The Ghost Town Tour

It's been a busy, whirlwind month, and - honestly - I'm beginning to wonder if a 3rd R-12 is really something I should be pursuing right now... much less a R-12 at a certain average speed.  I don't know if I care anymore how fast or slow these next 7 rides go (this month being number 5).  What should be a steady progression of training (for lack of a better term) has eroded to almost nothing, sadly - even the near-guarantee of getting some mileage via commuting to work a few times a week has dwindled to a barely ONCE-per-week rarity.  I overheard on a couple occasions how my riding counterparts had ridden 40 miles here and there in the days before... and it occurred to me that I hadn't ridden 40 miles in TOTAL to prepare for this ride since last month.  (No WONDER I felt like hammered dirt the next day!)  Sure, I survived...but, I'm not pleased with the situation - yet, it is what it is right now.  I don't remember a time in my life where I've been quite so busy, at least not in the last 5-10 years.  Yet, at least for my mental health, I still maintain the goal of riding one long ride per month; but, having lost some of the valuable "training" rides in between had certainly caught up in a big way this time out.  What I need to do, articulated very well after last month's ride:  stop thinking so much, and just enjoy.  I have to ensure that these rides actually provide a mental break from work and responsibility, instead of becoming "just another task".  Easier said than done - despite those personal criticisms, what started out fun - yeah, even as hard as it had been at times yesterday - still ended up fun.  It's best, I'm finding - yes, after all this time - not to enter the challenge of long-distance cycling with expectations of any kind.  Clear the calendar, relax, don't worry about when and where and how fast...  Just.  Ride.  Surely as I type it here, I will forget that simple notion on the next ride ... but, practice makes perfect.  I need to stop over-promising things to myself, to relax a little, because I am indeed, lately, treating my riding like every other deadline-oriented task... and that's not sustainable.

Back in St Joseph, MO., dark, cold... Terry, Glen and I mount up at Speedy's c-store, and start making our way out of town.  It's the first properly cold ride of the year, really, for most of us.  The Kickapoo Two, back in August, strangely started out chilly - but not like today.  Thankfully, the wind would be very friendly all day, and the steady dose of hills leading up and out of town helped kick-start the core temperature nicely.

Logistics changes this time, I've invested in a handlebar bag finally.  I say "finally" because - despite second and third-guessing its very installation - as soon as I started riding, it became a joy.  I've messed with these things before:  a long time back I purchased a very nice Carradice KlickFix Super-C handlebar bag... and I recalled its value instantly, today.  I got rid of the Carradice for a few reasons, but, really, I never should have.  Later, I tried a couple different variations of smaller tube-style HB bags over the years, but ultimately abandoned them for taking up too much handlebar real-estate because of their direct-to-bar strap-based mounting arrangement - which leaves the tops of the road bars almost useless...at the very least, it had always been sort of annoying - and I ride on the tops quite a bit.  This latest bag, from Banjo Brothers, has a similar quick release to the Carradice, so I can use all of the handlebar, but it sizes-in at a smallish 275 cubic inches.  It's not too big, but not too small.  There are seatbags I could install which would offer this capacity, yet, the handlebar design becomes infinitely more useful just by being in front of me instead of behind me.  During the ride I changed gloves, shed a jacket, got a snack, checked the cue sheet with it's built-in map pocket, all without stopping, or having to dismount, or having to reach to my jersey's back pockets (which is especially troublesome when colder weather adds gloves to my hands and layers to my back).   Further, with the back pockets free, my lower back doesn't feel today like it'd endured 13 hours of kidney punches, and my jersey didn't sag down to my knees after 40 miles - so, ultimately, it's improved rider comfort as well.  Further, I enjoyed much, much faster control routines not having to fiddle with packing and unpacking stuff strapped to the rear rack with toe straps.  It's paid for itself in one ride, in my opinion, and really wasn't all that expensive at under $60.00, shipped.  For the problems it has solved, that's a bargain.  This may ultimately progress into a larger, retro-goof style arrangement with a front rack - to solve some mild handling twitchiness - but, I don't know yet how much fiddling I want to do, because the rest of the bike is working well, and I'd have to do a fair amount of unbuttoning to integrate a front rack, move the headlight, remount the fender, re-route shifter cables (or swap to downtube shifters) ... yeah, just typing all that out, I'm not anxious to make all those changes... when really, I think I'd only realize a 2% improvement over how the bag functions today.  What is definite, however: I don't really see myself going back to riding brevets without some kind of handlebar bag arrangement installed.   

Back on the ride, I was busy NOT worrying about such things.  All of the preconceptions about the bag itself, which had me doing all the second guessing in the garage the night before, never popped up:  it'll handle weird, it'll be noisy/rattly/clumsy... no, not really... okay... cool.  Crisis averted... time to just pedal!

Along for the ride again were Terry and Glen - and I gotta say:  I'm really enjoying our trio these last few rides.  It's helping hold me to the R-12 plan, and riding with a group of friends makes the day go much easier.  Looking back, I know for a fact I would have finished far later and with much more difficulty (mentally) had I been alone on this ride.

Glen, with breakfast, and cold weather gear - hovering right around the freezing mark at 6:00am

We three rolled out of St. Joe without incident, thanks to the helpful guidance of Terry (a St. Joe resident)... I realized I have yet to try to navigate St. Joseph on my own... I've been led out-of and into that town by rando folks that live there, which beats getting lost and turned around, for sure. 

The first section of the ride offered amazing scenery (once the sun came up, of course) - as we meandered around farmland and at least three different conservation/park areas, climbing up and around the bluffs and weaving back and forth across the Interstate highway near Savannah, Amazonia, and Oregon, MO. - where we stopped for a break and a water refill at about mile 30... and encountered some of the nicest folks I think I've ever met on a ride before - a genuinely nice town, Oregon.

After mounting back up and enduring the shivers of having rested maybe too long, we descended a remarkably steep hill down to the Missouri River valley's eastern edge. You know it's quite a hill when, in an otherwise fairly hilly area, the highway department chooses to warn people about its presence with a large "HILL" sign.  That was a fun downhill, and I was glad we wouldn't have to climb back up - this being a loop route, instead of an out-n-back.  Although, looking back over my shoulder, it might have been fun to try it - just for another wicked descent opportunity.

We rolled through Forest City, MO, and then crawled northwest along the bluffs toward Squaw Creek and Big Lake, watching a train roll by, and seeing some neat, old brick structures standing watch over the valley.  It's an interesting area up there -- look for state highway 111, near US-159.  As the crow would fly, we were only six miles from White Cloud, KS, where we'd ultimately end up on the route, later - but it would take us 78 more miles to get there.  The Missouri River valley is massive, and it puts into perspective just how much water the Flood of 2011 involved.  We weren't exactly approaching the river itself at right angles, but, upon turning onto US-159 (which would take us across into Nebraska), it would take 10 miles to reach to other side of the valley on dead-flat roads - and evidence of the massive flood would begin to appear many, many miles from where the river normally flows.  A thick haze hung heavily in the air above the river as we approached, and the fields on either side of the road - a normally bright green feature of a fertile river valley - showed the signs of having endured a double whammy:  first, the Flood of '11, and then the Drought of '12, both conspired to leave the entire area east of the river covered in sand from the river, and largely dead.  It reminded me of RAAM in June, but in a different state; it was like riding across Arizona again.... staggering, and sad - these fields won't be the same for a decade, and I don't think anyone realizes the full toll quite yet of these last two years.

