Transition

With three layers between me and the elements I part the rainy air, leaving nothing but a thin line of raised water and a ghostly balloon of mist behind me in the twilight. Only a dot on suburbia’s landscape, I carve my own tiny bubble of utopia – I might be in Olathe, but in my minds-eye I’m on a secluded rural byway outside Nausthaugen. It’s late September, and my sleeves are long.

Mallard ducks – about seven of them, huddled on the waters surface near the pier of a small wooden bridge that crosses over Indian Creek. I don’t even know exactly where I am, in relation to the world around me – which I’m sure is only ¼ mile away in any direction – here, I am alone with nature. There is a rustling, a breeze, a few raindrops fall. This ½ second slice of time, as loose boards rattle and shake under my tires, seems to last an hour – but it’s come and gone in the blink of an eye as I whisk along the trail towards home. The familiar, but long absent, crunch of fallen leaves underneath rubber – the occasional buzz of a twig flung through my fenders – the scurry of busy squirrels gathering for the months to come. This magical couple of weeks cannot be missed if you ride a bicycle.

This is the BEST time of year to be a rider. Gone are the oppressively hot days of summer, but the real cold weather has yet to arrive. The harsh, burning sunshine of August yields to a comforting blanket of thick stratus and a cozy grayish-blue hue. The final songs of birds in the trees are in perfect concert with flapping nylon vests and the gentle hum of a freshly oiled drive-train. The song of a north wind, not stinging quite yet but definitely awakening, whistling past spokes and cables – maybe pushing you along if you’re lucky – is comforting, cooling, and commanding all at once. Only recently too hot to wear at all, rain jackets finally have a chance to stretch again over wool warmers as the skies let loose and wet the ground and clean the air of summer’s stagnant pollutants. It’s a crispness that I can taste – slicing through the air, a lick of salt from my moustache and the taste of clean rain that chases it. I can’t help but smile. Some find misery here, and hang up the bike – I find my roots, my heritage, my bliss – all on these hard fall days. It’s time to let the beard grow, and pull the socks high.

Gone are the “goals” – well, nearly – but even the one, large goal that’s left is seldom thought of. The training is done, and now all I can do it count the days until I head south for another challenge. I have to remind myself that it’s coming – but I’m so occupied with other things that it hardly seems real. It’s a good attitude to take, considering how I’ve handled things in the past. It’s nothing to panic about – so I refuse to. I can’t wait for it to be here, but I don’t find myself looking for a change of scenery with all that surrounds me on such trivial rides as my commute home. Instead of focusing only on the heat and the misery of fresh blacktop, I now enjoy and look forward to the rides home – the daily grind has become something more than utilitarian. Late spring, and early fall alike – these are the days of the bicyclist.
These are my days – not even traffic can spoil them.

As the season wraps up for some, I look forward to the harsher days to come – the promise of hot drinks and soup at their ends. A fireplace, a wool throw, and a good book about cycling through interior China, perhaps. Tiny icicles tangled in the long hairs of my beard, and bites of cold pastries on a cold morning twenty-miler. AHH! I shudder not from the coming cold, but from the thrill of transition into another gorgeous fall season. Give me a big saddlebag to dig through to find that extra layer. Give me an all-night café to serve up hot griddlecakes and coffee on a freezing morning. Give me a road and a gentle grey sky, and I will ride.

Fixed Gear Revelations

It's a sad thing, really -- but I think the sun is setting again on my fixed gear time. Something has changed, and I feel lately that fixed and single speed has lost some of it's luster - at least with ME. After a near-injury, I've hung the Steamroller back in the garage, and have mounted up on the geared bike again. No sooner than I make this change, I get confirmation that is was the right choice.

I'm sitting here, logging in the blog, listening to David Bowie drone out the early verses of "Space Oddity", and I have visions of riding home last night and encountering another rider at 83rd and Mission Road --

ok, don't ask me what I was doing THAT far north on a Tuesday night...

Anyways... this guy was MONEY.

There he was, backwards ball-cap on, jeans, polo-style 3-button shirt, messenger-style bag slung-up close - and a gorgeous, no-name-on-frame blue fixxie - with a noticably huge gear. He was in the left turn lane, coming off of 83rd onto Mission Rd north-bound at about 7:15pm - and while he waited for the light he was performing the most perfectly-still track-stand I've ever witnessed. Even the traffic in the lane next to him took notice with jaw-gaped stares, as he floated above the tarmac without even a visible motion or twitch.

He was a complete ROCK, standing on the pedals, and balancing perfectly.

This happens only a day after I've decided that commuting to work on a fixxie was "killing me". First, a botched skid messes up my left quad a little - which has since healed, but hey - it happened. Downhills were becoming a "chore". Seeing riders like him puts in perspective what kind of rider *I* am. While I was nervously trying to get my own fixxie zen back this week, practicing the nervous track-stands again, hoping the light would stay green so I wouldn't have any stopping "issues", and the like, I see THIS guy on the road.

I can track stand, so long as I don't actively THINK about it.
I can hawk thru traffic with the best of them, I can even skitch - I just don't make a habit of it. But I see riders like this guy occasionally that SO totally fit the fixxie-rider mold, that I feel horribly inadequate. Anyone would!

Everything I lack in fixxie-zen, I suppose I make up for with endurance and climbing ability on geared bikes. A good friend said it best: jack-of-all-trades, master-of-none. If I picked fixed-mode and stuck with it, I suppose there are certain things I WOULD pick up: but I float too much; away from gears, and back again. My goals dictate "training". Fixxie for me leans more towards the BOB-ish, touring fixed-gear rider; not the skilled, stripped-down, messenger-style, urban-soldier like this guy at Mission road appeared to be. The Steamroller as it's built-up now, with full fenders and Carradice bag, doesn't quite hold the same kind of fascination as this guy's bike did for me.


Still, the experience made me smile and nod-with-approval more than it made me self-aware and introspective - despite the comments above. Watching him perfectly parked on the pavement like he was, effortlessly propelling himself forward once the light changed - pedalling silently northbound, blinky lite flashing away - it was a gorgeous moment. As I stood opposite him with my foot down, easily rotating the pedals backwards into the optimum position for my next move, in just-the-right-gear to start up again - for a moment I felt like a slacker, envious of his skill.

If we *ALL* could do what he was doing, it wouldn't be NEARLY as cool... and that's why we need people like him: the standouts, the rebels. Me, riding to work with my fancy bag and my fenders and my gears and helmet - it's "safe", it's almost "normal". Fixed gear is a different breed. If there is indeed a picture dictionary out there, THAT GUY needs his picture next to "fixed gear".

THAT is how it's done. The rest of us are just pretenders.
Peace, bro -- if I run into you again, the beers are on me.

The 2006 MS-150, in brief

After one last warm-up ride to get the legs REALLY loose this last weekend, I was really ready for the MS-150. K-man, BB and I rode to the Louisburg Cidermill via the new 287th Street route, and I took the fixxie. Riding fixed after a long hiatus, I was a little leary, but all the technique quickly came back and I was able to forget what I was riding. Still, 65 miles or so without coasting was a good enough reminder the next day! So, after a restful week, I was recharged and ready to take on whatever challenges the new MS-150 route had to offer.

Rain, rain - go away!

Well, actually, as weird as it sounds I was actually HOPING for some rain! To, you know, make things interesting. I decided at the last minute to ride the Kogswell, which has since been dubbed "monarch II", after my late Trek 720. BOY, was it the right choice! Sometimes the right bike can make all the difference: the larger tires - but not TOO large at 28mm wide instead of the usual 23mm. The frame-pump: It was amazingly easy to get people back on the road with it, rather than with the scary finite-ness of CO2 inflators, or the arm-jello-ing mini-pumps. The frame itself was a joy to ride and, combined with the tires, made the horrid rural Missouri pavement smooth-out nicely. It was a GREAT ride!

I'm being brief here, mainly because of the weather. I know that sounds weird, but because of the steady rain at the start line, I decided against bringing the camera - so this won't be the usual photo-document that I normally enjoy posting. Sorry about that! Still, the terrain: you simply HAVE to come ride the MS-150 now, if you never have. Some parts of the route were similar to year's past - but the majority was pretty much brand new. After last year's problems, the committee REALLY put their heads together and gave a really good route. Scenic as all get-out; moderate challenges here and there, but not too hilly; it was perfection!

