The end of an Era

I couldn't help myself.  

I recorded the Oprah/Lance interview, and watched it.  I really only needed to watch the first 60 seconds of it, but it sat in front of me like a train-wreck.  I don't think I'll bother watching the 2nd part, but I haven't decided yet.  In some sense, this has come to close the book on an era.

Now perhaps we can all move on.

Paraphrased from a friend's FB post, it's not really about the doping, it's about the destruction Armstrong left in his wake.

Next week, it will be someone else.  Despite a giant compendium of examples of the consequences, there will remain people delusional enough to think they can get away with certain things.

Professional cycling needs a clean slate.. maybe this does it, maybe not.  What this example provides, however, is a modern, extreme lesson for the next generation of heroes.  That, of course, can swing in two directions:  either the next champions will be smarter, more cunning, and able to definitively 'get away with it' -- or, we will finally witness the renaissance we've been hoping for.

Either way, I'm still a fan of professional cycling - even though I never REALLY paid attention before 1999.

Armstrong absolutely played a part in getting me in the saddle - but, I've grown since then.

I admit I had been foolish to have fallen for it all those years, but, hey - that's me:  trusting, naive, a romantic.  

I love a good story, and I fell for it - but, I'm not going to change who I am because of it.

Neither should any of you.

I feel the subject has taken up enough space here.

Let's go ride.

January in the bag

updated and corrected:

The WMG Memorial permanent, which I had a hand in designing, presents riders with unique challenges.  It, by design, strings together bits and pieces of various challenging routes I've taken part in throughout the years:  By consequence of crossing the Kansas river at Bonner Springs, it borrows from the All's Wellsville/Junction City 600k route and uses K-32 for a spell, it traces the locally famous Tour de Shawnee route for a bit, and retraces a popular monthly ride which heads to Weston from Wyandotte County Lake Park.  I have a love/hate relationship with it, because it always tests me... sometimes more than I care to be tested.  The climbs are memorable, right up until the point I forget them... which usually takes about 6 months.  At least, I'm sure I remembered the hills back in May, when I rode this last.  The satisfaction of finishing tends to make such things a memory.

It was with this blank slate that I began the WMG Memorial ride, starting at a forgiving 7:00am this last Saturday, from the 7-Eleven in Olathe... ah, my old friend.  I've struck up a good relationship with the guy behind the counter, usually working the tail end of the late shift when I start my o'-dark-thirty epics -- he's bought his first "real" road bike, a 70's vintage steel frame of indeterminate make, and is in the process of converting it to a fixed gear... I'm excited to maybe ride a few miles with him one of these days.. maybe, just maybe, he'll tag along on a perm or two... I'll have to wait until rides end today to chat it up, as he's not working this shift.

With Glen and Terry along again - we're turning into a three-man touring band, like ZZ Top - we plug in our guitars.... er... we straddle our bikes, carefully stepping around patches of ice on the pavement, and begin our odyssey ... step one, get out of the parking lot upright:  one customer slipped and took a spill right in front of us already.  At least it's technically above freezing... warmer than forecast, and so far the call for a rain/snow mix is nowhere to be seen.

Five hour energy... consumed.  Might as well.  It will be a good five hours to the turnaround in Weston, and with the tail end of a chest cold hanging on I'd need all the help I could get.  I was fairly well stopped-up when I rode the Dirtbum Birthday Ride on the 29th - it was a great tune-up ride, and it certainly dulled me to the anxious possibility of having to navigate some leftover patches of snow and ice; but, the lingering cold I hauled around on that day was still sticking around.  Medicine notwithstanding, I felt decent-enough, but I could tell from the first gasps of cold air on the few introductory hills on Renner Road that it was going to be a long day.  There would be plenty to take my mind off of things, however.  A full-steam train flyby on Old KC Road, prior to Renner, set the tone.  I love it when the rides and the train schedules coincide.  With the lingering darkness of winter hanging on well past the start, and the low traffic of a weekend morning (starkly contrasting to our usual weekday starts), I imagined riding along a gravel-strewn Renner Road... perhaps before it'd even been given that name... before Bass Pro, before the highway and the apartments... just me, the countryside, my bike, my mates, and a passing freight... hissing and snarling in the predawn chill...

I snap to... darn traffic lights.

The ebb and flow of Renner leads us to Midland Drive - the start, and finish, of the Princeton Roundabout route... I joke, quietly to myself... "ok, finished!"    Ha!  ...Only 112 miles to go, dude.
I quietly remind myself why I'd chosen to DRIVE to the Princeton Roundabout, only last month.
So I wouldn't have to ride Renner in the other direction.
Uh, oh.

My resolve has been rekindled, of late, oft repeated in these very pages of my desires to drop a little ballast and regain that svelte climber's figure of years past, and, typical of a man my age, it's a tough negotiation.  Alas, and trite as it may be for the time of year, I'm investing once again in the effort - I know all too well that it can be done, I've simply lacked the willpower of those previous years.  I feel it returning as I lug myself over hill after hill... knowing I'm getting stronger for the effort, yet growing weary of knowing it could be slightly easier.  Patience.  Those rewards won't come today, but, come they will.

The road closed barricades of the previous week are gone - Renner open.  At least we won't have much detouring to do today, then - the alternative being two quite steep hills of Johnson Drive, instead of the one remarkably steep hill on Renner.  We three gently arrive at the bottom, and Holiday Drive, where sometimes I wonder "what if" of the bridge that once went straight over the railroad tracks ahead of us, over the river, joining this very route on the other side, continuing north.  Only on an 1887 road atlas can such a dream be seen... long since washed away, replaced, forgotten.  Today, it will take a circuitous route of almost 12 miles to travel just one mile as the crow would fly.  Of course, we wouldn't be able to claim 200k, if not for "progress."

It begins to snow, lightly... and it's kind of nice.

It's an especially long-feeling 12 miles, but soon we arrive on the grades of 86th Street north of the river.  We pass the Penrod Motel... which has clearly seen better times, but remains prominently listed all over the internet, with phone number.  Hitchcock comes to mind, courtesy Glen.  There's a very interesting building just to its north, however, that I'd like to know more about -- each time I pass it, I take in a little more.  Constructed of about 3/5ths stone, and capped off with wood framed construction in pale yellow, it sits by itself in the middle of a field off a small lake.  There are doors, highly elevated, suggesting a complex deck structure has been missing for some time, as well as a porch; yet, there it stands.  Can't find much about it.  I find this part of town interesting -- where I assume, heading north of the river, that industry and city needs would have long since swallowed up every available plot of land, there sits this house and lake, and only a few miles farther, right on the edge of I-70, is a working ranch with horses.  Strange, and sort of out-of-place... but I like that.