A distant railroad horn, a nature break, and reuniting with Terry along the way, we staged ourselves to cross into Nebraska... a first for me on a bike.  Crossing the massive river bridge was really, really cool - and, I'm not sure if it'll be the last time I get to do it, as a new bridge is being constructed slightly south of the old steel colossus currently on-duty - built in 1938, I suppose it's time for a redo... but, the bridge taking its place is the typical slab and beam design.  

Glen pausing for a photo, Terry on approach, along US-159, preparing to cross into Nebraska.   You can get a feel, here, for the vastness of the Missouri River valley plain we'd just traversed.  With big, blue skies everywhere, it had turned into a remarkable, gorgeous day.

The 1938 Rulo through-truss bridge over the Missouri... soon to be replaced.  Apparently, the new bridge project has funding for demolition of the old bridge, which is frustrating, as the old bridge is on the National Register of Historic Places as-of 1993, and would make a terrific bike/ped candidate.  I fear the big decisions have already been made.  This monster is pretty narrow, actually, which may be part of the motivation - but it will be a shame to see it fall.  As with many major river crossings - it's paired alongside (rust-brown, in the background) the Warren truss BNSF railroad bridge - its piers are original, dating back to 1887.

The new Rulo river bridge, under construction - the center span is still missing, but we watched over-sized trucks moving the massive steel beams through Falls City, NE. a bit later, on their way to be bolted into place above the water.  Crossing the river may be rendered easier, but it certainly won't be the same.  I feel privileged to have ridden across the Missouri on the old bridge in the shadow of its giant steel trusses - but next time, it might be on this thing. 

The signs speak for themselves, obviously - but, once across the river, we stopped again to celebrate the crossing and catch up on our history.  Having read "Undaunted Courage" by Stephen Ambrose, I was thrilled to ride this route - we had been passing Louis and Clark Trail signposts all morning, and finally reached one of their campsites, here, at the river's edge.

So cool to hit a state-line crossing on a bike - I can't describe it.  This shouldn't be a big deal, since I live within 10 miles of the KS/MO border, and cross it all the time - but this is different.  With this, I've officially ridden in all my regionally-connected states now: KS, MO, IA, TX, OK, CO, IL and now NE.... hmmm... what's next??  Something tells me Arkansas brevets would be something special.. and probably fairly tough.

After reaching the river and taking a quick break, we climbed out of Rulo onto the big Nebraska plains, heading west to Falls City for the first control, about 60 miles in.  Subway awaited with real food and a comfy place to sit.  Terry suffered a wallowy tire here, a mystery flat in the making - yet, changing it revealed no issues with the tire or tube, at least nothing apparent; good news.  We packed up and headed through town to catch Nebraska State Hwy 8, which heads ever further west into the plains.  Looking at maps, pre-ride, Nebraska looks interesting for riding in general - and KCUC's own Spencer K. has taken up the task of RBA for the Omaha region, offering a multi-day brevet tour in the far western sand-hills of this giant midwestern state...and after being surprised more than a few times by the state's scenery, it's got me thinking about 2013 already.

We meandered around the edges of some neat hills and bluffs marking the myriad creeks and streams which crisscross the region, and with that we ended up on something of a bridges tour.  In addition to the Rulo Missouri River bridge, we crossed the Big Nehama River on a nice structure, which was probably the best example of all the smaller bridges we'd ultimately cross on the trip south and east, back towards the river.  Props to Spencer, intentional or not, for designing such an interesting route!

The next section entailed a long stretch without any services to speak of besides pop machines, but plenty of turns and an information control tossed in to keep riders on their toes.  We reached US-75 at NE-8, and shed a few more layers as the warmth of the sun began to take a good hold of us, and noticed the tiny anemometer atop a nearby utility pole spinning happily in the indicated SE wind.  We'd have to push a little bit for the next few miles on the highway, but, we had a good shoulder to enjoy, and traffic remained light.  Cake... 

At this point I think the sandwich from Subway (rather, my ingredient choices) began to fight back - gut tension, a bit of lethargy in the legs... the protein again?  (sigh)... nothing to do but shove through it, but my speed began to drop - even before the turn south - and I started to suck air.  I don't really feel like I'd messed with the nutrition formula this day, however the addition of Clif Bars and the double-cheese sandwich may have thrown me for a loop, somehow.  Hammer Gel and my liquid Carbo Gain mix had been working well, so I eventually employed only those items - but for a while, it seemed the addition of any protein simply slowed me down.  Things could have been far worse, however -- the highway was forgiving, the wind wasn't bad, the temperature perfect, and the scenery vast and interesting - with a giant wind farm about a mile to our west, towering above the surrounding landscape and oscillating slowly in the gentle breeze to the rhythm of my cadence.  Having been used to sitting on the same hunk of pavement for miles on end, I settled into a sustainable rhythm as I watched Terry and Glen advance ahead - but, I was glad Terry slowed after a couple miles.  We'd only be on US-75 for five miles, yet, I'd been looking much, much farther down the road than that.  I rolled right past the first info control without even seeing it -- and thankfully we had three potential info controls to pick from.  I don't even remember rolling back into Kansas... something I'd planned on taking a picture of.  Terry and I stopped for a nature break on a concrete pad siding which used to be home to a weigh station, which is where I sorta "came-to" and remembered what I should have been looking around for.  Whoof... thank goodness for Glen and Terry, or it would have become a bonus-miles kinda day.

A bit later, the tiny print of a roadside confirmed the turn east off the highway, and we rejoined Glen stopping for a break and recording the information to certify our passing.  So began the long, long section of Northeast Kansas county roads.

At first it didn't seem so terrible, but the glass-smooth pavement of the first 77 miles became a distant memory within only a few hundred yards as we rode east on 330th Road in rural Brown county (uhh, okay - ALL of Brown Co., KS is rural), and climbed the first of many deceptively steep hills.  It wasn't gravel, but it wasn't quite the groomed and pressed residential chip-seal I think about when I hear the term.  This stuff was more like don't-have-to-repave-for-20-years weapons-grade chipseal, and as Spencer would indicate later in the evening, it slowed us right down.  We rolled along amid an endless parade of fields, and quiet roads, finally seeing one car after about an hour... but that would be the only sign of life until we'd reach Morrill, KS.  As we approached Morrill, KS. from the north, riding three-wide on the desolate near-gravel surface, Terry quipped we three looked like drifters riding into town after a long stint on the trail, and my mind flew backwards in time 120 years in an instant... it was a brilliant moment!  We reached the slightly-smoother pavement of town, and rolled past a couple road workers who paused to consider us, one commenting on my "Randonneurs USA" jersey as I rolled past with an affirming nod: "team USA, yeah, man!" in the gruff and hardened growl of a worker who'd spent a lot of time out in the Kansas dust and wind.  In a day like ours, broken by so few human encounters, he looked genuinely happy to see us come by, if only for that fleeting opportunity to talk with someone besides himself and the stubborn pavement he'd been attending to.

Morrill, KS.  Home of a pop-machine, and a curious city engineer/dispatcher/manager/book-keeper/clerk/registrar who wandered outside to chat with us while we paused and I begrudgingly sucked down a Pepsi.  Apparently, there is no Coke distribution in NE KS., darn-it... within the swirling compendium of ways to define and segregate the human race, it must be admitted that yes, I am a Coke person.  Despite the "hey-you-forgot-the-carbonation" and awkward taste, it held some calories - and was had for a crisp dollar... I hadn't paid that little for a 20 oz. soft-drink in ages!

