A 200km Tale: Flirting with Disaster ... again ... and Lessons for Long-Distance Cycling's New Landscape.

  More than a photo dump from a recent big ride, this post hopefully serves as a personal list of do's and don'ts for any of my future events in this "new world" we live in these days.  Little doubt exists that ... sigh, do I HAVE to type it out? ... COVID-19 has changed everything, quite literally.  I do not think any aspect of our lives have remained unaffected by this pandemic.  Long-distance cycling is no different.  

No matter how many times we have said across myriad long-distance webpages, and randonneuring-speak in general, the descriptive phrase "long-distance self-supported bicycling" has never really resonated until very recently for me.  Granted, resupplying oneself at a c-store in "the old world" was still considered self-support: the phrase originates from the idea that, unlike professional cycling, you cannot have a support car following along or handing things up to you while riding.  You're largely on your own, and in this sense perhaps randonneurs were already good at this sort of behavior.  It simply is and has been "what we do."  

However, the concept of removing the c-stores, usually spaced every 50km at a minimum for most routes, has changed quite a bit of the tone of "self-supported."  Like a long-distance tourist, perhaps akin to those brave souls that pack up for a multi-day epic across Asia, it has become paramount to change how we approach randonneuring.

I do not want to get on record as saying that traditional, pre-COVID-19 randonneuring was "easy," because the distances are still daunting, even with regular control breaks.  By comparison, however, yeah .... I suddenly miss being able to stop at a c-store, with nary a care in the world, pull up some sidewalk with a bunch of fresh water and food.  

Granted, I suppose this new behavior varies depending on regional realities and personal preference.  The c-stores are still there, many still open and serving their local customers - with lots of changes in place, of course.  For me, however, living in a densely-populated (by contrast) area, I still do not feel comfortable intermingling with smaller communities who should not have to worry about who I am, where I came from, what I might be carrying (even though I know that I am, more than likely, not carrying anything), as well as the risks of me entering unfamiliar areas close to highways which may be exposed to travelers from who-knows-where.  

There is little need to belabor everything we already know ... no need for reiteration.  

Maybe 20 years from now, someone reading this might need some context, but the rest of the internet might suffice in filling that need.  We ALL know what's going on today, in the early part of 2020.  

So, how does an aspiring long-distance cyclist cope? 

We add the ability to carry the only things we really need to keep moving: 

Food and water.   

I like local, but when I can't get it my notion of "local" simply expands a little bit.  Long considered the best and strongest bottle cages money can buy, King Cage in Durango, CO, USA is the best way to add more water-carrying capacity.  These "drop cages" slide the standard 63mm mounting points up an inch, which can allow for larger bottles in the frame, or to better fit bottles under an under-top-tube frame bag.  In this case, they help get my bottles in the right place on what I will call a "weird" fork ... with bizarre, non-standard braze-on locations.  At the bottom, I used a longer bolt to go through the cage, a washer, the fender stays, another washer, and into the fork.... which, I know, trust me:  I cringe when I read that last part out loud.  I prefer and strongly recommend ONE fastener for ONE thing for each ONE braze-on... but, like I said, this is a weird fork.  The top mount is held in place using a King Cage bolt-clamp, basically a really good quality hose clamp with a M5 stud tacked to it, all stainless, super-strong.  The included washer and nylon lock-nut cinches everything down nicely.  Repeat on both sides of the fork, and - boom - two extra bottles.

The unique challenges of a weird fork with canti brakes caused a bit of a faf, but once complete I can carry double the water and extend my radius ... and avoid needing to stop anywhere.  I envy those with "real" triple-bolt forks and disc brakes right now, but, this'll do nicely.  After 130 miles on some questionable pavement and rail trail, the cages didn't move a millimeter.

The King Cages are really good, and I had little doubt about their ability - but, a full water bottle mounted in a non-standard location creates extra loads and forces in odd directions:  so, to be on the safe side and help protect the cages and keep the extra water in check, a couple Voile straps around the fork leg and the bottle's neck ensure nothing wobbles about or rockets loose while riding along.  Looking downright Bike-Packer-ish here!  What you don't see are the 2L of water inside the Carradice saddlebag and one more 21 oz. insulated bottle for my center back jersey pocket, two flasks of Hammer Gel and four Honey Stinger waffles.  That last piece, the food, yes.... part of my personal notes, that is not NEARLY enough food  or water for what I was about to undertake.  I figured that out at mile 87, big-time.

Food and water,

... food and water.

  As much as I DID carry, it ultimately ended up not being enough.  Drama suspended, if I had just two more water bottles, one extra liter, the last part of the ride would have gone far better.

Some quick notes (as quick as the 'dude gets to ANY point, ever):

ALWAYS take more than you think you need.  

When a respected ultra-cyclist and multiple DK finisher (including DKXL) says "take the Camelbak," no matter how much you don't want that stupid thing on your back.... TAKE THE FREAKIN' CAMELBAK.  If you still don't want to, then wait until the next weekend when the other two bottle cages arrive for the rear rack, and then go.

Once said of firewood for a Canadian winter: chop what you think you need, then double it.  You don't want to find out you were wrong in early February.  That mistake could kill you.

There is a saying that you should do things that scare you a little bit.  This is good for you.
BUT, you should absolutely control your own destiny and guarantee yourself some success.  The part that scares you should never, ever be your logistical ability to complete the event. 
Either carry enough stuff, or don't go. 

