January put up a good fight

This winter in the midwest -- for the whole continent of North America, really -- has been remarkable.  It's difficult to tell if this is just another pattern in a larger cycle which we don't yet understand, or if something is awry with our climate, or if it is something else altogether; but, the whole "polar vortex" and subsequent roller-coaster of extremes in temperature for the region has indeed made for an interesting season so far.  Cold air normally kept north by the Polar jet-stream and strong ridging has instead been repeatedly hurled into the continental U.S., while competing surges of Gulf moisture and warmth from the desert southwest clash in-between.  A couple weeks ago, it had touched nearly 60F - and, hours later, another Canadian airmass overcame the area with strong winds and temperatures dropping on the order of ten degrees an hour.  This has repeated, more or less, every week since mid-December - making it difficult to plan anything outdoorsy, much less a bike ride.  

I set my dates with the organizer, and watched as each one fell victim to poor timing.  Steven W. was able to get lucky and enjoy one of the warm days a couple weeks back, and was even thrown back north along the Border Patrol route with a roaring tailwind, something usually reserved for summertime rides!  MY dates, on the other hand, yielded strong and frigid north winds, and temperatures in the teens for the

The Tolls of the Twenty-Ninth

Man, I've wimped-out HARD since the last 200km winter-epic-slaughterfest-horrorshow that had been the December 2013 edition of R-1,000,000.  (riiight...)

A recent email exchange with my coordinator nailed it... it's not so much the temperatures, it's just that wind.  I do reside in Kansas, and - arguably - it's always windy here to some degree.  Various weather systems are either coming up from the gulf, sliding down the front range of the Rockies, or barreling down from Saskatoon.  

Saskatoon is in the room... 

Last night, laying in bed - pretending to sleep as I tried to crystal-ball whether or not I was wasting a perfectly good, potentially sunny day-off from work and associated ride - well, there wasn't much discussion.  The house creaked, tree screamed "uncle", and tormented howls wafted across the peaks of neighboring roofs as Canada delivered its latest helping of misery to the midwest.  I could see in my head images of a lone figure locked in battle once again with sub-freezing temps and crystalizing gales... teetering between heroism and futility.  A moment later, I became that lone figure astride, once again, a bicycle without enough gearing to endure the constant

Into the Grey

It's been an especially cold winter season so far in east-central Kansas so far, to the chagrin of many an all-season cyclist, me included.  As I type this, we're slightly above the freezing mark for the first time in a week, since the cold front and weather system which arrived just before the December ride you'll read about below.  More of the same is coming THIS weekend, and will drop our local temperatures even lower by the beginning of the work week - which may present me with a rare opportunity to topple my personal "coldest ride" number of -9ºF.  Considering the last time I endured such temperatures, I legitimately required ski goggles -- and as this writing, I've *just* ordered a pair which won't arrive until Monday afternoon -- well, maybe I will, maybe I won't, get that new record.  Not without some eye discomfort, anyhow.  

(pauses from blogging to scour the basement for those goggles he thought he still had)

December proved difficult.  Sure, our group of riders waited until practically the last possible minute to get the December edition of our collective streaks in before we ran out of month - but, it wasn't for lack of trying.  With a DNF in the group on December 8th caused by slick ice and snow on top with gusty winds -- a ride that wasn't deemed improbable until perhaps mile 35, it should be noted in this specific case the bravery of the rider, as I repeat... with 17ºF at the start, wind, falling snow, and already ice on the roads, this ride was NOT a DNS...it was a DNF.  Getting moving is the hardest part... and, yet, he started anyways.  For me, I watched the forecast and made my plans... and then watched them fall apart with each passing weather system rendering the local roads treacherous at best, and impassible by bicycle in most cases.  It was beginning to look like my streak would end with "R-30."  ...and I was beginning to be okay with that fact.

(I'm not a fan of asterisks, but... can I call this R-42 yet?  If I include the R-12 run of 2008-09, then it's R-42... if I include the half-run/do-over run of 2010, then it's R-48... errr.... whatever.  Crud, between RUSA and the ACP, have I really ridden 65 of these things since 2002?  Yes, apparently I have.  For now, I guess I might as well shoot for 100... contiguous or not.)
  
Sitting in the driver's seat, watching as the dark

Princeton-Polar Ride, it's a finish

Glen, Steven and I headed out into a dangerously cold morning yesterday, and came home with a finish.  I have never been so cold, for so long, in my life... despite the amazing micro-climate afforded by layers of technical gear amassed over the last decade.  A longer post to come, as usual, but, for now, the streak is still alive with only two days to spare in December, and in a very tough 2013.

Tenacious, or galactically stupid... it's a fine line:  but, we're alive, warm once again, and all of our extremities are intact.  Sure, it was no Arrowhead 135... and if you'd like to read some truly epic tales of wintertime suffering, check it out.... but, I'll take our finish.

We three, in my mind, conquered a tough one... and I mean *JUST*.... we BARELY made the cutoffs, and I didn't know just how closely until this morning upon going over the cards and receipts.  It's probably better none of us knew during the ride itself.  Sure, none of us are wicked-fast riders to start with, but, therein lay an indication of the conditions:  cold joints and muscles, aching respiratory systems, frozen faces, glazed eyes, delirium, cold-induced drowsiness, constant mental arguments against continuing, rougher-than-I-remember pavement amplified by hard, unyielding tires, icy roads, frozen bottles halting hydration, temperatures bottoming at 12F (-11C), almost no sun, and a roaring, unforgiving northwest Arctic wind at nearly 20mph sustained with higher gusts, resulting in static wind-chills of -5F, and probably more like -15F cycling through the air.  For thirteen hours.  At the end, far too committed to consider quitting and throwing away all that suffering for no reward, the ride degraded to nearly constant clock-watching panic; yet, no extra push to do anything about it.  Every stoplight through town - which we seemed to catch every last one of them on red - all I heard in my head was "tick....tick.....tick....TICK....."  How fast are we going?  How many miles are left?  What time is it?    