With tire spray fizzing about and rain jackets and ponchos flapping, the first part of the first day was terrific, in a backwards sort of way. LAST year, temperatures had already approached 90º just an hour after the starting gun! This year, by contrast, if never got above 78º anywhere along the route. Things like sunscreen were forgotten thanks to the thick could deck, and even the headwind was met with approval! The best part was the overnight - after libations and good conversation, we retired to cool tents and gentle, soothing breezes that lulled me to the best tent-sleep I've had in YEARS. I was OUT! We rose to a chilly, wet morning that reminded me of waking up in Colorado -- close the tent vents! Put on a warm cap! Save that heat! It was exhilerating getting dressed for day-two's ride! Brrrr!

Day two dawned with storms threatening to the west, but overall clear skies. The team, all recharged, headed out into a terrific day, and a brand new day-two route! Another home-run by the MS-150 route committee! This ride was one for the books! Simply gorgeous scenery, and very, very few cars out. The rest stops were fabulous, and the support was top-notch! Our little team leap-frogged from stop-to-stop, fueling up and winding down the roads up north of Knob Noster... even got a rare fly-over from a B-2 stealth bomber near the AFB! VERY cool - but dangerous, as EVERYONE on the road had their eyes skyward as we rolled along!

It was a good time for all - Atul, K-man, Phil M., Mike T. and me, rolling along the Missouri highways for two days and over 150 miles - simply an awesome time!

Join us next year - seriously! New custom jerseys are in the works!!!

The Larrytown Time Trial

With thunderstorms and lighting filling the night sky, I was a little trepidatious about riding at all, but I knew I was well equipped. After the mental and physical failures of late spring’s 400K attempt I had a few demons to put to sleep, and today was an opportunity to ENJOY a rainy ride. I hitched up the saddlebag, attached the long mud-flap to the rear fender to make it more enjoyable for my riding partners, and headed out into a rain-less morning of fog and cool temps.

Yes, the rain indeed was lulled a bit, and it was nice to start out a little dry, knowing what lay in store. I made my way to Oregon Trail Park to the west, getting lucky with my timing as a few trains passed behind me only a few minutes after I’d crossed the tracks. I arrived at the park to cloudy skies and the smell of rain still in the air from the previous night. It was a nice morning, as I sat down on the curb and waited for other riders to show up.

First to arrive on the scene was Victor, and almost immediately after were John and Rosemary. A little while later D3 showed, followed by Martha. At this point, the rain began – but it was simply sprinkles, nothing more. Discussions about who saw what on which forecast began, as is typical in Kansas on any late summer, or early spring morning. The weather here is hard to pin down, and even I whipped out the PCS phone and dialed up the Weather Channel’s radar for a quick peek at what was in store. It didn’t look good, but I wasn’t really able to tell. All I knew was I was going to ride, no matter what the group consensus was.

The votes were cast, and the “official” ride was cancelled – some others – Bill and CCRider – hadn’t even shown up, anticipating the conditions wouldn’t be favorable. It wasn’t the rain, it was the threat of lightning that was the real risk, so it was probably a smart thing to do. But I was going to have none of this “smart” talk. No sir. I’m an idiot, and I announced my intentions.

Partly banking on the fact that I needed to get SOME sort of workout in this weekend, and Sunday’s Tour De Shawnee being a ride I’d decided to pass on for the first time in three years, I was GOING to ride somewhere, solo or otherwise. The big goal was to be Lawrence, for breakfast. We’ll see… the weather might have other plans!

Sadly, D3 elected to depart (at least I got to see his gorgeous old Fuji touring bike!), but one-by-one the other riders decided to “give it a go”. The sprinkles began to slow, and there was even a hint of blue in the distant horizon as we rolled out of the parking lot towards the west on the familiar Lone Star Century route. I love this route! We flew down the many hills towards Lake Olathe and the morning weekend fishermen trying their luck.

Looking around, this was an excellent bunch, and the 2nd time in a month I’ve had the opportunity to ride with some really nice people on some really nice and interesting bicycles. Martha was looking comfortable and perfectly at home on her Acme Bicycle Company sport tourer, with S&S couplers, custom Acme racks front and rear – COLOR MATCHED! – and Nigel Smythe handlebar bag laced up to wide moustache bars. John and Rosemary had magnificent matching Fuji touring bikes, only a year or so old, it seemed, but very smartly built. Racks and full fenders, they were purposeful, and attractive with their light brown color with beige panels. Very good looking bikes! Victor seemed to be the only one that wasn’t completely “rivved-out” today, on his handsome Giant TCR-2 road bike. Still, it didn’t matter – it was turning out to be a great day to ride ANY bicycle, as we chatted it up and exchanged places in the pack.

It’s strange how forecasts work out – numbers like 100% chance of rain were tossed about only hours before, yet the roads were only wet, and the skies were looking increasingly inviting as we grouped up and rode together along 151st Street, past the New Century Air Center and points west. We passed the Sunflower Army Ammunition plants’ fence-line, and continually contemplated what the morning would bring. There was little to no wind, and the day was simply calm and inviting with a decidedly spring smell about it.

We turned north towards Eudora, and I enjoyed a chance to stretch the legs a little bit as our next stop was set at the convenience store on the north side of K-10. Victor and I paired up, him in the draft, and we spun out the long uphill taking us over the highway, enjoying a little aerobic recharge. It was just HUMID now, and as the skies continued to look more inviting the sun was making it downright steamy, even though the temps were only in the middle 70’s.

I gulped down a chocolate milk and snarfed a banana, plus got a quick water refill and I was then ready to take on the rest of the journey to Lawrence. Eudora was to be the middle-ground, the decision point for my day based on the weather – and at that point there was no reason to question the weather’s intentions. We mounted up again for the final leg into Larrytown. Unfortunately, I was turning into a clock-watcher, as the noon-deadline was beginning to loom.

“Naw.. I’ll be fine…” I thought.

After a little canine adventure and a few railroad crossings and hills, we were closer to our goal as we followed old K-10 into the eastern portions of Lawrence. I remembered a drive I took with Shorty a few years back, and how much fun of a ride this road would make, and I was right – as I crossed the final set of tracks on the outskirts of town and climbed a nasty little pair of hills, I was in Lawrence by bicycle!
Unfortunately, the clock was not going to allow me much in the way of respite, so I stopped at the first “state street”, which was Maryland, and waited for the rest of the group to catch up so I could bid them farewell. I was going to have to time-trial my way back if I was going to make it. It was ten-fifteen. Lawrence to Olathe in under two-hours?? Uh-oh.

Thankfully, the two dogs that slowed our progress on the way out were somewhere else, so I didn’t have to deal with that activity. I rode in a reasonable gear, and started feeling my way along the edge of aerobic capacity, taking in a little hammer gel and water here and there. Before long, I was back on old K-10 headed straight towards the Wakarusa River and the edge of Eudora once more. Up the big climb, I was feeling pretty good, and the road was sliding by fairly quickly. Unfortunately, the only training tool I had at my disposal was a wrist-watch, so things like speed and distance remaining were only guesses. I flew thru Eudora southbound, back to DG-458 and the leg eastbound towards Edgerton Road on the way to Gardner. At this point, I was enjoying a fantastic rhythm, and despite the slight headwind that was developing, I was maintaining pace quite well. I was especially pleased, considering this was on the “big bike”. I had the big saddlebag and the large mud-flaps slowing me down, not to mention the additional weight. It wasn’t making any difference, however. I was all smiles… this kind of versatility AND speed?

I checked off the streets as I passed them – Evening Star Road, Edgerton Road, Dillie Road – I don’t remember THIS climb! – and finally back to 151st St. Still a ways to go… and it was approaching 11:15 – I’d been riding solid for over an hour now, and the hammer gel and water input was keeping things on the level. I was feeling great… and things started flowing through my head: the upcoming MS-150 personal-record attempt for day-one… Tejas… I was beaming confidence into my own psyche… if I was able to turn out this performance today on THIS bike, there was no reason not to feel prepared for my next two goals. The whole “less-is-more” training philosophy was beginning to show it’s fruit. With some rest and careful planning, I was no longer nervous about the big rides ahead, or my ability to complete them.