The positive aspects of carrying a LOT of extra stuff enabled me to pick a route that would likely never fly as a RUSA event.  Almost no way to control it, passing absolutely no services of any kind, and no way to get the traditional brevet card signed.  As a straight out and back, there's no way to shortcut it - but short of a GPS track there is scant little way to prove you actually rode it.  Well, save for the receipts one might get had they been smart enough to stop somewhere to re-supply.

This all makes for good training:  riding a fully-laden bike loaded with 9 bottles of water, that bike normally meant for gravel rides, and one that's a bit heavy and slow on pavement on a good day ... yeah, that's good training.  Adding in 40 miles of rail-trail, well, there's no way around it:  it's slow going, and even if it's fast going it surely takes more energy for the same speed compared to even traditional gravel.  That pea-gravel just sucks the speed out of anyone - I swear regular gravel roads are faster.  Add in a consistent headwind for the first half, and that it was the hottest day of the year so-far in 2020, and that I had not ridden a single 200-km ride in over a year (Feb. 2019), and had only ridden two 100km rides this year, one in March, one in April, both paved ... well, I should have been a little more prepared.  

Food.  I'm not sure why I thought just four Honey Stinger waffles and two flasks of Hammer Gel (one serving per hour for 10 hours) would be enough food.  I had plenty of normal food at home I could have packed... but for some dumb reason, I just didn't.  

The Hammer Gel is always around for my long rides, but just as "top-off" fuel.  It was always used on the assumption that I was stopping at c-stores and buying as much real food as I could stuff down, like Casey's pizza, potato chips, the occasional Snickers or Mounds bars, or fast-food fare ... and for this ride it apparently did not cross my mind that those four Honey Stinger waffles would not nearly fill the gap of c-store food I would normally enjoy every 20-30 miles or so.  A massive, gigantic calorie hole was waiting for me... and in typical fashion, one falls into that hole suddenly and dramatically.

Yeah, do not jump any fences around here.

The Rock Island Spur Trail, which currently runs from Pleasant Hill, MO. out to its intersection with the KATY Trail in Windsor, MO.  The surface is great.... for a rail trail ... and with the headwind and rolling-resistance-sapping surface, well... I'd burn a lot of energy in this middle 40-mile section out to Chilhowee, MO.  In retrospect, I should have pushed an additional 10 miles to Leeton, MO., and hit the Casey's there for a complete refill of water, and the purchase of a lot more food.  Instead, keen on remaining contact-free, I opted to ration my supplies and turn around at Chilhowee for an even 200km day.  Big mistake, considering I'd be forced to abandon my zero-contact plans later anyways, after bonking hard and running out of everything.  As counter-intuitive as it might have seemed at the time, the extra 20 miles out to Leeton and back would have netted a better overall ride later.

...But, it was absolutely worth it.  The rail trail system offers views of the countryside previously reserved only for the railroad employees, and some areas have been untouched since the railroad was cut through.  Really old, original blastings through limestone and ancient trestles, it is a trip one should definitely take.  But, yeah ... there are no services, at all.

Arriving at my new turn-around, and the regrets that would follow.  In my mind, at that time, I was being more sensible by not stopping anywhere.  Considering the time lost later on, and the physical toll, pushing to Leeton should have been the smarter option.  At this point in my ride, however, it felt good to have arrived somewhere, and that I could turn around and enjoy a tailwind.  There is a c-store in Chilhowee, yes.... as a big sign on the trail-side professed, but I was dead set on my zero-contact plan, personal safety, hydration, and caloric deficit be damned.  Instead of being sensible and making a quick stop at a store that likely held very few risks for me, I saw the need to refill as a personal weakness. "Quit being a complainer, and just pedal."  Stupid.

Legacy farmland far from anyone's eyes for decades until the rail-trail conversion was complete.

An old Rock Island / MO-Pac system switch and signaling cabinet at a long-forgotten at-grade crossing, on MO-131.  I remember seeing one of these alongside MO State Route O, on the Mighty Peculiar permanent route, and thinking that "someday" the rail-trail would be there, and I would ride to it a different way.  Mission accomplished.

Bikepacker-chic in appearance only ... still a lot to learn, for the rider.  Atop the East Lost Creek trestle, WAY above the trees and creek below.  100+ year old steel and rivets, apparently un-phased by decades of neglect, now proudly supporting traffic once more.

A smiling selfie, only 10 miles or so before the bottom would drop out.  This is my "I'm fine, having a blast" face.  Apparently I'm just a human, and can't really knock off 90 miles on 800 calories ... you'd think the 'Quarantine 15" might have kicked in at some point ... and really, I probably did burn quite a bit of fat, ultimately, but yeesh man EAT something.  It helps.  You're not Rob Kish ... who famously rode something silly like 800 miles on ONLY WATER.  Yeah, NOBODY is that dude, except for THAT dude.

MO State Route P and Funkhouser Road ... forever a personal memorial of how NOT to do a self-supported, supposedly zero-contact 200km ride.  After leaving the Rock Island Spur only 4 miles earlier, with a short rest and some texts home, my mental outlook had been fresh.  I was full of the excitement of a near guarantee of more speed from smooth tarmac, leaving the trail behind and having access to a tailwind.  Leaving the shade of the trail behind, however, and sitting atop fresh blacktop, maybe the sudden spike in heat was a factor as well.  Thankfully, some clouds rolled in to block the sun.

After 40 miles of rail-trail, I was excited to get back on pavement and "fly" home, with better rolling resistance and a persistent E, NE tailwind promised.  Only four miles later, however, the plug was pulled from the drain in dramatic fashion.  My caloric needs had been increasing over the past few hours, and I had not kept pace.  Rationing water all morning, as well, I had fallen into a deep hole.  Climbing a hill, the crest in the photo above, suddenly I felt a dramatic reduction in power.  I could not push any more, I began to feel nauseated, I suddenly began to sweat a LOT more, and felt a little dizzy.  

