tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68306396891241834942024-02-18T21:30:08.109-08:00RAAMblings - Sandy's RAAM BlogRace Across AMerica blog for Sandy Earl, 2010 solo racer.Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.comBlogger74125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-43410793424852702282013-11-19T21:49:00.002-08:002013-11-19T21:49:48.812-08:00Race Report - 24 Hour World Championships<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We had a very excellent trip to the
Coachella Valley, where I raced the 2013 World Championship 24 Hour
Timetrial. We had a lot of surprises (good and bad, as ever) along
the way, and lived to tell this tale.
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The race had a Friday evening start. We
got to Thermal in good order, leaving just after work on Wednesday,
and arriving just before dark on Thursday with a good load of
groceries. We'd scoped out a pretty nice campground which was perfect
for hanging out in The Red Pearl. Pearl had auspiciously turned over
100,000 miles on the Grapevine, which we duly noted and celebrated.
She was running like a champ.
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Dinner was chicken and salad and
baguette under the stars, and we turned in early. After an incredibly
good night's sleep, we woke up, showered, and started down the list.
Bikes detailed - check. Lights – check. Car systems: heating,
cooling, lights, music – check. Clothing, glasses, helmet, shoes –
check, check, check, and check. When we ran out of thing to check, we
headed up toward Mecca to get final supplies (ice, gas, pizza) and to
kill a little time before the pre-race meeting. </div>
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In the spirit of “killing time”, we
stopped in at Brown's Date Garden – a cute little out-of-the-way
place that's right on the race course. The sign at the road said that
they were open 9-4. We rolled up a slightly dusty driveway and peeked
in the screen door. People came out of the back, apparently quite
surprised to see us – they were just getting the place ready as a
retail storefront. What followed was a very thorough and gracious
“tour” of the facility, followed by the opportunity to taste
varietal dates. After we'd made our selection the proprietress asked
us where we were from. We started in with our standard, “Oh, Arcata
– it's a tiny town WAAAAY up north, almost Oregon, you've probably
never heard of it...”. What ensued was a 20 minute reminisce on the
“old days” - both she and her husband and Bill had been at HSU in
the 1970's. Her husband had been on the football team, and do you
remember getting “fog passes” at the drive-in, and did we know
any Sundbergs? <i>(Of course – Bill works for a company that deals
with every contractor in the county...) </i>Yes,
sports fans – there is probably precisely ONE date grower in the
Coachella Valley who's got a tie to Humboldt County, and that's where
we landed. Go figure.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyxZHOtWpixiOEjP0zhugkX_rptD2ZRvec6tR2HXcR5mZbbKzS9jT6yGjv6ardrQdZd_olQxR2kkjg5CmEHRhE2KGhTNz5PBm_cjfGpEPY47nfTkuuXA-Rpjzol_5CbFvttLZW0wrnYEjt/s1600/kids_donnas_packhouse_s.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyxZHOtWpixiOEjP0zhugkX_rptD2ZRvec6tR2HXcR5mZbbKzS9jT6yGjv6ardrQdZd_olQxR2kkjg5CmEHRhE2KGhTNz5PBm_cjfGpEPY47nfTkuuXA-Rpjzol_5CbFvttLZW0wrnYEjt/s1600/kids_donnas_packhouse_s.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lady in the back ("Little Donna") sold us our dates</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sign at road. Eat Local!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOJOyygwnLzc9bwT2XcSbHKc7vkVyJMKDIzJSYIkYpzTtCgHlrj86pF3RuNQa4wTKKgsJ0hxdwE8cSsDhihbgZEXh0YAR1zFfMua2rqSQR5RwPBH1q2GVycxcQ-BPGcEkWNXNt3CVO-pCS/s1600/forklift.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOJOyygwnLzc9bwT2XcSbHKc7vkVyJMKDIzJSYIkYpzTtCgHlrj86pF3RuNQa4wTKKgsJ0hxdwE8cSsDhihbgZEXh0YAR1zFfMua2rqSQR5RwPBH1q2GVycxcQ-BPGcEkWNXNt3CVO-pCS/s1600/forklift.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dates Are Great!!</td></tr>
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After the date
incident, we made for Mecca to get gas, ice, pizza. Milano Pizza is a
little off the beaten path – and not at all where Google Maps shows
it - but reasonable and actually quite good. A lot of the offerings
had jalapenos on them, which I figured was NSFRF (Not Safe For Racing
Fuel), so we stuck with the Hawaiian. By the time we managed gas, and
ice, and a new pirate flag (impulse purchase!), it was almost 1PM,
which was going to make us a little early for racer checkin at 2, so
I would try to get a quick nap in....<br />
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<i>Except.</i>
About a mile down the road, 10 miles from the checkin, the
engine...stopped. As though it was out of gas. I got us
semi-gracefully perched off the road. By the time I had my blinkers
on, and Bill was reaching for the door handle, the first police
officer had arrived. I'm guessing that being stranded and alone in
the desert doesn't end well. We explained the situation, and Bill
hitched a ride with some locals back to the gas station to start
finding help. Within minutes, the second officer arrived. He offered
to stay with me, which I figured was overkill. Then he headed back to
the gas station to verify that Bill hadn't expired and was actually
finding help, and came back to the spot of the foul to let me know
that, indeed, against what must've appeared to the officer to be long
odds, Bill had been able to make a couple of calls and help was on
the way. Then he offered, <i>again</i>,
to stay until Bill got back. I told him I would be fine.
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I did
the two things that I could think of to do mechanically: I checked
the oil (it was fine) and the fuel pump relay (it looked fine, but
who can tell, really?). That left me to bag up the slices of pizza
and the mountain of dates (we bought a 12-pound box 'cause they were
SO GOOD), drink three bottles of water, pee, and fuss. Just about the
time I figured I might as well take a quick nap, Bill showed up,
having gotten a ride from the Guths, who were headed for the start
line as well. Not far behind him was the mechanic guy in his pickup
truck. I did not get his name, but I'll call him Angel. That's what
was tattooed on his right arm in what I swear were 8” tall letters,
owing to the sheer size of the canvas. Angel mainly works on big
rigs, but he's happy to moonlight. He has me crank the engine
(nothing). Again (nothing). He makes a couple of noises, grabs some
tools and a gas can. We explain that we just fueled. Like – JUST
fueled. Undeterred, Angel detaches the air filter and hands it to
Bill. Bill wants to do something – ANYTHING – useful, so he
methodically whacks the filter to remove dust while Angel dumps gas
into the engine. “Crank it!” (vrooom-vroom-sputter). He adds more
gas. “Crank it!” (vroom-vroom-sputter). “OK”, he says. “It's
your fuel pump.” He winks at me: “Mexican diagnostics, ma'am”.
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpuMWhvleGbw1-znw3cdZIo-2xIN29hJZoxIen_rF7Qz2v2oSl-YN4YI3vsjgCYM53Fb7XvWfttESXCen4YwiQnoMIbrvZxtVhZAZWY5cZCwPVtBlpeFbCo0r8o6NGO4hxb_o0aR2rnh2o/s1600/stunning-angel-word-tattoo-on-arm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpuMWhvleGbw1-znw3cdZIo-2xIN29hJZoxIen_rF7Qz2v2oSl-YN4YI3vsjgCYM53Fb7XvWfttESXCen4YwiQnoMIbrvZxtVhZAZWY5cZCwPVtBlpeFbCo0r8o6NGO4hxb_o0aR2rnh2o/s400/stunning-angel-word-tattoo-on-arm.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not actual arm. Not actual tattoo. Not actual size. Not even close.</td></tr>
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Well, when the car
initially sputtered to a stop, I figured that the worst case,
literally, was a fuel pump. That would require a part, and it was
Friday afternoon, and we're in the middle of nowhere, and the local
cops already fear for our lives, and...well, you get the picture.
This is where Angel grows his wings. After a long ten minutes of
phone conversations with several different folks, Angel agreed to tow
us to the race start. His tow truck was not going to work (remember,
it's for big rigs, so it's too wide), so he attached a tow strap to
the Astro and off we roll behind his pickup truck. By now it's a bit
after 3:00, so we're right on schedule (I guess...)</div>
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Arriving
at an ultradistance race with your crew vehicle towed to the start
behind a pickup truck is certainly memorable - just not
confidence-inspiring. Factor in the distance we'd traveled, the fact
that this ended up being essentially my ONLY race this year, and that
it was Worlds, and – well, I was inclined to feel sorry for myself.
As we got closer to the start – at Oasis Elementary – I was
amazed at the sheer number and variety of cars that were lining 74<sup>th</sup>
street, and the buzz of traffic. Then I saw the orange semi truck
marked “FOOD BANK” and the line of people snaking down the side
of the school, and I remembered how lucky I am to have all of these
problems. The actual race was going on around the corner. Angel towed
us to a perfect parking spot and we parted ways. <a href="http://coachellaunincorporated.org/">If
you'd like to read a little bit about the people who live in the
environment I was riding through, look here</a>.
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I stepped out of
the van and into my “normal”. Packet pickup. Portapotties.
Inspection. Old friends, people I know by reputation, others.
Swapping stories. Didn't even bother having the van inspected as it
wasn't going anywhere fast. Bill loaned our spare lights to a team
who was struggling with theirs. We put together a drop bag that the
race organizers would have ready for me 60 and 180 miles into the
race. Having a drop bag isn't nearly as nice as having Bill right
behind me with light and music and all the good things that a van can
provide, but it will just have to do. It's not like I can't ride by
myself, after all – though I do wonder casually what odds those
policemen would lay on a middle-aged lady making it back alive, out
by herself on a bike all night. Drop bag highlights were pizza, Boost
(chocolate flavor), honey stinger chews, water bottles, and caffeine
gum. In retrospect I should probably have put more stuff in the drop
bag.
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I decided that in
the interests of time I would forgo clothing changes, which meant
that what I wore would have to be pretty adaptable to temperatures
from 50 to 80F. In the end I left every one of my lovingly-selected
pink jerseys in the van, and went for the long-sleeved capilene T
that I'd gotten at the Badwater 135. That and a pair of light capri
leggings would have to do. I considered tossing a jacket in the drop
bag, but abandoned that idea: the only time I would be tempted to
pull the jacket on would be at the 180 mile mark, and by that time we
would be just a couple hours from sunup. And why waste time over just
a couple hours of being just a <i>little</i> cold? In theory I would
be going fast enough to stay warm down to 50 degrees.
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Being
immersed in the start line hub-bub always makes me feel a lot better,
but all this time, the huge, unavoidable fact of the dead fuel pump
in the Astro kept rolling around in the back of my head. My math said
that Bill <i>might</i> be
able to actually speak with someone who <i>might </i>order
the part Saturday morning, and it would take a full day to arrive
from (wherever parts come from down here – LA?) After that, it
would take a miracle to get someone to work on it on a Sunday, and we
could take off Sunday night....if we were lucky. If not – gaaaah. I
just started a new job a couple of weeks ago. My new coworkers are
supportive of and slightly amused by my cycling excesses at this
point, but if unforeseen circumstances stretch out my 5-day weekend
any further, who knows?
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I did my best to
stay focused on matters at hand. Not knowing many of the people
there, I semi-randomly picked three rabbits to chase. I figured that
my BEST rabbit, was, appropriately, Mick Walsh, (Furnace Creek totem:
Irish Hare). Mick had added just a drop of gasoline to my fire when
he mentioned that it was weird to be at a race where a 400-mile day
would be not-so-great. Hey– it is NEVER easy, or a given, to bag
400 in a day. Too many things can get screwed up. Like...a fuel pump.
Then it hit me like a ton of bricks just how lucky we were that the
fuel pump expired when it did. What if it had been, say, 80 miles
into the race? Yuck.
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Pre-race
meeting, just as it's getting dark. One burning question for me was
the Border Patrol checkpoint: what would happen there? When we'd
pre-ridden the course in September (on our long and winding bike/van
camping tour of California), I'd been stopped for a couple of
minutes. Since I showed up without a drivers' license (oops – it
was in the van!) I got to answer some extra, special questions, just
to make sure that I wasn't trying to sneak into the US on a pink
recumbent bike. Fred has warned the Border Patrol that we're coming,
so in theory we should be waved through with only a minimal stop, but
he's not guaranteeing anything – so we should definitely carry ID.
<i>Actually, I did get waved through both times without a
holdup, which was nice. </i>
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6:05 – we're off!
They did a wave start, and I was in the last wave. I try to remember
my detailed notes about the road surface, and maybe I do,
subliminally. There's a sliver of moon, which I know will disappear
later at night. Knowing the surface really helps since I'm running a
little less light than some folks, to preserve battery life – about
200 lumen. At that rate I'll go all night, no problem. Plus there is
plenty of ambient light from the cars of my fellow racers – at
times, too much. The scene at the major stoplight (where 66<sup>th</sup>
crosses Highway 86) is pretty intense: racers and vehicles all over
the road trying to get a jump on the light. Unencumbered by needing
to stay with my vehicle, I sailed through that pretty well, and then
had to pick my way through the field as folks were sorting themselves
out on the other side.
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After that, just a
lot of smooth, flat racing until we reached Calipatria. Mainly
there's a good shoulder and there are areas of excellent pavement. I
pass the campground where we stayed last night. It seems to take
forever to get to Niland, where the road turns a bit before the quick
run into Calipatria. I move over for the occasional passing vehicle,
including, to my self-amusement, the trains. I'm pretty sure I didn't
HAVE to move over for the trains – if I did, someone was having a
way worse day than I was – but it was just ingrained. Every so
often I pass someone, who may or may not pass me back as they gain
steam after a pit stop. In the dark it's surprisingly hard to tell
who's who, but I figure loosely that I'm in the upper middle third of
the race – not bad. We can get some hard data at the end of the
lap.
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When I get to the
clock tower in Calipatria, Fred himself is staffing the drop bag
site. I did a quick forage – swapped a water bottle, snagged a
Boost and a bag of chewies, and shoved off. Need to make this a quick
stop because I have a matter of importance to deal with down the
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There is an actual
Highway Rest Area on 111 between Calipatria and the turnoff at
Rutherford Road, but it is on the wrong side of the street, so we're
not going there. Rutherford Road is off the beaten path and will have
to do. I can see blinking lights a ways up, where other racers have
made the turn – reassuring me that I did not miss it. There are
signs marking the turns but you'd have to know they're there for them
to be helpful.
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Rougherford Road
(ooh, was that a Freudian slip?) is a truly Humboldt-worthy piece of
pavement: rough, unpredictable, no fog line, no center line. The moon
has just set, so it's really dark. That's great for my purposes,
though: “Piss on Rutherford Road!” is my mid-lap rallying cry.
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There were race
staff marking the turn onto Bannister with bright lights and great
enthusiasm – a very welcome sight. After Bannister, almost no
navigation, so I was feeling pretty good.
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I got back to the
start line in just over 6:30 – a little slower than I'd hoped, but
all things considered, not too bad. About 5 minutes behind the Guth
2x team, which I thought was pretty nifty. Tanked up, more Boost,
quick stop at the porta, and off for round 2...which was much like
the first lap, except that there were WAY fewer cars, and it was
light toward the end. One of the absolute highlights of the second
lap was the number and intensity of the shooting stars that I saw.
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOal1_1UQFYLX5zUAPBabpu-RCEK81B0wD0BGrPpvblIpovoUv8aoiPwxT5yFI3y5-jVbcaH2yjLxOxxq31lNDtbm3h6JBGm1js066dGibsMx8RZSqICdc0y-Yn-FY4XdxgNyLZuWgCZAN/s1600/PalmTreesConventoMeteor-net-900x603.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOal1_1UQFYLX5zUAPBabpu-RCEK81B0wD0BGrPpvblIpovoUv8aoiPwxT5yFI3y5-jVbcaH2yjLxOxxq31lNDtbm3h6JBGm1js066dGibsMx8RZSqICdc0y-Yn-FY4XdxgNyLZuWgCZAN/s640/PalmTreesConventoMeteor-net-900x603.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not actually taken during the race. But shooting stars, palm trees, and water...you get the idea. </td></tr>
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The guy at the
Calipatria outpost (mercifully Fred didn't have to stay there all
night!) said that I was something like 8<sup>th</sup> or 9<sup>th</sup>,
which perked me up a bit. It had seemed at times like I was riding
through molasses. I knew I was a bit slower but I couldn't find much
motivation to do anything about it: no car, no music, nobody
particularly close ahead or behind, and I was probably running just a
bit low on fuel. I reached into my bag of tricks for some caffeine
gum, and I managed to spill it before I got it down. Crap. That's
okay, only 50 miles until I can get some more....</div>
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I arrived back at
the start finish a bit after 7:30 – later than I wished, but
earlier than I feared. Making the last turn onto Harrison, Mick
passes me. I had no idea that he'd been one of the racers I'd passed
in the night. With a 3 minute difference between us, I'm still ahead
of him – sort of – when we get to the start/finish. There's the
motivation I need! Bill sprang to life and took care of the stuff I
needed: food, drink, daytime glasses. Now it was time to hit the
short loop, which I would do for the rest of the time.
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The short loop is
even flatter than the long loop, but there are complications –
specifically, DOGS. There is one area where the race officials
actually marshalled folks through since there wasn't any way to
restrain the dogs. I figured that eventually they would wear out (the
dogs, not the officials!). I was right.
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On Saturday
morning, an organized century ride is using part of our route (66<sup>th</sup>
street). The first lap I encountered them, the riders were fresh and
fast – passing them was quite a challenge. Every succeeding lap,
the riders were a little slower and easier to pick off, which made
for fun “target” practice. Everyone was having great fun and
enjoying the sunshine and the nice weather.
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
With the new day,
Bill's job went from fairly easy (be awake and helpful every 6 hours)
to incredibly difficult (be awake and helpful every 50 minutes or so,
ingratiate yourself to the folks who can help us out of the jam we're
in, grab some internet time from the race director, start calling
around to figure out how to get the car fixed....). He made it look
easy. Of course I only saw a tiny fraction of the action, and when I
was there he was 110% there for me. One lap when I came in Ron
Swift's truck was re-charging our batteries so that we could keep
refrigeration going (thank you so much!!!!)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As the day wore on,
my lap times were up, then down, then up a bit, depending on shifting
winds, porta-potty stops, and the like. I was right on the edge of
being able to do 11 laps, which would've been a great result.
Eventually when I came in, the Astro was on a tow dolly, ready to be
hauled up to Indio to be repaired. Against very long odds, Bill had
managed to find a place that would replace the fuel pump on Saturday,
and have it ready for us after the race! He made the tow truck driver
wait while I pitted, which amused the driver quite a bit.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
At some point he
mentions that “Vic is here”. Vic Armijo (if you know him, you
probably know him from RAAM Media One) is a Humboldt guy, too. He's
currently living in Big Bear while Kathy is on assignment down there.
He's an amazing photographer, and took these pictures of me during
the race. He took a lot of other people's pictures, too, but they
have their own stories to tell.
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSfbRvKu0OdoaNqF7UUhPOgv1VnfbHy80z5ORxCw7IvdLmxC-GOH28PWC_WO144QoqF7y-QZ2HK9DlyCqrhwF833-KFAp7KRCwwilxrb5YN_JHvQ73WwBR1TQu0V8GifzrWw5SIRHRv0DQ/s1600/24hour+worlds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSfbRvKu0OdoaNqF7UUhPOgv1VnfbHy80z5ORxCw7IvdLmxC-GOH28PWC_WO144QoqF7y-QZ2HK9DlyCqrhwF833-KFAp7KRCwwilxrb5YN_JHvQ73WwBR1TQu0V8GifzrWw5SIRHRv0DQ/s640/24hour+worlds.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aaaw, he even turned his signature pink for me (-:</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJIP8MoVxt1x27QvE1zzxncODq5JBcPMsIMv72St6pUda6SRU_-Qg0NXu-e_5hu6_2Ie0kHsEqq5q400qZ5ouM6-ePOnCPsekTJdpXrfehOdcanOV0M9b6gpFZQKiCPdyo3p9eQA0Ur2R7/s1600/24hourheadon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJIP8MoVxt1x27QvE1zzxncODq5JBcPMsIMv72St6pUda6SRU_-Qg0NXu-e_5hu6_2Ie0kHsEqq5q400qZ5ouM6-ePOnCPsekTJdpXrfehOdcanOV0M9b6gpFZQKiCPdyo3p9eQA0Ur2R7/s640/24hourheadon.jpg" width="388" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vic nearly called this photo "in the pink". Unfortunately, I was already feeling a bit green.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now our stuff –
or at least what of it was spread out on the lawn in front of the
school, yard-sale fashion. Ron Swift's team (thanks again!!!) let us
store our popsicles in their freezer, which was great because that is
exactly what I was craving. If you have never had a rice pudding
popsicle, you should. In Spanish, the word is “paleta” - little
shovel – which is good to know since I've never seen these morsels
in places where English was the predominant language. They are
available in many flavors. Look for “Arroz con leche” if you'd
like to try rice pudding!</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicMyRPakeb0bXDmbs_KzC37371WSNbqZF9-sSPwnuXxuElljIBX425pebKU27z29U30Pq784wvwchSRBhjJJo1wnlNxcL8eNAgaxF9j0KpcLjtys8wTAaZg6ZgmGzkRi9OYyHauAJz74mx/s1600/2010086rice.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicMyRPakeb0bXDmbs_KzC37371WSNbqZF9-sSPwnuXxuElljIBX425pebKU27z29U30Pq784wvwchSRBhjJJo1wnlNxcL8eNAgaxF9j0KpcLjtys8wTAaZg6ZgmGzkRi9OYyHauAJz74mx/s400/2010086rice.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paleta Arroz con Leche - YUM! About 300 calories in this little gem...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In the early laps,
I pressed to build up some time cushion. Sometime late morning to
early afternoon, the hotfoot monster got to be a little harder to
handle. More ibuprofen – okay, a little better. Eventually it got
warm enough outside that dumping water on my head and torso seemed
like a good idea. I never felt hot, exactly – but it did occur to
me that the conjunction of 2PM + slightly sleepy might have something
to do with the heat of the day. Winds picked up in the daytime and in
the moment they seemed very capricious – seldom the same two laps
in a row. In retrospect, there was a very orderly progression of
valley winds from NW to WNW to WSW to SSW. One or two laps it seemed
like a headwind was dogging me the whole way around – then the next
lap a friendly bit of tailwind would appear where one had never been.
Pretty typical racing stuff.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In mid-afternoon the hotfoot came back with a vengeance. By this time
I was starting to feel a bit nauseated, so I knew that more ibuprofen
would be a bad idea. I had underfueled a bit and it was catching up
to me. I asked Bill for some “where am I” guidance: 400 miles was
going to be a soft target so long as I kept riding, none of the other
female competitors was close, and my main rabbit was about 45 minutes
back. Dialing it back served both my feet and my stomach, so that's
what I did. In the end game, you have a choice: cater to the weakest
link, or risk catastrophe. This is why I worked hard early on – to
have the option to play it safe.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Before I took off for what would be my last lap, Bill informed me
that he would probably not be there at the finish – he was heading
to Indio to retrieve the van via – I kid you not - “Yellow Cab of
the Desert”. He'll leave stuff for me at the start/finish. I
imagined him being swept away by Omar, the camel, the whole nine
yards, but evidently he had a very smooth, fast trip with a guy who
was a local and an excellent tour guide. It's starting to get dark.
Lights on, I head off one more time.
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijJhHLHd6WuRUooWXhzpRsbISaDyr6HYnJ6LlG4vYpzF4ieQWcbkjlsKJYJIbsQy7FVEAj3y9DiD2ep-rtJJJBahE5ig3SpldKUk3RXkMwUducUO2ACz98MkXoUUjvOl-41xsj2RzJIoW4/s1600/camel-taxi-20908107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijJhHLHd6WuRUooWXhzpRsbISaDyr6HYnJ6LlG4vYpzF4ieQWcbkjlsKJYJIbsQy7FVEAj3y9DiD2ep-rtJJJBahE5ig3SpldKUk3RXkMwUducUO2ACz98MkXoUUjvOl-41xsj2RzJIoW4/s320/camel-taxi-20908107.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Despite my concerns, the Taxi of the Desert was apparently a Crown Vic.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Down the long stretch of Harrison toward 66<sup>th</sup>. The wind is
totally flat, which I appreciate. A couple of 6 hour guys pass me,
fast and furious. Turn onto 66<sup>th</sup>. Still calm, starting to
get darker. Then a car flashes its lights at me. RATS! After 12
hours, my headlight has finally conked out. I know that I've got a
20-minute emergency reserve on it, but I guess I'd better save it for
when it's REALLY dark. Pull over and switch it off. Fortunately the
back-up light (a Blackburn Flea) is still lit. Just to be safe, I
switch it to flash mode; that way it will last a bit longer. Past the
turn onto Pierce, past the official at the Rez road intersection.
Still no wind. Oh. It would be a bit LESS dark if I took the
sunglasses off....just about then, the Flea sputters from dim to dark, too. Now
I've got to get home quickly – I don't have much reserve light
power at all, and the very last thing I want to do is to race 400
miles into a DQ. Soooo....pull over again, switch the light back on,
and do my very best impression of someone who's riding a bike kinda
quickly.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It worked – at least, I arrived at the finish line with my light still on, and rolled
through at a little past 5:30, leaving about a half an hour on the
clock. I was okay with that. I'd punched over 400 without long-loop support, I'd
beaten my rabbit, and I was the womens' world champion. Enough already! Getting off the
bike was comical. My legs wanted to keep spinning. Then my stomach
wanted to keep spinning. Guess who won that battle? Yup.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After I puked, some adventurous soul put a camera in my face and
interviewed me. I have not seen that video, but I imagine it's
hilarious. I got into some clean(er) dry(er) warm(er) clothes that
Bill had left and took up a cheering position next to Vic (my actual
cheering was on the feeble side, but I was there in spirit) until
Bill got back. After what seemed like a very long time of me sitting
and alternatively sipping 7Up and NOT sipping 7Up, The Red Pearl
sailed back to the race site. Bill packed everything up, then we said
our goodbyes and thank-yous (not enough of the latter, sorry if we
missed you!) and headed home.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The trip home was supremely uneventful. We made it as far as the top
of the Grapevine before hanging it up for the night. I managed to
sleep a little bit and woke to a much happier stomach. You'd think
I'd sleep like a stone after being up for so long; not so! The Sunday
drive was LONG, but we made it. I actually drove for an hour or so
when Bill finally wore out in southern Humboldt county. We picked up
Cog, our faithful dog, who was staying at the El Rancho Turk.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A couple of notes about the race. People presume that a flat race is
an “easy” race; not necessarily so. On flat ground, you are
either pedaling or slowing. In a race, slowing isn't so good, so you
are pedaling constantly. I figure that my feet were turning nearly 23
out of the 24 hours. Training specificity is something that I think a
lot of people overlook for a long, flat timetrial. Climbing hills is
great training, but it does give you occasional relief. I am actually
blessed with some really flat, boring places to train here: my 10x
Samoa loops, 150-lap neighborhood 200k, and even the long, headwindy
trips back from Breakfast in Miranda runs put the right kind of load
on my legs.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I also benefited greatly from having a very simple bike setup.
Friction shifting, fresh chain/cassette and tires, and a dialed-in
bike all meant that I had zero mechanical issues. I have a light
system with more than enough light to make it through the night (if
I'd have been thinking, I could've turned it off the last hour of the
morning before I came in from the second loop and avoided the problem
in the final lap...), so I didn't have to do any swaps. More light
might have been better/faster, but I think I maximized what I did
have by using less early (when there was a moon and there were other
racers in the vicinity) and more on the second lap. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I cut it pretty close on clothing (almost too chilly on the second lap), but I think the capilene tee was a great choice - just warm enough, and it had already been well tested in the heat. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And...dates
are really good race fuel.
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheV8Bnu5eyLbsTtIqW1fpnRwx0iNld7l1VSZTj5K90PQe2bXI8Ua17Ewo88nHDHn3wceVG1NKj6nRw687ZUN9hzs1HH5wZCO4TAeO6Y8QA0dr1gjzrkZpcErje7QIvyPGLNQ0WjVOU4rsW/s1600/DateNutritionFactLabel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheV8Bnu5eyLbsTtIqW1fpnRwx0iNld7l1VSZTj5K90PQe2bXI8Ua17Ewo88nHDHn3wceVG1NKj6nRw687ZUN9hzs1HH5wZCO4TAeO6Y8QA0dr1gjzrkZpcErje7QIvyPGLNQ0WjVOU4rsW/s400/DateNutritionFactLabel.jpg" width="181" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXxr6HS5nXkCkS3L_f9kmr9UBXk-ID0p1J-rGtA_GsczBGq5KchgAWMYG60r1BOsj0UtYyFu6GWNUQ4eXFE6AaVSCbJk5fmTN8kHjAzBRgh06J6gPfRDiNTGUrGWkztOlYg1kNPCx8UnFJ/s1600/upDates2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXxr6HS5nXkCkS3L_f9kmr9UBXk-ID0p1J-rGtA_GsczBGq5KchgAWMYG60r1BOsj0UtYyFu6GWNUQ4eXFE6AaVSCbJk5fmTN8kHjAzBRgh06J6gPfRDiNTGUrGWkztOlYg1kNPCx8UnFJ/s1600/upDates2.png" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Bill was a total rock throughout this whole adventure. Never panicked, always there, always upbeat, always taking care of business. You'd imagine that after this experience I would never, ever even <i>consider</i> doing a race without Bill on the crew. Guess what? You'd be wrong. And you'd be wrong because I happen to know that if there is anything that Bill is better at than crewing, it's being an AWESOME teammate. Next up...Bill and I are racing RAW as a 2x team. We've already rented out the Adobe Cottage down at Oceanside, and we're expecting to have a Most Excellent (if slightly pirate-themed) Adventure. We're recruiting crew....</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Still the luckiest person in the world, and signing off....Sandy</div>
Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-31657437892534970172013-11-11T12:09:00.002-08:002013-11-11T12:09:53.290-08:00Recovering from a 24 hour (or longer) race <h1>
It seems like every time I do a long race, someone asks,
“How long does it take for you to get back to normal afterwards?” Usually I
brush this question off with some seriously raised eyebrows, a shrug of the shoulders,
and a sharply-inflected, “<i>Normal…????</i>”.</h1>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As a tribe, ultradistance athletes tend to put a lot of
obsessive thought into preparation and execution, and let the aftermath sort of
happen. But it’s a serious enough question that it bears addressing – if for no
other reason than to give your coworkers and loved ones a better idea of what
to expect in the days following a big effort. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Putting it all out there for a long race means that you have
exposed yourself pretty fully to the elements for long enough to matter. By
definition you’ve been up for 24 hours or longer, and you’re hungry and
physically exhausted. Depending on the course conditions and how you and your
support team coped with them, you could also be injured (soft tissue or
otherwise), dehydrated, nauseous (or worse), and so on. So there’s a wide range
of recovery timelines. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But in general, racing ultra strips us down to the bare
minimum of human existence at the finish line. Fittingly, the recovery process
seems to strongly parallel a fast-tracked human development: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finish line: Delivery! Your time of arrival is recorded. You
are greeted, hugged, and swaddled. You quite possibly spew bodily fluids on
your crew. Everyone is excited and happy, even though you may be bawling your
head off. Awww - you’re the best li’l racer in the world – possibly in the
whole of human history!! Bazillions of photos are taken and posted to social
media. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over the next minutes to an hour, things calm down a bit,
you are given something to drink and closely watched for signs of trouble. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From there, you start to hit those little milestones: She
burped! She smiled! She can stand all by herself! <i>(by this time, there’s
probably a new racer finishing, so folks are starting to lose interest, and the
photos become less frequent. Welcome to the real world, baby…)</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Soon, you’ll be eating sold food, just like a big kid.
You’ll still need a sitter, and you’ll not be left alone or allowed to handle
sharp tools or such – but your crew’s attention is freed up to take care of
packing up the van. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the first day you will nap frequently and need
small-but-frequent feedings. You may be a picky eater. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As recovery continues, you reach the awkward, teenage stage.
Your sleep pattern is totally whacked out, you obsess over all of the
imperfections in all of those photos posted to social media <i>(“OMG - did they
HAVE to post the one with barf on my jersey??”)</i>, and you check and re-check
the event results page <i>(“Why can’t they get a simple set of results posted
to the internet? It’s been EIGHTEEN HOURS???”
-- it’s still lost on you that, just like you, the event director put
out a ton of energy and did not sleep for a day and a half, and needs some time
to be sure that they’ve got it right before they go live with results)</i>.
Distressing pimples may show up in distressing places where hygiene was lacking
or logistically impossible. You are unable to think straight <i>(what’s your
zip code??)</i> but have clear memories of the race that are so intense that
you laugh or cry readily. You can talk about your race, but little else. You
want to help drive the race van home, but the crew won’t let you. <i>Stupid
parents. What do they know?</i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Day two should in theory end with a good night’s sleep.
Let’s hope so, because from here, it’s a steep slide back to the real world and
adult responsibility. You wake up and realize that the party is really over,
and you will be going to work - tomorrow. That you have a report to read and
edit before then, that the dog is out of food, that the grass grew three inches
while you were gone, and that the coffee supply is dangerously low. And that
the words “Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness” are NOT just words. And that
thankfully you’ve got someone amazing to help you cope with all of this,
because it just seems like too damned much to deal with, at least today. Racing
is so much simpler than real life….</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Spend this day doing the minimum that you need to do to make
the transition less brutal. The lawn can (and should) wait for the weekend, but
feed the dog, skim that report, and for cripes’ sake, get some coffee! Eat
well, and start inching closer to your normal meal pattern. Treat sore muscles
to whatever works for you – massage, hot tub, easy recovery ride. Mentally
rehearse what you’re going to tell your coworkers about your adventure.