Finally clear of Gardner near the northern horn of the lake, I proceeded to take on the last portion of 151st Street, and the final run back to New Century. No sense trying to get back to the parking lot, only to have to pass it and head home from there… again it was time to use the shortcut to home that I’d used for the Lone Star Century, via 159th Street. Of course, this is one of those moments where I was glad I hadn’t brought the lighter, skinnier-tires of the race bike… 159th between Lone Elm and US-56 is not exactly in prime shape, but it takes less time to ride it than it would take for a two-mile detour around it.

I pointed the bike east and hammered down the choppy pavement, dove over the railroad tracks and onto the nasty, rutted excuse for pavement on the other side. Yikes… especially when trying to keep the speed up, and with already rubbery legs, this road was a nightmare! Not even realizing it, one of my waterbottles was ejected into the ditch during an especially herky section of chuck-holes and ridges, but I wouldn’t even notice it until I reached for it later on!
It was 11:45! ACK! Still five miles or so to go, and a typically long traffic light at 169 highway yet to cross through! I pushed the tempo up another notch, past the hurt, and got to the light – thankfully there was a multitude of cars already there to trip the sensors, and after a couple minutes we were through. Just one more big obstacle that might have stood in my way was then checked off, as I crossed over the RR tracks near where Woodland Road would be, if it came this far north or south.

Enjoying what seemed like a slight tailwind, I hammer the big ring all the way back east to Murlen, smiled as the light turned green just in time for me to not even have to lift pace, and I turned fast north onto Locust. 11:55pm! PUSH IT!!!

Tossing another log on the fire, I ignored the fact that I was already feeling whipped and stood on the pedals on the last couple streets leading home, and pulled off some wicked criterium-quality turns as I huffed and puffed my way finally into my driveway… 12:01pm! I’ll take it!!! Yeesh!

And all the while, under varying skies, not a drop of rain.

Whew…an excellent two-part ride… one part gentle cruise with good riding partners and new friends, and one part 32-mile time trial. I’m all smiles, and ready to tackle my 2nd-to-last goal in two weeks time!

MS-150 number seven, here I come!

The Metro Metric - a taste of everything

Outside the Dillon’s parking lot is the old trailer marking the location of the Olathe Plywood and Carpet store, which has been in operation for many decades. Once the only thing out here, it’s now fairly hidden from view behind old growth trees and a multitude of shops and housing developments. It marks the beginning of our journey today.


Showing up first to the ride was Karen, from Chicago, whom was in town visiting family and took some time out to come ride with us after seeing the ride announced on the webpage. We had a good conversation while waiting for the other riders to show up, and I made a memorable blunder while we talked: she had asked if very many women showed up to the rides, and based simply on past experience the answer was an unfortunate “no” – the CommuterDude rides in the past had drawn a largely male crowd. About fifteen minutes later however, Liz, Michelle, Sue, and Terri (on the tandem with Dave) showed up in the parking lot, making Dave and I the only men in attendance. So much for that theory! Karen showed up on exactly the right day!

A few minutes later, Jerry showed up on his Cannondale tourer, and we were ready to head out. A brief review of the map, some rules and reminders, and we were off into the cool, humid morning. The skies looked threatening, but it was a welcome change from the heat-wave that had recently broken. With temps in the mid 70’s, it was downright pleasant!

This is the kind of ride start that I like most – a slow pace, and people milling about from bike to bike, chatting it up, and discussing the day to come. The chatter mixed perfectly with the sounds of freewheels clicking, brake levers engaging and releasing, and the crumpling of route maps into jersey pockets, while tires of all sizes crunched against the pavement below. Ahhh… nothing quite like a good group ride!

We made our way north and west, crossing under I-35 via the roundabouts on Sheridan, and then crossing the RR tracks and Santa Fe, on our way to Woodland Road for the long push northbound.




Backwards from me on the road; Michelle on her Trek; Liz on the gorgeous orange Orbea; tied for position on the road are Karen waving and smiling, riding her rare (in these parts) Independent Fabrication Club-Racer in bright yellow with pink accents, and Jerry on his Cannondale CAAD3 touring bike; Dave and Terri on the Santana tandem, and Sue on her Schwinn hybrid; We’ve just turned north on Woodland, with murky skies above us.

It was a strange day, as we made out way north; we encountered a rag-tag bunch of bicycle riders on a morning ride as well, older folks and younger kids pedaling away the comfortable morning – and, sadly, in obvious need of some of Spinman’s help in the form of Road I certification classes, as they dodged from sidewalk to street haphazardly, some blowing stop-signs, some without helmets! Still it was good to see “non-cyclists” out for a ride – one was even riding a little piece of history in the form of a Free Spirit 3-speed, which looked to be all original. Still, its apparent that there is still a lot of work to be done in the realm of bicycle education, at all levels.



A nice mixte, complete with front basket (maybe a Wald?), and high-rise handlebars – but no helmet. I love the jeans, camera and wide tires – Grant at Rivendell would LOVE this scene! Kudos on the properly-aimed reflector, too! Further up the road are Dad and kids, all wearing helmets quite nicely, and just a little further, just above the kid’s blue helmet, is the white ballcap and suspenders of the gentleman riding the burgundy Free Spirit 3-speed, complete with full steel fenders – very nice! Behind me are at least 10 other assorted riders of all ages, but I didn’t get the camera out of my pocket in quite enough time to capture them all.

We continued up Woodland Road, and near K-10 highway we started picking up a few more riders! Waiting for us on the bike path were Robert on a borrowed, and fantastic, Raleigh Technium from the early 80’s – all steel, and a stately blue color, with new Brooks B-17 mounted. Also in the group was Bill on his fine Rivendell Atlantis with moustache bars, wood fenders, and bags.




Also in the mix was Tim on a terrific Motobecane that he’d converted to a fixed-gear.



We made our way a little further north, past K-10 and up towards Prairie Star Parkway where we picked up another handful or riders, including Badgerland on his Rivendell Atlantis (making instant friends with Bill, or course!), CCRider on her new Cannondale cyclo-cross bike with racks and bags, and Nan on her Trek hybrid complete with rear rack and satellite radio! With now 13 riders in the group, this was a record turn-out for a CommuterDude ride – a thrilling morning!

Now peloton-sized, we continued our trek northbound on Woodland towards the big downhill, and the first big reward of the day’s riding as we’d plummet down into the big valley of Mill Creek near 83rd Street. As we flew downhill at upwards of 40 MPH, we caught up with a train that was running north on the tracks parallel to the road, eventually regrouping at 83rd street for a little climb up to Woodland’s continuation up the other side of the valley.

With new development once again scarring the landscape nearby, I looked at this as an opportunity to ride this road the way it has looked for largely 40 years. Woodland road climbs and twists its way north on the eastern edge of the tiny community that used to once be Monticello. Long since faded into history, however, the only remnants are the name which its former main street carries through a newly developed park area only a mile west of where we were.

The ride gets interesting, as the road sharply pitches downward and dives into a series of curves, first right, then left, and suddenly we find ourselves looking UP at railroad tracks, and an odd vision. Parked stationary on the rail-line is a train with a most unusual cargo:





With a strange greenish tint, these look like older, possibly decommissioned Boeing 737’s, maybe 707’s – maybe something else entirely. Stripped for transport, the other parts must be inside the oddly-shaped cargo boxes between each fuselage. The large frames at the front and back of the railcars are likely for supporting a tarp or cover of some kind, which makes me think these are indeed for decommission, as newer or military stock would more than likely be covered up. There are at least four of these identical planes on this train, as far as I can see. Very unusual!

UPDATE: 10/2007 - browsing photos on another webpage, I came across THIS picture, which - unless this happens a LOT, is the SAME TRAIN earlier in the summer, up in Montana! Pretty cool!


Emerging into southern Shawnee, we continued north via Martindale Road and eventually crossed old K-12 highway, er… Shawnee Mission Parkway, and continued our trek for the Kansas River on Woodland Rd again.



Martindale Road, paralleling the RR tracks headed north.




On Woodland Road, in Shawnee, KS, approaching 47th Street. From the left, Bill on the Atlantis with wood fenders and moustache bars, Jerry, Robert (waving), Badgerland, Michelle (behind Badgerland), Liz, CCRider (over Liz’s shoulder), Tom, Nan and Dave & Terri on the tandem.