I was reminded of a MS-150 ride, years ago, where I had something similar happen ... feeling awesome, setting personal bests all the way, and then BANG:  I was in a porta-john, bidding farewell to everything in my gut, shivering from being completely dehydrated, and on the edge of passing out.  Today, it felt like history repeating, and the biggest bonk I've had on a ride in ages.

I stopped and dismounted, and just stared at the ground for a while, concentrating on breathing easily.  I decided, we're not passing out.  We're not going to throw up.  We're going to breathe, we're going to drink the water we have, and slowly eat something, and we're going to stand here and cool down until we feel better, because we are NOT going to the hospital.  No sir.  

It took time ... thirty minutes, who knows.  It would have been time lost to the sidewalk at a c-store in the "not so old" days, so, who knows why I had been so dead-set against not stopping, not resting, not giving in to the essentials.  I replayed images of myself getting refills and real food in Leeton, or even Chilhowee... no sense dwelling, your plans just changed, Jack.  

The closest pass to a town left on my route was Peculiar, MO., and the Casey's there.  Two miles off course, but now essential to me finishing what I'd started.  I knew people would see my GPS track hitting the c-store, and I was ashamed.  I knew that I had failed at my zero-contact plan, and I was upset.  I didn't want to do it.  I even called ahead to make sure it was okay with the store employees, almost hoping they'd tell me "no".  It was open, with all current rules and guidelines being observed.  Finally feeling human again, instead of on the edge of a cliff looking into the abyss -- but now with only enough water to make it to that Casey's, and not all the way home -- I headed out again, thankful.

Sometimes the best-laid plans require modification.  I got over it pretty quickly.
Flexibility is key when the chips are down, I suppose ... there will be critics, but none louder than me.

A reluctant left turn, then a right, and then the Casey's. 
Normally a brevet oasis, and a very welcome sight.  
Today... anxiety.  Dread.  

Three minutes.  A liter of water, a bottle of V8, and a packaged, employee-retrieved slice of cheese pizza.  A carefully distanced transaction.  A quick joke about a line from the movie Aliens, no receipt, and I'm out the door.  Barely touching anything, no-one else inside the store... I'm fine right?  Right?  This would repeat for hours after the visit, every time I had the urge to dab my nose with my glove... still today, as I type, I replay everything.

But, in the moment, REAL food... V8.... and precious water.  
One freakin' liter, man .... if you had just packed two more of those half-liter bottles in the saddle bag.  They probably would have fit fine.  Idiot.  Just a couple of PB&Js.  
So many notes for "next time", and an anxious 5 days to wait and see if I doomed myself and my family because of my stupidity.  

Ultimately, I have to let it go.  But these days, my impact on others is a point of concern, as well as the impact of poor planning.  This is the reason, perhaps, I should not have gone out.  For now, I can statistically hope for the best after visiting a store in a town with very few confirmed cases at all, in a scenario where almost no person-to-person contact took place, and certainly none within the recommended six feet.  

I am smarter for all of this.  If there is a next time, it will be vastly different, if not far shorter.

Perhaps I think too much ... 
After all, in these circumstances the statistics are on my side, but, I still have to consider my impact on others, myself, and ultimately my family.  It is not to be taken lightly, and clearly I do not.  In retrospect, I should have instead taken part in the shorter, more local, virtual Fleche that took place ... but, I knew I wouldn't have been able to get out as early as that ride had begun.  So many what-ifs ... so little time. 

I have to move on, mentally -- and on the ride in that moment.

Reflective vest on, ankle bands on, it was time to at least be clear of any heat-related issues, and enjoy some night riding on limp-mode.  

Even with the rush of calories and the worry of water removed, the bonk had taken its toll.  ANY hill of ANY gradient became a struggle, and my moving pace plummeted.  In some ways, this is the sort of ride I typify:  tenacious, not fast beyond a point, but I will simply limp it home if I have to.  We aren't breaking any records here.  

Considering this had been my first 200km ride in over a year, and with minimal training to ramp me up to this distance again, of course the speed was going to suffer.  This was simply "butt time," getting acclimated again, especially on this bike.  A capable as it is, it is not "fast" by any stretch, certainly not when compared to the bike I'd normally use to do these rides.  Thank goodness for tailwinds, and downhills.  At least I was moving.

I need to do some research on the massive farm which seems to straddle both sides of I-49, marked by signature stone columns across the roadway and various old, abandoned driveway entrances.  A family compound of some kind from a distant past, even having its own water tower, consistent visual evidence of the property repeats for miles and miles along 195th Street around Raymore, MO.

Lights ablaze, miles away from the bonk, at least we're moving again.
Thank goodness for generator lighting ... I had not planned on being out after dark, and once again what I tend to take for granted comes to the rescue.  Like extra food and water, the marginal weight and drag of a generator system is NEVER lamented.

The past is in the past.

(Sidenote:  The Bontrager Flare-R taillight really does burn for 12+ hours; despite what was just mentioned above about generator lighting, the addition of a day-time visible taillight and nighttime strobe helps identify my position and is probably more effective than a reflective vest, where the steady-burn generator taillight provides a consistent position indicator.  Together, this two-light system is just about perfect.)

