a small town like Taylor.  So far, so good, we were rolling along at about 17 miles per hour.

Then the hills stared.  We actually really enjoyed them and we had just cruised onto CR-C and were looking for Rogness Coulee Road (note: coulee in road name) when a car pulled up ahead.  "Secret control!" said Dan who was out with his two daughters, "and you are going the wrong way".  Oops.  Okay, maybe doing 4 bonus miles wasn't the smartest thing, but we got to see some nice ponies.  Dan pointed us in the right directions and made sure we got to the turn.

Rogness was the first time we realized that perhaps I should have overhauled the tandem over the winter.  When I tried to get into the small chain ring, it refused to go.  The cable was clearly not at the right tension, but adjusting on the fly just didn't quite work.  I also noticed an annoying click that started.

We passed across the Black River which was really pretty and stopped for pictures.  Then we continued on to Mindoro where we became confused and neglected to stop at the Mindoro Country Store thinking it was on the other side of the next hill.  Clearly, we were bonking since we weren't smart enough to read the sign.  The climb up the Mindoro Cut was beautiful and not difficult.  We took pictures at the top.  Vincent took lots of pictures; it's a perk of being a stoker.

Just after the whizzing descent down the cut, the pitter of rain started.  Just slightly annoying, the kind of thing that is easy to brush off.  We desperately looked for the store that we had passed 5 miles earlier.  Darn, no snack in sight.  It was only another 5 miles to the control in West Salem, we got there quickly and stopped at Linda's Bakery for lunch.  We had about an hour and a half in the bank, which was impressive considering the bonus miles, wasted time being lost and a host of attempts to fix the decaying shifting.  A cherry turnover, two baguettes, and a bowl of chicken noodle soup later, I was feeling better.  So was Vincent, although he was a little sad, being vegetarian, to be eating chicken soup.

I was less happy to see that the spitting rain had developed into a full fledged rain.  I put my rain jacket on and cursed myself for leaving my rain legs in the car along with my rain booties.  We still needed a receipt from the real control, a gas station and we pulled in at the gas pump.  No sense in both of us getting wet.  I bought some peanut butter cups and dashed out.  We started down the road water blasting both of us in the shins.  Then we turned around and went back to the Subway attached to the gas station to get plastic bags for our feet.  Those worked well; I also thanked my lucky soul that I wore all wool and at least brought some half fingered gloves.  It wasn't super cold, but rain and a headwind were not going to be warming.

The real hills started after West Salem and we were both sad that Vincent's phone had no signal.  The Lovely Linda likes her mid ride texts.  The shifting continued to degenerate and we spent quite a bit of time futzing around trying to avoid climbing in the big chain ring.  The scenery was gorgeous, bright green and even in the rain it was amazing.  We marveled how the rain didn't seem to be a big issue.  The downhills were quite tricky in the rain and in addition, they were still a bit sandy from the winter.

As we rolled into Coon Valley (note: valley in the name of the town), I was getting cold hands.  I asked Vincent if his were cold.  "Nope, the heat is just radiating off your *ss and I am toasty warm".  Gee, I had no idea!  I found out later that the stoker warming their hands on the captain's rear is a well-known tandem phenomena.

Cocoa and food in Coon Valley made me all better, though the rain continued in full force.  We made a quick stop of it and took off.  A very long, gentle climb later, we came out of the valley and cruised into Bangor.  Here we made a pit stop for water and to eat some avocados that we had brought with us.  Lloyd's Quickstop was being dismantled by the grocery store was open.  We unceremoniously dumped the tandem on the road too; the avocados must not have kicked in yet.  No one was hurt though, we just laughed, so did the guy in that pickup truck behind us.

PS: Vincent has great pictures.  I will post some when he sends them to me.

After Bangor, the rain stopped, it was hovering south of I90.  We finally stared drying out with 40 miles to go.  Then we turned on CR-E.  That was when Vincent noticed the bad link - on the synchronization chain.  Do you have a chain tool?  Oops, each of us thought the other one was bringing the chain tool.  Sure enough there was a bad link.  If it snapped, Vincent would be pedaling me home.  Since his phone wouldn't work, he really would be pedaling me home.  We debated whether to mess with it and finally decided to just avoid mashing any hard gears to avoid putting stress on it.