We turned east at the top of our loop onto Holiday Drive just south of the river, and crossed the RR tracks, where a guy in a Santa Fe RR service truck waved out the window and shouted “good luck on the MS-150!” – a welcome surprise, compared to what COULD have been shouted to us out a car window.

We continued through the wooded area on Holiday Drive, with a few large trucks from the quarry nearby to deal with, and eventually passed under I-435 and onto smoother pavement. The real test of the day’s ride was coming up, at Quivira Lane! This is the “alpine section” of Johnson County, with steep rollers and long, challenging grades following the natural terrain of the river bluffs in northern Shawnee. Always a challenge, even for racers, these hills were met with a couple grumbles and a lot of shifting chains, as we curved south and up, up, up, up, up the first long hill. Eventually, Quivira Lane becomes aligned with Pflumm near 51st Street, and begins another, steeper climb to rise up to 55th Street.




Michelle makes the grade – with the tandem close behind. You can see how steep this hill really is by noticing the street-lights and telephone poles, and how each subsequent one gets shorter and shorter as you go into the backdrop.
The quote of the day, as Michelle passes me after the climb: “sweet murder.”



CCRider, Jerry and Nan make their way up the beast a short while later.



The pain continued afterwards when we turned east on 55th Street and began another long, steep climb – the last of the day. Here, the group really got split up as chains were dropped and mis-shifts caused complete loss of momentum. Michelle, and I and the tandem managed to get up the road a bit, and then waited near the Sonic on Merriam Drive for the others to catch up. Back together again, legs pulsating with the remains of the climbing, we made our way northeast on Merriam Drive, which was, thankfully, flat.

It was another example of how rare a day it was becoming, as we passed a local car dealership to the sounds of a car-alarm blaring. Inside the car was a man fiddling with something on the dashboard. Hmmm… I wonder….but we just assumed all was well and minded our own business. Very strange, don’t you think?!

We get a nose-full of lunch being prepared at one of Merriam’s long-standing hidden treasures, the Wood Yard Bar-B-Que. They just happen to make BBQ here, the main business being sales of lumber for fence and patio building. If the smell was any indication, the $11.00 slab of ribs is a winner!



We passed the House of Rocks, to which I pointed with much amusement, as we crossed under US-69 highway atop a rise that looks down onto Mill Creek’s northern branch.




Trash and treasure; Karen’s capable legs and pink polka-dot socks powering her Independent Fabrication bicycle, past all manner of roadside trash and dangerous drainage grates as we approach the urban core.


Stopped by a train near Rosedale, we rest a spell and enjoy the shade supplied by I-35’s overpass – the heat of the day was coming up, and the clouds were beginning to burn off in the high sun. Next stop was The Coffee Girls at 20th and Southwest Blvd, and we made it there in good time, propping up our bikes and getting ready for a break with some good coffee and breads. It was a welcome rest, and the chairs inside were very comfortable. Unfortunately, with only one person working the counter, some of us didn’t get as long a rest as others – but it was all good…and the coffee? Great!

We continued our trek north, and curved east towards Oak Street and ACME Bicycles, to stop in and say “hey” to one of the most unique bike shops in the country, and certainly the city! The gals adjusted the handlebars on Robert’s Raleigh, and fixed a brake issue on Bill’s Riv, while the rest of us browsed around and marveled at the bikes, the gear, the clothing. This is the only bike shop I’ve been to where you can find a single-speed townie for $100 made from a hodge-podge of good parts, all the way to a $2000 dream road-sport bike with lugs and the finest appointments – there are $50 bare frames for those looking for a project bike, and there are custom-made mixtes created IN HOUSE, complete with custom-made racks with wooden inserts. If you know what a Maxi-Car hub is, and value stuff from manufacturers like Nitto and Stronglight, you NEED to visit this place.
I bought a “Rivendell-style” brass bell, and borrowed a screwdriver to mount it up, and eventually we regrouped in the parking lot and were ready to roll south again.


We head back south, out on Oak and up a good climb near the hospital as Oak becomes Gillham Road and follows to Linwood. A little urban riding ensues, as we handle the traffic on Linwood and transition to Wyandotte for the jaunt south into historic Westport. We make our way through the busy district, and pause at Pennsylvania to try and true Robert’s rear wheel, which was getting wobbly after a pot-hole encounter or two. We leave the hussle and bustle of Westport down a big hill, and then slide onto Bridger Road and finally Broadway, where we hit the Country Club Plaza in grand style, riding the brakes down a REALLY steep hill, which – thankfully – we didn’t have to climb! A few bell rings for the shoppers, and some waves and curious looks, and we are out of the Plaza almost as quickly as we entered it. Next feat, since the Plaza sits in the Valley of Brush Creek, was climbing OUT of it. Up Wornall Road, we heaved and shoved our bicycles once again, and the accusations of my preference for hills start to fly in conversation! We make our way up the scenic drive with it’s tall stone walls, and eventually turn right at 55th Street near the northern edge of Jacob Loose Park. A scenic stroll around the park’s western edge down Summit street, and the mood softens – the major climbing of the day is behind us finally!

We make our way south and west through some magnificent old neighborhoods, with the tree-lined streets of Summit and Valley Roads take us past Brookside (anyone remember WHY it is called Brookside?) and down to 69th Street, where we cross into Kansas and roll past some of the palatial estates of Mission Hills – this is a GREAT route, I’m thinking, despite the challenges! We make our way to Prairie Village, and begin the last part of our southern run on Lee Boulevard and into Leawood, KS., past some more great homes, and down another lane of history towards Leawood Park, where we all stop for a rest again.

The day is getting HOT, and the hills have taken their toll. With faces long, and waterbottles getting empty, a rest is well deserved. Even as ride leader, I’m not too anxious to round-out the complete metric century today, so the decision is made to cut the route a little shorter. Instead of heading all the way south, and towards more hills and a long session in the now-blazing sun on 175th Street, the group started to split up. Our little splinter group containing Michelle, Robert, Jerry, Karen and Sue started westbound on College Blvd, which on a Saturday morning is not a bad ride at all. At this point, many folks were riding on damage control. We passed up Bill, hoping he’d latch on to us, which he tried to do but ended up bonking pretty hard – he called for backup, and we rode onward. After some long, steady climbs, we made it to the BP station at Antioch, and pulled off into a shady rest area with picnic tables for another break.



One for the books – Karen and I pose for the camera at the BP station, after getting refreshed for the last push back to the Dillon’s parking lot, and the end of our day.



Karen and Michelle bought a bag of ice and demonstrated some neat cooling techniques, and I tried to follow suit by stuffing handfuls of ice into my back pockets – suddenly, things like Carradice bags and handlebar storage made PERFECT sense for a hot day like today. If NOTHING ELSE, they keep items out of your back pockets, to allow for ice. IT FELT GREAT!!! I wished I’d though of it at Tinbutt! Argh!

Some snacks, and finally realizing that Robert’s wheel issues were from a broken spoke, which we remedied with a zip-tie, and we were ready again. Back pockets and other clothing items filled with ice, fresh water bottles, and a few phone calls made, we were back on the road. We traveled down the monster hill after Antioch, reaching at least 45 MPH, and then started climbing up to Switzer, where we then cut across and started heading south. Switzer has a good, long climb, but we took in stride because we knew we were getting closer to home with each pedal stroke.

Eventually, we had made it back to the Dillon’s, and the end of our ride – whew! What a DAY in the saddle this had been, with nearly every conceivable style of terrain and riding environment on tap, it was a great time! Looking forward to reprising this route sometime, with a few tweaks, and maybe some shortening for a winter version – stay tuned!

Metricus Metropolus!

This is just a preview, a ride-report from Karen, who came all the way from Chicago to ride with us!! (ok...she was visiting family, too.)

Thanks for coming out Karen!