QuikTrip... chilled, feeling tired already, I try to make quick work of things, and we're soon ready to roll.  Still a spitting, sporadic snow/rain mix -- but it never seems to take hold.  Weird weather... but, oddly pleasant, if not a little damp and chilly.  Combined with the humidity acting on the pavement, we had yet to ride on dry roads.  Thank goodness for fenders.  Shivers... time to move.

We reach some of the tougher hills on the course, one reaching 11%, though they're short and manageable - and it's early.  Wyandotte County Lake Park offers a break from traffic and the banality of suburban scenery, offering up instead thrilling, twisty roads set against old stone walls, deep forest, and a crystalline lake to enjoy.  It doesn't last as long as I'd like, but it is a good-sized park.  Makes me wonder about riding in Colorado again, or the American Northwest.... how awesome that must be, if it's anything close to the scenery here!  Would I change where I am?  Probably not... but, it does lend me to consider a time in life where I'll be able to travel farther and wider to check off the monthly ride.  Nebraska, Iowa... that's only the beginning.  But, I have to be patient -- those days may come, but today is now.

Making our way out of the park and north to Wolcott and the beginning of K-5, we pass along the railroad tracks and a shady, forgotten section of road deep underneath I-435, still icy and snowy in places - making for some interesting maneuvers.  We roll, upright, out onto the long, flat section of K-5 prior to the next section of climbing.  It's a great day for a ride -- light traffic, and a little help from the wind - not a bad combo.

K-5 is a great highway, and a fitting tribute -- back in the day, I recall tales of my father enjoying motorcycle rides along this ribbon of twists, bends and hills.  Now, also on two wheels, I can't really say I'm having as thrilling a time while climbing, but the downhills are terrific.  We wind past hills and farmland, not too far from - but out of sight of - the nearby river, and soon find our way to the Leavenworth city limits.  Glen and I talk about extending the route even farther, to Atchison, to St. Joseph... and K-7 continues all the way to Rulo, NE.... an epic, river-based 600k, perhaps.  We make our way up Espanlade Drive, with historic homes on the left, and a stunning river overlook on the right - capped by the looming blue steel monument of the Centennial Bridge, which - opened in 1955 - celebrated Leavenworth's anniversary as the first city to be incorporated in Kansas.

We pause at the information control at MO-45 and the old "Leavenworth Cutoff", and fill in control cards and postcards with chilly fingers in the increasing wind.  A train accompanies us along the long, flat pan of the river valley on MO-45 as we roll through Beverly, MO. with hints of rainfall trying to get a foothold in the midst of a swirling weather system that couldn't seem to make up its mind.  Weston is close, and I can almost smell the cafe.

Grilled cheese, fries, a pitcher of water, hot coffee... and a table for three.  Good times.

The sun comes out... inviting us back outside.

The climb back out of Weston is full of promise, on a full stomach and faint tunes in my right ear, to help keep the legs motivated.  I'm already tired, a sentiment echoed throughout the group, and it's only halfway.  As I've said, though... at the halfway, it's effectively "in the bag"... unless it's a route like this one, for me.  Having tried to balance the dial between stamina and speed, fuel-stores and knowing about a waiting headwind on the return, I walked the line of fatigue, and could feel it in my legs... almost like the formation of cramps in my quads.  With recent saddle position changes, and not many training rides to adjust, I knew I was likely just exercising a portion of my muscles not previously up to the task, and this would certainly be the hilliest ride in months, a real test no matter the time of year.  Drink, eat, and pedal... just keep pedaling...

Leavenworth, and out of earshot, Terry suffers a flat tire.  Already through town when the voicemail rings on my phone, Glen and I are instructed to keep moving.  Terry has the fortitude of ten men when it comes to riding solo - strong, confident, steady.  I'm not feeling so strong.... with brief moments of goodness unfolding as the grilled cheese and fries finally made their way to hungry legs, I began to feel better than I had at the halfway, at least.  Speed?  Don't even bother looking down, dude... just pedal.  Glen begins to make a little headway, only caught up by a cue sheet check at a cross-street.  The steepest parts of K-5 behind us, we make the flats of Wolcott again, and set our sights on the park, and that nasty little hill before the QuikTrip control.

Peaking at barely under 12%, we're over the hump on Georgia Road, and back to the control in a flash.  The sun comes out again, and orange juice, crunch donut minis and fresh Carbogain powder carefully saved for the last leg of the ride comes out from the seat bag to help carry me the last 30 miles to the finish.  I'm careful not to overload, but real food tastes good and goes down smooth.  86th street waits - more hills.  Each section in my head on the return legs contains at least one good challenge.  The last 30 miles contain, in my mind, no less than four.

Challenge 1:  86th street itself.  Long, gradual climbs here and there are no big deal, but the poorly placed stop signs break up good pace and momentum.  The real boogers sit after I-70, long and grunting pushes over some geographic anomalies left over from the formation of the river banks, before the typical long, fast downhill to K-32.  Visiting my 27 tooth rear cog more often now, I curse myself for designing a route that bites back so hard in the last quarter of its length... but in the same breath, I'm thankful for the challenge, and how it tends to reset some of my personal goals.

Challenge 2:  K-32, the river, K-7, and 43rd Street.  After so much climbing, the board-flat highway section, river section, and the return east afterwards represent (as previously mentioned) a circuitous 12-mile journey that could be solved with a simple 1-mile bridge extension of 86th street.  Instead, riders head west to Bonner Springs via Edwardsville, over the river on bicycle-legal K-7, and then make their way back east to exactly the same spot, but on the other side of the KS River.  With the leaves absent from the trees, upon reaching the top of the last hill on 86th street, southbound, you can actually see where you'll end up on Renner... but you can't get to it.  These factors combine to unfold this section of the ride with deceptive lethargy and tedium.  On a hot day, there are plenty of c-stores, however... and that can be a welcome thing.

Challenge 3:  Renner Road from Holiday drive.  After the 12-mile=1-mile river crossing mind-trick, riders must climb the opposite river bluffs, nearly straight-on.  This hill represents the steepest average grade of the entire ride, if my math is correct - but its arrival at milepost 105 is perhaps good for another few percent slope.  Carefully breathing deep, taking in a final Hammer Gel from my back pocket a couple miles ahead of time, and trying to cough the current crop of cold leftovers out of the way of my breathing, I turn right, look up, and shift down.  Good grief.... the climb levels temporarily at a slight curve in the road, and then pitches up for the steepest portion, only a few dozen yards long, maybe, before it begins to ease up for the last half-mile.  Wheezing for air, blinking to confirm whether or not I'm actually beginning to grey-out or not, I unclip and put down a foot.  Game over.  For the first time since the Knob Noster 200k back in '09... but, this hill is steeper, I suppose, and I guess I had been getting over a cold.  I can make all the justifications I like, but I didn't have to walk it in May, or the time before that... so, a little miffed at myself, but sometimes we do what we have to.  No matter, though... I shake my head, allow myself 15 seconds of negativity, and walk the rest of the way up.  Next time, next time.

