DSR, Decade, and Life-lessons

Sometimes timing is unfortunate -- but, "it is what it is".  We learn, in the wake of those who lived a full and gracious life, how to roll with the punches.

It wasn't heavy snow or a ridiculous work schedule that prevented my attendance at this past weekend's KCUC season opener and 200km brevet, but an unfortunate passing in our family.  This isn't a grab for condolences or anything like that, nor is it the typical need for social justification on why I can make certain rides and not others -- just a mention, and a marker in time for my future reference.  My wife's grandma, however, will indeed be missed.

Similar to the passing of my father several years ago now, the last year of her life was especially challenging, and, realizing that teaches me once again to be mindful about that which I choose to complain.  Gracious under pressure, quiet dignity, a smile, and a "just fine" when asked how things had been going, regardless of the truth.  Positiveness begets positiveness, and may we all find a reason to smile in spite of life's little pains and problems.  

Headwinds.

Rain.

Hills.

All trifles.

Truly the simple blessing of taking in a breath-full of fresh, morning air - each day until our last - is gift enough, and the rest just icing.

With such expectations perhaps enjoying life itself, for "what it is", becomes easier, its challenges less arduous.

Sure - with the purported "best weather in five years" for KCUC's first ride, it was a shame to have missed it; however, sitting in an armchair among family and friends, talking about nothing in particular, over good food - even in spite of the occasion for the gathering - always turns out to be a fine way to spend a weekend.  The bike seldom entered my mind - and I think that means I've got things figured out.  Surely as the bicycle hangs upside-down, in waiting, in the garage at home - I can grab a ride any old time.  The times with family are precious - and life, all too often, shorter than we'd prefer.

As I pass into my 4th decade, perhaps I'll have less and less to complain about.

Perhaps I'm finally finding it far more rewarding to simply enjoy the ride, no matter the vehicle.

It's been a remarkable month - 

The first DSR was an intimate affair, and, with technology and good discussion in tow, we enjoyed clear skies, bright Venus and Jupiter setting, and the challenges of riding the last few miles on completely empty stomachs, thanks to a c-store which wrapped up business earlier than their operating hours sign had otherwise suggested.

The tenth anniversary of my first brevet was to be a compare/contrast exercise - what have I learned in ten-years of randonneuring?  

I'm personally still waiting on the answer; though I know it to be strictly rhetorical.  My journey has been complicated and contrived, and with each passing year I find myself chuckling, not only at what I had yet to learn 10 years back, but also what I'd elected to re-learn only a few weeks ago.  My memoirs will be clogged with self-confusion and the fallout of a far-to-noisy inner monologue, which I've yet to figure out quite how to silence.  It's easier than it used to be, though, which is progress, as I slide ever closer to the Zen-state of "just pedaling".  My cycling career is a comedy of errors, perhaps best related via the dry, sardonic wit of British humour.  Perhaps Rowan Atkinson would be up for the role of "Dude" in the film of my cycling career, who knows.  Perhaps I watch too much Top Gear (UK), but I find the commentary from my rides much more entertaining when read aloud in my head via carefully metered exchanges between Jeremy Clarkson, Phil Liggett, James May, Paul Sherwen, and Richard Hammond, all while run through a template of Monty Python skits.

Some say he can spot equipment mislignments on a millimetric scale from twenty paces, and that he thinks every hilltop during a brevet has leader's points... all we know is.... he's not the Stig... but he *is* the Stig's American randonneuring cousin....

All in all, it's been an interesting month - the R-12 streak continues, though it feels as if the last ride was months ago.

April looks good, and my next permanent ride towards R-12 (despite the minimum requirement being 200km) may be a 300k, to prepare for highly anticipated 400km Brevet up into Iowa on April 28th.

Despite the cycling-centric crux of this blog, the lessons resonating from what transpires *off* the saddle remain most engaging.  Therein sits the most important lesson of all; it really *isn't* about the bike.  Though I've never professed my cycling to be more important than any other aspect of my life, surely as it's not, sometimes I leave such an impression hanging in these pages.  Certainly in the office and to the readership at large I come across quite one-dimensional.  What's most important, and I think Grandma, and definitely my father, would've agreed: at the end of whatever our day brings, when things are stored away, the time-clock punched, it's those moments around the family dinner table which make it all worthwhile.  

Its not about what you do... its about who you share it with.

The only thing cycling REALLY does?  

It helps transform me into a better person while I'm off the bike, where it counts.

The Big Payback

“Did you have a good ride?” asked the middle-aged gentleman re-entering his car.  He seemed genuinely interested, curious... maybe even a glimmer of a knowing smile, like he, too, could have been a cyclist.  

I paused... but I knew my answer already.

Similar to last month, I had a mind to get March's 200k R-12 edition checked-off ASAP.  Thinking back to 2009, fresh from R-12 #1, I’d been keen to continue my streak; that year I rode a particularly difficult and lengthy "200k" (more like 225?) in February, and nearly vowed never to ride again afterwards - alas, those feelings come and go, but always pass.  I'd decided the best way to make good on that hard-earned Feb '09 200k involved keeping the streak going, and getting #14 that March.  "March 27...Bob's brevet series... that's in the bag."  Oh, how wrong I’d been that year - March 27th, 2009, I believe we awoke to 8+ inches of thick snow, which wouldn’t melt for possibly a week afterwards.  A rare occurrence, Bob cancelled the March 200k that year, and I didn't have enough time left in the month to make anything work to make up for it --- so 13-in-a-row ended there.  Fast-forward to this year, I look to avoid that scenario again - this time not merely faced with starting over so much as faced with flushing 9-in-a-row in progress on R-12 #2.  The winter season has been strange enough without me tempting fate, and, with Bob's ride sitting on March 24th this year, it would be good of me to get cracking.  So, several weeks back, I scheduled my March 200k for the 2nd.  Seemed like a terrific idea at the time.  Why, oh why, didn't I make it for March *1st*?

To paraphrase a recurring, and oft telling, theme from one of my favorite shows; in the immortal words of the ancient philosopher Clarksonius, 5th Century B.C., "how hard can it be?"

After all, it's March!
Sound the trumpet call, release the doves, let sash and cottage door swing open, and breathe free all ye cyclists - cast off the shackles of natures icy, grey grip!   (okay, a bit much)
February holds all of the mental cards when it comes to my cycling, yet, this year's leap-month had been very tolerable.  The February 200k, only a few posts back from here, warmed into the lower 60's by afternoon - with a south wind!  March had to be at least that good.  Kansas weather can be a bit tricky, at best, however - in the 72 hours leading up to the ride, I’d witnessed 73ºF, then the lower 30’s, thunderstorms, tornado warnings only one county west of home, and strong wind from every compass direction.

Finally, the evening before, I packed for rain.  Specifically, rain in the 40ºF range, which calls for wool and the rain jacket.  Anything warmer than that and the rain jacket becomes too much.  Heck, pack it anyways... pack it ALL.  The battle van readied: bike loaded, bags packed, nutrition, cue sheet, route card.  I bedded down for a nervous, fitful sleep - typical of ride-eve, for me.  

Beep beep!  Beep beep!  [smack]
 
Shower, dress, keys -- proceed to ride start.  I've reached a point of complacency in preparing for and riding these 200 kilometer events.  I'd mentioned in past posts that these distances have quickly become "training", instead of the "event" for which to train.  In a few weeks I'll be stretching out towards 400km and beyond, so I need to get into a rhythm and routine that will work, consistently.  The problem with that approach, at least for me; ‘routine’ becomes boring.  I have this problem with diets, exercise, work, nearly everything.  Things get old, and I become compelled to change something.  Oh, how I wished I'd had the willpower to take back the change I made on the way to the ride.  

Danny Clinkenbeard exemplifies randonneuring legend, in my humble opinion.  In 2005 Danny, along with only four other individuals nationwide, finished all four continental-U.S.-hosted 1,200km (750+ miles) grand brevets offered that year.  Few cyclists with a RUSA membership would consider trying ONE, much less two or more.  Adding to his accolades, Danny C remains one of two riders - and only two (the other being Spencer K) - to have completed the longest RUSA permanent ride on the books; the monstrous 3,100km "Pony Express" permanent from Sacramento, CA., to St. Joseph, MO.  Near as makes no difference, that ride strings together consecutive 200km rides, daily, going on two weeks solid.  Finally, and to your author ultimately fascinating, Danny rides on hardly anything other than fast food - specifically McDonald's.  Never have I seen such a spectacle as Danny; a whisper of a man, barely 150 lbs., consuming so much fast food at one sitting and then riding weightless like a falcon over hill and curve with a smile, a song, and a shout.  