After mailing our info-control postcard and noting we hadn't seen a single car come through town off of K-246, the eastern terminus of which Morrill rests upon, we headed back out onto the county roads towards Reserve, KS., the next control, where we arrived maybe 45 minutes later - and, thankfully, a real c-store of some kind.  It hadn't really been too long in the "no services" section, yet, I still felt somewhat restored hopping off the bike and heading indoors for a spell.  A lot of mental math floated around in the room while the three of us prepared for the next section, and the push east to reach White Cloud... which would represent the longest "no services" section yet, though we'd pass through many towns along the way...eventually.

The stint from Reserve, KS. to White Cloud became another hard section, for me, mentally - it wasn't that far, yet it seemed as such.  Still low on push, I lagged behind my two companions for a short spell - once to answer a phone call, which was strange... I must've passed close to the one cell tower serving my carrier at about mile 105, and realized there I'd been riding in a coverage dead-zone for many, many miles.  I took the opportunity to check in with the wife, just long enough to see Glen riding backwards to find me on the other side of a hill.  It was nice to see him - but, I'd remain dangling off the back for the next seven miles, until - at long last - we reached the river again at White Cloud, and the smoothest, cleanest pavement I'd ever seen before.... K-7, in all its majesty.  YES!  

Looking left at K-7 and "Main" in White Cloud, KS., at river-level.  In the shadow of the surrounding bluffs already, the sun is dipping quickly.  As we paused here to add back a layer or two before the clear skies would steal the daylight's warmth, we watched a local in a pickup truck dragging a 25-foot long hunk of dead tree down the highway.  This is rural Kansas!  With hopes high, we pointed our wheels south into a dying breeze and onto glass-smooth pavement, for the beginning of the final leg.  We'd hit 200km before even getting off this road.

At last, the monster chipseal would become a memory.  Gloves were put back on, a jacket or two zipped up, and lights lit... we'd soon be cloaked in darkness, but I began to smile again.  Just in time for the last 38 miles and the improved riding surface, I could start to feel my energy levels rise... maybe it was mental, maybe I was smelling the barn early, but the Hammer Gel and continued intake of "mix", sans protein, seemed to be returning a positive effect.  Glen had definitely been the diesel, all day - but, I buckled down to help repay the debt of some wheel sucking and pokey-ness earlier on by taking the first leg of K-7 from White Cloud to Iowa Point.  I went into "single-speed mode", picked a low-cadence gear, and mashed out some tempo.  It wasn't rocketship fast, but it sure felt faster than the previous 40 miles!  We danced with some ambitious twilight deer just before reaching the edge of the next ghost town, and then again near Sparks, KS. - one deer running right in front of us as we each took long turns pulling the train home.  

The setting sun was gorgeous, painting the skies a brilliant orange/pink hue, the deep, steely tones of night coloring the skies above the river to our left as, one by one, the stars popped out, and a crescent moon worked its way to the western horizon amid the final calls of darting birds headed home, like us, as Glen set a relentless pace.  I'd been pulling from the reserve tank for miles - but managed to hang in thanks to his generous pulls.  

For the first time in a dozen miles, I began to feel more confident about the day.  I knew I'd finish, but the looped route always takes more of a mental toll for me, making it harder to gauge progress after the halfway marker.  Upon reaching White Cloud, I knew I'd finish the day...but, it'd become more a question of when.  Driven by the desire to try and make a date-night with the wife (an opportunity that had popped up in the days leading up to the ride) but frustrated by the NE KS section having taken so long, I re-ran the clock in my head more than a few times, which helped keep me latched to Glen's wheel.  No promises had been made, and there wouldn't have been any hard feelings (one of her girlfriends would have taken the movie ticket and accompanied her), but I still wanted to have my ride and enjoy a date, too.  I was thankful to be among friends here - had I been solo, I would have easily tacked on another hour of slog before reaching the finish.

Fanning, KS. found us taking a quick pitstop, more layers added, and a nature break.  I'd figured on a quick drink refill here, but the pop machine didn't have bottled water so I pressed on.  Even though it was a quick stop, I'd turned into a clock-watcher - yet, I knew somehow everything was going to work out...and managed a smile and a chuckle.  US-36 was next - dreaded, but manageable - and more unexpected speed.  A few final hills, and at least the highway section here was generally downhill, all the way in to to river crossing at Elwood.  

We traversed old K-7, and hit US-36 - another nature break and a check-in with Spencer, and we hit the highway shoulder for the dash to Wathena, KS.  This portion felt like riding in a bubble, of sorts -- Glen took point, and though I couldn't see my cyclo-puter clearly, it felt like we were flying!  I took the reigns somewhere around Blair, MO. - maybe a bit east of there - and tried to pay back the stellar pull until we reached Wathena, and a Casey's.  I hated to stop again... but I'd sucked down the last drops of fluid nearly a mile earlier, and knew myself --- once the wick is dry, it's all over... I didn't want to limp it in on this one.  Not after the hard work of K-7 and 36... it was only 9 miles until the finish, but I needed to top off the bottle, one last time, to make sure that final-mile bonk didn't happen.  Restroom sink, a quick mix and shake, right as Terry pulled up -- time to move!

Thank goodness for Terry, again!  The last few backroad turns past the Casey's were familiar from August - but not in the dark, and Terry led us down the right roads... back on home turf.  We popped onto old-36, drifted through Elwood, and started the climb over the bridge into Missouri.  With all the interstates and exit ramps coming together on the river's eastern banks, we all switched to urban-riding mode and started negotiating red lights and stop-signs, zig-zagging toward the finish at Pappy's bar and grill.  I could almost smell it.  The last two miles seemed to take an eternity... and my phone started to ring with texts... the decision point for the 2nd movie ticket was at hand, and I sat only a block away from the car!  Whooo!!!

Finished!... and lemme tell ya... it was VERY difficult to walk away from an inviting table and a cold beer with friends.  After checking in with a waiting Spencer, I begrudgingly left Pappy's, rushed to the car, packed up, and hit the highway for home - I owe the gents a cold beer for the pulls and the patience... but my evening had become managed to the minute.  Committed now, I made the driveway in record time, showered, and made the date night with 15 minutes to spare... and thank the maker for the fancy movie theater!!!  Beer, food, push-button service, and a thick, comfy chair... YES!  Recovery food, AND a show?  Check.  Though, honestly, next time - I'd prefer not to be in such a big hurry on a ride day.

This was a tough one... the next ride is a question mark on weather, and distance goals... but, I think speed goals of any kind are out the window.  Nobody's watching, and - yeah, perhaps I give up too easily - but, seems to me that trying to rush all the time sorta defeats the mental reset these rides are supposed to provide me in an otherwise VERY busy life.  Time to hold onto that notion... the next ride, I might even leave the cyclo-puter at home.  

Songs in my head:

Uhhh..... not many.  
I put in the earpiece after Falls City, and that seemed to help during the rough spots... but the brain was otherwise occupied, it seems.  




Stay tuned... and, as always, as this webpage sails past the 100,000 hits mark, THANK YOU VERY MUCH for reading!

Tailwinds!