Unfortunately, directly in front of us was a sign that said "Tamarack Hill" (note: signed hill, bad news).  This is probably the biggest hill on the ride.  The first time I went up it was a month before PBP and I remember sweat pouring off my face blinding me.  I was in a groove and we were about halfway up when Vincent called stop.  His heart was racing.  I wasn't exactly feeling like a spring chicken so we caught our breath and walked the rest of the way.  You know it is a really steep hill when walking is challenging.

The descent was much more fun!  We cruised down at about 40 mph.  Riding downhill is a big strength for a tandem.  We finally rolled into Melrose a big before 7 pm.  I inhaled the peanut butter cups, the rest of my baguette and a quick swig of Snapple.  We sat down a few minutes to catch our breath and then realized we only had 13 miles to go!

Vincent continued eating on the back of the tandem.  `At this point, we passed an older couple walking in the evening.  "hey, the guy on the back isn't pedaling", they joked.  There is a beautiful pedal along River Road, rolling along the Black River.  We had fun and Vincent perked up.  We continued to pay attention to the chain.  The annoying rattling turned out to be the bottom bracket.

Just before the end of the road, Dan and his entire family showed up.  They wondered where we were, not having realized that it was pouring rain just to the south.  We finished just under 12 hours.  I considered that to be quite a feat all things considered.  The tandem survived, no animals were harmed during the riding of the brevet.  The stoker survived and is still convinced it was a good idea.  Now all we need is the bike to get an overhaul and for it to stop raining!

600k of Therapy in Tombstone

With both the Gold Rush and LEL approaching faster than I would have liked, a major bout with vasculitis and colitis was not really convenient.  For those that are unaware of Henoch-Scholein Purpura (and really, who is aware?), it's a disease in which certain antibodies "stick" to the insides of small blood vessels in the lower legs- kind of like a big, red target for your T-cells (tanks of the immune system).  Having your immune system torpedo your legs causes large welts and swelling in the joints.  Exceedingly painful, even by rando standards; it's put me in the hospital and that is saying something.  Normally striking children under 10, Road Pixie is just young at heart.  Add that to my second autoimmune disease, colitis - it's months of suffering.  After the 400k in early March, both went crazy and I had finally had to relent to a tour of corticosteroids (the really expensive ones that don't help your fitness, but do cause your body fat to relocate to your head and neck).  

I'd been trying to ride the Tombstone for 3 years.  Every time, I would DNS or DNF over some medical problem (cancer, food poisoning) - the ride was cursed.  So as I languished in a snowy, depressing late spring with most of my plans completely in distress, I considered my perennial plan to do the Tombstone.  I had plane tickets and Lara was both in AZ and up to trying it - in the plus column.  Also, I had managed to finish the 400k without solid food and after a couple root canals.  Also in the plus column.  I was in the doldrums of seasonal affective disorder (where your personality shrivels up due to lack of any light) and on nasty steroids that I was hoping were not going to make me blind.  Should I cancel the plane tickets?

In the end, I decided, no way would I give up my fourth try at the ride.  Really, the weather would be sunny and warm (maybe some wind) and I had  a personal demon to slay here.  In the end, I decided I would either let my diseases run my life, or I would run my life.  So with two weeks to spare, I started running up and down the stairs at work to get ready (steroids also kill your immune system, so I can't be around children or in the gym when on them).   The stair therapy was probably good for me too - steroids make me cranky and with no sun and piles of snow, no outdoor stuff.

Lara and her friend, Dave, picked me up at the Tucson Airport.   We went to his house where he was nice enough to let me use his tools to put the bike together.   Lara's friend Susan was there as well, that's the Susan that runs PAC tour.  She has stories, but I digress.  We eventually relocated to the Super 8 on Cortaro Road, along with enough food to feed a small army.  This was to be the start/overnight/finish spot.  The Tombstone does a 400k out and back to the town of Tombstone, then a 200k loop to San Manuel on the other side of Mt Lemmon (other side and Mt are two key words that sentence).  We spent extra time getting ready and running around in pajamas in WalMart looking for reflective leg bands - they didn't have any.