... and, today, I wanted a HOT breakfast to take the place of my usual, soul-less, tepid energy bar or tablet.  I wanted McDonald's.  

Egg and cheese biscuit, rectangular hash-brown, coffee.  

From the drive-thru, to the highway, to the first control.  MAN, that tasted good!
Upon parking, I pulled out my phone and checked the forecast one last time - and, there it read - the "s" word.  Really???  I looked at radar (while drinking coffee, which everyone knows I do) and tried to size up trends and patterns, and, bearing in mind the generalized nature of area forecasts, came to the conclusion that whatever the forecasters saw would pass safely to my north.  I'd see a little rain, nothing more, I decided.  Still, something convinced me to pack the rain jacket onto the rear rack anyways, just for good measure.  "Snow... pah.  It won't snow."

Compared to last time out on the Princeton Roundabout route, in January, the c-store's register read the correct time - so, my usual 5-Hour Energy purchase made, receipt obtained; out the door I flew.  Lower 40's, and a tailwind for the start... not bad.  I began climbing Renner Road, as it crawls up and over I-435 near Shawnee Mission Park.  I have fond memories of this hill:  a photo of me in the newspaper from a long-ago MS-150 training ride; and, years later, the tactical move that paid off, wherein I dropped two strong riders on the way to a 2nd place finish in the Tour De Shawnee back in the day... I love this climb, and I love how it comes in the first mile of this 200km ride, perfect positioning to get the blood flowing for the task ahead.  This time out, however, I could feel that something hadn't settled fully.  Not soreness, not cramping - something simply felt "off".  Atypically out of breath and grimacing, I made it to the top with questions - obvious questions about my breakfast choice.  Stupid of me to so brazenly dismiss what has worked in the past.  I'd never eaten McDonald's before a ride, at least not that I could recall... heck, I couldn't remember the last time I'd consumed ANYthing from that establishment.  My body proceeded to continue with the digestive "WTF?", while I adopted the "15 minute" rule and continued to push through it.

...une (randonneur) ne peut pas se battre l'estomac vide...  - Napolean, para

"It will pass..."
The sky lightened while I rolled west towards K-7 highway on 83rd, approaching my favorite section of the route - Cedar Creek valley.  As I crossed underneath "new" K-10, enjoying the solitude of "old" K-10, the first raindrop hit me square in the jowl.  For some reason, I grinned.  I don't think I had been looking forward to difficulty or extra challenge, but I somehow always manage to find enjoyment in a rainy ride - even in a cold rain.  No need for the rain jacket; the raindrops only barely coloring the pavement ahead of me, I'd let the natural wonder of wool do its job.  A surreal blanket of calm descended over me as I pedaled along, alone this time out, no conversations save for the chatter in my head.  Thick cloud cover hid the sun from my view - no shadows.  A crosswind grew on my right shoulder.  I passed through Clearview City, and gazed off into the silent, eerie Sunflower Army Ammunition plant complex.  A single car passed.  A group of students stood huddled under an awning, waiting for their school’s doors to open - silent: no jeers, nothing heard.  The only sounds aside from my own breathing had come from a lone meadowlark, following me along in flight while I rode.  A sign of spring, his song gloriously bright amid the grey haze that surrounded me, and a tad incongruous.  Eudora had begun to come into view, and its morning traffic.
 
After checking in at the Eudora control, then battling my way through several school zones and intersections, finally out of town (always busy on a weekday nearing 8:00am), I became free to fly south on DG-1061 towards points south, and ultimately Vinland and Baldwin City.  The rain hadn't really been a problem at that point.  Eudora saw me pass through dry, but chilly.  Typically, thinking back to the forecast review in the van a couple hours prior, I scoffed aloud... "rain... hardly..."  The wind increased dramatically, another indication of frontal passage.  Content that the worst had passed, I put weather concerns out of my head.
 
In the back of my mind, big hunks of the ride felt exactly like the January edition... except that it felt colder, I saw no sunshine, my stomach hurt, and I rode completely alone... except for all that, yeah, exactly the same ride.  HA!  My only companion spoke in an occasional howl and whistle; the sound of roadside power lines straining against the gale-force northwestern winds.  This tailwind-fueled blast southbound would need to be paid back, and I knew it... so, I tried to tender my pace, making a note to save the push for later for when the headwind would demand it.

I took in the sights and wondered if the sun would eventually come out as I turned west on DG-460.  I considered the dark, grayish skies farther north, pondering the weather I’d been lucky enough to miss.  I thought about Baldwin City, and whether or not a second McDonald's run would somehow cure the first.  Ugh...  Although the engineered, tabletized nutritional pellets in my back pockets had begun to work well at eclipsing the breakfast rock in my gut, things hadn’t returned to 100% yet.  I passed the old church at Vinland and took respite from the growing crosswind in the shelter afforded by trees and town buildings - just in time for the turn south, and more tailwind-driven action for the run to the next control.

The airplane hangers at Vinland had come into view, and another rain drop splattered against my glasses - the first of many.  This time, it'd be an honest shower - yet, still not enough to warrant the rain jacket.  Baldwin Pass approached - might as well stay ventilated.  I grumbled at the notion that the forecast might have changed, that the radar trend might have twisted back south - who knew.  Pedal - no amount of data or information would change where I’d been and where I was headed.  Some of the rain looked a little... thick... well, that's weird... and therein lay the magic spark where thinking, reasoning humans pause for a moment - where things stop, or at least slow down, while the brain catches up to the obvious.  "uhhh...... is that snow?"  So, they were right... but, it's in the 40's, and it's gotta be the back edge of ...whatever, it'll be fine.  I even reveled in the opportunity to ride a miniature mountain pass in the snow... I had visions of Hampsten on Gavia; I geared down and rolled out tempo on the local beast, and smiled.  Yeah, only a light rain/snow mix fell, and yeah the road stayed clear, and yeah I don't ride for 7-Eleven... but, what a neat moment!  Even though I've developed a strong dislike for "pro-kit" advertising wear in the recreational venue, a 7-Eleven team replica jersey (in wool, better) would be an instant purchase, no hesitation.

Satisfied with my exploits, I then enjoyed the long, steady downhill run into Baldwin City, and reached the next control a little after 9:00am.  Wet and chilled despite my wool togs, I stepped inside the control and did the needful:  coffee, Clif Bar, restroom, card, receipt.  Usually content to go immediately back outdoors to prepare for the next leg, this time I elected to rest.  I set up shop near the front door, and proceeded to sip on my hot beverage.  The morning routine continued outside for Baldwin's residents; people filed in and out of the shop - each one giving me a long, careful consideration - the usual treatment for the cyclist, so out of place in dress.

"You're gonna get wet..." offered a local quarry driver, fresh from the warm cab of his still-idling Sterling-chassis dump truck.  We talked about the weather, the roads, and what the radar looked like - good info, from an unlikely source.  I like to think of it as the dubious brotherhood of men who wear reflective safety vests; men linked in spirit, regardless of individual pursuits.

I finished my coffee and watched as the rain and snow intermingled -- the rain winning -- and decided the time had arrived to get moving toward Ottawa.  The worst should be over.  Head out!  Still thick with cold rain, and with a bank thermometer across the way which read "36ºF" (it had dropped 3 degrees in 20 minutes), I finally pulled the rain jacket off the rear rack and suited up, zippers pulled high.  At least I couldn’t see the snow anymore... could be worse.  Despite coffee and food, my recalcitrant gut still stood unmotivated to feel better - more "slow and steady" pacing ahead.  Barely able to push even a languid pace thus far, I gave thanks for the tailwind.  Standing on the pedals, Ohio Road stretched before me, I watched as the pavement under my front wheel gained speed.

Maybe I’m riding back into it, I thought.  

First, a little more snow mixed in with the rain.  The snow then intensified and effectively replaced most of the rain - and then a mystical silence, typical of snowfall, fell hard over the countryside around me.  I could hear my breath, and the constant hiss of my tires cutting a groove through thin slush on the roadway.  The ever-growing snowflakes seemed to stand bolt upright on the tarmac and then fade into it as they quickly metled.  I peeked out from under my woolen brim to see what I could of the landscape, most of which had begun to fade, slowly consumed by endless white.  The silence intensified, broken only by a passing car - thankfully passing slowly, cautiously, clearly aware of my presence by their occupation of the opposite lane of traffic.  People of different cycling upbringings will maintain their opinions on reflective gear, safety vests, and the utter dorkiness of ankle-bands, reflectors, and lights - but at times like these, those things matter most.  Confident I could be seen I pedaled on, heads-down against the growing onslaught of larger and larger snowflakes, then clumps of snowflakes - big, wet, snow-bombs.  Snowball sized hail?