This, in itself, is almost post-enough for the likes of such a ride.  What else can be said, really?  We finished.  I have no complaints.  I credit my riding partners, Steven and Glen:  without them I would not have started, and without their tireless pulls, I wouldn't have finished.  Heck, Glen and I, having met up early, were convinced that none of it was necessary - and I was already okay with ending my streak, right there in that dark parking lot, without so much as a pedal turned.  Steven showed up with a smile, a confident air, and the right attitude... and, so, Glen and I mounted up.  Crap.  LOL.  BUT, the feeling of confidence and satisfaction I feel at this writing makes it all worth it.  I am hearing all of the occasional chatter in the office today about how miserable yesterday had been, having enjoyed near-60F temps the day before (no kidding, in December!) before a monster cold-air mass arrived overnight (so markedly that the initial wind gusts shook the house and woke me up, as cold Canadian air dumped into the area).

I am proud of what we-three accomplished... knowing also that we're also probably a touch lucky, too.  One flat tire, one miss-step, one or two more trains or red lights.... crud, ANYthing.... I don't want to think about that.  Not only would we have not finished with credit, it's a fair bet that hypothermia would have come knocking in the event of any roadside repair.  The old Survivorman mantra for winter... "if you sweat, you die" ...is so true... but, finding that balancing act with clothing when exercising???  There's almost no way.  One must choose between being dry, but cold ALL the time; or comfortable and at least a LITTLE damp.  It's safe to say, for me personally, I was comfortable - but dangerously damp most of the time.  I actually brought along matches, a flint striker just in case, a field knife, some light kindling (some scrap woodshavings, dryer lint, and cottonballs mixed with petroleum jelly) and a small folding camp windblock, and had every intention of starting a small fire if needed.  Overkill?  Perhaps.. especially since it never came to that:  but it only weighs too much or takes up too much room until you NEED IT...and really:  that whole kit is no larger than a cellphone... but, there is no sense standing on the roadside, shivering, waiting for the Calvary to show up, arguing with oneself about whether or not it's "bad enough yet" to take action.  Yesterday, it would have been bad.  Just like a TV show, yeah...disclaimer: seriously:  this is just a dumb cycling blog, and I'm not an expert... if you have the choice, stay home.

We three, no matter what Glen and I were talking about in the parking lot, didn't know how to quit.  Odds stacked, we all three stood up on the pedals and fought for it.  This is rando... sure, we should have picked a better day, sure we could be faster with more training, sure we could manage our control time better.  Whatever.  We took what we were handed and produced a finish.  Cheers, gents.  Bigtime.

Next month, if it isn't at LEAST above freezing, it's over.  LOL.

I'm going to go sit in front of the fireplace some more.  Whoof.

Year end wrap-up, already?

Well, yeah... as I sit back and chill on the afternoon before a company day-off, with the sun dipping, the shadows lengthening, and my afternoon coffee steaming next to the keyboard, yes.  I take a break from surfing across various chain-rings and eccentric bottom-brackets/rear hubs, and various tube-final guitar amps I can't afford to summarize the year that was (er, is still) 2013.

Mileage...  what mileage?  This, with few exceptions, has proven to be one of the lowest mileage years to date at 3,400 miles.  I haven't had that low of a number since prior to starting this randonneuring thing back in 2002.  There was a time, prior to '02, wherein I didn't even log commuter-miles, and in one case I'd almost bested this years number.  Now, there IS one more 200km permanent coming in a few days time, and that will bump me above the 3,500 mile marker -- but, that's still pretty low for me.  But... how do I FEEL about that?  Heck, I'm okay, really.  It's been a rewarding year in so many more ways than JUST cycling... so, who can complain?  Not me.  However; well, I think I see a higher number for next year.

Complaints?  Really?  What do I POSSIBLY have to complain about?  Middle-aged-married-suburban-livin'-cubicle-worker-with-two-point-five-children-who's-never-missed-a-meal problems, that's what.  In short, nothing of consequence.  I've overheard and been shoulder-for enough over the last year that I don't have any REAL complaints.  I've helped out at reStart over the last year, have helped feed some folks at various places, helped at Harvesters, and heard the stories of hard-working folks who've

Empty Promises

I mean well, I honestly do.... but, it's time for me to get real (again).  

This blog isn't a full-time gig.  I don't make a dime from it, as much as I wish I did.  Perhaps that's an indication that I haven't tried hard-enough, that my annual URL investment of $10-or-so isn't working FOR me... it's merely a labor of love, an outlet, a way to get thoughts out of my head.  Perhaps I SHOULD try harder... but, I lack -- rather, I haven't MADE -- the time.  Maybe it's advertising, maybe it's trying to sell branded stuff like stickers or custom caps, maybe it's continuing to pimp my stuff to various outdoor and cycling rags.... heck, I've had tons of ideas in the hopper, but, apparently I'm truly spread-too-thin:  school, kids, a full-time-plus desk job, still finding the time to RIDE - lest I have nothing to write about, and then - of course - making the time to write ANYthing of substance, and to post photos.  Maybe the social media presence is enough, I dunno.

What's the point of this post?   Oh yeah.... 