White Cloud 250km finished

This one oughta be good --- improvements, steps backward (maybe)...
But all I all a great day with great friends, but the ride itself
swung from death slog to fully awesome over what seemed to take 400
k's worth of effort.

More to come...

Next time I get the notion to ride a ride of any length, perhaps I
should clear some time in my schedule to ... I dunno ... Maybe ride a
commute or two in the weeks leading up to it. Lordy, Dude.

Fall Foibles

It's November 1st, and that means bidding farewell to October - a month that found me sleeping later than I should have, and enjoying a few too many seasonal ales - and some Halloween candy.  All good things in moderation:  I'm not being as hard on myself as I've been in the past.  Dang it, I refuse to let an Octoberfest brew go un-tested on my watch... so, if October becomes the new February - well, I suppose that's okay.  We only live once - and while most would poo-poo exercise and healthy eating by dropping the exact same quip, I'd rather try to stick to moderation and ensure that my "one lap" of life remains relatively healthy.  I bravely face off with Fall and Winter in the midwest, and strap down some old habits that have been left flapping to tatters in the outflow of my slackerdom.

Someone of local blog-fame mentioned in the last year that clipless pedals stand as one of the biggest atrocities ever to befall adult bicycling.  Part of me is starting to believe that thought.  Surely as I enter the 2nd half of my 40th year, the signs of middle-aged-ness begin to materialize in the form of a recent handlebar bag purchase and a strong desire to try those SPD sandals again.  Along with that trend is a keen eye towards MKS touring pedals -- well made, aluminum, just as light as my SPDs, and with infinite foot positions.  All of these recent thoughts come out as a byproduct of a clicking right kneecap.  No pain - but, for some reason the clicking which started a couple weeks before the Kickapoo Two ride back in August has continued sporadically on every commute and randonnee since.  I've been patient this time around, yet, I'd decided to remedy the noise with an adjustment.  I therefore raised the saddle 3mm back in September, and waited for signs of back-of-leg tightness or hip-rocking, which never showed up - a good thing, meaning that I probably benefited from the change and have reduced some of the stresses at the front of the knee as a result.  A month later, the noise has lessened.  In time, the noise may fade completely - but I also think a little noise and joint popping at my age is probably just "normal".  

What I'm absolutely NOT doing is digging out the tape measures, levels, plumb-bobs and cameras, and over-analyzing.  I don't have time for that nonsense anymore.  The core of what has really happened here likely goes back to the whole "fit" thing, wherein since I'd become so gun-shy of injury I'd managed to modify my stroke into a "pull-only" sort of arrangement.  I hadn't noticed until entering the gym for cross-training, and hopping onto an exer-cycle with flat pedals.  With increases in resistance, I'd pull my legs directly up and off the pedals - much to the confusion of my adjacent gym-mates.   Back on the road bike, I'm pretty much soft-pedaling to a point where I notice my right foot occasionally "rattling around" inside the pedal binding.  I've modified my stroke so much, trying to compensate or protect myself, I'm barely pushing down enough to maintain contact with the pedal body!  One solution involves flat pedals, another involves not thinking too much and simply returning to a good stroke.  Bad habits to unlearn.  Regardless of the solution, this has created solid proof that I, given the opportunity and left to my own devices, can over-think things SO much, I can even ruin the simple act of pedaling a bicycle.  My therapist will be so proud!

No matter HOW I pedal, though, I'm not stopping.  My schedule lately has made it far too easy to grab the car keys instead of the bike helmet, but a new month brings a clean slate and the excuse to ditch all of these poor habits.  With a combined average of 15.875 MPH over the last four randonnees, I'm close to my goal of making R-12 #3 at 16.0 or better .... only a couple slightly faster rides needed to make that happen.  In addition, I find myself on a trend towards longer distances - all with eyes on 2013 and shooting for another 600km ride.  The October ride came in at 225km, and I'm planning on another new-to-me route for November which is listed at 250km... that sets up December for a 300k!  Weather will dictate... but, it seems like a worthy goal, and if I play things right I could potentially tackle the "Hell of the North" route and enjoy a tailwind on the return trip, which should be normal for December.  Sure as I type it, yeah....right...  let's just take things one month at a time, eh?

So, here's to November -- more commutes, less slack, and more new discoveries on the open road.

Cheers!

The Flint Hills 225k - Bazaar, indeed...

A picture, often, can be worth 1,000 words.

http://goo.gl/maps/bfHxU , just south of Cottonwood Falls, KS., on K-177.   As far as the eye can see in any direction, there's just a whole lotta "nothin'"...which is really, something.

Taken by Glen, a few miles ahead of me at the time near Bazaar, KS. - the sky, the rain, the wind... it truly had been a "bizarre" ride.  But, I'd wager, in a good way.

So, there's two pictures.  That oughta save some time...
A smarter version of me would have taken even more pictures, yet, I found myself in - ha - bizarre states of mind more often than not, and simply spaced out the camera's role on this scenically epic ride.  I find myself with about a 1/3rd the free time I had enjoyed last October, and it has kept me away from the keyboard, and the bike, more than I'd prefer.  I still, however, make time to ride to work when I can, and ride these longer riders at least once per month.

It simply wouldn't be my style to let a ride pass by without having something to say about it, and this ride proves as no exception - in fact, if anything it deserves extra attention.  It has reversed my old notions about driving a long distance just to get to a ride.  Over the past three months, actually, I've been enjoying a very good run of such rides, each one seeming to raise the bar ever higher.  It's got me anxiously wondering what November will bring, if I'm brave enough to branch out to yet more unknown routes when the weather surely will turn for the worse - at least for the colder.

2:30AM, the alarm sounds.  

Good grief, what am I doing?  Why didn't I drive out and get a hotel room last night?

Live and learn, I suppose - but, life kept me in town Thursday night, so this was how it was going to have to play out.  At least the car had been packed, and I sat ready to roll.  I-35, K-68, and some roads that I'd never had occasion to drive on (K-268, K-31) strung together to reach US-56, and ultimately, under a canopy of darkness, thick clouds, and harsh winds, I reached Council Grove, KS. a little before 5AM - time for a quick power-nap, and prep for the 6AM start.
I pulled up into the parking lot, near Glen's RV (smart man), killed the engine, set the timer on my phone, and drifted off for a few minutes.

The temperature was near 50 degrees F.  Not bad for October... in fact, unseasonably cool by some standards - but certainly not "cold", yet, upon exiting the car to begin unpacking and dressing the sharp northeast wind stripped away any warmth I'd had.  A shudder, and a few layers saved for later appeared from storage.  The humidity and the 15-20 MPH steady winds rendered conditions a bit nippy.  

Glen and Terry stirred, and eventually our three routines found us around a table inside the Short Stop c-store, sipping thin coffee and waiting for the "gun."  Receipts and final prep, and we made the first of only three left turns on the entire course, southbound on K-177 into - for two of us - the unknown.

K-177 is a great piece of road.  It meanders generally south and southwest from Manhattan, KS. at US-24, through Council Grove, ending east of El Dorado, KS at US-54.  The majority of what we would ride sits on the National Scenic Byway plan, surrounded by protected prairie land - land that hasn't been divided, plowed, or developed... ever.  I had been looking forward to trying this route for a long time, but the first part would remain a surprise until the end of the day thanks to the late sunrise.