Last month, I suffered a cracked wheel - something that began to materialize towards the end of January's 200k, and finally revealed itself at the end of a commute.  The rim material above the horizontal crack in the sidewall, a product of wear on the braking surface of the wheel, became thin enough to separate, and had been pushed outwards slightly by the pressure of the tube and tire mounted upon it, creating a thump-thump-thump timed with each wheel revolution when I’d apply the brakes.  Since then, the front wheel has been rebuilt, and a new backup wheel has been placed into rotation at the rear.  All good.  So, one could imagine the surprise, shock, and frustration -- and associated shot of adrenaline -- which overcame me upon grabbing my brakes to stop at the intersection of Shawnee and Ohio Roads.  Thump-thump-thump!  I released the brakes as quickly as I heard the sound, then reapplied... surely I'd imagined it, but it remained.  If today held a test for me, I suppose there really wouldn’t be a good time or place... so be it.  In heavy snow, I dismounted and crouched down to examine things more closely.  Locating the source of the noise, near the rim seam, I applied the brakes while rolling the bike back and forth to recreate the sound.  There it was!  Thank goodness... the offender, a small rock stuck in the brake pad on one side, had just been catching the slightly raised edge of the rim seam... NOT a crack or break in sight!  Rock removed, braking silence restored... I remounted, just in time to catch the stares of disbelief from the occupants of a passing car.  "Mornin'", I mumbled to myself, pointing the bike west.  Into the wind.  Into the snowstorm.

I could envision the only item of clothing I found myself wanting safely stowed in my bag, back in the van, back in the parking lot.  Shoe covers.  As the snow became heavier and heavier with each passing moment, flying at me sideways in the 25MPH north-west wind, every nook, cranny, crevice and crease in my clothing began to gather snow.  Helmet vents became filled, as had the gap between my helmet and the visor of my wool cap, the crooks of each elbow, the front folds of my jacket, the tops of my legs - even in pedaling - and the tops of my shoes.  The Velcro closure straps seemed especially good at gathering snow, which slowly melted and compacted, gently heated by the warmth from within my shoes - warmth which had begun to fade as the snow-melt seeped into my socks via the shoes ventilation mesh.  Even my headlight struggled; normally generating enough heat to quickly melt off snow, the lens became covered over and required frequent clearing - as did my right eyeglass lens.  I rode with my head down, tilted, trying to preserve my vision and my face; the onslaught of thick snowflake clusters hit my cold face with stinging blows, bearable, but distracting.  A screen of white and the fuzzy remains of a gray slice of pavement extending into it comprised the whole of my view.  Another car passed (also positioned to indicate that he'd seen me) and quickly disappeared into the white haze ahead, consumed by the snow... which gave me wonder on how invisible I must have been.

BARK BARK BARK!!!  Of all the times for a dog to jump from the roadside and give chase -- and WHAT a dog, an angry German Sheppard -- why then??  I'd let out some sort of yell, and managed to raise pace just long enough to hold him off.  Not invisible enough, apparently.
 
All of the following happened in mere seconds, while I considered if the rushing noise I’d heard behind me had been another car, or simply the wind.  I could see the face of my Dad in the white, snowy sky ahead of me.  Yesterday would have been his 65th birthday.  You can draw, as I did, on the parallels of Obi Wan Kenobi appearing to Luke in the snows of Hoth after he'd escaped from the ice cave - but, in my darkest hours of self-doubt sometimes Dad shows his face, when I seem to be on the edge of giving in.  Go to Ottawa, Luke!  I laughed at myself.  Apparently, this had been one of those times where my mind wandered too far.  I never coasted.  I never shifted gears... at least, I don't remember doing so.  All I remember came as a warm smile, and a hand on my shoulder.  I saw my kids, and made sure I remained as far to the right as possible - just in case.  My wife...   I laughed with friends at work, over drinks, over chats online... and began to filter through the "I've-had-worse" file until I realized that perhaps I’d begun a new page, altogether.  I uncorked motivational phrases, and the one that stuck came from (shocker) Survivorman:

"The wind and the weather just ARE; you can either deal with it, or you can't"  - Les Stroud

“Deal with it, Dude...”  Leaning sideways into the cross-headwind, pounded by snow, buffeted by gusts, my helmeted head heavy with packed snow - icy needles of cold, melted water leaked into my shoes, ran down my neck, down my forehead and, yet, strangely, I felt perfectly dressed... damp, but comfortable.  (Thank you, wool.)  There would be no phone calls, no stopping, no complaining.  I cracked a meek smile at the elements, shifted, and upped the tempo...  I watched as the snow tried to win the battle against residual pavement heat with its sheer numbers -- the blobs of white stayed upright a little longer now, and I started to leave a visible trail in my wake -- but, finally, the snow had begun to give up.  The sky lightened, the snow changed back to light rain, and eventually it all faded entirely.  As I rolled along large slabs of snow began to fall from my bike and my body ... "doubt"... "impossibility"... all fell from my arms and shoulders and melted away into nothingness on the pavement behind me.  I paused near some railroad tracks to remove my helmet and help the rest of them along.  Though the hour had seemed to last a day, I’d only one conclusion:

that ... was ... AWESOME …

The rest of the ride pales in comparison to the challenge of punching through a snowstorm over 15 miles or so, smack in the middle of what ultimately totalled 127 miles and change.  The skies played games for the rest of the day - brief hints of sunshine would lift my spirits, but more clouds would close in to dash them.  I enjoyed a wicked-fast run from Ottawa to Princeton (after drying out inside Casey’s on 7th street for about 30 minutes, with coffee and hot food).  My average speed at the halfway point read “only” 15.8MPH, but I felt ecstatic at the number considering the challenges I’d endured to that point.  I paused there, too, feeling destroyed, whipped, and hollow.  

My lower gut still not in the mood to cooperate, I rested.  The entire 2nd half of the ride lay ahead with a huge question mark.  I recalled SK’s mindful words:  “when I’m halfway, it’s in the bag.”  Chin up, I ate what I needed to - knowing that a full-on bonk would be far worse than the stomach issues I’d been enduring.  The lack of push reminded me to gear down and spin.  Enjoy the day!  (at least try...)  Sometimes, the fifteen minute rule needs to be repeated for a few hours before it works.  

I stowed the rain jacket, confident at least the remaining ride would be dry, and proceeded north for only a couple tenths of a mile to return to the eastbound section of the ride.  Those couple of tenths presented a preview -- 25MPH, gusty northwest winds conspired to shove me backwards as I pedaled... holy crud.  No worries... I turned east, safe from the headwind at that moment.  Upon arriving at Osawatomie, 17 miles distant, I’d have to bear down and face roughly 50 miles of gale to get back to the start/finish.  Eat, drink, pedal -- and don’t think about it.

I did what I could to enjoy the ride, marvelling at the picturesque vistas of Franklin County and seemingly endless fields beginning to take on a slight hint of bright, spring green.  Birds spoke in song with the teasing of sunshine -- more meadowlarks, robins, wrens, cardinals, and magnificent bluebirds occasionally brightened my mood, and took my mind off my inability to push very hard.  I arrived at the Casey’s in Osawatomie, refueled, and began my nervously anticipated march northbound.  

Songs popped into and out-of my head - but none lasted very long.  My brain longed for distraction from the task ahead, but all I could muster came in short bursts of self-talk - the snowstorm had presented a challenge, and possibly the most intense precipitation I’d ever ridden through, but that encompassed the extent of its remark-ability.  Now, long into the day, low on energy, accelerations punished with gut cramps, I sunk deep into the low end of the motivation pool after Osawatomie.  Slowly advancing towards Paola, nausea came into play.  I lingered in a strange place where-in I knew food would be beneficial, yet, the thought of eating turned my stomach and left me very aware of my tongue.  Plain water -- that’s all I’d want.  

Paola:  the good, old 66-Station, and a place to sit.  

I normally don’t like to sit down at controls.  The desire to sit often wins the argument against standing back up to continue riding.  Maybe it comes from past experience... the few times I’d sat down during past rides, I’d ended up making a phone call shortly afterward.  Feeling weak, nauseated, sleepy and dazed, I sat and stared at the floor.  The c-store gal and I chatted for a bit while I snacked on good, stable food - potato chips and water.  Nice and slow.  

Slightly renewed - frustrated that I could neither pass away any of the discomfort in my gut, nor expel anything forth to calm my nausea, I saddled back up again and looked north.  The wind, fiercely tugging at flags and power lines, howled and laughed -- Hedge Lane... the roundabout... Old KC Road.... Hillsdale.

Oy... stopping again?  YES.