By comparison, the rest of the hills are nothing to write home about - it's more of the same issue with where they lay in relation to the day's mileage.  I enjoy the wicked-fast downhill back to Midland Drive, and - of course - catch the red light there, killing about 40 MPH of speed.  I climb over I-435, pass the park, and make my way to 87th as the daylight begins to dim.  A brilliant, attention-grabbing sunset is on tap - nearly unobstructed save for a few trees to my right as I navigate through the roundabouts and onward to the last two hills before things finally flatten out in the last 4 miles of approach to the finish.

Challenge 4:  The hill up to the interchange with K-10 is a real booger, but nothing too daunting by comparison to the previous climbs... just that pesky red light at the top.  Then to College Blvd... more of the same awesome sunset to my right as I pass the old barns and last remaining farm fields that haven't yet become business parks... (hold off, Lexena... just hold off...) ...and, at last... flatter roads...

Really, if I'm honest, the actual 4th challenge becomes me against my own anxiety... and the worry of the hills probably carries as much weight as the climbs themselves.  Now, with the last climb behind me, NOW it's in the bag... yeesh.

KC Road, Ridgeview, and back through the other roundabouts along Sheridan, I feel a little kick coming from somewhere deep in the reserve tanks, smelling the barn again, and manage to finish within 10 minutes of Glen - who I'd lost sight of miles before, somewhere along K-7 while crossing the river I thought I'd seen a glimpse along 43rd street, but too many curves between us to be sure - I'd figured he'd been long, long gone, especially after I'd walked the big hill.  Not bad for feeling pretty well destroyed!  Having recovered from his flat tire, Terry ended up being about 40 minutes down -- afterwards, since the ride starts so close to home, I rode home, grabbed the car and drove backwards to make sure he'd been on-track - and I only ended up driving maybe a half mile, and there he was - in typical Terry fashion, pushing the same steady pace he'd held all day, and finishing strong.

I think last time I'd mentioned how cool it'd be to get back to a form that would afford me more of a finishing kick... or, in reality, more steady and consistent delivery of speed throughout the entire 200k, like Terry - but I'd be lying if said I wasn't still interested in personally working toward some of that old speed I used to have ...and I'd be foolish to think it would've happened in the scant four weeks since the December 200k; but it puts more fuel on the fire, this ride.  I'm happy to have this one finished, and if I want to get what I want, it's simple:  I have to work harder than I have been.  Diet.  My old foe.  I know what I need to do, and I know I haven't been doing as well as I should.  Time to get that old focus back - new year, new ideas... yeah, yeah, resolutions, what-have-you.  I need to turn them into the kind of real, sustainable lifestyle changes that will allow me to continue these pursuits throughout this, my fourth decade, and smoothly into my 5th and 6th.  It won't be deprivation, it won't be suffering - but it will be responsibility, moderation, and healthy.  Those are the only mechanisms that will provide the return I seek.  Time to work on that.

I find it comical, reading backwards through my own journals, how unsatisfied I've been with myself -- I'm not very good about counting my blessings.  Despite the shifting tone changes between great times with awesome scenery, immediately followed by the misery of climbs and sketchy weather, I don't honestly have much to complain about -- yet, I'm always reaching, striving to be just that little bit better;  reaching for teh best "me" I can be, to distance myself from the wreck I remember from the years prior to my re-discovery of the bicycle.  It's that fear of full regression that continues to drive me to complain, never rest, never settle - I may never be satisfied, but that's what keeps me going - better or worse.  I refuse to give up, even if 90% of the time it's just talk.  Occasionally, the talk turns to action - and I feel such a change occurring now.

For now - it's another finish.  That should be good enough - the rest is commentary.


11 hours, 15 minutes total.
9:18 rolling time, for an average of ... I'll take it.
Tough, tough day... but, really, it could have been worse.

Chilly, but not painfully so.
Snow and rain... but not enough to worry about.
Amazing scenery juxtaposed against tough hill climbs.
A vague, grey sky yielding to sun... then clouds again, and finally an amazing sunset.
Riding along with some great, strong riders, good friends.
What more could one ask for?

So,
Until February.... the streak continues...

Thanks for reading!
And... Happy, Healthy, New Year to you all!

A January Test on Tap

Stay tuned for the next 200k ride report... it ought to be a doozey.

This time, I'm headed north along the WMGM 200km route - famed for it's trail of unforgiving hills, and famous for the Weston Cafe - offering weary cyclists a hot meal and a comfy chair.

Originally designed as a winter route, with it's south-north-south orientation, I've never ridden it in anything but dry conditions.  The weather lately, has had other plans - and while the forecast looks dry, the route is clogged with the remains of the region's last snow event, leaving some of the quiet, shady back-country lanes packed and rutted - days later.  Another full day of melting lay ahead, but Saturday should prove entertaining as a result or whatever road conditions await us.  Here's to adventure!

More to come...

The Last Ride of 2012

Although its not an every year occurrence, I think I'm definitely putting Randy's annual "ride your age" event on my calendar for late December.  The last few times I've been along for a Dirtbum special I've come away a little bit changed, and this year: no different.

Cold temperatures and a steady NW wind drove away participants, but I was keen to grab a few rides to bolster my (so far) untested cold weather riding for the season.  I'd been wimping out hard ever since the temps had fallen and the first snow had come, but with the next 200k coming I had to get crackin' and remind myself that riding in the cold really isn't that bad once one gets moving.  Mental fortress... Engage.

So... One of my more memorable rides from 2012, in brief snapshots from my memory:

215th street, west from Spring Hill.  I'd never taken it before... In fact, when Randy had asked if I'd taken it since they'd paved it, I'd thought he'd meant 215th EAST of town, back toward Renner.  Once we turned west, it sunk in.  Ok, I'd never been west of US-169 on this road.  Uncharted territory... Good.

The snow of the previous week had been left largely a memory, just patches of snow scattered on the occasional shaded sections of various lawns.  On the back roads of Miami county, however, the shade grew longer and deeper among the hills and valleys of the road network.  We enjoyed a long descent, down to creek-level, and then started to climb back up...along a shady section of road.  The ice covered the pavement from edge to edge, tossed with a thin coating of grit.  It was enough to provide traction...barely.  Seated, shifted into a casual gear, shoulders dropped, and cautiously holding the best line I could, I ascended the steep, icy grade on my 25c slick road tires, preparing myself for a comical fall.  The last half dozen pedal strokes were answered with tricky wheel spin... But we were over the grade, upright. My smile grew... Having long since sold my mountain bike and its Nokian studded tires, I felt trepidation even being there, what with my substandard equipment, but it's remarkable what one can get away with.  Confidence restored, I began to look forward to the gravel... And whatever else Randy would toss my way.