Double-check your closet: <i>do you have clean clothes for work?</i> Turn in
early, and give yourself a few extra minutes for the morning “routine”, which
may seem absolutely foreign for the first day or so of re-entry. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A feeling of letdown following a big race is common. It’s
easy to slide into a funk/depression that can really mess up your recovery.
Don’t let it. Real life CAN’T be what racing is, and we CAN’T be racing all the
time. Your real life is just that: Real. Life. And it’s damned good, and you’re
really lucky to be able to have both your real life and your racing life. <i>If
you can’t bust out of this funk on your own, <u>get help, quickly.</u> Life is
too short and too amazing….</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">When you choose to return to physical activity
depends a lot on how stressed you were by the race. Let any injuries (saddle sores, large contact blisters, broken
bones…) heal fully – and follow medical advice if you landed in the medical
tent. You don’t need to wait until all the muscle soreness subsides, but sore
muscles are stressed muscles, so you should be doing short, easy rides. Taking
off a full week - or two, or whatever
your body needs - WILL NOT HURT YOU, even if you have other races planned for
the season. </span>Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-58509999908534458342012-09-17T08:51:00.000-07:002012-09-17T09:15:22.459-07:00Labor Day Weekend 800k: Musashi Meanderings<br />
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>There’s nothing much finer in this world than the sharing
of great times with the ones you love.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Had to take Bill on a Long Trip prior to the 508. Labor Day
weekend was an excellent opportunity! Our friends Adrienne and Robert had just
completed their move down to Santa Rosa, a healthy 400k south. I figured –
let’s make a weekend of it! One day down, a short visit, and two days riding
back. Not shabby. We knew that we could easily make it from Willits to Arcata
during hours of daylight, so we got a motel there for Sunday night. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We wanted to “sort of” simulate race conditions – in other
words, we wanted to travel fairly fast, and fairly light. So instead of doing a
true “pack-it-all” tour, Bill sent a change of clothes ahead via UPS. Still,
packing everything we thought we’d need into the Musashis, even with two of the
Nashbar frame bag “triangles” each, was a challenge. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I packed tires and tubes. Bill concentrated on tools. He
also had to bring a pair of shoes (Adrienne had been considerate enough to
borrow a pair of mine the last time she was up, so I was already set in that
department). We would start out WEARING the jackets, but of course we’d need a
place to put them once things started to heat up…after a bit of finagling we
were pretty sure we had it nailed.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4AM is an awfully early start, sports fans – but we managed
it. Out into the dark, through Eureka, taking in the very last of the “blue
moon” (even though it was technically the first of the month, I still counted
it….). I got a flat just before sunup. It wasn’t quite light, and we couldn’t
quite figure out what had caused it, either – no obvious sign of a struggle
within the tire. I HATE replacing a tube without any idea whether the tire is
okay or not, but the universe wasn’t giving me much say in it. Fortunately the
tube held the rest of the way. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Avenue of the Giants just before sunup. Flying along!
Woo-hoo!!! We pulled over in Miranda to use the facilities. A touring group
pulled in shortly behind us. They had seen us go past their camp, had tried to
buck themselves up to catch us, then decided – nah. Best not to work so hard
before breakfast…One guy mentioned our kits – mine pink on pink on pink, and
Bill’s with the black and blue flames thing going on. I ventured that it made it
a lot easier to remember which bike to get on. They had started on Thursday,
were headed to San Fran, and would get there Monday. We suggested the breakfast
burritos at the Miranda Café. They went for it…</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We weren’t quite ready for a full stop, yet, so we soldiered
on to Garberville and picked up breakfast burritos of our own (there’s an
Azteca restaurant embedded in the Chevron station; it’s fast AND good). A
strung-out dude was drumming outside the gas station; I wasn’t sure if folks
were supposed to pay him to play, or to stop. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Onward. Can’t believe we (okay, “I”) struggled with the hill
to Leggett last year! Of course, it was quite a bit warmer then. By now it was
early afternoon and although the jackets had come off, it was maybe
mid-70’s. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From the south end of the Avenue through to nearly Ukiah, it
seemed like every second or third vehicle we saw was a Cal Fire rig.
Fortunately there wasn’t much smoke!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Laytonville – only real business here was to make sure that Wheels
was still open. Yep. That’s the “second breakfast” stop on the way home, for
sure! Willits – 83 minutes later (a full 7 minutes faster than last year,
despite a lingering headwind!) – we blew through, making sure that we found the
Pine Cone (where we’d stay Sunday night). </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Shortly before Ukiah, we need to get off of 101. Astute
readers will recall that this is the section of 101 that I rode last year where
I got (a) four flat tires in forty miles, and (b) escorted off the road by the
California State Patrol. We found the right exit – North State Street – and
started navigating the maze of instructions that Google Maps had given us. In
the end it was pretty simple. We stopped for some food in the middle of it – at
a (gasp!) McDonalds! - and were on our
way…onto some of the most beautiful roads I’ve ridden in quite some time,
actually. The 101 detour took us east of town, then South along River Road to
Hopland. Wine country, quiet roads, excellent scenery, and great company (for
me, at least). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At Hopland, we stopped for pizza. Actually, we stopped for
“anything-I-can-cram-in-my- mouth” and it ended up being pizza, which was just
fine with us. We had a nice chat with a young family who were very curious
about what we were up to, and how the bikes worked…and of course the little
girls wanted to know all about my (very pink) bike. Fun! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was almost 7PM by the time we rolled out of Hopland. We
used a bit of 101 again, then onto side roads until we got to Cloverdale, then
Healdsburg. Healdsburg was a bit of a challenge, navigationally – GM had
planned LOTS of little turns for us. I don’t know whether this was to take
advantage of bike lanes, to avoid stop signs, or to take us closer to
businesses who pay to advertise on Google, or what. Any way you slice it, lots
of unnecessary complication. At any rate, we blasted straight through town, and
although we spent a lot of time at stop signs, it wasn’t so bad. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We got lost in Santa Rosa. Specifically, we got lost in
Santa Rosa, less than a mile from R&A’s place. <i>Significantly</i> less
than a mile. Then we compounded the error by heading back the wrong direction
for quite a ways before it hit us that, as omniscient as Google Maps is,
Adrienne would probably know <i>just as well</i> how to get to her own house.
So we called. We were right. Once we got straightened out, Robert headed out to
the street to be a human traffic signal. We could see…blinky light….yellow
reflective something….headlight…yellow…blinky…as he slowly circled at the
entrance to their private road. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Woo-hoo!! We made it!!! Chris is there, too – his whole
family is, but Hope and their boys have gone to bed, as have Axel and Liam
(Liam’s a champion sleeper for a li’l guy). Apple p</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ie, THEN dinner (life should always be so…) as we catch up.
We open up the box of clothes and stuff, shower, and turn in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Sunday morning was a hoot! I think I was the first up, then Axel, then his
bleary-eyed Dad. Coffee was amazing (oh, I do miss something about Portland
after all: Stumptown Roasters….) and we were generally decompressing. Axel gave
me the tour of his bedroom. Nash caught frogs in the compost. Everyone had an
amazing farmhouse breakfast. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Then – off to the Sebastopol Farmers’ Market. We all biked there – a fun mix of
different bikes, all traveling together. Chris had his pretty-in-pink Pocket
Rocket, Hope on a Bacchetta, Henry on his bike, and Nash riding a teeny-tiny
Pinarello that was to die for gorgeous. Lucky kid! Adrienne was on her touring
bike, Robert had the boys in the box bike, and Bill and I had our Musashis. The
market was colorful and crowded and had a lot of good things to eat and look
at. I grabbed a raspberry lemonade iced tea. Bill grabbed pastries. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Home again, then a quick lunch, and it’s time to pack up. We
put our dirty clothes in the box, with a pre-paid label for Adrienne to UPS
them back to us, and stuffed everything else in the bike bags. I used a
combination of electrical tape and zip ties to fasten my sandals to the
chainstay. By the time we left, it was 1:30. We’d “planned on” getting started by
noon, but we had been pretty flexible on that from the get-go. With kids and
all, and wanting at least a little time for visiting, we weren’t in that big of
a rush. We called the Pine Cone and let ‘em know to keep the lights on for us. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The trip back to Willits was actually slightly faster than
the trip down, even though we were going uphill rather than down. We attributed
that mainly to better navigation. There’s a pretty good climb between Ukiah and
Willits – as a matter of fact, it pretty much dominates the terrain once you
get back onto 101 north of Ukiah. I was pretty determined to get that punched
out before it was “really” dark. With a gentle tail breeze and a setting sun,
we were kickin’ along in a middle gear and really not bothered by the climb.
Comparing notes later, we both were in our big chainrings and a biggish cog –
something like a 52/28. I stopped briefly as we hit the top and punched my
light into top gear. It made a big difference on the short descent down to
Willits.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We pulled into the Pine Cone. Bill checked us in while I
sent text messages out to let the folks who were keeping track of us that we’d
made our evening’s destination safely. I also noticed that one of my three
water bottles had cracked (bummer, but we’ll survive). After we got the bikes
parked, we weighed our options for dinner, which were few and far between given
that it was now 9PM. On Sunday. In Willits. We probably could’ve hoofed it down
to the Safeway, but we were not in a mood to wander – so McDonalds it was (again
– sigh). After that we picked up some yogurt and snacks and coffee/energy
drinks at the minimart next to the hotel and called it a night….</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">…since we were getting up at 5 AM, which came around very
soon. We were planning to take off at 6AM. I know that it doesn’t seem like it
OUGHT to take a full hour to launch two bikes out of a hotel room, but there’s
some fearsome logistics to consider: you have to….</span></div>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Get up
(no mean feat)</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Get
dressed</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Eat
breakfast</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Use
the bathroom</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pack
everything up</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Double
check the bike</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Zip-tie
the sandals to the frame (OK, I could’ve done that last night, but I was
lazy…)</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Double-check
your double-checking <i>(and still miss something, as you’ll see…)<o:p></o:p></i></span></li>
</ul>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And so on. We were rolling just a minute or two after 6,
which I figure was stellar. We were using headlights for the first hour or so,
and saw LOTS of deer. By the time we were out of town the Cal Fire folk were
stirring, too, but other than that, there’s not much traffic on a Labor Day
morning. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We were riding pretty hard. Destination: Laytonville. Home
of Wheels Café. It’s a great breakfast stop, and any day when “second breakfast”
starts before 8AM is going well. I had the “keilbasa special” which may or may
not have been a small strategic error. On the one hand, it stayed with me a
long time. On the other hand, it made darned sure that I knew it was staying
with me….</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Onward. Up and over Rattlesnake Ridge, which somehow came
and went without remembering to bite us. Standish-Hickey – we were spotted by
Barb and Cammy, who managed to pull over and call Mary to report a “Bindy
Sighting” without us noticing them one bit. Figuring on our next stop being
Garberville again…but we stopped a bit short, at the gas station across the
street from the “One Log House” – just south of Richardson’s Grove. Since I was
down to two water bottles, I needed to load up. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We took advantage of the facilities, got ourselves fed. By
this time Bill had totally given up on “healthy” and was digging into anything
with calories. He grabbed two beef and cheese “Tornados” <i>(tagline: “A
whirlwind of flavor”)</i>. He offered to share. I was hesitant, but eventually
I succumbed. Jackets off again. <i>Why is it that every time you stuff a jacket
into the same @#$&* space it takes up a little more room? Hygroscopic
expansion? </i></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Past Garberville. Hit the south end of the Avenue at about
1:00 – good time. We’re flying along up the Avenue – definitely on familiar
roads today. By the time we get to Redcrest, it’s pretty warm, and I’m out of
fluids again. So we stopped for ice water, iced tea, and…ice cream. Nice to
have a theme….back on the bikes. This is where I discover that I’ve got a slow
leak in my front tire. I’ve not checked it since we left Arcata, and it’s
almost flat. We pump it up and hope that it will hang in there.<i> I hate suspense,
so I’ll let you know that it does.</i> By the time we get to the Blackberry
Popsickle stand in Pepperwood, we’re not inclined to stop. We’re really ready
to get home. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Off the Avenue right around 3PM, and headed for Rio Dell,
Fortuna, and points North. Arriving back on 101 means that we can’t hide from
the wind any more, and it’s a pretty stiff headwind. I took stock. For the past
450+ miles, Bill has ridden steadfastly behind me – just out of a legal draft.
When I’ve slowed, he’s slowed, even though it must be painfully difficult for
him to climb as slow as me. I don’t know what’s motivating him to do that, but
it struck me that forcing yourself to follow in someone else’s tire tracks
might be a pretty good training tactic. So I decided to be the very best training
partner I can be, and I kicked it up a notch. Or two. Or more. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It worked. We pulled off at Fernbridge – our last
opportunity to hit a blue room before Eureka – and Bill was nearing his limit,
too. Woo-hoo!! We were having a GRAND time, and when we rolled into the gas
station, we were both gasping for air and laughing like loons. Reminded me
suspiciously of the ride where we met…</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Honestly, I don’t remember much about the very last bit of
the ride. We were just really, really focused on getting home. We so much
wanted to tell David and Mary about our adventure. Part of me was thinking, hey
– we should just ride straight to their house, don’t waste time showering, it’s
right on the way, and time is short. But when we got to the point where we would turn up Janes’
Road to David’s house, there was a strange van there. So we didn’t. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you don’t want to read the rest of this post, well, I
don’t blame you. You can stop right here and rest assured that the two of us
had another very excellent adventure, and know that when you come right down to
it, <i>there’s nothing much finer in this world than the sharing of great times
with the ones you love</i>. I won’t blame you for quitting while we’re ahead.
Because quite frankly the rest of this post sucks. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’d planned on calling my folks while we waited for
breakfast. Since they were such a big help in getting Bill’s Musashi home, I
wanted to make sure that they knew we were out having fun with it. But I didn’t
have a signal in Laytonville, so I turned my phone off. When we got home, turns out I had missed
several text messages. One of them – “Call when you get home”…well, I knew. We
would never tell David about our amazing adventure. David died while we were
pounding along 101, right around Rio Dell – the site of the infamous Team Raven
Lunatics Golf Tournament. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">David had liposarcoma. He lived about thirteen years after
being diagnosed. About half of his kids’ lives. He worked like crazy to stay
alive. But the cancer won. And that sucks. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is not one good thing about this. Some people say that
they really “find themselves” after a cancer diagnosis – that it’s a wakeup
call, that they live life more fully, that they get to do things that they
might never had if cancer hadn’t come along and given them a good, swift kick
in the pants. And I’m glad that some folks have found that positive, or at
least that peace, within their cancer. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But that’s not David. David did not need a good, swift kick
in the pants. David WAS a good, swift kick in the pants. He already knew who he
was, he already knew what he wanted to do, he was already DOING it, and he was
an amazing friend and advocate and just overall good person. He made the people
around him laugh, and he made us better people. Cancer didn’t make him that
way. It just chipped away, little by little, at his ability to do the things
that made him who he was. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">David was an incredibly hard worker. It seemed to come
naturally to him. And the cool thing was that no matter how hard he worked,
there wasn’t ever a trace of irony, bitterness, or martyrdom to it: if
something needed doing, he was doing it, not worrying about who WASN’T doing
their share. He could see what needed doing and he did it without fanfare. He
wasn’t shy about telling those close to them when they were slacking, or that
they’d missed doing something important. But he was always nice about it. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lots of people will say/have said that David fought a
“brave” battle against cancer, and how much that inspires them. That’s cool:
David inspired me, too. I’m lucky that I knew the “non-cancer” part of him
better than a lot of people. But I don’t know about his personal war on cancer
being “brave” – I’d not argue against it, but the main thing that struck me was
that he fought as HARD as he could for as long as he could. It could have been
equally “brave” to face a deadly cancer by not going for state-of-the-art
treatment. It certainly would have been easier. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He fought so hard because he very much loved being alive. He
was not neutral on this one bit. Clearly he wasn’t afraid of dying – every
treatment that he endured carried the risk of killing him quickly and without
mercy. Through the years he put up with a lot of shit that you or I or many
perfectly reasonable and equally brave folks might have decided was just not
worth it for the privilege of being alive. It made him sick. It made him weak,
which he hated even more than being sick. And from time to time, it kept him
off his beloved bike, which he really, really hated. But he did it. And he did
it because it represented his very best mathematical odds of staying with us
until a real cure emerged. To stay alive. Here. Doing things and being David.
Because that was worth it to him. And he was right. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I look back on all the things that David was able to do
in the last years of his life, even with the cancer and the chemo and
everything, it’s amazing to me. It’s a real testament to his force of
character, and a constant reminder to me: Every day matters. Even the sucky
days matter, because they are what get you to other, possibly better days. And
you just never know what your presence here might bring….</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">… I strongly suspect that December 31, 2009 was at best a
medium-sucky day for David. David had just finished a way-too-long siege with chemo,
and then radiation, in Houston, and he was facing major surgery in a few weeks.
But – he was alive, and he was home, which meant that I was down visiting, and
he was being an amazing host. He could barely make it up a couple of the local
hills, but – being David – he knew that I needed some good, healthy exercise.
So he brought this friend of his, some neighbor guy, out to ride Fieldbrook
with us. Whoever he was, this guy was pretty strong – I’d be the first to admit
it – and he handily beat me up the hill. He waited patiently for me at the top,
and we even got to chat a bit while we were waiting for David. He told me about
the other side – the descent, and then the slightly descending rollers…and we
were off! I let him go first, figuring I would only slow down a “local” on the
real descent…but the rollers? Woo-AND-hoo!! I was off like a shot. We were both
working as hard as we could – no quarter given, none asked. And when we arrived
at the bottom, we were both gasping for air and laughing like loons, waiting
for David to roll down at his leisure. What fun! <i>There’s nothing much finer
in this world than the sharing of great times with the ones you love… <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">David’s last ride was STP. Yes - he was able to kick out a
200 mile weekend just a few weeks before he died. I would LOVE to get my hands
on just a single can of whatever personal whoop-ass he opened up to get that
done. But his guts had already decided to revolt. No food, no energy, no
strength, and, after STP, no more biking. It was becoming too much to fight
against. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Friends came to visit. Bill and I took everything we’d
learned from David about Raven Lunatic hospitality and we tried to apply it to the utmost. We
called and emailed the people who were close enough to care a lot, but not
close enough geographically to “get” that this was, really, <i>it</i>. He was
amazed at how many people called and wrote. “So-and-so called today”, he’d say to me. “<i>Someone</i>
must be really worried…” <i>(rolling his eyes).</i> It was a tough line to
walk. I didn’t want him to feel like I was ratting him out – but I worried that
by the time he thought to tell people, he’d be really too weak to talk or
visit. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Relatives came, left, came back, stayed. There were a lot of
visitors and gatherings. They tired him out sometimes but he never complained,
or at least he never complained to us. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">David died on Labor Day. He slipped away gently and without
pain. It was duly reported in the paper, on BROL, and on his Caringbridge site.
Mary gathered up the family and friends and had an after-party at the Grange.
Folks who don’t know David other than as a cyclist might not have guessed that
he was an accomplished square dancer. He met his wife square dancing – at the
same Grange hall, some years back. It was a potluck gathering. A total feast.
Great music, great company, good times. Mary hung David’s event tees in the
hall, and urged folks to take one home with them. Many did. It will be good to
see those shirts all over town. <i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We cleaned up the hall, and went home, and went
to sleep, and woke up, and had breakfast. There’s so much to do. We’d best be
at it. Because making the most of being here, and being alive, is an incredible
privilege. <i>There’s nothing much finer in this world than the sharing of
great times with the ones you love. But I sure wish David was still here,
sharing those times with us.</i></span>Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-44401526062626961552012-07-14T17:23:00.000-07:002012-07-14T17:37:24.835-07:00First Annual....Golf Tournament??Yes, sports fans - it's come to this. <strong>I've turned my attention to golf. </strong><br />
<em>(An audible gasp rustles through the gallery: "Ooooh. Has she cracked? Is she retiring from cycling?? WTF???)</em><br />
Nope. But some months ago, on one of our "Breakfast in Miranda" training rides, Bill noted that there is a golf course in the heart of Rio Dell, and that it might be cool to ride down sometime, play a round, and ride back.<br />
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Since the 4th fell smack-dab in the middle of the week this year, he got the brilliant idea that we should do it then - and since so many folks wouldn't be traveling, we should invite the Latte Warriors to join us. Thus was born the Team Raven Lunatics First Annual Fourth of July Bike and Golf Tournament. <br />
We called the clubhouse and - sure enough, they were planning on being open. So: - I put out a flyer, and David and Mary sent it out to the Latte Warriors and a bunch of other people. </div>
Oh. This is the point where I should mention that we're talking about the sort of golf that traditionally involves windmills and clowns' mouths (though the logging-themed <a href="http://redwoodminigolf.com/" target="_blank">Redwood Mini Golf</a> actually features neither). <br />
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Now a golf tournament that has "closest to the tee" and "best costume" as goals is somewhere this side of "serious golf", even for mini golf. Still, I wanted to make sure that everyone's efforts were amply rewarded. So - in true ultracyclist fashion, Bill and I headed off to the Dollar Store for prizes. </div>
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At this point we were figuring maybe a dozen people would show up at the outside. We could count 8 for sures. I decided to go deep with the prizes - we were set for at least 18. A $1 golf set? Sure! Expand-o-Towels - throw 'em in! Hey, there's a great "best dressed" prize. I had no clue who was going to win the pink leopard hat, but it certainly caught my eye and would have to go to someone special. Ribbons for the winners, a fan for closest to the tee...a few more random goodies, and - The Coveted Raven Lunatics Cup for overall best-of-event achievement. </div>
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We were all set. David, Bill, Mary and I were taking turns driving the Team Van down for a sag wagon. We figured that many folks would want a ride home since it would be late afternoon before we finished, even if we did hit my predicted "high noon" teetime. </div>
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And they're off! Four of us - David, Bill, Ryan, and me - took off from City Hall just after 9. Carol, Steve and Noreen joined us along Old Arcata Road. We took the back way through town, coming out to 101 at Elk River Road, where Mary had parked the van at the park-and-ride before riding south with Wendy, who she'd picked up along the way. </div>
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I got to the van first. Mercifully, I had time for a quick errand behind the van before the rest of the gang got there. Noreen and Ryan went straight onto 101, but the guys headed to the van to help sort things out. Before I could mention anything, Bill popped behind the van. "<em>Careful over there, I spilled some coffee...".</em> Of course he was spilling coffee, too. And to mis-quote Arlo Guthrie, one big puddle of coffee is better than two small ones...</div>
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I volunteered to drive the next leg, vowing to get to the regroup and take off straightaway. Hah. Our regroup was the <a href="http://www.loletabakery.com/" target="_blank">Loleta Bakery</a>, which sucks cyclists into its caffeine and carbs time vortex and seldom lets them go without a struggle. Or, at the very least, a snickerdoodle. </div>
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When I got there, several cyclists had arrived ahead of me. No one was in a particular hurry to leave. Can't say as I blame them - perfect weather, picnic table, prime pastries...and the certain knowledge that you weren't the last one as there were a bunch more riders on the road. </div>
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My resolve crumbled faster than the cookie I was about to consume. Double chocolate chunk and a cup of dark roast. But then I needed to turn my attention to more important matters: I was the director of a golf tournament, for cripes sakes. I'm...responsible. At the very least,<strong><em> I</em></strong> should get to the links before noon, just in case someone was planning on meeting us there and was taking the noon start time seriously. </div>
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So off I went, with a fair head of steam. I opted for the freeway rather than the longer route around the Three Sisters (the early warmup climbs of the TUC). I got there a few minutes before noon and headed for the clubhouse. </div>
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During the trip down, I made some decisions about how to organize the "tournament". Sometimes decisions are driven by the oddest things and since I'd really not had a clue how many were showing up, I pretty much figured I'd wing it on game day. It turned out that a few of the prizes came in threes, so it made sense to do threesomes. There were seventeen folks playing, so that meant (almost...) six threesomes. With six groups, I could break up all of the couples and pair each of our junior participants with one of her parents. Give each team a team color...just have to figure out how to put an extra score onto the one team that was going to be short....</div>
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I grabbed scorecards for everyone and headed out of the clubhouse to ponder this. As I stepped into the sunshine, something familiar caught the corner of my eye. But it didn't make sense - every 2011 Sebring T shirt in our neck of the woods belonged on the back of someone that was riding a bike several miles north of here. Slowly accumulating data...ambling gait, desert hat, pruning shears...whatthe...JIM KERN. Not only that, he'd brought Tim Woudenberg - two of the deans of recumbent distance cycling drove up from San Fran to crash "my" golf tournament. Go figure...well, of course they were mainly there to sneak in a visit with David and catch up on RAAM gossip. Well, that made filling out the last threesome easy: I assigned the two of them to tag-team it. </div>
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We took off in color order: <strong><span style="color: red;">R</span><span style="color: orange;">O</span><span style="color: yellow;">Y</span> <span style="color: lime;">G</span> <span style="color: blue;">B</span><span style="color: purple;">V</span></strong>. I was in the red threesome, which I guess sounds slightly less interesting than being in the "blue threesome", which David headed up. But going first gave me a little more time to tabulate results. </div>
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Mini golf is a fairly random sport - by which I mean that (a) you can't predict who's going to be a putting ace, and (b) random luck smiles down on you every so often. Doug got the first ace, shortly followed by Bill, and Steve, and then some others. Sometimes Lady Luck frowned, and you 5-putted. Sometimes your teammates inadvertently improved (or demolished) your lie. The wind picked up, which I suppose affected someone, sometime. But no one complained. </div>
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Here are some photos...</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_1rXkrEYwXNL1dQ-Qyao0eqmFEzQu_9NDLnDXb95bSfPFuevWsuUgNMXqKL9_ZT72iv48DtSjWtKTIXmb63w655x0lcXdaTs09hRZGweS3FLmzx5RuMvbq7nuU7AmLg4rcFqdmtfNJj37/s1600/DSC00417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img $ca="true" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_1rXkrEYwXNL1dQ-Qyao0eqmFEzQu_9NDLnDXb95bSfPFuevWsuUgNMXqKL9_ZT72iv48DtSjWtKTIXmb63w655x0lcXdaTs09hRZGweS3FLmzx5RuMvbq7nuU7AmLg4rcFqdmtfNJj37/s320/DSC00417.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Team Blue in the sahdow of Logger Dude Statue</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPfenGMKh1Wz4p1A4-XRj_keisTlg_k80lxrzXcDhcwLYJOZKibpNgq8OFvvHYhwiHEiHM0LHESFuXlpJH6Fad2fY_0VNqAziruJocSgsMzjfeXl4PDNozrqsPFcMczr82x9UhviAO7K05/s1600/DSC00418.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img $ca="true" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPfenGMKh1Wz4p1A4-XRj_keisTlg_k80lxrzXcDhcwLYJOZKibpNgq8OFvvHYhwiHEiHM0LHESFuXlpJH6Fad2fY_0VNqAziruJocSgsMzjfeXl4PDNozrqsPFcMczr82x9UhviAO7K05/s320/DSC00418.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wendy surveys her shot</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRM-TGztpMgSvoqICxCDcckOTVJ9WLew13OUEpBP3JzQT9LCpfjWkYTbAuK1fulupu1kyyZzClC82ONhNzsqp2yecaFcnJF1mea9vSRJRu-1pVs1sNct8KF9JUuEqa38OcW3oYHsbOUmR7/s1600/DSC00419.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img $ca="true" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRM-TGztpMgSvoqICxCDcckOTVJ9WLew13OUEpBP3JzQT9LCpfjWkYTbAuK1fulupu1kyyZzClC82ONhNzsqp2yecaFcnJF1mea9vSRJRu-1pVs1sNct8KF9JUuEqa38OcW3oYHsbOUmR7/s320/DSC00419.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Despite Hawaiian shirt and flaming socks, Bill did NOT win "best costume"...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghJsZOgLJja_DCCtcsi_UQXZxmuvz10RPJXWtd1gpJYStdIUrioLCBPCGbMOygjXegXvmOFzgtJvmsc15VpN7luB_Tap7z1cYnR2vS27vWQNnZihvtBmQPu9syssfnKUcUpSkhmwCJTo_t/s1600/DSC00420.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img $ca="true" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghJsZOgLJja_DCCtcsi_UQXZxmuvz10RPJXWtd1gpJYStdIUrioLCBPCGbMOygjXegXvmOFzgtJvmsc15VpN7luB_Tap7z1cYnR2vS27vWQNnZihvtBmQPu9syssfnKUcUpSkhmwCJTo_t/s320/DSC00420.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doug (Team Orange) in the foreground; Team Yellow in the background.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRtjU1o6z2dN8pKf_RJ3Qhel2E703Oc__VcN8uO5gjzddUXNMeVCTbgOhjzvVinB4te2sIpZDDxpVCfU5tpNxr5J-oJVT2OXoXqjNq_KAFst7Q-FgqzCS7xKr0q6r05BQRyCVFG9KV8Y7c/s1600/DSC00422.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img $ca="true" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRtjU1o6z2dN8pKf_RJ3Qhel2E703Oc__VcN8uO5gjzddUXNMeVCTbgOhjzvVinB4te2sIpZDDxpVCfU5tpNxr5J-oJVT2OXoXqjNq_KAFst7Q-FgqzCS7xKr0q6r05BQRyCVFG9KV8Y7c/s320/DSC00422.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coco waits. And waits. Having a physicist on your team OUGHT to be an advantage, right??</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiIozTvXAlUjCIk7SY42-Vu-2qg6uB1xaKVXUbOC1zwZ5fRKf6x8BqtFDCuViGqKji3BDuF8BhB5pehcfNCHFkF_I3F-i1WlWbP_CCbvSZkYKQ3Rs3iEIFkNPzLVlsM_J0oQEm1pehqCiV/s1600/DSC00425.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img $ca="true" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiIozTvXAlUjCIk7SY42-Vu-2qg6uB1xaKVXUbOC1zwZ5fRKf6x8BqtFDCuViGqKji3BDuF8BhB5pehcfNCHFkF_I3F-i1WlWbP_CCbvSZkYKQ3Rs3iEIFkNPzLVlsM_J0oQEm1pehqCiV/s320/DSC00425.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No clowns, lots of loggers - welcome to mini golf, Humboldt style!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAl1hKeKH177zJfyDOI3cigqADWoWogpqMjjWnoDjOxG1-H668OpzkuwKQDhF2JhxIbVdS_dNKyGafsaQ96sOG2FRSyh6Cx8hHkyYyHYwXyCwonyPmaWj-Nxf-WbJMl6YvNxg-avkD7eTT/s1600/DSC00411.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img $ca="true" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAl1hKeKH177zJfyDOI3cigqADWoWogpqMjjWnoDjOxG1-H668OpzkuwKQDhF2JhxIbVdS_dNKyGafsaQ96sOG2FRSyh6Cx8hHkyYyHYwXyCwonyPmaWj-Nxf-WbJMl6YvNxg-avkD7eTT/s320/DSC00411.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Noreen fights through the wind on the front nine.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmOX4SoeZCBL_XQUY19OZ-HUBa9PFStLZsMdtO4TPPX4NgByu6-NsqEz3raUsSzorEzQhhATbob39VxxlBr_b7wnEeYIxPS031IzLtDynmXMAwjQFKLsgqKm14NexR0I5et4aXaxIKAEVT/s1600/DSC00434.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img $ca="true" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmOX4SoeZCBL_XQUY19OZ-HUBa9PFStLZsMdtO4TPPX4NgByu6-NsqEz3raUsSzorEzQhhATbob39VxxlBr_b7wnEeYIxPS031IzLtDynmXMAwjQFKLsgqKm14NexR0I5et4aXaxIKAEVT/s320/DSC00434.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coco watches as her teammate putts.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Team Green putts again!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8mMRCt3D0Z7_aGL_azR2osIlyCJgd6b-M6gvsZt4ANMXJXVg9JhvRmD2oO-_pZjneQIM4tDbj3ASrBT6UzXZjS8q3Vdhe1DZNO0-3kTGgxeZczWZMf3CIKhF7G-pd51OnjTYyNlDjkZaV/s1600/DSC00438.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img $ca="true" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8mMRCt3D0Z7_aGL_azR2osIlyCJgd6b-M6gvsZt4ANMXJXVg9JhvRmD2oO-_pZjneQIM4tDbj3ASrBT6UzXZjS8q3Vdhe1DZNO0-3kTGgxeZczWZMf3CIKhF7G-pd51OnjTYyNlDjkZaV/s320/DSC00438.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Team Yellow watches nervously - will the Blues catch them?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY4pHONYn14pgCovzMPYxtfimvdaeEgdiucnamMQTl_nqdfL5XZKOwlz2fKaxi_QdxOQ5X23ECUbp0O6_frjeTQlYBOaN4F9xIwKBNs_b3Spa9HzlzMlxq_WCBBEAdNVRdfQfYPG_2ILx9/s1600/DSC00453.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img $ca="true" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY4pHONYn14pgCovzMPYxtfimvdaeEgdiucnamMQTl_nqdfL5XZKOwlz2fKaxi_QdxOQ5X23ECUbp0O6_frjeTQlYBOaN4F9xIwKBNs_b3Spa9HzlzMlxq_WCBBEAdNVRdfQfYPG_2ILx9/s320/DSC00453.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">it...could...go...all...the...way....</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBHzcEV8bZP63JrXW0QykRtrYhyol4bniSWU3S185ChHuZIok3_KSNoOHuI7BMH-d5dacv7HyfU85RVq4nhyphenhyphenX3fR1W1HVETkxzLWkiPNgUcMRzqg2InzXDiLv9iYm7-nXMafNZOxdzo1xg/s1600/DSC00455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img $ca="true" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBHzcEV8bZP63JrXW0QykRtrYhyol4bniSWU3S185ChHuZIok3_KSNoOHuI7BMH-d5dacv7HyfU85RVq4nhyphenhyphenX3fR1W1HVETkxzLWkiPNgUcMRzqg2InzXDiLv9iYm7-nXMafNZOxdzo1xg/s320/DSC00455.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">not sure how to improve this lie...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh418HF-9cT6UOzxoclHKEe96II89p0seucl0HMWcn6mybjkeUpMYduMKkAXTE4-N2wqKKHEI7q5tNwDS4izXjKZZRVRXAKtPqpVcnhc3_AiFDlufSQV3_DLy-gZzPgkMEahFCFnBjUlytW/s1600/DSC00469.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img $ca="true" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh418HF-9cT6UOzxoclHKEe96II89p0seucl0HMWcn6mybjkeUpMYduMKkAXTE4-N2wqKKHEI7q5tNwDS4izXjKZZRVRXAKtPqpVcnhc3_AiFDlufSQV3_DLy-gZzPgkMEahFCFnBjUlytW/s320/DSC00469.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...words fail me. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3cUx61sDlldKlsmrHVuYGRZKAVERnXBTDwBGB9oTV1uRdQVPj2jAvR6EkDbQfiGHGF5cO1zkQBoIn335zT-qbahW56eOXcftlz3vn3SceKr8Dxz7gAXN9_xUJbxNQa6uFY-kaJB7ziUwt/s1600/DSC00475.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img $ca="true" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3cUx61sDlldKlsmrHVuYGRZKAVERnXBTDwBGB9oTV1uRdQVPj2jAvR6EkDbQfiGHGF5cO1zkQBoIn335zT-qbahW56eOXcftlz3vn3SceKr8Dxz7gAXN9_xUJbxNQa6uFY-kaJB7ziUwt/s320/DSC00475.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coco won the "dramatic finish" award - pink AND leopard!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK6A9ryTZaHs28CsfPyE32_tpHNYAEe6uI58v9C7J9YUq9HfpEOMZxQAg0dRpRh_js-mX9ATmqOvwHHjNQMuLOSEXSkCSOfFYtiMv-QSKGTWCVmGmfi0xwhilHA335mHe9iGq-KJFjO3Hb/s1600/DSC00477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img $ca="true" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK6A9ryTZaHs28CsfPyE32_tpHNYAEe6uI58v9C7J9YUq9HfpEOMZxQAg0dRpRh_js-mX9ATmqOvwHHjNQMuLOSEXSkCSOfFYtiMv-QSKGTWCVmGmfi0xwhilHA335mHe9iGq-KJFjO3Hb/s320/DSC00477.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tim brought Jenga to occupy the gang while they were waiting for awards</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZFgN8PiRuqfmaOlBMmEGUQmr5irvBF4sLYSCWHO_Brwfu-zAyHiTz_ZBO2WMs2_W5gg1qlLObZqBaz8eCSXEDg3KI1y0G4QQArigpHL6KaPCpjgzmV1KfySSvSY6KqpBGDbTjUS73dHoE/s1600/DSC00478.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img $ca="true" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZFgN8PiRuqfmaOlBMmEGUQmr5irvBF4sLYSCWHO_Brwfu-zAyHiTz_ZBO2WMs2_W5gg1qlLObZqBaz8eCSXEDg3KI1y0G4QQArigpHL6KaPCpjgzmV1KfySSvSY6KqpBGDbTjUS73dHoE/s320/DSC00478.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...with the predictable result.</td></tr>