My mental ammunition had run dry.  My head produced no thoughts - good or bad.  I knew I had until 7:38pm to finish this ride - I only had to average scarcely 8 MPH to finish on time.  Surely I could pedal that out.  Yet, for the first time in years - out came the phone.

My wife isn’t a cyclist.  Specific things about cycling exist that she - same as any non-cyclist - doesn’t “get”.  But, she knows me better than I know myself.  I needed someone to clear through the noise in my head, and get me straight again.  Sometimes, I just need a little pep-talk.

Three minutes or so.  Done.  Thanks, honey...

Back to work.  All my legs could muster hovered around 13 MPH, but, movement trumps loafing.  Late afternoon traffic began to filter onto the local roads while I inched closer and closer to “town”, sharpening my attention.  Spring Hill prompted another stop -- it seemed I’d been retaining water, byproduct of stomach distress perhaps, and now I couldn’t sit for more than a few miles without needing a nature break - but perhaps something had turned a corner, digestively.  I took it as a sign to put more fuel in - proven fuel:  Hammer Gel to the rescue ( I hoped )

More traffic - time to work through suburbia.  Past Spring Hill High School, to Olathe, and stoplight mania.  Full, 100%-power never really arrived, but traffic presented a worthy distraction while I navigated roundabouts, dodged afternoon drivers, and crawled ever closer to the finish.  

Renner Road, positioned at the end of a day such as this, embodies pure evil.  No sense trying to muscle the climbs - spinning, just like last time out, I checked off the hills one-by-one, finally arriving at 87th street.  

“TWO MILES!”  … and it came.  The final, long descent down Renner towards Midland Drive allowed me to stop pedaling... “finished”...

Yet, still, despite it all... after receiving the final stamp and receipt to finalize my route and prove my passage ...a smile.

Not all of these rides can be easy, not all of them can be fun.  I don't enjoy doing things that aren't fun, and as seriously as I take my riding, I try not to take it TOO seriously.  This fact stands vitally important here:  I have been criticized, as has randonneuring, as being sadistic.  Long-distance riding has been classified as something that simply doesn't sound fun at all to a majority of cyclists.  I often wonder if my portrayals lean too far into the dramatic (well, duh, it’s my style).  Do I paint perhaps too gloomy a picture of randonneuring?  I wonder if the club here suffers by my pen.  No matter my take on things, rides like these won’t appeal to everyone.  

*I* like it, though - I keep coming back, year after year, because the rides remain long enough that they never really become “easy”.  I have a lot of fun on shorter rides, dabbles with gravel touring, bike-camping, and local club “race”rides.... but, randonneuring offers a test.  I like the personal test.  I admire that, for unique and talented riders, these rides appear REALLY easy - and I aspire to their approach and technique.  I like that no matter how many of these I finish, there remains something to reach towards.  I like that the entry fees have stayed cheaper than t-shirt rides, sometimes on the order of 10:1 in price.  I like that I have quantifiable proof of my passage, and that I can earn medals.  They’re just small mementos, worthless to most; but, I fancy sitting in a recliner someday, grandchildren at my feet, and I’ll produce a tarnished, silvery medallion from a shoebox and spin a story or two from a time where men and women rode free in the open countryside.

It's not all sunshine and roadside flowers, no - but, in the darker moments I find out more about myself - I make myself stronger, somehow.  Maybe it’s not fun when it happens.  Suffering is relative, after all -- I’ve never seen combat.  I’ve never been injured so badly that I genuinely had to say my goodbyes to anyone.  I’m thankful for those things, and many more.  Yet, when I find myself on the saddle of a bicycle and things begin to lean towards difficulty, when nature starts to hammer through my clothes, skin, muscles, down to my bones, to marrow, down into the intangible fabric of my being... overcoming those moments -- for someone whose childhood had unfolded rife with self-doubt and “can’t” -- reminds me of what I am capable.  It’s not heroic, it’s not impossible.. yet, somehow, it’s necessary.  When given the choice, yes:  I’d much rather have the double tailwind, the sunshine, the heat of a summers day, but days like March 2nd, 2012 teach me how to stand fast in the face of adversity...perhaps even how to smile at it.  On balance, I gladly accept both extremes.  I still strongly contend that randonneuring’s good moments, though they occupy fewer lines of text, greatly out-number the challenging ones.  Part of me feels just a little sad sometimes that we don’t have more riders, more people with whom to share the moments.  Even at the end of this particularly challenging day on the bicycle, I ended with a smile.  I always do.  There’s “fun” there... but, something deeper, too.  The rides manage to extract a feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction that borders on euphoric - and few other activities these days can offer those feelings the way randonneuring does.  

“Did you have a good ride?”

The question still hung in the air as I twisted the cap from my freshly purchased, and earned, 20 oz. Coke.  A satisfying hiss filled the gap between his last utterance and my careful pause.

“Absolutely... a GREAT ride....”  I smiled back, raising my drink.  

“Heckuva day, though...” he offered with a raised eyebrow.

“...coulda been worse...”

We both laughed.

It's just a cycle

I haven't ridden a single mile since the last 200km on February 2nd.  

I've hung it up, but only temporarily.

The last ride unfolded with relative "ease", what with the 50+F temperature, clear roads, and light winds; however, the calendar still reads "February" - and for me, mentally, things become difficult during this month.  What I have to complain about, or struggle through, I can't possibly imagine; we've dipped into the single digits exactly once this year, and the region received a touch of snow this week, but, it really wasn't that bad - so if that episode comprises our "winter", what's the problem?  I *should* be riding, not wasting, this rare and moderate February!  The snow has since melted away, yet, even with temperatures climbing, I don't feel a yearning to grab the bike and ride.  I would be foolish to resist my own, natural cycle.

 

Year after year, the second month's posts read nearly the same.  Dreary, dreadful, laments about how tired I am, how pointless it all has become, blah, blah, blah.... the signs of trying too hard, flaming out, shrinking into the shadows of a long, hard winter's season.  One grows tired of pulling on so many layers, squinting into a biting headwind, fumbling with gloved fingers ... and, even this year with those elements partly absent, one at least feels an inkling of having been riding in a continuous streak for one or two weeks too long.  Time for a break.

 

"Did you ride today?"  It escapes me why this question comes so often, now, while I rest - more than any other time of year.  Guilt?  No... not this year.  For once I am content with my decision and don't find it necessary to make excuses.  Unfortunately, the service life of some of my gear has done that for me.  Personal breaks aside, a string of equipment failures has popped up - so, the bicycle needs a rest, too, it seems.  Wheels are rebuilt, spares in rotation, tires on-order... all in good time; I nearly beg the UPS man to take his time, afford me these minor excuses so that my brain might rest ... just for a couple weeks.  Come Monday, it'll be alright...

 

Surely as I write this, though, the next distance attempt looms.  I have to maintain some semblance of an 'edge' to my blade, so cross-training continues.

I'm sleeping well, eating well, training well -- all while making note of the sun's gentle march northward on dawn's horizon.  I wait, patiently, with my saddle at arms length, for that moment to arrive -- when my helmet buckle clicks home and pedals engage with their satisfying reports, I will set off into early Spring, renewed, refreshed and ready.  Ready for ride "number nine"....OH yes....

 

"...wait for it.... now."

Bicycle Dreams, this week!

REMINDER!  Check out the post below - Bicycle Dreams comes to KC this WEEK!

http://www.commuterdude.com/2012/01/bicycle-dreams-comes-to-kc-feb-18th.html

Smiles & Shadows - The Groundhog Day 217k

The groundhog never saw us coming.

Randy, Terry and I set off into the darkness in 40ºF temps; temperatures optimistic for the "high" on a February day in Kansas, and yet we were planning on breaking 60 later in the afternoon.  I had planned this ride date about three weeks back, honestly not knowing WHAT to expect.  January was a roller coaster, weather-wise.  How could the "other shoe" not drop by the time early February arrived?  My plan was to take the earliest possible ride date in the month in case I would have needed to reschedule due to ice, snow, impassible-by-bike conditions.  So much for THAT idea - not even needed, not even close.  Even today, as I type this, the skies have opened with heavy rain and north winds, low-40's, chilly... and still, for February, that wouldn't have been all that bad.  If the kids hadn't been out of school today, requiring my presence at home, I *would* have been out there in the drearier conditions - and, yet, the weather still reminds me of March.  Very strange... and makes me wonder what March itself has in store.