Well, a couple posts back I got REALLY excited about the "free time" I'd suddenly uncovered, with a major milestone in my life and my kid's lives wrapped up.  I promised reviews of some products I've acquired, and updates on previous reviews for products in the arsenal which still carry on strongly.  Here's the honest, apologetic bit:   I can't.  I won't make the time.  I'm sorry for that, but, really... there are lots of folks across the interwebs posting high-quality, well-written reviews on everything I've promised, and more.  Real reviews, with excellent photos, REAL scientific data on lights, lumens, watts, run-times, etc.  Actual bench-tests of tires, rolling resistance, tread-wear, measured against competitor products.  Well-written, edited, staff-supported excellence, rich with content and data, filled with links and references.  I can't possibly compete.... not with the time I've allotted.  This is just a blog.  It's a brain outlet only, and - while I KNOW if I gave it maybe 10% more attention, answered more of the supposed-spam-but-maybe-legit email offers to cross-link, review products, try this and that.... hell, if I think I'm pressed for time NOW... yikes.  Despite how genuine my intentions have been, I already have a workbench full of items I can't get to.  Keeping up school, fixing the brakes on the car, home-owner projects, a crappy yard that won't fix itself (don't get me started on WHY I feel like I have to be part of the greater neighborhood property-value paradigm - speaking of downsizing), really wanting to go back to that part-time job I loved and feeling horribly guilty about it - yet still knowing I face the same problem with that as with everything else here, computers and phones to fix for family members, that fence I need to fix so the dog will stop getting out, and MOST importantly, random stuff I've promised the kids: promises that I absolutely MUST keep.  

It's who I am... part of me knows that none of this should be apologized for; but guilt is part of my personality.  I'm thinking about it, no matter what "it" is, even if nobody else is losing sleep over "it".  It sucks sometimes, and it's probably why I'm in this particular boat.  

It'd be one thing if commuterDude.com was THE job.  I really want to step back, downsize, assess, and figure out -- if I REALLY want to -- how I can make a living off of that about which I'm most passionate, and still make ends meet... and, still -- the biggest hurdle -- make sure my family is insured, medically.  That is the tallest, most insurmountable hurdle facing us.  This won't turn into a segue about "Obamacare" or anything like that... but, honestly, it's real.  It's a tough choice, and it's kept me from making the step I'd truly prefer.  A kid that needs braces, surgery that I need for myself, and that scary "what happens if..." element.  

Don't get me wrong --- I *LOVE* what I do at my day job.  I'm not sure many can truly say that.  The bikes and the riding are truly an outlet and escape mechanism... and, sure, horror-of-horrors, if I had to do bikes all day long, I'm sure I'd get sick of it (not bloody likely, but I'd like to find out how long it'd take - HA!).

All in all -- it doesn't REALLY matter that those reviews I'd promised won't materialize.  I'm really apologizing for posting about it and getting all excited, well -- that's a small picture of my reality.  I honestly WANTED to... but, eventually, reality always sets in.  I hate that I put that teaser out there, getting people (and myself, honestly) excited about it... and then realizing that I'm never going to get to it.  In short:  The Light & Motion light is terrific, the Axiom bags are still going strong, Panaracer can't (in my book) do any wrong in the 700x28c tan-sidewall department, and I've created a few hacks that are working well.  One of these days I'll figure out how to push that extra 10%.... but, I'm exhausted.  

On the pathway to being a genuinely happy, well-adjusted, stress-free bicyclist with a day-job, I have to be my own advocate and get some of this self-inflicted stuff off my plate.  Limiting this blog to ride reports only is just one step.  I appreciate your understanding, and rest-assured:  the ride reports will continue.  I receive a lot of positive feedback, for which I'm thankful and grateful, and my goal of highlighting randonneuring and commuting by bicycle as worthy pursuits continues; if for no other reason than to outlast another supposed "commuterdude" in Atlanta whose only goal appears to be giving motorists an outlet to complain about potholes.  I want my Twitter name, pal.  Give it up.

As always - thanks for reading, and stay tuned for the December ride report!

Precious Metals

Weather-wise, the hammer has fallen in the KC-area.

The last couple weeks have seen some dips into the teen's for HIGH temperatures, and we've already been glazed a couple times like a frozen donut.... not the GOOD kind, but those artsy pastries with a thin sheen of glaze - because too much would be considered "tacky."  Just enough to be mildly tasty - but somehow leaves one feeling teased or punished.. yet, it's still gloriously, decadently dangerous.  It's not really "winter" so much as it's a lack of nice weather.

It's the season of the car keys, the DNF, the DNS, the reschedule, the "wait until Spring."  

It sucks.

BUT, it's life in the midwestern plains.  I'm told, season after season, that it's a great time to diversify and try a new sport.  Pfffft.  What, like cyclocross?  Okay...  oh, no?  oh... so, running?  Cringe.... next.

A good amount of us try to make-do, waiting patiently for the roads to dry; or, in my case - each year reinventing the (ahem) wheel and building up another winter beater.  This year, if you've followed the social media, it's "The Goat" -- or, as I've recently decided is far more apt: "Deathwish VII."  The Peugeot, obtained slowly over a long period of time from my wife's uncle, is a nice ride... as long as you don't plan on riding it.  This wasn't really apparent while it was dry during its first two voyages on the studded tires.  Noisy, yes... but, manageable.  More than anything, with its 42x21 single-speed drivetrain, it proved very capable and torquey enough for seated climbing on any of the myriad hills dotting my various routes to and from work.  Perfect!

So I'd thought.

I had been willing to forgive all the bonkers, proprietary French sizing of the seat-post, the quill stem.... okay, nearly EVERYthing... simply because I finally HAD a winter-bike again.  Fenders mounted, studded tires fit nicely, good brakes, rear rack -- all parts that were either on the bike already (in the case of all the goofball odd-size stuff), or items I'd had in the garage already.  It wasn't until yesterday morning on the ride to work when other, indeed important, factors became obvious.  Things like geometry!