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Some highlights of the tournament: </div>
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Willard got the low individual score, but the Yellows won the team competition. Coco nearly aced the nearly-impossible last hole, and David...well, he came close, too, sort of (see photos above). Wendy won the closest to the tee competition. If I'd gone three or four places deep, I think she might've won more than once. Coco won the "high drama" award for her amazing finishing shot, which netted her the amazing pink leopard hat. Last, and certainly not least, Mary won <span style="font-family: inherit;">The Coveted Raven Lunatics Cup</span>. Not only did she anchor Team Yellow, she was second low score overall, AND she had the best decorated bike. </div>
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After the awards ceremony, we packed it up. Bill and I headed for home. David left a few minutes behind us, not far behind Noreen, Steve, and Doug. The rest of the gang (I think, mostly) piled into the Team Van and headed north. Tim and Jim were kind enough to drive north and cook up an amazing barbeque dinner before turning around and heading south. Quite the whirlwind tour for them...</div>
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That left nothing for us to do but - Fireworks! Last year we'd been a little bit too tired after our "through the trees" cyclo-touring adventure, but this year we were up for it. Great display, though I'm not quite sure that I'll ever get used to the West Coast tradition of hats, gloves, and down jackets in the middle of summer. </div>
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<br /></div>Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-32372347114934852172012-07-09T08:52:00.000-07:002012-07-09T08:55:10.998-07:00Going nowhere...fastEvery once in a while, people ask me, "What do you think about during those long rides?". Admittedly, sometimes it comes out sounding more like, "What were you THINKING???", which might or might not be the same question.<br />
Either way, on my last stupid-long ride I did my best to record my thoughts, as they occurred, for your reading pleasure.<br />
The ride was Sandy's Neighborhood 200k - 150 laps of a 0.79-mile loop. It's the longest route that you can take through our immediate neighborhood that (a) keeps us off main roads, (b) avoids most left-hand turns, and (c) goes conveniently past our house. Astute readers will note that it would actually take 157 laps to make a true 120k. I cut it off at 150 because it's a convenient number that's arguably close enough.<br />
This is ALWAYS a night ride, because I want to do it with as few vehicles on the road as possible and during the daytime there's no reason to stay so close to home. Bill and David often join me, but this time I was solo. David is winding down for the upcoming STP, and Bill had a full day of climbing ahead of him on Sunday morning (yes, he's one of those guys who CAN get a full day of climbing in before noon...) in preparation for Furnace Creek.<br />
I started at 0100 and finished just before 0630, with 11 minutes of downtime.<br />
<br />
Here we go.....<br />
Lap 0: Whoof. Strong odor of skunk. Hope Cog is inside.<br />
1: there's a cat.<br />
2. there's another cat.<br />
3: whoopsie. further outside on that corner. Pothole.<br />
4: hope that was a cat.<br />
5: better. take the line<b> through </b>the black mark on the pavement.<br />
6: cat is crossing my path. Hope it isn't black. REALLY hope it isn't black and white.<br />
7: THROUGH the black mark, not inside it.<br />
8-13: mu-mu-mu-mySharona <i>(didn't bring iPod, singing to self...)</i><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">14: wonder if cats get sprayed by skunks? Everyone talks about dogs and skunks. Probably not.</span><br />
15: THROUGH the black mark, doggone it! (quick stop to readjust light, which is now aiming straight up courtesy of the pothole).<br />
16: speaking of lights aiming up - the searchlights are still going strong at the Eureka waterfront carnival.<br />
17: only 33 laps until my first planned stop.<br />
18: love the new seat pad.<br />
19: nice cornering! Did that one with ONLY countersteer. Cool!<br />
20-24: Hey, Soul Sister!<br />
25: halfway to the planned stop. Guess I should drink something.<br />
26: OK, seriously need to get on a schedule here. I'll take a drink every time I pass the little motorhome on the left.<br />
27-37: Here's the motorhome, take a drink.<br />
38: That's too often. How about every OTHER time we pass the motorhome...<br />
39: OK, if the lap is about 3/4 of a mile, I'm drinking every 1.5 miles. On a 3/8 mile lap that will be every four laps.<br />
40: ten laps to a potty break.<br />
41: I don't think I'm going to need a break, wonder if I can make it to 75? Then I'd only have one stop.<br />
42: bar traffic is heading home. Watch yourself.<br />
43: I swear that every youth in Arcata is issued a black hoodie to wear when they're wandering at night.<br />
44-49: bring pace up slightly. Smoooooth in the corners.<br />
50: Nope, I don't need a pit stop. Nearly done with one bottle. Start in on an energy bar soon.<br />
51: Really wish I'd have opened the bar ahead of time. This is a pain.<br />
52-60: I love my bike. I love my bike. I really...love...my...bike.<br />
61: Whoa! I've blown the same stop sign 61 times in a row. Wonder what the record for that is?<br />
62: Car parked by side of the road, motor running. Clumsy sex, pot deal, or both?<br />
63: cats are active again. There are a LOT of cats in this neighborhood.<br />
64: I wonder if I'll have to stop at 75, or if I should push it on to 100 laps? So far, so good...<br />
65-69: mu-mu-mu-my Sharona.<br />
70: I am NEVER doing this ride without an iPod again.....<br />
71: Oh, yeah! We were going to put reflective tape on that fire hydrant to mark the turn. Wonder how long it would last? I've got leftover pink from my wheel pinstriping.<br />
72: and while we're at it, we should paint the line THROUGH the black mark so I don't go into the pothole.<br />
73-75: hey, I'm going to keep going. Switch the bottle over and let's shoot for 100 laps.<br />
76: more road traffic. Wonder where they're going.<br />
77: drunk kid in requisite black hoodie and miniskirt walking a chihuahua while smoking a Swisher Sweet gives me a thumbs-up. Arcata make its own hallucinations...<br />
78-80: Let's see how close I can shave the corner at Frederick.<br />
81: there's the skunk!<br />
82: there he is again. Wonder how many people leave out cat food? Hope Cog is inside.<br />
83-87: Born to be wi-i-i-ild!<br />
88: Hey, I could probably ditch this stop and keep going all the way to 150.<br />
89: No, you can't, either.<br />
90: French press coffee hits the kidneys faster than espresso. Wonder why that is?<br />
91: that's 91 times I've blown the same stop sign.<br />
92-100: nothing particular, just counting down to 100...<br />
<i>(11 minute rest stop; bathroom, pet Cog and remind him not to mess with skunks, refill bottles, discover a chafed spot on my back. Originally thought it was due to a tag, which didn't seem reasonable since they're old shorts. Nope: for some inexplicable reason a sliver of plastic film got in there...like a piece of a plastic mailing envelope. How the HELL did I not notice that??? Quick first aid over the raw spot, get on with it...)</i><br />
101: pick up the speed, pick up the speed, pick up the speed...NO. THROUGH the black mark, not inside it...<br />
102: adjust the #$*( light, and while we're at it, let's run the high beams since we've only got an hour or so until light.<br />
103: wow. high beams make a big difference.<br />
104: wonder where all the cats are, now?<br />
105: owl overhead; maybe the cats are on to something?<br />
106: hm. Maybe they're onto the skunk?<br />
107: wonder if that's the same skunk? It's halfway across the course...<br />
108: won't be that much longer until there's some light.<br />
109-12: nothing much.<br />
113: when was Ride the Rogue, again? Would it be good training for Bill, or should we bag it?<br />
114: this is one sweet bike. Love the way it corners. Correction: love the way WE corner, this bike and I.<br />
115-119: I could do 200 laps before the Latte ride, no problem....current lap time is about 2:10, let's see...that's, what, three hours? Yeah. No problemo. 200 laps would be almost 160? New goal.<br />
120: Wonder when Bill is getting up? Saw the bathroom light on a while back Surely he's sleeping in...<br />
121: Car! Stopped in the middle of the road....now rolling slowly...grrrrrrrrrrr.<br />
122: Same car. Stopped in the middle of the road AGAIN. AUGH. It is too late in the day to be coming home drunk, dude!<br />
123: Same car, further up the course, driving slowly, veers into cul-de-sac and gets out. OH. Newspaper delivery. Maybe a substitutue? It would be faster on a bike, dude!<br />
124: Bat overhead, getting the pre-dawn bug bloom. Should see some light before too long.<br />
125: Car on Janes' Road. Need to start slowing more for that stop sign...<br />
126: Almost a hint of light to the sky.<br />
127: cats are getting scarcer. Still can't believe how many cats there are out here!<br />
128-130: should I find a good mounting point for the big battery or should I see if I can get Bill to splice a longer wiring harness and run it where I've got the smaller battery? I am seriously loving the high beam and I can run it all night with the big battery....eat another energy bar.<br />
131: there's the skunk AGAIN. That little guy sure gets around. Glad he's staying away from our house!<br />
132: ok, it's starting to get light.<br />
133: it's getting lighter.<br />
134: ...and lighter.<br />
135: Hey! I can see the display on the computer! Reminds me that I might want a headlamp for that.<br />
136: Cars each way on Janes road. Didn't "quite" stop, but close.<br />
137: It's light enough to see. More cars. I will have to start stopping at the stop sign.<br />
138: Funny thought: This is exactly what dogs feel when you throw a ball for them. Driven, happy, driven, happy, tired, driven, happy, happy, happy happy. Woo-hoo!!!!!<br />
139: I just realized that I am stopping at 150 laps because I won't be happy having to stop at the stop sign, and traffic is going to pick up, and I don't want to piss off the neighbors.<br />
140: OK, if this is it, hammer down....<br />
141-149: Counting down, no particular thoughts besides "Ten - Nine - Eight..."<br />
150: Woo-hoo!!!!!!!Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-76226177638179273492012-06-25T07:57:00.000-07:002012-06-25T07:57:09.198-07:00Pink CATillac Theme musicEnjoy! <br />
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We packed a cooler full of all sorts of good things and headed out with the dawn to Hayfork, CA. The idea was to go to the fairgrounds, ride a 70-mile loop, and return to the car for a nice lunch before heading out to do a second, shorter, easier loop. <br />
Great plan. <br />
We were slowed slightly at the start by Bill's headset, which wanted a bit of tightening. He managed that with great effort marred by a lack of tools (<em>memo to self: we've got a good-sized truck at our disposal, might as well bring a tool kit...).</em> But I figure it wasn't much past 9:30 by the time we took off. <br />
Five bottles between us - a little short, but - should be enough, and we'll find more along the way. You always do, right? <br />
We were dinking around on the road to Hyampom - enjoying the warm-but-not-hot sun and the spectacular views. Few if any cars, one construction zone (no one working on a Sunday), and one moderate climb put us in the settlement of Hyampom. I spotted a lot of birds. I meant to take some pictures but I got sidetracked, enjoying myself. <br />
I am guessing that "Hyampom" is an old Indian word meaning "many tiny rocks" because the road surface was peppered with gravel for much of the ride. To make things trickier, the rocks were exactly the same color as the surrounding (generally very good) pavement, so you had very little warning if you were traveling downhill at any speed. Both Bill and I had near-misses with the gravel on inside corners early on, so we dialed back the descents (bummer). <br />
The route did not dial back the climbs! After Hyampom, the first "real" climb came on - 2700' in a bit more than 5 miles. For those who are keeping track, that's almost a 10% average grade. If this sounds a little bit like a great training hill for Townes' Pass, well - Bill will be racing FC508 this year with the coolest totem ever: Pirate Fish. <br />
For those sports fans who are trying to envision poor ME slugging up a hill that's a great training hill for Pirate Fish's 508 - have no fear! I actually did pretty well. Typically grades like this would have had me walking - but the Pink Catillac ate it right up. At the bottom of the hill, Bill tried to bright-side the upcoming adventure: "Well, the next 6-7 miles are at mostly 8% plus..." neatly avoiding the reality that the cue sheet clearly stated 8-12%, as in - "actually, quite a bit of 12%, and the 7% bits will feel like relief". <br />
The gearing on the Cat was near-perfect. I used the 36/36 a fair bit, but I was able to punch it up a gear or two from time to time. The handling was SO stable that I was able to reach for my water bottle - something that has always been a chore on the Carbent no matter how diligently I practice. <br />
So reach I did. Over and over. Right up to the point where the reality hit me: we were going to run out of water. There were no two ways about it. Bill had three water bottles, but that was just putting off the inevitable. It was going to require some tricky calculus: what is the optimal speed to ride which will minimize my water need but still get us back to the truck before sheer exposure takes its toll? I made my best WAG and settled in, knowing that Bill was quite a ways ahead of me, hopefully doing the same math and coming to similar conclusions. <br />
Within a mile of the top of the hill, I shifted into the biggest rear cog for some 1:1 climbing action, and - drats - overshifted, jamming the chain between the spokes and the cassette body. This felled me like an ox, and I was more than a little pissed off. By this time I was hopeful that Bill had gotten tired of waiting for me at the top, and would be coming along to see what was wrong. Sadly, he is a very patient man...so I got to fix the problem on my own. Took some doing to extract the chain, get everything reset, and back on my way. About the time I was starting up again, a guy came by and started peppering me with questions: "Is that another one of those laydown bikes?" " Is it hard going down hills on them?" ...<br />
Just as I was underway and doing well again, here comes Bill - I'd finally worn him down, and he was starting to worry. One look at my grease-covered self told the story. <br />
When we got to the top, Bill asked me how I was doing for water, and topped up my second bottle. Except - it wasn't the top - it was a saddle. We still had quite a bit of rolling uphill climbing to the real summit. We poked along - I was in serious conservation mode. Can't risk a cramp if you don't have water. Cramps require salt, and salt requires water, and water's what we don't have. Bill would edge ahead and wait. Once, he came rolling back at me, arm cocked. No - seriously? Yep - he threw a snowball at me! There was snow. Why we didn't think about it at that point is beyond me, except that we were still in a "well, we've got SOME water" denial.<br />
At the turnoff to FR16 we met a passerby in a minivan. She was happy to give us all the water she had - about half a bottle's worth - and urged us to go back with her to her cabin to refill, but it was quite a ways backward and - brain-addled, dehydrated optimists that we were - we were confident that we would be Just Fine....<br />
After a bit of a descent, we started another major climb. Although this one wasn't as steep, it sure was LONG. By now we had something like 18 miles to go, we were totally out of water, and we'd come here for - remember? - HEAT TRAINING, which turned out to be the wildly successful part of our plan(though at the upper elevations it honestly wasn't so bad). This hill was NOT ending. I could see Bill ahead of me (good news, either I was speeding up, or he was slowing down, or maybe a little of both) and that gave me some gauge of where the road was going. I could see ahead to where the road crossed a smallish creek. I started fantasizing about the cool water that we'd find there. Giardia be damned! <br />
Bill and I were riding together when we got to the creek. We looked at each other - both thinking the same thought. The water wasn't exactly INaccessible, but - quite a scramble down, then quite a scramble back up. Between one thing and another, the risk of injury was there. Surely we were almost at the top of this sucker...<br />
Well, "almost" is a very subjective word, but I'd not say we were "almost" there - a couple more miles of "can this be for REAL???" climbing ensued before we were at the top. Somewhere in there, the thought hit me that - hey - it's been a while since I've gotten any MORE thirsty, so maybe we're going to be okay here. Within minutes after that thought, I started to get a pretty wicked headache, which I knew was the dehydration talking. Crap! I remembered Bill's snowball. If we got lucky, we'd find a patch of snow in a shady curve somewhere along the way.<br />
Very near the summit, we got lucky. Snow cones at 4500' on a waterless heat training day is good eats, folks! We passed on the flavored syrup, though I realized later that I could've pulled a peppermint stick GU out of my bag. I was happy to trade in the dehydration headache for brain freeze. <br />After we got enough in to be more or less out of the woods, we filled our water bottles (this is the part where I get to feel smart for bringing one non-insulated one so the snow would actually melt), popped over the summit, and headed down the other side. When we hit Big Creek, we were finally able to sustain some speed. I was really happy to see that even after the long draught we both had some pretty good looking legspeed. We hit the town of Hayfork like a tornado - kids and pets staring shamelessly at the parade, us grinning like the idiots we were at having cheated death and had so much fun doing it. <br />We got back to the car and packed it in. The second loop would have to wait for another day. We had a great tailgate picnic - sandwiches, potato salad, cantaloupe, and a lot of fluids had us feeling pretty chipper. <br />
As a measure of the success of this ride - I was feeling pretty stoked that in my mind the first major climb was "probably as hard as Panther Gap" - the first really big climb on the Tour of the Unknown Coast, which I can manage on the Carbent, but with difficulty. When we got home, Bill loaded up his Delorme Topo and compared the two. The Hyampom climb averages about 2% STEEPER, and I had done it with less effort than I typically use for Panther Gap. <br />
I'd say that the Pink CATillac gets some serious props as a climbing bike. Sure, she's not the lightest kid on the block, but balance, handling, and attitude are all working for her. <br />
<br />Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-32014316479228740762012-04-27T22:09:00.000-07:002012-09-17T09:17:17.583-07:00A Little Bit Big Cat, a Little Bit Hello Kitty: Meet the Pink CATillacAfter three years riding ‘bent, I’d never tried anything but a Carbent. I’ve been itching to branch out. And I’m a sucker for small-run, American-built bikes. I like the knowledge of the honest work that goes into them. In addition to my Carbents, I’ve owned two Cannondales, a Teesdale, an Ibis, and a Chris Chance. <i>Yes, Virginia – once upon a time, Cannondale was a small company that hand-built its bikes!</i> Being part of the craft process of bike building was the lure of working for Bike Friday, for sure.<br />
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And…kudos to those fine folks in Marketing! Something in that <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mxld4jJD0SI">teaser video</a> just got my attention and wouldn’t let me go. Was it the taiko drums? The dynamic tension created by the blowing leaf at 1:06? The checkerboard socks? I’ve never been a hands-off gal, but – if the bike’s <i>that</i> stable, shouldn’t I at least give it a whirl? Whatever it was, I was hooked. </div>
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So I started my inquiries. But it turned out that I was TOO LATE – the <a href="file:///C:/Documents%20and%20Settings/Ed%20howard/My%20Documents/Downloads/catrike.com">CatBIKE Musashi</a> was going out of production. Aaaah. Then, unthinkable grace: one more production run! Mark Egelund very generously offered to put a bike in the queue for me. I jumped at the chance. The only question was COLOR. </div>
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It had NOT escaped me, sports fans, that one MORE nice thing about the Musashi was that I could pick a color. My Carbents came in any color I want – so long as it was black. Other brands have few or no color choices <i>(even if you like orange, apparently it is not an option…).</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYpOFicDUDKROyj_av_f52Gn-NWzaFUOA-Ffkml7zUNiTqdd17RPvWCC_NjfbyfYcmFZEFwjFixA9-p9pAJQ_Za-5NZxgMHquqyKD5CBXt2ZgQZHG26SpoZLabWjmgqYo8AV0ytqIyyemN/s1600/photo+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYpOFicDUDKROyj_av_f52Gn-NWzaFUOA-Ffkml7zUNiTqdd17RPvWCC_NjfbyfYcmFZEFwjFixA9-p9pAJQ_Za-5NZxgMHquqyKD5CBXt2ZgQZHG26SpoZLabWjmgqYo8AV0ytqIyyemN/s400/photo+(2).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I LOVE baby pictures - this is my frame being welded.</td></tr>
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So – I like pink. It’s not that I like pink to the exclusion of all other colors, or even that it’s my “Favorite” color. But pink and me, we go ‘way back. Here’s some takeaway advice for you: if you’re getting a bike built, and you can have it whatever color you want, it’s not a time to dream small, or dream safe. And if your jersey collection happens to look like mine, you’d best get the pink bike:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-q_gNcjb8mwEVmG8_LkzVDiI4arEmLuDlYtjGHzS-4-NsBq9vlaCXsdDS6nxdOGiOVF7PiO2s0CsLqqgCinZ0KkgPK6abWgp_xJ1UeQOoORUYV97WIqzWyJND4haFqrrO9ZnBm06YFvGD/s1600/color_chart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-q_gNcjb8mwEVmG8_LkzVDiI4arEmLuDlYtjGHzS-4-NsBq9vlaCXsdDS6nxdOGiOVF7PiO2s0CsLqqgCinZ0KkgPK6abWgp_xJ1UeQOoORUYV97WIqzWyJND4haFqrrO9ZnBm06YFvGD/s320/color_chart.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
Turns out I was doubly in luck on the pink front. Not only does Catrike make a pink bike, but – they were making a run of “bubblegum pink” bikes –a paler shade of pink that I thought would be absolutely smashing. Did it hurt one bit that I’d just scored a great price on a set of bubblegum pink Velocity training hoops on eBay? No, it did not. So – Bubblegum pink it was. It would take a couple of weeks to get the frame built…and a couple more waiting for finishing touches. If you’ve ever had a bike built just-for-you, you know that’s a pretty fantastic turnaround.</div>
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The final frame color was even a little bit paler than I’d imagined – I love it! The first time I saw it, it reminded me of something…but I couldn’t quite place it. Then, during an incredibly sleepy drive up the 101, Bill cranked the tunes to keep us awake. Wouldn’t you know it – the first song that came up was The Boss: “Pink Cadillac”. THAT’S IT!! The bike is the color of a 1950’s Cadillac. How cool is that? </div>
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And so she became the Pink CATillac. Once I got (ahem) rolling on the “Pink Caddy” theme, it just kept getting better. A couple of Cat cages, painted metallic silver: dual exhaust pipes! I repainted the boom and handlebars white because I thought that would look cool. <i>Memo to self:</i><i><u> </u></i><i><u><b>it does</b></u></i><i><b>.</b></i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pink CATillac before parts installation. Click on arrow below for theme music!!</td></tr>
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I started accumulating parts in anticipation of the frame’s March arrival. The parts mix runs the gamut from indulgent to practical. I put on an FSA K Force Light crankset, with an unusual 52/36 chainring set. 50/34 would’ve been stock on the bike, but I wanted a little more top end. Since I NEED more low end to make it up some of Humboldt County’s more famous hills, I stepped it up to an 11-36 cassette. If I need more than a 1:1, I’ve got no one to blame but me, right? A SRAM X0 rear derailleur isn’t really a luxury item, but finding it in pink takes some doing. Ditto for the KMC “Pink Lady” chain(s). I’d also like to give a shout out to <a href="http://www.crankskins.com/">Crankskins.com</a> – they make color-matched decals for cranks. I had a devil of a time finding the best front brake – there was more drop on the fork than I anticipated, so I needed a fairly long reach brake. I found it – in white, no less. Thanks <a href="http://hoosierbicyclesupply.webs.com/">HoosierBike</a>! </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">mid-build. Getting closer...</td></tr>
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The front derailleur is a DuraAce that I had lying around. And I’m driving the whole works with Ultegra barend shifters, set to friction mode –again, something that I kinda just had lying around. Yes – Shimano and SRAM. Ebony and ivory…together in perfect harmony. I had a bugger of a time figuring out why it didn’t work at first –the same setup works perfectly on Bill’s bike. The relevant difference was that Bill’s bike has the shifters mounted on Paul Thumbies <i>(see Larry Varney’s excellent review <a href="http://www.bentrideronline.com/?p=5873">here</a>)</i>. It turns out that the SRAM shifter takes more pull than a Shimano does, and what limits the pull on a Shimano barend shifter is hard interference with the shifter boss…so moving the shifter to a thumbie makes it cross-compatible with a SRAM derailleur. Who knew? Bill just got the Thumbies because they’re comfortable.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">extremely gratuitous dog shot - say Hi, Cog!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">white cockpit. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">crankskins.com</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Pink CATillac</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">here's what's goin' on in the back...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">if it's worth doing, it's worth OVERdoing....pink derailleur and chain. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBGq49mCkLXDQAXoo-W5FCH_sK4fMK9wHFp9OZkdg9QfOKrFvqLZLjcEZHboN8Ea-qTMz5iHtWiufTKyeS88WJsjebf9fI1ge0R6k6tKIOim-7wuUG-PfqX6chOfAvJEGw1J5j42MBGKUh/s1600/musashibuild+014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBGq49mCkLXDQAXoo-W5FCH_sK4fMK9wHFp9OZkdg9QfOKrFvqLZLjcEZHboN8Ea-qTMz5iHtWiufTKyeS88WJsjebf9fI1ge0R6k6tKIOim-7wuUG-PfqX6chOfAvJEGw1J5j42MBGKUh/s320/musashibuild+014.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">pink and white goatskin leather - heated leather seats, anyone?</td></tr>
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Bike setup is is incredibly straightforward. The chainlines are good, and the cable routing is clean. For some reason I was thinking that I would be using a few links less chain than I do with the Carbent; turns out that I use a couple links more (good thing I got the light stuff, right?). The seat – wow. Very, incredibly comfortable. The only “problem” I had with the seat, if you can call it that, is that it is so transitionless that I couldn’t decipher where to plunk my butt down at first. With a hardshell seat, yeah, you’ve got options, but you’ve also got...guidance. The first time I set the bike up, I ended up perched on the edge of the seat, so I had the boom extended out further than I needed. When I brought it back, I was more “in” the bike. Nice!</div>
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The headrest is nicer than any other that I’ve used or seen. It’s light, easy to adjust, and well-padded. And it’s pink<i>. Apologies in advance to Mark for ratting him out…these really only come stock in black and it’s extra nice of him to get one done up in pink. Please, please don’t inundate him with special requests. But mine is cool, huh?</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgytUI2_pEjRATzSHFTea30kKbtj274wXyrJ6lNKDuI1_s43kxK39aJgT6a7erNew2oT6V2xjd1o7TTxpwSQly8qTo0_6KveNqL31LHSqZSBaErAF5nTHId_saMamEyJafiSb6UakaZjkyt/s1600/headrest.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgytUI2_pEjRATzSHFTea30kKbtj274wXyrJ6lNKDuI1_s43kxK39aJgT6a7erNew2oT6V2xjd1o7TTxpwSQly8qTo0_6KveNqL31LHSqZSBaErAF5nTHId_saMamEyJafiSb6UakaZjkyt/s320/headrest.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
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Fit-wise, like on most recumbents, there’s a dynamic connection between knee clearance, sight lines, and arm reach. I solved the equation by using an extra long tweener bar and a very long (135mm!) stem – so the front end goes OUT a long way to accommodate my knees, and BACK a long way to make a comfortable reach. I was fitted to the “small” frame. My X-seam is a paltry 41.5, but it’s complicated because I have cruelly long femurs – which means extra tweaking to keep my knees off the bars. With a small front wheel, there’s no issue with sight lines – I’ve got a great view of the world in front of me.</div>
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=6830639689124183494" name="_GoBack"></a>So – after all of that, it’s time to actually ride the thing, right? Oh, my my, Oh heck yes! The ride is sweet. After a few shorter rides, I took the bike on the local Latte Warriors Sunday ride - a group ride to Trinidad and back. The low-speed handling is exceptional - no "slow wobble", and the descending speed and handling are better than I expected (and I expected a lot). And the bike eats up Humbolt County "pavement" - a gritty, gravelly network of potholes loosely bound by cow flop - like nobody's business. Who says aluminum can't be comfortable? </div>
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After a Latte ride that was as much birthday party as anything Bill and I took off for a side trip to one of Humboldt County's more famous hills: Fieldbrook. Fieldbrook isn't the longest climb around, nor the steepest, but it's the modal local hill - nearly everyone climbs it often, and it's enough of a challenge to be representative of "climbing". The Musashi weighs a bit more than the Raven - I've got it dressed out something north of 25# as opposed to the 19# Carbent. So far the climbing speed is comparable, though. The Musashi responds very well to being pushed on at low cadence - a habit of mine that the Raven clearly resents. Although I don't have a definitive time, I wasn't as far behind Bill as I usually am - though he could have been dogging it. </div>
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He was NOT dogging it on the way down Fieldbrook, though. The descent off the far side is the local measuring stick for descending speed. Again, I didn't have a cyclometer up and running (mine is still set for a 700c front wheel), but Bill set his personal PR of 60.0 mph - and I was gaining on him at the time. That compares favorably to my personal best of 56.1 on the Raven, and I never felt like I was approaching the edge of comfort.<br />
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The next ride was a legit century down to the Avenue of the Giants. In addition to having a great time and really enjoying riding the bike, we got another chance to test out the Musashi's stability. A big truck close-passed us along 101; at the time we were hauling along pretty good and were mainly staying ahead of a bit of a crosswind. Bill was (aHEM...) behind me at the time, on a high racer - one of the most popular Blue Bikes out there. He felt the truck buffet him and his bike gave him a slightly disconcerting shudder. Not a huge one, but noticeable. He was however alert enough to notice that my bike didn't budge when the truck came roaring past. Yep - I felt it, too...but the bike just didn't seem to care. It just kept on doing what it was supposed to do. That impressed both of us. </div>
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The bike felt ridiculously low at first – I find myself working extra hard to make eye contact with drivers, just to make sure that they see me. Which should not be a problem – it is really, really, REALLY pink. I have noticed that, despite the bike industry’s fascination with “Screaming Yellow” (this is an actual Pearl Izumi color name!), PINK is a lot more visible to drivers because it is the epitome of “unexpected”. If there’s a pink-jacketed, pink-helmeted, pink-shod (<a href="http://www.biketiresdirect.com/product/diadora-aerospeed-2-womens-road-shoe">yes, really</a>) woman out there on a pink bike, it gets noticed. I’m reminded of Chris Hopkinson, who was pinked-out to the max for the Ring of Fire timetrial a few years back. Someone asked him if he was cycling for, um, you know, “<i>awareness</i>” – to which he replied, “Yes. Awareness. Of car smashes.” Hey, maybe pink IS my favorite color….</div>
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Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-25650491559144485922012-02-14T10:07:00.000-08:002012-02-14T10:07:13.314-08:00Happy Valentines' Day from the Luckiest Person in the World!!!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMI8-s2r3iR5iv5qcdYKOUQDxgfaFUh7CrNETH3pH5-CapbvHHDXaLeBFcR_YXAV8tnYA2eUbWtBGtK2AAzzTZUgaLZzXbogpy9te_0OOgJqRV-D1n7lcLn5l2R0_snBZH_KQuXtN8-ILq/s1600/Photo-0024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMI8-s2r3iR5iv5qcdYKOUQDxgfaFUh7CrNETH3pH5-CapbvHHDXaLeBFcR_YXAV8tnYA2eUbWtBGtK2AAzzTZUgaLZzXbogpy9te_0OOgJqRV-D1n7lcLn5l2R0_snBZH_KQuXtN8-ILq/s400/Photo-0024.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bill is the "woo" in my "woo-hoo"!!! </td></tr>