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Hi All:
Just wanted to send in a report about my cycling adventure in Kansas City this past weekend. As some of you know, I connected with a group there via an article in September's Bicycling Magazine ("The Commuter Dude," p. 45).
I drove down to see my family with Sydney Cycle relaxing in the back seat.
KC is a pretty hilly town, but I was absolutely dumbfounded at the climbs we did on our 60 mile tour Saturday a.m. From suburban Kansas sprawl (rivaling Buffalo Grove) to quaintly rundown older neighborhoods to urban skylines to the hustle and bustle of the Country Club Plaza (a beautiful outdoor shopping area) to graceful Missouri-side mansions, we did it all. "All" included a hill longer and as steep as the climb into Williams Bay, Wisconsin. I lost my chain twice! The rewards included amazing downhills. I clocked over 40 mph -- first time since riding in Montana in '01. And it was hot, hot, hot. The general pace was slower than what we usually do, but the hills more than balanced out that average mph.
The 12 riders were mostly 30-40 somethings, but the biggest surprise was that over half were women. I found everyone to be really interesting to talk to and interested in why I happened to be there. There was Michelle, a tall Amazon who is an editor at the KC Star newspaper; Bill, the burley guy on the wooden-fendered commuter bike, foster parent for two handicapped individuals; Dave and Terry zipping by on their tandem; Sue, slathered in zinc oxide trailing behind us, yet never giving up; a guy on a fixed gear bike who had the fastest cadence I've ever seen -- no, wait -- he had his feet off the pedals while spinning downhill; Nan, consistently passing me on her hybrid, then stopping to check her blood sugar level; and Jerry who looked and sounded familiar and WAS
familiar: he is a recent immigrant to the KC area from Evanston! I've ridden with him on my forays with the Evanston Bike Club. Finally, there was the goofy Commuter Dude himself, Keith, a skilled and generous rider who made me feel totally at home with my adopted team.
Other highlights of the ride included a stop at a funky bike shop: Acme Bikes in downtown KC (bike tubes covered with Persian carpets, bikes made by Dr.
Frankenstein, bikes on drugs). We passed a store called "House of Rocks" where they sold . . . . rocks . . . just rocks. No llamas, unfortunately. We covered lots of territory that produced flashbacks from childhood. And not a single motorist honked at us or threw firecrackers (though Nan told me that she's been hit by milk shakes).
I had a really good time!
See you Saturday?
Karen L. (as in "cyKLing's up to date in Kansas city")

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My ride report is coming soon, I promise -- as well as the conclusion of the ride LAST weekend, the Tongi Tango -- which somehow got cut off due to user error, I think. I need to hit "SAVE" every once in a while, don't ya think? Ugh.

kG:)

The Tongi Tango - a chain-poppin' good time!

Two weeks after Tinbutt, and I was ready again to enjoy a weekend ride. I’d been commuting again since the Tuesday afterwards, but it was a slow progression to get the feeling back in the legs, get the tolerance for the heat re-charged. It’s been really, really hot here – hotter that I can remember it being. I recall when I was working near College and Lamar a couple years back, it was like 106º, and a fully frozen water-bottle I’d brought along for the afternoon portion of my ride was literally completely thawed by the time I made it the 7 miles to my second job. It’s been nearly that hot these last couple of weeks. I’ve since upgraded to the newer “Polar” bottles, which are insulated to keep drinks cooler, longer – but even in this heat my drinks are still lukewarm by the time I reach the house in the afternoons.

Heat. It’s gettin’ OLD.

I read back at some of the older posts, from last fall, and autumns-past, the rides in 50º weather seem like a memory – like magic. I’d give nearly anything for a cloudy, 55º day, with a slight north breeze, 30% humidity, and maybe a slight chance of drizzle…at sunrise…on a Sunday with no traffic…maybe on Hedge Lane, just north of K-152. Mmmmmm…..

Too bad, Dude --- I pull up to Badgerland’s house, and start unloading the bike, and I’m sweating already. I snap back to reality, and realize that unless I get really good with umbrella modifications, I’m not gonna get any shade today. I’ve got the sunscreen on so thick that I leave smear marks on the car as I pull the bike out of the trunk. Yep, I broke down and drove up here – I don’t need another 100+ mile day in this heat. Talk about burn-out!

It’s a pleasure to ride with Badgerland – always has been – but more-so now that he’s mounted-up on some really nice eye-candy; a gorgeous Rivendell, complete with bags, lights, racks, and good tires. I feel slightly less fancy on my Kogswell, even with the saddlebag mounted, and frame-pump secured with a leather toe-strap – riding next to something from Walnut Creek’s premier bicycle shop makes anything else seem plain! His bike is CLASSY. Polished aluminum gleaming and leather mud-flaps waving, we head out into the northern expanses of Shawnee.

As we make our way, we start to talk about the usual things that cyclers like us end up talking about:

“When I moved here, there was nothing out here!” He chimed as we pass yet another residential ground-breaking site. “That road we just came from used to be the runway for a small airport out here, used to be Johnson County Agricultural Airport!”

We share the same frustration with over-building and shoulder-less 6-lane super-thoroughfares that seem to be popping up around here lately – today’s ride will take us far away from such things, and provide a taste of what we like to ride for.

The first turn leads us onto K-7, near the Kansas River. It’s a great road, with a good shoulder, if you can catch it early enough in the day, that is. Not for the weak of heart, perhaps, but still one of the only ways to get across the river, without taking a major western detour first. We head down the ramp just after the northern levee, and down into Bonner Springs, and K-32 highway. This is more of a rural bypass anymore, ever since I-70 took over. Mainly local traffic, and not much of that even, awaits us, as we pedal thru the outskirts of town and along the railroad tracks that parallel the river banks. We head out of town onto Loring Road, and follow the river on a flattish section of road with endless fields on one side, and the mechanized sounds of locomotives to the other. I’m something of a railroad buff, so I spend time looking left, then right, then left again – just to see what’s passing by.

We notice that the cars become fewer and farther between, as we approach the point where Loring Road bears north, and Golden Road takes over to the south and west. We turn north, and face the fist hill or the day, a real grunter. This is the same route, since Bonner Springs, that the 200K in March took, and I love just about every inch of this route. It’s challenging, and the scenery makes it easy to forget that you’re only a few miles from a shopping strip or two. I love it up here. With the first big climb behind us, the heat of the day becomes more apparent. My back is already soaked thru with sweat, and it’s barely 8:00AM!

The glorious road transitions to another one, even MORE glorious; we approach the payoff for the climbing so far, and slide down a long, shady descent, back into the river valley near Desoto, KS., and motor along a terrific flat as we cross the county line. The shade helps, and a slight tailwind doesn’t hurt our mood – we’re making good time so far, even though that’s not the goal. We pause near an intersection to check out maps, and head west towards Linwood.

This is one of the best parts of the route so far, as the road gets shaded over by a canopy of trees, and the houses become quite palacial in nature. A long, stone fence lines the road near one of the great homes, giving the surroundings a decidedly northeastern feel. The road pitches uphill, and curves north back towards K-32 again. We transition onto the good shoulder of K-32 and spin away on the smooth pavement, passing a field of sunflowers and an old guy and his truck, complete with farm dog. With a rousing "hello" and a wave, we exchange good-mornings - enjoying the gentle breezes and scenery as we approach Linwood proper.



Linwood is quite a small town, almost forgotten along this since-bypassed route to Lawrence to the west, and it's reflected in the near lack of traffic. Most of the traffic here is carried by I-70, which is both good and bad. Linwood will likely stay untouched by time, and this is a great highway to ride on - things that you'd find me hard pressed to complain about, but it's a little piece of Americana that is typical leftovers from the Interstate highway push of the 50's. Still, at the very least, they didn't rip up this pavement - it's still here for people to discover.

We rolled on, past Linwood, and further west on K-32 towards our next turn at 222nd St, or LV-1 northbound towards Tonganoxie. We finally turned north, after some long, steady highway-style climbs, and with a tailwind at our backs we enjoyed the first section of 222nd Street's long downhills - we flew down, slightly up again, and then down again into a big valley with rolling hills and scattered farms. This was another great piece of forgotten road, with almost NO traffic -- I think we saw three cars in an hour, and two of those were headed south in the opposite lanes. The chip seal was giving a little buzz to our frames, but big tires and steel always handle those conditions well. We smiled and spun along in the sunshine, taking in the sights. So far removed, visually, was this place from the usual Kansas backdrop that it was easy to breathe deep and invision ourselves in Wisconsin or the Dakotas - Leavenworth county, as I've been taught in the last couple rides up here, is very scenic, and nothing like the image most people have of Kansas.