Susan Reed, the ride boss, eventually brought some to the start.  I hadn't seen her since food poisoning knocked me off my bike the previous year.  Only 4 intrepid riders were at the start, but on the plus side for the feminists that gave the girls a 50% showing - when does that happen in a 600k?

For a ride that had all the trimmings of another disaster, I have to report that this wound up somehow being one of my better 600k rides.  The 4 of us sort of rotated around each other for both days.  Lara and I stayed close and she had a bout with the heat, but heat generally doesn't bother me.  What I thought would be a lackluster showing on my part, was pretty okay.  I felt great the whole time, no soreness in my legs (that was probably the stairs) and I did some mega pulls coming back from Tombstone.  In fact, I have a great shot of the rando re-enactment of the Gunfight at OK Corral.

Pecos Lara falls victim to Road Pixie's rando shotgun

Knowing that we were not going to be setting speed records, we had appropriately stashed water supplies at Sonoita and at the Road Runner Mart.  I had a mad cap adventure descending Sonoita pass when my front bag flew open and a pepperoni sandwich flew out and hit me in the face.  I somehow management to snatch the sandwich out of the air as it rebounded, calories are calories on a ride like this.

We stopped at our hotel room to refuel and get a little sleep.  We fought some ferocious winds the next day around Mt Lemmon and again ran out of water in Oracle.  We flagged down another cyclist to beg water and used a hose at the local church (if you can't get water from a church, there is just something wrong).  Looking back, I should have passed on eating too much in San Manuel and waited until I got up the final 10 mile climb to Oracle.  But taking it slowly, I made it fine.

Aside from one of us getting lost 15 miles from the end, everyone made it just fine.  I got a finish shot:

The big finish, note Road Pixie's silly knee socks to protect her trashed legs

The guy in the middle is Ken - going to the Rando Stampede this year.  John was our other companion (he made it in an hour later after being a little lost - it's the way of the wild, wild west).

This was a weird ride in that it clear lots of cobwebs from my head.  I had been so sick for so long so to finally accomplish something really turned things around.  I cycled off the steroids about 2 weeks later after some of the longer term medication started taking effect.  So this was the end of a first SR of the year and only halfway through April.  The ride itself was beautiful - well worth the time.  I was sort of sad to fly out of my last AZ ride of the winter season.  For wintering Minnesotans, the desert is a peaceful place.  I am always shocked by how epic it seems, how your eyes focus on things miles away instead of as here in the midwest where they focus on the streams and trees that are so close.  Perhaps that is what made it so psychologically liberating, I looked outside instead of in.

Will be back next year!

Road Pixie and Pecos Lara Pack Imaginary Heat for 400k

After such a great 300k, I was in for a bunch of hell back in Minnesota.  Gobs of work, minor surgery for IronK and not one, but two unexpected crowns and root canals, resurgent autoimmune diseases.  I had a plane ticket to return to Arizona for my dad’s 75^th birthday.  Dad is a longtime biker and former marathon runner.  He still rides like crazy in his 70’s.  In addition, this was a big party to celebrate his 40^th year of sobriety – which may be one of the most impressive accomplishments I’ve ever known.

Susan had sort of offered an option to potentially pre-ride the 400k (I told you there isn’t anyone nicer).  I had offered to assist at the start regardless since I was going to be in AZ anyway.  IronK vetoed the idea of me pre-riding solo and with so many things going on I had not thought it possible.  Then it just occurred to me that I should just change my flight and do it.  That would make the pre-ride only 2 days before the real ride – how much more up to date could the ride briefing be?  So I worked things out with Susan and Tom (another great Arizona fixture) and had the added benefit of a call from Lara, who has had a rough time of late and was pondering doing the ride herself.  The two of us would avoid solo rides and put together a good preview of the route and see people off.

Dad picked us up at the airport on Wednesday and drove us down to Casa Grande.   He had concerns about safety.  “Do you want my 9 mil?”  My immediate answer was no, because I had no license and I don’t even know what part of the gun the 9 millimeters is measuring.  “You don’t need licenses in Arizona,” was the reply.  “Oh,” pipes up Lara, “I’m a crack shot”.  Geez, you learn something every day.   We opted to leave the semi-automatic weapons at home since Lara, now Pecos Lara, is a revolver girl.   Okay, we also forgot about it while I packed up the bike too.  I had a brief vision of us in some kind of western movie with bikes instead of horses, kind of like a shoot out at the OK Bike Corral.  But I digress.