The late sunrise would create one of the more interesting rides I've had in a long, long time - and it makes me wistful for scheduling another Dark Side Ride - something I've been horribly lax in doing, another casualty of a far-too-packed schedule this year.  In stark contrast to the last few DSRs, which normally take place fairly close to town, the first hour and a half of the Flint Hills 225 brought us out of Council Grove under a canopy of thick clouds on a night very close to the new moon.  Without any nearby towns to cast the usual orange glow of light pollution across the cloud deck, the result instead felt similar to riding a bike with a thick blanket over one's eyes.  The eerie bluish cast from our headlights appeared to project an image of a passing road onto a featureless, black backdrop ahead of my front tire.  Only the very rare passage of a car from either direction helped define the landscape - and sheer expanse - of the emptiness around us as we rode south with a stiff tailwind.   I can't wait to come back to this route on a cloudless night, just to witness the night sky under such conditions... but, "riding in the black box"  proved spectacular enough, and otherworldly.

The tailwind would HAVE to be paid back... this I knew.  The forecast was sketchy:  rain, wind, clouds all day, possibly a tailwind shift... but who knew?  At least for the first portion we stayed dry, watching the black finally yield to some vague purplish blue from our left side as we approached Strong City and Cottonwood Falls, KS., about 25 miles in.  

After a quick stop at the Casey's in Cottonwood Falls - nearly a necessary stop, as we'd pass nothing at all until the halfway point - we rolled out onto the prairie as the sun (which we still hadn't seen) rose and gave us a better view of our surroundings.  

Amazing scenery abounds on this route.  Again, I wished I'd taken more photos - but the images are indeed burned on my mind.  Climbing a hill towards an old stone schoolhouse, seeing the other side of that hill yield to giant expanses of untouched prairie colored a golden hue with fall's first touch, the wind whistling us along at 20+ MPH towards our destination as we danced with the railroad - the engineers acknowledging us as they passed with a couple of quick horn blasts.  Simply an amazing day.

The best part of the day unfolded near the halfway - still dry at that moment - rifling west alongside railroad tracks with an ever increasing tailwind, and seeing a wide strip of black clouds spread out ahead of us... the biggest signs that our "luck" with the weather had been about to run out.  Brilliant cloud-to-ground lightning, still too far away to hear the thunder, lit up the sky ahead.  An incredible scene.

Later, near El Dorado Lake and the halfway, the clouds, lightning and thunder met us and unleashed a hard, cold rain for our final 8-10 miles to the control.  It was nice, after summer's drought, to get a little rainfall during a ride like this.  Thankfully, it cleared up right before we reached the Casey's in El Dorado, giving us a chance to dry out and perform our usual control routines for the journey back.  Nothing quite like trying to wrestle wet wool gloves back on!

The return trip was something of a mind-game.  We thought for a while at the halfway that the wind had actually shifted in our favor, a miracle - yet, when we finally turned the corner and proceeded out of town from the control, the wind was indeed in our faces, and strong.  Just part of the game, I tucked under the brim of my cap, and pedaled it out.  There's just no other way to get home than to pedal.  The byproduct becomes a lot of heads-down grinding, with occasional glances to one side or another to see landmarks or to follow the call of a nearby bird.

The last few rides I've been able to hang with Glen R., pacing and exchanging pulls - but this time out, I don't know if I had tendered my on-board fuel TOO much - knowing the stops were few and far between - or if I had been using the wrong off-board fuel at the few controls - if I'd used up too much gas enjoying the tailwind by pushing it - or if it'd just been an off day, but starting about the time the rain came, I couldn't bridge-up anymore.  The 2nd half of the ride became a solo-mission.  The three of us, Terry, Glen, and I, had never been too far apart - we'd regroup at each stop - but, we were far enough apart to avoid seeing each other at all, most of the time.  While I've spent far more miles alone than I have with others, I spent a few miles being frustrated with myself for not being able to keep pace.  This, in turn, made some of the sections harder than they should have been, mentally.  The wind hadn't been THAT bad, and the terrain seemed to be forgiving in most places - yet, I remember having a rough time on the miles between El Dorado and Cassoday.  The skies a relentless grey, the wind stiff and cold, the bike feeling like it'd been lubed with tar and my legs full of lead, I struggled.  

Back at Cassoday, I felt stiff and heavy - falling into a bench across from Glen and letting the relative warmth of the surrounding store breathe life back into my body.  Terry arrived shortly afterward, and we three got ourselves back together for the next leg.  The same pattern unfolded again as the miles progressed - we'd chat for a bit, smile, laugh (all in all, it really was a GREAT time) - and then separate into our own rhythms on the road.  More content this time with the pace I was able to muster, I enjoyed the scenery and wondered about the clouds that still dominated the skies around us while occasional raindrops dotted my handlebars, only to dry away.  Strange day, weather-wise.

Terry ended up with a flat tire somewhere along the way, calling me to let me know (phone service?  bonus!) that he'd be a little behind, but was okay.  I took the opportunity to unload the jacket, as I'd become too hot - which began a comical routine wherein over the next couple of hours I'd wear, and then retire, the rain jacket off and on as the weather changed - passing pockets of showers, cold rain, drifted along the same route we pedaled.  With the wind, the lack of sunshine, and the effort of the day - often times I'd feel chilled, but then would become too hot - also, I'd upped my fuel intake to try and recover some of my pace, which worked.  I never caught Glen on the road, but never ended up being too far behind him at the next stop, either - but it also meant more nature breaks on the roadside.

Back at Cottonwood Falls after what'd seemed like an eternity, I found Glen waiting - not quite ready to roll - and I took advantage by trying to rush my own routine, but then we both ended up waiting to make sure Terry made it in after his flat.  It ended up being a fair amount of time resting, but it ended up being a good thing for me.  I stretched, ate, relaxed, readjusted some layers and warmed up.  Locals were overheard talking of more rain heading in from behind us, so once Terry came in, we three took steps to get moving again.

A few miles north of Strong City, the steady rain foretold came to be - jackets back on to preserve core warmth, we finished the last 20 miles in the wet.  The portion of the route we hadn't been able to see in the dark earlier that morning proved worth the wait; more rolling hills and open prairie as we marched back to Council Grove.  The route offers a reminder of how generally flat it is, saving a few larger hills until right at the end of the route as we rolled into Council Grove's outskirts.  Finally, the last turn and the short leap to the final control.  

Finished!  Glen in just over 11 hours, me about ten minutes back, and Terry another 7-10 minutes behind me.  We rested for a bit, celebrated the ride's end in style, collected cards and receipts and packed up in the rain for the drive home - making for a long, long day... part of what made this feel more like a 400km than simply "another 200".  

But, I will be back -- I don't think, honestly, there is a more beautiful route available in this area:  miles for mile the best views and roads possible.  Maybe a little warmth, less rain, more stars, and a favorable SW wind for the return would have been nice - but hey, you get what you get, and it's never all that bad by the time I finish.  Sure, it could always be nicer, easier, drier... but I think that's what ultimately made this ride so worthwhile.  

Thanks for reading - and to Glen and Terry, thanks for riding along!

Stay tuned.

Flint Hills 225km in the books

So, I've got "number 4"... it appears we have a bit of a run going again!  I'm not really pushing the issue, however - but, I'm falling into the routine that one long ride per month is good for the soul, and tends to keep me honest in terms of "training" and diet - and if that happens to culminate in another R-12, awesome!  Tentative goals remain in place, however, and yesterday's ride held good on them - though, I felt some of my edge dull at times.  

