This one will take some time to recollect and organize -- but, it will certainly be a doozey of a post. I don't know if I can safely speak for the veterans among the KCUC crew, but as far as my 11 years worth of brevets and permanents, yesterday will stick out in memory as having the toughest, nastiest conditions I've ever endured. The first half of the ride was actually close to perfection: tailwind, not too cool, light traffic, which produced a solid 16.7 MPH average at the halfway point. Turning back north and east for home, however, Glen & I simply started laughing... the promised NE headwind which would daunt us for the entire 2nd half of the ride wasn't only real, it was gusty and cold. Glen had been strong all day, and as the pack of 18 had long since spread out I ended up on a solo mission for some of the tough bits. Wind I can handle... cold is fine... even cold and wet is okay once in a while. Wool, fenders, good rain jacket... no worries. But, right as we left the Osawatomie Casey's, the sleet had begun. From there, bad became worse. The rando spirit pushed to the extreme, strangely our smiles only widened as we made our way north into the wind and heavy, wet snowfall. The roads became slick and treacherous - something that wasn't to have happened until after sundown... so much for forecasts! Drivetrains caked in snow, helmets clogged - but spirits high - our group finally finished in just under 12 hours.
The "Gavia Pass" analogy-rich mini-epic snowstorm on this same route last March (what IS it with March around here??) was pretty nasty, and still memorable.... but compared to yesterday? Pah! That ride last year was easy. It had only been 15 miles! The bar has been set far, far higher now, with regards to "what'r the worst conditions you've ever ridden in?" The I've-Had-Worse file is full! Fifty miles, and with stops and such, five hours of riding in heavy winter precipitation. UN-REAL.
But, the streak is secure.... 21-in-a-row now.
If April isn't sunny and warm, however... I quit. [LOL]
Okay, not really. ...'cause I've had worse.
Stay tuned!
March 24, 2013
March 12, 2013
Checking in
It's been a catastrophically busy 6 weeks... however long it's been
since the last 200km ride in February, which seems like an eternity
ago.
I'm anxiously looking forward to the first KCUC ride of the season
here in the Kansas City area, March 23rd... and we're dancing with 60
degree weather again late this week, forecast. Loving it! ... just
wish things were a little less busy, but the things I'm involved in
are important, and worthy of attention.
We've managed to survive snowpocalypse and snowmaggedon, each a week
apart from each other -- seeing more snowfall than I can remember
since at least 1993 here. Thankfully, there was enough dry pavement
reappearing to allow some local riders to keep their streaks going...
I'm rolling the dice by waiting until March 23rd for my next R-12
ride. Waiting until late in the month is how I flushed the original
2-in-a-row run back in 2010... so, fingers crossed.
Stay tuned -- the bike is still very much on my mind. Actually rode
to work last week... the first time since December. Deplorable for
the so-called "commuterDude"... but, that's life. It's all gonna be
worth it.
Stay tuned... part of that is a note-to-self: a little discomfort and
a few missed rides now... for a much, much more fulfilling life,
later.
Chin high.
since the last 200km ride in February, which seems like an eternity
ago.
I'm anxiously looking forward to the first KCUC ride of the season
here in the Kansas City area, March 23rd... and we're dancing with 60
degree weather again late this week, forecast. Loving it! ... just
wish things were a little less busy, but the things I'm involved in
are important, and worthy of attention.
We've managed to survive snowpocalypse and snowmaggedon, each a week
apart from each other -- seeing more snowfall than I can remember
since at least 1993 here. Thankfully, there was enough dry pavement
reappearing to allow some local riders to keep their streaks going...
I'm rolling the dice by waiting until March 23rd for my next R-12
ride. Waiting until late in the month is how I flushed the original
2-in-a-row run back in 2010... so, fingers crossed.
Stay tuned -- the bike is still very much on my mind. Actually rode
to work last week... the first time since December. Deplorable for
the so-called "commuterDude"... but, that's life. It's all gonna be
worth it.
Stay tuned... part of that is a note-to-self: a little discomfort and
a few missed rides now... for a much, much more fulfilling life,
later.
Chin high.
February 20, 2013
Specialized Espoir Elite road tires, Long-Term Test
In a world chock full of "Ultra", "Turbo", "Pro Race", and "Jet", a name like "Espoir" stands out. It's a strange name for a tire, yes; but, in Specialized's defense it loosely means "Hope" (l'espoir) in French. Aside from Italy, France obviously has had much to do with cycling lore and history. More specifically still, in France, the term Espoir also refers to the 19-22 year old cycling "hopefuls" category, known here as the juniors or U-21 leagues. Now the name sorta grows on ya...Not bad, certainly original. But, what's in a name?
I didn't want to post anything too early after first trying these tires back in June of 2012. After all, the internet is already far too full of shallow reviews from short-term product users. Electronic devices like phones are an easy mark here, where thousands of converts to the latest iDroyd smart-device post within five minutes of having the package open that they've found "the best phone EVAH.. buy it now! AWESOME! I LOVE IT!"
SO, yeah -- I didn't want to be THAT guy.
Compounding things, I'm a bit of a hard sell. I'd been using Panaracer's venerable Pasela TourGuard tire since 2005 with hardly any complains whatsoever. That story is still true today: they are cheap, light enough, well made, quite flat proof, long wearing, comfortable, grippy, easy to change, and sorta retro-chic. All good qualities. My only real complaint involved their constantly evolving price-tag in response to Japanese exchange rates, oil prices (which no tire is immune to, really), and waiting for my special order to arrive -- requiring two trips to the bike shop, which, ultimately, equates to more cost in the form of time and gas money. To that end, I sought out a potential replacement: something locally stocked. It was initially a fruitless search, as no other tire seemed to meet more than a few of the criteria mentioned earlier, which the Pasela always delivered in spades. Until last summer.
Specialized and I have a checkered past when it comes to road tires... come to think of it, so have most people. For the mountain bike and utility bike market, the California-based company has done quite well. Tires like the Nimbus are legendary for their toughness and reliability for mountain bike users looking for a great mid-range commuter tire for a 26" wheel. For the dirt crowd, the Captain and Ground Control trail tires are nearly legendary in some circles. Their road tires, however, with a few bright spots in exception, have had struggles. In the late 90's their Turbo series tires proved fast and light, but lacked flat-resistance and their tread life was questionably short. Later, the Armadillo anti-flat casing started a revival of Specialized in the road tire space with the All-Condition models, yet, the casing - while tolerable in the utility range - rendered the ride quality less than optimal for road use... while still allowing the occasional flat. The Mondo revived the design and scope of the original Turbo tires, but with better tread life and flat resistance - yet, they were still priced like a race tire, and lasted only slightly longer - despite being amazingly fast and nimble. The Roubaix tires looked to answer those concerns with better tread compounds, and a hybrid casing design, placing the treadcap from a 23c tire onto the casing from a 25c mold. The result was a very fast and comfortable endurance tire, yet, early versions had layer adhesion issues, which Specialized stood behind with their no-questions warranty and replacement program - yet, reputations are easily damaged. The Roubaix Pro2 has since solved all its predecessor's issues, however, and has remained successful ever since. The current version, I've heard, is even better.
The Espoir seems to come to the table as a true 25c version of the Roubaix platform, but, with a tougher tread compound, mild tread siping on the shoulders, and with a new flat protection belt called "Black Belt", which replaces the long-standing Flak Jacket anti-flat belt. The result is a long-wearing tread which rides comfortably and grips well, wet or dry... or on gravel or packed dirt. After starting the initial installation of the Espoir tires onto the front and rear, I have since rotated the rear tire out, logging 1,800 miles before retiring it - which is above average for most tires with this level of feel. However, it should be noted that I retired that rear tire prematurely, on the eve of a long brevet far from home: I elected to not take any chances with a tire whose (very handy) built-in wear indicators had finally worn to subtle "shadows". Certainly, I could have taken the original rear beyond 2,000 miles, but I wanted fresh rubber for the "big ride". Instead I rotated the original front tire to the rear wheel, and replaced the front with a fresh Espoir. So far, the wear indicators on the rear are still well visible, and I expect to extract an estimated 3,200 miles from that original tire. With a price of $35.00 MSRP for the Espoirs, compared to $49.99 MSRP for the Paselas, which would normally yield 4,000 miles, the cost per mile is nearly identical. The benefit of having the Espoirs right on the bike shop peg, however, increases the value further.