The first thing that we decided upon arrival in Casa Grande was to start an hour earlier than the planned 6:00am.  Seeing as we were doing this on a weekday, we were subject to rush hour and rush hour at the I-10 entrance ramp was not something I wanted to experience at dawn during rush hour.  We decided to leave at 5 instead.  Unbeknownst to me (who has a new smart phone that she is not used to) we failed to check email and missed Tom at the start who arrived at 5:15 (what a guy!).

We crossed I-10 still in the dark so our reflective gear and lights were in full force.   Traffic was already building so I was very happy to have avoided the biggest rush.  We made good time and saw another gorgeous sunrise as we pulled through Sacaton.  Lots of trucks were on the road, so we were careful as we crossed I-10 once more.  Temperatures were in the 30s, so we were bundled up, but we decided to wait for the first control at Maricopa before shedding.

Traffic in Maricopa was quite heavy and I was relieved that riders on Saturday would be spared.  We pulled to the side to wait for an opportunity to cross to see Tom waving from the other side of the road.  He and Lara have some history so we lingered a bit to catch up on old times.  I think Tom has ridden PBP something like 6 or 7 times – that’s in the wow category.  Really a nice guy, he had water and bananas and new control cards (the question for one info control was being changed).  I took off my jacket but left most everything else on.  It was only just 8:00 and temps were still down in the 40s.

The next 40 miles to Gila Bend were among my favorite.  With the railroad and constant trains next to us, it really felt like the west.  Beautiful mountains and a slow climb made for happy miles.  We finally had to stop and ditch more layers around 9.  I got to hear many stories of PAC tours, old rando stories and all kinds of stuff from Pecos Lara, who is apparently hooked into the scene pretty much everywhere she goes.  I have never done a PAC tour (it seems kind of scary), but she finished the Elite Tour a couple years back and that is a real accomplishment, worthy of a good listen.

We got to Gila Bend just before 11:00 to the lunch rush hour (gee, there are lots of rush hours in Arizona).  We opted for a food stop at McDonalds and Lara waited in line while I fussed with bikes and wrote down the info control answers.  I had to settle for fries and a shake. My temporary crowns were still very sore from the root canals and I couldn’t chew anything with any crunch or toughness.  It was going to be a perpetuem and gel kind of ride.  Fortunately, the shamrock shake is going on McDonalds – at least it’s tasty.

The fries caught up to me and my digestive track over the next 40 miles.  We had a pretty constant headwind about 10-15 mph.  I’m not a fan of McD’s so the oil in the fries just sat in my stomach like molten lead.  Not good.  I also lamented the fact that I had accidentally packed a bad saddle that did not fit and my keister and knees gave me a severe lecture.  Lara had a thrill when a hot guy with no shirt on told us to stop at the dairy if we needed anything.  Damn, why are there no hot farm girls around when you need a pick up?  We also passed a solar farm which I found very interesting.

Finally, we cruised over Gillespie Dam and up the only hill in the whole route.  The dam itself is collapsed and the bridge is an old iron-truss style one that was really cool looking.  This was another high point of the ride.  The next high point was the hundreds of water birds: cormorants, white herons, blue herons, egrets and the like that clustered around the water of the canals alongside the road.  I love wildlife!  We even saw some rabbits that made me think of Vincent (depressed back in Minnesota that he wasn’t riding with us).

We finally got to the northernmost part of the route in Buckeye and made the stop at the school/info control.  I wanted to shed my wool undershirt but school was in session and it was recess so the playground was crowded.  Maybe not shed clothes in front of kindergartners?  We pedaled on to Buckeye, where Dad lives, and gave him a call just to let him know we were safe and having fun. 

The next 40 miles or so is a little more urban and we wound our way through the Estrella Mountains and past the Phoenix Raceway which was preparing for a NASCAR race.  I know even less about cars than guns, so when we passed a guy polishing the rims of a semi that said, “Packed full of Bacon” with a big bacon picture, I wondered how much bacon a semi could hold.   5 miles later it occurred to me that the semi held a race car and probably had no bacon.  Fortunately, the guy was also cute and Pecos Lara actually managed to flirt at 18 mph (that’s really impressive).