215th extended much farther than I'd anticipated....

I need to get out more.

A black lab - only one of countless and widely varied dogs we'd hear - and occasionally see - decides to join our adventure.  He lopes alongside me, always an arms reach away, smiling and panting happily for at least a mile, maybe more, never threatening.  Good dog.

We ended up at Waverly, then 217th, and became faced with a treacherous downhill, north-facing, shaded, with a curve at the bottom.  It was a "treat"... Rounding the curve confirmed indeed some ice and snow remained in place, and we floated down, carefully spaced, entrusting our fight against gravity to our thin rear brake cables on full squeeze.  Don't touch the front brake... Breathe... Touchdown, onto a quiet old bridge over a dry creek, and into a whisper-quiet country scene.  

A pause, and the plot thickened.

Here, I'm led through a narrow fence marking the entrance to well groomed singletrack, masked by leaves and snow.  From pavement, to gravel, to dirt... It's best to forget which bike you brought, and just pedal.  The smile is dialed up a notch, again, as we silently dash along a dreamscape of silent, leafless trees and undergrowth.  A crunch of leaves, snap of a twig, the crisp yield of untouched snow under bicycle tires, we glide through the forest.  Not even a bird is seen.

A creek crossing, it's wicked-steep.... A tire swallowing chasm, full stop, dismount, and hike up the other side.  I part wish I'd have tried to ride up it... Next time...

A pause and a snack at the edge of Bull Creek... Frozen motionless.

We mount up and point the bikes east, for the bridge across the water has been a memory for decades.. No trace.  We navigate the trees and emerge from the dirt trail back onto a gravel road I don't recognize... Steep hills, stacked like stairs leading away from the water, and more ice to navigate - uphill and down - Randy expertly finds the best lines and grip, but the gravel itself helps tremendously.  

A Great Dane, gorgeous in speckled grey, helps me up the grade.  I'm seated atop a bicycle, and we're nearly at eye level with each other.  Big dog.

I pop to recognition as we pass the Antioch School and head south to 231st to cross the northern arm of Hillsdale Lake.  I forget to ask Randy if he knows the answer to a personal curiosity:  as some road names go:  Edgerton Road, Plattsburg Road, Kansas City Road... Generally they lead to the town they were named for, eventually.  There are a few alignments I've never been able to connect, however, like Olathe Road near Westport, and this: Antioch, KS. (what's left of it) and this schoolhouse, and the fact that Antioch Road as I know it is so far to the east.  Certainly, it's either a coincidence in name only, or some old map buried in the courthouse archives holds the answer.  It's a local curiosity I haven't ever sorted out, and I imagine it predates the lake.  I digress.

At 231st street, we pull off into a small parking circle, which is normally right on the water's edge.  Now, the lake level is so low the water is perhaps a half mile away.  Time to take a look, we advance out onto the dried lakebed.  It's eerie, quiet, and desolate...I feel as if I'm on another continent.  Remarkable.  

We proceed west to Rock Creek ... Past the cemetery and on to another pause at the Rock Creek schoolhouse.  It'd been since perhaps 2010, maybe even 2009...but I remembered it well from my first gravel adventure with Randy back at the Hillsdale bike camping trip.  

We head south on Pressonville Road (so, where's Pressonville, then?) ... What is it with the north/south roads out here?  Boulder-sized gravel, freshly laid, jars the body and makes it hard to find a good line.  I follow Randy's lead as best possible, and catch up at 247th.  With the wind at our backs, and smoother gravel under tire, this section feels like flying by comparison!  

Bethel Church road... More roughness, but I'm finding my stride, and the phrase "Dirty Kanza" passes my lips with a smirk... I can only imagine its far, far worse than this weekend stroll.  I check my speed, and snap back to reality.  "Riiiight..."

271st ... More boulders, on what was once a nice, worn-in MMR.  We stop for another snack, and a nature break over a small creek.  Emptiness surrounds... I know civilization is close, but it looks like the Flint Hills.  Amazing... I unzip the jacket... Is it above freezing finally?  Maybe.

We continue along 271st, tackle the fairly hardcore (my measurement scale may not match yours:  ie, "hardcore" means I had to put my foot down occasionally, largely due to lack of skill, and partly due to really deep ruts and a missing bridge.)  We emerge at Lonestar Road, and head north.  

Down on the service road behind the lake's spillway, Randy suffers a flat front tire, and its a booger:  the classic mystery flat that eats patches, makes one question their pump, their patch choice, everything.  Eventually, we successfully patch the original tube, and head out, but it eats daylight and puts the rest of the gravel sections in question.  We finish on pavement, heading back up Old KC Road, and back to Spring Hill, for my finish.  

This ride will certainly roll around in my head with good thoughts for a long while, capping off a year full of great, memorable rides with good friends.  I've seen more of the US than ever before this year between RAAM and randonneuring, but rides like this remind me of what I hadn't yet found in my own backyard.  It's definitely a reminder of what's possible on a basic road bike with skinny tires - and really, if it's dry, it's rideable.

2013 ... Who knows what it'll bring, but I'm already looking forward to following the Dirtbum around some local goodness again.  

Not a bad last ride for any year.

Happy New Year!

The Bitter End... of 2012

[corrected]

I maintain quite a bit of respect for those that have raced bicycles.  When I first dabbled with racing, I learned quickly how much I think (too much), and how that tendency can get in the way of being competitive in handlebar-to-handlebar conflicts on a twisty crit course.  I have learned that, in recreational circles, I can be a decent climber... but in the context of the battle-hardened Cat.3 group on their weekend “cool-down” ride, I am no better than a child on a BMX bike.  The level of fitness that comes with hard (and balanced) training, a disciplined (and balanced) diet, and a good team foundation to keep one’s efforts honest and on-track, amazes me.  

Considering the professionals, the Cat.1s, the U.S. Pros, and the International squads --- and, yes, fresh on the heels of writing an ethnography on the culture of doping in professional cycling, I am well aware of where some of the talent allegedly originates --- they deliver downright awe-inspiring performances.  I think, side-stepping the potential for unending discussion here, it’s unfortunate many professionals felt placed in a choice-less position regarding performance enhancing drugs - from where I’m sitting, none of them needed the help.  

It’s what they do, not necessarily how they do it, that amazes.  It’s not always about the GC guys.  I find it especially entertaining watching the exploits of the breakaway groups on long stage races.  They are riding distances often approaching or in excess-of 200 kilometers, just as I do each month; yet, witnessing the ferocity with which they can STILL manage to attack, and answer attacks, and the average speeds they achieve after 100 miles, 120 miles... it is remarkable!  Yeah, they’re supported, yeah they don’t have to stop... yeah, yeah, yeah.... but, I remember approaching the 200k with similar vigor -- but dissimilar results -- and I wonder if it’s possible again.  