The Flint Hills 225, if you haven't done it, is quite a remarkable route.  Best scenery around, traffic was light, lot of trains - which I always dig - and varied terrain.  Mostly, it's flat - although it does advertise 5,500 ft of climbing, I just don't remember that much until the very end - and that's probably because LAST month's ride had so MUCH climbing.  The numbers just don't paint the true picture.  Overall, it seemed that the Flint Hills route had more long, flat sections - and all of it is exposed to whatever the wind happens to be doing:  not my favorite combo.

Full report coming after a bit - there's a lot happening, personally, and I hope it doesn't affect my ability to post.  This ride, in particular, deserves that attention - so, I'll do my best to get something out there before the memories get foggy.  Rain, wind, darkness, trains, epic views, great pavement, and some of the highest high points (and lowest low points) in recent memory for me on a ride. 

Stay tuned!

Until then:  Songs in my Head:

"Down with Disease" - Phish

"I will wait" - Mumford & Sons

"We Are A & C" - Arling & Cameron

Cyclists and Motorists alike - worth reading

This is a decent little snippet that deserved re-posting - it's flown across the web on quite a few sites, so I figured I'd keep the momentum going.  I don't agree with it all, carte blanche, but - it's a good start.

What Drivers Should know about Sharing the Road with Cyclists - and Vice-Versa.

Enjoy, and pass it on...

The ideal world we all want starts with understanding - and riding by example.

A devilish good time - September's 200km ride

You could imagine my surprise as I awoke at 3:30AM on Friday morning, having expected rain and finding star-lit, clear skies instead.

"I couldn't possibly be THAT lucky..." I muttered, as I pulled up the radar on my phone and checked to be sure.  

Nothing for hundreds of miles.  Nothing to indicate the 70-90% precip chances, depending, that they'd nearly promised the last time I'd checked the forecast.  

I hadn't ridden in the rain since April, and wasn't sure if I was mentally prepared for that level of "fun" - but, I still had the car packed up and ready for the journey back up to St. Joseph for this most-recent permanent ride.  This time out, rain or not, the route would prove challenging.  I knew it would be as such when the organizer, who normally rides the hills around St. Joseph on a fixed gear without complaint, mentioned this route probably had more climbing per mile than Bob's infamous Albany 300k.  Yikes.  

In retrospect, it wasn't over or under-sold:  the estimation was spot-on.  Just getting out of the St. Joseph city limits would prove interesting enough, and we wouldn't arrive at the real climbing for many more miles.  Terry B. and Spencer K. and I rolled out of the start-line C-store and headed out of town, past the leftovers of the old Chicago, Burlington & Quincy RR bridge which used to cut right across where the gas pumps now stand at 28th and Messanie, and ultimately pointed our bikes east on Missouri highway 6.

Once free of the early morning work traffic on the eastern edge of St. Joe, the road opened up and took us out into the rural goodness of northern Missouri.  As the miles stretched out ahead of us, the sun rose and confirmed the lack of clouds and storms.  Still not convinced the weather service would have gotten it wrong to such a degree, I had brought the rain jacket along for this ride -- not so much worried about getting wet as getting cold with the passage of a significant cold front.  Winds would be favorable, but they would eventually be from the north - and that, combined with rain, meant chillier conditions for sure.  For the moment, however, I had put it out of my head.

Spencer and I chatted it up on route design and such, as I've got a couple routes in the hopper lately, and about life in general.  Spencer would only be able to join us for the first 1/4 of the journey today, after coming off nearly 600km of riding in the week prior - but it was still nice to start with a group from the area, someone familiar with the roads at the very least.  We stopped for a short break at Clarksdale, MO., at the roadside c-store there, and then turned east again for our first "lettered" highway of the day -- Route "O", running from Clarksdale to ....er, nothing.  The route meanders a bit here and there to pass along the northern edge of the Pony Express Conservation Area -- the first of many preserves this ride would pass -- on its way toward Maysville, and the first control.  At this point, with a smidgen over 34 miles covered, Spencer would leave us to pursue his own personal metric century recovery ride before returning home, so Terry and I would tackle the rest of the route as a two-some.  It was a shame not to share the rest of the ride with him, but he'd done plenty for the week already!  Bottles filled and bladders emptied, we pushed on.

The morning grew older and some of the humidity finally began to burn off - it hadn't been foggy, just very humid, and I was thankful to actually be able to see things more clearly.  I have recently been suffering through one of my personal worst allergy seasons in memory - so, combined with the sweaty conditions and humid air, my eyes had already been watering uncontrollably since the DRIVE to St. Joe that morning.  Terry and I pushed through the slight headwind on the way up Route "A" towards Fairport, and made the turn onto Route "E" - toward the first of the hillier sections of the day's journey.

Traffic dropped off - just as Spencer had foretold - and we descended into a deeper layer of rural farmland, hills, and unmatched scenery.  The Santa Rosa area, in particular, stood apart as especially interesting - long unincorporated, the remains of the town sit huddled at the edge of the county line; the rich collection of old barns and buildings stood like overlords above the road, watching us as we rode through.  With each mile, the hills came sooner, and steeper - even the few dogs we had encountered knew we had it bad enough, and barely bothered to give the usual chase.  Spinning became pushing, which became standing and grunting... but the scenery atop each rise proved worthy of the effort required to get there.  Still, the density of climbing found me stopping for the occasional photo-op... which is code for "I was tired."

Onto the 400K route, US-69 highway, northbound... after finally answering a question I had asked of myself each time I'd ridden north on the 400K route at about this exact point... "wonder where that highways goes?"  ... now I know, and yeesh... don't make a wrong turn!   

"you may ask yourself... where does that highway go to?"   -- David Byrne, Talking Heads

With the headwind increasing by the hour, Terry and I were deep into it, now.  Pattonsburg was still a dozen miles away (?), and I quickly recalled this being THE 400k's section which usually rendered me very pleased to reach the first control there.  It was gradually uphill, and the wind just made it all the more difficult to find a good rhythm... however, we made a good clip, making it to the turn on highway "C" quicker than I'd expected... if not a little worse for the wear.  That last bump up to the intersection leading towards the new town always reminds me that nothing around here is REALLY flat.  At the control, it's a quick in-n-out routine, as Terry and I both had plans to hit the Old Memories Cafe nearby, instead of hanging out at the gas station... a nice change for me, and something I don't usually attempt.  Controls, for me, create something of a timewarp on the best of days, and catch me not paying close enough attention I can get behind the clock and in trouble in a hurry.  This time out, Terry and I had plenty of time in the bank, so a quick sit-down meal wouldn't create a problem.  

Burger and chips for Terry, and something a little sweeter for me:  apple pie and chocolate milk.  The day before this ride, I'd taken a trip up to Weston, MO. with my coworkers on a little day trip for a team builder, and at the end we'd ended up at O'Malley's, where I enjoyed the weird combination (yet, somehow, extremely tasty) of a pint of ale and a slice of warm apple pie ala-mode.  I was fairly confident, at the time, that another slice of apple pie during the ride would act as rocket fuel for the advertised "pretty hilly" section that was to come after the Pattonsburg control - so it seemed like a great idea!  Pie, up!.... on occasion, we still do ride to eat... plates cleaned, glasses cleaned, bottles topped off - and legs a little cold from the extended sit - we paid up (Thanks, Terry!!) and headed back out to the waiting bicycles to mount up for the 'tough bit."