We stopped for another bathroom break just after the raceway and headed to Laveen.   This was some more enjoyable road and it almost felt as though we had a tailwind (the winds were blowing around the Estrellas).  We stopped at the Komatke Market to suit up for nighttime.  Again, we spent more time that normal, but I had notes to take and Lara wanted new batteries for her rear lights.

Off we went down Baseline Rd, at this point with only about 85 miles to go.  Unfortunately, the shake and 5 bags of perpetuem were taking a toll on me.  I was feeling pretty down when we rolled across I-10 and into a store advertising “Cigarettes and Food”.  I hoped I could at least find a smoothie or a soft sandwich.  Alas, no sandwiches, but I did find a Super Sized Dinty Moore Chicken Pot Pie dinner: 550 calories, just what the doctor ordered.  However, when I asked, no microwave.  Ugh, I opened it to something that really looked like bad baby food.  This stuff was not meant to be eaten cold.

However, it turned out that the people running the shop, a couple of native americans, were super nice.  The guy took my food and ran it around to his apartment to heat it up for me.  He also gave both of us a non-creepy hug and lots of encouragement.  That pretty much ended my low point.

I came back from getting my food to see Pecos Lara talking to a patron, a portly guy in his late 50s.  They were discussing the distance of the ride and he was asking lots of questions about where we were going, etc.  I never like someone to ask too many questions and having surveyed the route offered up vague details of the parts that were very populated and had lots of traffic – I find that this satisfies the curiosity of a genuinely interested person without making it look like I don’t trust them (which I don’t).  “Do you have guns?” he asked, then with a pause, “for protection from coyotes.”  “I wouldn’t answer that question,” was Lara’s reply, “but neither of our father’s would ever let us do this without protection”.  I tried to nod very sagely.  The rest of the conversation passed and he drove off without incident.  “I can’t believe you told him we are packing heat,” I said to Lara.  She smiled, “well I have a baby mag that I can fit in my top tube bag.”  Gee, I never knew mags had babies.  I had another brief vision of my top tube bag going off and sheering of my seatpost.  If I were a man, I might have thought of something else.

It turns out that packing imaginary heat is just as good as the real thing because we never saw the guy again; I suppose he could have been harmless too.  We left feeling much better and headed for Chandler; where snotty 17 year olds kicked us out of Subway at closing time (really, we were still eating).  This was more traffic and I was happy to leave it behind.  My chicken pot pie worked miracles and we got to the last info control pretty easily with a few more mental notes to write down and a stop for bananas at Frys as a side trip.

By this time, it was in the 30’s again and I was wearing almost everything.  Our pace was fast enough to keep me from needing my jacket (which I thought would be too warm).  40 miles from the end, we had the big crash.

It’s never fun to crash.  This one was on RR tracks.  We knew they were bad, we discussed the badness and were prepared.  We were not prepared for the deep ballast gravel on the other side of the tracks.  Lara hit them at slow speed and just keeled over with a thud.  In the dark, it was actually pretty awful to watch.   It knocked the wind out of her and caused some road rash on her left elbow.  That was bad because her right shoulder was already hurting from another injury.  I put on blinkies in the road and waited for her to catch her breath and get up.  She was okay except for wounded pride (and road rash).   I did most of the pulling for the next few miles with the occasional yelp behind me.  Even so the guys in Coolidge were unimpressed, they still wouldn’t let us in the bathroom.

I probably should have put on my coat but didn’t so I was darn cold for the last 10 miles.  We kept up the chatting and passed the bike shop at about 2:36, finishing the ride officially at the hotel at 2:45.  My teeth were chattering, my knees were sore from my bad saddle and failure to stop and add a layer and sure, Lara was bleeding, but every finish is a triumph of man (or woman) and this one was no different.  Our room was full of food, just waiting to be eaten.

We spent the next day sleeping and being lazy.  I wrote all my notes to Tom on my phone (which took less time than I thought).   We met Tom at the start to check everyone in and I did my little briefing.  He was doing a drop bag service for riders; they would have access to the bags 3 times during the ride.  “I’m keeping up with Susan’s standards” was the statement.  That is the real truth.