Performance, speed, gains...patience, Grasshopper... Thursday's ride - for me - involved "painting the fence", and "waxing the car".  Spinning.  I took a leaf of advice provided by Alex last month and made a concerted effort to stay off the big ring and keep the cadence high for this ride, and for the last several commutes.  I don't want to start going numbers-crazy, and I have no plans to get a computer that will provide cadence - but, I do want to keep the revs up for a few more months and try not to do my usual gear mashing.  The mental note seemed to work; when I felt the revs drop I shifted and spun... and the chainlube markings on my cassette afterwards confirm I was at least 2 gears taller on the cluster than usual.  This worked out very well, and I feel surprisingly fresh today - though I can definitely feel that I was seated a lot more than usual.  With the motivation of some very strong riders in Terry and Randy, however, I still managed to finish the 217km (135 miles) in 10 hours, 40 minutes, roughly.  Not bad for total time!  My rolling average ended up being 15.4MPH, wonderful for this time of year!

I'm conscious of potential burn-out with all these super-nice weather days for 200k rides; mentioned last month, speed must be tendered a little in the "off-season" to ensure recovery if performance gains are to be realized.  I can already sorta feel it happening - I still want to chase riders faster than I am, and I'm tired.  Note to self: SLOW DOWN, let them go!  While I'm not 100% sure what goal I'm shooting for, I maintain a desire for speed-at-distance and testing myself at longer and longer events later this spring and summer, and a large part of that means following SOME kind of methodology.  I don't know, honestly, how those guys down in Texas (though they've had more snow than WE have this winter!) keep it going year-round.  The mileages are higher, the average speeds higher, and, somehow, the smiles are wider!  One of these days I'll figure it out - but I have a strong notion it comes from the tedium of commuting.  On that note, I'm purposefully looking towards a light February, to help the mind reset from winter.

"What winter?"  Aside from a frozen face back in December, I don't recall enduring much in the way of winter weather; even on either side of the December ride date were 50F days!  With clear skies overhead, we enjoyed an amazing sunrise and saw our shadows all day long, confirming there are 6 more weeks of whatever-we're-calling-this-season.  I fully expect a blizzard on the solstice in March.  Thursday, though, what can I say?  Gentle headwinds on the trip down to La Cygne, comfortable, unrushed stops along the way, plenty of clock to play with, lots to see, confused birds singing, hawks hunting, the occasional squirrel... and DOGS.  Lots of dogs.  I lost count, seriously, but far more than usual for this route.  I should know... and I should get a special prize; this trip marked my 12th running of the Free-State Border Patrol route.  I suppose I should have expected this, having designed it with a start location only a mile from home; I can't ignore the convenience factor of this route.  When I can skip having to pack the van, having to remember this and that, having to figure transit time to a remote parking lot, I feel more at-ease like I'm giving myself a small break - plus, the route seldom gets old.  Strangely, the Border Patrol seems shorter and easier, because I've ridden it so much.  I keep thinking I'll end up with some weird, Bill Murray flashbacks or hallucinations by riding this route SO much.. but, thus far it hasn't happened.  I could use a good hallucination now and again... weird recurring theme for THIS ride, I sporadically kept "seeing" approaching cyclists up the road, but in each instance a trash bin, mailbox, or some kind of roadside ornament eventually materialized.

Perceptions of ease notwithstanding, I have to do the time and the distance... ten hours plus requires food.  Nutrition delivery:  I'm still playing around with delivery systems - this latest foray I've employed a miniature musset bag composed of mesh hung from a lanyard around my neck.  The mesh allows crumbs to fall through to the ground, keeps the weight low, and it holds enough chow for any distance between controls.  First run, not so bad; although it was difficult with the limited dexterity of gloved hands while riding in the dark - and I ended up with an interesting abrasion on my neck afterwards.  Still, having food at easy reach ensured my tank was topped off all day, and as an added bonus the small bag became my third hand at controls; I could carry around my wallet and route card and such and have both hands free for bottle filling and other duties.  Granted, back pockets also do this, but it seemed to make my control routine smoother and faster.  Surprisingly, contrary to my expectations, it didn't get in my way while riding or climbing.  Ultimately, I can't get around the neck chafing so I may just suck it up and go back to a stem bag, which also has worked in the past.  I have a problem adding bags and "clutter" to a bicycle which has (what I feel are) very clean lines and simplicity... but, time and again, if the food isn't readily at-hand, I go too deep into deficit.  I'll come up with something just in time for winter to be over, when my back pockets will be open and free again.

Nutrition this time:

Perpetuem Solids - 18 in total, spread over the 10 hours. (3 = 100 cals)

Hammer Gel - single serve packs - 3 total, 90 cals each

Casey's hashbrown - single (unsure on cals)

Peanut Butter sandwich crackers - 22 total, across 3 controls/3 pks purchased

Carboplex, 1 serving, 220 cals/52g carbs - at La Cygne on return (note, should have been at halfway)

Powerade Zero (0 cals, delivery for Carboplex + electrolytes)

GU Brew electrolyte tabs dissolved in water, all day (5 cals ea.)

Not bad - but, I think a bit of a deficit, overall.  In the last 20 miles I began to feel a bit of an energy drop off, but nothing nearly as dramatic as last month's mid-ride near-bonk.  The difference at previous rides; at each control that carries them I'd consume something from the Powerbar folks, and that may be the little extra to keep me on top.  On this excursion, the single hashbrown at Casey's represents the only real-food intake on the whole ride.  Adding the Powerbar selections (at least) back into the mix, even if I pocket them and eat them on the move (as I did the PB crackers), should help.  I did well in the hydration department - maybe too well - requiring far more roadside nature breaks than I'd prefer and some sections of extended discomfort where roadside nature-break "shelters" didn't present themselves.

We pick up the action at sunrise, on US-69 highway's wide shoulder.  Warm air dances around my head as we three, spaced a little bit apart from one another, make our way to the first control at La Cygne.  We've been lucky, timing the traffic for schools and those headed to work rather well.  Finally, off the big highway, we regroup and chat for a bit while taking in a few snacks.  There were nice occasional breaks like this off-and-on during the ride, and I liked it - compared to a few years back, I enjoy having time in the bank.  On Jingo Road, the dog-festival began;  first it was the 399th street crew, then more action from a big black Labra-Doodle a mile later.  I kept to my small-ring theory, letting them (hopefully) run themselves out of gas before my counterparts arrived - at this point I think we still maintained spacing at about 1/4-1/8th mile between us, before finally regrouping where K-152 and Jingo Road meet.

We stopped here briefly for another regroup and a nature break atop the "Welcome to La Cygne" ridge.  What a view!  Then came the long downhill into the La Cygne valley - always a treat - and the first control.  I decided this time out to skip the usual cheesy potato bites, recalling sluggishness during climbing on my last trip to Pleasanton - the result, combined with my spin drills, seemed to level-out the climbs before me.  Not record-breaking speed, but easier somehow; even Flathead Pass felt controlled and steady, instead of the usual method of trying to figure out how much I can give before inevitably collapsing into the saddle at the summit.  I'm told the real trick involves continuing this kind of training until I can successfully feel the same level of control and ease, but in larger gears.

More dog encounters for the return leg, but more smiles than frowns.  With such weather, a few dog chases can't possibly get me down.  At this point I've shed some layers; the warmth of the day continues to build.  Eventually, I'd be in short sleeves with uncovered ears and fingers...in February!  Amazing...and far from wishful thinking - at times I found myself genuinely HOT rolling northbound with a tailwind and full sunshine on my back.  Complaints?  No way!  After another unplanned nature stop, we fly north on the shoulder of US-69 towards Rutlader, KS., slowing ticking off the miles towards the finish.  I find myself wishing I'd booked a 300km permanent only to have the extra time to soak it all in.  Sure, days like these will become the norm in only a few more weeks, but, to ENJOY the February permanent?  Bliss!

All-in-all the rest of the ride proceeded very well.  We slipped out of Louisburg (usually busy with traffic in the afternoon) without issue, enjoyed the scenery as we practically coasted through Aubry, tailwind increasing, and on to Stilwell.  After another brief rest at 199th near US-69, only 10 miles remained.  I was almost sad for the ride to be wrapping up, but thicker clouds began to cast over the skies - the promise of Friday's rainy forecast beginning to show its dreary face.  Still, keeping up the spin -- and, admittedly, feeling tired (calories, or all those extra revs?) -- we geared down, enjoyed the high-speed blast down Antioch Hill, and slowly ticked off the remaining miles on the ample shoulder of 175th street.  Finally back in Olathe, the 7-Eleven quickly came back into sight; a celebratory chocolate milk recovery drink wrapped up the day's c-store fare.  Not a bad way to end...

Equipment note: 

Upon finishing the January Princeton Roundabout route for last month's R-12 grab, I'd begun to notice a new "knock" or "thunk", timed with each wheel revolution, when braking the rear wheel.  Still dead-true as always, even after 2-years use (thanks to the skill of Dale at BikeSource, who builds a terrific wheel), I couldn't quite figure out what the noise was all about.  A sticker?  Wheel seam?  Looking closer, days later and after more mileage from a few commutes, I discovered a crack in the side of the rim on the braking surface.  After just these couple years, and as a byproduct of simply using the brakes, the machined braking surface had worn thin and had started to separate; tire pressure then caused a 2" long section to begin bending outward, causing the once-per-rotation "thunk".  Uh-oh...