This won't be a lecture on geometry, why "something" is better than "something+1" -- it's only to say that some of the weird French "character"  (yeah, we'll call it THAT)  had trickled into the frame and fork themselves, apparently.  All straight - nothing cracked, bent, or warped... I checked.... but, what translated as "spirited" when the pavement had been dry began to embody near-terror when the pavement became wet and icy.  I'm not even talking full-on snow here... just a little freezing drizzle on already-treated roads.  

The tires?  Sure... studs must be ridden differently -- after all, one is nearly skating along on 100 or more tiny metal beads, essentially.  You can't carve corners... you need to stay flat, if that's possible, while turning.  In short... the studs WON'T render the rider invincible:  much like 4WD (are you listening, local SUV drivers???), the technology only helps ASSIST in a situation that already requires a modified approach.  So, one still had to ride carefully... the studs, then, do the rest.  That is, of course, assuming you have a nice, stable platform.  

Sure, perhaps, too, I'm not yet used to the Peugeot.  Simply standing up out of the saddle to climb a small rise in the road proved how nervous the front end of this bike behaved... I should have known then.  I've ridden a LOT of different bikes from different eras and builders - and this is the only one that has (short of tallbikes, which I swear are more stable) proven genuinuely "nervous" in the handling category... which is weird for a middle-of-the-road, European, mid-70's sport-touring bike.  It's to the point where I think there may be something wrong with it, somewhere I haven't discovered yet.

It was a short honeymoon.

I've since cancelled my subscription to "Interesting French Stuff Monthly", and have moved back into a standby mode, wherein - like last year - I'll simply wait until the roads prove drier, safer, and very-well plowed indeed before pursuing future winter commutes.  Now that we've had a couple small doses of winter-scare, the roads are in the right shape where studs are effectively in the "overkill" department... and I can't waste a lot of the time I already don't have enough of trying to figure out what's up with the handling characteristics of a bike I'll probably only truly NEED twice a year.  In fact, the Trek 450 is looking AWFULLY good in the guise of a fixed-gear once-in-a-while commuter machine... and those studded tires DO fit... just.

Bah.

The other remarkable bit this week involves local traffic and driver-behavior in general, which reminds me of a quote by Dennis Hopper's character in the ole movie fave "Speed,"  wherein he teases his oppressor in a verbal pissing match, something to the effect of "aw, see?  In 200 years we've gone from 'my only regret is that I have but one life to give for my country', to 'f&*k you?'"  In effect... yeah... we're there:  Ten years ago on a blustery, wintry commute to work I had two separate people offer me a ride to wherever I was going in the short time it took me to make it the last couple miles to the office one particular morning.  Yesterday, by contrast, I had two drivers inform me that I was "an idiot" for riding my bike (in that weather, or in general - I dunno), and one suggested rather eloquently that I get my fine self of the road.  The otherwise abandoned, residential, really-doesn't-go-anywhere road that he and I both happened to occupy at that particular point in time.  Nice.  Although I don't know WHO they are, still, I have a rather keen eye and something of a grudge for certain makes of car, and sometimes bumper stickers and the like, when it comes to keeping an eye out for those that feel it necessary to have words with me, and I took a LOT of personal satisfaction upon arriving at the office, locking up the bike, and walking in.... only to see the first gentleman (the more polite of the two) passing by the crosswalk and heading to the parking garage down the way.  Basically, I'd beaten him to work -- and like a friend on social media outlined:  so, I helped reduce congestion, saved some oil, improved my health, AND arrived earlier than this other motorist, and - somehow - *I'M* the idiot?  Yeah.  

It's been an interesting week, to be sure .... and I've already felt my internal frustration peak a bit, about the twitchy winter "solution" (which I should have test-ridden more before ordering the studded tires), and the state of the city within which I live... and, the opinions of some of the people I work near/with.  (Sigh...)  I need to find a new route to work... or a new city.  TOWN, preferably - if you catch the difference.  

The one-bike-theory isn't a bad one... but, as numb as perhaps I've become from over a decade of riding in traffic around here, to suddenly be VERY aware of how snarly and nasty traffic (and the people IN it) are becoming, I'm beginning to see why my dad stopped riding his motorcycle here, decades ago.  It's getting kinda stupid.  Is that my AGE and the perception that comes with it, or reality????  

Dunno yet.

I'm gonna sleep on it... and, probably ride to work next week, at least once.  

I know, also, that my recent experiences are exceptions to the rule.  
I've had far, far, FAR more uneventful commutes, pleasant commutes, and friendly motorists who occasionally have been known to give a thumbs-up, or a wave, or at least a wide berth when passing... far more of that, preferred behavior, and not-so-much of the wearisome nonsense I'm noticing lately.  The holidays are stressful, the days are short, the sun merely punctuation to long, cold days.  People are on edge.  Heck, *I* probably am, too.  

Deep breath... but, yes:  do find that quieter route, I think.

Tomorrow is another day.


Now, if I can stop wasting time on bikes that AREN'T Surly's Long-Haul Trucker... perhaps I'll be ultimately happier - if not a little lighter in the wallet.  As much as I have a soft spot for interesting frames with interesting stories built from various blends of steel and other precious metals, I've only been talking about a LHT being THE commuter/camper/winter solution for, what.... five years?  More?  

...but, that's another discussion....  

well... THAT'S odd...(The November Ride Report)

    

First off, even typing the title (the parenthesized bit) gives me a smile and a shrug of personal disbelief:  it didn't SEEM like I'd checked off November upon finishing this great ride; but, sure enough, one ride to-go and this year is history already.  I'm still on the fence about a December edition - but, especially after conversing about it at work with a close friend ... yeah, it'll happen.  This "rando" thing... this "commuting" thing --- surely on the latter, no - I don't do it as often anymore as I'd ideally prefer; however, that embodies idealism in general - and if it's "only" once a week, that's a GOOD thing, not something to asterisk with "well, I *used* to ..."  Streak, no streak... riding a bicycle still holds value:  slow, fast, plain-clothes, kitted-up, fixed, free, touring, racing, shopping, pubbing....once a day, once a month:  doesn't matter.  