After a long time of foolishly messing about with things that weren't broken, I finally feel like I’m back at a neutral position, perhaps able to stop “soft-pedaling” in fear of injury, and just start punishing the pedals again.  Why not?  I’m certainly not dead, and I’m definitely not too old.   I’m happy with my performances, from a finishing standpoint, but, my complaints lately seem to involve the last 30 miles of every ride, and its high time I did a thing or two about it.  Do what?  Heck, I dunno -- but, training smarter -- and eating better... ALL the time....certainly can’t hurt.  And maybe shutting the brain off a little -- all this “what to wear, what to pack, where to put it, what to eat.....etc, ad nauseum” .... I’m tired of worrying so much, and yet, I can’t seem to help it.  I’d just love, though I know it will take more than just thinking-about-it, to cross the finish at the next 200k with gas in the tank and spirit in the legs:  mainly I’d like to train for the “death slog” section that seems to tag along for at least a few dozen miles lately on my randonees.  This is starting to sound a LOT like New Year’s resolution stuff.

Should I complain?  No, probably not... but, that’s me, defined: whatever the pursuit, I tend to get restless in the face of apparent complacency.  Whatever the pursuit, “it” likely won’t EVER be “good enough.”  The whole point of this is self-discovery, pushing my limits, and coming away just a little bit stronger than I had been the day before... and often my excuses materialize around accessory concerns.  Point of fact, I should concern myself with riding more, rather than trying to figure out which new bag, saddle or shorts might “solve the ‘problem’.”  Therein lay the therapy within these pages - which, while it might seem boorish to the reader, it’ll definitely help me in the future, when, invariably, I will return to these pages looking for reasons why I rearranged things that had worked just fine in the past.

So, that over-with, and this semester over-with, on to the last ride!  It hasn't been even three weeks yet, but it feels like it’s been forever already... so, to the best of my recollection, here goes:  The December 200k!

December in Kansas... one never knows, and for a while the forecast seemed to promise rain - but, we ended up largely dry.  I had carried along my rain jacket, just to be sure -- it’s a forecast changer.  If I carry it, it won’t rain, you see.  

Terry, Glen and I met once again at the Princeton Roundabout start line in Shawnee, ready for action in the not-too-cold morning air.  It was going to be a GREAT day, with highs possibly reaching 50 degrees, but nothing more.... “perfect”, really ... not too warm, either, so layering and clothing issues wouldn't be a concern.  After some revelations on why I’d been riding around without a lot of powdered energy drink came up and smacked me in the chops recently, I started the day’s packing with the hope to eat more c-store fare... but, as it goes, I ended up carrying enough powder to handle the entire 200k.  Sometimes I need to ease into these things.  

Adding to the mental noise of packing the extras, my handlebar bag - which enjoyed exactly 2 rides before the mount started coming apart - wasn't along for this one, so I pulled out an old, giant saddlebag to stand in.  It’s one of those old “banana bag” style waxed canvas things -- huge, but not Carradice huge -- and it immediately became apparent why I’d stopped using it previously:  it’s a weird shape.  I ultimately managed to get everything I needed to carry squeezed into it, but yikes.  It struck me a few times that installing it might have been a step backward... but, we’ll see.  One thing I can say, set against the classic lines and steel tubing of the Kogs, it does look rather good.  The ultimate question will remain:  “does it save time at the controls?”  So far, without having to mess with toe-straps on the rear rack, it’s a hesitant “yes.”... but I think the handlebar bag saved even more time.  Perhaps there’s a fix for that yet.  But, there’s me worrying again... and really, I don’t need to start that malarkey until after the next 400k.

On food -- I've got some things to start messing with in training.  I haven’t yet tried some of the “leave the powder at home” tricks - like making your own sports drink while managing to avoid the Gatorade... the goal is effectively the same calorie and carb profile as Carboplex(Gain) - albeit not pure maltodextrin - by mixing together some random ingredients that can be found in any grocery store or gas station in the world, more or less.  Things like sugar packets and orange juice... the thought of which kinda makes me puke in my mouth a little, but, never know until I try, right?  That’s just one method designed to free the randonneur from having to carry around, in my case, what amounted to ten 80-gram baggies of CarboGain for an average 200km.  I can’t fault the stuff itself -- heck, it WORKS, and works well... but, I simply can’t carry 8 pounds of it on a supposed 1,200km ride.  I've managed to ride a LOT without worrying about how to pack nutrition, and I want to get back to that stage.  PB Crackers, Fig newtons, Powerbars, pizza, cheesy-potato bites, juices and good-ole water have carried me, and many others (including racers) across the miles... and that’s simply what I’m trying to get back to.  I’m stopping every 20 miles at a c-store anyways... might as well shop.  I don’t think the powdered stuff saves time... whether I’m buying something or mixing what I brought along, I have to use the restroom and get water, and dismount, and get my card signed... in ANY case, I’m stopping, and it’ll probably be 15 minutes no matter what I’m doing.  Finally, 300 calories per bottle works work great ... if I knew I was actually burning that many calories.  What I need to do reminds me of what the ‘Bird had done, back in the day.... and I know I've probably told the story before:

Somewhere along 199th Street, early 2002....

“How many miles have we gone?” he asked, finally coasting after what seemed like an eternity of hard tempo work.

“mmmm, 26.5...,” I replied, clicking through the views on my cycloputer.  “Why?”

“‘cause that’s exactly how long a PB&J sandwich lasts.”

It’s struck me that, yes - while I've managed to run into what FEELS like a bonk here and there, the truth is I probably have no idea what a bonk feels like.  Within a controlled environment, I need to rediscover how many miles that PB&J will get ME.  This also typified my general eating style, on AND off the bike:  I've been so nervous about running out of food that part of my fatigue and digestive discomfort might have to do with me taking in too MUCH.  How do I know unless I mess with it in training?  For this latest 200k, it would be no exception.  Plenty of powder, plenty of stops, and no danger of running out of anything might be called “preparedness”, but if the pangs of hunger NEVER appear, maybe THAT’S why I have trouble choking down real food at the controls.  Something tells me that if I was actually hungry, eating real food wouldn't be a problem.  It’s time to let some of the nervousness go, and re-find my limits.  I'd previously though I'd been on some kind of caloric deficit on many rides... but deficit compared to what?  If I've become more efficient while riding long distances, but have never adjusted my intake, how efficient am I, really?  I’m not suggesting knocking off a 200k on just 4 PB&Js and plain water.... but, hell.... could I?  Do I really know my limits?  This is why they call it “training”... and if 600km is the goal, it’s time to find out what’s what.