The sizing is typical Specialized: a little larger than most other "25c" tires, but not as large as the Pasela 28s I have used in the past (which tend to run small for a "28"). For my build and weight, they seem to be perfect, volume-wise, soaking up the bumps nicely and riding comfortably on chip-seal, jointed concrete, tarmac - even rough roads are handled well, surprising for a tire with a recommended pressure of 115 PSI. The ride, overall, is excellent for a tire in this class, price range and with this casing construction. The flat protection belt doesn't seem to detract from the ride quality at all, and the 60 TPI casing is surprisingly supple - but not prone to cuts: a good balance. Despite a few extended gravel road forays, certainly outside Specialized's intended use, the tires showed no signs of sidewall abrasions.
The Espoirs "feel" fast, and acceleration is good. They aren't a super-light tire, but they are light enough to enjoy speedy endeavors. The folding bead and advanced construction certainly keep the heft at bay, and they come in just a breath lighter than the Paselas @ 270grams advertised. The tread rolls very well, and they feel stable - good for long days in the saddle.
Flat-protection is excellent. The Black Belt casing is, dare I say it, a revelation when combined with this particular tread compound - and the Espoir gets 2 layers of the stuff. I had been waiting to get a flat tire before writing this review, mainly to see if it would ever happen, and to see how the tires handled punctures in general. Certainly, "your mileage my vary" applies here - but, the best test came during my last 200km ride, which found me on wet roads for multiple hours - on streets that had been treated for snow and ice in the month prior. This particular combination creates a "perfect storm" of flat tire potential, with sand, glass shards, tiny sharp rocks, and trash littering the right-hand 3 feet of every road and highway in the area. Add moisture, and tires become sponges - gathering and hanging onto countless potential sharps that could eventually work their way into the tread, and into the tube. Rear tire #1 had been retired, as I'd mentioned, after 1,800 miles with no flats and only a few random tread cuts. The original front tire, now on the back, has still not had a flat, with 2,500 miles logged. This first flat came on the front tire, oddly enough: but, it's how I found it that is most remarkable, in my eyes.
After finishing the 200k, I cleaned up the bike briefly and hung it back up. Due to countless after-work school functions and appointments, I haven't been able to ride since then, February 7th. I discovered the flat last night, February 18th. Eleven days after the ride, I gave the front tire a squeeze and noticed it was soft. The rear tire was still firm, so something was amiss. I took the opportunity to get out my "tire pick" (and old eyeglass repair kit flatblade screwdriver) to review each tire and pry out anything I might have picked up on the last ride. I must have pulled a thimble-full of assorted glass, rock and metal bits from each tire, they'd picked up so much; but, nothing had worked its way through the flat belt on the rear tire: the most likely candidate for a flat. The front had collected fewer bits of junk, yet none of them yielded the familiar "hiss" when removed, which would indicate they were the culprit responsible for the pressure loss. So, I decided to just pump up the tire and see if it'd lose air again. Remarkably, still no hissing - back at 115 PSI. I circled the tire again, with more scrutiny, and finally found a 1mm wide grey dot flush with the tread surface. I began to pick at it with the screwdriver, and as it came out, the hissing started. GOT IT. As I continued to work on getting the "thing" out, it just kept coming... and it ended up being a metal tack or brad, about 0.75cm long, and razor sharp at its end.
Squeezing my bike tires briefly as I walk into the garage is a daily thing for me. It's right there, and I just reach up and give them the squeeze test. Nothing is flat-proof, this is true - yet, this particular tire's tread compound and the flat belt had held this tack so tightly in place as to almost keep an airtight seal around it...for eleven days, before I noticed any change in pressure. I've never had a bicycle tire behave this way, and it made me wonder: did I pick up that tack at the beginning of the ride? Near the end? BEFORE the ride, at some other time? Surely as no two flats are alike, this is probably a very specific, unique case... but, for a tire to have resisted all the other junk I'd yanked out of the tread alone is impressive enough. Similarly shaped objects extracted from the Paselas on odd occasions certainly didn't behave in this way, instead putting me on the rim in a matter of a dozen or so rotations. For something as sharp as this was, it was only a matter of time before the Espoir's flat belts gave up - but, what could have been a very unsafe front tire blowout, or at least a very rainy flat change in a muddy ditch, instead ended up going completely unnoticed until long after the ride had ended. The tire had dropped to 50 PSI...which really, is probably still rideable - if a little mushy. Impressed, yes I am.
Some would argue that having a tread compound that picks up such debris is asking for a flat eventually -- so why not have the tread not be so "grabby"? To be fair, I must reiterate the conditions of the roads before the ride - February in this area, if snow/ice treatments have been laid down, makes for nasty conditions for any tire. By contrast, with the drought, this is the first truly rainy ride I've had on the Espoirs. Similar conditions after dry rides, the tread has picked up practically nothing. This represented the first time I'd really had to break out the tire pick since installing them. Contrast to the Paselas, which have more defined tread and manage to grab potential flat-makers even when it's dry, the Espoirs really don't pick up much at all. For the conditions, it was a terrific test. Considering maybe 5% of my riding ever occurs in the rain, I don't see it as an issue, and the flat belts truly did their job - with that one, exceptional exception.
Overall, I've been extremely pleased with the Specialized Espoir Elite road tires. They are just as comfortable as the Paselas they replaced, and the tread wear is on-par and could exceed the Paselas (followup to be posted when replacement occurs). They roll fast, and feel nimble, and flat-protection is superb in light of their comfortable ride and excellent handling - qualities usually sacrificed. They are reasonably priced, cost-per-mile is low, they benefit from subtle logos and discrete "just-a-tire" styling, they handle nearly any road or weather condition, they mount easily - yet securely - which gives them good marks for roadside repair ease, and they are available locally at my favorite bike shop. Sure: anything is available online, especially bike tires - but, you're getting more than product at your local bike store, and that's the avenue I still encourage.
It's often difficult to find "the right" tire for randonneuring, but the Specialized Espoir Elite - at least for this randonneur - seems to fit the bill nicely. It was indeed a hard sell, because aesthetically I still have a soft spot for tan sidewalls on my lugged steel bike... but I've let go of that in lieu of these inexpensive, great performing, easy-to-live-with tires. Eight 200km permanents, gravel rambles, and countless commutes, they've done everything I've asked of them, and the way they handled the ONE flat I've experienced so-far seems to have sealed the deal. My only hope is that Specialized will continue to manufacture them for years to come.
Hope... get it? See what I did there.... yeah...
Thanks for reading!
Support Your Local Bike Shop!
Specialized Espoir Elite tires are available locally at:
BikeSource, with two locations in the KC Area:
February 17, 2013
Headgames and Headwinds - the February 2013 permanent
“It’s going to take another hour of this?” I thought outloud, knowing that Terry couldn’t possibly hear my voice over the constant rush of wind in his ears. We completed our left turn at the intersection of 199th and Metcalf, and it popped into my head - usually GOOD news - that only twelve miles remained ahead of us. Granted, at the end of any of my last few 200km rides I haven’t exactly felt fresh and ready to attack the last dozen miles, but at least it meant that within the hour I’d be done pedaling. This time out it seemed that even another HOUR would possibly be a stretch. That same thought had been repeating for hours, ever since we’d left Pleasanton, KS. at the halfway.