I don't personally know if a zero-contact 200k is feasible unless I add another two bottle cages to the rear rack, or -- ahem -- actually take the advice and just wear the Camelbak.  In addition, maybe take along some ACTUAL food beyond just a few short-distance cycling nutrition items.  Cold pizza, PB&J ... if I can get more water ON the bike, and out of the saddlebag, then carrying more food will not be a problem.  I have seen others post "fan-blade" rides, like Audax KC has done with events like St. Joe Crank ... where an event like 1,000km is split into stages that all begin and end at a central hotel.  You can carry less, and you are back at one location for resupply at set points.  Using the home as a hub, I can simply head out for a few 30-mile out-n-backs in various directions, and I'm back at the "home control" for refills as needed.  Of course, that makes it hard to head back out ... something I've struggled with at past ultra events... it's almost better if I go WAY out with no choice but to make it back.  We shall see.

Still, all things that I might trial at the 100km distance before heading out to make more mistakes - especially considering that even hotter weather is ahead.  It's barely May, and if I'm having problems with hydration due to restrictive rationing NOW, then I definitely need to add at least two more bottles, if not four.  There is a company called Widefoot in Nebraska, where I have been looking at their triple-mount bottle cage that holds a full Nalgene-style liter of water, and the even bigger Nalgene 48 oz. silo of water.  Fashioning two of those to the rear rack, with cages or simply with Voile straps, held like panniers, would supply more than enough reserve.  Lots to consider.  Though it does add extra weight, over time I will get used to it ... and the extra weight means diddly if I'm bonking and fighting heat exhaustion because I don't feel like I can drink at-will for fear of running out.  It's the same as the generator lights and fenders ... the extra weight of the water is quickly forgotten in times when it is desperately needed.  Just carry enough, and enjoy.

We can still enjoy long-distance riding, yes, and ultimately I did enjoy this ride. 
With time, especially with the confirmation that I dodged a bullet with my c-store visit after a week or so, this will likely go down as one of my most memorable rides.  

If nothing else, it has reinforced self-sufficiency, and on perspective - yes - when things return to normal, the standard brevet format will indeed seem FAR easier by contrast.  It's also really nice to just ride, free-route, and go explore without worrying about c-store locations and control spacing.  Big jaunts into the Flint Hills could happen, long, uninterrupted stretches of remote gravel, tile-hunting without restrictions ... all seem do-able now.  

What We Can - and Should - Do.

Some of this is echoed in social media already, but expanded-upon and revised, so give it a read – even if you already have recently:

I’m trying to avoid typing any buzzwords here - that's not the sort of click-bait sorta stuff I'm into; but, if you're reading this in the early days of Spring 2020, well - ha - you should probably know what I'm on about.

Right about now I'd much rather be blogging about a successful 200km ride; but, clubs around the country - the world - have pulled the plug on their calendar of events. 

I normally shy away from social media, for various reasons; but lately, there isn't much else to do.  I found myself falling into a dark web-hole, unfortunately, reading about lots of cycling stories taking on a dark light amid misinformation, maybe fear, and realized that we - as cyclists - do have a larger responsibility to one another and to the communities with which we often interact.  With everyone essentially being told to stay indoors and not travel anywhere, we cyclists tend to stick out like a sore thumb if we choose to venture out solo.  Professionals and amateurs alike, most of what we love is gone right now.  However, for many of us (your author included) cycling is something we desperately need on a deep, mental level.  So, we are heading out solo.  According to city, county and state governments in even the most tightly locked-down communities like NYC and San Fran, this activity is still considered acceptable, so long as it is not done as a group. 

Locally, my county is on a hot-list now, with news articles coming out from surrounding, rural counties recommending a 14-day self-quarantine if you have visited the K.C. metro area recently.  What does that look like, from their perspective, when a lone cyclist rolls through their town, then? 

It got me thinking about our responsibilities as long-distance cyclists.  Even though I am okay to bicycle solo, I could introduce risk to small-town c-stores at which I might normally stop for resupply. 

Consider that these stores are often THE gathering place and perhaps the sole source of groceries for these small towns.  Though I am symptom-free, the folks in these towns don't know that, and shouldn't have to wonder about me and my impact on them.  Golden Rule stuff.

To my fellow cyclists out for big miles these days:  consider the opportunity to train for the long-haul:  I can think of a few local brevet routes that have 60-plus mile sections between controls, often a logistical challenge.  This is the time to train for such rides.  Roll heavy.  Pack extra water and food. 

While I like to think we help support these communities with our purchases, we can - and should - pick that up again in earnest on the other side of all of this.  In the meantime, pack like you're on a long, self-supported tour, and just move on through, keeping a safe distance as you do, and don't needlessly hack or spit on the roadside near anyone, or anyone's home.  Wait for a clear ditch in the middle of nowhere.  Heck, that's a good guideline in the best of times ... imagine being a homeowner, on your own, quiet patch of land ... and some random guy on a bicycle hocks a fat one on, essentially, your front lawn.  That's just rude, regardless.  Put that in your cheek and wait, or spit down the front of your baselayer.  You're already disgusting anyway, right? 

Think beyond the moment.  Golden Rule... repeat... 

Just honest, simple steps like these can go a long way.  While cycling is often ALL about us, remember it really isn't about us right now in these regards.

Finally ... be smart.

Don't needlessly inject yourself into the healthcare stream: ride with your head as much as your legs: be safe, be seen, be courteous, be conscious, be aware, wear a helmet, and don't take unnecessary risks.  Imagine if you do fall, and end up in the ER: likely right where no-one wants to, nor should be, right now.  Don't pull healthcare and first-responder resources away from where they're truly needed by being an irresponsible jack-wagon on your bike.  Traffic counts are low, which makes for some good riding ... but, please be smart and avoid complacency, and don't become an accessory statistic. 