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<object height="94" width="422"><param value="http://www.divshare.com/flash/audio_embed?data=YTo2OntzOjU6ImFwaUlkIjtzOjE6IjQiO3M6NjoiZmlsZUlkIjtzOjg6IjE2NzkwODc5IjtzOjQ6ImNvZGUiO3M6MTI6IjE2NzkwODc5LTg0MSI7czo2OiJ1c2VySWQiO3M6NzoiMTc5NTkxMiI7czoxMjoiZXh0ZXJuYWxDYWxsIjtpOjE7czo0OiJ0aW1lIjtpOjEzMjkyNDI3NjI7fQ==&autoplay=default" name="movie"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed wmode="transparent" height="94" width="422" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" src="http://www.divshare.com/flash/audio_embed?data=YTo2OntzOjU6ImFwaUlkIjtzOjE6IjQiO3M6NjoiZmlsZUlkIjtzOjg6IjE2NzkwODc5IjtzOjQ6ImNvZGUiO3M6MTI6IjE2NzkwODc5LTg0MSI7czo2OiJ1c2VySWQiO3M6NzoiMTc5NTkxMiI7czoxMjoiZXh0ZXJuYWxDYWxsIjtpOjE7czo0OiJ0aW1lIjtpOjEzMjkyNDI3NjI7fQ==&autoplay=default"></embed></object>Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-92182588662217085112011-08-19T13:15:00.000-07:002011-08-19T13:30:53.974-07:00One Fine Day, Reprise - UMCA 12/24 Hour Road Record Attempt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVtEPGMxD9_KqR8NlMT3uu8p7adDDb_mHmWVoljaUjkNxZTO3QXi_0y0sa0Og8x-Wiu-laIAEzIKw1-G6q63Qmjq-Zl7CodBNrjmigg98HL0tc_Lk9ojGrxX0Gl20HMDfy-ktrCii8dQi-/s1600/cominginafter12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVtEPGMxD9_KqR8NlMT3uu8p7adDDb_mHmWVoljaUjkNxZTO3QXi_0y0sa0Og8x-Wiu-laIAEzIKw1-G6q63Qmjq-Zl7CodBNrjmigg98HL0tc_Lk9ojGrxX0Gl20HMDfy-ktrCii8dQi-/s320/cominginafter12.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">The attempt was done on a course that had been set up and certified by Chris Ragsdale. He’d used it for a 1000-kilometer attempt last year. And - photo credits to Duncan Watson and David Bradley. </span></i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">We arrived in La Conner on Friday afternoon. We expected to have to do some digging to find the survey points, but everything was there and clearly marked, leaving nothing to do but sweep the course, and send me out on a test lap while the crew inspected the course for debris. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrZqA-D02UtNJZ6ap6PGS71McVaXbQg5hwPhtMNYH3CNB5Mi2nzwcFh9R_TxwQ03IgFnzBBctNGVuR5gOGF3p2hFgHqC4l8hw1o_6a3VdtAQjnUHZIZW3XeOvLaKDC7TVEwEIAP-2zAvbo/s1600/sweeping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrZqA-D02UtNJZ6ap6PGS71McVaXbQg5hwPhtMNYH3CNB5Mi2nzwcFh9R_TxwQ03IgFnzBBctNGVuR5gOGF3p2hFgHqC4l8hw1o_6a3VdtAQjnUHZIZW3XeOvLaKDC7TVEwEIAP-2zAvbo/s400/sweeping.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bill and John sweeping the course Friday afternoon</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">One unanticipated bonus feature on the course was a portable toilet that was (a) open, (b) freshly serviced, and (c) right on the course. Although it may have been faster to pee roadside, I decided that the available facility was a great compromise: it looked like what traffic was out there was going to be tourists, and I’m likely not the scenery they were looking for.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"my" Honey Bucket! </td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We also checked in with the folks at the Queen of the Valley Inn – the bed and breakfast inn at the start/finish. Yep – this is a very civilized course! We had rooms there Saturday night, but for Friday we were fortunate to have a homestay with local ultracyclist Scott Youngren. </span>After checking out the course, we got dinner, did some shopping, and turned in early. I slept about as well as I normally do the night before a big event.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Queen of the Valley Inn</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">We got underway at 6:40 AM. We’d been shooting for 6:30, but – a day’s a day, and that last trip to the porta-pot was worth every minute. Early weather was cool (low 50’s), cloudy, and relatively calm. I knew I would have to make very good time in the early going, as we anticipated that the wind would increase during the afternoon.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John, shortly before the start</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">My focus early on was steady effort and rock-solid cornering. The 10.8+ mile course has six corners plus a traffic roundabout. Over the course of 24 hours I would be doing a LOT of cornering, which means I had far too many opportunities to ride extra distance without credit. The traffic roundabout was a nice feature, actually, even though it slowed me down a few times. The survey map makes it look like you can pick a straight line through it, which you can’t, quite. Making a game out of seeing how fast I could exit that roundabout was a great motivational tool. On a course that was pretty static otherwise, it might have actually have been a benefit to have a challenging section like that. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">UMCA official Elise Ross notes my lap split</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">As I usually do, I got a cramp in my left adductor about 4 hours into the race. We spent a minute sorting that out. It just seems to happen with hard efforts, and this was a hard effort. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By that point, the wind was definitely picking up, and I knew that I’d been smart to get well ahead of pace. Although the wind wasn’t raging as much as it can be through the valley, there was enough to make it a factor. The most annoying thing was that it was never consistent from lap to lap. Winds swirl through there quite a bit, affected by the Sound, the foothills, and thermal gradients. One lap I’d attack the northbound leg into a headwind, have a tailwind on the eastbound leg, a mild crosswind down the south leg, and a stiff headwind on the westbound…make the corner braced for more headwind, and find myself mysteriously riding along at 24 mph…Next lap, I’d do the same leg at 18 with a headwind (or, as I prefer to think of it, an “in-your-face tailwind”).</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6BwHR9VWkQcDl9G3GGX1J1ZM5W_cDpSJESt8F4IbeZKU7hyRfLQ12i6YjA_aKCrNMNiPXxoA5dfQgb5zFjE3jcN4Uih8X5BvM2-3etVpudYmroXrIsO39GaDbV25vdADzc_BNfYfqFpyB/s1600/motorin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6BwHR9VWkQcDl9G3GGX1J1ZM5W_cDpSJESt8F4IbeZKU7hyRfLQ12i6YjA_aKCrNMNiPXxoA5dfQgb5zFjE3jcN4Uih8X5BvM2-3etVpudYmroXrIsO39GaDbV25vdADzc_BNfYfqFpyB/s400/motorin.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">what goes around, comes around....same ol' thing<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">Shortly after the winds came out, the fans came out as well! I was amazed to see Mick and Martha Walsh, Tim Turner, and a bunch of other folks, including a lot of the Seattle International Randonneurs club. Guess what? Having people out there cheering really makes a difference.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">Coming in toward the start/finish I could see that someone had chalked the pavement. From a recumbent viewpoint, that’s really hard to see on flat ground, so I had to piece it together just a little bit at the time. <i>“We’re…something”.</i> Crap. Missed it. Next lap, I'll try again! Seventeenth lap, I finally got it: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;"><b><i>We’re the luckiest people in the world.</i> </b></span>Thanks, Mick!!! I made it a point to go faster over that spot for the rest of the race.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">Early in the second six hours, I got my only flat tire of the day. Despite all the work by the crew to get debris off the pavement, I’d picked up a wire fragment, probably from a car tire. We were on our way quickly, but I spent a couple of laps without the disk wheel while the problem got diagnosed and fixed. We changed back to it at my next pit stop. I'd been working a little harder to maintain the speed without the disk; it was nice to have it back. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">A couple of times I was called upon to prove that I am, indeed, faster than farm equipment. I would like to think that I rose to that challenge, though I am told that I scared the bejeebers out of my crew with one pass.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNMisU_6WonrvTAKjkCkuO7-kgSa5-hnJTvPlQR08mFkcRTaqispYpkxQygon5EypKOV7vtG67ighnvMKDVL955eNuso3GuNnY9a3K1bzfnpaAazIEftGHbR1xaS4o2Fur0MaX4eD-sQlz/s1600/fasterthanfarmequipment.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNMisU_6WonrvTAKjkCkuO7-kgSa5-hnJTvPlQR08mFkcRTaqispYpkxQygon5EypKOV7vtG67ighnvMKDVL955eNuso3GuNnY9a3K1bzfnpaAazIEftGHbR1xaS4o2Fur0MaX4eD-sQlz/s400/fasterthanfarmequipment.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">hang on to your bejeebers, lads - she's gonna pass this behemoth!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">The crew was excellent at keeping me on track for nutrition. We went 24 hours without a single missed (or even poor) handoff, which is a testament to how invested everyone was. Race fuel was my usual mish-mash: York Peppermint patties, Boost, Los Bagels fare, stroopwafels, pizza, mashed potatoes, soup, and one stray corn dog. Food logs show that I averaged 250 kcal and 12 oz of fluid per hour. The fluid value is low, but the weather was very moderate and nearly all overcast. Ibuprofen was doing its job keeping my hotfoot in the manageable range. I kept the left shoe loose, and I seldom felt that I was throttling back the effort to manage my foot. The shoe was so loose that I had trouble clipping out – the shoe would eject my foot before the cleat disengaged – but that was far better than letting a tight shoe force me into soft-pedaling. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">I was closing in on the 12-hour record when I got a second leg cramp. This time, my right sartorius seized up. Big cramp – end-to-end of the muscle. I really didn’t have the time or inclination to stop, so I continued on. A few minutes of very stern concentration later, I had successfully banished the cramp. This was the first time I’d been successful at riding through a significant cramp on a recumbent; it's extremely difficult to find positions that stretch a cramping thigh muscle. I guess that’s an accomplishment, though one I’d rather have saved for a training ride.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">At the 12-hour mark, David, the head official, counted me down. Our arrangement was that I would squirt water from my water bottle straight down at his command; this would be the location that he would mark for the record distance. It might be conservative by a foot or two, but I was fine with that. Except that my water bottle was full of Coke: somewhere in La Conner, Washington, an ant is smiling right now. I sped up a little bit for the countdown, but I didn’t knock myself out – still 12 hours to go. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_twwBtJuVMF1SOaPiV8O40h4N4UK5PuCPpz2ZynrP3rj4eh2K8MkA5HhRSkmbzqgXo-4hC6aBTycvyyHu21a-LlUSBq56e7i2_3F1PSX3ncXAMeksBmUmS-XlZsMG4tMudY7CsxZ6ZDDU/s1600/motorin2db.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_twwBtJuVMF1SOaPiV8O40h4N4UK5PuCPpz2ZynrP3rj4eh2K8MkA5HhRSkmbzqgXo-4hC6aBTycvyyHu21a-LlUSBq56e7i2_3F1PSX3ncXAMeksBmUmS-XlZsMG4tMudY7CsxZ6ZDDU/s400/motorin2db.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early in the 2nd 12 hours</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">As we got closer to nightfall, the winds did die down a bit, which was much appreciated.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">Laps kept coming around. I’m told that the innkeeper shuttled cookies out to the officials and crew. I saw one deer cross my path. I had an iPod loaded with some pretty good riding music.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">I was riding steady at night – but overall a little slower than during the day. I was fine with this. I’ve never been a negative split rider under the best of circumstances, and having put the pressure on to hit both the 12 and 24-hour marks had meant that I probably did more work early than I normally would. My “A” goal of 462 miles was clearly out the window, but my “B” goal of 440 was solid. <i>Just stay on the bike.</i></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZ3EPyEQgJd8pDySxbw02KWvbyUuln_WpKnPosZM-Q40Eax_0gJtTDYza5_MtUEP5H9j35CYT6kklNOctAgIARHcq-k7j03hcS6WYOYgrw4dHfAv1ijZEIdKBE7tEka94vc-ixy7DKE24/s1600/incoming2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZ3EPyEQgJd8pDySxbw02KWvbyUuln_WpKnPosZM-Q40Eax_0gJtTDYza5_MtUEP5H9j35CYT6kklNOctAgIARHcq-k7j03hcS6WYOYgrw4dHfAv1ijZEIdKBE7tEka94vc-ixy7DKE24/s400/incoming2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">keep...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv0OXD4sqebvIaEM5joe25VqiVQaEi8qgwUuCE2wgybFeTS-So1_LipjG23Ikpj5kFV0wBwUBdB1UUFXMv5LkLqbSfw0-iYc91TdMkiSgfSqdPbgK1T3GZdtNYpqZ4nGQo6SCsc8Pw61vk/s1600/outgoingwithvan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv0OXD4sqebvIaEM5joe25VqiVQaEi8qgwUuCE2wgybFeTS-So1_LipjG23Ikpj5kFV0wBwUBdB1UUFXMv5LkLqbSfw0-iYc91TdMkiSgfSqdPbgK1T3GZdtNYpqZ4nGQo6SCsc8Pw61vk/s400/outgoingwithvan.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">....going.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">More time. More laps. Caffeine gum to keep me alert. We’ve got two flavors of military-spec caffeinated gum; both taste awful, but that’s okay because they’re doing the job. I’ve affectionately named them “Bitter Red Hot” (cinnamon) and “Disappoint Mint” (mint).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">Although I couldn’t see my speedometer well at night, I could tell when I was slowing down: “Time for your caffeine treats!” as Mark’s disembodied hand reached out the window.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">About twenty-two hours in, the unthinkable: I accidentally swallowed a good-sized bolus of air along with some killer-good mashed potatoes. I could actually feel the air bubble travel down the pipes and – I swear – bounce. I could tell right away that it wasn’t a happy event. Mind races:<i>“OK, it feels gross. But it may go away. Keep pedaling. OK, it won’t go away. But you still may not have to puke. OK, pull over….” </i>A couple of moments lost to the heaves, then back on my way, now packing a water bottle full of ginger ale.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">At this point, I’m a little bummed. I know from experience that it usually takes a couple of hours of hard work at slow pedaling to bring a stomach around – and that’s all the time I’ve got. So the best case is probably that I can keep it moving forward slowly, and hopefully I can speed up toward the end. I don’t need a permanent fix for the stomach – just a truce that we can both live with until 6:40 AM.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">Riding along. Sipping ginger ale, which I’m carefully swishing around in my mouth to destroy any and all traces of bubbliness. Every so often I tested the system, bring the speed up above 15 mph – nope, not yet, keep that up and you’ll heave again. Drat. We came in to the start-finish at just around 6AM, and as I rolled through I informed the officials that I was pretty sure that I wouldn’t quite complete the next lap, as much as I wanted to. They were prepared either way.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">It feels like I’m CRAWLING the last lap. But we’re making distance, and distance is what we need. I figured that I need around 7 miles to go over the 440 mile mark, and I know that double-digit speed is pretty much all that’s required. Ride steady. Sip ginger ale. Don’t push. Don’t barf.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">With 10 minutes to go, I was pretty sure that I’d made it. The rest was gravy. I nudged the speed up a bit. When David started counting down the minutes at 5, I sped up more.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">On his count, I squirted the pavement again to mark my finishing spot and coasted ahead to the nearest safe pullout, just around the corner. I came closer than I figured I would to finishing the last lap – less than 2 miles out.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEmaNXtobTmNAKXXtM0b2883tpFA5dOI_q7dN9kFO8Diog9Spugum_8ce4W3EuV4U_JGz_AgbaKoXwWyLIEfOqxRHktmAzajZfbZlzvzR4Boqy6CF2Q4OC54HcQ6_F_IsKa73qTC8M9CWu/s1600/finish2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEmaNXtobTmNAKXXtM0b2883tpFA5dOI_q7dN9kFO8Diog9Spugum_8ce4W3EuV4U_JGz_AgbaKoXwWyLIEfOqxRHktmAzajZfbZlzvzR4Boqy6CF2Q4OC54HcQ6_F_IsKa73qTC8M9CWu/s400/finish2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I. Am. Toast. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">I was sufficiently spent that it took some time and tactics to remove me from the bike. Once extracted, I spent the next few minutes decorating the hood of the follow vehicle with ginger ale.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">After the officials marked the finishing spot, we all piled into vehicles and drove back to the inn. After a very short catnap, I eased myself into, and eventually out of, a sunken Jacuzzi tub - no mean feat - and headed into the gathering room. The innkeepers put together an amazing farm breakfast for us; it was so nice to not have to go anywhere, or for that matter even think about what we’d do for breakfast.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHOsrCDv0o-DAyenWvvv2COobRaMU6aRNiIPtSprzkPHiZ65-hqozXjciBVCqHF_Kz6M3dMN_OHsP0qA2UOo2vOtUHfPHYaXzRKJgmioQdtAoOBCrxvBy6-Uf66qnng9T93hcT58DAtAIl/s1600/crewaftermath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHOsrCDv0o-DAyenWvvv2COobRaMU6aRNiIPtSprzkPHiZ65-hqozXjciBVCqHF_Kz6M3dMN_OHsP0qA2UOo2vOtUHfPHYaXzRKJgmioQdtAoOBCrxvBy6-Uf66qnng9T93hcT58DAtAIl/s400/crewaftermath.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The team waits for me to come around at the B&B. </td></tr>
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">As ever, there’s a very long list of folks who contributed to this effort. I owe each and every one of them a debt of gratitude. In addition to a lot of well-wishers and cheerers…</span><br />
<ul type="DISC"><li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">My crew chief and biggest fan, Bill Spaeth</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">John Vincent, who agreed to come crew on very short notice</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">Scott Youngren (and son John), who came on for the night shift and gave us a warm welcome on Friday</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">Mark Biedrzycki – workin’ on the night crew</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">David Bradley – head official</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">Elise Ross and Duncan Watson – officials</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">Queen of the Valley Inn – hospitality above and beyond</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">Los Bagels – amazing bagels, spreads, and cookies</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;">Bent Up Cycles – makers of the Carbent Raven</span></li>
</ul><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Equipment used: </span></div><div><ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Carbent Raven</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Wheelbuilder wheel covers (rear) </span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Mavic Cosmic Carbone SL (front)</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Michelin Pro 3 Race tires (pink!)</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Nutrition - mixed sources, 6400 kcal</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Hydration - mixed sources - 278 fl. oz.</span></li>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMJuU6doqDD09KLZXKyxSDJcMCuzl655aKDJLn78JesoCzZi7e4R5JgUuMFVniHILycH18mtmrZDYU4fdAaGff9kterdf2C9SvLDs1daE2eFbg6p1AUlgbfuxuHbHA0Om8DD0FBuEfaWxo/s1600/groupfinish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMJuU6doqDD09KLZXKyxSDJcMCuzl655aKDJLn78JesoCzZi7e4R5JgUuMFVniHILycH18mtmrZDYU4fdAaGff9kterdf2C9SvLDs1daE2eFbg6p1AUlgbfuxuHbHA0Om8DD0FBuEfaWxo/s400/groupfinish.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hasta la proxima!!!!</td></tr>
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</span></div></div>Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-60675703098000110872011-08-09T09:43:00.000-07:002011-08-09T09:43:10.644-07:0024 Hours of La Conner - the waiting is the hardest partWe're making final preparations. Bikes - check. Spare wheels - check. Shoes, helmet (yay! New pink helmet!), food, drink, stopwatches. A UMCA record is a serious undertaking, and we're taking it serious to the max. David is verifying the calibration of my Oregon Scientific clock. In theory it can't be off, but the rules require that an official verify the timepiece, so that's what we're doing.<br />
I'm nervous - a little - and part of me wishes that we were at it, already, so that I can get past the waiting.<br />
I'm supposed to be tapering. I'll not count the spin class that I taught last night...surprise! Well, if the regular instructor's sick, someone needs to fill in, and I've called in my fair share of favors. Now I'll just do a couple of test rides from here out. My legs will hate me for that, but it's what I've gotta do.<br />
Watch David's twitter feed for course updates: @drbradley.<br />
Tailwinds,<br />
Sandy<br />
<br />
Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-19547526636745632892011-08-03T16:59:00.000-07:002011-08-03T17:10:56.390-07:00It's Not About the Pony - Race Across Oregon 2011<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We had a fantastic race – reasonable weather, fantastic crew, good racing, and a nail-biter finish. And yet, as we were mugging for pictures, wearing big grins and finishers' medals, David couldn't help but put in, “now when you write this up, please remember something else besides the pony”....</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">So I'll put it out there, right now: This Was Not A Race About A Pony. The pony was strictly not necessary to our success. It was found quite by accident, in a parking lot near where we were to pick up David from the parade start. Both racers were supposed to ride the parade together; I gave David my slot since I'd already seen this stretch – and it's so awesome that I wanted to be sure that he got a chance, too. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Still, you don't just leave a pony lying around. And he fit rather nicely on the roof rack: one front hoof hooked over the front wheel tray, and one rear fetlock clasped by the rear wheel strap. We collected David, helped him find his shoes (-:, and spent a couple of minutes finishing the pony installation with zip ties. That couple of minutes meant that we were the last team in the parking lot when it became clear that Cheney – the poor, long-suffering bastard who'd driven late into the night to get here due to a car breakdown – had not been picked up by his crew. We ended up driving him to The Dalles to meet up with his crew, who were a little surprised to find him missing. I don't know where they expected him to be...</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUMeBLdIBAcZyp2XkSH_s1y3VEOOE2LWTPyDHeoACpLacry_PAmJATpDnZMGmnsH0LeGOFYJHUmMXgutO3vtniMjoUXHVNN3LJ7uRAZlRDWbwRgNDUqD92saY7oLseHPIzOQ0KY9gdX_XS/s1600/Sprocketthepony.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUMeBLdIBAcZyp2XkSH_s1y3VEOOE2LWTPyDHeoACpLacry_PAmJATpDnZMGmnsH0LeGOFYJHUmMXgutO3vtniMjoUXHVNN3LJ7uRAZlRDWbwRgNDUqD92saY7oLseHPIzOQ0KY9gdX_XS/s400/Sprocketthepony.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the team pony - name TBA</td></tr>
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We'd previewed the first 20 miles of the race yesterday, so we knew (A) that Bill wouldn't get lost, and (B) Bill had a heck of a warmup hill in his first pull. After picking up Cheney, we made a quick stop at the Fred Meyers (just north of the meetup point, on Cherry Heights) to pick up the few supplies we'd missed getting yesterday. We did a good job of using available time: by the time we got parked, I had just enough time to check over my bike and take one last pee <i>(memo to self: peeing in the bushes + fluorescent helmet </i> <i>= not so stealthy)</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, the first racers were appearing. Moments later, here's Bill! He did a great</span> job of putting us right in the thick of things. I gave us a 2-second advantage on the rest of the crowd by being the first rocket scientist to figure out that the best place to make our exchange might be AT the stop sign, instead of 20 yards past it.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Off I went, through the heart of The Dalles. Lots of stop signs, so I was on the DF (easier to get it up to speed quickly). Before you know it, I made a couple of turns and headed up 197 toward Dufur. The sun was shining, and I was feeling pretty good. And just like that, it was Bill's turn to race again. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Ian and David racked my bike, and I hopped into the van to recharge. Job #1 is to leave a message for Bill. When David and Bill did RAO together (2008), Bill's one comment was that he'd been a little hesitant to go all-out because he didn't know how David was feeling. We decided that we'd use a white board to leave each other updates on how things were going. My first update was pretty businesslike: </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<i>Intensity 8.5. Feels good. Watch heat: I think it's gonna get warmer than we think it's gonna get”. </i> </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Then – hydrate-hydrate-hydrate, grab something to eat (I thought I'd had a good breakfast, but I'd clearly run right through), and get ready...</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">'Cause here I go again. On into Dufur and a bit past before Bill took over. I got into the van. <i>“Intensity is GOOD. Did you sunscreen? XOX”. </i>Bill was doing well! As a matter of fact, I <b>did</b> sunscreen – but I'm glad he asked; I'm a lot more likely to forget than he is. <i>“Yep – sunscreen. Horchata + Power Recovery = awesome. You look great out there!”</i> <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bill relaxing(?) in the van.</td></tr>
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</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Bill rounded the turn onto Dufur Gap. I got a good chunk of this part, then Bill punches it over the top and onto 197. We race down the hill in the van and barely get set up in time for me to take over at the turn onto 216. <i>“Woo-hoo! Awesome riding!”. </i>I'm flying along 216 – I've ridden this stretch a BUNCH of times for Ring of Fire and I know every little bump. I got enough steam going to roll “12 Mile Bump” (because it comes at mile 12 of the Ring of Fire loop) very nicely. I slowed down just a touch for 15 Mile Bump and headed down to the river with as much speed as I could handle. Somewhere in the turn at the bridge, it occurred to me that I wasn't 100% certain that I'd seen the van go past...and I hadn't. They'd underestimated my speed and were behind me; as I pulled over at our designated meetup point (hey, it's a porta-potty and I was NOT going to be denied) I could just make out the van in my rear view mirror. That was a nice pull! </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitekMSCVNDPulBeh5y8dgZkakOTB-E1z4zvqcPo8Q7iBh0KBT90aPgPbzJAsImIgRVXCB6eOPeBpb1VOc59G0wGmhBVYWNFbAUKU3dMMig6DLhyphenhyphenSvt4I7zlowkQuySZCkucGU7ZOLG0uix/s1600/sandyonbent.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitekMSCVNDPulBeh5y8dgZkakOTB-E1z4zvqcPo8Q7iBh0KBT90aPgPbzJAsImIgRVXCB6eOPeBpb1VOc59G0wGmhBVYWNFbAUKU3dMMig6DLhyphenhyphenSvt4I7zlowkQuySZCkucGU7ZOLG0uix/s400/sandyonbent.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">motorin'!!!</td></tr>
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</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Back in the van. Now it was Bill's turn, up a steep hill without any pullouts, so he was on his own. He's taken water and food. We would be able to support him in about a half an hour's riding, so we spent a few minutes reapplying sunscreen, washing up a bit, and making sandwiches. I got into the van. By now, the first thing I wanted to do when I got off the bike is to get my hands on that white board! <i>“Worked pretty hard that last pull. Legs a little twitchy.”</i> Bill HAS been working hard. I was glad that I pushed hard on the last pull; it made me feel more like I'm being the teammate he deserves. <i> “Feeling good, last pull 9.0 and lovin' it. Keep drinking! XOXOX – PS Can I keep the pony???”</i></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFeNo8yHI6MjGUH0YwPT9A7p6LLP9vXXg0pCA860d5vS_Lpnsw686jWIH_tVMQclXF_shYED9eU7gbEssjzieS7jpA8ChXPeW69IVYRsXZW-k8d3n-zdqgfk90uIasW7WbrJJp40lh4PGE/s1600/exchange.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFeNo8yHI6MjGUH0YwPT9A7p6LLP9vXXg0pCA860d5vS_Lpnsw686jWIH_tVMQclXF_shYED9eU7gbEssjzieS7jpA8ChXPeW69IVYRsXZW-k8d3n-zdqgfk90uIasW7WbrJJp40lh4PGE/s400/exchange.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">exchange between Tygh Valley and Grass Valley</td></tr>
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</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">David dumped me out at the top of the steep section. A little more flattish climbing on the 'bent and then it's going to be rollers for a while. I took off, working hard. Half an hour (or so) later, back in the van: <i>“Of course you can keep the pony! What's its name? Maybe we can stable it at Rick and Wendy's?” </i>OK, now we're starting to get silly. But I LIKE silly.</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Moving right along...Moro (time station #2). Here's Dierdre! Woo-hoo!!!! Bill made the right-hand turn. We kept going. More racing. More passing notes on the white board. </span><i>“Flat tire was a piece of tire wire – be careful out there!” </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Sometimes I'd get in the van and just start cracking up. “Anything you'd care to share?” asked David, expectantly. Sometimes yes, sometimes...nah. I considered taking photos of the white board comments, just for the record. Then I decided that what made them cool was that there were temporary. David started referring to them as our “analog Twitter feed”. </span> </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Gassed up in Condon. I headed through town and off toward Heppner while the van re-fueled. They brought me ice cream. I was happy: the sun was shining, we were racing, and I had ice cream AND a pony. Can't hardly get any better than that. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-0B9Zeaj41CdmvKhqrShOi8lgGLxRO_LxxoBwzt_Io7awrO3oQLrvZ1QO-kJiooDVNFlArbZ4y4hBs0qQBLXdwzsXsFig2V2urYkvOUT_kjxVf-nyKhy5iWiocJXacYHHGp5mD48csu-D/s1600/davidinvan.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-0B9Zeaj41CdmvKhqrShOi8lgGLxRO_LxxoBwzt_Io7awrO3oQLrvZ1QO-kJiooDVNFlArbZ4y4hBs0qQBLXdwzsXsFig2V2urYkvOUT_kjxVf-nyKhy5iWiocJXacYHHGp5mD48csu-D/s400/davidinvan.JPG" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David gets his photo in the blog because he got me ice cream - twice.</td></tr>
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Up and over the next big hill. We took turns as best we could. Bill was riding a lot faster uphill than me – but we expected that. Approaching the top, we made one more swap: I'm going to take the DF up the last bit and then down a ways. Just before the summit, my right pedal felt weird. Really, really weird. Then it felt even weirder when the pedal body ejected off of the spindle. That necessitated a quick bike/rider swap while we sorted out our options. Fortunately David and I wear the same size shoes, and even more fortunately, he'd brought shoes and pedals along just in case he'd been able to squeeze a ride in while we were traveling.</span><i> </i><span style="font-style: normal;">I was a little grumpy that the pedal had decided to give up more or less at the top of a hill.</span><i>“Sure, you get a great descent, and all I get is a busted pedal”. “STOP BREAKING THINGS!!! xoxox” </i> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Between flat tires, pedal shenanigans, and our general pace of operation, we were going to be a few minutes shy of getting to Heppner by 7PM – the start of mandatory night follow - so David took the van ahead to refill gas while I plugged along. Since we'd just gassed in Condon, it was a quick and easy trip. Final descent into Heppner. Lights on – check! Music – check! I thought it was amusing when we played “Horse Power”...”<i>The pony's talking to you! GO BILL!! WOO-HOO!!!”</i></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><br />
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</i></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">At dusk, the owls came. I have seen owls out on the course before – but I've never seen them be so numerous, so concentrated, or so determined. There was at least one family of parent and owlets, teaching the young ones to hunt. I guess that something big and slow, like a cyclist with a fluorescent pink helmet, makes a good training target: I was dive-bombed at fairly close range. <i>“Maybe I shouldn't have polished your helmet with mouse-scented Pledge...”</i> I heard that other racers were being menaced by cougars; I had my hands full with the owls...We keyed them out afterward as being (most likely) short-eared owls. This photo essay makes me very glad to not be a mouse!</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="http://www.utahbirds.org/featarts/ShortEaredOwl.htm">http://www.utahbirds.org/featarts/ShortEaredOwl.htm</a> </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Battle Mountain – businesslike. We got it done. At the top, Bill is going to get the long pull down into Dale. This seems sort of backwards to me, but – hey, we're a team. I rolled up onto the bunk and pretended to sleep. <i>“Sweet Dreams, Overlord!” (this is a reference to my RAW crew shirt, which lists my team role as “Overlord” - I did not complain at the time, and “sweet dreams, Overlord” does have a rather nice ring to it). </i> </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bill flies toward Dale, OR!</td></tr>
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</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Bill actually rolled a bit past Dale, almost to the top of the next steep pitch, before I took over. Lots of climbing. It's the middle of the night. I was doing my best but I didn't feel quite right. Breathing wasn't where I expect it to be. But this was Bill's only chance to sleep, and he's one racer who does MUCH better if he gets sleep – so I'm going to suck it up. “Be the teammate he deserves” was my mantra for this stretch. I got us to Long Creek, then made the turn toward Monument. By now the breathing was really bothering me. I considered cutting it short, but I didn't. I wasn't going to be able to completely polish off the Monument climb; I left some of it for Bill. Despite our pact to be honest with each other about how we're doing, I made sure to get him on his way for this pull without letting him know that I was having problems. </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">He knocked off the rest of the Monument climb and we had some relatively easy miles (in theory) racing in to Spray. My breathing, which had been crappy on the upright, was atrocious on the recumbent: gravity is working against solid chest expansion. I had to force myself to remember good breathing technique – expand from the diaphragm first, forcefully, every breath – just to stay in the game. I gave what I could for a pull and got back into the van. Reluctantly, I grabbed the white board...<i>”Some trouble breathing, working through it, mainly okay...”</i></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Turns out, Bill was having some of the same issues – fortunately not quite as bad as I was. We're pretty certain that pollen was to blame. Spring had come late and there was a lot of blooming going on. I remember how lovely the sage smelled....</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Just short of Spray my digestive system woke up and decided that it was time to get to its daily work. I really didn't want to force another stop during night follow hours.... We were very lucky to find a restroom at...7:01(???) - Muleshoe Recreation Area. Good vault toilet, will be in the route book next year! This is the second race in a row where Bill has been abandoned right at 7AM to expedite a restroom mission. </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">By the time we got to Service Creek, it was clear that it was going to be warm. <i>“Glad we'll be done with Clarno before it gets TOO hot!”</i> Up and over Butte Creek, then Bill headed down the other side. I took off out of Fossil. We ran into some touring cyclists on the Fossil climb. They'd been out on tour for about a month. We did some shorter pulls to get over that summit, sent Bill down the other side, and headed back up again. </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMDyT-v9ydnZig6SmtNVMDxhewmgCBiHeFxBl6am4fQwGwJ5xQYZGOJ-UCn5VvdctncpC6IttgWPnHOJw8jJhqtFDyvaqq-VzkhCqTTFkLJv2OO5x6ZdN0eqNKH6ZHOGTKDbQtF-URJ-f6/s1600/tourist.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMDyT-v9ydnZig6SmtNVMDxhewmgCBiHeFxBl6am4fQwGwJ5xQYZGOJ-UCn5VvdctncpC6IttgWPnHOJw8jJhqtFDyvaqq-VzkhCqTTFkLJv2OO5x6ZdN0eqNKH6ZHOGTKDbQtF-URJ-f6/s400/tourist.JPG" width="400" /></a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">they've been touring for 30 days now!</td></tr>