Confidence... sometimes I don’t bring a lot to the table. Surprising, sure; but that’s my personality type. Much of this came from a month with no commutes to work, due to many responsibilities simply too numerous to wrangle into a commute radius and schedule. I’d done one, solitary 16-mile training ride (if you can call it that) perhaps 2 weeks earlier to try out some new shorts. That’s it for riding. So, similar to a few months back when circumstances arose to fill my head with doubts about whether or not I’d ridden enough to support 125+ miles of riding, I was repeating history. Things IN my favor, however: a new mental outlook on the ride. I know it’s February, the last of the hard months to get in this part of the country - and it’s supposed to be the off season (whatever THAT means), so I had an excuse to try and take it easy. This was going to represent base-building, nothing more. No personal time limits other than what the control card would read. Check. The aforementioned new shorts, coming to me from my favorite supplier, Boure, whose ware’s have been out-of-budget for a long while; finally back in the arsenal: a good pair of “weekend” shorts for the longer rides. Check. Finally, after much talk and very little “do”, I’d whipped the diet into shape, losing (so far) 14 pounds. Check. All-in-all, it was setting up to be a great day out. Now, about that weather forecast.
In all honesty, this was a terrific ride -- I can play up the weather and the headwind, but, a finish is a finish. There are times of hardship occasionally when astride a bicycle for more than a few hours, but, with steady rain and a temperature hovering around 40 degrees, I recalled why I liked riding in exactly those conditions so much. Wool from head-to-toe, my trusty O2 Rain-Shield jacket, fenders... perfectly dressed, comfortably damp, and not too warm or too cold.... give me 40-50 degrees F and rain, and I’m a happy cyclist. Now, rain doesn’t exactly do wonders for steel tubing, exposed cables, chain life, or flat avoidance - but, hey... all in stride, and all things fixed with an extra tube or two packed away, and a quick wipe-down and re-lube after the ride. Like certain political discussions, however, the wind and I seldom get along when dishing out opposing opinions face-to-face.
In the opening hours of the ride, it seemed perhaps we were getting a slight tailwind - but, our speeds didn’t reflect any assistance. Flags and trees were far too water-logged to help find wind direction, and eventually I came to the conclusion that the precipitating portion of the passing storm was creating something of a windless vacuum around us as we rode south -- not really hurting, but not helping either. At times, still, rain would sneak underneath the brim of my Walz cap and dot my eyeglasses... headwind? Who could tell? The only choice, continue pedaling until we decide to stop, or when a control arrives. Aside from a quick dismount, restroom break and bottle refill at Louisburg for me, and Terry and I barely put a foot down for the first 45 miles of the ride, but, we’d barely maintain a 15 MPH average. So far, so good, really... time for some hot food, though, as we pulled into the Casey’s at La Cygne... somewhere I hadn’t set foot in what seemed like a year. After 13 visits to the Border Patrol route over the last few years, I’d done well to try new things over the course of this recent R-12 run - but, in rainy conditions like this it was nice to be on familiar turf.
Cheesy potato bites for me, and some orange juice; for once, real food goes down smooth and quick. On a real breakfast of oatmeal and blueberries with honey, and good coffee, my stomach had carried me all the way to La Cygne without so much as a grumble. I’ve adopted a “halfway top-off” routine with the powdered Carbo Gain in my bottles, with one extra serving stashed in the seatbag, as a bonk-ration. So, at the start, two bottles of “mix” to begin on the right foot -- one down by the 23 mile mark, and then straight water with electrolytes from there to La Cygne. The plan seemed to work well, though the pace wasn’t too rushed, either - so it was difficult to tell if I was really stressing the calorie stores. At the halfway point, I’d planned to start again with two fresh bottles of “mix”, and then use real food along the way at the controls. I figured, despite what I may be burning per hour, there’s no practical way to replace ALL of it - nor is that a recipe for a happy tummy - so, while the Carbo Gain would effectively fill any carbohydrate gaps acting as a “lunch” at the halfway, the real food would be limited to what I could reasonably eat in 15 minutes or so... seemingly my average control time... and it would prevent me from carrying along too much powder.
Casey’s potato bites came in at 420 calories, OJ at 170, and a Hammer Gel for good measure I suppose - I packed on per control stop: total at La Cygne, 680 calories. Combined with breakfast and the Carbo Gain, that brought me to about 1,350 for the trip so far... just over 1,000 for the ride itself. Seems like a lot - but, I felt neither weighed down, nor starved for energy. I suppose, really, I’ve not taken the care to count or track food to this level in years - so maybe, for now, I’m simply creating a baseline. I won’t turn this blog into too much of a calorie journal -- so I’ll conclude with noting that I consumed, over 140 miles, five 82g servings of “mix” at 300 calories each, the aforementioned potato cheese bites, 32 oz. of OJ, four Hammer Gels, a double-decker oatmeal creme pie, and nine mini crunch donettes (1.5 packages) = 4,081 calories total with breakfast, 3,828 on-bike only; compared to what the exercise journal calculated as 8,028 calories burned over the course of the ride. I’ll have to read up to see if that’s on par with anything or not... but, heck... things felt pretty good, with the exception of the oatmeal pie, which I’ll get to later.
And now, hills. After personal disappointment from January’s walk up Renner Road at the halfway point up from Holiday Drive, I admit I entered this month’s ride with some trepidation on climbing. Yes, the task would be marginally easier with the weight lost, but having ridden only 16 miles of “training” since that fateful January excursion, I certainly hadn’t done anything to prepare aside from a *LOT* of rest and basically getting over the head cold which had been partly responsible for the hill-walk. This next section between La Cygne and Pleasanton would let me know pretty quickly where my weaknesses lived.
Terry and I emerged from Casey’s into a strengthening rainfall, and I noted the sudden ability to see my breath in the marginally chillier air. Hmmm. Bags zipped, jackets zipped, helmets buckled - we saddled up and headed west on K-152, anxious to build up a cushion of body warmth under our wet layers as we pedaled. Traffic proved forgiving, and soon we made our turn south onto one of my favorite roads: Linn County 1095. What a great ribbon of pavement! Already well documented in these pages, this is simply where the interesting bits of the Border Patrol route live, scenic and challenging; but, it’s also proven consistently quiet for traffic. Depending on the mood of the county road works department, there are some patches of pavement that are better than others - but, really, it’s a great road. I eased out a comfortable pace and chatted with Terry, while I anticipated the first real hill of the day.
Shift, shift, shift.... tug.... cyclists know the feeling here: the road pitches up, and you answer with a progression through the gears... each click unleashing a larger cog, to ease the strain and level the hill... until you pull one more time and the lever fights back: confirmation there are no gears left. Yep. More often than not, I try to forget the proud days of tackling things like the Liberty 200km or the Hell of the North 300km route on my old Trek single speed. Those days, when faced with a steep hill, I’d simply rise from the saddle and unleash fury and torque until it was behind me.... those days that I am beginning to long for once again.... today, however, and for the past few years, I reach down to the shifter - and based simply on the way the lever feels in my palm, I can tell where I am on the rear cluster... and I know I haven’t used ALL my gears. I try to make a point and somehow justify my return to gears by ensuring I NEVER use the bailout 27-tooth rear cog... even when my knees beg me to. Today, however, I was already there, in fewer clicks than normal. Okay... no problem.... we’re base-building, remember? Relax... and enjoy! Right about then, the noise in my head is cleared by Terry’s voice commenting on the pristine conditions and the soundtrack my internal dialogue was trying to spoil. All around, the steady rainfall was meeting matted undergrowth and leftover oak leaves in the thickets of forest on either side of the steep road, and birds - perhaps a few weeks early - were revelling in the resupply of moisture, relief from months of drought. I decided that for the rest of the ride, I’d stop worrying about what gear, what tempo, and what time - and just pedal and listen. That worked for awhile, at least. First hill down... three to go, until Pleasanton.