Eventually, we came to our next turn, which took us on a dog-leg to US-24. This is a Federal highway, mind you, and there were absolutely NO cars today. Very odd, but nothing to complain about! We took off farther north on the wide, glass-smooth shoulder and made our way into Tonganoxie, turning again at Washington Street for the trip back east towards Kansas City, and the Speedway, about 6 miles away.
Washington Street was another chip-seal adventure, with rolling hills, and lined with older homes, one of which was complete with older Tongi resident, with a hearty "good mornin'" and a wave and smile, we made contact with the way life has been in this small town for decades. This is how life SHOULD be.

After scaring a jogger half-to-death with my obnoxiously loud brass bell, we rolled onward towards salvation - the Casey's Store. Nearing State Avenue, and the return to the 200K route from March, we stopped in for a much-needed break. The heat was still there, just in the background, and I was starting to feel it - plus the pangs of hunger. Over halfway done, I had not been eating enough - and Badgerland was at the rescue with a full sleeve of Fig Netwons, and Casey's provided the fresh water and ice. A 20-minute break, and I was starting to feel good again, ready for the next part of the ride! One thing I found interesting, people's looks towards us had changed. Instead of disdain and confusion at our spandex and racy bikes, we were getting nods of approval from folks as they milled around and in-and-out of the gas station. With the large, traditional-looking baggage, and purposeful looking machines we had propped up against the side of the building, I think people looked upon us as tourers, instead of traffic-blockers. Hard to tell -- maybe it was an off-day for them. Curious, just the same.

We packed up our supplies and headed back out onto State Avenue, and a long downhill that Ort might remember (oops.) - this time it WAS the correct path, and it led us down some good road -- although there was a good shoulder, there was a fair amount of trash and automotive debris strewn about, but our sturdy tires shrugged it off. We climbed some pretty good hills here, too, making our way east - and that's precisely when it happened: PING!! skee, skee, rattle!!!

What the??? My chain, for the first time since I'd first started riding, had broken! Uh, oh. I called out to Badgerland, whom was already stopping to see what had happened. We surveyed the damage, and lo, the SRAM Power-Link that was holding the chain together had popped off during my latest move from big ring to small ring. There was no finding it, as it was likely deep in the grass, or in the traffic lane -- or being two-pieces, maybe both. This is another example of the RIGHT way to ride - preparedness. The extra space and weight (in this case, less than 2 grams) of certain spare parts can save a lot of headache, a lot of gas from the ride home you'd otherwise need to get, and a shameful phone call at the very least. Badgerland and I were both equipped with extra Power-Links -- HIGHLY recommended. You might be asking how I could trust it after what had just happened? Well, what's my alternative? In this case, I knew that I had previously RE-used that link, who knows how many miles ago, or chains-ago - so much that the gold anodiziation had worn completely off in neat, circular patterns. It was simply time for it to break! I pulled a nice, shiny new one out of the saddlebag, and less than ten minutes, and ten greasy fingers later, we were back on the road again.
Beats walking!!!

Back on the road, we approached the Kansas Speedway, getting a neat view of the complex as we rolled up from the west. We bypass the complex to the south, and enjoy a REALLY long and fast downhill, which vaguely reminded me of Colorado in some ways. Deep in a semi-tuck, I let gravity do the work for over two miles of tree-shaded bliss, tires singing, and - again - practicaly no traffic to contend with!
I came to a slow stop back at K-32, near Bonner Springs, but this time to the east of K-7. Another C-Store beckoned to us here, and we stopped again for more cold water and a quick refreshment. We were almost done, but there was no reason to rush today! Even with the heat coming up even more, it was a great day to ride. With the loud blast of a passing freight train behind us, we pedaled out onto K-32, headed back towards the birdge that would take us back into northern Johnson County.

A great view of the river and a few good hills on 47th Street, and we were back in Badgerland's neighborhood, and soon after that back at the house. Whew! Nearly 50 miles, some quite hilly - but nothing horrid - and our day of riding was complete!
Badgerland ran inside as I packed my bicycle back into the trunk of my little car, and then returned with two Mason jars filled 3/4 full with some familiar golden liquid. AHHH! Now you're talking! Always the gracious host, Badgerland and I raised glasses of cold honey lager and toasted the day's workout. I don't know if it was the heat, the hard ride, or the flavor itself, but that was the tastiest beer I've had in a while. Smooth, and refreshing to the core, we were all smiles as the jars became empty. A excellent day! Thanks for the ride, Badgerland!

Reminder about Metro Metric!

A quick reminder that THIS weekend, SATURDAY, is the Metro Metric - or CommuterDude XX - assuming I haven't lost count somewhere. "XX" seems to be a good place to start, anyways - so I hope I don't lose count AGAIN. Crap.

Anyhoooooo --- all the ride details are HERE.


Bring CASH -- Coffee Girls is a cash-only business, but they do have an ATM in the building, if you don't mind the fees. ACME Bicycles WILL BE OPEN, and we will probably take a quick stop there, if you like. I need to buy a new bell while we're there.

Ride notes: Lights, bells, and gigantic saddlebags are encouraged! Panniers optional.
Pack a few snacks for yourself and BRING EXTRA WATER if you have a way to carry it.
Near the end of the ride, stops become spread farther apart!

You better be there, and if you aren't there you better be dead, or in jail.
And if you're in jail, break out.

Love ya!

Tinbutt Rolls Again

The sun was simply brutal, beating down on me from above – it felt like it was only a few feet away from my head – and so powerful were the rays that they almost had a sound – a kind of humming, like from a big generator or something. The pavement shimmered with reflections of the sky, the trees – the heat. Long black marks left from tires passing thru molten bitumen streaked along the road, as I stared blankly at a patch of asphalt only a few meters in front of my leading tire. My third bottle of water was dry, and there were three miles left to pedal before I’d have a fresh fill. Three small miles that, amid the hills, seemed like thirty. My mind turns to the weather report from the last lap – 115º heat index, and a SE wind that was feeling like a blast furnace. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a small, winged bug wriggling for freedom, stuck in the hairs, sweat and sunscreen plastered to my left forearm – I consider trying to flick him to away, but I don’t have the will to remove my hands from the bars. Pedal. Pedal. Pedal. That is the only thing to do here. To pedal means to survive. No trees, no passing clouds – only a few thin wisps of cumulus hover to the north, fifteen miles away. There will be no shade today. Even the birds are hiding. Amid all this, I smile. Beneath sunscreen, road grime, dried sports drink, red dust, my sun-softened helmet and make-shift turban, a cracked grin appears – I LOVE this sport.

This is Ultra-Cycling, Midwest-style.

The day dawned, and it was very apparent that we were in for a repeat, weather-wise, of last year – if not worse. The humidity was high, and Ort and I were sweating profusely while we loaded up our cars for the drive to the park for the ride start. This was nuts!

We chose our parking spaces for the day, and began the usual preparations. I didn’t see too many familiar faces this time out, but Sam Baugh was back – with crew – and looking fresh and ready for the day. My day was going pretty well – with a bag full of lessons learned from two years at this event (3/4 of the lessons learned in 2005), I was feeling strangely calm, collected, and ready – not the usual bag of nerves that I’ve been at these rides in the past. Long after the craving for it has passed, I’m still amazed how much of a positive effect the lack of caffeine is having on my mental game. I’m downright RELAXED, as crew and rider alike hustle around and make last minute adjustments. My drinks are ready, my water cooler is full, my supplies are stocked, and the bike is ready to roll. The fifteen minute bell rings.

Don Norville runs a fantastic event – there is nothing quite as well run within 300 miles of KC (that I’m aware of) in the Ultra community – as far as UMCA events are concerned, and that’s to say that I haven’t been up to Iowa yet – but this is a quality event. Solid. No question. Don gets everyone lined up for the start, goes over the rules and details of the course. There are only 16 starters this year, which is unfortunate for an event of this caliber. I REALLY hope it is brought back for 2007, because it’s GREAT. Last year, by comparison, there were over 30 starters – but the 103º temps might have taken their toll on this year’s attendance, as well as the ridiculously high gas prices, which makes it hard for any traveling cyclist.

A quick wrap-up of the rules, and the bell is rung for the start – with a rush of 90º air, we’re off, and out of the parking area in a flash, Sam and I at the front, with a few other advantageous riders. Another miracle lap on tap for 2006, perhaps?