I look forward to better times when we can all get together en masse once more.  I dream of a 15-strong pace-line on a glorious stretch of country farm road, and a cold beer waiting at a CROWDED bar at the finish.  That will be sweet, and I won't even care if I can't get a table.  I'll happily stand shoulder-to-shoulder once more with my fellow cyclists, friends, and strangers.

In the meantime, be good to each other.

Thanks for reading, as always.

In Appreciation of Permanents

For those in the RUSA circle, we all know about the "accident" and "lawsuit" - and today, because of the difficulty in obtaining insurance, the RUSA permanents program, of which I had been a frequent flyer and had stacked up five R-12 awards through its use, is now gone.  This is obviously a heartbreaking thing, but, with my school schedule - yeah, still - riding and even organizing/officiating them had become a bit of a struggle.  I was certainly not alone.

I had been watching a passionate forum thread about the permanents program, and found my mind wandering about my own riding over the past few years and about the future of RUSA, and ultimately felt compelled to weigh in.  The result was a bit of a thank-you letter to permanents, some closure, and a look at the bright side ... at least my version of it.

Before RUSA, I suppose I was a regular cyclist ... I rode to work, enjoyed the weekend warrior stuff, and trained for the local t-shirt, club, and charity centuries here and there.  I was never really fast enough for racing, yet I always found myself wondering "what's next" after those local club centuries.  "Man, wouldn't it be wild to ride the 2-day, 150-mile charity ride in ONE DAY?  Whooof..."  Big dreams...

Then, it happened.    

I found our region's RBA 20 years ago and the rest is history.  Before the internet, I still don't know what sort of magic aligned to get me on his email list back then, but I'm SO grateful it happened.  A lot of it was through my good friend, the Warbird, and his friend from work, the legendary Grim Rieper.

RUSA transformed me.

Those early rides were truly self-supported ... organized by Bob Burns, my favorite old-school hard-liner.  Boy-Scout, military preparedness ethos ... hand-scribbled cue sheets ...dim, halogen generator lights if you were lucky enough ... GPS wasn't even a "thing" yet, and getting lost simply made for a better story.  What happens if it rains?  You'll get wet.  You drink the wrong nutrition?  You'll be pukin' in the ditch ... but, dang-it, you'll have a good ride.  AND WE DID.  Sixty miles between controls?  Suck it up, kid.  Just pedal, everybody's tired.  That's how I was taught, and it was GREAT.  Never realized in the moments, those rides were seldom about the rides ... they were about figuring myself out, learning tenacity, patience, resilience.
My only regret is not finding it sooner.

With that upbringing, it would be easy for me to also be a hard-liner about some of the things being discussed over the last few days (the notion that permanents and anything less than 200km is not truly the mark of a randonneur), but I'd rather be inclusive and try to grow the sport, because I know what it has done for me.

"Not a randonneur."  I've said that about MYSELF.  All the talk back then about rando was getting to Paris, yes.  That was the title goal, justifiably.  If it wasn't Paris, it was racing Ultras.

But, I was never going to be able to afford going to Paris.  With kids, multiple jobs, returning to school ... the longer rides, still to this day, just aren't going to happen.

Amid carbon fiber and custom steel, my early brevets were done on cobbled Frankenbikes .... not to make a statement as I'd professed, just because I couldn't afford anything nicer.

I slowly amassed skill and better parts, and ultimately grabbed a SR series.  The journey has been amazing. 

Considering my personal journey, I am immensely proud of my one, single 600km ACP medal.  

Permanents were around back then, but riders were not allowed to repeat a route to chase the relatively new R-12 award ... so getting the R-12 in those early years was a genuine feat.  Back then, only the giants in the sport need apply ... early hints of future K-Hound heroes, brevets and the R-12 were simply the byproduct of people training for RAAM ... back when RAAM didn't require 15 corporate sponsorship deals just to pay for gas.

All goals ... all out of my reach.

So, in 2008, when the RUSA perms rules changed to allow repeats, I instead latched onto the R-12 as a personal goal.

What I noticed, however, is that I started finding myself riding solo more often than not.  

I found myself sometimes skipping a club ride because I knew I could "keep my streak" with a 200k later that month, on my own terms.

In doing so, I isolated myself and removed one of the key elements of randonneuring.

When I look at the future with a lack of perms in place, I see the opportunity -- if only from a personal standpoint -- to put the "camaraderie" back into my cycling.  

The sudden rarity of organized RUSA and ACP events compared to the "whenever I want" permanents should actually serve to enhance the experience, not leave us missing what we've lost. 

That's the silver lining I can see.  I'll drive a few hours to a dark parking lot a couple times a year for that opportunity.  I've never come away thinking it hadn't been worth the trip, even if I'd slept in my car.

I will still ride a 100 or 200km every month if I can help it, credit or no credit, just to keep my edge sharp, to refine my gear and approach to controls, in the hopes of someday practicing what I've learned in Paris or around one of the Great Lakes, or in the Rocky Mountains.  

In the meantime, the lack of perms can be a bit freeing.

If I want to wander off-route and see where that road goes, spend a little too much time at a pie stand, try some gravel to get off "that dang highway" finally, or finish in my own driveway instead of the sketchy gas station where I used to need to get a final receipt .... all the better, right?

If the only "credit" I can get anymore is with a group of like-minded randonneurs again, once or twice a year ... that could be a VERY GOOD thing for randonneuring.