Knowing I'd be putting myself and others at risk by continuing to use the wheel, especially on a 217km ride, I worked quickly in the days leading up to this ride to procure a spare, and ended up purchasing a Mavic Aksium.  My preference, of course, would have been a rando-specific wheel similar to what I'd been running, but time was too short to make it happen.  Since my garage was without a spare rear wheel anyways, the Aksium simply fills that role now... or does it?  Several folks I know have run or are running these "entry-level" pre-built "race" wheels on rando-bikes and commuter-bikes alike and have had terrific luck, so the choice was easy.  After this ride, I'm having a hard time justifying the purchase of a "rando-style" (32-spoke, 3-cross laced, silver box-section rim, mid-range road cassette hub) to replace what failed.  The Aksium rolls fast and smooth and is no heavier or lighter than what it replaced.  The freehub noise rates a bit louder than I prefer, but not annoyingly so, yet, aside from that mechanical observation -- remedied easily with a drop of oil on each pawl -- aesthetics comprise the only remaining criticism.

So, spare???  A wheel this good?  We'll see.... I do prefer a certain look to my bikes, but I'm having trouble faulting this wheel simply because it doesn't look "retro".  Functionally, it represents a terrific value, and may be on the bike for a while.  Hard to ignore the lack of spokes, however; the Aksium has 20, and my preferred set-up has 32 - ride quality, field serviceability are potential concerns:  but, in the same breath I've replaced a spoke on a Mavic Ksyrium before using a FiberFix spoke, and managed to finish that ride - so, should I be concerned?  We'll see.

March is coming.... along with it, spring...  and nothing but good thoughts fill my head.  Stay tuned!  Number 9 is next!!

The rest of February involves contiuation of spinning, patience, and "taking it easy"... if I ride very much at all, that is....I think this method will prove best towards guarantee a good springtime campaign.

Stay tuned!

Songs in my head:

In the Waiting Line - Zero7

Dance Yrself Clean - LCD Soundsystem

Dusty Road - Oi Va Voi

Scarlet Begonias - Sublime (cover)

If You Could Read My Mind - Gordon Lightfoot

Eddie's Ragga - Spoon

Thanks for reading!

Check out Randy's superb post (with photos!) here

February 200k completed...I think?

I mean to say, I THINK today falls in the month of February!  Along with Randy R., and Terry B. from St. Joseph, MO., I completed today's 217km Border Patrol route (my 12th personal running of this route, upon counting - yikes) in the best conditions I could have hoped for, considering the month.  We started out under clear skies, light breezes, and 41ºF on the thermometer.  Diving in and out of valleys, the temperature did fluctuate - but, all-in-all it was very warm, even pre-dawn.  Up came the sun, and up shot the temps - eventually topping somewhere in the lower-60's.  Acclimated to colder riding from the last few months, I heated up quickly, and ended the day with only knee warmers remaining in place... and in the end I wish I'd ditched THEM, too.

Short sleeves in February, in KANSAS????  Un-real!!!!!  LOVE IT!  More to come... time for food and rest.... 

R-12 update:  this marks #8.... four to go!!!

I hope everyone managed to get out today and enjoy this amazing weather!

Full post to come!

Bicycle Dreams comes to KC, Feb. 18th

"Bicycle Dreams, the award-winning feature-length documentary about the Race Across America (RAAM), will premiere in Kansas City at the Screenland Crossroads Theatre on Saturday, February 18 at 7 p.m.

The screening is sponsored as a benefit for BikeWalkKC.

"To capture the mammoth scope of the race, Stephen Auerbach, the director and producer of Bicycle Dreams, worked around the clock with a complement of eighteen cameras. Embedded camera operators traveled inside the racers' support crew vehicles, gaining unprecedented access to the cyclists and their teams. Their footage captured emotional and physical breakdowns, late-night strategy sessions, and great moments of personal triumph, all in intimate detail. Auerbach then took on the enormous task of editing hundreds of hours of material and forming it into a powerful and inspiring look inside the most difficult race on the planet."

"Bicycle Dreams has won major awards at the Fallbrook and Breckenridge film festivals, as well as the Yosemite, Grand Rapids, Red Rock and All Sports LA film festivals, among many others.  Critical acclaim for the film continues to pour in from all sources."

Tickets will be $10 in advance and $15 at the door the night of the show. To purchase advance tickets, order online at www.imathlete.com/events/bicycledreams.

For more information about the event, go to www.bikewalkkc.org.

For more information on the film, go to www.bicycledreamsmovie.com or visit us on Facebook here for more info on the KC event

Media contact: Garry Harrington  603-209-5010  gharrington3165@hotmail.com

Most of the above comes directly from the press release announcing this event, however, I wanted to interject my own observations here, as well.  If you have ever thrown a leg over a bicycle for any length of road or trail, I highly recommend viewing this film.  Little else captures the drama, excitement, and struggle of RAAM so perfectly as Bicycle Dreams.  I've owned the DVD for a while now, and I reference it for motivation and inspiration whenever the mood strikes; and it never fails to deliver.

In June 2003, I stood on the shoulder of US-54 and watched several RAAM competitors ride past - including local hero Bryon Rieper, crewed by the Warbird (at the wheel of the follow-van at the time).  Though each encounter with the riders lasted only seconds, the high emotions I felt found me physically jumping up and down, clapping and shouting encouragement like a rabid European fan on an Alpine pass.  Realizing the significance of where I was standing, just outside Iola, KS., was equally awe-inspiring, and can be described in one word:  "halfway."  Watching Bicycle Dreams encapsulates those same feelings and spreads them over 104 minutes.

Get a sitter, take a significant cycling-other, and grab this rare opportunity to view this masterwork on the big screen.

Head games

I stumbled upon another interesting tip while reading a popular ultra-distance blog, involving music, which I might try later this spring.  Like the author of that piece (I'll link later), I often find myself with music drifting into and out-of my head in the middle of riding the odd 200km brevet, yet I'm hesitant to ride with headphones.  The songs just pop into my head, and I've been okay with that.  I've cataloged a great deal of these songs in the footnotes of most of my ride posts, as sometimes they subtly speak to my state of mind for that particular venture - but it never occurred to me to put them all into a single playlist.  Now, for commutes and training rides it's still very doubtful that I'd use headphones.. even a single earbud.  Traffic and such - in town - not a good idea in my book, though I'm sure a lot of folks do it every day and don't end up a statistic.  However, when distances extend beyond 300km, later this spring - in those darker times when my mind is looking for ways to no longer participate in the task at hand -  maybe it's advantageous to have those tunes that would pop into my head in better times ready to go?  Maybe it'd be a clever trick to get through those tougher overnight hours, or when emotions run south for an hour here or there after fatigue sets in.  Hard to tell -- but an iPod shuffle takes up very little space, after all.  While I think this is definitely a terrific plan for the PA system strapped to the front of the RAAM support vehicle, off in some distant future, time will tell if I join the earbud-club on the next 600k.  Still on the fence.  However, personal squeamishness aside, I suppose it is indeed one more item for the mental toolkit towards randonneuring success... just to be used with a grain of caution, of course.

Carry on!

Post-script:  Reviewing my personal playlist, I struggled with omitting certain songs and came up with a way to get around the hesitation to include them:  if you're as musucally ecclectic as I profess to be, it's often very confusing as to WHY certain songs (that, in popular company, I'd probably admit to "hating") pop into my head while on long rides.  I've found it best not to limit yourself here.  Add it to the playlist.  It's a very special place that randonneuring takes your mind - hours in the saddle, mindless pedalling, endorphins, nutritional peaks and valleys, and mental wandering...and of the thousands of songs I've listened to and called "favorite", it's weird what actually ends up repeating in my brain sometimes.  Upon logging post-ride notes it's often the reaction of, "why was it THAT song???"

It may be your subconscious' way of telling you that you really DON'T "hate that song".  Perhaps there's a certain rhythm, a chord change, a specific lyric that is relevant... and you have to "suffer" through the first half of it to get there.  'Come into my Life' by Robert Plant comes to mind... where my first instinct is to skip the track, but six minutes later I remember why I love it.  Let it happen, don't hesitate to include it - even if in certain circles you'd be ridiculed for it.  There is no shame in music.  Coming from a childhood upbringing that included ABBA to Zappa and quite literally dang-near everything in between, there is little reason for me to enjoy listening to overplayed Top40 tripe like Katy Perry or Breathe Carolina ... but I do anyways.  I have no wonders about HOW my tastes got so varied to begin with - I'm very glad they are:  thanks, Mom & Dad.  When it doubt, just go with it.