I’d wished Glen had tagged along - but, he’d taken ill after returning from abroad. Given the conditions, staying home and resting was a FAR better idea - but, our usual band-of-three was down to two today. Still, Terry proved excellent company as always - and we spent much of the day either side by side, or close at hand. The second hill didn’t seem too bad compared to the first, and Terry and I both enjoyed the long, extended downhill that followed - twisting and turning down, down... down to the valley below as we made our way to the turn toward the halfway point of our journey. Flathead Pass was next, and then - more food and a welcome rest indoors, out of the rain for a spell. The road began to pitch upward, and I reached again for the bailout gear... time to engage pure cardio, and keep that tempo high, ‘dude. Definitely feeling the lack of riding - but still feeling 100% better than I’d felt last month - I slowly huffed my way up the long grade, even managed to shift up once, and finally rolled over the top. WHEW... no walking today!
One has to fall down, in order to appreciate getting back up.... Although I have said many times in these pages that a finish is a finish, I cannot help but strive to improve... at least on paper. It is clear to me that the past few months have merely been examples of me striving to complain. Finally, FINALLY, I feel as if I’m back in a place where I have turned those personal complaints into action. The weight is coming off again, willpower and focus toward goals is returning - and while this ride wouldn’t prove groundbreaking, it still represents a positive step. I think what occurred last month - despite the lingering illness - I now view as “the bottom.” Heck, I can justify it any way I like. I walked that hill. I did what I had to. I still finished. But... down deep... I don’t walk hills. I don’t want to repeat that. Fitness was a factor, weight was a factor, and I’ve officially had enough. In fact, I look backward to February of 2009, the “lucky 13” ride -- after completing my first R-12, I remember myself in a similar wasteland of complacency... and that’s the ride where I had to walk the hill on the Knob Noster 200k route, toward the end of the ride. I think now it may be time to set a short-term goal to get back out to Knob Noster, and show that hill a thing or two. I know I’m tired of re-reading it, and I know I’m tired of typing it... whether I go back in time and exorcise those old demons or not, it’s time to move forward and DO ... instead of just wishing.
Ok, enough of that for now...
With Flathead Pass behind us, Pleasanton - and the halfway, loomed. The rain began to abate, and in its place Terry and I began to benefit from a distinct Westerly breeze, noting a slight uptick in speed as we strolled toward town. Hmmm... well, that might be interesting on the return trip. No matter - the halfway was here, and it was time to maybe dry out a bit... even a patch of blue sky seemed to appear, only for an instant, as we entered the c-store, and started out routine. Halfway!
Those small crunch cake donuts, some OJ, and water refills - I decided to save the “mix” top-off for when we’d arrive back in La Cygne... for this route, in some ways, arriving back at the Casey’s represents the “real” halfway for me, depending on the day. Getting these hills in the middle section out of the way needed to come first on this ride. I was happy, but I still had to climb them on the return trip, and now - it seemed - facing a growing wind. Terry and I mopped up after ourselves, after leaving about a gallon of drip-dry rainwater on the c-store floor, and headed out into the slightly chillier air to saddle up.
The first big hill was in front of me before I knew it, and the gear changes came quick. It’s straight up the back of Flathead Pass, and a bit of a grunt. The good thing about hills, they sometimes block the wind. One down, two to go. We continued west until reaching 1095 again, passing the bridge, the horse farms, and Mt. Carmel cemetery along the way. The turn north at 1095 came like a slap in the face, though the wind still seemed to come mostly from the west at first. The slight curve back east confirmed that we’d get a tailwind for, oh, at least 7 miles of the return leg.
The next hill came, steep as I’d remembered... and demanding every gear yet again. I couldn’t really stand and power it out... so, seated grinding and spinning ensued. Terry and I rounded over the top and set our sights on the next few miles... the last, and I think steepest, longest climb of the ride still sat waiting up the road.
The rain behind us, after feeling just a smattering of leftover droplets since leaving Pleasanton, at least we’d remain dry for the last part of the ride - but, it revealed the only real drawback to wool clothing: it doesn’t dry quickly. This is offset by its insulating properties, if you keep it on your body -- wool gloves become a headache at times for this reason, but I still think they’re the superior choice for rainy riding -- but if it stops raining, wearers of wool should be prepared to stay mostly damp for the rest of the day, even in a dry wind. Fairly certain the rainwater was slowly being replaced by sweat anyhow, at least I wasn’t cold - and the jacket helped, of course. Again, I had very little to complain about during the ride, apparel-wise.
Finally, the last big hill -- which I haven’t gotten around to naming yet -- came into view. After a few miles of flats and twists, passing the old school house, the house with the goats in the front yard. and the old Paris, KS. townsite, the final hill appeared ahead of our wheels. OK... one last challenge... certainly not as steep as the hill I’d had to walk last month, but definitely nothing to sneeze at, the hill began to pitch upward after we’d passed the old stone wall (Stonewall Mountain, perhaps? Catchy...) and didn’t let up for what seemed like an eternity, eventually leveling off to a manageable enough level to allow for standing up and stretching the legs. Whoo!! Finally... the real test behind us, we’d survived the hills of the Border Patrol once again! Now, it would be the untiring “climb” of the headwind, which would come to test us.
Thinking ahead, there really was one good climb left... we had yet to leave the La Cygne valley, after all.
No matter ... heads down, the flats now became the enemy, as the trees parted and open farm fields invited the full brunt of mother nature’s growing assault to our party. At least on the hills, one is occupied by the gradient and the effort enough to ignore such petty concerns as speed, but, on the flats the mind drifts, the pavement never changes, the gear choice rendered pointless... and the display on the cycle computer glares back at me in disappointed laughter... 9 mph... 8... wow, 10.... nice work, loser.... don’t think! Don’t look at it! I reminded myself of the scenery I’d miss if I continued my fruitless staring contest with the handlebar’s veritable Eye of Sauron, and managed to pry my attention to birds, the horizon, the giant plume of steam from the La Cygne powerplant billowing violently due south. Cap brim pulled low, and cadence high, the game turned to wills.
With a little help from the remnants of the westerly wind, Terry and I rolled into La Cygne’s welcome arms - and we rushed inside for the next receipt, the next signature, and more food. I recalled the push and staying power I’d experienced last month with the consumption of an oatmeal creme pie, so I ponied up for the double-decker version. THIS would surely show that wind a thing or two. Combined with the fast-becoming standard-issue orange juice, I topped things off with another 5-Hour Energy shot to replace the one I’d surely burned off since 7:00am’s start, and after a reluctant restroom break, we were ready once again ... 45 miles to go!
This is the point where things began to stretch out. Despite the continued push from the west that would help us reach the new “last hill of the ride”, almost immediately I began to regard the oatmeal pie, this time, as a mistake. After topping off the bottles with enough Carbo Gain to make the trip north, the same dosage as I’d started with at the depart, I began to question whether I needed the additional food at all - or, if it instead was the added sugars working against me. The pace was not any slower, thankfully - lest I not finish at ALL - but, discomfort set in. As we made our way up and over the “last hill”, old 69 highway stretched before us - and the wind seemed to increase with our change in heading. I knew it was perhaps 9 miles until we’d reach the new highway - so, I repeated the usual headwind tactics -- head down, pedal it out, and look around. Try to enjoy, because despite it being slower than I’d like, it’s progress. Slowly, with the droning imagery of the pavement passing under my legs and the rushing whoosh of wind in my ears, the mind began to turn inside. Songs circled about, conversations with myself, and others, dogs barking -- occasionally for real -- seemed to pass along with the miles.
Oh, wait... that dog might be real....