It's what we do.  

Be proud of it; and, if the mood strikes, saddle-up.  If not... dream big, and long for Spring.  There's nothing at all wrong with that.

   Ever since I was a child, thanks to my parents and friends, I quickly started to develop a sarcastic sense of humor.  No, really.  (ok, just stop it.)  While in the early stages of teenhood, we'd often head out on a road trip to Grandma's house, in far flung southwest Missouri - and, along the way out of town on US-71 we'd pass by the signs for Peculiar, MO.  

"well... that's odd.... "   

   No response... not even once.  Either my parents and sister simply couldn't endure the spine-tingling horror of another one of my groaners, or they simply didn't hear me . . . but, it's always been something of a personal inside joke, that particular town's name.  It's a nice little place, and like a lot of towns around here it's actually not so"little" anymore; but, I have to wonder from where the name had originated.  Maybe I should research it... or maybe I should just continue to smile to myself.  Either way, when I started looking for an east-west route to complete my personal "master-plan" of permanent routes that start relatively close to my home-base, Peculiar, MO. ended up sitting in just the right place for roughly 200km of fun-ness.  The route's name, said with that long-forgotten western drawl of a cowboy-type trying to describe somethin' he ain't-never-done-laid-eyes-on-a'fore, became the perfect moniker... even if the route itself isn't really that strange at all.  In fact, it's terrific... only the towns along the way are "strange", perhaps, and hold unique stories of their own... stories of a part of west-central Missouri that time has neglected, of a strong railroad gone-under and the economy that went with it, and of a regional highway network that stole the rest.  

This is the story of The Mighty Peculiar.


The first truly cold ride of the year was upon me..although, for November in eastern KS/western MO., it could have been a LOT worse.  The bag-of-plenty packed, bike at the ready, I headed off into the darkness for Peculiar - and the promise of a hot breakfast at the 24-hour Denny's there.  I've really taken to planning my routes around services like this one; it just makes things a lot nicer for riders.  Heck, this one is centered around the Flying-J travel plaza: with a few small, inexpensive motels nearby, and hot showers within the travel plaza itself - cleaned and maintained via a reservation system for professional over-the-road drivers - it's an oasis of randoneering wish-list items.  Sure beats changing clothes in a cramped bathroom stall, and eating yet another ClifBar after a long day in the saddle!

So far, so good -- Terry sat waiting for me in his truck, fresh from St. Joe, and - honestly - it didn't feel too cold out...certainly the forecast gusty winds hadn't started yet.  Time to eat!

Soon, Gary D. showed up, and the food began to hit the table inside the warm, inviting Denny's.  Even on a weekday, things weren't too busy - we nearly had the place to ourselves upon arriving a bit after 5:15am, the coffee was hot and fresh, and the food top-notch.  Thankfully, any stomach issues were distant memories--- which, in retrospect likely had more to do with me possibly carrying around a stomach bug than the locale last month -- but, it was nice to eat hearty for the day and not end up punished for it.  Checks paid, we three ventured outside and prepared for the journey ahead. 

Third (maybe fourth)  month in a row, we take our sweet time preparing, reconsidering gloves/hats/windbreakers, and don't get our first receipt until about a quarter-after the intended start time of 6:00am.  The air was thick with moisture, cold... the coldest ride-start in months, perhaps in a year, really:  I personally started the ride wearing nearly everything I'd brought with me, including a warm-up layer that I'd intended to take off right before departure and leave in the car.  Instead, the biting, wet air prompted me and my companions to dress far thicker and warmer than originally planned.  We headed out, despite the light winds, braced for cold and puffing clouds of condensed breath from behind face covers.  Even after a few hills, my internal furnace hesitated a few times before truly kicking on and warming my extremities.  BRRRR!!!  As we turned west into a lightening sky, we longed for sunshine and kept a finger or two crossed for no changes in the forecast!

We ambled along on the new route, taking in the growing silhouettes of houses and barns as they appeared out of the darkness along the way, up and over slightly rolling terrain - a good, early warm-up for the first dozen-or-so miles of the ride.  We trailed along behind a school-bus making morning pickups, and then we had the country roads to ourselves while we quietly retraced the old MS-150 route, which used to start at various places, but, in its last years with the old Sedalia destination it had started off north of Peculiar on the same roads Terry, Gary and I pedaled along for this ride - a large part of my route intent.  for as much criticism as it'd received for being "too difficult" for the novice rider (hills), I have fond memories of the annual trek east, toward the promise of cold beer and good music at the old Sedalia MS-Ride overnight event.  

As Gary and I chatted away the cold, early miles discussing custom bikes, frames, racks, gearing and bags, the sun ultimately appeared and began to burn off some of the chill.  Terry only a second or two behind us, we three ate up the mileage - still chilly, but improving - as the wind began to turn up the volume knob, ever-so-slightly.  Expected, and partially welcome:  as the wind would increase, its direction would promise a speedy return trip later in the day!  None of us had enjoyed THAT for months... what a tough year it's been!

As we ate up the remains of State Highway "P", I got my first "cue sheet wake-up call" in a while... being a new route, well, sometimes there are surprises.  The first, a big "Pavement Ends" sign on the right side of the road... 

"uhhhh.... that's not what I remember...."  I muttered... 