Sure enough, the pack tries to get organized inside the twists and turns of Lake McMurtry Park, but it’s a hard sell. The road is cumbersome and many riders decide not to risk things just yet. Eventually, the big downhill on Airport Road is upon us – and it’s still not repaved from last year. Yikes. Everyone spaces out to find their individual line down the steep, choppy, chuck-hole ridden grade. Thankfully, no pinch flats to start the day for anyone. The first uphill section is coming, and Sam is off like a shot and showing his training. I manage to follow, but he’s putting in quite a ride and reminds me again that this is a guy that is in a class of his own. Always amazing to see, if I try to chase this early, I’ll be spent – just like in 2004. Remember your lessons! I return to my own pace, and still manage to stay up front of the rest of the pack on the 1-mile climb.

The road levels a touch, and other riders begin to reappear over my left shoulder – time to work together, it seems, as the first turn comes and we are on OK-51, westbound. Ah, old familiar roads. As a five-man paceline forms around me, I start to count off the landmarks of the route – the steel mailbox, the bricks, the Blackwell Lake entrance, the shredded tire in the ditch, the bridge, the cemetery, the long hill. All the while, the five-man group is setting a good pace, but thoughts of my own goals start to creep in – it’s a good pace, but its not my 12-hour pace, unfortunately. I swing off the back, and out of rotation. Time to do this ride the way I do it best; solo.

Confused, the pack slows a bit and looks for me – a kind gesture, but I wave them on. It’s a long day, gents; time to settle in. I remember to drink – the new sun is just making it over the trees, and the heat is coming up quickly. The big valley and the turn onto OK-86 is upon me, and I take in the grand view – this is my favorite visual part of the course – very scenic, and a little shot in the arm is the long, straight downhill section right after the turn, a well-deserved rest after the long, slow grades on OK-51. I’m feeling good – the new bike is absolutely fantastic, giving no indication at all that it’s made from aluminum. I’m continuously shocked, and pleased, that it didn’t turn into a “parking lot test ride” phenomenon; and it would prove itself to me all day long as a comfortable, yet wickedly quick and responsive, bicycle. The saddle is in the right place, too, and even though it’s only the first lap, I’m feeling good about the day ahead.

Lap one is complete – and for the first time at Tinbutt, I unclick and dismount. It’s all part of the plan, and I trot up to the park bench towards my ice chest and cooler set-up. The mental rehearsals and the test runs at convenience stores all spring have paid off, and in less than five minutes I’m back on the bike and rolling out for Lap Two. I pop a couple electrolyte tabs while rolling and settle back into the rhythm – and so far, I haven’t been caught on the road. Excellent!

I carry onward, and thru the park again, enjoying the sweeping corners and short climbs, and trying to avoid the bumps – but unfortunately not everything is in a cyclists control. As I descent Airport Road for the second time, oncoming traffic forces me to take a line that I otherwise wouldn’t have, and BANG! The front wheel dives into a shallow (thankfully) pothole at nearly 40 MPH! A major, jarring bump! I was certain that a pinch flat was the result, but surprisingly there was no wheel or tire damage – but my handlebars were a little lower now! Oops. No sense stopping now and digging thru the saddlebag for the Allen wrenches – that’s what the next stop would be for. Unfortunately that was about 18 miles away still. No bother…it isn’t THAT bad. The heat, on the other hand was getting bad QUICK. Yeesh! Who turned on the furnace!? I continued onto OK-51 again, and quickly ate up some time at a good clip, and began to notice that I was taking on water a little faster this time out. Hmmm. An extra electrolyte tab to compensate.

After OK-86, and the long downhill, I begin the ascent towards the Noble County line, towards Bronco Road – the crux of the course. In contrast to the relative flatness of OK-51, this northern leg of the ride is six miles of fairly continuous hills – the worst of which being about mid-way up the road at Arstingstall’s place. What a grinder!! I would begin, as the day progressed, to explore the upper regions of the drive-train with each subsequent lap up this hill. Standing and straining against the grade, I notice a clicking noise coming from the front end as the wheel comes around. Hmmm…dry skewer, perhaps? I’ll check that, too, at the next stop.

A few miles later, it’s repeat-time. I’m back at the park, my number gets checked off, and I dismount for a refill, and quick mechanical adjustment. The support guy from Sam’s team runs over to make sure I have everything I need – a solid reminder that Ultra is a REAL gentleman’s sport, with everyone helping each other, regardless. I unfortunately manage to slice my thumb open tightening the front skewer, fingers slippery from sweat – but it’s only a minor wound. Turns out the ticking noise was the computer magnet hitting its sensor – so, a quick tweak and the noise is gone. A couple extra minutes off the bike this time, but the handlebars are back where they should be, and tighter, and the noise problems are history. With fresh bottles, it’s time for lap three!

Setting good lap times, and not getting passed by anyone on the road, I felt pretty good for the next two laps, but the heat was coming up even faster now, and the sun angle was dead-overhead. There was no shade to be found – no angled shade from roadside trees anymore, no clouds, barely even the thin shadows from overhead lines seemed to show up in the blazing heat. The temperature had been over 100º for over an hour now, and rising, and the humidity was thick enough to impede breathing. Scary conditions. At the end of lap three, I repeated my routine, and reapplied sunscreen, and noticed a few competitor's cars were missing from the parking area. After lap four, a couple more yet were missing. The day was taking its toll, even faster than it had last year!

I proceeded out for lap number five, and this time with an extra water bottle courtesy Ort – one for the back pocket, full of ice, plus a bandana full of ice around my neck to help keep cool. That’s what it was turning into – it wasn’t that I was drinking so much that I needed that third bottle – my BODY needed it. I was up to four electrolyte tabs per laps now, and I was beginning to feel minor twinges in my legs on the hills near the end of Bronco Road now. DANG – how much of this stuff do I need to be taking out here?!!? Listen to the body, and never question it. I drank like a teenager at a frat party, and sprayed myself with water until I was completely soaked from helmet to socks, and – surprisingly – I felt good, considering the conditions. Still, I promised myself that when I matched last year’s mileage total, I would allow myself a little rest in the shade. The end of Lap Five came, and I dismounted again.

I walked up to the bench, refilled my bottles and pulled a snack out of my ice chest, and munched on it while I reclined on the bench with my legs on top of the ice chest. With ice on my forehead and a cool drink in my hand, I almost fell asleep – but I kept my focus on the task at hand. Strangely, no-one was coming up the road quite yet from a completed lap. Was I the only one out here anymore? Almost as I finished that thought, the support team shouted “rider up!” and volunteers scrambled to check off his rider number, and then he rolled over to his support crew for a re-supply. A couple minutes later, Ort was pulling up, too – finally we’d get to talk a bit. I rose up, and prepared to ready myself for lap six, and Ort did the same. Time flew – I was off the bike for a little longer than I’d wanted, but I was having fun and was well rested and recharged for the heat again. It was at least 97º in the shade, but the rest felt GREAT.

Ort held back a little longer, and I headed out for my sixth lap of the day. Time was getting short – which never ceases to amaze me about these rides. The official start was at 7:00am, and I always feel like I blink and it’s suddenly 10:30 or something. Crazy. Now it was approaching the hottest part of the day, and I felt like I had just gotten started! Time was wasting! Still feeling fairly good, I was not going to play my odds with fatigue in the heat, so I tendered my pace for the conditions and decided that it was time to ride more sensibly – which was good, because I was starting to feel the effects of being near-cramp for most of the day.

Despite my efforts to push enough water – but not TOO much – and keep the electrolytes in check, “feeling good” was a relative term. My fuel of choice for these events is Sustained Energy, and it contains a good dose of protein – excellent for keeping the endurance rider properly fueled to prevent muscle cannibalization on really long rides. Unfortunately, with temperatures this high, the water in my system was being diverted to my muscles, not staying in my stomach for digestion – so “feeling good” was in concert with mild abdominal cramping for most of the 2nd, 3rd and 4th laps. Finally after lap five and a good rest, I was able to get enough water in to restart things, and I was feeling ready to make up some distance by lap six – but the clock had other plans, and there is no stopping the clock. I did, however, stop the SE and was now running the ride on nothing but HEED, Hammer Gel and water. If my body needed protein, well, it was gonna have to get it the hard way. My stomach was not having any more SE today.