If you employ the above method of reverting to an earbud during hour 21 of a 600km epic, and "that song you hate" comes on, you will grumble, you will laugh, and then you will sing along.... but, most importantly, you won't be giving a moments thought to the saddle sores and aching legs you were trying to forget in the first place.

A call to action - yes, even here.

I won't spend a lot of time on this - we'll return to regular programming with the very next post.

However, I think this deserves the space. 

 

I urge all of you to take action on any of the myriad sites  that offer petitions or conduits to contact congress and the house on the PIPA / SOPA issue.

Do it today, sign a petition.

Call your local representative.

Email them.

Do something, though, if you feel strongly about this - for OR against.

 

 Visit this site, today.

 

Thank you.

Dodging the bullet

Record warmth for January, it seems -- if only on average... it's been unseasonably warm for weeks at a time now, with only a single, minor snow event since the year began.  I was a "good boy" and rolled the dice on a permanent date that was well outside the view of weather forecasts and then held my fingers crossed for three weeks.  Amazingly, though it was chillier than I'd have liked, we pulled it off.  In the 48 hours leading up to the ride start the temperature went from nearly 60 degrees, down into the teens, snow, finally rebounding back up into the 40's.  Talk about dodging the bullet.  As I sit to write out some scattered notes from the road, it has already been back in the 60's again.  A very weird January for Kansas.

It was neat and appropriate, however, seeing just a tiny bit of snow here and there on the roadsides as we made our way out of night's darkness and into a fresh mid-winter morning.  You may notice the "we"... and not the royal version this time:  I was not alone.  Another weird experience for January!  Taking advantage of the relatively warmer climes, I was host to four other riders on this voyage - a rare treat.  Alex S., Gary McD, Terry B. came out to share the experience, along with Randy R. whom we bumped into in Ottawa while out for a day of exploring on his old steel steed.  While I've attended a couple of group rides here and there over the fall months, including a great ride out to the Louisburg Cider Mill for New Year's Eve, I hadn't enjoyed company on a long ride since July.  Although, I have to say my brain certainly isn't used to having company... I still caught myself staring off at the road and keeping my thoughts largely to myself, instead of striking up conversations - however, as cycling goes I think everyone follows roughly the same playbook:  there isn't a tentative feeling of needing to fill the void with words "just because".  Sometimes just having another person on a bike next to you is plenty, and I think everyone "gets it".  I like that, even though it's taken me a while to get there myself without feeling like I'm being rude.

The whole ride was almost for naught.  A sharp pair of eyes caught the fact that the first controls register computer was off by about 16 minutes, producing our first receipt with a time-stamp of 6:47am... something that, while explainable and possibly verifiable later, would have effectively rendered our permanent ride 'void' on paper.  No jumping the gun in randonneuring!  Instead, we hung out, chatted, and this gave a little amount of time to run back to the cars and drop off a few layers - as the temperature was 12 degrees warmer than forecast!  Things have a way of working out - and though we knew we were "wasting time", we waited, got a good receipt, and rolled off into the morning air together.  This is precisely what the 1-hour first control buffer is for, I suppose.  While part of me was anxious that we were already "behind", I also knew that stiff winds and hills awaited - and there was really no reason to be in a hurry.

Wild temperature swings and anomalously warm spells in winter usually mean "wind", and that was certainly the case.  We'd be battling the wind heading west for most of the first half of the ride - but the breaks from it resulted in unexpected tailwind triumphs on the southbound sections.  We made our way past Shawnee Mission Park, up and down sweeping hills over some terrific scenery, which is normally obscured by darkness because of earlier start times.  Today, the sunrise wasn't far behind our departure - another tidbit my brain wasn't used to.  I suppose I've had my fair share of night-time training over the last few months - Back in November I didn't see the sun until I was 50 miles deep.  This time out, we barely needed to have our taillights on for 30 minutes.  Not bad.  What was better was being able to see what was normally hidden on this route - the Princeton Roundabout.  It skirts western Shawnee, KS., heads out towards Desoto, Clearview City and the old Sunflower Army Ammunition Plant and its signature quadruple watertowers, dances with state route 10 here and there (in places I think we are actually on the old highway alignment), and out to Eudora for the first control.

The Cedar Creek section is especially mystical:  we dive down into a valley that contains several small branches of the Kansas River, and the resulting terrain is otherworldly compared to the usual vast fields and cropland west of the KC metro.  Huddled in the shadow of huge outcroppings and deep into patches of forest, the creeks rippling along nearby, its easy to let myself get transported off to rural places I've only imagined of.  Rustic houses, dilapidated barns scattered about, the road twisting and turning - following the river instead of the grid - long morning shadows creating an interplay of flashing sunshine between bare-branched trees, foraging animals scurrying about, birds at play... and a few cyclists silently taking it all in, gradually exiting the area in timeless elegance across an old truss bridge.  Picture postcard mastery.

Sidebar:  even if you have to drive there to see it, go see that bridge before it is gone.  The county has been holding true to a long-standing 50-year bridge replacement plan for the entire area, and the last decade has seen many of these cool, character-rich bridges replaced with soulless, modern concrete decks.  The Norman Rockwell-esqe images of rural America are beginning to fade into obscurity as civil engineering firms rush to rehabilitate crumbling infrastructure.  Coming across one of these bridges on a long bike ride is one of the things that make long distance cycling worthwhile - and they are becoming increasingly rare.  This bridge (link above) is literally one of the last ones open to traffic in Johnson County.  If you are planning a bike ride of any length, the Bridgehunter website is an excellent way to find these unique structures and include them in your route plan.

We rejoin our riders emerging from Eudora refueled and ready for the next stage.  The sun is getting higher in the sky, and the wind is finally favorable.  Alex, ever the strong rider, is opening a big gap with the strong tailwind - and before long he's WAY up the road.  Spurred on by having a target up the road I can't help but push my own pace to the limits - and, foolishly riding outside myself, I am eating up the road with a smile.  Along with spirited climbing over the hills leading out of the Cedar Creek valley, I am beginning to cut into my reserves far to early... typical, and at the time I don't even realize my mounting mistakes.  While there is one thing to be said for training by chasing stronger riders, my brain is excited about riding with others too much to care about the consequences.

I burn a fair amount of reserves, and don't take in nearly enough calories for the return to a westerly direction at Douglas County highway 460, where the wind returns with a mighty slap to the face.  Pace is reduced to a crawl, and at times its a lot to ask to even maintain double-digit speeds.  Nuts.  Absolutely nothing to block the gale out here.  Head down, I start to shove out the pace.  Vinland arrives, and I take a moment to take in the old church and some of the stone foundation buildings before turning south again to enjoy the tailwind... which, "strangely", this time isn't as enjoyable.  Not as much push remaining... wonder why THAT is? (ha)  Alas, I still have some climbing left in the legs for the grunter of Baldwin Pass that awaits.  I manage to make a good personal showing up the climb - possibly the best and most controlled I've ever climbed the beast, keeping breathing and cadence in check... so, while I still have something to learn in the mental control department when it comes to riding with other people, I'm pleased with how things have progressed over the months.

Baldwin City, and control #2.  The group comes together again within minutes, and we all do our control routines and mount back up for the next leg.  Thankfully, we're still to be heading south for many miles to come, so the NW wind will be our friend for a few hours more.  Whew... Even while I stuffed another Powerbar Harvest into my gut, it wasn't enough by a longshot.  The tailwind would continue to provide the illusion of energy, despite the protest from my gut.  Poor food choices the evening before had also caught up, but I was focused ... get to the halfway, and things will improve.

Alex, Terry and Gary were pictures of pacing and control, while I yo-yo'd a bit here and there on Ohio and Tennessee roads before finally arriving at K-68 for the final push west into the increasingly strong cross/headwind.

Ottawa, and the welcome sight of the Casey's there - where Alex and I stop for resupply and restroom.  Surprise, there's Randy R., out for a day's ride, and we welcome him to tag along for a bit.  While I was quick to complain about the temperatures, I had to remind myself that they were still above normal (!), and everyone was out riding today - so, the more the merrier!  Always a treat to stumble upon someone that happens to be headed the same way you are.  We mount back up and head towards the next control at Princeton, KS. a few miles south.  While this section is also a major highway corridor, the shoulder is nice and wide with well-made and thoughtful rumble strips.  Much better... and still a slight tailwind to help.  I remember this section from doing the route in July, and the fact that it trends uphill almost the entire way to Princeton.  With Alex still fresh and fueled, and me still trying to stay latched to his wheel, I begin to burn through the rest of my reserves - and find myself seldom reaching to the back pockets to put the energy back.  Uh-oh...