Back on the ride, Glen, Terry and I were enjoying the grunter of a climb, Col de 435, up towards Shawnee Mission Park, and feeling good.  A slight tailwind is a great way to start a long ride, and soon we were over the climb and past the park, well on our way.  The Princeton Roundabout is a great ride, scenic & exciting.  A rarity, we managed to roll from the start line to Kill Creek Road without putting a foot down... usually at least one stoplight at K-7 catches us, but this time we made it on all greens!    Feeling good, and soaking in the scenery and “new” pavement.... errr, gravel?.... on Cedar Creek Road, we advanced past the quiet houses and climbed the many hills heading west toward Clearview City, and on to Eudora... the first control.

The morning school rush in full effect, and commuters popping into and out of the Kwik Shop near K-10 always makes for a good time when dressed head-to-toe in cycling gear, shivering from the cold, wet morning air.  My “giant” seatbag reminded me how strangely shaped and cramped its designers had rendered it.  I missed my toe straps and slender seatbag with all the pockets immediately -- but, hey, this is why we try these things.  Sometimes I need that reminder.  Better or worse, and everything packed, we three loaded up on water and food, and fought traffic to get back onto the route, over K-10, and to points south.  This included one of my favorite parts of any rando route around here:  As soon as we rolled over the top of the K-10 bridge, and onto a more downhill pitch, we enter a school zone where traffic is limited to 30mph, and then 25mph.  When the wind is kind, it’s not difficult to keep up with traffic here - and today proved fun while we hacked it up, keeping pace with cars and buses and not getting in anyone’s way.  Clear of the city limits at top speed, we made our way south.

Glen and I chatted it up on DG-1061, talking about rando and food and training - stuff that’s gotten me thinking (case in point, many of the paragraphs above).  We marveled at the sight of a large structure -- one I still need to stop and take a photo of, but traffic never fails to put that possibility out of my mind, so Google Street View (tm) to the rescue -- near 1000 Rd.  I cannot find an article linking this image to its name, but I believe this is the building which used to house a Sinclair Gas oil pumping station; built in 1923 and operated until 1940, though I can’t find much else written about the structure, save for small mentions contained within a Eudora history webpage.  It’s a remarkably strong-looking building, reminiscent of structures one would see at an old military installation - yet, it’s sitting out by itself, in a field alongside the county highway.  It makes me wonder if the contractors who built the Sunflower Army Ammunition plant - not too far to the east - had been involved, somehow, or, if the building had served that very facility at some point.  As barns and silos from the same time period sit in disrepair, this concrete and masonry building stands fast against the prairie elements - and probably will for another 100 years.

We climbed up the rise where DG-1061 meets DG-460 and proceeded west, along another of my favorite stretches of road.  As much as I have tried this year to avoid repeating routes, I have to appreciate the Princeton loop.  It strings together a lot of my usual training routes and favorite strips of pavement, and it’s nice to hit the road without having to study the cue sheet every 50 yards.  If this post becomes something of a retrospective, however, it should be said that 2012 stands as one of my most interesting years.  I’ve managed to try more new rando routes than ever before, I’ve designed (though they aren’t approved yet) more new routes this year than in any other, I crewed and officiated on a KS cross-state record attempt, and I crew-chiefed for solo-RAAM - an amazing experience that (seriously) is still sorting itself out in my head - and while I haven’t been able to commute as much, as reflected in my lowest annual mileage since I began keeping track in 1998, it’s definitely been a landmark year for cycling, personally.  At the time, riding along with Glen on DG-460, overlooking the massive Vinland Valley, it hadn’t occurred to me I was riding the last 200k of 2012, but I think riding the Princeton route capped it off nicely, especially as events would unfold later in the day.

Another recent saddle adjustment seems to have at least minimized the clicking in my right knee which had begun in August, which is terrific.  For the first time in months, I managed to pedal along without looking forward desperately to the next stop --- not from knee noise or pain, but from “gentleman’s discomfort.”  It had me thinking, for awhile, that I needed to accept the need to find a new saddle - but, an extra degree of tilt, and order is restored.  Glen and I climbed Baldwin Pass and made the control, with Terry only a breath behind us.  Today, an Oatmeal pie for me.... tasty, but would I pay for it?  Coffee would have been good, too - but it slipped my mind.  The temps still hovered right near the “shiver” factor... so it was time to mount up and move out.

Ohio Road - the continuation of DG-1061 which brings us into northern Franklin County, stretches out - a blanket of fog and mist filling the valley before us and rendering the horizon a fuzzy grey... breathtaking.  A train-whistle, and an eerie stillness... “it’ll be hard to see the enemy today...” I warned, and then reveled in another long, fantastic downhill to Shawnee Road, and the leg westbound to Ottawa.  The last time I was out here, I’d already begun to be pummeled by heavy, wet snow.  Today was easy.

Small victories:  for the first time in a long while on this route, I rolled right past the Casey’s in Ottawa, to continue south to Princeton, citing “it’s only six miles.”  Ataboy.  More of that, please.  Well on the way to turning “it’s only six miles” to “it’s only 60 miles” again.... the mental formula for the REALLY long rides.

More small victories:  instead of destroying myself by trying desperately to hold Glen’s wheel on US-59, I backed it off about 5%, and let him slip away.  I need to be “okay” with this, also, as ammunition for the longer stuff... keeping something in the tank requires it.  Still, I made a game of trying to ramp that 5% back up with maybe a mile to go, maybe to bridge up before the control - but I quickly thought better of it.  The discipline to ride within myself, too, is returning... though I’m not as adept at it as, say, Terry... not quite yet.  With Glen along lately, it seems I have that “rabbit” again - which is great for training - but, I also need to keep myself sharp for those times when I’ll be alone.  Looking back on the ‘07 600km brevet, that had been the case for 33 out of 38 hours... I can’t always assume I’ll have someone to talk to, let alone to try and draft.  For that “death slog” avoidance, however, I do need to get back into a regular routine of pushing my own wall - and then, perhaps my natural pace will mimic Glen’s in the last half of these rides.

Princeton - food.  Those new Clif Bar Crunch granola bars are AWESOME, and work.  Next time, buy two more for the road!

Turning briefly into a slight north wind, we made our way to John Brown Highway for the long, uninterrupted 17-mile section to Osawatomie, KS.  I love this part:  though feared by many, depending on the weather, I love the solitude, the long vistas on all sides of the road, the inquisitive cows, and the sparse traffic.  Sure, in July heat it can be downright dangerous, and if the wind is in a poor mood it can seem desperately long - but it’s a great stretch of road.  With my cap pulled low, I settled in for the hour or so expected... “just one water bottle away from the next stop.”  I chimed.  We three settled into our individual rhythms, and got to work...and in a blink, the pavement change and the hills marking the western edge of Osawatomie (and the return to Miami County) were under our tires.  Long West-East section of the day?  Check.