Scarcity will re-sweeten randonneuring for me ... and with this perspective in mind, losing the perms may be the best thing to happen to my cycling in years.

I am proud of the miles I spent, alone, in the dark, chasing my goal over my R-12 runs .... but if I can share a pull and a sunrise with even one other rider, because we each, now, only have THIS ONE BREVET .... that's a good thing.

I'm not sure we need more rides, necessarily, because - like I had - people will invariably "just catch the next one".  When that happens, we aren't building relationships, sharing miles, or growing the sport.  

Granted, it can STILL happen with monthly rides ... and it does in many regions.  Where ridership is already scarce, however, it might dilute things.

I think we should look at this an an opportunity to bring randonneuring back to what I had slipped away from.

P-12 and R-12 are still amazing goals to set, considering that randonneurs of ANY caliber represent the outlying 2% of anyone who ever throws their leg over a bicycle ANYways.  There are some strong riders out there who work all year just to ride ONE CENTURY at the end of summer, and we have folks riding one per month?  That's incredible, and shouldn't be cheapened.  No matter what ANY cyclist is ... being a randonneur pushes us to achieve 120% of ourselves, whatever that 120% might be.  

When looking at the RUSA membership uptick that occurred when RUSA began offering the perms and subsequently the R-12, we should remember our collective quest to keep building membership and giving those wondering "what's next" a place in our big tent.

But, I think we can do so without the perms program .... not sure what it look like yet, but, it's whatever happened to connect me with my RBA those years ago.

Load up the Facebook groups, plaster the LBS with flyers, make rando club jerseys and wear them on every ride, host a few coffee shop rides and talk about what that "weird big saddlebag is for" .... and see what happens.

I found some of my best friends that way.

Let's just keep on riding, eh?




(addendum, 3/12/2020:)

Especially with what has befallen our world in these last few weeks, we could use some good, clean fun out in the fresh air.  Please enjoy responsibly.

It's not a question of "if" . . .

A very safety-conscious boss of boss looked me dead in the eye and said, 

"on safety, it's not a matter of "if" you'll get hit by a car; it's a matter of "when."

Taking the onion back an extra layer, this message was not delivered out of malice, but from a place of concern for the well-being of others - his team.  His concerns, his placement of the value of his people above their station or job position, is admirable: and a key leadership attribute, really.  But, delivered on a Friday, late afternoon, while I was packing my panniers and preparing for my evening ride home from work, his words would sit on my head like an anvil - for at least the next 12 miles.  ...er... 48 hours?

Even though it comes from the same place as essentially telling a smoker that "those things will kill you," his words hung around my neck like a noose on my ride home, and I began to notice the poor behaviors of the traffic around me.  Everything became amplified.  Nothing had really changed, but my Zen was gone, my Chi disrupted, my Mojo in the ditch.  That was a pretty crappy ride home, among rides home.

Of course, it's my own fault for letting someone get inside my head.  

"Believe me, you don't want Hannibal Lecter inside your head."
Jack Crawford was right to warn her.  

No, my boss's-boss is not a cannibal; but, he still took a voracious bite out of my soul and enjoyed it with a nice Chianti and some fava beans.

Statistically, mile over mile, bicyclists may remain ahead of the accident and fatality curve, but I do not like to throw numbers at things to justify behaviors or dispel conjecture when discussing human life.  Statistics don't do much to ease the tragedy of loss when one finds themselves at the far end of the bell curve.  The question should take some form of "what are you doing to keep yourself out of danger?"

Evidence of a difference?

I found myself driving out to Lees Summit yesterday to pick up an order, and in doing so I took my usual sort of way ... avoiding the highways and poking around some of the old cycling routes I used to frequent.  Enter Longview Lake, on a Saturday, late morning... there will be cyclists.  I'm a cyclist, so, I am more apt to see cyclists when I am out and about.  Ah, the Baader-Meinhof principle!  Case in point: rounding over a hill on Scherer Road, a long, sweeping corner with a downhill slant and a mile of good visibility.  It was clear and sunny with low humidity.  There were cyclists.  

First there were two.  Then four.  Why the change? 

The first two were wearing some sort of bright, solid-color jersey.  Yep, neon yellow.
One was running a blinking daytime running light.  
The pair stood out immediately as they moved along the shoulder in front of a backdrop of dense trees.

The other two had been there the entire time, and were, in fact, closer to me than the brightly-colored, well-lit pair had been.  These two were not running daytime lights and were dressed in darker jerseys.  Despite being closer to me on the road, I simply did not see them right away.  There is a difference.

Considering the distracted driver (which we must now, sadly, assume to be the behavioral norm) who peers up at the road ahead for a few seconds before returning to glance at their phone screen, in which group of cyclists would you prefer to be included?

I am biased perhaps, and I am a card-carrying lifetime member of #TeamNeon.  (not a real thing)  Yes, I look ridiculous when I ride, and I don't particularly care.

My equipment and dress rationale is based on over two decades of situational experience comparisons, wherein I have come to find I endure fewer close calls and negative automotive-to-bicyclist interactions when displaying bright, solid colors, good lights and reflective material than when wearing darker colors with patterns that render like urban camouflage at distances beyond 25 yards.  Visible function far outscores fashion when the risk of the latter can - at the VERY least - create a situation that might limit my future bicycling enjoyment; therefore I exclusively opt for the former.  Similar to turning on a car's headlights when it is raining, one must consider the potential for positives even in the absence of statistical evidence, instead of defaulting to the notion that it "makes no difference" because it is "daytime."    