My only issue with Jingo Road (old 69) are some of the homeowner's positions on leashes or yard chains, and their use. I would think, as a dog owner myself, that most folks would like to keep their animals OFF the public roads - especially roads like this one with a 55 MPH posted limit. Of course - most dogs don’t see passing trucks and cars as property threats. Bicyclists, however, to a dogs nose, must smell downright threatening... or tasty, I haven’t decided. Most dogs are usually only interested in a good jog, others merely curious, others still are smart - yet authoritative: barking and charging, yet stopping short of the road, and giving up the chase when the property line approaches... buried fence, or good training; arguable... but, good dogs either way. The one’s I dislike come straight onto the road in a tear, looking to edge their nose in front of cyclist’s wheels - much like they’d instinctively head off a wild rabbit or other game. Edge in front of their nose, hesitation and a studder-step from the prey, answered with a quick set of teeth snapped tight around their neck. You can see the look in their eyes as they approach the road: it’s business.
This one had my number.
For over a decade I’d never really had anything close to a real dog problem -- fast dogs would be answered with simple acceleration - but, today, the wind had already stolen much of my potential. This ambitious, grey-mouthed mongrel approached from 11 o’clock, and quickly lined up alongside my left leg as I pedaled, teeth bared. I did almost nothing to answer... no shift down, no quick burst of speed... I don’t know if I was unplugged or just unfazed - but, I didn’t really register the events unfolding until I felt a little tug and nip about midway up my left calf muscle, and heard Terry hollering out from behind. “Hey! S I T !!! STAY!! HEY!!!” The dog continued to work on getting hold of my circling leg, stymied by slick Spandex leg-warmer fabric versus old, dulled teeth... thank goodness for the combination. Three attempts... but, without even so much as a snag in my clothes, the dog gave up. Strangely, my heartrate didn’t even respond to the incident -- whether I was just out-of-it, or genuinely not panicked, I’m not sure -- but, with tales of similar dog incidents circling my head from years of cycling, as heard from other riders - perhaps doing nothing had been the right choice. As much as I probably should have swerved, sprayed the beast with water, smacked him with my frame pump - or even tried to land a good solid left kick to its forequarters - the number of times I’ve heard of owner retaliations assured me that perhaps I’d made the right move by simply letting it go. I was, however, after enduring at least four other encounters with dogs in other places along the route, quite finished with four-legged rendezvous for one day.
Terry and I finally made our way to 359th street, and prepared to check off a major Border Patrol landmark by finishing the new US-69 highway section leading back to Rutlader, KS. Without the usual south wind hurrying us along, however, it would prove a long three miles. We rested for a bit after reaching 335th, the first time both of us would admit out loud that perhaps calling it quits would be a terrific idea... but, neither of us completely serious, the usual sarcastic wit and laughter about the situation took over - and soon we were pedaling again, toward Louisburg, and the next opportunity for a rest and regroup. Usually noted in my previous blog entries as a particularly long and tiresome 6 miles, the section along Metcalf from Rutlader to Louisburg seemed to slip by surprisingly fast this time out - though certainly my speed was quite low, I had been doing my best to ignore it and just ride. I instead took in the sights and smells of the farmland fringe of central Miami County, and ended up amazed when I realized I’d passed 295th street already, and I’d already set foot upon Louisburg’s south doorstep. Not bad! Maybe those mental tricks DO work, after all. Louisburg, BP station... here I come!
With Terry close behind, we regrouped at the small counter inside the c-store, refilled bottles, and circles like vultures - searching for something to carry us the last 22 miles to the finish. Finally settling on donuts - but not certain I really needed anything other than the discomfort in my gut to pass - I snacked a little, downed a Hammer Gel, the last one, and sized up the situation. The temperature dropping, wind increasing, and light fading... a ride I’m used to finishing in the height of the afternoon, it looked instead like Terry and I would roll into the thick of evening rush-hour traffic instead. Sure, the 7:00am start for this ride represents the latest I’d ever begun the Border Patrol, but, combined with perhaps the slowest I’d ever ridden it (at least, the slowest 2nd half) the math began to look bleak. I’d never finished this route even CLOSE to sundown... much less in the dark, and it hit me... I love riding at night, so what’s the big deal so long as there’s time left, right? I pulled an extra head and ear layer out of the seatbag, and layered up for the dropping temps and wind... time to get back to work.
Vests on, taillights blazing once again, Terry and I paired up and I took point to block the wind while we struggled further north. Each minute, we were closer to finishing... the mantra repeated... but, I’d redo the math... 20 miles at 10 mph... wow... okay, I’ve got 2 more hours in me... no problem.... just don’t stop. It certainly could not have been a bonk, because calorie intake was on-par, but with the miles to-go shrinking steadily, so too did my push, my stamina, my reserves... I was just plain ole TIRED. This, despite a generally successful day, probably is where the lack of riding time really hurt me - fatigue. Clicking through my gears again, but this time on the flats instead of on some steep climb - I was spent. On paper, I’d done nearly the 200k required - but, there were still 18 miles to go when Terry finally took lead position, and created a draft... just in time. I latched on, and hoped for the best. With the strength of the wind now plainly evident with the sudden difference in effort required to maintain forward momentum, I began to realize how tough of a day it’d truly been. Cheating the odds and risking over-use injury, I’d managed to pull off another 200+ km permanent with very few opportunities between for training or commuting. I certainly don’t recommend it... it’s not bragging material to be clear, and I was sure I’d spend the rest of the long weekend paying dearly for it, but, in the moment, I chuckled to myself and shook my head. Despite the hardships, some of which being plainly self-imposed, and the weather, it would seem that I’d pulled off another February surprise without incident... with 8 miles to go after a thrilling downhill run on Antioch, Terry and I tried our best to ignore the clock and just make our way home for the official finish. But, man... close. Too close, if you ask me... the clock passing 7:00pm, it had turned into another half-day epic, just like last month, just like White Cloud in November. Yeesh... base training? Check.
...and we still weren’t done...
The long, endless shoulder along 179th and 175th streets stretched before us, as we waged battle against a now howling northwest headwind. The temperature... who knows, but zippers were pulled full stop, faces covered, toes forgotten. Terry and I both laughed as we turned north on MurLen -- the LAST turn -- and three miles to go... at this point, it’s a joy-ride, normally, with a steady downhill and south tailwind... man, did we ever pick the wrong day and the wrong route! Pedaling DOWNhill just to keep moving, it seemed as if the last 2 miles would take the rest of the night. 7:45pm passed on the clock... good grief... another 90 minutes, and this ride wouldn’t even COUNT, but no worries now... we could WALK the last mile, and be on-time - and sometimes that’s all that matters. Finally rolling onto the sidewalk of the 7-Eleven, five minutes shy of 13 hours in total, Terry and I could at-last call February “done.”
Same as last month, I’ve made several “revelations” about getting in more riding between the permanents - something I need to DO, instead of wishing about it, but, in light of having a fresh mind with which to tackle these endeavors, perhaps this lack of riding during the week IS my “off season”, and maybe I needed it. Surprisingly, likely a credit to the act of “less talk, more do” tactics employed toward my recovery routine, post-ride, I felt surprisingly fresh and rested the next morning. Hydration, the right food in the right amounts, and stretching... things I don’t always do correctly... it all paid off, and I managed to escape this ride not just injury-free, but quite nearly ready to do it again two days later. The weight loss streak continues - slow and steady... and that leaves me with good feelings about the March ride. For now, no promises.... but, the R-12 (R-20 now?) streak does and will continue... and it’s only going to get better.
Thanks for reading!
Confidence... sometimes I don’t bring a lot to the table. Surprising, sure; but that’s my personality type. Much of this came from a month with no commutes to work, due to many responsibilities simply too numerous to wrangle into a commute radius and schedule. I’d done one, solitary 16-mile training ride (if you can call it that) perhaps 2 weeks earlier to try out some new shorts. That’s it for riding. So, similar to a few months back when circumstances arose to fill my head with doubts about whether or not I’d ridden enough to support 125+ miles of riding, I was repeating history. Things IN my favor, however: a new mental outlook on the ride. I know it’s February, the last of the hard months to get in this part of the country - and it’s supposed to be the off season (whatever THAT means), so I had an excuse to try and take it easy. This was going to represent base-building, nothing more. No personal time limits other than what the control card would read. Check. The aforementioned new shorts, coming to me from my favorite supplier, Boure, whose ware’s have been out-of-budget for a long while; finally back in the arsenal: a good pair of “weekend” shorts for the longer rides. Check. Finally, after much talk and very little “do”, I’d whipped the diet into shape, losing (so far) 14 pounds. Check. All-in-all, it was setting up to be a great day out. Now, about that weather forecast.