Casey’s, more water and powdered drink mix... it’s too easy... I ended up bringing enough of it along to fuel the day, so darn it - I was determined to use it.  The oatmeal creme pie from Baldwin City had proven to work really well - packed with calories from questionable sources, yes; but, it’d worked.  Still, taking a quick lap inside the familiar c-store, I had trouble finding anything else in the same category.  It all blurs into a colorful confusion, and I end up grabbing nothing.  Practice... practice...  I don’t want a repeat of ‘07, where I’d carried so, so much powder, only to find myself sick of it.  Practice... re-find the courage to grab, as I’d done at Baldwin City ...ANY-thing, and eat it.

Trouble is gonna come.... to you....

Typical of the last ...ok, nearly EVERY time I visit the Princeton route, the last 30 miles present a massive hurdle.  I still have yet to figure out exactly what prompts it - as it certainly doesn’t happen to everyone riding with me, but - for me - it’s real.  The leg from Osawatomie to Paola is benign enough - nothing record-breaking, I manage to pedal along, without complaint, along the river and up the ridge that eventually lifts us to the east side of US-169 and the outskirts of Paola, KS.  I’ve been here more times than I can count, and it’s always been the same story in the last few kilometers to the control... that curved patch of multi-lane road leading into town just kicks my backside.  It’s not hilly...nothing remarkable, but the last 500 yards to the control... yeesh... it suddenly feels as if I’m on the final leg of a return from Boston.

At the control, I settle in.  Two laps of the giant-sized c-store here yields absolutely nothing of interest.  I run down my newly steeled checklist:  I’m looking for a cheese pizza.  Nothing.  Ok, fine.  Microwave bean burrito.  Nothing.  Oooo-k.  The vegetarian thing is rearing it’s inconvenient head again, as I pass plenty of meat-laden cold sandwiches, hot dogs on rollers, and the like.  Ugh.  There appears to be a lunch-counter/ice-cream “store-within-store” at the back, but I can’t get so much as eye contact from the girl cleaning up in the back - and the menu-board over head doesn’t look inviting anyway.  The notion of a hot pick-me-up to carry me the last 40 miles of the day evaporates.  A giant cave of a store, loaded with nothing.  Feeling the clock ticking really fast, I finally opt for a Payday bar and a Coke.  As I drop into the park bench outside the shop and unwrap my feast, I gaze longingly at the Taco Bell across the street.  Hmmm.... too late.  Time to move on.  Next time, knowing what I know, I’m getting a quick signature and receipt, and then heading across the street.  

As full of calories as I was going to get -- and still not convinced a lack of, or excess of, calories have indeed been the issue these last half-dozen Princeton runs -- I settled into a rhythm on Hedge Lane alongside Glen, talking about this and that, and watching the activity at a propane storage facility, a group of men venting, rather furiously, a large cylinder of gas from a long hose...  the gravel rocks of the parking lot underneath glowing red, and the hose emitting a roar like a jet engine, while they stood by nonchalantly chatting - as if all of this was normal.  Rather cool scene near the end of a long day in the saddle.  It was also along this stretch where we’d witness our own shadows for the first time that day, as the sun managed to break through the grey blanket above us... if only for 15 seconds or so.

Shortly after, Glen began to distance me up the road - right about the time we reached the railroad tracks near 287th street.  In fact, I’d already begun to crawl inside myself a little at this stage - and thankfully, Glen was in front of me at the time.  As he put his foot down at the stop sign, I had just reached him... and, as is sometimes customary, I began to attempt to trackstand, and advance forward at the same time Glen would have.... had it been a 4-way stop, which it wasn’t.  As a truck approached from the left... the truck which I’d assumed would be stopping next, giving us the right of way, I began to inch forward... and then realized that Glen wasn’t moving, so I stopped quickly - right as the truck whooshed through the intersection, continuing eastbound...  I’d forgotten about the “cross-traffic doesn’t stop” indications here.  Uh, wake up, dude!

Definitely back awake, we continued north - and by the time we’d reached the roundabout at K-68, I was losing ground again.  Nothing really hurt, I don’t remember any discomfort... I think, all-in-all, I was just fatigued, tired.  Terry caught up... I think... I don’t remember if he had left Paola early, or caught me from behind -- but I watched as he and Glen joined forces ahead of me, as we dropped downhill to pass over Ten Mile Creek and the BNSF railroad tracks south of Hillsdale.  I paused at 255th Street, having barely pulled them back to within reach, and thought for a second about taking another break - but then decided against it.  In retrospect, I should have.  Old K.C. Road lay ahead -- sure, we were already on it, but the section between 255th to 223rd streets is usually busy with fast-moving and unsympathetic traffic.  I normally revel in the chance to ride along the alignment of an old highway (this one is old US-169), and it’s a great road... when it’s quiet... but, in the last 10 years anyways it seems to be anything but.  I’d sooner take a gravel detour, lately...Columbia Road is very close by; but, I stick to the rulebook, and the route, as usual.  I know nobody is watching, and detours like this one are not only longer, they’re honest gravel -- but, I don’t mess around when it comes to keeping my streak of 200k’s going.  If it’s not a free-route permanent, traffic is just one of those things randonneur’s must endure.  So be it, Jedi...

Alone, I dropped back inside myself - not even really aware of the jerk-truck parade whizzing past at ANYthing but the now-state-law 3 feet clearance, and certainly not at the posted 45 MPH speed limit.  White-line fever, I pedaled out the only pace I could muster - which was pretty pathetic, even for this late in a 200k.  Clearly, the Payday bar hadn’t work -- or had become too much for the stomach to process.  I watched as the now two yellowish blips up the road grew smaller and smaller, and finally rounded a bend - not to be seen again for a while.  As I made my way and finally reached Spring Hill at 223rd Street and the new highway, I turned north on Webster without so much as lifting my head, and continued north through town... looking out from under my cap to see if I could see any sign of those yellow triangles adorning my mate’s bikes.  At 215th, a long gaze toward Casey’s... “what, did they engage warp drive?”  No sign... and suddenly...

“...hey, wake up!” from my left... Glen?  No... Terry.... what... Randy?!?  I must've looked a little confused, as Randy Rasa of Kansas Cyclist and DirtBum fame (and also a RUSA member) appeared from nowhere and took a position in front of me on the road.  Out for a late fall ride on this grey day, we stopped for a bit and chatted, and I asked if he’d seen anyone ride past, but he hadn't seen Glen or Terry... but, about that time, they appeared from behind over the crown in the road.  They’d stopped back at the gas station at 223rd, where I had been aiming for Casey’s at the north end of town... but, either way, we were back together - and had picked up a 4th!  Rolling again, we stopped for my quick nature break at Casey’s, and then headed north out of town.  