The southbound, downhill pitched section of US-69 heading out of "New" Pattonsburg and down the hill to "Old" Pattonsburg was a tailwind-fueled thrill-ride!  I should, first, explain the significance of that statement, for those not familiar.  Though I can likely point you here or here[1] and call it "good", it's a short story.  The original town site suffered from frequent flooding over the years (33 times since 1900 [1]), and the flood of 1993 proved to be the last straw.  A new town site was established a few miles to the north on the opposite side of US-69 highway, and - most importantly - farther up the hill in elevation from the nearby Grand River and Big Creek, which meet very close to the old town site.  Having this information on board and riding in the area, over the many bridges and washouts, it becomes very apparent... this old town was LOW, and surrounded by water.  Upon reaching the turn at highway "Z" we began to roll past many old structures and a lot of local history.  Apparently, some amount of business and activity still occurs at the old site, but it sits mostly abandoned.  The original streets in horrible repair - and Terry and I anxious to get the hills over with to the west - I didn't do a lot of exploring... but it was awfully inviting.  For me, it wrapped up a couple of days of seeing some really neat, old structures - inside and out - in various parts of the state. 

The title of this route - Ride with the Devil - comes from Pattonsburg's unique history:  after the new townsite had been established, the old town ended up being re-touched and used as a stand-in for late 1800's Lawrence, KS. for the Ang Lee Directed film "Ride with the Devil"... so, it seemed an apt title for the route itself.  Spencer had certainly put together a "devilish" ride, considering all the climbing.

Highway Z... what can I say about that road?  I had started up this little weekly/monthly thing on my Twitter page... the habit never caught on... called "Road of the Week", where I'd toss out remarkable sections of road, either especially challenging, or just really well-paved, to start the mind wandering.  This road would make the list... probably topping it for all time.  It's not the best pavement, doesn't have the most remarkable scenery... and in some places, it kinda smells funny if the wind is "right" because of nearby corporate farming.  But, the hills... oh my gosh, the hills.  This highway sits on a few miles of the Albany 300km route, and I always remembered it being tough... yet, I'd never ridden the full length of it, like we would today - and a lot of it remained unknown to me.  The section out of Pattonsburg is flat as it works its way west and out of the floodplain in which the old town rests.  After a few miles of dodging chuckholes (the road is still a victim of frequent high-water situations, clearly) the pavement eventually improves and the first of the hills begin to pitch upward.  After that, the land spreads out, the trees thin, and the rolling countryside invites rider's eyes to gaze far off into the distance.  The recent rains had greened up everything, and the wildflowers (sometimes painting entire hillsides) shouted color into the afternoon sky... mild distractions from the mounting elevation changes.  Down.... up.... down.... the old "10-40" routine started:  Ten MPH on the way up...if that....and a gravity-assisted rush up to 40 MPH on the backside... repeat.  For miles.... 

Twenty-four miles to be exact... and at times, it truly seemed like this section was far, far longer.  I finally breathed a little easier coming to a landmark with which I've become familiar with over the years - the intersection of highways "A" and "Z" in rural Gentry County... one of my favorite photo-stops, mainly because - once upon a time - W0DEW snapped a photo of me and the Warbird rifling our way north on what would be my first 300km finish.  Ever since then, every time I ride through that intersection, I stop and take a new photo from the same vantage point.  Tradition... and a great way to demonstrate that nearly NOTHING has changed up here in, certainly, the last 10 years... and possibly the last 50.  Today would be no exception, as I stopped, dismounted and snapped a couple photos - and uploaded them (something that's only recently become possible, thanks to a new, nearby cell tower).  A quick nature call, and back on the bike, right as Terry caught me up.

More hills, but, at least I knew the area now.  The pie in my gut - possibly the chocolate milk - put up a bit of a fight as I attempted to make quick work of the climbs... typical indigestion and lead-gut followed, answering my questions about whether or not a slice of pie was REALLY a good idea or not.  I need to stick to the french fries, next time.  We rolled towards the monsters that crawl through Berlin, MO., past the always interesting animal farm there.  Over the years, Berlin's farm has hosted a number of the usual farm suspects, but this time I saw donkeys, goats, sheep, and perhaps a couple alpacas - all running along the fence as I pedaled past.  At least, for a few moments, it took my mind off the climbing.... oh, lets be serious:  I prefer the climbing... but, MAN... I was proving to myself again that since moving to the formerly pan-flat ex-farmlands of Olathe, KS., I was a bit out of practice.  The hills continued for another 3 miles or so until I reached the intersection of highway H... where I'd normally turn south to follow the old 300k route.  This time, I'd head straight toward what I can clearly recall is a hill I'd always comment upon, while riding that 300k... "at least I don't have to climb THAT!"  Normally, I'd turn south... but, today, however... yes, yes I did have to climb it.

Wow.

And the "wow" factor would continue, as I quickly learned that the section between "H" and "A" via Berlin, MO., was quite possibly "the easy part."  With each passing mile, and each newly-discovered hill, I marveled at how much steeper and longer they could become.  The final miles to King City, and the next control, seemed to take an eternity.  I remember passing a "King City - 3 miles" sign at one point, but then wondering "how long ARE these three miles??" after the hills just seemed to keep coming, and reaching the top revealed only more still to climb.  I stopped again for another photo-op (ok, tired again) when the King City wind-farm had come into view.. and rest-required or not, it was still a remarkable sight from the seat of a bicycle.  I continued farther still, towards King City.... which still seemed to never come (until it did, of course) --- this must be ROUGH going in the winter months for the locals.  Finally inside the city limits, and closing in on the inevitable Casey's General Store - the haven of the randonneur - it was time for another signature on the card, and more fuel for the increasingly tired legs.  Whoof... THAT was a hard section.  I imagined the Border Patrol route: its four good hills between La Cygne and Pleasanton are scattered across 25 miles of gently rolling terrain.  This last section of THIS route was 25 miles of SOLID hill after hill after hill.  Yeah, I love it... but, man... one has to work at it.  I give out gigantic props to the St Joseph cycling clubs that normally come out on these roads for a good day's training; it was making sense why most northland cyclists are strong, strong riders.  These were the proving grounds!  

After refilling and refreshing at King City, it was time for the last leg of our journey... but, as the north wind and the leaden skies foretold, the sunshine and "weather service" oversight were not to last for much longer.  I even became bold enough, after talking myself out of it for hours and hour, to pull up the radar image on my phone to see just what was held in store for us over the last 30 miles of the ride.  There it was... a nice wall of greens and yellows headed towards our area from the west.  Ah well -- at least I would be justified for hauling the rain jacket along for the entire ride, thus far.  It wasn't time quite yet, though.  Terry and I prepared, and headed out of town on the extension of the same piece of pavement headed west -- though now, it was no longer signed highway "Z", but Missouri 48.  Possibly in keeping with the nature of a State highway, the grades softened and the pavement quality improved greatly as we moved toward the old, unincorporated Whitesville, MO. area.  On our way, however, near routes "P" and "M", the first heavy drops hit the pavement... so, Terry and I pulled over to prepare for the coming rain, which had finally greeted us.