Echoing their hesitation, my companions also slowed a bit, while I peered at my copy of the cue and down the road... was that gravel??  surely.... 

Well, no ... it ended up being fine, and I remember distinctly feeling much the same way during my last outing on this road:  the sign remains, but the road surface has long-since been paved over.  No worries after all!  I need to make a note of that on the cue.... ugh... 

Coming off the back-roads, we emerged onto the old "main drag" which had taken thousands of riders east, over the years, to the first MS-150 rest-stop along MO-58 highway.  Part of the reason the MS Society (allegedly) had elected to abandon this route and merge with the Topeka, KS. event involved complaints of MO-58 being too busy a road... and, I'll grant you, in the afternoons it can be:  today, however, light traffic...typical of the morning out this way, the route is designed to keep folks off the main highways (pending your start time) until "rush-hour" is largely over.  For us, it worked out nicely.    

As the cold continued to tug and chew at my fingers and toes, the camera remained nestled cozily in the front bag despite repeated notions to grab it an snap shots.  I already adore this route for its scenery:  the vast and rolling western Missouri landscape contains working and abandoned farms in such density, few miles pass without something interesting to ponder.  When warmer months bless us once again, I'll photo-document the opening miles more completely; but - future riders take note - the mystery is there for the discovering.  I won't, and shouldn't, take TOO many photos, lest I rob anyone of the joys of discovering that awesome old barn for themselves.  

Along route "O", after pushing up several rolling grades and enduring a bit of headwind, a break - and exposing fingers to morning, Fall air finally comes without the urgency to quickly re-glove.  Pictures - I'm learning - help me focus on the chronology and important bits, rather than rambling on - editor-free - about "notmuch."

Thus...

Terry on approach - the 20-year paving plan of rural Missouri exercises the tires and punctuates the hills under the crisp blues and whites of icy-cold fall air, far above us.  The trees are only a few days bare, it seems - the Gales of November have rested, and the leaves are elsewhere.

"That Old Rock Island Line"
Along Highway "O", rural Johnson County, MO.

Looking longingly southeast along the abandoned Rock Island right-of-way, the remnants of a grade-crossing signal & wire box at left (no, not a ramshackle bookshelf).  Thirty-three years of overgrowth clogs any chance of exploration - even in the bug-friendly month of November, but all the steel remains in place - some just a few inches below the grass, some still exposed, and holding strong against time.  Someday in the next ten years, this will all be cleared to make way for the Kansas City extension to the famed KATY Trail.  Yep, it'll make a fine update to this particular route, as it will shortcut perhaps a mile here or there along the way to Chilhowee, MO. -- I'll update the cue by then, but at 216km there's no cheating the mileage on the Mighty-P anyway... trail or no trail.

  The skies a bright blue, wisps of high clouds and a roar from the northeast... a glorious sight, a B-2 bomber flies overhead - good time for a roadside break, Gary and I shed a layer and grab a snack from various bags.  We're greeted by a local farmer headed to the end of her driveway to get picked up by one of her hands, both off to rescue a calf that had gotten out.  Terry catches up shortly afterward, and we talk about .. well, how awesome the weather is proving out.  What a great, great day!  One at a time, we click back into our pedals, and let gravity do the work of getting us back up to pace... "how 'bout them hills??" the sign used to say, stuck in the grass alongside the highway - greeting and taunting MS-riders at the same time, teasing with "5-miles to lunch!" and "almost there!"  I glance occasionally off to the grass lowering beside the road... partially hoping to see one still there.  Has it really been 11 years since my first time out this way?  So many miles since then... and, like an adult returning to their childhood primary school desk - perhaps at a conference for their own kids - I think for a moment, have the hills shrunk?

Gary D., waiting eagerly for me to do whatever it is I have to do at the Casey's in Leeton, MO.  Once upon a time, this was the town for the lunch-stop on the MS-150 route to Sedalia, after some great rollers near Chilhowee.  Today, just another restroom stop - not even a control - on the way to Calhoun.

The Kogs, caught loitering.  Shhhh...!

We watch Terry slip by, undeterred and patient, with a confident and happy wave.  He's a relentless metronome of a rider:  strong, quiet, unwavering.  He's self-described as "not fast", but he always seems to catch up, only minutes behind us - no matter where, or what, or when.  We're all fairly seasoned as a group now, fast approaching the makings of a solid Fleche team one day, I'm sure, with some minor tweaks... which, basically, means we need to start riding like Terry.  Back on the road, Gary and I catch him up after a few minutes... but, it's a slow process, each of us seeming to ride within 2% of the other, on any of our previous six or seven outings.  Consistency is good!

Highway "J", headed southeast into Calhoun, MO.  A terrific stretch of road, on an increasingly gorgeous day.  Gary at the helm, we eat up the road and wander past yet another scenic farmstead as we approach the halfway point of the day's adventure.

Probably the only time of year when the plaid wool and facial hair look appropriate, the obligatory "selfie."

The halfway control comes into view, and we all dismount for some good eats and a rest.  A sure indicator that I'm acclimating nicely to the chillier conditions, it's nearly HOT pulling up to a stop in the full sunshine and southerly winds.  We saunter inside, cards signed --- and, realizing that I'm indeed breaking new ground with this route, I proceed explaining to the confused cashier what the card is for, why it's okay to sign it, and just "what the heck we're doin'."  It's all received well, and before long the inviting food behind the counter attacks our senses - Gary and I begin ordering this and that, and check out with armloads of goodness.  

Chomp!  

Biscuits, chicken strips, gizzards and livers... frog legs on Fridays!?  This is a well-stocked control.  Terry rolls up, and the scene repeats.  Food is stashed away in stomachs and in waiting bags for the road -- the next fifty miles won't have a lick of services, so, despite the chilly air, an extra 20oz. bottle of water makes its way into my saddlebag, just in case.  