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</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">We settled into a rhythm of shorter pulls on the climbs. It seemed to speed things up a little bit – if nothing else it made the time go faster since we got to send notes to each other more often. My breathing was still a little weird, but becoming tolerable. I learned to concentrate on deep belly breathing, and to forcefully exhale through pursed lips.<i>“Make sure David gets ice cream in Shaniko!”. </i> </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Onward – and upward. Over Clarno. I actually got to take the descent down to Antelope. I made the turn in Antelope and handed off to Bill. </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Bill took a pull and the plan was to relieve him quickly and have me take the last bit into Shaniko. Then Bill would get on the course at the turn and head toward Bakeoven. The road did not cooperate; we had about 2 miles of no pullouts whatsoever. Finally we found one and I'm off. I polished off the last 2 or 3 miles as best I could. When we got to the gas station, we discovered that there was no gas – the place turns over often, and the current management must feel that they're doing just fine selling smokes, cokes, and beer. </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">We've got plenty of gas, so this wasn't a problem – just means one more thing for the crew to do in Maupin. We were hoping to lighten the crew's load a little bit there so that they could enjoy some of the Imperial's fine hospitality. Instead, we had to settle for “just” ice cream in Shaniko. Strawberry for Bill (no surprise there) but I had to pick...drawing a blank...too many choices....OK - mint chocolate chip!!! I can't remember what David and Ian had, but it looked good. For some unfathomable reason the clerk thought to mention that perhaps she should include a pickle with Bill's ice cream. We thought otherwise. </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">We caught up to Bill just short of the Bakeoven Summit, and let him go a little bit past until we found a reasonable turnout. The first miles out of the summit are flat-to-rolling – so finding a turnout where he'd be losing speed was not that difficult. Then I was off to the races for a fairly long pull, which I thoroughly enjoyed. There were some headwinds, but they were fairly light. In 2009, the wind had been so fierce that I'd crawled down this slope at about 12 mph. </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">David pulled me in to get a short rest. The guys must've mentioned the pickle incident: <i>“Glad there's no pickle in the ice cream!” (Well, </i><i><u>me too!</u></i><i>)</i> I would take the last 9 miles down to the Maupin. David would leave Bill and his DF there, go into town to get gas and ice, and return to pick me up. They hoped to get back before I did. I hoped they wouldn't – because that would mean I was going faster! </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">I pushed as best I could heading down the hill. I always fight to not be too conservative on the switchbacks leading into town – imagine Wile E Coyote going over a cliff and you'll have a pretty good idea of the consequences of a mistake in this section. I didn't exactly air it out, but I did have more fun than I've had before. </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Bill was waiting for me when I got there – big smoochy sendoff, and he was out on the next climb. I had a second to grab (but not eat) a sandwich, and say “hi” to Rob and Deirdre before David and Ian came rolling in for me. We racked the Carbent and headed up the hill after Bill. </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">The plan was for Bill to take the steep part of the hill, for me to take the flat part, and for Bill to finish and take the downhill to Tygh Valley. By this time he was almost feeling sheepish about getting yet another downhill – if one were keeping strict score, he was significantly ahead in the downhill miles department – but I held firm on this one: it's very sweet and I've done it a bunch of times, so it was a good one for him to get to try. <i>“Woo-hoo! Enjoy this descent!!”</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Sadly, what goes down must...come up. The climb to Tygh Ridge Summit was a bear: hot, exposed, headwinds. I did my part, but Bill did more. When we got to the top, David was going to let Bill take the descent, but Bill was having none of it: “Sandy's fresher – send her”. This was smart racing all around – Bill needed to get back into the van for some cooling – because the descent was quite a bit harder than it looked. Despite the great gravity assist, I could only manage 25 mph. There was a lot of headwind slowing me down, but every once in a while it would become a nasty crosswind, or mysteriously disappear altogether. With the swirling wind, it was difficult to predict where the bike would go if I put serious power down. A couple of times I ran afoul of the gust gods, and the bike lurched into a sudden lack-of-crosswind, so I did my best to concentrate on smooth riding and keeping the pedals moving. <br />
<br />
By the exchange, the crew must've known that I was at my limit; they were cheering and whooping and hollering up a storm. Ian even did some kilt-twirling! At registration, Deirdre asked him what he was wearing under his kilt, to which he replied, "shoes". He was right.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYKdNBq9hl0wLhcU3VwqlxJnLAt_4IFGjDwgDf0qcNgPnSTjv7HSVwDWGZ5sbyBFedu_sPZJ2L4sxjGTLq5q5Y7IOR-BEWkeAhigDSEOgruPud5gZhzAyieArhLlurr-ca12H1mosVluwd/s1600/no_circle_red.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYKdNBq9hl0wLhcU3VwqlxJnLAt_4IFGjDwgDf0qcNgPnSTjv7HSVwDWGZ5sbyBFedu_sPZJ2L4sxjGTLq5q5Y7IOR-BEWkeAhigDSEOgruPud5gZhzAyieArhLlurr-ca12H1mosVluwd/s320/no_circle_red.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sorry, sports fans - what happens at RAO, stays at RAO.</td></tr>
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</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Once we moved off of the highway, Bill took over again. We were on the final assault now – heading toward FR44 and ultimately the downhill finish. The 3000' of climbing between here and there – well, we'll get it done somehow. Smallish detail. </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Once the climb began in earnest, we did shorter and shorter pulls until we got to the top. I was really feeling the climbing and the heat. At one point, all I could think of to write was, <i>“I AM (picture of a slice of TOAST)<picture a="" of="" slice="" toast="">”.</picture></i> Bill started working harder to get us to the top. <i>“Can you smell the barn?”,</i> he wrote. <i>“I'm pretty sure the barn can smell ME!”</i>, I answered....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd5ROTXx1piUNcWJ7ZnaR7d8egTyi0sHeZj8RZ1Q0EuPcNBTqnYPorf0Fi8fQMGW_DRgpj4hM-ti5QhDNPwEgX2HAYzAW7iZP8dfroulxFwxlZk0RZrrDYa538RQlyXURLq6bZ6vRf0pZB/s1600/billridingtowardhood.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd5ROTXx1piUNcWJ7ZnaR7d8egTyi0sHeZj8RZ1Q0EuPcNBTqnYPorf0Fi8fQMGW_DRgpj4hM-ti5QhDNPwEgX2HAYzAW7iZP8dfroulxFwxlZk0RZrrDYa538RQlyXURLq6bZ6vRf0pZB/s400/billridingtowardhood.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bill is riding great!!!<br />
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</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">As we got close to the top, it was clear that the last 4-person team, Team AARP Approved, was catching up with us. I figured that was okay – at this point we knew we were going to come in at a decent hour, not totally kill ourselves, and meet our goals. But getting passed so late in a race kind of hurts, you know? They did pass us just before the final summit, and made their escape toward Hood River. </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLmQE97kzb7SbBYGqXNJ7EEDL1Ei3Q2QwrAtfTXeeuzHbLSz_e_KKvT7CpeJsAw0q6VZmuscWvfNdrTKQNjgI4YoQecWlEjDtsPqetCkbPhK9cZgHjcBF5uQWMgJU2dzQsFtUP0K8ufOsp/s1600/sandyistoast.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLmQE97kzb7SbBYGqXNJ7EEDL1Ei3Q2QwrAtfTXeeuzHbLSz_e_KKvT7CpeJsAw0q6VZmuscWvfNdrTKQNjgI4YoQecWlEjDtsPqetCkbPhK9cZgHjcBF5uQWMgJU2dzQsFtUP0K8ufOsp/s400/sandyistoast.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I. Am. Toast.</td></tr>
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</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">After my “toast” comment, Bill was figuring that he might have to finish the race on his own. I knew that once we got off the climb, things would get better. How much better, I could not have guessed....</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">We put Bill out on the recumbent for the first descent – down FR44 to Hwy 35. We lost a minute or so here because when the guys pulled it off the rack, it had a flat tire. Augh. It was faster to change his wheel than to haul me out of the van. Finally, he was off and we flew ahead to the next turn, to set me up. </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">A nice, non-technical descent – definitely my terrain. I spun up the Carbent as quickly as I could, settled in, and enjoyed the ride. David tells me it was mainly at 50+ mph and I don't doubt that for a minute – I was working hard at maximizing speed by applying force where it would be helpful, and by being as aero as possible when further application of force wasn't productive. After several miles, I thought I saw a bike ahead. And then I was SURE I saw a bike ahead. And then it dawned on me – AARP! I was going to catch them. There was no holding me back at that point. What breathing problems? Hell, you hardly need to breathe to pilot a recumbent rocket down a mountain...when I was sure I was going to pass, I sent the team van around to set up an exchange, put the hammer the rest of the way down, and hung on until I got some relief. It took a LONG time to get to the exchange – but David had had to go a long way down the mountain to get to a point where he knew he was far enough ahead to make the exchange without losing time. </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Bill took the small grade reversal on his Cervelo at about 6:55 PM. David decided that the thing for us to do was to get him to the top of that hill, where he'd arrive at almost exactly 7:00, and the two of us would ride the rest of the way down, together, on our recumbents. Since night rules were coming back around, this was the only way to get both of us out on the course to finish together without a full stop. And – we're racing! </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEnKNzmrAOiNf_KH48EcC9v6i6m3KkMAdjJqHw-yqFxcEtZmmFPfJSScQ74OiKhE-0fvsWr-o9Rz9Zn5pRN0Bgh7_aGzxABmRCjJDUtqE60It8kepZIIBz1zq6WbmOQrp_8f3q8ckklM5D/s1600/viewcomingdown.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEnKNzmrAOiNf_KH48EcC9v6i6m3KkMAdjJqHw-yqFxcEtZmmFPfJSScQ74OiKhE-0fvsWr-o9Rz9Zn5pRN0Bgh7_aGzxABmRCjJDUtqE60It8kepZIIBz1zq6WbmOQrp_8f3q8ckklM5D/s400/viewcomingdown.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the top of FR44, the view is amazing!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We managed both exchanges without catching sight of AARP. Now Bill and I were careening down the boulder-sealed highway toward Hood River and the finish line. Bill dropped his chain and for a moment I forgot about the night follow rules, and headed on without him. Fortunately I figured it out and slowed, so that when he got his chain back on, he didn't have to sprint too far to bring us back together <i>(OK, he may think it was 'too far'!). </i> </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Down, down, down...pushing each other, having a blast. Eventually David lets us know that there's no further threat from the rear, and we can take it down to a reasonable pace for the last couple of miles, and so we do. We rolled across the finish, photos, medals, smiles...woo-hoo!!!<br />
Oh, yeah. And a pony. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-style: normal; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7S8Tzx9zKnJ4VBKiGXhIHR5BYkNQzbRCEt9UGjjB3izHfCwAgx6dX1K9P1bibSJTXCOH8L6diWsyJTyEYttOlegdW9oOBiOwTggz06NhZc6Gk4bMDuxqKINLSRyjTyq_NGeBLJWlnuEfj/s1600/finish.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7S8Tzx9zKnJ4VBKiGXhIHR5BYkNQzbRCEt9UGjjB3izHfCwAgx6dX1K9P1bibSJTXCOH8L6diWsyJTyEYttOlegdW9oOBiOwTggz06NhZc6Gk4bMDuxqKINLSRyjTyq_NGeBLJWlnuEfj/s400/finish.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Woo-hoo!!!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-style: normal;">Thanks again and again to David and Ian for amazing crewing, to Bill for being the best teammate EVER, and to everyone involved with RAO. We had a blast and I'm already looking forward to next year. </div><div style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</div>We've got one T-shirt left from the party. They're very cool. (See David's photo above).<b><i> It could be yours!!!</i></b> Best pony name wins the shirt! Enter by email or by comment on this blog.</div>Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-14976586268016831882011-07-11T11:31:00.000-07:002011-07-14T13:45:19.833-07:00Through tree to shining tree - a Fourth of July ride like no other....Well, I said it...that I had missed biking through the "drive through tree" at Leggett. Bill, that righter of wrongs, decided that we should do a training ride to fix that lapse on my part. Since he works most Saturdays - helping people train to run to raise funds for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society - available weekends are few, but with Monday as a holiday, we had some room to roam.<br />
By my standards, this tour was going to be a pretty staid affair - heck, we even knew where we were going to be sleeping - the Willits Super 8 - a couple of days ahead of time, and we had collected up some restaurant reviews, eventually circling in on one that promised the "best burgers in town" because (a) it was an easy recovery walk from the motel, (b) the "best burgers in town" really ought to be investigated, and (c) there was a mention of milkshakes.<br />
So - pretty simple: ride to Willits on Sunday, taking a slight detour to ride through a tree, and ride home on Monday. With the long days, we figured it would be relatively easy to beat daylight each day, so the heavy-duty headlight stayed home. (I did bring a flashlight for a just-in-case light, but never needed it).<br />
We packed the few things we'd need for an overnighter. Bill ended up purchasing a pair of water shoes that squashed flat; his running shoes would've taken up half of his luggage space.<br />
We planned an early departure on Sunday and nearly delivered on it: 7:24 when we rolled off the driveway and onto the mean streets of Arcata.<br />
We made good time in the early miles, reaching the Avenue of the Giants a few minutes before 10AM. I'd been wondering what it would be like to have a touring partner. What we ended up doing, much to my delight, was to ride in a manner that I'd describe as "together-but"....we kept an eye out for each other, never let the other completely out of our sights, but we were riding individually, which left me free to dog the hills (a little bit, though perhaps not as much as I would've if it hadn't been for Bill, up there a ways) and push the flats (though perhaps not as much as I would've if it hadn't been for bill, back there a ways....). <br />
Just about the time we got to a good point for a bathroom break, we were at a "walk-in" tree - the Eternal Tree House in Redcrest. I pressed for the privelege of a few minutes of off-bike time, figuring that this would be our "warm-up" tree. It was actually pretty neat!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUukoJ-xOW1BFmHz55NLLVP_G9rxdw2qPuQEGPvRcU239q7miugHXM6C8LWyX0rRTnl1K6wrQXJV5hEZqntF7YcBAPgDB9-3bT0S8Z6q_S7g5xTitqPk1LikhV1vZ4DS7dFgvf2QSEBnsI/s1600/EternalTreehouse_big.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUukoJ-xOW1BFmHz55NLLVP_G9rxdw2qPuQEGPvRcU239q7miugHXM6C8LWyX0rRTnl1K6wrQXJV5hEZqntF7YcBAPgDB9-3bT0S8Z6q_S7g5xTitqPk1LikhV1vZ4DS7dFgvf2QSEBnsI/s400/EternalTreehouse_big.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
From there, we pressed forward at a pretty good clip, coming to a screeching halt in Myers Flat....where there was a sign for - would you believe this? - a drive-through tree! Perhaps this was the "real" drive-through tree, and the Leggett sign was for an imposter. You couldn't tell from the road, so we just had to do it.<br />
Six bucks later, we were in. Through the tree, many photos with help from a fellow tourist. As trees go this one was not a very happy looking specimen, but it was (a) big, and (b) you could drive through it. This was a cool little roadside attraction: they had a "Step-Through Stump" for kids, a "Drive On Log" for SUV's, and a very cute pair of Tree Houses.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip9LJlL06jPlrV5dVnRNjrdA5CbH6AD_yGjoV4X2qGRWJpIAaX4O-AK8RVHtVruLLZx_udzddZ5H_9qRczIwlt62czoUXK0Pgl9VkS3krIDxLfthHVD6gfpNOnBd_lhcqqjRc3RubaHJEO/s1600/Drive+Thru+Tree+Shrine+Meyers+Flat+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip9LJlL06jPlrV5dVnRNjrdA5CbH6AD_yGjoV4X2qGRWJpIAaX4O-AK8RVHtVruLLZx_udzddZ5H_9qRczIwlt62czoUXK0Pgl9VkS3krIDxLfthHVD6gfpNOnBd_lhcqqjRc3RubaHJEO/s400/Drive+Thru+Tree+Shrine+Meyers+Flat+3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mugging for the camera: Me (left), Bill (right). We're tourists!!!!</td></tr>
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By now it was late morning, and we had a ways to go, so we needed to step it up. And it was getting HOT. We'd checked the weather and had expected 60's. It was more like 80. Genuine sweat was rolling off my brow in several places as we approached Garberville, which was to be our lunch stop. <br />
After making a couple of slow, hungry circles around the main drag we settled on Getti Up - a burger joint. Yes, I know - we had already set our sights on burgers for dinner, but there was a theme rolling. We were going to bag two trees, so two burgers didn't seem all that outrageous. <br />
I rarely pan a restaurant. But the Getti Up has got some work to do. This Yelp review - which I found post facto - pretty much sums it up:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"> <i> "I should have just stopped when the 14 year old behind the counter </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>asked me if I wanted cheese on my cheeseburger."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;">There was no paper in the bathroom. It took a...bit...longer than you'd expect to bring the food. When it arrived, they gave me fries (after I'd asked for no fries and not paid for them). And they gave me the wrong milkshake. On the plus side, they were very sorry for the mistake, didn't charge me for the fries, and re-made the shake quickly and without complaint, and the food was decent. Still, it would've been reassuring to catch any glimpse of an adult on the premises. <i><br />
</i></div>Bill had found a re-route in Google Maps for the one section of Hwy 101 that he figured he'd rather skip - the tight curves around Richardson Grove; it involved taking some back roads from Garberville, taking a hillier route to the west of Piercy and coming out somewhere around the non-hamlet of Dimmick. Looking at the terrain that direction, we were both getting nervous about this - me (sorta-secretly) because of the hills that were very clearly in evidence, and Bill because he knows that in Humboldt County, roads in places that look like that are seldom paved. So we started asking around. When the motorcycle riders didn't recognize the roads we were talking about I figured we would be in deep doo-doo if we went for it. A quick trip to the gas station across the street confirmed this. And a State Patrol officer positively told Bill that the ONLY way to get through to Willits was to take 101 through Richardson Grove. When a stater tells me to take the highway, I'm all over it. <br />
So - 101 it was. And it wasn't bad. What traffic there was was pretty polite. I guess no one was in that much of a hurry.<br />
From here, there's a bit of climbing to Leggiet - home of the second drive-through tree. The Leggett tree is a specimen. Really, really amazing. The park is a huge tourist trap...we stood in line behind a bunch of cars. Everyone stopped to take pictures (which of course is the main point of the adventure so you can't blame 'em). Christopher Cross blared from the gift shop speakers.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMI8-s2r3iR5iv5qcdYKOUQDxgfaFUh7CrNETH3pH5-CapbvHHDXaLeBFcR_YXAV8tnYA2eUbWtBGtK2AAzzTZUgaLZzXbogpy9te_0OOgJqRV-D1n7lcLn5l2R0_snBZH_KQuXtN8-ILq/s1600/Photo-0024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMI8-s2r3iR5iv5qcdYKOUQDxgfaFUh7CrNETH3pH5-CapbvHHDXaLeBFcR_YXAV8tnYA2eUbWtBGtK2AAzzTZUgaLZzXbogpy9te_0OOgJqRV-D1n7lcLn5l2R0_snBZH_KQuXtN8-ILq/s400/Photo-0024.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Same day, different tree....</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
We were hot enough to justify a couple of minutes' downtime to grab a couple of Dr. Peppers from the machine. After that - more climbing to Laytonville.<br />
By this time, it was getting late in the afternoon. The sun was really beating down. There was a lot of rock and little shade. Lizards were common roadside companions. I was a little overdressed (microweight wool baselayer and knickers). My water was warm and swampy. "Now THIS is RAO training", I thought to myself...turns out that Bill was thinking pretty much the same thing. On the climbs, his big difficulty was staying with me (by that I mean, not totally dusting me). He complained that he just couldn't understand why I could spin up the hills SO SLOWLY at such a high cadence. He was (he thought) in his smallest gear, and was grinding at low RPM rather than spinning at a more reasonable rate. This should've been sounding warning bells in our road-soaked brains - but of course it didn't, because just at the point where things started to get intolerable, we reached Rattlesnake Summit and started a downward trend to Willits.<br />
We made a quick pit stop in Laytonville - replaced the hot swamp water with some sweet tea (me), Coke (Bill), and water (both of us), and shared a sandwich. With 25 miles to go, Bill estimated it would be another 2 hours to get to the hotel. I'd been on this road before, told him it would be one-and-a-half, tops. Then I busted butt to make it happen.<br />
As it turns out, downhill and a slight tailwind makes for brisk riding; 1:17 later we were in Willits, coasting through town, marveling at the gas prices ($3.56/gallon!!!) and settling into the Super 8. After we checked in and set the air conditioning to "Nuclear Winter", hunger won out: we cleaned up just enough to be presentable (using the loose, "not turned away at the door" definition of presentable) and saved the serious showering for after dinner.<br />
<b>Grimaldis</b> was billed as having the best burgers in town. <u><b><i>Sports fans, it did not disappoint</i></b></u>.. The decor looks like it's been locked in place for a quarter century or more, though some recent touches (compact fluorescent bulbs, high quality tile on the floor) suggest that the owners are doing the basic upkeep.<br />
The burgers were works of art. Bill's was on a French roll, I forget the specifics other than it was immense and made him smile that goofy, man-with-really-good-burger smile immediately. Mine featured grilled onions, bacon, and bleu cheese, and was stellar. The beef was nicely done and had that backyard bbq taste.<br />
Milkshakes weren't on the main menu, but we'd passed an ice cream case and the online reviews had specifically mentioned shakes, so we asked. Yep: chocolate, strawberry, vanilla. Bill had strawberry (again). I had chocolate. They came in tall fountain glasses with whipped cream on top. They were good, but the burgers definitely carried the day. <br />
Bill was giddy from our success, glowing with stories from the road, thinking about the miles completed, really, really happy with the notion of the open road, touring, getting on the bike in one town and stopping someplace entirely different. I added that one of the coolest parts of the adventure is how committed we are. We have no plan B: we will both be pedaling back to Arcata tomorrow. Unlike most riding days, we can't cut it short, or decide we'd rather not, and stay home. And today's tailwind is going to be tomorrow's....yep. Headwind, more likely than not.<br />
We sent the victorious, through-the-tree picture to David, to let him know we were safe in Willits. He sent this back as a warning that our old dog, Cog, may have learned a few new tricks while we were gone:<br />
<br />
We decided that an early start was in order, so we picked up some yogurt on the way home for an early breakfast. Hopefully we could be rolling by 6AM....<br />
Without the normal household distractions, we actually rolled a few minutes early. A few miles in, as we were climbing, Bill motioned me over to the side of the road. It turned out that his rear derailleur cable was disastrously out of tension, which meant that he couldn't shift to <i>any</i> of the larger rear cogs. That explained why he was having trouble with finding a high-cadence gear to match mine! We were able to get that resolved just with the barrel adjuster. Life is better with climbing gears! <br />
It was good to get the climb back to Laytonville out of the way early, before it got too warm. In Laytonville, we stopped for Second Breakfast - a bike-touring staple meal that I was delighted to introduce to Bill. Naturally, our eyes fell on Wheels - a local diner. Although it was mainly NASCAR-themed, there was a bicycle on the wall. The French toast was really, really good!<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Overall, traffic on 101 was light. Maybe driving on the 4th of July is like flying on Thanksgiving: only the turkeys aren't already where they want to be. </span><br />
Laytonville, Leggett - check. We pulled over a bit north of Piercy for fluid replenishment, which meant that we could bypass Garberville. We did take a small detour around Benbow - the State Trooper who'd recommended 101 also mentioned that this was a scenic alternative. We'd not taken it on the way out because it required 2 left turns onto and off of 101, and because the road it bypasses is generally pretty good. But we were in an adventurous mood....it was extremely pretty. There was a bit of gravel in one spot, but it was worth it!<br />
By Garberville, the sun and headwinds were indeed fierce. We ditched off 101 and back onto the Avenue of the Giants at Myers Flat, stopping for a bit of lunch. The selection at the minimart was rapacious: $7.00 for a pretty measly-looking sandwich of unknown origin. We opted to make our own, purchasing an avocado, some hamburger buns, and a half pound of roast beef. MUCH tastier. Bill even found a home for the leftover buns!<br />
Compared to 101, the Avenue was shaded and at least partly sheltered from the wind. We tooled along at a reasonable clip, with one good speed challenge thrown in for good measure. I should NOT try to chase cars, even when they're clearly misbehaving. And Bill should probably not chase ME while I'm chasing cars, either. But I'm glad he did, and the speedwork was good for both of us.<br />
Once we leave the shelter of the big trees, the headwinds are back in force. I'm sure it's slowing us down, but I'm not keeping track, really - just making sure that we're going to be home before dark. Fortunately by the time we're this far north, the temperature's down quite a bit. <br />
Next stop - Fern Bridge. Smelling the barn now. We're both a little hungry, and we split up the last of the fluids (he's almost empty, and I've got some to share), with the understanding that we're going to make a beeline for home. <br />
The rest of the way is familiar ground. Loleta, Fields' Landing, Eureka (somehow we managed to make all the lights!), cross over to the waterfront, and we're on the Samoa Bridge. By now I'm pretty hungry. I know we're *supposed* to go to the fireworks display with David and Mary, but I just can't see it happening. What I CAN see happening is a nice, big pizza. I'm actually fantasizing about it: a perfect mixture of meat and veggie toppings, not-too-thick crust, melted and slightly browned cheese....a ginger ale from the fridge. Heck, maybe we could have such a thing delivered and head out to the fireworks. Or - maybe we could have it delivered....right....to...the...sofa.<br />
With all of this guided imagery going on, my legs were really churning...still into the remnant headwind. I could dimly sense Bill falling back. And I could smell that pizza. Just a little faster won't hurt him....<br />
Whew! Home! Cog is glad to see us, of course. We rack up the bikes, take a good look around, and reach for the fridge. I grab a ginger ale. Bill grabs a root beer. "So I was thinking about tonight", he starts, slowly, almost sheepishly. "We could go to the fireworks..." I cut him off: "..but if we do that, we'll be out until midnight. Maybe we should stay home." He grins. We'd both love to do the fireworks, but - maybe next year. I put out that it would be good to hang here with Cog; sometimes he gets nervous about fireworks, and this is his first year here...."Sounds like a plan", Bill says. "How about we order a pizza? I've been thinking about pizza for the last few miles...."Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-20681518149736292272011-06-22T09:43:00.000-07:002011-06-22T09:43:16.973-07:00My RAW Bike Commute<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
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<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">I bike-commuted to meet my RAW team in Sunnyvale. I was crew chief for Joan Grant. I'll spoil the surprise (you know how much I hate suspense!) by telling you that we had a fantastic race, and that Joan now holds the womens' RAW record. And I'll leave the telling of that story up to her.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">I had originally figured I'd just hop a ride with David and the Team Raven Lunatic van down to the Bay area – but then I realized that I was woefully short on adventures this year. Since I normally have Fridays off, I could ride down the coast to the Bay area. David offered to chauffeur my bike back home, so long as I left it at Jim's place. No problem.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">I took off a little after first light on Friday. I felt oddly nervous and unsettled. Maybe it had just been too long, and I'd forgotten the lure of the open road. Or maybe I've got more to miss now. Or possibly some of each. Anyway, I managed to waste a good hour, sorting through stuff, petting Cog, and having that last cup of coffee.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">And then – it was 6:45 and I really couldn't put it off any longer. And just like that, off I went...around the bay to Eureka, through town on the back roads, and onto Highway 101. I didn't have a map, or a plan, particularly. Heck – it's pretty obvious where San Fransisco is. Put the water over your right shoulder and keep plowing ahead and you're sure to run into it eventually.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">I had packed just enough stuff to get me down there, since David and Bill would arrive shortly after I did. They were lugging all of my luggage for RAW (thanks, guys!). I had a change of clothes, warm gear for night, three good spare tubes, a spare tire, and a couple of tools. That's it, because that's all the room I had. Everything was wedged into my race bag, snug as a bug in a rug.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Southward. Fortuna. Rio Dell. Avenue of the Giants. Munching on waffles and Nutella, swigging water and (more) coffee. It was almost misty at first, then overcast. Somewhere in the southern reaches of Humboldt County, the sun started peeking out. And then I started seeing the signs - “Special Event Ahead: Redwood Run”. Wow – a footrace? On a Friday? Or...not. Turns out that the Redwood Run has nothing whatsoever to do with the actual sport of running. And I was noticing a lot of Harley Davidsons out on the road.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">By the time I reached Piercy the sun was out in full force, and it was quite clear that the “Redwood Run” was actually a motorcycle rally. Fortunately for me, bikers like good food, too, and the store was well-stocked with sandwiches, cookies, and the like. The parking lot had spread out to a mini-fair, and I spent my “lunch” time peering at racks of t-shirts and stickers that would make a sailor blush, and hoping there was nothing too unusual about the brownie I'd just slammed down. Got into a few conversations with curious gawkers: “Hey, is that bike, like, COMFORTABLE?” “Where are you headed?” “Is that CARBON FIBER? COOL!!!” and the like.</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM9xD-KULyksEEbik_Oows_r1JbviEJO5Iprd9kfpHbH8V42-QsYFGAj-6o879Bv0hTujzXnKv_zoTVrUZ8oOy-eDRR0ldyasT-DadaTX-kc0o0Nowlue_kbvGtf-_CsRJYSDJQFnYpsrs/s1600/sm_5773_Redwood_Run.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><img align="BOTTOM" border="0" height="203" name="graphics1" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM9xD-KULyksEEbik_Oows_r1JbviEJO5Iprd9kfpHbH8V42-QsYFGAj-6o879Bv0hTujzXnKv_zoTVrUZ8oOy-eDRR0ldyasT-DadaTX-kc0o0Nowlue_kbvGtf-_CsRJYSDJQFnYpsrs/s400/sm_5773_Redwood_Run.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">And on I went. This was the point where I did NOT reapply sunscreen, leading to a particularly embarrassing case of knickertan. Leggett – considered hitting the drive-thru tree, but opted against, not knowing whether it's bicycle friendly. Plenty hilly from here to Laytonville, but with nice conditions and a bit of a tailwind it wasn't bothering me.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">More rollers, then some flats, then before you know it I was sailing into Willits, just at dinnertime.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">I stopped at Burrito Exquisito for a giant-ish chicken burrito. While I was there I called Bill (and Cog) to let them know how I was doing.</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRXv3T2LueBdjCmFc84fCCwhZYba0As7AYaWduZcDCoR3g_wkQEAzWscR99gHe5Y00gtyHrY0V-rfEtvCC4COafZd_fJrxOY0wQcPcBWun56DTKxiIliMepWkwmOQJilj7GnPrhkGuGpyE/s1600/burritoexquisito.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><img align="BOTTOM" border="0" height="400" name="graphics2" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRXv3T2LueBdjCmFc84fCCwhZYba0As7AYaWduZcDCoR3g_wkQEAzWscR99gHe5Y00gtyHrY0V-rfEtvCC4COafZd_fJrxOY0wQcPcBWun56DTKxiIliMepWkwmOQJilj7GnPrhkGuGpyE/s400/burritoexquisito.jpg" width="212" /></span></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">After Willits, life got more, well, interesting. I got my first flat tire between Willits and Ukiah. No problem – I've got three spare tubes. Onward...I start doing the math, trying to figure out when I can figure on making it to Santa Rosa, which is a major landmark on the way down for me. I'm feeling good and I'm flying along, and just at the point where I've got the math figured out and I'm happy with the result, BLAMMO! Another flat tire. Grrrr.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">OK, not a problem, I've got three spare tubes, after all. So I replace the tube, getting it mainly inflated before I notice that the tire has a pretty big sidewall cut, and the tube is protruding, and...I made it. Got it deflated before detonation. This was a big deal because “three spare tubes” was starting to sound like “<i>only</i> three spare tubes???”. I hauled out the spare tire, and mounted it with the second tube.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">And I'm back on the road. The sun is low in the sky, but I'm riding along, picking up speed, enjoying the last puffs of tailwind before it beds down for the night, and figuring out when I'll make it to Santa Rosa, based on the last flat tire and my current rate of speed and enthusiasm. Just when I think I've got it worked out, and I'm happy with the result....BLAMMO.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Good grief! Three flats in not much more than an hour. I put my third spare tube in <i>(“only three spare tubes???”)</i> and think, weakly, that I should really patch one of the injured tubes now, before it gets dark. “But what are the chances of a FOURTH flat?” I ask myself, and so I forge ahead, into the twilight, enjoying the sunset and speeding right along, figuring out when I'll make it to Santa Rosa, based on the current position, location, speed, and enthusiasm....</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">By this time, you're probably wondering why I let my mind wander down the Santa Rosa path yet again, since it seems like every time I got to that point in my mental ramblings, I got a flat tire. Well, it wouldn't be such a great story if not for the fact that, yes, indeed, I got my fourth flat tire just as the light changed from dim to dark. Now I had to patch a tube, and I was distrustful of the porosity of the replacement tire, which had let in two pretty minor pieces of road shrapnel. I decided to patch the slit tire, which was otherwise brand new, rather than to trust the spare.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">It is difficult to find small holes in black inner tubes in the dark. And my creeping presbyopia doesn't help one bit. Fortunately, I've got a very good light that I can use to illuminate the work area. Unfortunately, as I reached for the light to move it to a more useful position, the mount broke in my hand. I guess I'm lucky that it broke while I was stationary... but now I'd have to figure something out for a front light.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">The only tube that I could see well enough to patch was the one that had punctured with the sidewall cut. At least I had that going for me – the hole was big enough to find relatively easily. Hopefully the patch would hold!</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">About this time I realized that my taillight was functioning on something resembling the “glowworm” setting, so I changed it out for my spare. The spare turned on for 10 seconds, sputtered, and died.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Final tally: It's well after dark. I'm on Hwy 101. I have a LED leg bracelet rigged as a temporary headlight, and a taillight that is barely visible. I'm riding a patched tire and tube, and am carrying three spare tubes that have holes that are too small to visualize in the dark. And I've changed four tires <i>(make that five, if you count the one that I did twice before discovering the bulge in the tire)</i>. I'm covered in grease and grime.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Fortunately it's only eight more miles to Cloverdale. I'm creeping along, really missing my light, certain that at any moment the tire bogeyman will rear his ugly head yet again. But by some small miracle, I made it without incident.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">At that hour (sometime after 10PM) there's not much action in Cloverdale. I pulled into the first minimart that presented itself: a rather seedy place that doubles as a liquor store and appears to be where the local 18-year-olds go to celebrate their 21<sup>st</sup> birthdays. I picked up batteries for the taillight, a hotdog and coffee for myself, and started McGuyvering. With most of the parts from the light mount, plus an armband for an iPod, plus some electrical tape scavenged from elsewhere on the bike, I could put the light back into service – as a helmet-mounted light. Only downside is that the battery cord is short, so that I need to wear the battery pack on my helmet as well. Heavy, but that's what it's going to take. I inspect the tire. So far, so good. The patch is holding. And I'm well-lit, which is a good thing.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Off I go, back into the night. Before you know it, my thoughts were wandering, back to my current speed, figuring how long it was going to take to get to...<i><b>STOP. RIGHT. THERE</b></i>.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">In a perfect world, I would have spoken those words to myself, to ward off the brain waves that attract flats like my strawberry plants attract slugs. Since this is NOT a perfect world, the “<i><b>STOP. RIGHT. THERE.”</b></i> that I heard had come from the speaker of a California State Patrol car.</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSD3SP8DGHstzVH5WvPSoaROQDMeBw28qNRHYqXFxEAIrkQUie2Nc7v6Vg-4nVGBH8dz7bmQZZgAfuwR89EmTCpY-XAsbMayoyFnh1kQBpINzWRynzudKJp27PkwpH9DOR-pZFi-A5AIAx/s1600/chips.gif"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><img align="BOTTOM" border="0" height="400" name="graphics3" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSD3SP8DGHstzVH5WvPSoaROQDMeBw28qNRHYqXFxEAIrkQUie2Nc7v6Vg-4nVGBH8dz7bmQZZgAfuwR89EmTCpY-XAsbMayoyFnh1kQBpINzWRynzudKJp27PkwpH9DOR-pZFi-A5AIAx/s400/chips.gif" width="333" /></span></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">The officer was not amused by my presence on the 101, particularly at that hour. He started asking me questions:</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Officer: “Have you seen any OTHER bicycles out here, miss?” <i>(“Miss? Really???)