In all honesty, this was a terrific ride -- I can play up the weather and the headwind, but, a finish is a finish. There are times of hardship occasionally when astride a bicycle for more than a few hours, but, with steady rain and a temperature hovering around 40 degrees, I recalled why I liked riding in exactly those conditions so much. Wool from head-to-toe, my trusty O2 Rain-Shield jacket, fenders... perfectly dressed, comfortably damp, and not too warm or too cold.... give me 40-50 degrees F and rain, and I’m a happy cyclist. Now, rain doesn’t exactly do wonders for steel tubing, exposed cables, chain life, or flat avoidance - but, hey... all in stride, and all things fixed with an extra tube or two packed away, and a quick wipe-down and re-lube after the ride. Like certain political discussions, however, the wind and I seldom get along when dishing out opposing opinions face-to-face.
In the opening hours of the ride, it seemed perhaps we were getting a slight tailwind - but, our speeds didn’t reflect any assistance. Flags and trees were far too water-logged to help find wind direction, and eventually I came to the conclusion that the precipitating portion of the passing storm was creating something of a windless vacuum around us as we rode south -- not really hurting, but not helping either. At times, still, rain would sneak underneath the brim of my Walz cap and dot my eyeglasses... headwind? Who could tell? The only choice, continue pedaling until we decide to stop, or when a control arrives. Aside from a quick dismount, restroom break and bottle refill at Louisburg for me, and Terry and I barely put a foot down for the first 45 miles of the ride, but, we’d barely maintain a 15 MPH average. So far, so good, really... time for some hot food, though, as we pulled into the Casey’s at La Cygne... somewhere I hadn’t set foot in what seemed like a year. After 13 visits to the Border Patrol route over the last few years, I’d done well to try new things over the course of this recent R-12 run - but, in rainy conditions like this it was nice to be on familiar turf.
Cheesy potato bites for me, and some orange juice; for once, real food goes down smooth and quick. On a real breakfast of oatmeal and blueberries with honey, and good coffee, my stomach had carried me all the way to La Cygne without so much as a grumble. I’ve adopted a “halfway top-off” routine with the powdered Carbo Gain in my bottles, with one extra serving stashed in the seatbag, as a bonk-ration. So, at the start, two bottles of “mix” to begin on the right foot -- one down by the 23 mile mark, and then straight water with electrolytes from there to La Cygne. The plan seemed to work well, though the pace wasn’t too rushed, either - so it was difficult to tell if I was really stressing the calorie stores. At the halfway point, I’d planned to start again with two fresh bottles of “mix”, and then use real food along the way at the controls. I figured, despite what I may be burning per hour, there’s no practical way to replace ALL of it - nor is that a recipe for a happy tummy - so, while the Carbo Gain would effectively fill any carbohydrate gaps acting as a “lunch” at the halfway, the real food would be limited to what I could reasonably eat in 15 minutes or so... seemingly my average control time... and it would prevent me from carrying along too much powder.
Casey’s potato bites came in at 420 calories, OJ at 170, and a Hammer Gel for good measure I suppose - I packed on per control stop: total at La Cygne, 680 calories. Combined with breakfast and the Carbo Gain, that brought me to about 1,350 for the trip so far... just over 1,000 for the ride itself. Seems like a lot - but, I felt neither weighed down, nor starved for energy. I suppose, really, I’ve not taken the care to count or track food to this level in years - so maybe, for now, I’m simply creating a baseline. I won’t turn this blog into too much of a calorie journal -- so I’ll conclude with noting that I consumed, over 140 miles, five 82g servings of “mix” at 300 calories each, the aforementioned potato cheese bites, 32 oz. of OJ, four Hammer Gels, a double-decker oatmeal creme pie, and nine mini crunch donettes (1.5 packages) = 4,081 calories total with breakfast, 3,828 on-bike only; compared to what the exercise journal calculated as 8,028 calories burned over the course of the ride. I’ll have to read up to see if that’s on par with anything or not... but, heck... things felt pretty good, with the exception of the oatmeal pie, which I’ll get to later.
And now, hills. After personal disappointment from January’s walk up Renner Road at the halfway point up from Holiday Drive, I admit I entered this month’s ride with some trepidation on climbing. Yes, the task would be marginally easier with the weight lost, but having ridden only 16 miles of “training” since that fateful January excursion, I certainly hadn’t done anything to prepare aside from a *LOT* of rest and basically getting over the head cold which had been partly responsible for the hill-walk. This next section between La Cygne and Pleasanton would let me know pretty quickly where my weaknesses lived.
Terry and I emerged from Casey’s into a strengthening rainfall, and I noted the sudden ability to see my breath in the marginally chillier air. Hmmm. Bags zipped, jackets zipped, helmets buckled - we saddled up and headed west on K-152, anxious to build up a cushion of body warmth under our wet layers as we pedaled. Traffic proved forgiving, and soon we made our turn south onto one of my favorite roads: Linn County 1095. What a great ribbon of pavement! Already well documented in these pages, this is simply where the interesting bits of the Border Patrol route live, scenic and challenging; but, it’s also proven consistently quiet for traffic. Depending on the mood of the county road works department, there are some patches of pavement that are better than others - but, really, it’s a great road. I eased out a comfortable pace and chatted with Terry, while I anticipated the first real hill of the day.
Shift, shift, shift.... tug.... cyclists know the feeling here: the road pitches up, and you answer with a progression through the gears... each click unleashing a larger cog, to ease the strain and level the hill... until you pull one more time and the lever fights back: confirmation there are no gears left. Yep. More often than not, I try to forget the proud days of tackling things like the Liberty 200km or the Hell of the North 300km route on my old Trek single speed. Those days, when faced with a steep hill, I’d simply rise from the saddle and unleash fury and torque until it was behind me.... those days that I am beginning to long for once again.... today, however, and for the past few years, I reach down to the shifter - and based simply on the way the lever feels in my palm, I can tell where I am on the rear cluster... and I know I haven’t used ALL my gears. I try to make a point and somehow justify my return to gears by ensuring I NEVER use the bailout 27-tooth rear cog... even when my knees beg me to. Today, however, I was already there, in fewer clicks than normal. Okay... no problem.... we’re base-building, remember? Relax... and enjoy! Right about then, the noise in my head is cleared by Terry’s voice commenting on the pristine conditions and the soundtrack my internal dialogue was trying to spoil. All around, the steady rainfall was meeting matted undergrowth and leftover oak leaves in the thickets of forest on either side of the steep road, and birds - perhaps a few weeks early - were revelling in the resupply of moisture, relief from months of drought. I decided that for the rest of the ride, I’d stop worrying about what gear, what tempo, and what time - and just pedal and listen. That worked for awhile, at least. First hill down... three to go, until Pleasanton.
I’d wished Glen had tagged along - but, he’d taken ill after returning from abroad. Given the conditions, staying home and resting was a FAR better idea - but, our usual band-of-three was down to two today. Still, Terry proved excellent company as always - and we spent much of the day either side by side, or close at hand. The second hill didn’t seem too bad compared to the first, and Terry and I both enjoyed the long, extended downhill that followed - twisting and turning down, down... down to the valley below as we made our way to the turn toward the halfway point of our journey. Flathead Pass was next, and then - more food and a welcome rest indoors, out of the rain for a spell. The road began to pitch upward, and I reached again for the bailout gear... time to engage pure cardio, and keep that tempo high, ‘dude. Definitely feeling the lack of riding - but still feeling 100% better than I’d felt last month - I slowly huffed my way up the long grade, even managed to shift up once, and finally rolled over the top. WHEW... no walking today!