Your mileage may vary - but my associations of positive results from specific behaviors will not.

Causality versus correlation.  I agree on the number of variables in play here.  I am merely referencing my own experiences.  I know of at least two cases where the existence of neon yellow and reflective gear still resulted in the death of a cyclist.  There are others who will argue that drivers can't hit what they don't see (explain that one to the family of any police officer struck by a car while standing by their fully-lit cruiser on the side of a highway), or that running lights and reflective gear actually draws motorists closer to cyclists and increases the dangers.  I understand those theories, but have not personally found them to be accurate.  I contend that outcomes can be influenced (not guaranteed) through controlling one's variables.  As long as I exist in this equation, I'm controlling my variables, Jack.

Full chemical impairment aside, no driver wants to hit anything in or near the road... be it a trash can, a rabbit, or a jogger.  In our right minds, hitting ANYTHING complicates our lives.

As my example from Lees Summit yesterday demonstrates - if we can suppose that even a non-distracted driver with a cognitive bias for bicyclists will identify those wearing neon-colored jerseys and running daytime-visible lights before identifying those without, even if those without are physically closer to their approaching vehicle, then we can reasonably suppose that a driver with no cognitive bias for cyclists who may or may not be distracted will likely miss the bicyclists dressed in black altogether, or at least not recognize them with sufficient time to formulate how they will safely pass them, or to correct their position in the road to at least ensure they will be missed.  

Even those staunchly opposed to cyclist's rights only ever intend to frighten a cyclist in order to send a message about their opinion, as certainly they have the base intelligence to understand the consequences for taking a human life are not equal to however they feel about a bicycle sharing the road.  Cyclists aren't "the British", and this is not 1700's Boston. 

Common sense, unfortunately, is a spectrum.  It must be recognized that there are some drivers who simply will not look up and aren't in their right minds, no matter what we are doing or wearing, right or wrong.

Cue the bitter, venting bloggist

Then there's traffic.  My recent preference for gravel over pavement has little to do with its popularity or the availability of special equipment; rather I think its popularity may stem from many cyclists reaching similar levels of frustration with traffic.  It is more closely related to choosing better roads.  If I am passed by more than a car per minute, I don't like where I am anymore.  I am constantly shifting my routes around to avoid traffic and various intersections that "don't feel right," and I think we each have a responsibility to do so.  If you find yourself riding down Nall between 119th and 135th streets just because Overland Park painted a stripe there last month, I would invite you to at least worry about your own sense of adventure, if not your own safety.  I'm also talking to you, riding west on 151st Street near Blackbob at 5:20PM on a weekday in thick rush-hour traffic "because you can."  Dude.... what you're doing, while legal, is perhaps a touch irresponsible.  I know I'm not perfect; but we all hold a stake in the bigger picture.

Bitter?  Perhaps.  I just don't like the way hospitals smell, and life is too short to put my loved ones in a courtroom hoping an appointed lawyer successfully compels a jury (who'd rather not be there) to decide who screwed up, on the hopes my wife might be able to afford putting me in the ground without losing the house.  Wearing the right things, doing the right things, and being on the right road WHEN something happens may well guarantee your loved ones a reasonable outcome, as opposed to a dismissive one resulting from the possibility of negligence on the part of the cyclist.  You decide for you.

I don't particularly like the idea that someone else is holding my time card ... but, none of us are immune to that which we cannot control.  We can control, however, what we wear, how we behave, and where we ride.  If the risk is being hit by a car ... remove as many cars as you can, and stack the deck in your favor while you can.

Just stay inside

"You need to get a Peloton, man ... it's just too dangerous out there."

In the coming glory days of Peloton, Zwift and Virtual Reality in general, it is going to become easier and easier to completely negate the risks of modern cycling by retreating to the basement and the trainer.  But, anyone reading this is getting something else from cycling far beyond the "sitting on a bike" and "exercising" part, and VR is not going to meet that need.  For everyone still on the roads, I see you.  I know why you ride.  We need you around, and so do the ones who care about you.  

For as long as we take the risk, we have a responsibility to ourselves and each other to ride by the rules, to set the example, and to make it easier for drivers to live with us.  Riding safely, being visible, controlling our variables, behaving predictably and reasonably, and being courteous are all important attributes toward keeping cycling relevant in the 21st Century.  We each have a responsibility for our own individual safety, the safety of our friends who are cyclists, and the community as a whole - on a global scale.  

While the masses may retreat to virtual reality, we can still do a lot to restore the often crappy brand we place on cycling in the eyes of non-cyclists.  The more cyclists that do "give up" and run back indoors, the rest of us represent fewer and fewer reminders to motorists that we are still out there, so our interactions begin to hold more and more value ... for better or worse.  We do have some control over that last piece.   

It's our responsibility

We have more to lose, so YES ... it's our responsibility.  

We absolutely cannot expect technology and collision avoidance in future cars to protect us or write the impossible guarantee.  We cannot expect drivers to intrinsically know what to do with us, or to see us at all; regardless of the responsibilities driving a car carries.  It simply isn't taught, and the law only punishes after the fact, after it is too late for us.  It might make the news, and someone might lose their license for a while, and we might get a white, spray-painted bike propped up at an intersection for a few years; but shortly after the scene is cleared and the road reopens, we're right back to a situation where . . . 

Nobody.  Cares.   

Unless WE DO.  Unless we take the responsibility, nothing will change.  The responsibility is ours to write a slightly better circumstance for ourselves in the absence of a guarantee, if only to delay the "when."  