Like I said, if I ever grow up and become and RBA, I hope I’m like Susan.

Stylish Riding for 300k the Arizona Way

After the very lovely Sun Valley 200k, Vincent and I had but one day to hang out at my dad's house and prepare for our next ride on Feb 2. We had a nice room at the Holiday Inn the night before the ride. Once upon a time, I would drive from Buckeye to Casa Grande for a start, now I am just too whimsy...

Vincent is the quintessential vegetarian.  So we prepared for the ride by buying a whole bunch of fruit for breakfast in the hotel room. We added oatmeal, greek yoghurt, granola, coconut water, the works. We even had individual coconut water for the bikes – high style. Vincent also had these green tea energy drinks called Verve – a little like a fruit flavored vitamin bomb.

We drove up to the start at the round trip bike shop at around 5:30AM to say hello to Susan. Susan is by far my most favorite RBA; if I ever grow up and become an RBA, I’d like to be like her. This being my favorite 300k of all time, the mix is obvious. We also ran into quite a parade of friends from past rides: Margaret and Bob from the infamous Titanic 400k, Ronaele from the Munger Bungo, Mike (who owned the perm we had just finished, and all my friends from the extreme picnickers. It’s always nice to see people that you share rando moments with, no matter how long, it seems we have long memories.

Per the official watch, we started out at 6:00am sharp. At a balmy 39 degrees, I was pretty suited up in my wool stuff. Arizona rides tend to start with people going out like bats out of hell, maybe it’s the cold. At 18 mph, Vincent and I dropped back a bit to conserve (It’s not like we were really trained up for this thing). The line of picnickers was behind us and I got to have a nice chat with Ryan, whom I rode with at PBP.

Beautiful sunrise on cue as we swung over I-10 and headed for Coolidge; temperatures were falling as we dropped into the lower area. I love Arizona sunrises and sunsets. In the desert, perspective is much different; everything is expansive and huge with miles of cactus, scrub and red-brown rocks. It always makes me think of being in prehistoric times for some odd reason.

As the sun warmed, we road out of Coolidge and onto the long climb to Oracle Junction. In past years, it had gotten quite hot, but we made it all the way to Tom Mix Monument (Control #1) without shedding any clothes. We stopped, stripped layers, used the men’s and ladies cacti and ate some of the great food. Susan always tries to staff controls, a practice I have come to really appreciate. We lingered quite a bit too long here and Vincent and I finally took off alone while others were still busy with tasks. A wind had started up and with bad pavement, I took just to the right of the white line, Vincent stayed on my wheel tucked back to my right to avoid the breeze.

About 5 miles later, a really interesting thing happened. We got pulled over by the police! The very stern police dude stormed up and demanded to know one good reason why we were riding next to each other. I remember thinking of reasons like “because Vincent is a nice guy and I like him”, but that really seemed really not good, so I opted for looking really confused and said, “I don’t know, I’m from Minnesota”. Apparently, you aren’t supposed to ride even close to next to each other even if you both are on the right side of the white line. He seemed to accept our dorky looks and pasty skin as proof of ignorance. We followed up with lots of contrite sentences starting with “Sir” and he drove off in search of some kind of water stop (we didn’t offer directions”.

The trip to Oracle junction was beautiful. Lots of cactus, long views and a nice warm sun. We passed a rider looking somewhat aimless and Vincent dropped back to see if he wanted to ride with us and draft. Returning, he no, the rider wasn’t tired – he was just “chillaxing”. This became the word of the day as we were to see many people out enjoying the day just “chillaxing”. We finally got to the crest at mile 66 and began the long descent through Tucson. By this time, we were both hungry and the Subway was closed. Last time I did this ride, I accidentally bonked and had no desire for a repeat. All eyes were peeled for food!

We picked up speed like crazy here in the ritzy neighborhoods with Mt Lemmon looming in the background. The sky was so clear this year which led to some great pictures. Finally, as we cruised along Tangerine at about 20 mph, we spied a mall and pulled in to check the food court.