One has to fall down, in order to appreciate getting back up.... Although I have said many times in these pages that a finish is a finish, I cannot help but strive to improve... at least on paper. It is clear to me that the past few months have merely been examples of me striving to complain. Finally, FINALLY, I feel as if I’m back in a place where I have turned those personal complaints into action. The weight is coming off again, willpower and focus toward goals is returning - and while this ride wouldn’t prove groundbreaking, it still represents a positive step. I think what occurred last month - despite the lingering illness - I now view as “the bottom.” Heck, I can justify it any way I like. I walked that hill. I did what I had to. I still finished. But... down deep... I don’t walk hills. I don’t want to repeat that. Fitness was a factor, weight was a factor, and I’ve officially had enough. In fact, I look backward to February of 2009, the “lucky 13” ride -- after completing my first R-12, I remember myself in a similar wasteland of complacency... and that’s the ride where I had to walk the hill on the Knob Noster 200k route, toward the end of the ride. I think now it may be time to set a short-term goal to get back out to Knob Noster, and show that hill a thing or two. I know I’m tired of re-reading it, and I know I’m tired of typing it... whether I go back in time and exorcise those old demons or not, it’s time to move forward and DO ... instead of just wishing.
Ok, enough of that for now...
With Flathead Pass behind us, Pleasanton - and the halfway, loomed. The rain began to abate, and in its place Terry and I began to benefit from a distinct Westerly breeze, noting a slight uptick in speed as we strolled toward town. Hmmm... well, that might be interesting on the return trip. No matter - the halfway was here, and it was time to maybe dry out a bit... even a patch of blue sky seemed to appear, only for an instant, as we entered the c-store, and started out routine. Halfway!
Those small crunch cake donuts, some OJ, and water refills - I decided to save the “mix” top-off for when we’d arrive back in La Cygne... for this route, in some ways, arriving back at the Casey’s represents the “real” halfway for me, depending on the day. Getting these hills in the middle section out of the way needed to come first on this ride. I was happy, but I still had to climb them on the return trip, and now - it seemed - facing a growing wind. Terry and I mopped up after ourselves, after leaving about a gallon of drip-dry rainwater on the c-store floor, and headed out into the slightly chillier air to saddle up.
The first big hill was in front of me before I knew it, and the gear changes came quick. It’s straight up the back of Flathead Pass, and a bit of a grunt. The good thing about hills, they sometimes block the wind. One down, two to go. We continued west until reaching 1095 again, passing the bridge, the horse farms, and Mt. Carmel cemetery along the way. The turn north at 1095 came like a slap in the face, though the wind still seemed to come mostly from the west at first. The slight curve back east confirmed that we’d get a tailwind for, oh, at least 7 miles of the return leg.
The next hill came, steep as I’d remembered... and demanding every gear yet again. I couldn’t really stand and power it out... so, seated grinding and spinning ensued. Terry and I rounded over the top and set our sights on the next few miles... the last, and I think steepest, longest climb of the ride still sat waiting up the road.
The rain behind us, after feeling just a smattering of leftover droplets since leaving Pleasanton, at least we’d remain dry for the last part of the ride - but, it revealed the only real drawback to wool clothing: it doesn’t dry quickly. This is offset by its insulating properties, if you keep it on your body -- wool gloves become a headache at times for this reason, but I still think they’re the superior choice for rainy riding -- but if it stops raining, wearers of wool should be prepared to stay mostly damp for the rest of the day, even in a dry wind. Fairly certain the rainwater was slowly being replaced by sweat anyhow, at least I wasn’t cold - and the jacket helped, of course. Again, I had very little to complain about during the ride, apparel-wise.
Finally, the last big hill -- which I haven’t gotten around to naming yet -- came into view. After a few miles of flats and twists, passing the old school house, the house with the goats in the front yard. and the old Paris, KS. townsite, the final hill appeared ahead of our wheels. OK... one last challenge... certainly not as steep as the hill I’d had to walk last month, but definitely nothing to sneeze at, the hill began to pitch upward after we’d passed the old stone wall (Stonewall Mountain, perhaps? Catchy...) and didn’t let up for what seemed like an eternity, eventually leveling off to a manageable enough level to allow for standing up and stretching the legs. Whoo!! Finally... the real test behind us, we’d survived the hills of the Border Patrol once again! Now, it would be the untiring “climb” of the headwind, which would come to test us.
Thinking ahead, there really was one good climb left... we had yet to leave the La Cygne valley, after all.
No matter ... heads down, the flats now became the enemy, as the trees parted and open farm fields invited the full brunt of mother nature’s growing assault to our party. At least on the hills, one is occupied by the gradient and the effort enough to ignore such petty concerns as speed, but, on the flats the mind drifts, the pavement never changes, the gear choice rendered pointless... and the display on the cycle computer glares back at me in disappointed laughter... 9 mph... 8... wow, 10.... nice work, loser.... don’t think! Don’t look at it! I reminded myself of the scenery I’d miss if I continued my fruitless staring contest with the handlebar’s veritable Eye of Sauron, and managed to pry my attention to birds, the horizon, the giant plume of steam from the La Cygne powerplant billowing violently due south. Cap brim pulled low, and cadence high, the game turned to wills.
With a little help from the remnants of the westerly wind, Terry and I rolled into La Cygne’s welcome arms - and we rushed inside for the next receipt, the next signature, and more food. I recalled the push and staying power I’d experienced last month with the consumption of an oatmeal creme pie, so I ponied up for the double-decker version. THIS would surely show that wind a thing or two. Combined with the fast-becoming standard-issue orange juice, I topped things off with another 5-Hour Energy shot to replace the one I’d surely burned off since 7:00am’s start, and after a reluctant restroom break, we were ready once again ... 45 miles to go!
This is the point where things began to stretch out. Despite the continued push from the west that would help us reach the new “last hill of the ride”, almost immediately I began to regard the oatmeal pie, this time, as a mistake. After topping off the bottles with enough Carbo Gain to make the trip north, the same dosage as I’d started with at the depart, I began to question whether I needed the additional food at all - or, if it instead was the added sugars working against me. The pace was not any slower, thankfully - lest I not finish at ALL - but, discomfort set in. As we made our way up and over the “last hill”, old 69 highway stretched before us - and the wind seemed to increase with our change in heading. I knew it was perhaps 9 miles until we’d reach the new highway - so, I repeated the usual headwind tactics -- head down, pedal it out, and look around. Try to enjoy, because despite it being slower than I’d like, it’s progress. Slowly, with the droning imagery of the pavement passing under my legs and the rushing whoosh of wind in my ears, the mind began to turn inside. Songs circled about, conversations with myself, and others, dogs barking -- occasionally for real -- seemed to pass along with the miles.
Oh, wait... that dog might be real....
My only issue with Jingo Road (old 69) are some of the homeowner's positions on leashes or yard chains, and their use. I would think, as a dog owner myself, that most folks would like to keep their animals OFF the public roads - especially roads like this one with a 55 MPH posted limit. Of course - most dogs don’t see passing trucks and cars as property threats. Bicyclists, however, to a dogs nose, must smell downright threatening... or tasty, I haven’t decided. Most dogs are usually only interested in a good jog, others merely curious, others still are smart - yet authoritative: barking and charging, yet stopping short of the road, and giving up the chase when the property line approaches... buried fence, or good training; arguable... but, good dogs either way. The one’s I dislike come straight onto the road in a tear, looking to edge their nose in front of cyclist’s wheels - much like they’d instinctively head off a wild rabbit or other game. Edge in front of their nose, hesitation and a studder-step from the prey, answered with a quick set of teeth snapped tight around their neck. You can see the look in their eyes as they approach the road: it’s business.
This one had my number.