</i></span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">ME: “No, sir, I haven't.”</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Officer: “Well, don't you think that it's STRANGE that you're the only bicycle rider out here?”</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">ME: <i>(can't help but think that this is a trick question...)</i> “No, sir, not really; I'm pretty used to being the only bicyclist out some times.”</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Officer: “Well, you're not supposed to be riding on the freeway. Didn't you see signs to that effect on the freeway onramp?”</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">ME: “Sir, I got onto the 101 in Eureka. There's no onramp.”</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Officer: “Eureka? When was that?”</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">ME: “This morning, sir, at approximately 7:15”.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Officer: (pausing for dramatic effect): “What are you drinking in your waterbottles? Have you had anything to drink?”</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">ME: “It's Diet Coke, sir”.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Officer: “That's really interesting, Miss, because when I do cardio, I can't drink soda at all. Are you SURE that's Diet Coke?”</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">ME: “Yes, sir. If you're like most police officers, you do CrossFit for your cardio, and I'd never be able to drink soda for that, either. I'm not drinking alcohol; you can't do that and operate a bike safely.”</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Officer: “Where are you headed?”</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">ME: “Sunnyvale, sir. I'm meeting a team of racers that's going to ride from Oceanside to Durango”.</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Officer: <i>(shooting me The Look) </i>“The one in Colorado?”</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">ME: “Durango is in Colorado, sir; Oceanside is in California.”</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Officer: <i>(same Look, squared) </i>“I'll need to see your drivers' license.”....</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">He had his partner run my drivers' license, and after a long minute he returned. And then he said the strangest thing of all:</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Officer: “Well, miss, I guess that other than the bicycle thing, you're pretty normal, so I'm going to let you off with a warning. But you have to leave the freeway immediately.”</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Wow. I've been called a lot of things. But...normal??? If I pass for normal in this guy's world, he must lead a pretty interesting life. But if it gets me off without a ticket, that's great. He literally frog-marched me down the next offramp and into Geyserville. Between the flashers and the headlights, I almost felt like I was ultraracing. If only I could ride my bike...Once I was safely in Geyserville, he cut me loose.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">I didn't mind riding side roads the rest of the way. It was slower going since I had to think more about where I was going. But I didn't get any more flats, so getting off the highway may have been a good thing. I got through Santa Rosa in the wee hours, and made it to Petaluma sometime around 4AM. I found a 24-hour breakfast place – Henny Penny's, which is just across the street from the Denny's (say that three times fast!).</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">I had the bacon and eggs breakfast – very slowly – and a quantity of coffee. I sent a text message to Bill to let him know I'd made it to the Bay area, figuring he was not likely awake yet. Turns out I was wrong – he'd volunteered to take some neighbors to the bus station – so we talked briefly. I was able to milk breakfast until it was fully light, and I could better assess my options.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Next time, I think I'll take...a bicycle map. As it was, I ended up doing the full scenic tour of Marin County on Saturday morning. It was a lovely day for a bike ride, so that wasn't such a bad thing, but I was frustrated that I was not getting substantially closer to my goal.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Around 10 AM I admitted defeat. I had made it to San Rafael and I felt like it would be unwise to keep trying to find the Golden Gate Bridge, so I decided to take the ferry. With about an hour to kill before the next ferry launch, I spotted a farmers' market nearby and checked that out. Three peaches later, I was feeling pretty chipper.</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA9_KuxEveek6bVeH8qyHblRO_I5Izka8U3nosYJCJQBgSdyUTiqOidAkSNRm6V2gAnW-1j09JqZv8wp08Yu7lFK8h8gu5pDH_6L-JSaPHqnwCrF7KqeBt6Jog-oK-riM4c8_W946iyzJM/s1600/Golden_gate_ferry.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><img align="BOTTOM" border="0" height="173" name="graphics4" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA9_KuxEveek6bVeH8qyHblRO_I5Izka8U3nosYJCJQBgSdyUTiqOidAkSNRm6V2gAnW-1j09JqZv8wp08Yu7lFK8h8gu5pDH_6L-JSaPHqnwCrF7KqeBt6Jog-oK-riM4c8_W946iyzJM/s400/Golden_gate_ferry.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">I settled in for the ferry ride. And then we got spit out onto the Embarcadero. I had gone from the solitude of biking, solo, from Arcata, to the hustle and bustle of the big city, just like that. And the Giants were playing, so it was doubly busy. Between the road haze, and the sleep deprivation, and the crowds, I was feeling a little overwhelmed.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">And then the naked bike riders came through. A gaggle of naked guys and one brave, equally naked, girl. They were headed in the opposite direction, slowly, nakedly, confusingly. I seldom hallucinate, and when I do, it's never anything fun or interesting, so I'm sure it was real.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Three hundred miles, thirty thousand baseball fans and thirty naked bike riders was enough; I was ready to throw in the towel. I made one feeble attempt to not get lost in downtown SF, but ended up at the corner of four different roads, and none of them were where I belonged... Again, admitting defeat, I ended up taking the train to Mountain View, where Joan picked me up. From there, I was swept into the singleminded busy-ness of RAW: travel, packing, planning, execution, exhaustion, exhilaration.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">This time of year always finds me a theme song. This year, the first song I hit on my ipod when I got home was just amazingly, deeply, psychically “right”. Here it is....enjoy. And – don't forget to sunscreen!</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="color: white; font-size: x-small;"><i>T</i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: x-small;"><i><object height="36" width="470"><param value="http://www.divshare.com/flash/audio_embed?data=YTo2OntzOjU6ImFwaUlkIjtzOjE6IjQiO3M6NjoiZmlsZUlkIjtzOjg6IjE1MTU0MjQyIjtzOjQ6ImNvZGUiO3M6MTI6IjE1MTU0MjQyLWVjYyI7czo2OiJ1c2VySWQiO3M6NzoiMTc5NTkxMiI7czoxMjoiZXh0ZXJuYWxDYWxsIjtpOjE7czo0OiJ0aW1lIjtpOjEzMDg3NjA2NTk7fQ==&autoplay=default" name="movie"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed wmode="transparent" height="36" width="470" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" src="http://www.divshare.com/flash/audio_embed?data=YTo2OntzOjU6ImFwaUlkIjtzOjE6IjQiO3M6NjoiZmlsZUlkIjtzOjg6IjE1MTU0MjQyIjtzOjQ6ImNvZGUiO3M6MTI6IjE1MTU0MjQyLWVjYyI7czo2OiJ1c2VySWQiO3M6NzoiMTc5NTkxMiI7czoxMjoiZXh0ZXJuYWxDYWxsIjtpOjE7czo0OiJ0aW1lIjtpOjEzMDg3NjA2NTk7fQ==&autoplay=default"></embed></object></i></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="color: white; font-size: x-small;"><i></i></span></span><br />
<div style="color: black; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="color: white; font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="color: white; font-size: x-small;"><i>The Apache Relay – American Nomad</i></span></span></i></span></span></div></div><div style="color: black; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="color: white; font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="color: white; font-size: x-small;"><i>I see the sun, I see the stars again<br />
I feel the air, I hear the scream of the wind</i></span></span></i></span></span></div></div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="color: white; font-size: x-small;"><i> </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="color: white; font-size: x-small;"><i>I'd ask everyone I know just where I am<br />
But I don’t care.<br />
<br />
I want to be lost find myself and start again<br />
Tear up the map cause I don't need directions<br />
I want to be free, I need some time to clear my head<br />
If I can<br />
<br />
Chorus:<br />
but Ohh my darling,<br />
The road has split<br />
but I will follow,<br />
It's who<br />
I am<br />
<br />
I write my thoughts, I write `em down on a page<br />
They can't be yours, (but) we'll find a ground to relate<br />
Sayyyyeddd cause I wanna talk<br />
I wanna run<br />
I wanna change<br />
If it's not too late</i></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div>Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-77071538447564669902011-05-15T12:22:00.000-07:002011-05-15T12:22:10.723-07:00One Fine Day<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Well, sports fans – after fifteen years of endurance racing (yes, my first endurance races - triathlons - were in 1996) I've...learned something: I'm pretty good at 24-hour racing. I've raced longer, I've raced shorter – sometimes successfully. But I've seldom had as much fun, and as much unqualified success, as I have had at 24-hour road races. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">There's a symmetry, a challenge, and a proportionality to 24 hour racing that plays to my strengths: maintaining a high output, keeping my stomach going, staying awake all night, and putting up with things that are uncomfortable in the name of forward progress. For shorter – or longer – distances, the specific synergy of all of these attributes isn't as important: if it's shorter, you can fake it, and if it's much longer, it's a given that something – pain, fatigue, or a gathering malodor – will force you off the bike eventually. I'm also aware that I'm somewhat better with monotony than some folks: in the moment it's not a big deal to me that I've been around this track 60 times already....I'm busy racing it THIS time, and I'm enjoying myself mightily, thank you very much! </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">After my Sebring race this year, Dennis Johnson made a very <i>savant</i> comment, reminding me that my distance there was better than the official UMCA womens' mark of 439.65 miles. That's no small potatoes; Nancy Raposo's record has stood for 20 years. Which got me thinking....</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Setting a 24-hour UMCA record requires specific oversight – dedicated officials and a very accurately measured course. You need to declare your date at least three weeks in advance, have the course selected and approved by the UMCA, and put together an independent officiating team that will monitor your progress and certify the attempt. Ideally, the course should be flat, and smooth, and you should be as close to “guaranteed” good weather as one is likely to get. All in all, it's not a huge surprise that there are relatively few attempts: the barriers are relatively steep. The challenges are many. The rewards are few. <span style="font-style: normal;">After all, you had NO CLUE that the UCI womens' 24-hour record is held by C. Roberts of the UK, and is 461.45 miles.</span> So it's not like I'm going for fame or glory here. I just...need to do this. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">You know where this is going, right?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Yep.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I'm in. 24 hours of controlled insanity, or as I like to think of it, One Fine Day. Details to follow. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Woo-hoo!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><object classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000" codebase="http://fpdownload.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=8,0,0,0" height="28" id="divplaylist" width="335"><param name="movie" value="http://www.divshare.com/flash/playlist?myId=14843804-ca2" /><embed src="http://www.divshare.com/flash/playlist?myId=14843804-ca2" width="335" height="28" name="divplaylist" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"></embed></object></div>Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-56440174773247705492010-10-27T08:51:00.000-07:002010-10-27T08:51:22.058-07:00A Good Life<i>"We believe in the necessity of a healthy body as one factor of a good life" - HealthSPORT corporate values.</i><br />
<br />
Looking back over the last few blog posts, it was an amazing run...Crater Lake. Arcata. Ring of Fire. Tillamook Double. Tejas Time Trials. Furnace Creek. Double Trouble. Seven weeks of (almost) nonstop biking. When I wasn't biking, I was getting ready for biking, or crewing someone else who WAS biking. I set two course records. I traveled enough that my credit card got put on fraud alert (always a sign of a good time....).<br />
<br />
I'll freely admit - I love road trips. If you're patient - if you shut up, turn off the gadgets, and just watch and listen - you'll see what America is really all about - good, bad, and ugly, but mainly good. I was incredibly lucky to get to just go, do, and experience. You haven't lived until you've had Sunday dinner at the Dinner Bell in Muleshoe, Texas. (Yes, in Texas, on Sunday, any meal that takes place after church lets out is "dinner".)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAS1GYUw-qSGw8ZnJJV8fAkMg48T15ST0Om8PaiElKNPGhBnjvhiIBEo8_OMIWI_crZeMbd4i6fRu4gZW-6KBq_PAg_GGO2dw_fsSBXk88oLn8YlnRCOhCXK1TjfudydMKIRNSkuFYAS3O/s1600/muleshoe_texas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAS1GYUw-qSGw8ZnJJV8fAkMg48T15ST0Om8PaiElKNPGhBnjvhiIBEo8_OMIWI_crZeMbd4i6fRu4gZW-6KBq_PAg_GGO2dw_fsSBXk88oLn8YlnRCOhCXK1TjfudydMKIRNSkuFYAS3O/s1600/muleshoe_texas.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I wouldn't trade all of the experiences I had during that stretch for all the tea in China, or even - since I'm not much of a tea drinker - for the lost wages of not having a regular job during that time. It was just what the doctor ordered - a lot of riding, a lot of friends, a lot of variety. It kept me sane during what would've almost certainly been the Great Post RAAM Crash of 2010. And it lasted just long enough.<br />
<br />
By the time I found myself at the Imperial River Company, taking in the post-ride festivities for the inaugural Double Trouble, dirty-dancing with a tipsy, cross-dressed clown wasn't even close to the weirdest experience I'd had recently - and although I had a great time, I knew that the party was over and that I was looking forward to....home.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg71LBeshdkEkBsQO-jBB-SdNDGU9ZoN10nGyv8mTsbpSMGF2k8D4-Ev6plea-QmD31Zs2DGv2T-nrLhwZjo1GvbQNTRqk2kqHvS-19iSJ3udJMPGwR5f2-jMGimZyIGvxSQYMgyw5tCxd0/s1600/dtgt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg71LBeshdkEkBsQO-jBB-SdNDGU9ZoN10nGyv8mTsbpSMGF2k8D4-Ev6plea-QmD31Zs2DGv2T-nrLhwZjo1GvbQNTRqk2kqHvS-19iSJ3udJMPGwR5f2-jMGimZyIGvxSQYMgyw5tCxd0/s400/dtgt.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">disclaimer: I am not in this picture. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
So I packed up my last few things, put Cog in the passengers' seat, and headed to Arcata, CA.<br />
<br />
Yep. I've moved to Arcata - <i>aka</i> the Team Raven Lunatic Asylum. Wanting to be here kinda crept up on me. The smaller town feel is great, and I really like the way that the university integrates with the town. The people I've met are warm, welcoming....The question I heard the most? "When are you coming back?"<br />
<br />
When I visited in September, Mary left a stack of job announcements beside the bed in my guest room. I'm pretty decent at taking hints, so I started applying...and before you know it, I landed a part-time job at HealthSPORT in Eureka. Bill offered me a place to stay for the time being. Just like that - I'm moving to Arcata.<br />
<br />
Everything happened so fast that the last couple of weeks of my whirlwind tour ended up doubling as the world's craziest moving party! Mark Biedrzycki offered the use of his oversized van for the bulk of the move. Getting that van ready to go was a multi-day affair. Typical of a Mark-induced adventure, it was rife with gallery openings, crazy amazing meals, cyclocross, and a trip to the Oregon Handmade Bike show - a quick overview of Portland culture - stuff I'll miss, for sure, but I know it's going to be there when I visit.<br />
<br />
I'd figured that I'd be able to move the bulk of the stuff down on Monday, and have a few days to regroup before heading back for Double Trouble, but technical difficulties - a delaminated tire, a quick(?) trip to the DMV - meant that I spent a couple extra days in Portland. Finally, I got the van loaded with (most of) my stuff and headed south. I called Bill to let him know that I was <i>en route</i>, to which he replied, "the house is ready for you".<br />
<br />
<i>"The house is ready for you"</i>...After all of my wandering, that just sounded amazing. I've tried to think of things that I've heard that were that good or better. So far, the best I've been able to come up with is,<i> "ten fingers, ten toes, and perfectly healthy"</i>.<br />
<br />
And the house <i>was</i> ready. The time and effort that Bill put into making room for another person - complete with a suite of bike paraphernalia that's unrivaled outside of a retail store - amazing. To say that I felt warmly welcomed doesn't do it justice.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDkW6jsuYn3pZ-Knvk6DFH1TSSTTCjgGvkVzkKwBTAg_bP3rDO4Osv46ygZBcz5q-JvMbRSkQtUIPXMipI7e_afEzYq3jx-PEabA3XjzHeudkKQ8HuTR-aj7WcWx85iF2aj0YyitshG2GY/s1600/youarehere.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="381" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDkW6jsuYn3pZ-Knvk6DFH1TSSTTCjgGvkVzkKwBTAg_bP3rDO4Osv46ygZBcz5q-JvMbRSkQtUIPXMipI7e_afEzYq3jx-PEabA3XjzHeudkKQ8HuTR-aj7WcWx85iF2aj0YyitshG2GY/s400/youarehere.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bill's doormat. When you're here, you are here.</td></tr>
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Then - after an all-too-short day on Thursday emptying out the van and trying to put things where they weren't horribly in the way of a well-ordered existence - I headed back early Friday. Once more into the breach...dumped off Mark's van, picked up mine, and headed to Maupin for a bit of a bike ride...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcvYhWRFiT7myH4hEafWhJF52ZAdpMLTiWllZvoHm6myaNPPuaHuCIX5uaeESdDNNVRecWoyD3iqQNA529LJOuD27Aleg1VrdVdjSv8bqQpzcBySrJ0tbLeARxmarNYg8KJDdIA5U2Butj/s1600/dtrob.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcvYhWRFiT7myH4hEafWhJF52ZAdpMLTiWllZvoHm6myaNPPuaHuCIX5uaeESdDNNVRecWoyD3iqQNA529LJOuD27Aleg1VrdVdjSv8bqQpzcBySrJ0tbLeARxmarNYg8KJDdIA5U2Butj/s400/dtrob.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ok, I AM in this picture. We're between Grass Valley and Moro.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I've been in Arcata for just over a week. I feel....lucky (surprise!). There's a rhythm to life here that seems to bring out the best in people. Maybe it's partly the "new place" effect, but everything feels close, simple, and - <i>right</i>. I already know more people here than I did in Eugene. Sure, I had a head start, but - I've been thrust into a real community for the first time since the Albany/Corvallis days. I'm looking forward to`a Good Life. <div><br />
</div><div>Next projects: settling in, rebuilding top-end speed, and in general getting ready for my revenge on Sebring. I had a great race there last year, and I want to do better. </div><div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
<div><br />
</div></div></div>Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-31879497271820299542010-10-05T17:01:00.000-07:002010-10-05T17:05:22.270-07:00Team Raven Lunatics ROCKS the 508!!!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsnJQA90F-XWwgE-z9rIsod_lNgPAAsEvstvMfRC1KD_H8Ita5nI4qmMCfYqmZNij1BQk9kncZdfndneH5tr83grkvlCrMdvcxFRQTXWQZPA6RNKAAsH6y_JC0iJhRJlN3g5ICnJd9LFNE/s1600/PA030984.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsnJQA90F-XWwgE-z9rIsod_lNgPAAsEvstvMfRC1KD_H8Ita5nI4qmMCfYqmZNij1BQk9kncZdfndneH5tr83grkvlCrMdvcxFRQTXWQZPA6RNKAAsH6y_JC0iJhRJlN3g5ICnJd9LFNE/s400/PA030984.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Team Photo - Finish Line. photo credit Chris Kostman</td></tr>
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">This has been a big year for me. I've gotten a lot done: a well-contested RAAM DNF and four new course records under my belt: three solo 24s and the very first mixed recupright team record in ultracycling history. I crewed a very successful RAO for my friend Joan, and I started a new era in Oregon double centuries by launching the Tillamook Double. It might've been enough, but I saved the best for last. Really. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I crewed Team Raven Lunatics to a record-setting 50+ recumbent record at Furnace Creek. OK. The super-cool part is that I did just a little bit more than crewing it. I MADE the team. From scratch. Decided that it should happen. Figured out who should be on the team, convinced them (OK, that part wasn't hard), and signed 'em up. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The heart and soul of this team is my friend David Bradley. David has worked tirelessly for the sport of ultracycling for years. There have been years when he's been racing strongly, and years when he's “only” been a supporter: the guy you can call 24/7 during RAAM for advice, who puts together route maps for all of the RAO races, who you can count on for van signage, team shirts, spare lights and GPS systems, whatever. The years he's not been racing bikes, he's been racing sarcoma. This year, he's been doing a little of each, but mainly bikes. It was time for a celebration ride. I thought of Furnace Creek because it's late in the season – giving us the most time to prepare - and David's always there one way or another. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
So...who to put on the team with David? Bill, for sure: he's one of David's best cycling buddies. And Jim. And then....we need a fourth. So - why not go big? I wrote John, promised him I'd have all the team on Bacchettas, and that they'd definitely be setting a record, and that it would be great publicity for Bacchetta....Once I dropped David's name, I honestly don't think the rest of it really mattered: John was 110% in. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">David was going to be finishing up his spring crop of treatment “just in time” to train adequately for the 508...if we were lucky. I promised his wife that I'd be available to step in as an alternate if he was really unable to do it: safety first. Having assembled the team and gotten Mary on board, I only had to...break the news to David! He was only a little miffed at being the last to know.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Once assembled, the team came together swiftly and surely. David trained to the very best of his ability – smart training that didn't wipe him out. Bill and I designed team hats. John came through with brand new carbon bikes (Bacchetta CA 2.0's) for the team to ride. Jim – one of the deans of recumbent racing - even trained a little extra, from the looks of things! </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Bill, David and I left Arcata on Thursday, picked up Jim, and headed to Santa Clarita early Friday morning. David, being David, had already totally prepped the van for inspection: signage all around, lights installed, and safety triangle up (but covered, naturally!). His van is optimized for team racing: we can rack 5 bikes, have room for a bin for each racer, three ice chests. seating for 4, and a bunk that disassembles to create seating for 5. We were so well-prepared that we got done with our pre-race inspection before noon! Considering that inspections were scheduled to START at noon, I thought that was pretty good (kudos to Cindi and crew for being out early to make the inspection process efficient). </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Racer photos, sign-in, hugs, dinner at the Olive Garden...in the middle of dinner we got a message from Mandy – she was coming down to the start line to visit. Our first groupie! Woo-hoo! MORE hugs. Off to the pre-race meeting, where we were solemnly warned against interacting with the desert tortoises. Apparently if they're frightened they reflexively empty their bladders, which leaves them vulnerable to death from dehydration. After the meeting – typically David – we headed to Costco for a reprint of another team's van signs: the first set that he made didn't pass muster so he redesigned and reprinted them from the start line hotel lobby. A quick grocery run, and early to bed. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The next morning, we got to the start line barely in time to see the solo racers off before taking advantage of the start line hotel breakfast (highly recommended). Before we knew it, it was time to be filling Bill's bottles and double-checking his bike...good thing we did, too: at the last minute we discovered that we'd taken off a strap that was holding down his gear bag...without the strap it was going to be in his back tire: strap located, installed, and the rest of the team leaves for the meetup point, 24 miles down course. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Besides having fun, kicking butt, and setting a record, one of the team's focal points became beating the Hammer Frogs: another strong 50+ team (all women!). Bill was a bit behind their racer at the first meetup point, and the pressure was on: none of these boys wanted to be “chicked”. I smile inwardly, let it go. There's some great downhill and flat/rolling terrain; Bill catches up: he's “un-chicked” himself. More cowbell!!! </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Uh-oh. Windmills. Re-chicked. Downhill, into Cali City: un-chicked. So it went for much of the rest of the race. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We meet up with Bacchetta rider Greg Raven (really, that's his name!) in California City. Since he has been a Raven Lunatic from birth, we award him the coveted team cap. John snaps a few photos, and we're back at it. David is having great early run...for the first few miles there might have even been a sighting of the shy and elusive Tailwind. We're clipping right along until the climb to Randsburg. CRAP! It's been freshly chip-sealed. That sucks a bit of the energy out of David, and before you know it...yep. Chicked. Hi, Isabelle!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I'd set up our schedule assuming that we'd have the more typical tailwinds early in the race. Since we didn't, we had to change strategy a little bit: gas in Johannesburg rather than Trona, so that we didn't have to do the gas stop under night rules. This meant No Burritos For Us, which was sad, but we steeled our nerves and ventured out anyway. Now it was John's turn to put the hurt on this course. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When I'd assigned him the third leg, John made a feeble attempt to bow out and let Jim handle it instead. I reminded John that “all” he had to do was a 5.5 hour century – with 1800' of net elevation loss. He does that <i>all the time </i>in Florda....except that he doesn't get the elevation loss. So this should be even easier. Yeah, right. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">What a performance. I was blown away: rock steady up Townes Pass, passing people left and right and sideways. One of them caught us at the Monday breakfast and said...”passed by a recumbent going up Townes...that was just wrong...” And she was lucky: she got passed going <b>up</b>. The folks that got passed going <b>down</b>...let's just say that if they'd been tortoises, several of them would be dead right now. His top speed was 62 mph. That's amazing enough – but he didn't just hit it and quit it – he stuck 60+ for miles on end. I was delighted beyond belief that I'd handed driving responsibilities over to David at the top of the pass: I'm sure that John's confidence in the driver behind him more than made up for the few seconds it took to make the switch, grab a jacket, and let everyone take a quick pee break. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I'd asked for a 5:30 split from John: he came through with 5:27. When he got in the van, he was grinning like a kid at Christmas. I think he was glad to have taken that pull after all! He handed the baton off to Jim, who was more than a little antsy to get his turn. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I slept through a good bit of Jim's pull. The great thing about this team is that not only is it stacked with top-notch racing talent, it's got just as much top-notch crewing talent. Every one of these guys is an experienced ultraracing crew member, and it was so much fun helping everyone work together. It was absolutely seamless: guys filling bottles for each other (usually with what the racer was asking for, though there was a bit of locker-room joking about that, as you'd expect), everyone hopping out of the van and taking care of business. We'd plan it out in advance: Sandy gets the racer, David gets the retiring bike, Bill unracks the new racer's bike, slaps fresh lights on the bike, John installs the bottles....and we're off. Everyone was focused, calm, efficient: just the way I like it. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sometime in the middle of the pull, we ran into a team in distress. A solo team and crew had pulled over for a sleep break, and when they were ready to go again it turned out that their battery was dead. David – always prepared – brought out his starting battery setup and had them going in under 2 minutes. It cost us some time, but that doesn't matter: we don't leave people stranded. Period. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Bill takes off for his second pull out of Shoshone. Once again, we were looking forward to the more usual tailwinds through this section, and the goal split of 2:30 would've been easy for Bill to knock off under those conditions. He took off at about 30mph, got his bearings, headed over the first little incline, down the other side, and – wham. He was riding into a 15mph headwind. Not anything to cry about, but it was definitely going to slow us down. Rats. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">6:59 AM...we spot a vault toilet just off the course. We restrain our glee until 7:00 – official end of direct follow – and inform Bill that we're off to see an Interesting Geologic Formation. He points at the vault toilet. He knows us too well! A few minutes later, we're all feeling refreshed, we've emptied the trash, and ready to head out to catch up with Bill. As we're turning the van toward the road, we see a white minivan with two recumbents traveling at freeway speed. We know what that means: Tim has abandoned. CRAP. We figure they'll stop and check in with us after they pass Bill. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">But – they don't pass Bill. They catch up to him and...feed him! Woo-hoo! We'd just stocked him up before we'd undertaken the Geologic Reconnaissance Mission, but Dana didn't know that, so he did what any good crew chief would: offered food. Bill took on an extra Boost before he realized that it wasn't coming from...his...van. We razzed him pretty hard about taking candy from strangers! </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Talked to Dana – Tim's stomach had quit on him. Not surprising given the weather and how hard he'd had to work to stay with Akita (Rick Ashabranner). They tried everything they could think of, but – no dice. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Bill finished his pull. Despite not reaching his time goal, he was pretty spent: it wasn't for lack of trying. By this time the team had put about 20 minutes on the Hammer Frogs. David was very concerned about being re-passed (or would that be “re-chicked”?) - so he was working to the very best of his ability. The climb up Kelbaker isn't that steep, but it's relentless, and there's no shade. Finally we got to the point where David could take John's advice to heart : “Just kick it up a gear and punch it over the top!”. I followed David down the hill as long as I could, then took John down to the time station for the exchange: he needed time to find a private bit of shrubbery before he took off for his leg. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The road down to Kelso has horrific pavement, so I headed back up the hill to make sure that David was okay – no mechanicals or flats. Just as I was leaving, I saw Lee's van heading down the hill to leave off his racer...I knew that David would've seen him, too, and wondered how much they'd made up on him on the Kelbaker climb. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I caught David just a couple of miles up, bombing down the hill for all he was worth. As he came past my van, he screamed, “NO......FROGS!!!!”. I didn't quite catch the word in the middle. It's probably not important. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">John's second pull was uneventful: he got it over with in 2 hours flat – not shabby at all. We pulled in to TS 7, got lei'd, and waited for our exchange. A couple of minutes before John came in, we saw...Akita! Woo-hoo Rick! He powered through the time station, flashed his ear-to-ear megawatt smile, and was on his way. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We had arranged with Jim – our anchor – to have a little bit of downtime to cool John off and get assembled for the final assault. He was prepared for 40 minutes of solo riding. I expected to be to him in no more than 30...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Well...stuff happens, y'know? The team was pretty efficient at the time station, but we did spend a couple of minutes checking up on racer position. And of course, just as we were about to pull out, our stalking horse (BIKEVAN) showed up, announcing the imminent arrival of those danged Frogs. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">So off we went. As we approached the gas station in Amboy, Ron Smith flagged us down: Rick was having a heat “moment”, so we stopped to give some encouragement. He normally feels the heat more than most folks. What was surprising to me was how happy and enthusiastic he'd looked just a few minutes before. As it turned out, a few minutes of cooling off and hard work at hydration and he was back to his hammerin' self. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">And then we got stuck behind a train. So by the time we got to Jim it had been more like 42 minutes, but he wasn't complaining. Turns out he'd been stuck behind a train, too – and lost about 5 minutes. CRAP! He'd gotten this far with a 5-minute break?!?!? </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">There were huge washes of sand across the road. Any one of them had the potential to cause Jim trouble: blowing sand from oncoming or passing vehicles, or just finding a deeper pocket of it and going down. Fortunately we skated through there without incident. A couple of times I let him know that a truck was coming along, and to expect a “dusting”: he was able to hold his breath through those, or in a couple of places put the hammer down and get past the worst of the debris. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">By the time he reached the base of the Sheephole climb, Jim had run the gamut of rabbits: he'd caught everyone we had a chance to catch, so it was a matter of time and motivation to keep him moving at his best. He did a great job of monitoring his effort and putting out his very best. We were trying to avoid getting to the finish after night rules were in effect: since the team had decided on a group finish, if we came in after 6PM we would have to directly follow Jim and make a full stop for a couple of minutes to unrack everyone's bikes. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Once again, the winds weren't cooperating: after we came off of Sheephole, Jim had a stiff crosswind to deal with. To his credit it didn't slow him much. It was amazingly close...but as we made the final turn I realized that it really didn't matter anyway: I was going to direct-follow Jim no matter what: the sun was directly in our eyes, which meant it was also in the eyes of passing traffic, which meant that we needed to protect our racer. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Ironically, we pulled into the group staging area at 6:00. Unrack the bikes, turn lights on, and GO! </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Watching the team finish together – priceless. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">By the end, we'd put a solid 30 minutes on the Hammer Frogs. Rick came in shortly thereafter. We racked up the bikes, checked into our hotel, went out for Chinese food, and came back to watch some more of the late action. It was clear that it hadn't been a “fast” year – everyone's time was slower than anticipated. In retrospect, the conditions were tough but not unbearably so. Times were slow because none of the tailwinds that we can usually count on ever materialized. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In closing, I'd like to thank Team Raven Lunatics for the privilege of being “out there” yet again. I don't think I'm overstepping by saying that every one of the team members is looking forward to next year – racing, crewing, doesn't really matter. The first weekend in October, I'm booked.</div>Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-5477341030196953102010-09-28T15:00:00.000-07:002010-09-28T19:54:07.354-07:00Messin' With Texas!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyEc9ijIB81ukcIoas3XdzszsAPQOgqL7vw-gRykBiwA4MbNuMBPOJPI2K7ZEPVzht2v4sMfEyHer07si3DId2FPGQlREIF5cc_hR0krjCPkd0EFcp8eUmEpvDMzOsQv_G08e5Arcwhz-s/s1600/TexasFlag.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyEc9ijIB81ukcIoas3XdzszsAPQOgqL7vw-gRykBiwA4MbNuMBPOJPI2K7ZEPVzht2v4sMfEyHer07si3DId2FPGQlREIF5cc_hR0krjCPkd0EFcp8eUmEpvDMzOsQv_G08e5Arcwhz-s/s200/TexasFlag.gif" width="200" /></a></div><br />