Instead, we found high class, outdoor neopolitan pizza! After years of eating at gas stations, we opted for a sit down of pizza caprese, salad, lemonade and cloth napkins. I have to say that this is the first brevet EVER that I have such a decadent meal. Plus, the bikes were right next to us, they brought us a pitcher of water to juice up the bottles and neopolitan pizza cooks in 3 minutes! We were out in exactly 40 minutes, which for a typical halfway stop is not really all that bad. The pizza was good too.

The next 10 miles were still basically downhill too. So we cruised down Twin Peaks Road to Silverbell in record time. A few miles later, we climbed Gate Pass, passing another chillaxing rider, and stopped for a photo op at the overlook. Sure it took a few minutes, but Vincent had never seen it and on such a clear day, it was breathtaking. No way we could just ride by.

Down the always exciting pass (made less exciting by the pokey little prius who could not find his parking lot), was our next rest stop where Susan waited with sandwiches and refreshments. Okay, this was the very best tuna salad sandwich I have ever had (really). I had to ask for the recipe it was so good. We chatted briefly with Susan and Margaret and Bob, who were suiting up to leave. This is the Saguaro National Park and it is so pretty I don’t mind the choppy hills. The big descent down Mile Wide Road isn’t bad either. As we turned onto Sandario and back north, the wind picked up and, for the first time since the morning, we had quite a headwind.

The wind was an annoyance for the next 10 miles, but we amused ourselves and continued to gawk and the many interesting sights, including one of my favorite streets, Wong Way (that joke just does not get old for me). We pulled into Circle K Marana, got coconut water and suited up for dark.

The trip up the I-10 frontage road is always marked for me on this ride by the sun setting on Picacho Peak. Despite the busy interstate, the ride still seems vast and empty with the golden horizon and the pointy tops of the peak. Another of the reasons I love this ride. We cruised along at a lovely little clip and at some point the wind died down to nothing. The stars were astronomically bright for the last 30 miles or so – yet another treat.

We were somewhat surprised to not see anyone behind us, but we continued on pausing briefly at Circle K Eloy to use facilities and eat Vincent’s vegan cookies (which are really good). Though he didn’t like the trip up 11 Mile Corner, I thought it was nice with a gentle breeze that made the electrical wires sound like a sci fi movie. We even heard an owl hooting as we wrote down the info control question.

10 miles later at about 9:40 pm, we were at the end. Susan was there and had even more tuna salad (and egg salad for Vincent, who is a vegetarian). So tasty! We had a great talk with Susan and finally had to acknowledge that it was late and we really needed to get back to Phoenix. Margaret and Bob pulled up as we drove off.

This may be my favorite running of the ride. I felt awesome at the end and really was sad that I would not be able to do the Around the Bend 400k (Dad’s 75th birthday was the same day), but fate can be really kind as well as the next entry shows.

Lost Vampire Randos of Minnesota

What are pasty Minnesotans to do in the dead of winter? Sure we hang out in gyms or, even better, dark yoga studios where we hide skin that would otherwise be qualifying as a reflective surface. But there is no rest for the seasonally affected, so usually by about February, Road Pixie is fit to be tied. Bella Lugosi has more color than I do in the winter.

Last year a mild winter kept riding outdoors palatable, but stern warnings after 2 bouts with pneumonia convinced me that giving my lungs a break was a good thing. Added to that, dates worked out for a good friend, Vincent, to go with me for a couple of outings in the southwest. Vincent has a dream of completing an R12, no easy task in a state where even the Canadians (like our RBA) migrate south for the winter.

So we packed our bags, tubes, helmets and other miscellaneous gear and headed for the airport. I arrived first, to be picked up by my dad in his brand new Fiat. Ever tried getting your bike box into Fiat? I was thankful for all those crunches in the gym, lifting the bike box over my head to put it in the back seat via the sun roof was a feat of strength. Thankfully, we had the Yukon when Vincent got there, his box is bigger than mine.

No matter how well you pack, something is always missing but after trips to 3 different bike shops, we were ready for our first ride: The Sun Valley 200k in Phoenix on Jan 31. I had talked to the permanent owner, Mike, who is one of those types like me that owns half a dozen permanents. His favorite,and suggested, ride had 5,000 ft of climbing and a hill with the label "pass" in it. Having not been on the bike for about a month, we opted for his least favorite "urban but flat" route.