Yeah, I don't now why, now -- but I had been a little nervous about the weather.  I hadn't had a rain ride since April, and I didn't have a clue how the new type of tire I'd been running would behave in the wet.  Still, my trusted rain jacket, fenders... there was no reason to be timid about the rain coming.  There would be no hail, no chance of severe weather remained in the forecast... so, though rain did eventually fall, I was pleased the forecast hadn't played out as originally written.  

We made it through the Whitesville area, amid more scenic barns and old farm homes, and turned southbound on highway "D", after crossing the Platte River on a terrific old bridge; a bridge that came as an utter surprise, as many of the type had long been removed as part of Missouri's "Safe and Sound" program.  Come to think of it, there is another good one on the "Mere Two-Hundred" route, a bit to the south... but, at the time I'd thought THAT bridge was a rarity... two in the same general area?  Nice!  Approaching the Happy Holler (no kidding) conservation area, the hills came back into the picture.  Perhaps it was the tailwind, or the gentle and steady rainfall (and my realization that my tires were just fine, after all), but the hills didn't seem as severe as highway "Z"... but, I was fooling myself.  They were just as steep - arguably moreso - but, with only a couple dozen miles left to go, I was feeling fine.  Terry's comment, however, about how lucky we'd been to have a tailwind for this section echoed in my head.... on a typical summer day, a strong south wind should have been present.  If it had been, goodness: this section would have taken a much more dire theme.  Instead, the scenery spread out - breathtaking - and the rain brought a hush to the air.  Occasionally a bird or two would break into song, enjoying the downpour.  Traffic fell off completely, at least for a little while before we began to approach the outskirts of Savannah and other smaller towns scattered about, right about the time area schools had begun to let out.  

The last few miles were something of an enigma - every time I thought for sure, as I rolled down this unknown road with Terry, that the road was going to finally level-off, another giant hill would appear ahead, and same as I'd seen on highway "Z", they'd be steeper in appearance each time.  Still, out there, in the rain, good pavement and manageable traffic -- who could complain?  It's excellent country up there, north of St. Joseph... and I was loving it, having survived the worst of the hills, and looked forward to a quick stop at Avenue City.  

We arrived at the intersection of "D" and US-169 and Route "W", and the Avenue City store.  I chuckled to myself... I hadn't ever been to this store DRY.  Perhaps next month I'd give it a shot.

Water, fuel, and an assessment of layer and consideration of the rain - which seemed to be stopping - and we rolled off onto the last 10 miles or so of the ride.

As well rolled along, indeed, the rain came to a stop and the sun began to peek back through the passing clouds.  Being so close to the finish, as much as I wanted to stop and shed the rain jacket I simply kept moving.  We'd be back at the parking lot soon enough.  Before then, however, a little traffic dodging and hill climbing to get back into the St Joe core lay in order.  Ugh... I guess I saved just enough in the reserve tank for the stoplight dashes and steady climbing through the outskirts of town, as we headed back towards the Missouri River.  Finally back on 28th Street, and then back to Messanie -- DONE.

In more ways than one... done.  What a day!  For a few moments, a frowned at the average speed, which had fallen to just 15.0 MPH by the end... something in the mid 16's by the halfway, if I recall correctly.  With the "ridiculous" amount of climbing, the crosswind, the fatigue, the rain...the pie, the chocolate milk... so many variables.  It'd certainly been a near 10-hour finish had it not been for the photo stops and the sit-down meal... but, right there, I miss the whole point.  I had an excellent time, and excellent day out... and being in a hurry, hammering harder... somehow that would have changed the flavor a little.  I'm still keen to try and best the overall average of my last R-12 run... but, maybe, somewhere in all this, I don't?  Easy to say... I know that my climbing game is off... but, again... I'm not sure that's the point of all this.  I can always come back, and try to tame highway "Z"... I like that process... but only if it's FUN.  I had fun today.  Getting down on myself that I wasn't "as fast" as I'd really wanted to be... that's unfair to the whole scale of the ride.  I'm pleased enough that I'd managed to ride the entire route without getting any chain lube onto my 27-tooth bailout cog on the rear cassette.  That, for today, is victory enough.  

Also, this marks my 50th certified RUSA ride of 200K or above!  Though these pages might paint a tale of having ridden far more than that number suggests, I'm still pretty jazzed about it.  Here's to another 50, eh?  With excellent company, the best scenery I can remember, some soothing rain - instead of near-heatstroke conditions, after the summer we've had - and the satisfaction of tackling an especially tough route, I can't think of a better way to spend a day, nor a better day to mark "the 50th" rando-ride.

Songs in my Head:

This time out, I genuinely stuck to songs in my head -- as opposed to in my headphones.

Not sure if it was the rain chance, or that I just wanted to make sure that I wasn't becoming too insistent on using the MP3 player as a crutch - but, I'd left it in the seatbag the entire ride.  The result added a couple new songs to my playlist - songs which just popped into my head, a couple I hadn't heard in years.  I always find that phenomenon interesting, and the MP3 player can stand in the way of that process.  So, since I managed to entertain myself in that fashion this time, I didn't need to bust out the earphone.

Last Train to Clarksdale - The Monkees

Pop Art Blue - Zero7

Chocolate Elvis - Tosca

The Seed - The Roots

Not a big list... but, I was busy climbing.  

Nutrition:
More of the same from last time, but the controls sat more evenly-spaced, so I never ran into a shortage.  CarboGain powder, one serving per bottle plus the GU electrolyte tabs for flavor; worked perfectly again.  The only real difficulty I experienced came after the pie and chocolate milk -- though I'm not sure which one had been responsible (or if it was the combination) for the lethargy and rock in my gut after Pattonsburg.  I guess I need to just stick with all liquid to avoid this issue... or perhaps just stick to items without sugar... as I type that out, it occurs to me that the sudden dose of sugar may well be the real issue here.  I still managed the hills, of course - but, like I'd mentioned earlier, a plate of french fries wouldn't have put up quite such a struggle: something to test for next time.

Thanks for reading, as always!  

Stay tuned... October is next...

Fall Preview and Riding with the Devil

One could easily see me setting the video to this latest ride to a backtrack of "Running with the Devil" by Van Halen, and I find it interesting that particular song never popped into my head on this particular journey, despite the title association.  Your real reference for the ride title comes from the 1999 film "Ride with the Devil", which was filmed on-location in "Old" Pattonsburg, MO., through which this route passes.  Either way, I wish I had taken some video along the way, as the scenery, the route, the hills certainly would have made for a good ride-film.  Reason to come back next time, I suppose.  In fact, despite the toughness factor, this might be a contender as my favorite randonneuring route for many of my criteria:  low traffic, hills*, scenic vistas, history, bridges, water features.  The whole route is beyond "interesting" - but, for whatever drew my eye while riding, I spent twice that time staring down at the pavement while grunting out another climb.  *I carefully caveat the "hills" category, therefore: I prefer a good climb over any flat route - however, this route borders right on the edge of excessive...my opinion, of course.  I survived, after all -- but "wow."  Part of that survival involved the first ride in the rain since April, which -- when compared to the summer we've endured, the drought -- well, it felt marvelous, and tasted like a good fall preview.  I'm ready for more!

More to come in the full ride post, but, wanted to throw a quick update out there as I check "#3" off the potential third R-12 run.  In that same breath, I extend my congratulations to Terry B., who came out and rode with me yesterday; the ride marked his 12th consecutive 200km+ ride, so Terry has earned his first R-12!

More to come --