"Don't Mess With Texas". Hm. I took that as a personal challenge. I'd raced the Tejas TT in 2008, with disastrous results. Actually, it was a springboard for a lot of good things:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>I met a lot of instant friends - this race is hospitality defined!</li>
<li>I got introduced to recumbent racing (<i>by puking on the Rans XStream prototype. This led amazingly directly to my being willing to be the Team RANS crew chief the following year.) </i></li>
<li>I got to visit my daughter and my parents, and</li>
<li>I finally made myself understand what kind of fitness commitment it was going to take to be a strong racer again. </li>
</ul><div>So when Dex asked me in Annapolis this year if I was coming back to Tejas, I made the snap decision that I would. Other than the flaming disaster/heat exhaustion/cramping/puking parts, I LOVED this race and I was happy to think that I might do better this time around. </div><div>Sports fans, let me tell you something important here: When you find a good race, you need to support it. And one of the very best ways a racer can support a race is to BRING A FRIEND. Thus was born the "Let's Mess With Texas Tour". I roped <i>(get it?) </i>three friends into coming: Chris, Mark, and Mark. As it turned out, both Marks had to bow out with health issues, but Chris and I mounted up Eggplant and struck out southeasterly on Monday night, primed for action. The trip out was uneventful, unless you count finding stick-on chrome mudflap girls that would fit Chris' pink race bag perfectly. Or the Bird Incident. We hit a large and solid bird rocketing through west Kansas (or was it east Colorado?). It bent the van antenna and made me scream, much to Chris' amusement. </div><div>We picked up my daughter - a most excellent crew person - in Norman, OK. While there, we double-checked our supplies, got a few last-minute things at <a href="http://buchananbikes.com/">Buchanan Bikes</a>, sat in on a rehearsal of the Pride of Oklahoma Marching Band, and had a most excellent dinner at <a href="http://www.urbanspoon.com/r/46/500372/restaurant/Oklahoma-City/Coachs-Bar-and-Grill-Norman">Coach's</a>. </div><div>We arrived around 3PM, in plenty of time to register, put up the tent and the canopy, and get Chris ready to go. It was...hot. And humid. And - did I mention HOT? OK, low 90's isn't that bad of a draw for that time of year - but WOWSERS!</div><div>The race is at a new venue - Glen Rose rather than Cleburne - and I LOVE it. The start/finish is in a municipal park, right next to.. <a href="http://www.sonicdrivein.com/home.jsp#/whatIsSonic">SONIC</a>. For a couple of Oregon kids on pink recumbents, this is heaven: when the going gets tough, the tough get...corn dogs! There's also a "slushee happy hour" from 2-4 PM. Duly noted!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiopBdAO4ZncF_wRba7YaB-fpnZ4OYPtxJm7BAWAhQoEIekXFNhMy-xjTtZ90u3_GC9cR3kRt4xQyIaDdohe04X210NwjmIYCA0T_-FctNhJj6bWqwQ5p37h-FIiH4zKWoyAiH2hjyIQAxH/s1600/corn-dog-0701080-lg-15201007.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiopBdAO4ZncF_wRba7YaB-fpnZ4OYPtxJm7BAWAhQoEIekXFNhMy-xjTtZ90u3_GC9cR3kRt4xQyIaDdohe04X210NwjmIYCA0T_-FctNhJj6bWqwQ5p37h-FIiH4zKWoyAiH2hjyIQAxH/s320/corn-dog-0701080-lg-15201007.gif" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div>About the time I started filling Chris' bottles with the first few hours' race nutrition, Shellene showed up. She was not racing - she's still coming back after a foot injury - so she's there to provide race support. COOL! </div><div>Chris is using the demo light that I'd gotten from <a href="http://trailled.com/">TrailLED</a>. Turns out that Grady is also a race sponsor, so he's going to be there to provide neutral light support. This turns out to be REALLY USEFUL as we've got two lights and two batteries to share between the two of us. </div><div>A quick hug-and-hi for Sharon as folks are gathering for the start. And...they're off! Woo-hoo!!!!</div><div>Chris tore up the course for three laps. And at the same time, the course was tearing him up - let's just say he went out "at least as" fast as he should have. So we had some down time in the following laps to take care of some maintenance issues - tailbone pain, GI distress, hotfoot, a touch of overheating, and the like. But Chris was a trooper - never complained, just told us (sometimes emphatically) what was going on. Since this was his first qualifier, he didn't have any particular expectations. I'd put him on a schedule to finish in 32:39 (no particular magic to that number, it's just how it came out) and he was running ahead of that. </div><div>After Nancy showed up (she'd stayed in Norman to put in one last practice session with her mellophone section Thursday afternoon) I was officially on sleep detail. By this time, Kent Polk was also in the house and in support. He'd brought his friend Paul to race the 24. It was Paul's first 24-hour race. Chris was in excellent hands. </div><div>I got up in time to hand off a breakfast burrito to Chris. I got breakfast for myself, and spent some time just socializing and hanging loose. I was worried that I didn't sleep all that well, but I reminded myself of the advice that I give to my athletes: just <i>pretending </i>to sleep is almost as good as the real thing. </div><div>Sometime late Friday morning or early Friday afternoon I heard the news: Jure was dead. It was so eerie being at a bike race at the time. I didn't want to talk about it with other racers: the folks who didn't know might be upset and have a bad race as a result. Everyone talks about RAAM being dangerous. Sure - but THE accident can come at any time. We all know that - and we all have to ride like we don't: ride and train and plan for the future, race with trust that we're going to avoid disaster. I didn't exactly "dedicate" the race to Jure, but I did think of him often. I was lucky to get to meet him at the RAAM start this year. </div><div>It seemed like 6PM wasn't EVER going to get there. And then - there I was, at the start line. We're...racing! Woo-hoo! The course is a BLAST - continuous rollers with a couple of more sustained climbs. I am working pretty hard, and staying toward the front of the pack. Out the 2-mile section to the yield sign, across the bridge, a steady climb up to Nemo, a quick downhill, some upward-trending rollers, and then... </div><div>I'd heard folks come in mentioning County Line Hill. Well, a hill it is: straight down, then <b>straight up</b>. I knew that the only way to survive that little monster was to hit it early with everything I had - so I spun up my biggest gear as I headed down. I had to downshift around the middle of the hill, and I ended up in my inner chainring - but it was still a LOT faster (and easier) to use physics to my advantage: every lap I managed to pass one or more folks who were treating the hill as good, honest work. I'll bet they all finish their vegetables before moving on to dessert, too. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmply2B-YPNJix_0yNoSCNBJLKxGZHP3E5jUBz3gBbacSsqdQFyvEUjcCPDC9TW2eejn5e7EaYWuKIy9PvTmwZGh5e2LQq-cYsdO0ZvY503hyphenhyphenC3S1ZR3sOJynrFA1x-tcL4kGCbbUIlwBY/s1600/new_profile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmply2B-YPNJix_0yNoSCNBJLKxGZHP3E5jUBz3gBbacSsqdQFyvEUjcCPDC9TW2eejn5e7EaYWuKIy9PvTmwZGh5e2LQq-cYsdO0ZvY503hyphenhyphenC3S1ZR3sOJynrFA1x-tcL4kGCbbUIlwBY/s400/new_profile.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>After County Line, there was a great section through the trees - weird pavement, so I was glad to have good light - but really fun. A bunch of upward-trending rollers with a significant climb around mile 15. Then rolling uphill to mile 22 or so, when we reach the high point of the loop and head back down to Glen Rose. Woo-hoo! </div><div><br />
</div><div>The sheriff's department is staffing the main intersection in town, so we can get through the stop sign easily. We go past the courthouse. The clock there is going to be my only time check out on the course. It comes with about 5 minutes to go in the lap - just enough time for me to assess how I'm doing, figure out what I need to do on the next lap. Not bad. </div><div>First lap - 1:22. Not shabby. Possibly a little too fast, but - felt pretty good. I took on two bottles, a packet of Honey Stinger chews, and a protein bar. Off for the next lap. My pit crew was AMAZING. They always had what I needed, got it to me quickly, and made sure that I was in and out of the pits faster than anyone else. The only time I ever got off the bike was to pee. My pit stops were so efficient that when Pam wanted to interview me for a "tweet" on the event twitter page, she had to do that through the portapotty wall. Kudos to the crew! As it turned out, every minute counted in this one! </div><div>And so it went, all night. Some laps there were lots of rabbits (meaning: people to chase), which made it fun. One lap, I was someone else's rabbit - also quite motivating. Some laps, it seemed like I was the only person out there. My crew told me that Chris had finished in "32 hours and something" which made me really jazzed: I'd called that one pretty well! </div><div>In the middle of the night I saw a herd of headless white beasts running through a farm field. Although I knew it wasn't real, I also knew I wasn't hallucinating. I figured there must be a logical explanation, and hoped that I'd figure it out in the morning. As it turned out, it was a bunch of these goats: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifqmU5iq3t87OioTo3BWO-8JvgdzEVvRjtCCn8b4Sii1ViZXwHv9lZOmOMIROH5t7iuu8O2_8HBkDk06XhL4Zed6ooTuxOuRXOGA7zwGeJegT8BlGmUbypHsnHnZUK-DHyTBFwHsmrCWWG/s1600/Royalty+2008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifqmU5iq3t87OioTo3BWO-8JvgdzEVvRjtCCn8b4Sii1ViZXwHv9lZOmOMIROH5t7iuu8O2_8HBkDk06XhL4Zed6ooTuxOuRXOGA7zwGeJegT8BlGmUbypHsnHnZUK-DHyTBFwHsmrCWWG/s320/Royalty+2008.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div>I'd not been able to see the brown heads in the dark. When I saw the herd the next morning, it all made sense. </div><div>By the time daylight rolled around it was clear that the promised rain was coming. My crew asked me if I was ready for rain..."Does it matter?". Not much we were going to do about it. All of my Oregon raingear is oriented toward cold rain. If it rained, I was going to be...wet. And I was already wet - the humidity meant that I was riding in a self-created swamp of sweat. </div><div>When the rain did come, it was almost pleasant for a few minutes - then it was absolutely torrential. OK, ride through it. I was worried about how I'd handle County Line Hill in the rain - I would be going into the wind, so the rain would be straight in my face. I can see Brian, my RAAM crew chief, cringing right now - but I handled this one like a champ, thank you very much! I pulled my Team Sandy cap low over my eyes, leaving just a slit to see out of above the handlebars. And I went for it, like a banshee. Swooosh! No worries. </div><div>Still, aggressive cornering was out of the question, and I was slowing down a little. My goal of 14 completed laps was starting to slip out of reach. With three laps to go, I had about 5:25 left. Lap 12 came in at 1:55. AUGH! Off pace! Lap 13: 1:50...a little better, but.. I'd need more like 1:40 for the final lap.</div><div>I hedged my bets by informing the finish line folks that I was headed out for a "prorated" lap - if I didn't make it, the mileage that I did make before time expired would all count. I took very little nutrition with me, on the theory that I wasn't going to waste any time eating - I'd have to finish on what I already had in my system. </div><div>Time for some major sucking-up. As I rolled through the neutral zone into lap 14, I gave myself The Talk: "<i>You've had 13 whacks at this course, Sandy. You've got your head wrapped around how it feels to ride each section as fast as possible, and you know how it feels when you lose focus and just ride along. You have to FOCUS, and ride each part of this lap the best way....</i>" Not to over-simplify, but - that's exactly what I did. I rode the heck out of that loop. When I started to feel myself losing focus, I reminded myself of Jure, that I had a chance to set a course record HERE AND NOW, and that I could have it if I chose it. A couple of sips of watery Coca-Cola before the big climbs, but other than that I just went for it. </div><div>I passed easily half a dozen people that lap. And when a guy on a Cannondale caught me at around mile 22, I asked him what time it was. I HAD 20 MINUTES LEFT!!! Oh. My. Gosh. I was going to make it - the rest is all downhill. I sprinted for the finish - figuring that finishing sooner was better than finishing later, and that if, against all odds, I got a flat tire in the last mile of the race I *might* still have time to fix it and complete the lap. </div><div>I came in, fighting back tears, at 23:52. Technically, I could've gone out and done a final pro-rated lap and added a couple of miles to my total, but practically, I was DONE. I figured I could've ridden as far as the porta-pot - if I had to. But I didn't. Brian grabbed my bike, I got hugged and kissed and hugged and stuffed into a lawn chair with a ginger ale...and - here's Paul! Now it's payback time for real: I get to extract my full measure of revenge on this race. Paul hands over the package. I open it. It looks daunting, but I know I can handle it: a full helping of Dinty Moore Beef Stew. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2hY86HgvFbS2WceoB1M6qU7yTKysR2xUMcp1cjwXr5LZmE1viQUX0h7DbwaX9z2EGysrXrx79Af6Z7WtcZmz_iMWOw66uV9cqYPHhnnweayuWUlb9m5GWjXiMInua2virnT7gVp7uTSUP/s1600/Dinty+Moore+group+shot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2hY86HgvFbS2WceoB1M6qU7yTKysR2xUMcp1cjwXr5LZmE1viQUX0h7DbwaX9z2EGysrXrx79Af6Z7WtcZmz_iMWOw66uV9cqYPHhnnweayuWUlb9m5GWjXiMInua2virnT7gVp7uTSUP/s400/Dinty+Moore+group+shot.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"You ain't Dainty. That's why there's Dinty."<i> (yes, that's really their slogan!)</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>In addition to setting a new course record for women (and recumbent women, for that matter) I was the first finisher OVERALL in the 24-hour race - quite an accomplishment as there were some very fast riders. The next-fastest racer finished his 14th lap after time expired: in 15:22 - half an hour slower. To put that in perspective, if I'd have spent one minute MORE per lap in the pits, and he'd have spent one minute LESS, he might have beaten me. Thanks again to my crew for keeping me going through a very tough race! </div><div><br />
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</div>Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-46334692018718497032010-09-19T17:41:00.000-07:002010-09-19T17:41:07.967-07:00Tillamook Double Century!We did it - a legitimate double century, right here in Oregon. I'll get more pictures up onto this post as soon as they become available, but I really wanted to get the story down before I head off for the Tejas Time Trials.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE2f79ZdojoVW_u7Ur7VFQHFT7FQwnceRdbLyCLmLIkb7C5HLEJsrxvcepmZFtHBqfGT5RiCbbZb4fsSjJPhQsMTcS_9xh-8Jr-I11gjrexmpi1GInS6rseF0eadKlsomOKTR7aIdjQoPX/s1600/meares.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE2f79ZdojoVW_u7Ur7VFQHFT7FQwnceRdbLyCLmLIkb7C5HLEJsrxvcepmZFtHBqfGT5RiCbbZb4fsSjJPhQsMTcS_9xh-8Jr-I11gjrexmpi1GInS6rseF0eadKlsomOKTR7aIdjQoPX/s400/meares.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
The inaugural Tillamook Double Century was lightly attended, but incredibly staffed: a 1:1 staff to rider ratio. Don't expect that next year, but - it was good to be able to keep tabs on all of our riders, and watching rider progress gave me a lot of feedback on how the event could be improved.<br />
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We rented a nice little house in Rockaway Beach. Elise drove up with me as the advance team. We got groceries in Tillamook, got dinner ready, and got the sag supplies more or less organized. John, Joanne, and Kevin arrived a little later. A few stories later, we had an early lights-out - start time was 5AM so we had a 4AM wakeup call. Since everyone who was riding was already in Rockaway, we decided to shift the route up the course, and just start there. There's one major drawback to this - a late finish on Hwy 101 - but overall it seemed like the sensible thing to do.<br />
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By the time we were putting the final preparations in place, Keith showed up. Keith and Kevin have committed to riding the whole distance, Elise is riding selected portions, and I'm on the fence. John and Joanne haven't brought bikes.<br />
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I sent the intrepid threesome out the door, not fully realizing quite how many times I'd hear the word "intrepid" over the next 14 hours: <a href="http://www.ipadio.com/phlogs/KevinVan_Dyke/2010/9/19/Kevins-phlog--11th-phonecast">Kevin's phlog</a><br />
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After settling into a second cup of coffee with John and Joanne, I realized that it was going to be a lot more instructive for me to stay with the sag vehicle all day. That, and I suddenly realized that I still had the disk wheel on the Carbent after Ring of Fire.<br />
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So we all set out in John's support van, prepared to provide full concierge service to the gang. The route heads north for starters - up to Hwy 26, and then east to Necanicum Junction. There was a pretty bad wreck on the way north, and we were glad to be close enough to it to see that all of our riders had gotten through the area safely - but the support vehicle was detained for an extra 20 minutes while a downed power line was secured, temporarily putting a bakery stop in Cannon Beach in jeopardy.<br />
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We did have to head a few miles up Highway 53 to chase down Keith, who was making excellent time. We refilled his waterbottles, gave him a banana, and headed back to support Kevin and Elise.<br />
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So far, good weather - no rain, and blue sky peeking out here and there...Hwy 53 is amazing as ever. When we got to the turn at Mohler, we realized that it was a little ambiguous in the route instructions, so we hung around there to direct folks. We even found sidewalk chalk - on sale, no less! - at the local grocery, so we had great fun chalking the turn.<br />
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Miami-Foley Road is much the same, and all too soon you're at Hwy 101 - not the fun part of this route, for sure, but it's the only way through this particular bottleneck. We sagged Elise up ahead - she knew she didn't care to do the whole 200, so why in the heck would you do the least fun part?<br />
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At Beaver, we gassed the van. It was starting to rain pretty good. Elise was considering riding. We made sandwiches. We ate sandwiches. We thought about it while we waited for Kevin (Keith was already through).<br />
I chalked the turn. The chalk disappeared...finally the rain started to lighten up and Elise was back out on the bike. After a few minutes, we found Kevin making a quick pit stop at the store, and sent him to chase Elise down.<br />
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Keith was so far ahead that we figured it didn't really matter when he missed a turn and got 22 bonus miles. We sent Kevin the right direction, put Elise back in the van, and followed Keith's route. When we found him he was back on the ride route, but he'd just blown a tire, badly. John located his spare, and we got him back on the road. With the "shortcut", Kevin was now a little bit ahead, but overall the two of them were much closer together. The slightly devilish side of me would consider this to be "good racer management", though Keith might disagree as his route had a 3-mile gravel portion...again, beautiful scenery along here. Not "beachy", but forested and with a babbling brook running along beside us.<br />
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By the time we got to Willamina it was really raining! Joanne showed me a really nice reroute that takes us off of Hwy 18 - we'll definitely be using that next year. We got the gang onto Hwy 22 and put Elise back out just before the turn onto the Little Nestucca River Road - another scenic beauty.<br />
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The Little Nestucca ends in Pacific City, ands it's back to 101 for a quick stretch before heading out on the Three Capes loop. The original route was a little over mileage - about 210 - and takes in all three capes. By now it was getting toward 6PM and we had screaming horizontal rain (but a very nice tailwind!), so the scenery, though spectacular, wasn't quite the attraction it should have been. We made a very judicious edit to the route - leaving off the third Cape - to bring the total down to 202 miles. That's probably what we'll do next year, too - Whiskey Creek Road brings us straight back into Tillamook for the finish.<br />
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The wind was howling so hard and fast that the guys were riding at a great pace despite the torrential rain. We didn't have great visibility, so we didn't have a lot of warning that they were coming - so we had to jump out and flag them down to explain the re-route as soon as we saw them. Two minutes out of the van and I was soaked! Usually September is still a fairly dry time at the coast - but not today.<br />
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Unfortunately, since we'd started the loop in Rockaway, the guys still had about 15 miles to go once we hit Tillamook. Next year, that won't be an issue since we'll start and end in Tillamook. We checked on them one last time, and took the van back to the beach house. I ordered up some great pizza from Upper Crust:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUByrKcQn8a94HUT4dtTDWvb-Ydy60hOxScU2tI1umi_NVBWk9V4O-mW_u5JMJRfDA0FTi0-vV6BZdTaUHGcTot1EpuaC5JbkEQ6ziY6jVRm-BOS3yExTFponNysjS4cqBXkdLZ5lEdUXE/s1600/UC+Menu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUByrKcQn8a94HUT4dtTDWvb-Ydy60hOxScU2tI1umi_NVBWk9V4O-mW_u5JMJRfDA0FTi0-vV6BZdTaUHGcTot1EpuaC5JbkEQ6ziY6jVRm-BOS3yExTFponNysjS4cqBXkdLZ5lEdUXE/s640/UC+Menu.jpg" width="387" /></a></div>Three guesses what I ordered. The first two don't count. The crew got our showers while we were waiting for the pizza, got the house nice and warm, and put out dinner provisions.<br />
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John headed back out to make sure that Kevin and Keith got back safely. As it turned out, when he got back to them, both were down with flat tires! Between the dark and the rain and the highway conditions, and being within a couple of miles of home, and with pizza on the way and warm showers waiting, it seemed pretty silly to start repairing flats - so John stuffed 'em in the van and brought them home.<br />
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Showers, pizza, stories...lots of miles: sweet success. Technically, it was a 100% DNF rate with the two flats - but I'm sure not looking at it that way. A HUGE thank-you to everyone who participated! I'm really looking forward to producing this event next summer.<br />
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Next stop: Norman, OK!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXmS4v3E8t26xnp7yKnx20VkGUHsh2KSsb8XCDWdBny65ZIds8zfN48o7VRkQm7JfZzja5tWT1sKKEHJkoRFeMEo9kw-elPhlmbgRnR39bStQZuraXktIz9Jjf1mA2-MDD-dhKtgtkV5QT/s1600/nancyeatingchicken.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXmS4v3E8t26xnp7yKnx20VkGUHsh2KSsb8XCDWdBny65ZIds8zfN48o7VRkQm7JfZzja5tWT1sKKEHJkoRFeMEo9kw-elPhlmbgRnR39bStQZuraXktIz9Jjf1mA2-MDD-dhKtgtkV5QT/s400/nancyeatingchicken.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My daughter Nancy - Tejas Crew</td></tr>
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Tailwinds,<br />
SandySandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-24023000867354046822010-09-14T22:26:00.000-07:002010-09-14T22:26:46.379-07:00Ring of Fire!It wasn't supposed to be this way. But it worked. I was planning on crewing Ring of Fire for David and Bill, who were going to come out and absolutely SMASH the 2x 50+ mens' recumbent record. But they got busy (I have some complicity here; I distracted 'em with a Furnace Creek team bid), so I was on my own. So I planned to race 2x mixed recupright with Mark Newsome. He got sick on Wednesday (bad reaction to a tetanus booster). Within hours, Mark Biedryzcki called: he was making an emergency business trip to Germany (who but Mark would have to take an emergency trip to Germany during Oktoberfest?) and - could he borrow my Bike Friday? "Sure, Mark - but...what are you doing this weekend....?" was all it took - we were quite literally off to the races. I'd have to drop him directly off at the airport on the way home from Maupin, but what the heck. So long as he didn't forget his passport we were golden. We called ourselves Team Tailwinds, signed up as the first 2x mixed recupright team in Ring of Fire history. Possibly in ALL of history. I'll have to check on that.<br />
There are a lot of charming things about Mark - encyclopedic knowledge of Portland eateries, enthusiasm, and great biking skills are among the first things that pop into my mind, but the one thing that I've just gotta love about the guy is that he makes <i>me</i> look prepared and organized. Of course I didn't have to pack for a week of intercontinental business as part of my race prep, but...we were only a little late getting out the door. No worries.<br />
Hugs all around at the racer meeting. And - HEY! Bill Phillips is racing! Woo-hoo! Big Bill makes a CA2 with 700c wheels look puny. He's a great tester for the platform.<br />
We have a great dinner with Bill, Lonnie, Carly, and Chris. Off to the Oasis for some sleep. We've bagged the last room in the place. Dubbed "the bunkhouse" it's..just that. No bathroom. Bunk beds. I get the bottom bunk so Cog can sleep with me. Tesla (Mark's dog) gets the floor.<br />
Mark figures that we can get up an hour before our start and have plenty of time. I don't think so....dogs to walk, breakfast to digest...we've got a solid hour and a half. I set the alarm for 5:15, and woke Mark at 5:45 after I was dressed and had breakfast.<br />
We put the Europe-bound gear in the room, got Mark's bike out, and I headed out to the first exchange with the dogs. Yes, we had TWO crew dogs. Fortunately Cog is experienced crew, having done Ring of Fire under uber-crew-chief Robert last year. Tesla was coming up to speed quickly.<br />
I hung out at the top of the first climb<i> (OH. That's the strategy, in case I wasn't perfectly clear: Mark gets all the climbs - or at least all the steep ones - and I get everything else)</i> and waited. Our start was at 6:55. The 6:57 start (Mick Walsh) rolled past and informed me that Mark had missed his start - but only by a minute - and he would be along shortly...which he was. It's okay - he's riding well. I figure that the fear and adrenaline have probably negated the minute already.<br />
We settled into a rhythm...bike out, helmet on, RIDE LIKE CRAZY, make exchange, open rear door, remind dogs to STAY while we racked the bike (we bungied the off-duty bike to the inside of the van - faster than racking on top and almost as fast as racking on a SportRack), grab bottle, eat, drink, pet dogs, and drive up the course.<br />
I didn't miss ALL the climbing but I think we did a fairly good job of breaking it up to make good forward progress. I got to climb Bennett Pass and then took the entire descent on Hwy 35. Mark took the steepest part of the FR44 climb. Since there are limited pullouts, I just went ahead to where I knew the portapotty was waiting, got out and let the dogs stretch their legs for a bit. When Mark got there, he asked me how much riding I wanted..."See you in Dufur" was NOT what he expected, but it was the right thing to do. I worked hard to get to the top, and harder to get to the bottom - just enough headbreeze that I was able to keep pedalling the 53/11 without spinning out too often. That stretch gave Mark enough of a rest to make the big climb up and over Tygh Ridge Summit a lot more comfortably.<br />
I took the descent, and handed off to Mark at the turn onto 216. We needed gas BADLY! I got to Tygh Valley and filled up. Hey! Look at that bike jersey! It's Brian - Molly's husband, and the ring leader of the Grundel Bruisers RAO team. Cool! He was just passing through on a training ride with a buddy.<br />
I tore back up 216 and was able to make an exchange with Mark at Sherar's Bridge. I'm not sure I was 100% compliant with posted speed limits. I didn't exactly have time to look at the speedometer. <i>(Is that a valid excuse? "No, officer, I'm afraid I don't know how fast I was going; I didn't have time to look....")</i> I was pretty motivated; if I didn't take a good pull here I was going to get stuck with the first part of the Bakeoven climb. That would be a serious lapse of recupright strategy. Mark is no slouch in the driving department, but he was impressed that I got a fully gassed up car to him that quickly.<br />
He was ready for me at the start of the Bakeoven climb, and figured he was good for 6 -7 miles. I found a good pullout at 7.1 and took it. From there I did the middle, less-steep, 8 miles, and he pulled me off the bike when he figured he was recovered enough to storm the summit.<br />
Bakeoven Summit was staffed by Rob and Susie Miles - owners of the Imperial - and their kids. Susie needed a ride down to their house, partway down the hill, and I volunteered Mark to provide one....fortunately for us! On the way down, she was able to explain my strategy for our trip down Bakeoven - I'd take all of the (working) descent, until the last few miles where it's very steep and technical. Then Mark took the rest of it and went straight into our first night loop. It worked perfectly. I was able to work VERY hard on that section since I knew I would get almost 2 hours' rest, and he was a little loose and warmed up when he started the night loop (which starts out with about 1000' of climbing in the first few miles).<br />
The night loop is, overall, pretty sweet for recumbents. It's 27 miles long, and my usual comment on it is that it's a 27 mile loop with 20 miles of headwinds and only 7 miles of climbing....The first three miles are very tough, but most of your climbing is really done then, all of the tough stuff anyway. Then it's a 4-mile cruise to the very sweet downhill, a slightly lumpy flat section, a hairpin turn at Sherar's Bridge, and an uphill river grade to the start/finish. Usually the river road has a headwind. Today it had a slight tailwind. NICE.<br />
Competition was fierce but friendly in the 2x division - we had Mick and Brian who were clearly outclassing everyone, and Angela and Christina who were breathing down our necks most of the night. We all shared stuff and had a great time pushing each other!<br />
The pit area at Ring of Fire is great. Since it's at the resort, most people can go into their rooms to change or rest between laps. There's a conference room that's opened up with a microwave and a place to charge batteries and generally get warm. And Rob snuck into the kitchen and came out with treats periodically. Faithful readers would know that I wasn't able to pass over the offer of a mini corn dog!<br />
We finished 8 full laps. I pushed as hard as I could on my last one (#8) so that Mark could get as many miles as possible. As much as I kid Mark, he was a champ, and took the opportunity to do the "bonus" lap seriously. He got 20 miles, and would've gotten more if he'd not gotten a flat tire. He pinch flatted around mile 15, and limped along on partial air the rest of the way. Since I didn't know this, I assumed he'd be riding in...in fact, he should've only been 2 or 3 miles out when time expired. Finally, Chris and Carly took pity and brought him in.<br />
Final tally - 393 miles - over 16 mph. Not shabby!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">tapir - it's not just a Brazilian mammal...<br />
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</tbody></table>Now it's taper time....legs feel amazing and strong, but tired. It bodes well for Tejas.Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-18770141507202528812010-09-08T11:49:00.000-07:002010-09-16T11:48:57.740-07:00FedEx Touring - There and Back Again (Reprise)I biked <a href="http://bikeroutetoaster.com/Course.aspx?course=176235">to Arcata</a> - and back again - from Florence. The last time I made this trek I did it from my doorstep in Eugene. This time I was riding home, so I fudged. I was pretty sure that I'd not be happy making the right turn up Hwy 126 - so I drove to Florence, neatly cutting 60 miles off of the trip. About 265 miles all told.<br />
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I rolled into Florence at about 7AM and hit the Safeway for coffee and a scone, then looked for a likely place to park my van. Where do you leave a van that's visible (so it won't be vandalized) but out of the way (so it won't be towed), for a week, in a town you know nothing about? I picked a spot adjacent to a vacant commercial building that was for sale. I figured it was a safe bet.I got out and started checking over the bike, making my last minute clothing adjustments, etc, when a guy walking his dog came by. He is a Gold Rush owner, had just been to the recumbent retreat. We talk a little about my bike, his bike, RAAM...cool ! He might actually keep an eye on the van while I'm gone.<br />
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I rolled out a little after 8. Since I'm too much of a bum for credit-card touring, I've invented....FedEx touring. I send the stuff I'd rather not carry down to David's house ahead of time. So I was traveling (relatively) lightly: a spare tire, three tubes, reasonably good tool kit, patch kit, two bottles, a bit of traveling food, and a lot of spare clothes. The race bag was still full to bursting, so I'd have to rely on food stops for the bulk of my nutrition. Not a problem as I'd scoped them out pretty well the last trip: Wendy's in Coos Bay, <a href="http://www.goldbeachoregon.com/restaurants-shops/restaurants.html">McVay's in Gold Beach</a> (macaroni and cheese STILL rules!) Oh, yeah - ice cream in Langlois...the market advertises "free water for bikers", which I thought was a good enough reason to stop.<br />
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Weather was indifferent - sorta spitty mist - for the first 4 hours, then the promised sun and tailwind made an appearance around Bandon.<br />
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I had a headstart on last time, so I ended up crossing into California just at dusk. I pulled into the agricultural inspection station and turned on my lights...The inspector was a bit incredulous..."Awful late for a bike ride, miss". "<i>Yes, sir"</i>. "Where are you going?" <i>"Arcata, sir"</i>. "Do you KNOW how far that is????" <i>"Yes, sir, I'm visiting friends. I've done this before."</i> "Are you SURE?". <i>"Yes, sir. I have NO FRUIT, sir..." </i>Since he had nothing on me but potential insanity, he let me go.<br />
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Last time I'd (famously) stopped at the Crescent City Denny's for the ultimate in randonneuring "coffee stops" - a 4-hour stint where I "couldn't sleep, but"...courtesy of a very kind waitress. This time I made a very quick stop - it was only 9:30 and I didn't want to lose my momentum. I figured that if I made it through to Klamath well before midnight the road would be safest. As it turned out, I was right. The only close pass I got was courtesy of a Franz bread truck. I'd had a lot of trouble managing the bike (handling skills) on the slow-speed climbing on this hill in May. This time, no problem...just slow going.<br />
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Past Babe and his Blue Ox right around midnight (I think). By now the fog was starting to settle in and I was glad to have extra light. It was starting to get chilly so I stopped to add a layer. By now it was Really Foggy and I was not feeling confident descending. Plus there were rumble strips. Ask any member of my RAAM crew how I feel about rumble strips; they'll just roll their eyes.<br />
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Another good climb, more foggy descending, and I'm bearing down on Arcata. The AM traffic is barely starting to pick up. I didn't remember exactly how to get in to town off the freeway so I accumulated some bonus miles, backtracked, took the Janes Road exit (hey, I'd BEEN on Janes Road...), managed to fumble my way to Alliance and a minimart where I had my AM coffee and a treat, and got my bearings. I left there around 5:40 and figured I'd cruise David's house, see if anyone was up...not having much hope on that, but - HEY! His car is missing. At 6AM. He must be...at SPIN CLASS!<br />
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Tracked him down at <a href="http://www.healthsport.com/">HealthSPORT</a>. I did a slow lap of the parking lot, trying to figure out if this was the sort of place where they'd give me grief for breaking into David's van and taking a nap in it. I guess I hoped that it was, but...OK. The spin studio is on the front of the building, so I can roll up and bug him. Before I know it, David has my bike, I'm being ushered in, and I'm on..a spin bike??!! To make matters (worse?), Bill is teaching - it's not his usual day, so I guess I got lucky? - and it's a hard class with a lot of hills.<br />
Sports fans, I'm here to tell ya' that it makes good sense to be warmed up adequately for one of Bill's classes, but I may have overshot slightly. That spin class made me a little sore the next day.<br />