We reach Princeton to find Terry and Gary (thanks again to the local Ottawa resident that indicated he'd seen cyclists dressed like us heading south, which prompted our departure from the Casey's) hanging out and taking a much-deserved rest.  At this point, I'm a little dazed.  I take a full four laps of the c-store and for some reason I can't find ANYTHING that looks appetizing - even though I need food.  The mild hassle of being a vegetarian jumps up to bite me, as the pizza smells really good -- but it's all with meat.  Gads... I finally default to just grabbing something random and buying it, just to keep moving.  While the rest of the group has been smart, and has stayed consistent, my follies have caught up.  I'm supposed to be the experienced one here, yet the fun of trying to catch Alex and waging personal war on the headwinds has put me into rookie-mistake land.  Nobody's fault but my own, the only thing to do is try and rebuild.  While the mental toughness training that comes from riding 200k after 200k alone, there is still a need to remind myself that personal pacing is of the utmost importance when I get with a group.  Even when he's slow, Alex is fast... and me trying to work on speed in January is foolish, yet, there I was.

In a daze I made a few decisions about clothing, packed a layer onto the rear rack, and made my way back out onto the road.  Gary and Terry had left a dozen minutes or so earlier, on the notion that we'd catch them up, and Alex left a little bit after them.  It was me and Randy now, and more importantly it was me beginning to admit that I had a problem.  My pace began to slip, then my mind... I announced my condition, and shortly after was unable to maintain my speed.  John Brown highway spread out before me, there was a slight tailwind... but, there was nothing in the legs but lead.  I allowed myself to be upset about it for a couple minutes, then proceeded to engage on-the-road-recovery-plan Alpha.  Watch the clock... this will only last fifteen minutes:  drink every five... and start eating.  You have back-pockets full of rations, and you haven't touched hardly any!!!  Get to it... but be careful. I start to slowly feed the giant hole growing in my gut... The last fig newton from the START... and Hammer stuff... every few minutes, just chew and swallow.  I watch patiently as Randy advances up the road... then, on the horizon I see yellow safety vests... and it feels like I'll never reach them.  Patience...   five minutes pass, then ten... a hill... a water tower... Texas Road... a 4-way stop... five more minutes... more food... drink... and the push slowly returns.  The problem with this is that there is no resting now:  having pushed to the brink, I will spend the rest of the ride putting calories in nearly as fast as my body uses them.  My stomach growls furiously as soon as I'm finished swallowing the last bite of whatever is in my mouth... and so it will be for the last half of the ride.

As hard as it is to recover from a near-bonk ON the bike, it is possible... but the key is not getting there in the first place.  Keeping in mind that it's far better to keep moving slow than not to move at all, my cadence is in the gutter and my muscles are paying the price - but, I'm moving down the road.  Chin up.... finally, even though it was only minutes, I begin to reel the group back in - and eventually we're all together again, just inside the Osawatomie city limits.

We stop together at the Casey's there, refuel and rest a bit - and the mental recovery for me still isn't quite complete:  with all the rushing around for food and restroom, I forget to refill my bottles before leaving the c-store.  Thankfully, I'd end up having enough to make it to Paola and the next control, but literally to the last sip.  Ugh.  "Get it together, 'dude!", I scold myself.  I feel better leaving Osawatomie than I had leaving Princeton - but not quite 100%.  I pull the group out of town, over a group of cool bridges over various creeks and rivers - startling a deer with my loose rendition of some random Elvis tunes that make it past my lips, as my mood recovers.  The pace isn't epic - but it's all I've got.  Not even a train flyby to cheer me up today... but, I'm still with a group, and it's a great feeling - and turning into a great day.  The harrowing feeling of turning north into a waiting headwind for the entire last leg of the ride is held at arms length... the wind, quietly to myself, isn't THAT bad... the sun is out, there are birds heard nearby, and though content to leave nearly everything on despite the warmer temps, I still unzip a little as we turn from north to east in direction.

The group breaks up a little again as my legs remind me that we're not fully "back" yet - but no matter... even the horn of a local attempting to remind us who's road this was (right) can't get me down, but I'm already dreaming of the next stopping point.  We make Paola and the next Casey's in good time - refuel, refill bottles (!), and check in.  Old KC Road is checked off, and Alex's consistency shows as he and Randy enjoy the day in full stride -- strong riders, both.  I, learning my lesson, maintain a sustainable pace and take in the scenery, chat a bit with Gary, and we eventually sorta spread out into our own little realms as we clear Hillsdale and advance towards Spring Hill.  I lose track of Randy, as he peels off for home somewhere in here, and Alex and I regroup at the Casey's store at the north end of town.

Another quick refuel here, and discussions about my condition.  Alex is a class act... a super strong rider, content to hammer it out at the front, he encourages me, gives a few pointers to which I am always open (be not fooled:  whether it's your 120th brevet, or 4th, there is always something to learn - always listen).  Cycling 101... and it's something I perhaps needed to hear:  keeping my cadence up.  Part of my riding style falls back to my days of riding fixed gear - my natural cadence is probably somewhere in the 60-70 range... and that, combined with my caloric shortcomings, was resulting in fatigue and inability to push.  Had I actually been ON a fixed gear today, I might have suffered more... who knows... but now, to get "back in the game" and finish strong, I needed to rev it up a little.  Long story short, it worked.  Despite Alex's promise to finish together, no matter my condition, my refueling and conscious effort to keep the cadence higher resulted in him not having to worry about slowing down and waiting for me.

The last 20 miles were stellar for me, considering.  Alex could have, at any time I'm sure, jumped off the front and finished more quickly -- but he stayed with me.  I adopted a plan to continue through the rest of my rations and put them IN my body instead of carrying them around in my pockets.  I drank every 5 minutes, ate every 15... and combined with the cadence drills, I managed to stay with Alex and not limp along like I might have had I been solo... and, to boot, we managed to work our way through Olathe and then into Shawnee, finally catching sight of Gary and Terry up the road on Renner Blvd.  It looked like we might all finish as a group after all!  Maybe there's something to this whole "90-100 RPM bologna", I thought to myself... (doy, science has proven this is where cyclists are most efficient, yet I still fall into the gear-masher camp more often than not).  Post-ride.... surprise, surprise, my joints aren't as sore, and I don't feel destroyed.  Hmm.  Interesting.  Thanks, Alex, for reminding me of this basic endurance cycling tip, and helping keep me motivated.  A true class act, even as I suggested back on Ridgeview Road "if you happen to get up the road away from me....", he interrupts... "no, no, we finish together..." - and so we did.

We caught up to Gary near 95th Street on Renner, just short of making the green light that Terry advanced up the road through, and stayed roughly together through the carnival of roundabouts prior to 87th Street, to finally stop there at a red light and witness a terrific sunset in the making over our left shoulders.  Not bad at all... with the trials of the wind, and my personal issues, to finish as a group, on a winter ride, without freezing to death, and without hardly needing to worry about turning the lights on at the end... not a bad showing at all!  Figuring in the delay at the first control due to the clock being off, we nearly completed the thing inside ten hours - which is great!  Whether it had taken hours more, I don't care... because I finished it with friends, on what had turned out to be a great day.  Mixed feelings that I might have about the mid-ride challenges aside, all in all - a success for January, and learned a few things about myself ... even if the group-ride-forget-everything factor that jumps up on me occasionally is something you'd think I'd have squared away by now.  Proof that there is indeed always something to learn, even if it's RE-learning.  We all dodged a bullet, weather-wise... and I was lucky enough to have a strong rider like Alex nearby when I needed him, dodging a personal bullet.  I probably would have still finished, but it wouldn't have been with style and resulting smile, that's for sure.

Many thanks to Alex, Gary, Terry and Randy for sharing the ride!

Songs in my head:

There weren't many today... but, interestingly they were loudest when my stomach and ability to push were lowest:

Adele - Someone Like You  <- popular radio tripe, perhaps - but this girl can sing, don't care who you are. 

Ramblin' Man - Allman Brothers  <- the foundry of the modern jam-band, nobody jams and runs riffs like these guys, IMHO.

The Big Bang Theory - The Bare-Naked Ladies <-- after watching a DVR marathon of this show, it doesn't take long for the theme song to take hold... and I honestly, in my own little geeky way, can't think of someplace I'd rather find myself than at Comic-Con '10 when this happened.  As a BNL fan and a BBT fan, how freakin' cool would this have been???

I know there were others... but they were lost somehow between then and now... 

So, that's all folks!

See you in February!