We got a great start by getting lost at 6AM in Scottsdale. I drive a Prius, so driving dad's Yukon was distracting enough. Add in unfamiliar territory and it's just bad; we asked a jogger for directions and felt better when even he couldn't tell us where we were (which turned out to be 1 block from where we were supposed to be). So we started about 25 minutes late. At least it was flat....

Okay, it wasn't flat. The first 18 mile stretch to the control was all up hill. Sure it was a false flat kind of uphill, but our pasty legs took some time to get going, we had about 4 mechanicals as we got the bikes adjusted, and we had a really nice sunrise to watch. Nonetheless, when we were 8 miles out from the control with 25 minutes to close, this sent me into minor panic. I hate being late! So we sprinted up the hill, I felt like I was in a spinerval class, my legs burned, my chest pounded, I realized I had forgotten to have a second cup of coffee. We got stopped by every red light, but did manage to skitter into the control in Cave Creek 1 minute before it closed. I ran to get a receipt only to be foiled by an old guy paying for gas out of his penny jar. Oh well, the sprint was still probably good for me, but we decided that pasty Minnesotans are just no good at 1% grades during their hibernation phase. And it was 40 degrees so far, not exactly tropical.

Cave Creek is a very arty place. Outside the gas station where statues of cowboys made out of used parts. I, of course, point me finger and exclaim "look at those two guys". I am horrified 1 second later when 2 actually people stare at me from the gas pump directly in front of the statues. I backpedal with a lame , "I'm not pointing at you" but the damage is done. I look like an idiot tourist in tights, and on cue, two local racer types wearing full kits, roll up to provide a stunning contrast. They probably road up the hill without any trouble at all. At least we were on the top, any direction would be a significant downhill from this point.

We passed the Vegan Academy on the way out of town - a thrill for Vincent who is a vegetarian. In fact, hanging with Vincent really improves my otherwise horrible rando diet of oatmeal cream pies and junk food. His sense of humor is just as sarcastic as mine too, we are sort of an Oscar Wild/Gertrude Stein combo on bikes. He assured me that we would make it to the end just fine while wowing the locals with our stunning, if not cellulite ridden, physiques. "Rando rides are all about POWER and SPEED", he joked as we settled into a nice 25 mph pace (which lasted the duration of our trip down the hill). I have always noted what a great rider I am going downhill with a tailwind. I silently dubbed Vincent Power Boy (okay, maybe not totally silently...).

The next 50 miles served to both warm us and the rest of Phoenix up as the sun got going and we had a great view of 3 hot air balloons in flight. With some time in the bank and finally being able to shed a layer or two, I loosened up. We had some headwind as we road past a "no bikes" sign on the entrance ramp to the 303. We had been warned about construction; I figured it could not be that bad.

Okay, the construction was bad. Nothing really annoys a driver as much as a pasty, pale cyclist taking the lane in a construction zone in a 55 mph zone full of concrete barriers and cones. As we neared the end, flashing lights were ahead. A state trooper gave us a very dirty look, fortunately he was busy busting a guy in a Miata whose trunk he was rifling.

At this point, we were starving and with a 26 mile stretch into the desert ahead, we opted to stop for eats on Bell Road. This was an urban sprawl fest, but we managed to located the newly opened European Bistro. A live accordion played the Carpenter's "On top of the world" as we slunk into our seats. After pierogies, a Greek salad and the best ham sandwich I have ever had, we called Mike, who gave us a detour around the construction for the ride back. For the record, ABBA translates well on an accordion.

We had a lovely out and back to a retirement community 15 miles in the desert. You know you're in Arizona when everyone on billboards is in their 60s and are driving golf carts. I had a somewhat unpleasant experience as we returned when skanky teenagers threw a full water bottle at me from a moving car. I made up for it by cheerily taking pictures of them when they got stuck at the traffic light just after the toss.

We finished the ride at about 5:30 pm. Sure it took 11:25 to finish, but we did start late, lazed about, had flats and generally worked all the bugs out of our setup. I decided my new saddle needed significantly more breaking in and Vincent may have decided to build a new bike. After all, we only had one day to rest before the Saguaro Park 300k...