For over a decade I’d never really had anything close to a real dog problem -- fast dogs would be answered with simple acceleration - but, today, the wind had already stolen much of my potential. This ambitious, grey-mouthed mongrel approached from 11 o’clock, and quickly lined up alongside my left leg as I pedaled, teeth bared. I did almost nothing to answer... no shift down, no quick burst of speed... I don’t know if I was unplugged or just unfazed - but, I didn’t really register the events unfolding until I felt a little tug and nip about midway up my left calf muscle, and heard Terry hollering out from behind. “Hey! S I T !!! STAY!! HEY!!!” The dog continued to work on getting hold of my circling leg, stymied by slick Spandex leg-warmer fabric versus old, dulled teeth... thank goodness for the combination. Three attempts... but, without even so much as a snag in my clothes, the dog gave up. Strangely, my heartrate didn’t even respond to the incident -- whether I was just out-of-it, or genuinely not panicked, I’m not sure -- but, with tales of similar dog incidents circling my head from years of cycling, as heard from other riders - perhaps doing nothing had been the right choice. As much as I probably should have swerved, sprayed the beast with water, smacked him with my frame pump - or even tried to land a good solid left kick to its forequarters - the number of times I’ve heard of owner retaliations assured me that perhaps I’d made the right move by simply letting it go. I was, however, after enduring at least four other encounters with dogs in other places along the route, quite finished with four-legged rendezvous for one day.
Terry and I finally made our way to 359th street, and prepared to check off a major Border Patrol landmark by finishing the new US-69 highway section leading back to Rutlader, KS. Without the usual south wind hurrying us along, however, it would prove a long three miles. We rested for a bit after reaching 335th, the first time both of us would admit out loud that perhaps calling it quits would be a terrific idea... but, neither of us completely serious, the usual sarcastic wit and laughter about the situation took over - and soon we were pedaling again, toward Louisburg, and the next opportunity for a rest and regroup. Usually noted in my previous blog entries as a particularly long and tiresome 6 miles, the section along Metcalf from Rutlader to Louisburg seemed to slip by surprisingly fast this time out - though certainly my speed was quite low, I had been doing my best to ignore it and just ride. I instead took in the sights and smells of the farmland fringe of central Miami County, and ended up amazed when I realized I’d passed 295th street already, and I’d already set foot upon Louisburg’s south doorstep. Not bad! Maybe those mental tricks DO work, after all. Louisburg, BP station... here I come!
With Terry close behind, we regrouped at the small counter inside the c-store, refilled bottles, and circles like vultures - searching for something to carry us the last 22 miles to the finish. Finally settling on donuts - but not certain I really needed anything other than the discomfort in my gut to pass - I snacked a little, downed a Hammer Gel, the last one, and sized up the situation. The temperature dropping, wind increasing, and light fading... a ride I’m used to finishing in the height of the afternoon, it looked instead like Terry and I would roll into the thick of evening rush-hour traffic instead. Sure, the 7:00am start for this ride represents the latest I’d ever begun the Border Patrol, but, combined with perhaps the slowest I’d ever ridden it (at least, the slowest 2nd half) the math began to look bleak. I’d never finished this route even CLOSE to sundown... much less in the dark, and it hit me... I love riding at night, so what’s the big deal so long as there’s time left, right? I pulled an extra head and ear layer out of the seatbag, and layered up for the dropping temps and wind... time to get back to work.
Vests on, taillights blazing once again, Terry and I paired up and I took point to block the wind while we struggled further north. Each minute, we were closer to finishing... the mantra repeated... but, I’d redo the math... 20 miles at 10 mph... wow... okay, I’ve got 2 more hours in me... no problem.... just don’t stop. It certainly could not have been a bonk, because calorie intake was on-par, but with the miles to-go shrinking steadily, so too did my push, my stamina, my reserves... I was just plain ole TIRED. This, despite a generally successful day, probably is where the lack of riding time really hurt me - fatigue. Clicking through my gears again, but this time on the flats instead of on some steep climb - I was spent. On paper, I’d done nearly the 200k required - but, there were still 18 miles to go when Terry finally took lead position, and created a draft... just in time. I latched on, and hoped for the best. With the strength of the wind now plainly evident with the sudden difference in effort required to maintain forward momentum, I began to realize how tough of a day it’d truly been. Cheating the odds and risking over-use injury, I’d managed to pull off another 200+ km permanent with very few opportunities between for training or commuting. I certainly don’t recommend it... it’s not bragging material to be clear, and I was sure I’d spend the rest of the long weekend paying dearly for it, but, in the moment, I chuckled to myself and shook my head. Despite the hardships, some of which being plainly self-imposed, and the weather, it would seem that I’d pulled off another February surprise without incident... with 8 miles to go after a thrilling downhill run on Antioch, Terry and I tried our best to ignore the clock and just make our way home for the official finish. But, man... close. Too close, if you ask me... the clock passing 7:00pm, it had turned into another half-day epic, just like last month, just like White Cloud in November. Yeesh... base training? Check.
...and we still weren’t done...
The long, endless shoulder along 179th and 175th streets stretched before us, as we waged battle against a now howling northwest headwind. The temperature... who knows, but zippers were pulled full stop, faces covered, toes forgotten. Terry and I both laughed as we turned north on MurLen -- the LAST turn -- and three miles to go... at this point, it’s a joy-ride, normally, with a steady downhill and south tailwind... man, did we ever pick the wrong day and the wrong route! Pedaling DOWNhill just to keep moving, it seemed as if the last 2 miles would take the rest of the night. 7:45pm passed on the clock... good grief... another 90 minutes, and this ride wouldn’t even COUNT, but no worries now... we could WALK the last mile, and be on-time - and sometimes that’s all that matters. Finally rolling onto the sidewalk of the 7-Eleven, five minutes shy of 13 hours in total, Terry and I could at-last call February “done.”
Same as last month, I’ve made several “revelations” about getting in more riding between the permanents - something I need to DO, instead of wishing about it, but, in light of having a fresh mind with which to tackle these endeavors, perhaps this lack of riding during the week IS my “off season”, and maybe I needed it. Surprisingly, likely a credit to the act of “less talk, more do” tactics employed toward my recovery routine, post-ride, I felt surprisingly fresh and rested the next morning. Hydration, the right food in the right amounts, and stretching... things I don’t always do correctly... it all paid off, and I managed to escape this ride not just injury-free, but quite nearly ready to do it again two days later. The weight loss streak continues - slow and steady... and that leaves me with good feelings about the March ride. For now, no promises.... but, the R-12 (R-20 now?) streak does and will continue... and it’s only going to get better.
Thanks for reading!
February 9, 2013
Chronicles of Character-Building
The February edition of the R-12 run is in the books.
Assuming I can organize my thoughts, and the rest of life allows for the keyboard time, this ought to make for a decent post - if nothing else, a good log entry for the "I've had worse" files. A pretty challenging day -- started in the upper 40's with a hard rain, and light winds... sporadic enough that at times I swear we had a slight tailwind, and at other times it felt like a headwind. The rain continued for the next 6 hours until tapering off, and then the winds shifted, strengthened, and the temperature began to drop with a strong cold-front passage. Terry and I waged battle with 20 mph north winds for the entire return trip, dropping our pace into the basement. Mental math was all over the place - and amid random thoughts of phone calls and cashing it in, at times it seemed the pace and the control closing times would decide our fate for us. The goal of ten hours passed, then eleven, then twelve... it was brutal. Digging into layer after layer of reserves, Terry and I pushed to finally finish just under 13 hours. Not my worst ET for this route - surprisingly - but, one of the toughest rides in recent memory - and definitely a mental wringer. More details to come, in usual style -- but for now, very, VERY happy to have February checked off. March seems far away, still... but time to take the slow, base-building pace from this ride and build the arsenal for some spring-time fun.
More to come -- thanks for reading!
January 18, 2013
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 12, 2013
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!
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.
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!
January 3, 2013
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...
January 1, 2013
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!
December 23, 2012
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.
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!
As always, thanks for reading -- happy holidays, and happy new year!
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