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Fortunately, Friday was a day of rest, unless you count a particularly gluttonous trip to Costco, where David and I picked up supplies for the weekend bike camping trip. Just after noon on Friday is definitely the time to hit Costco, sample-wise. We stopped by the ribeye station so many times they had to switch to New York steaks just to give us some excuse to come back. I also cleaned my bike, and inspected the tires and brakes - very necessary for the upcoming couple of days' riding.<br />
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We were shopping for David's version of the 2-day TUC - a camping weekend punctuated by sporadic biking, epic firebuilding, really good food, and a lot of good storytelling - some of it truthful. The ride goes Saturday and Sunday, over some pretty gnarly territory. I wanted my bike to be in good shape mechanically.<br />
Saturday AM, I rode the 30-something bonus miles to the ride start - a good warmup as it was mostly flat. I left well after Phil - but got there sooner. He was riding 35 very hilly bonus miles, starting from the <a href="http://co.humboldt.ca.us/portal/living/county_parks/default.asp?parkid=awp">campground</a> where we'd all spend Saturday night. A good reminder that Sunday's ride was not going to be trivial...<br />
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The ride starts tame enough - some warmup miles with a couple of hills, and a great run through the redwoods. I find myself riding with none other than Phil Plath. I entertain myself by convincing him that I've not seen a movie since Blazing Saddles. <i>This is not quite true; anyone who knows me at all knows that I've seen Apollo 13 numerous times. For unexplained (inconceivable?) reasons, Adrienne and Mandy forced me to sit through The Princess Bride. And I guess for the sake of full disclosure I'll admit that I will never make it through Shrek (I) with dry eyes. But I digress...</i><br />
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An excellently staffed lunch stop at the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Avenue_of_the_Giants#Immortal_Tree">Immortal Tree</a> (thanks, Mary!!!) and off we go. A well-fed assault on Panther Gap means that I'm toting a few more M&M's than was strictly necessary, but - there you go. Up, over, turn at Honeydew, and I rolled into camp. Jim and Phil are already there, Michelle is on the way, Robin has been hanging out in camp, and Mary has gotten there a few minutes ahead of Jim and Phil. We have <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/simply-delicious-sweets-and-treats-half-moon-bay">fudge</a>, but critical errors have been made: the beer is in David's van, which is supporting the second wave of riders. We make do with wine until he gets there, but there's nearly an insurrection.<br />
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A quick dunk in the creek is at least as good as a shower - and maybe better. The sun is shining, it's warm, and not too breezy - much nicer than the weekend before. More arrivals - Steve and Noreen - then Tim, Genevieve, and Wendy. Dinner, epic campfire (I'd been a bit taken aback at the quantity of wood David hauled up there, but we managed to do in most of it), stories...Jim brought out the guitar and some more good times ensued. No one knows the words, but we're making an honest effort.<br />
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Sleeping under the stars - amazing. I'm looking up at them, just can't imagine how I'll ever fall asleep with so many stars to look at...oh - it's morning!<br />
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Great breakfast, and off again...into Petrolia, around the corner, up the beach (HEADWIND!) and...naw, I'm going to hike The Wall. I've got 400k ahead of me and I don't need to blow anything up. I did ride it out as far as the end of the Tsunami Hazard Zone - it's good to know that you've got what it takes to be safe, just in case. Michelle passed me along this stretch, and Jim caught me and hung around to make sure I was okay, which I was. Downhill all too quickly, then back up. Endless Hill is a little easier going, but the wind is fierce. I let the faster climbers go and took a pee break. A few switchbacks later I found myself in a bit of a jam...stuck in a switchback with a quick grade change, a wind gust, a horse trailer, and...a barbed wire fence. The fence won my business. Fortunately the race bag made first contact; I just sorta "stuck" there and had to slowly undo myself. No damage. I thought I'd snagged the shoulder on my jersey, but even that was unscathed. Lucky!<br />
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The herd of Aerosmith-hating cows were out, along the way to the top. I considered humming a few bars to see if they remembered, but I couldn't think of anything appropriate so I let the moment pass. Not far from the top...recumbent...yellow jersey...Bill! Woo-Hoo! Let's ride...over the top, and down we go. Bounced along the road to the fairgrounds. Somewhere in there Bill ejected a water bottle - I never saw it leave, so I'm not sure where. It's probably not the only water bottle on that stretch of road.<br />
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Bill had ridden to the fairgrounds, so I went back with him. <i>Because I need the bonus miles - NOT</i>! Great ride, good to have an escort through Eureka. I'd done it early Saturday morning on the trip out but I wasn't 100% certain about the turns on the way back. FUN! The wind played some tricks on us - a soda can was rolling at us at a pretty good clip on the bridge across the bay, making some really impressive noise in the process.<br />
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Sunday evening we hung out, regrouped, and made plans for Monday's bike ride. I was heading out, and David and Bill decided to escort me partway. We took the scenic route - very nice: bike path, Clam Beach, Trinidad, Patricks' Point.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bill (L), and me (R) at Patrick's Point. Sunny Labor Day!<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">The guys turned around at Big Lagoon, and after just a little bit of stalling, I headed north. The headwind was starting to pick up (nice tailwind for those south-bound). Traffic was pretty heavy - a lot heavier than I've experienced before on 101 - and the northbound lanes didn't seem to have as much of a shoulder. The road in to Crescent City was pretty tough. I "de-biked" a few times to make sure that cars, trucks, and RV's could get past safely. I pressed through Crescent City with just a convenience store sandwich, and pressed on. By the time I got to Brookings it was after 7PM - still quite light - but when you simply, physically CAN NOT ride past a Dairy Queen it's time to concede the inevitable, grab something to eat, and settle down for the night.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div>I found a room on the far side of town. The Blue Coast Inn is inexpensive, has clean rooms with space for bike parking, and paper-thin walls. The guy next door snored. But it didn't matter for more than a minute or two...after I parked the bike and grabbed a shower I headed to Rays Food Center a few blocks up the street to pick up breakfast, since I was planning on leaving before breakfast hours the following morning.<br />
Well...that was the plan. I did get out a little after 6 - later than I expected. I was treated to a brilliant blue and pink sunrise moment as I cruised through Boardman State Park. The colors looked oddly familiar - OH! Robin's Fire and Ice fudge! Shortly after, it starts to rain. Just a little...<br />
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Breakfast, Part II, in Gold Beach. Double D Cafe. NICE big plate of food, really fast service. I'm there just long enough to get warm-ish and dry-ish. On the road again.<br />
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MORE rain, and more, and more. Before I hit Bandon, it's raining hard enough that it really doesn't matter if it could rain harder - it can't get me wet any faster than it's doing. But it rains harder anyway, pretty much all the way to Reedsport. It's slow going in the rain. Traffic is heavy, and they don't seem to be anticipating northbound bikes. I do see a LOT of bike travelers - fully-loaded touring - heading south, and I got to spend some time chatting with folks. There was a good sized group heading to San Fransisco, and one heading to LA.<br />
The conditions were so sloppy and crappy that I decided to walk the bridges at North Bend and Reedsport. Between the rain, the traffic, and the lack of shoulder, I was at the limit for feeling safe. Shortly after Reedsport, the rain slowed and ultimately stopped, so I was actually starting to dry out when I got back to the van. I crawled into the dry clothes I'd left there, slammed a Boost, and turned on the heat.<br />
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The long drive home validated my choice to drive to Florence; if I'd have had to ride back, I'd probably have spent another night. Sure, it's only 60 miles, but - given the conditions, I was glad to be done.<br />
<br />
Weekend damages: just over 700 miles. And I'm happy to report that I've gone well over 1200 miles since my last flat tire. Knock on carbon....Next stop: Ring Of Fire.Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-83531890681559456442010-08-30T21:50:00.000-07:002010-08-30T21:50:19.415-07:00Crater Lake - there and back again<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="http://bikeroutetoaster.com/Course.aspx?course=162646">I biked to Crater Lake. From Corvallis</a>. In one day, with some great company: ChrisY, Chris, and Carly. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Due to a series of coincidences, we ended up starting at Mark Newsome's house (he was going to come, and it's a good starting point, but his work schedule got too busy). </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The stated start time was 6AM. Actual was more like 7 by the time we were rolling. On the plus side, it was plenty light, but it was fully 4 hours later than I'd typically started this ride, when my legs were 8-10 years younger. And – oh, now I remember – I used to start from Albany, and the ride to Brownsville from Albany is a lot shorter. Crap. Well, hopefully we'll get in by dark....</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I'm wearing clothes that are okay for the bulk of the riding: short gloves, shorts, and two layers of wool (3 counting the wool bra). I can peel off a layer when it gets hot. I'm pretty chilly at the start, but Chris takes off at a good clip, so I warm up fast. Chris and Carly are doing a ride-and-tie, so Carly has driven off to Brownsville and started riding from there. When we got to Brownsville, Chris got in the truck, drove past Carly to Marcola, and started riding there. With two people on the course most of the time, they were making great progress – so great that I never saw my warm clothes again. Bad planning, Earl! By the time I realized that we weren't going to catch up to my “warm” layers again, I was also realizing that we weren't going to get to camp any before sundown – i.e. it was going to start getting cold by the time we were heading down 138 – the last few miles of descent into camp. Ohhhh.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We'll do the best we can. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Brisk pace into Brownsville, and then off to Brush Creek – one of my favorite climbs. Fueled by delusions of keeping up with Chris, I kept it in the middle ring. Nice descent to Marcola, where we stopped for sandwiches and to refill Chris' fluids (he had 2 bottles, I had a bottle and a 3-liter bladder). </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Lots of construction between Marcola and Springfield. We got stopped by a construction flagger and I swear it was mainly because she needed someone to talk to. For, like, 15 minutes. OK. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I love the section of the ride along the Willamette, between Springfield and Lowell. Very nice. We cross onto 58 at Lowell. There is a lot more traffic on 58 in the early afternoon than the mid-morning. It's not my favorite part of the ride. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Hope (Chris' wife) and kids (Henry, Nash) come by not long before we summit Willamette Pass. Chris gets to punch the button for the tunnel. He likes punching buttons; I'll roll with it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZmizwaZvsNZosIe3EbbPWIEnCw7fxrCTSlY59Li3nAGfi53GxdGVGviG7obrBHn68ulOQ3xQOlsuysh7tjApqO3HLJ8iBt6fXn_0Mu7ykDGaKyTAxC07N5s1AproHMUveI38-Q8P0I2Xr/s1600/oregontour0273.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZmizwaZvsNZosIe3EbbPWIEnCw7fxrCTSlY59Li3nAGfi53GxdGVGviG7obrBHn68ulOQ3xQOlsuysh7tjApqO3HLJ8iBt6fXn_0Mu7ykDGaKyTAxC07N5s1AproHMUveI38-Q8P0I2Xr/s400/oregontour0273.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">At the summit, I put on the wool shirt that I'd taken off for the climb; my one and only gear change. It was (just) enough. <br />
By the time we got to Chemult, it was just after 7. Time for a couple of corndogs. I was starting to fall into ultrabrain – a little zoned, a little sleepy, not riding fast because I was forgetting to. A Starbucks doubleshot and some Jolt gum helped quite a bit with that. We called in to Hope and told her that our updated arrival time was 9:30. I was feeling pretty good about having a strong light...I knew it was going to be cold, and I was worried. I picked up a pair of cotton gloves. Best $2 I've ever spent. Having ONE part of my body just a little too warm totally fooled my system into thinking I wasn't actually freezing. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Chris took off out of Chemult at a blistering pace, and by really, really focusing, and drafting as much as possible, I was able to keep up. We made the turn onto 138. It doesn't look SO bad in the dark! I've always said that's the most demoralizing piece of pavement on the planet, but it was kind of cool to watch the headlights come in and out of the false summits. I was making really good time for the first 9 or 10 miles, and then fell off a little bit for the last couple of miles getting toward the summit. By the time we got to the top, Chris was more than happy to wait for me: I had 500 lumens of <a href="http://www.trailled.com/">really good LIGHT</a>, and it was pitch black. He had a cateye and he really couldn't see the fog line. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We missed the turn to the south shore of the lake. Crap. Figured it out at the point where it didn't matter, so we might as well take the north shore and do a lap of the lake. Bonus miles at 9:30 at night. Awesome. It took a while to find our way to the group site. The signage at Broken Arrow isn't 100% clear. We knew that we were heading to “J” loop, for instance – but the right way to go was marked “F,G”. Let's just call that “Not Intuitive”. We roll into camp, triumphant, not quite exhausted, and really cold (me). </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Hope offers her down coat, and has a hot dinner ready for us in nothing flat. I am dimly aware that pinot noir is not the rehydration beverage of choice, but the jerked beer can chicken, beans and rice is really, really good! Off to collect my clothes up at the Chris/Carly camp. They've already pitched my tent! Cool! I haul myself in there and try to get warm enough to sleep. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When I wake up, I am warm, so it must've worked. Breakfast time. One of the bennies of being itinerant at the Diamond Lake ride is that EVERYONE brings too much food. I have a great breakfast with Carly and Chris, take some clothes down to the bathroom to change, and swing by Chris and Hope's camp to see how things are going there. The boys are hovering, eating their "just for camping" sugar cereal and dressed like Eskimos. I have breakfast with Chris and Hope: Eggs and miniature andouille sausages. And really good coffee. We sit there, pondering the ride organizers' advice – given last night at the mandatory rider meeting that we missed (but Hope stood in for us): please leave as late as possible due to the possibility of freezing roads overnight. Well, it didn't freeze overnight – but it's getting colder and windier by the minute, now...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I go back to my tent to grab my riding shoes, to discover that I have been pillaged by chipmunks. The only disadvantage to biking up to the lake is that I didn't put all of my stuff in rodent-proof bins (too bulky). My peanuts are just in a bag, and it's just too tempting. I left the door open, and mayhem ensued. As if that wasn't bad enough – I'm a slow learner. I closed up the bag, put it back in the tent, and zipped up the door “so they couldn't get back in”. Hah. Show a squirrel a peanut, and he'll figure out how to get it...</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_6D4AMMwFgK-AjUeScF24a_QTcTXg7Sdx4f3atpkJZDGjePV73dP0e580wlst-MDJgRqy3KL0okVzheGIsWII9i7GV_OSzgm1v0shXf7JV0HgUq8GBNe5fS9z51ZyiK-SMcmiR8CAVsq9/s1600/GM+Squirrel-1024x768.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_6D4AMMwFgK-AjUeScF24a_QTcTXg7Sdx4f3atpkJZDGjePV73dP0e580wlst-MDJgRqy3KL0okVzheGIsWII9i7GV_OSzgm1v0shXf7JV0HgUq8GBNe5fS9z51ZyiK-SMcmiR8CAVsq9/s400/GM+Squirrel-1024x768.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The perp!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We rolled out at 9:30 or so, for the long climb to the top. Chris waited for me as long as he could, then took off. It's getting colder. It's getting foggy. I got to the rim road and pulled into the parking lot...made the decision. I didn't know what the weather was going to do, but if it deteriorated the way I thought it could, I'd have to be sagged down. I had good gear on today – but there's no staying warm when it's wet and 36 degrees and you're descending. So I waited for Hope. She was bringing the boys up to see the lake. Considering that I was at the rim, looking down, and couldn't see the lake, I kinda figured it was going to be a disappointment, but I was sure looking forward to seeing them. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Just at the point where I decided there was a reasonable chance that they'd seen the writing on the wall and stayed in camp, they appeared. I got in the truck, and we went off to find Chris. We found him just before the serious rain started, and proceeded on around the rim – there were places where the kids could see the lake, and Crater Lake is kinda cool even in poor weather. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">At some point after the snow started, Henry pointed out that “this is the craziest summer vacation EVER”...we were passing some very cold cyclists in shorts and jerseys (as well as some very cold cyclists who were dressed for the weather). We stopped in at the lunch stop, let them know that we could help sag riders down. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We found Chris and Carly not too far from the Visitor's Center, and they were very happy to take on some rain pants for Chris and to wait at the Visitors' Center until we could dump off our bikes, Hope and the kids, and get back to pick them up. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">By the time we got there, the Visitor's Center looked like a bike base camp – everyone with sense stopped there. We picked up an extra person, made sure that everyone there had a known ride down, and headed back. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I came back to find a nice, squirrel-sized hole in my tent, and evidence of a HUGE peanut party on the part of an unknown number of chipmunks and ground squirrels. Like I said – slow learner. When you live in the tough section of town, you don't lock your car EVER – if you do, the thieves have to break your window to get your stuff...</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR9OLoXR40cWYweUBxyqOLT7y7ZzfkyMOLK2qIC2R0z5xF7RligmsuU5gjtuCa0zWPQL-zlB5KIMg_mgxqlRQ5ovWoS2pH_bycmUWZRikupqZ-xpY8rxBCef5UqiRlzp7Q7gQXUMk82MmT/s1600/the+fat+one+did+it.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR9OLoXR40cWYweUBxyqOLT7y7ZzfkyMOLK2qIC2R0z5xF7RligmsuU5gjtuCa0zWPQL-zlB5KIMg_mgxqlRQ5ovWoS2pH_bycmUWZRikupqZ-xpY8rxBCef5UqiRlzp7Q7gQXUMk82MmT/s400/the+fat+one+did+it.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">note hole (small discolored area of mesh, suspiciously close to peanuts).</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">By 4PM the weather was clearing. I'd had a shower, and I was almost warm. The Sunday weather forecast wasn't too bad, so Chris and I decided to go for the planned ride home. Dinner was potluck – an extended hors d'oevres hour, followed by quinoa stew over at Carly and Chris's, and then – chicken, rice, and grilled veggies put out by Hope and Elise. A good fire, at least two dinners, early to bed....</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sunday dawned nice and sunny. I'd been faked out in the middle of the night by the moonlight – it was so intense that I thought it might be pre-dawn. And then I heard Chris go off in the middle of the night- he was doing some photography up on the rim. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I got up, threw on my bike clothes, and packed things up, leaving the tent to attend to last. Then I headed out for breakfasts (yes, plural..) I took some muffins down to Hope and Chris's and had muffins, yogurt, granola, and really good coffee...headed back up to Carly and Chris' and had trail mix and a V8. “Oh – I scared a ground squirrel out of your tent”, Carly put in, helpfully. “I think he was looking for peanuts”. Um....no doubt. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">And – they're off. Down, down, down....a fast descent to the 1500' level on 138. Then the right turn onto Canton Creek. Chris has ONE annoying habit as a riding partner...not that I'm complaining – one is a very small number, and I'm sure that I have annoying habits. But – I tend to give people the “turn coming up” headsup about 2 miles from the next turn. And – somehow, psychically, he manages to totally take off about 4 miles from the next turn, so I have to chase like crazy to prevent him blowing a turn. I'm PRETTY sure that he knows to turn at Steamboat – I mentioned it often last night – but I'm not certain. So I haul ass and get close enough to let him know. <br />
After the we get onto Canton Creek road, we stopped to peel a layer off. The road is beautiful, almost no traffic, and very scenic. It's also pretty danged steep near the top. I was whining audibly – but I made it. An even steeper descent, and then a long, slow drop down to Sharps' Creek, Row River, Dorena Lake. We're making really good time, rolling along in the sunshine. Great day to be on the bike. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Just about the point where Chris asks whether there might be corn dogs anywhere in Cottage Grove, we came across a local mercantile. They were obviously serving the lake community – locals and campers alike – with the main trade being firewood, cigarettes, and beer. The corn dogs weren't exactly the best I've had, but they were a little bettter than the “chicken cheese rollup thing” that we got as an experiment. Where's <a href="http://www.forestgrovenewstimes.com/news/story.php?story_id=122586295935928900">Wayne</a> when you need him?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Despite the less that perfect food, I was pretty happy, and thinking that the ONLY thing that might make our day better was if Elise came through just then. She was the camp hostess for the ride, and the last to leave camp. She'd volunteered to sweep our route home, and although I felt perfectly capable of riding the next 65 miles, I really didn't need to. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">She actually showed up about a mile later....I loaded up and we did leapfrog support for Chris the rest of the way – which was good, because I was going to make up the rest of the route through Eugene as we went along, which wasn't going to work at Chris speed – and if we were going to get him home by dark, it needed to be at Chris speed. Here's the <a href="http://bikeroutetoaster.com/Course.aspx?course=173506">route coming back</a>. It was amazing, and is highly recommended. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We had one small issue – needed to stop to replace a tire that Chris sliced, but fortunately I had a spare wheelset ready with tires mounted. Other than that, smooth sailing home. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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</div>Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-29713413095726642122010-08-16T17:42:00.000-07:002010-08-18T15:51:48.355-07:00Alpine Century - Your Next "Bucket List" RideHow would you like to do a fully-supported century ride with:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>zero stoplights</li>
<li>two stop SIGNS (both in the first 20 miles)</li>
<li>great scenery</li>
<li>little to no traffic</li>
<li>all the hazelnuts you can reasonably eat, and </li>
<li>a swimming hole that appears JUST when you think it's getting a bit warm-ish?</li>
</ul>Look no further. The <a href="http://alpinecommunity.net/pg23.cfm">Alpine Century</a> is all that. I ran into a bunch of Corvallis friends on the ride (Mark, Tim, Joe, Kate....Joanne from Salem...) .but I mainly rode with Carbent Bro' Chris.<br />
<br />
I rode up to Alpine from Eugene. It's about 50k. <i>See? I'm bilingual! I rode 50k to do a 100 mile ride! This is what I get for hanging out with the rando crowd. </i>The plan was to meet Chris at 7, and plan to be riding by 8. I figured that since I'd be all warmed up and ready it was okay to be a few minutes late, so I didn't leave until 5:45...I was only a few minutes out the door when I realized that I'd calculated my time/distance to Monroe, not Alpine - I was 5 miles short, so I'd better haul a$$. Which I did.<br />
<br />
I got to Alpine with a full head of steam, rolled in to the parking lot and asked the lady at the registration table if "my riding partner had shown up, yet"...she gave me a blank look. I'll take that as a "no" - even for a 'bent guy, Chris cuts a distinctive figure; if he were there, she'd know who I was talking about. By the time I'd filled out registration paperwork it was 7:20. A quick tour of the parking lot - nope - but just as I was heading back up to the breakfast table, here he comes....Miyata, top down, bike in the back...Mr. Cool.<br />
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We did make it out of the parking lot by 8:00, but barely. No worries...up and over Bellfountain. Chris is SURE there's something wrong with my front wheel; it's making a lot of noise. Now, sports fans, I'm auditioning a new front wheel - a Cosmic Carbone SL, with (yep!) a carbon fairing bonded on to an aluminum rim. Although this wheel has a reputation for being bombproof, my recent history with carbon/aluminum bonding is pathetic, so we stop and check. Everything. Nothing apparently wrong...<br />
<br />
Over Bellfountain, made the turn onto Decker. This is a very easy course to navigate, and I've been on all the roads before, so I don't really have to think too much. Down the other side, on to Hwy 34. One guy catches me just before the Marys Peak access road and congratulates me (on being almost as fast as him??? Hmmmm).<br />
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Turns out that he and Chris are both waiting at the top, and pull out right behind me as I head down. This is some of the best pavement on the planet. Seriously. On club rides, even on my upright, I've been known to make grown men cry. And today I've got the Raven. I had some initial speed on Chris, so it took him a couple of miles to catch back up to me. We don't see the other guy until the rest stop at Alsea.<br />
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Rest stop at the Alsea grange hall. Hazelnuts, M&M's, and Gorge Delights fruit bars. Oh, and Gu and Gatorade and stuff like that. But - Hazelnuts and M&M's. I think I could do a century on just that.<br />
Lobster Valley Road - nice. Quiet. Up. Back to 34. Up a little, then back down to Alsea again. MAN, that was a quick 50 miles! And a good thing...it's getting hot, and Chris is almost out of water (we skipped a rest station).<br />
<br />
Load up, and on the home stretch. It's pushing 100 degrees in the sun (oof!) but we're going to be in shade for most of the rest of the ride. There's a rest stop right at the trailhead down to the falls. We're on it. We tell the volunteers there that we're going in. They offered to watch our bikes.<br />
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COLD THERAPY!!!! OOOOOOOH!!!!! Chris got a young couple to snap a cellphone pic of us in the falls, and he managed to navigate clear across the river and back without dropping the thing. Not bad.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs5TAINbIDoaTxnNjKsLqyAYnURA3Bvbta2Z9Oy9vxfooIxxWRtzlUcoJlMyRXSmu79nh1qkDT_7sBM7zBfKzZbFmzrUtsTnFlXgWEFwjoeJUatY1VgOdY2srP_rKzFP_tR0APsIiJw9kt/s1600/alseawithchris.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs5TAINbIDoaTxnNjKsLqyAYnURA3Bvbta2Z9Oy9vxfooIxxWRtzlUcoJlMyRXSmu79nh1qkDT_7sBM7zBfKzZbFmzrUtsTnFlXgWEFwjoeJUatY1VgOdY2srP_rKzFP_tR0APsIiJw9kt/s400/alseawithchris.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>A few more miles of easy climbing, and then DOWN! to Alpine...a nice lunch. I was a little behind on fluids so I refilled water bottles and had a soda. The local businesses put up a lot of raffle prizes; since I'd done day of ride registration I wasn't in the drawing but several friends won bottles of wine, etc. Something to remember for next year!<br />
<br />
Chris dropped me off in Corvallis, and I changed into "party" clothes at <a href="http://peaksportscorvallis.com/">Peak Sports</a>. I had a few minutes to kill before heading to a party, so I stopped in to a gelato shop (shoppe?). I had a small dish of chocolate-orange and cherry. Could easily have had all chocolate-orange...and an iced espresso. Nice!<br />
Drank probably half a gallon of water at the party, ate everything salty I could find, and stayed WAY too long, but had a very nice time - a good mixture of "bike" and "non-bike" people. (Meaning - mainly bike people, but we were finding other things to talk about.) People were a little surprised that I was heading out at dark to ride the final 40 miles...but hey - I've got a great light. Might as well use it, and it was cooling down nicely.<br />
<br />
On the way home I stopped in Monroe for QUITE a while - still feeling a little thirsty, so I sucked down a large iced tea and refilled yet again while I watched the moon set and a little bit of heat lightning dance to the south...the latter brought a bit of headwind; I allowed that to slow me down a bit, and got home around 11:30.<br />
<br />
Long, good day. You know you've done a good one when you have to think about whether it's worth it to grab a shower, or just crawl into bed filthy.<br />
<br />
Consider the Alpine Century! They do a great job and they deserve more turnout than they get.Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-5521905098898342342010-08-12T00:14:00.000-07:002010-08-12T00:14:57.252-07:00Whack!Sometimes you just have to be hit over the head with it.<br />
<br />
On my way out of REI today - killing a little time before hitting the gym - I got whacked in the head by a falling catalpa pod. And it hit me (duh...): <i>I want a catalpa tree. It's time. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYWPzmALKEmx6saBtcbTg7P8NJxD2uTBvlEdwR_8edZeSsatTF-3QRnwg8qAWfAsY5aa4YeTX6WA_5aAAA5p3KvBJMqpFOztvZjG31N8Zp6CVcwKm3XUYYo8gjZIGZtjwW5DPegCe29pNh/s1600/catalpa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYWPzmALKEmx6saBtcbTg7P8NJxD2uTBvlEdwR_8edZeSsatTF-3QRnwg8qAWfAsY5aa4YeTX6WA_5aAAA5p3KvBJMqpFOztvZjG31N8Zp6CVcwKm3XUYYo8gjZIGZtjwW5DPegCe29pNh/s640/catalpa.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><i><br />
</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Now, as urges go, this is a strange one. A <a href="http://www.gardenguides.com/taxonomy/northern-catalpa-catalpa-speciosa/">catalpa tree </a>is an extremely impractical tree that only a medium-sized child, or a true sentimental sap, could love. Thing is, it's really not much of a coincidence that I got hit by catalpa tree debris: dropping things is what catalpas do best. Sort of like my dog, Cog, they shed three seasons out of the year. In the spring, they drop giant white flowers which look like a cross between a snapdragon and a rhododendron. The flowers are tough (which means that you can string them into really cool necklaces) and don't degrade readily in spring rain (which means that you have to pick them up). In the summer, the fruit starts coming down: long, bean-like skewers that could put a kid's eye out if you weren't careful. However, they are just long enough for swordplay. Then, like the flowers, they have to be picked up. In the fall, predictably, the leaves: large (huge, really), heart-shaped, and tough. So big that they clog the rake. But they make great piles which can be jumped in, and then (back in the day) the leaves could be burned - a kind of pleasant smell that came with the pumpkins and time to pick out Halloween costumes.<br />
<br />
Few readers will be surprised at this point to learn that I grew up in the shade of a catalpa tree. For several years, my horse lived in the shade of our catalpa tree, too. Yes - I was a one-time horse owner, from the age of six (or so...) to nine (or so...). Timmy was made of wood, probably painfully, by my dad. I don't know if he had a pattern or plans, or if he freehanded the whole thing, though I suspect the latter.<br />
<br />
Timmy was amazing and magical, and I knew that this was so because Daddy made him Just For Me. He was white, when he was any color at all, and he was suspended from the biggest branch of the catalpa tree that didn't hang out over the driveway or the street.<i> (Did I mention that catalpas have a spreading habit? - something else to dismay the horticulturists among us...) </i>I spent a lot of time riding Timmy - possibly where I got my first taste for the rhythmic motion of cycling (or more cynically, the origin of my depressingly slow cadence!).<br />
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I have no idea how Timmy got his name. At that age, things just get named, and you go with it. But I had a lot of fun out there, riding my horse, playing with swords, peeling the bark off of the catalpa tre<i>e (oh, yeah, they've got crumbly bark...) </i>and watching the ants march up and down the trunk<i> (...and the loose bark makes great habitat for carpenter ants.)</i><br />
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Somewhere, in the shady recesses of my brain, that tree took root. It's a metaphor for the quiet, peaceful, happy times that I remember from the last of my "make believe" years - especially the summers. So when that pod fell on me today, it was a wakeup call: <i>It's time. Find your spot. Grow some roots. Twenty years - or twenty-five - or sometime - you'll be wanting to put up a swing in your catalpa tree. You'll want to plant it rather soon. </i><br />
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Right now I've got...I don't know - runners? Like a strawberry plant, I'm a bit of a biennial. I've got satellites all over the place - people I know/love/connect with who are widely flung. That's great. None of them are in Eugene. That's not so great.<i> </i><br />
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<i></i>Clearly I don't have all the answers yet - but I'm getting closer, and I'm feeling some urgency to make some changes by the time fall rolls around. In the meantime, blueberries and blackberries are coming on hot and heavy, the best of Oregon weather is upon us, and the riding is danged good.<br />
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And I'm going to share an unexpected musical treat. This is a portion of my daughter Nancy's (first) trumpet concerto. It's an electronic rendering; the world premiere is as yet unscheduled, but - watch this space. I think it's pretty nice.<br />
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</i>Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830639689124183494.post-80449451841590830852010-08-06T19:34:00.000-07:002010-08-06T19:34:47.516-07:00Sandy's U Turn 400I'm NOT doing the Oregon Randonneurs Edens' Gate 400 tomorrow. Here's the thing: I live just a couple of miles from the southernmost edge of the course - where it turns North onto Coburg Road. Last time I did this ride (in the spring), I drove 85 miles to the start, got in a great ride that started and ended in the urban jungle, and drove home again. I really wanted to ride the couple of miles off-course just to let Cog (my intrepid dog) have an early dinner - but we'd had headwinds and I was running late, and there were people to catch, and.... When I saw the ride come 'round again I really wanted to do it, but thought to myself: "There MUST be a better way!".<br />
And I was right. I'm taking a page from my STP playbook and doing the "U-Turn 400", instead. For those of you who don't know, I "crewed" STP for David Bradley, who was riding to raise funds for sarcoma awareness (and here's a <a href="https://docs.google.com/fileview?id=1KzKeULIA-y3thp5ccRS2FQSi9aFVtQbmljssC-GqBikyRBQwRUkmjJ_NKtMq&hl=en">link to his writeup</a> of the event). For that event, the strategy was for me to sag the vehicle forward, ride backwards on the course until I met David, and "escort" him to the van. Since I was totally committed to being the Most Worthless Sag Driver Ever (as in, David was only going to need me if he couldn't do it, so I was damned glad to be not needed), I'd ride ahead with him, making a second "U-turn" after ten miles or so and then heading back to get the van.<br />
So - that's what I'm going to do tomorrow. I'm going to start, from home, at the appointed<i> (ungodly, probably 5AM but I haven't actually dared to look, yet</i>) hour, heading north to Marcola, Sweet Home, and probably somewhere around Larwood, where I should encounter oncoming (southbound) randos.<br />
I'll turn around and ride with them (hey, if I stick with the first group I may score a meatloaf sandwich at the Mohawk store this time 'round!), and probably do my second U-turn in Albany, or maybe go a little further if I'm feeling really energetic.<br />
That plan should give me somewhere close to 400, save me a lot of time, and make Cog a little happier.Sandy Earlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02672731684664618210noreply@blogger.com0