We all proceed to pack up and lash this and that to the tops of bags and racks, second-guessing ourselves at least three times.  Is it warmer in the sun?  Is the wind increasing?  What's the temperature now?  Layers on... layers off again.... the first relatively cold, layer-heavy ride of the season proves again:  we're out of practice!  

Under or over-dressed yet to be decided, we roll out -- the wind at our backs!

(you have no idea how nice it is to type THAT!)

On the way out of Calhoun, the inevitable questions of earlier came to their answers, as sweat began to roll down my back as I pedaled along... yep, too hot... overdressed.

Unconcerned, I stop and begin the process of shedding and storing layers... almost too many layers for my ample saddlebag to handle - thank goodness for external lashings and d-rings.  Gary begins to shrink on the immediate horizon, and then Terry slips by - atop a hill, next to a farm gate off the road along highway "J", under a deep blue canopy of heaven - grass and tree limbs singing, and a distant hawk crying with joy beyond... man... what a great day to not be in a hurry... the thought was fleeting; but, honestly, after recent weeks and workstress - in a terrible hurry was the last thing I wanted to be.  It was like, standing on that hilltop watching Terry and Gary become distant dots on the horizon while I wrapped up my extra layers and took long gazes into the distance ... I finally understood the point that Spencer and a what I remember of a few guys down in the Texas LSR (Lone Star Randonneurs) club were talking about:

I flash back to February, 2008 - I'm on a great section of Texas highway shoulder, on the way to the first control, chatting it up with Ort of Texas and enjoying the mild weather... almost 600 miles south of the ice storm and freezing temps of Olathe.  Ort described the LSR scene, at that time, a part of which he'd only been a member for a few months; he talked of the guys now called the "K-Hounds" - a fast-but-friendly, hard-edged-yet-encouraging and well-drilled group of front-runners who'd polished their rando-routine to a high sheen.  From the outside looking in, it might have seemed to most that the entire LSR group would be tough to hang with... but, not so:  he went on to describe a polar-opposite group of LSR riders, serious in their pursuits, yet somehow more casual.  Sneakers and flat pedals, and a determined goal to finish ... but to finish and use ALL the allotted time to do so.  At the time, I was dismissive of the mere notion of riding slow and taking one's time on purpose - but, therein, I think I'd missed the point.  A finish is a finish... 8 hours, or 13 hours:  the ACP doesn't care, nor does RUSA.... so why do *I*?  Make no mistake... those tennis-shoe'd riders were indeed strong, and consistent, and able to time things JUST so... for maximum enjoyment and ride time.  After all, if one is out there to enjoy the day, and the day is as good as it is long, why on Earth would one be in a hurry??  

Meanwhile, I recall reading a ride report from a 600km event, written by our own Spencer - wherein, while my writing style had been busy outlining my struggles and hardships in great detail, HIS ride report mentioned only one, true issue during his 600k:  that (paraphrased:) on day three, sometimes a feeling resembling sadness would set in - because the end of the riding was drawing to its inevitable close.  I had never understood what he'd meant - not really - not until very recently.

Perhaps it's a convenient justification for me as I've noticed my average speeds leveling off, along with my anxiousness about those numbers, that my new motivation is to just slow down and enjoy -- but, after reaching the halfway and beginning to reap the benefits of a strong and growing tailwind, I found myself in LESS of a hurry... not quite so anxious to take maximum advantage of the speed assistance.  I took one more long look around, and then mounted up -- first motivated to catch.... then, more reserved.  The tank was full.  I felt fantastic.  No gut issues.  No saddle issues.  I just ... relatively-speaking ...became keen on enjoying the day itself, not worrying about what time it showed on the clock, nor what time I thought I might finish.  

For once, I just RODE.

State Route CC, a great ribbon of road in Henry County, MO., connecting not-much-of-anything to MO-13 to the west.  Hilly, scenic, rustic pavement... a treat to ride!

A bit later down the same piece of Route CC, the road pitching upward and around the bend - out of sight.

Still content to take my time... which is to say, "It's difficult to chase what you can't see," I took in the sights, smells and sounds of the route, meandering along Route CC toward the west and the bottom portion of the Mighty Peculiar loop.  Along the way I happened upon Terry taking a quick roadside break - but, Gary... gosh, who knew if I'd see him again anytime soon.  I seem to have, however, learned from my past shortcomings with regards to knowing the land, and landmarks, of a new route... compared to the Border Patrol route, for example; which I've ridden perhaps 15 times, and it wasn't until visit #10 that another rider had to point out a scenic marker that I'd never noticed before... despite it being maybe only 10 feet off the road.  Surely I'd missed some of the smaller, yet-to-be-discovered details on this new route -- but, for the most part, I don't know if I missed much, my head on a swivel as I rode past barn after barn.

Lone grain silo along Route CC

Looking north at the intersection of MO-13 and Route CC, a nice old house atop a hill

... and, looking south at MO-13 and Route CC, another fine example.

Along Route M, and typical of the 2nd half of the ride:  it's best described as "a whole lotta nothin'"
If you enjoy long, uninterrupted stretches of road, this is your ride.  It reminds me a lot of some of Bob's old routes, way up north of Liberty, and such.

Blairstown, MO., looking SW at Main Street and Route N.  Old telegraph office??

  

The old feed store, Blairstown, MO.  Aside from a few businesses clinging to life and a post office, there didn't seem to be much here... and certainly nothing a randonneur would call "services."  My favorite part:  the giant statement "No Water" hastily spray-painted on the side of the local firearms shop.  Errr, yeah... moving on, then...