Terry was on a mission, and Glen was clearly still feeling strong - the two, after we mounted back up again, started advancing up the road just as before.  With a fresh shot of Hammer Gel in my gut, and more water to hopefully balance out the Payday situation... or whatever it was... and I was off, with Randy in tow for a few miles.  It was a good brain refresher, good to catch up, and the next few miles seemed to come a little easier as we passed Spring Hill High School and absorbed a little rash of traffic on the way to Olathe.  The road widened after 167th, and I began to feel better... nothing miraculous would come from my legs, but at least I was managing a more productive pace.  Finally, for the first time since beginning to feel down at Paola, I could begin to smell the barn.  I caught a red light, and used the opportunity to down another Hammer Gel, at 151st and Ridgeview, right by Olathe Karate Academy (where I do a fair amount of off-bike cross-training -- they aren’t compensating me, nor do they know I’m including their link here, but, hey - they’re good people, and it’s a local, small business.)

Apparently, I still have a knack for reading the weather.  Ever since having left Spring Hill the sky had begun to take hints foretelling rain... maybe even snow, had it been a dozen degrees cooler.  Sure enough, as the light turned green and Randy and I continued north, the rain began.  No sign of Glen or Terry, but it hardly mattered as the route transitioned to “in-town” mode - lots of traffic from local schools releasing, and the usual crop of Friday short-timers had taken to the streets for errands and home, Randy and I navigating the thick of it.  Finally feeling a bit more push returning to the legs, we bid our farewells as Randy peeled off for home, and I proceeded to chop up the rest of Ridgeview... inside ten miles to ride.  Catch Terry?  Catch Glen?  Bah.... just ride.  Legs feeling the squeeze of 125 miles, it didn't matter how fresh I’d have felt -- I wasn’t about to pull off a miracle run on the hills of Renner, and making matters worse, the light at 119th and Renner didn’t seem interested in letting me continue north anyways.  Three full cycles, too much traffic to even consider a “dead-red” move, I sat and waited for SOMEONE to show up and trip the sensors in my favor.  Finally... let’s get to work!

I started to count down the traffic lights.... and I basked in the glory of fresh tarmac near K-10... finally a fast downhill without having to dodge craters!  Lucky enough to have caught the green lights at the I-435 interchange near 95th street, I began the Lenexa Proving-Grounds roundabout party leading to 87th street, and... wait.....is that a glimmer of safety yellow up there???  DUDE!!!!!  There wasn’t much kick left, but I suddenly felt like that guy that’s finally snapped the elastic and escaped the peloton to chase down the would-be breakaway artist...

c’mon light... c’mon light....C’MON!!

Free to fly now, no more lights for the final 2 miles or so from 87th to Midland Drive... and the finish.  I knew full well it didn't matter a smidge who would finish when... but, to have emerged from the funk, back into the game: nothing does it quite like a rabbit on the horizon.  Warbird trained... I have no thoughts, no hesitation... once I see my target, get.... it..... on!   Attaque!!  

Albeit an attack only in passion and spirit...for, in physique, it unfolds in slow motion... I shift down, stand, push, wince, then shift back up, falling into the saddle, only to spin the climb.... GADS!   But, it is done... the final climb, and now the descent to the podium..... er..... 7-Eleven, where I grab a chocolate milk.  Shaken... not stirred.

Finis!

(What a ham.)  I rounded the final corner with a cheer, hoping to capture the attention of my counterparts as they had surely just arrived, but instead I managed only to startle a lady fresh from purchasing her cigarettes.  Sorry, ma’am.  Terry and Glen had been finished long enough to have disappeared from the c-store, so who knows who (or what) I’d been chasing up Renner in those final kilometers... but, hey, it got me there in fine style.  We met a few moments later, back where our cars had been parked, and reminisced on the day.  A tough patch with 30-to-go, yes... but I'd managed to fight on until the bitter end, and grab another finish. Not a bad way to wrap up 2012.  

I’m looking forward to January's ride, as I write this... the forecast temperatures look a bit forbidding, but my chin is high... only three months until Spring returns, and the spring brevet series... 90 short days... the toughest part of the randonneuring season has arrived... and, in my head at least, I am ready.

Get it on, indeed.

Songs in my Head:

All These Things That I Have Done - The Killers - For some reason, a song that I don’t know if I’d previously have admitted to liking managed to stay in my head for 125 miles, and it wasn’t a bad thing at all.  Turns out I know every verse, every nuance... so, on some level, it fits a formula that I like.  The reprise, even with its seemingly senseless repetition, peaks brilliantly - and as anthems go, it’s really well done.  With this single rolling over and over in my subconscious for 10+ hours, I left my iPod in the seatbag.  Just didn’t need it.

Roll Away Your Stone - Mumford & Sons - Honorable mention... for a mile or two, this one snuck in,  though it didn’t carry me as many miles as the track above, watching the video cements this band as perhaps one of the most important artists of the decade.  As if their studio works didn’t already capture the passion with which these gentlemen deliver a reel, this well-filmed live cut certainly does.  While the genre is certainly nothing new, these performers have brought it to a wider audience than previously thought possible, gathering fans wherever they play.  I’ve heard their songs on nearly every radio station in the city lately, proving definitively that you certainly can’t stick them in a neat demographic box.  If they aren’t included on someone-or-another’s “Best such-and-such” list in 50 years, I’d be very surprised.


As always, thanks for reading -- happy holidays, and happy new year!

18 and life

What a horrible title.

Skid Row was a silly, silly band.  

I digress...

18-in-a-row this month, finished yesterday at about sundown... achieving, barely, my silent, personal goal, set upon the 6:00am start time.  

That should have been way easy to get... and, so it was, helped along with Terry and Glen coming along for the late Fall funfest, and Randy of Kansas Cyclist pulling a u-turn and joining us for a few miles near Spring Hill.  An awesome day out, and great weather!  Yeah, it was foggy, and chilly, and the sun never came out, and it rained for the last 15 miles... yep:  that equals GREAT weather for December in Kansas!  No complaints!

Easy?  Perhaps not... I'm in the midst of another nutritional transition, as I come to grips with the notion that I am NOT an ultra-racer with a crew, and the thought of carrying a dozen pounds of carbo-powder for a 1,200km is not only as silly as Skid Row trying to play "serious music", it's completely impractical.

There will be a few servings in tow as "bonk rations", yes; but, I need to start re-experimenting with real food at controls if I'm to start stretching out the mileage again.  Yes, the powder has been something of a revelation for my riding this summer... but it was a RAAM-based revelation.  I didn't use a lick of the stuff on the 400k in April, for example, and did just fine -- I just need to re-establish that short list of what-works in my head, so I don't waste time doing laps at Casey's, trying to figure out what to munch on.

Note to self -- a Payday bar at mile 90 is NOT on that list.  HAHA.  More on that later.

For now, I've finished December's ride -- my 18th consecutive month -- and well on my way to R-12 award #3...  yes!

Full story coming soon... but, I have a research paper to write for a class that's wrapping up in 2 weeks... so these pages will be quiet for a short bit.

You patience will be rewarded!  

Thanks for reading!

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!