All told, nothing changes simply because my boss's-boss demonstrated his concerns in a not-so-subtle way on a Friday afternoon.  But, it got me thinking, and it got me to post something with some actual content for the first time in three months.  It has turned into a decent head-check against my own potential complacency after dozens and dozens of uneventful rides to and from work and in the wilds of Kansas and Missouri on over a hundred randonneuring events and scattered gravel rides.  

I submit that succumbing to fear is far worse a fate than smartly mitigating the risks while responsibly enjoying the rewards.  Being visible and responsible is not succumbing to fear - it's part of our responsibility for our own safe outcomes.  We have to be safe, be predictable, be visible, and be courteous to other road users, and help write our own guarantee.

Cycling is a dangerous activity, yes; but, acknowledging the risks occasionally is not a terrible thing, for it helps defuse the sort of complacency which often becomes our undoing.

A matter of "when?"  Perhaps.  In the meantime, I will continue to do what is necessary to prevent my own injury, because I know what I am riding home for, and what I am riding to work to accomplish.  I know my responsibilities and can only hope that the drivers around me understand theirs.  Should some higher authority decide to intercede, I accept it.  I expect to have that conversation some day, but, we each have a responsibility not to do anything to expedite that inevitable meeting.  

The rest is up to the man upstairs.

Peace.

The literal middle-of-nowhere, and I still have the stupid neon reflective triangle and lights.  While you and I both know there are absolutely NO guarantees, the people we love demand one.  Being safe and visible helps the bigger picture, and eases the minds of those who support our passion.  Be safe.  It weighs nothing.

One more year . . .

   Upon realizing how long it has been since I posted ANYthing in these pages, seeing a well-timed Facebook throwback, and the resulting recent revisit to a post I wrote a decade ago --- well, interestingly, NOTHING lately has inspired me to ride long again like basically reading a love letter about randonneuring addressed to my future self.  I'm not sure if it is "burn-out,", but I have not ridden a 200km ride since February '19, and my last distance beyond commuting was a gravel 104km ride back in March.  I let March slip by without a 200k ride, thus ending a streak of 10 rides toward the elusive 6th R-12 run, and I wasn't that upset about it when it happened.  I have been making really easy excuses to NOT ride long of late.  Reading that old post helps... and it's obviously been enough to get me out of the tedium of APA-format research paper writing long enough to get my fingers moving to a different drum.  Thus, this short post.  

Yeah, we're still here. 

So much has transpired since my return to the educational process over two years ago;  I have continued to ride, I managed to complete another R-12 (#5), rediscovered gravel with a rampant fervor, decided that "no, I'm not too old for this," thanks to my son taking up cycling and giving me, once again, someone to chase.  (He's difficult to catch, too ... yeesh...).  That got me losing a bunch of mid-40's body fat, and actually spending a lot of time really training this last winter, when not riding to work.  Strava has been transformative, personally, though it isn't the end-all, it DOES help me.  Fast is still not "everything," but it sure is fun to challenge oneself.  I spent too much of my life "settling" from a physical standpoint.  The work is good for me.    

I've successfully managed to be car-free (at least, to and from work) for over a year now, having the most "successful" winter of commutes since perhaps I first started trying to ride through all of the seasons.  I used Uber a few times during this particularly icy and nasty winter, but, I never drove myself to the office.  That feels good.  Still, in some ways, the mental baggage from such a winter has been a strong desire to pick-n-choose the rando events I want to endure.  Basically, if it isn't sunny with a double tailwind on tap for anything more than 30-40 miles, I haven't been interested.  I think, mentally, I NEED some sunshine.  Life has been busy, to say the least, and definitely challenging enough... which, tenders the desire to be mentally tested during that which should only exist to provide some much-needed personal stress relief.

As a result, I have skipped (or, justifiably missed due to my kids' graduation (or other) activities or my own homework) every single organized rando event in Kansas City this year, despite grandiose plans I made back in November when dreaming of Spring brevets.

 Depressing?  Perhaps... but, I also understand that enduring a massive amount of distance into a constant headwind may have only served to dig me deeper into the hole I've been sitting in, with regards to distance riding.  Commuting has been enough.

But, I'll only be in classes for maybe another year.  Just one more year.

One more year . . . 

This morning, however, I feel some hope.  I feel some sunshine amid the nearly constant potential for thunderstorms this week.  Sometimes, we see posts for a reason - considering I almost never hang out on Facebook.

Sometimes, a note we leave to ourselves, like the aforementioned post above that I just happened to re-read, is a good idea.  One thing I can suggest for randonneurs, even shorter-distance guys out there discovering themselves:  write things down.  Even if it is bullet points, or social media posts.  Save them.  Lock them away for later, or share them with the world... but, when you need it, they will be there.  The written word and a few photos transport us back to time and place unlike anything else - and we need the reminder.  Why are we doing this?  What's the point?  Man, I just can't do this anymore... do I still love this hobby?  YES, listen to your mind and body.  Take breaks.  Don't destroy yourself... but, when you need to get that feeling back, open those love notes to your future self, read them.  Read them twice.  Listen.  

Then you'll know it's time.  

We'll see you out there... and we may even see you on the longer distance stuff... 

Cheers, and - as ever - thanks for reading!

US-69, 2009... it's still out there, and I think I need to go find it.

"The woodpile", somewhere in Miami County, KS., on a personal gravel training loop I love.

Catching a pre-dawn training group while on the way to the office, for some unexpected and personally rare paceline time... which I promptly screwed up for everyone once I tried to go to the front.  Probably why I don't (shouldn't) race.