Unfortunately, a lot of cars in various states of repair sat scattered around the town - and in this shot, they block all of the interesting bits of this site, the remains of an old corner gas-station.  The stonework appears to be in good shape, but it also appears some of it has been removed since my last visit.  Other items removed include the old gas pumps - who knows where they ended up.  The intersection of the tree in the background and the remains of one of the stonework awning supports is purely accidental.

The Blairstown Post Office.  I hung around town for perhaps 15 minutes, taking the opportunity to have a snack and shed yet another layer as the day warmed.  I didn't see a soul.

Highway N, west of Blairstown.  More of the same:  trees lining the road, rolling terrain, old farmsteads.  Good riding!

   

An old schoolhouse, perhaps?

The sunlit side of the schoolhouse.  Sunlight.... 10-12 hours of exposure in fall-like temps do wonders for acclimation, and, at this point, I had begun to take on a full sweat.  Another layer comes off.  Whoooof, and it's probably only in the mid-50's F.  

  

Highway N seems to stretch forever . . . long enough for me to think... "hmmm, did I miss the turn?"
The answer was "no".. I hadn't reached it yet; but, after stopping I got a good chuckle when I noticed the roadsign next to me reads "Lost Rd."  Good timing... It's one mile from the turn I'd been looking for.  So, if you ride this and you reach "Lost Rd.", take heart... you're not lost!

  

Highway ZZ, and more rolling hills.  If I'd had a permanent marker in my bag, I'd have been very tempted to add the word "Top", underneath the "ZZ" on the roadsign... but, we don't condone that sort of houliganishness around these parts.  But, heading north with a strong tailwind pushing us along, we did feel on "top" of the world.  The horizon far distant, and the afternoon's lengthening shadows coaxing more speed, Terry and I found each other along the way and traded road positions a few times.

Horses and a donkey occupy this farm near the edge of La Tour, MO. -- vive La Tour!

Along Highway M... no, a different one... south of Gunn City, MO.  Shadow Riders, Terry and I make our way to the penultimate control, thankfully only five miles distant as I sip down the last of my water.

Signs of a more prosperous time, an abandoned gas station in Gunn City, MO.

Moments from the East Lynne, MO. control, an old bridge 

Terry and I finally make the East Lynne, MO. control after the 50.4 mile jaunt from Calhoun.  Spirits high, but tired, we both take to the inside, get our cards signed and eat something while refilling our bottles.  Checking the sun angle once more, it seems we'd only have 30 minutes of daylight left - so, the regular glasses come back out of hiding, along with a few layers to put back on.  This time of year, when the sun goes away the heat quickly follows.  Finally feeling good after several ounces of water (slight headache coming on?), we mount up and start to make our way back out.  Gary?  Heck... haven't seen him.  Not even a glimpse on the horizon, and Terry tactfully and purposefully does NOT ask the lady working the counter how long it'd been since his passage.  Things like that, best to keep them out of our heads -- and he's taught me another solid lesson there.  After all, having that info... what good would it do me now?  Confirm the obvious?  Why mess with that... ride your own ride, 'dude.  Satisfied, with extra grub at the ready in the front bag, Terry and I saddled up for the last dozen or so miles to the finish.  Twenty, tops.  Breezes dying, heat leaving, and shadows growing very long... time to move out.    

My headlight beam lights the way as we are treated to an amazing sunset.  Perhaps 10 hours earlier, we'd witnessed a great sunrise, the same way.  Awesome day... fully played out from the bike seat.  Only a bit later, we turn off of Route K for the final few turns east and north, back to Peculiar, MO.  The landmarks of progress come quickly on this part of the route, by design: on the local roads instead of the highways, the finish is quiet and easy to navigate.  We cross highway MO-7, then some railroad tracks, then MO-291... check, check, check... the miles melt away.

Perhaps three or four miles out, the lights of the Peculiar, MO. truck stop are clearly visible as Terry and I check off the last few turns.  The evening sky is breath-taking, as are the last couple surprise hills - thrown in, just for kicks.

Photo of the day -- just look at that beaming smile.  Gary D., earlier in the day as we pause along Route "O".  His expression seems to last mile after mile, hill after hill - and it's infectious.  That attitude, along with his '80's RAAM pedigree and his no-nonsense approach to riding in general, it's a treat to share miles with this guy.  Schedules are changing, winter is approaching fast - so, it's hard to tell if I'll get the opportunity to spend as many miles in the immediate future as I have this year with "the boys", but it's been a real pleasure.  This image probably sums up how our little group handles rando... a little bit of "hurry-up," balanced with a smile and a good laugh.  Cheers, mates!

After 11 hours and some change (okay, a LOT of change), The Mighty Peculiar - no, we didn't break any records.  The weather was kind, and the miles came easy... easier for Gary, obviously: as we'd later discover he'd finished nearly 50 minutes ahead of us!  (And, yes, he's still riding that old, garage-sale acquired Astro-Daimler 10-speed!)  All in all, however, the wind was kind, and the temperatures for November???  Wow....!  What an awesome ride!  Note to self, however:  if I could have changed one thing, it might have been to add toe warmers for the first 30 miles - but, really, that's me searching for a complaint... aside from that, absolutely zero to complain about!  

Looking forward to December... yep... still on the fence.  I have to make sure I keep a close eye on the "fun meter," because - going back to a recent conversation at the office with a fellow cyclist, if it isn't fun, why am I out there??  Surely as the sun will rise and the midwestern plains-states weather will remain difficult to forecast, a rare, mild December week will materialize - and hopefully I get the timing just-so to enjoy the benefits.  Considering the KCUC crew in general already had a wintry, snowy ride back in March, maybe I'll get a break? 

Ha.... right.... 

Thanks for reading, as always --- and stay tuned!