Mentally, I was on top of the game. Even the handlebar issue, the clicking computer sensor, and a couple of thrown chain incidents from irresponsible shifting practices couldn’t dent my psyche – I was really enjoying this for some reason!

Lap six was physically brutal. The searing heat was at its fiery peak, the pavement was squashy, and tires squished and threatened to simply melt if one stopped riding. The southeast winds helped push me along OK-51, but made the furnace-like conditions even worse. There were pockets of hotter air that I seemed to pass in and out of, and the passing traffic on the highway seemed to invite even more dust and hot air to the party. Even my dark sunglasses seemed to feel weak against the tortuous glare of the bright sky and mirror-black pavement stretching out ahead of me.

It was hard, but strangely I was reveling in it for some reason. The desire to overcome what I had wrought the previous year, and the feeling of preparedness, was overcoming my doubts and helping me keep the pedals turning. Time was ticking by, but so were the miles, and before I knew it I was at the corner of OK-51 and OK-86 again, and there was the water stop the ride organizers had set out for us. At this point, I don’t know if I could qualify my needs as “emergency”, but grabbing a cold bottle of water and simply draining it over my back felt fantastic, and it was worth the extra minutes of stopping. With that little respite, the lap was over in no-time, and after the carnival of hills on Bronco Road I was whipping back into the park for another lap completed. Even getting passed wouldn’t erase the smile of another lap from my face – the solid, impressive soldier of Sam Baugh was hammering home another overall win, and managed to sweep me up on OK-86, just before the turn onto Bronco – impressive! …And something to work towards…

The body was growing weary now, and the heat was really taking it’s toll. I took advantage of a cold mister/shower that the volunteers had set up, and let the cold water fall over my head and body – it brought chills, and felt fantastic! Having a strange refreshing and awakening effect, too, I was happy to have to re-apply sunscreen before my last lap of the day – it was worth getting it all washed off like that.

Bottles filled, and another extended rest; I was a clock-watcher now. I knew how long my laps were taking, and I knew how long I had to finish the day – and unlike last year, I was gonna finish this ride in the saddle and not on the sidelines. Quarter-to-six was the cutoff – if I didn’t roll by then, I wouldn’t get credit for the last lap. Even Sam was taking a break – the day was brutal, even for the strongest riders. In fact, it was a severe blow to morale that several other strong riders had already succumbed to the heat, including RAAM-qualified riders - but instead of self-doubt and fear taking over my mind, I felt a sense of pride now – instead of “why am I still here?”, I was reminding myself that I was still ready to RIDE. I even got Ort charged-up for another run at it, and soon, we mounted up together for Lap Seven.

Staying together for a long ways, Ort and I tackled the last lap one section at a time – we navigated the park, Airport Road, and the long Redland’s Road climbs to OK-51. We set up our pace on OK-51, and managed to stay within sight of each other – it was becoming a very individual ride now. The heat was not waning, and there were still no shadows to be found. If anything, the wind had picked up. We kept thinking about turning around – and it was becoming a death-march. You know things are bad when the ride organizer starts driving the course and checking on each rider individually, asking for a solid thumbs up. If you don’t look right, he pulls over – and you stop. We prayed that he didn’t drive this last lap… we both would have been in the van.

Drinking, pedaling, and popping electrolyte tabs – of which I was nearly OUT of – we soldiered on. Ort began to practice his trademark “I’m done with this ride” maneuver, which basically is the opposite of anything I’ve seen anyone else ever do. He goes faster, to get it over with faster. At this point, I can’t even respond, so I don’t try…until I decide to try the same notion, and see if I can finish strong. I bridge – but barely, and OK-86 is suddenly upon me and the much needed water stop again. I stop, Ort continues down the big, long downhill into the valley below. Solo again – but refreshed… I douse myself with water, take a few extra swigs and I’m off down the hill. There is no catching Ort, however – the legs are getting heavy, and the sun simply will not let up – but I smile, and start to sing. I can’t remember the song, but I am belting it. I don’t know if it’s delirium setting in, or joy that THIS is the last lap. The clock is ticking by, and there will not be time for another one. This is it. I have all the time I need to finish, and the hills have yet to come.

One by one, I check them off. Soon, Arstingstall’s mailbox is behind me for another year, and a weary smile spreads across my face. Three hills to go… or is it four? I don’t care… each pedal stroke brings me closer to the park, and the finish. I crest the last hill, and pedal into the park, around a few corners, and up the last cruel hill from the boat dock to the line… DONE.

To applause from standers-by and volunteers alike, I get my number checked off for the last time this year, and I dismount with a wave and an exhausted shrug.

I hobble over to my rest area to get more water, and then I stand for at least 15 minutes under the misters again; the best invention EVER. This day is in the books, and I can stand tall now – compared to last year, even though I fell two laps short of my personal goal of 198 miles, I regard this ride as a huge personal success. Adversity, physically and mechanically, were handled with ease this time, instead of anxiety – and I not only remembered to drink enough, but I kept cramps at bay. Even though they were just under the surface all day long, they never halted a pedal stroke. I had taken six electrolyte tabs per lap by the end of the day, but so had Sam, the overall winner – so I think I was on the right track. The bag of lessons is finally empty – I had learned from them all, and I had a gold medal for my age group to point to as well. An EXCELLENT, but horribly brutal, day was finally over.

And, yes – I can’t wait for next year.

Some people you just can't reach.

This morning on the way in to work, I passed by the same places as usual - and as usual I see the masses pouring out onto the streets in their cars and SUVs. This morning, however, I got the rare treat to find out where one of these cars was actually going.

The tan Honda Accord pulled out of an apartment complex about three blocks from my work, and headed north on the same road I was travelling -- since I was headed gradually downhill, my pace was helping me keep time with hers, and eventually, a couple blocks later, we ended up at the same red light.

As I waited behind her, I was a little confused that she wasn't turning right or left - but was oriented to head straight. At this particular intersection, that only means one thing: you're headed straight into my workplace complex.

I thought to myself --- surely not... that's ludicrous.

Te light turned green, and we both began forward, onto the loop that circles my office complex... and she leads me straight.... curve a little..... turn (this is creepy, I'm thinking).... and here we are.

As I roll up to the bike rack, she rolls her Honda into a parking space not too far away.
The benefit-of-the-doubt begins to run through my head... maybe she has leg problems, or something.... maybe she has a lot to carry to work.... maybe that apartment complex was the last stop on her car-pool route?

It would seem not. She exits her car, alone, pops the trunk to pull out the wheeled office-bag, and - looking quite able-bodied - walks towards the building at a good clip.

Her car isn't popping or hissing - which would have indicated a longer drive. In fact, fresh condensation drips from the tip of her car's exhaust pipe, indicating that it hasn't been running that long.

I hurriedly lock up my bike and grab my stuff... and catch up to her as she walks... I HAVE to know...

"Nice day...", I attempt.

"Yeah...cooler for a change..." she responds.

"You live in those apartments back there? I ride past them every day... pretty nice?" I ask.

"Yeah, they are... I like that they are so close to work!" she says.

I leave a long pause. ...SO CLOSE TO WORK... her words echoed in my head, bouncing madly in my skull like marbles. It stings. Can she hear herself?

"Well, have a good day... enjoy the weather." I leave her and alter my path to head towards my building. That's as far as I let the conversation go...

If she didn't gather what I was insinuating, there was no way a forced argument was going to change her perception. Perhaps there was something I was missing -- perhaps a doctor's appointment later that day, having to pick up a child at a far-away school, ANYTHING.... but digging further would have been too intrusive, and confrontational.

Maybe I should have been confrontational - but I just couldn't. Some people you just can't reach...and that's truly unfortunate. I hope my timing is off this afternoon, on the way home -- I hope I don't see her drive back to her apartment, watch her get out and simply walk inside - having driven a total of 1.5 miles for the day.

I alter my path, to chase her down. Maybe a simple suggestion, no matter how it's received, wouldn't hurt. Leave the heels at work, wear walking shoes from home to the office. Take advantage of the wheeled office-bag to lighten your load.

Maybe tomorrow I'll see her walking to work... just maybe...

It's worth a try.