Wilderness Campaign 200K ACP Brevet

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See the fancy title I used for this ride?  I can do this because I am now officially a Randonneur and entitled to use the arcane acronyms of this exclusive club.  Here’s how it happened:

Pre-ride bicycle prep and registration

We gathered at the Caribou Coffee in Bristow to register, pick up our control sheets (more on that later), prep our bikes and grab a bite to eat before setting out.  I do not like coffee – a distinct problem when traveling with the cycling set – but mercifully the store offered juices as well.  I was very pleased to meet so many friendly people who introduced themselves and chatted about the club.  I was pleased to see John pull up with his Surly and I feel it necessary to report to anyone hoping to find him on the street that he is regrowing his beard.  Without his bike, I doubt I would have recognized him.

The Grand Depart

At the appointed hour of 7:00 AM, we gathered in front of the store and were given some pre-race (technically, this was a race) instructions.  There were about forty riders total, which I learned later was a good-sized group.  With the administrative portion dispensed with, we were off into the pre-dawn fog, accompanied by a few shouts of, “Allez!”

I immediately noticed a difference in these cyclists in that they followed the rules of the road.  I was beginning to see the difference between the “open” organized rides I have been on and a club ride.  Firstly, people take an interest in you and welcome you into the group.  Secondly, people are held accountable for following the group’s rules.  Both were positive changes, in my view.

We zipped along on roads I know very well from my weekend jaunts.  We passed through Nokesville and headed southward into Fauquier County.  There was a significant mist to the morning and this was especially troublesome for those who wore glasses.  I chatted with a few riders while the pack moved along at 20 mph.  Eventually, the sun began to peek  through the morning clouds and I could tell it was going to be a very warm day.  For now, though, my vest and arm warmers were very welcome.

Early morning paceline

At Midland Road (Mile 22) I made my first mistake.  Our merry band broke up as a few cyclists peeled off to duck into a convenience store.  I was in a group behind this break and we slowed to make sure nothing unfortunate happened.  Then the four riders I was with decided they didn’t want to try to catch the lead group.  Then I decided to try to bridge the gap by myself.  That was my mistake.

I sprinted very hard and actually closed about half the distance for a brief while, but I never reached the back end of the group.  After two miles of sprinting, the pack had disappeared down the road.  I was now by myself with nothing to show for my rather significant effort.  I learned once again that bad things happen to people at the back of groups and if you really want to stay part of a pack, stick near the front.

After crossing the Rapidan River and entering Culpeper County, I had some hills to climb.  Fortunately, I was aware of this fact in advance and had steeled myself for the chore.  On the whole, this was a very flat ride with “only” 4,400 feet of climbing over 130 miles.  This area was the most challenging of the day and I put my head down and got it over with as best as I could.  Occasionally, I would happen across a rider or get passed by someone, but this 20 mile stretch was largely a solitary affair for me.  My glorious 18.2 mph average pace was now closer to 15 mph.

Puttering south of Rte 3, near the first control

When I reached Route 3 – a busy highway connecting Fredericksburg and Culpeper – the group of four that I left on Midland Road reeled me back in.  One of the riders was a man named Jim, who was riding a recumbent bicycle at a very impressive pace.  I don’t know a great deal about recumbents, but in my experience they don’t zip along for 40 miles at 16+ mph.

At Mile 42, I ate my first bug of the year.

Putting a bag on your carbon is a bit like putting a trailer hitch on your corvette, but it worked for me.

When we pulled into our first “control” at Mile 48, I was ready for a break.  It was warming up and it was time to shed some layers.  I also needed to wipe my sunglasses, which I had stowed on my helmet in the manner of cool roadies everywhere and thus accumulated a great amount of moisture during the morning fog.  At a control, it is also necessary to get the proprietor to sign your “control sheet,” thus proving you actually made it to the designated point within the alloted time.  In return for this favor, it is customary to purchase some items, which I was happy to do.  We took a brief break at some picnic tables, arranging our cue sheets to depict the next leg of the trip, swapped a few stories, and built up some energy.  It was here that I met Ed, the “other half” of Mary’s cycling tandem at Chasing Mailboxes.  Sadly, Mary was not present today and Ed was on a more traditional machine.

Saunders Field - "The regiment melted away like snow. Men disappeared as if the earth had swallowed them."
- Captain Porter Parley, 140th NY Infantry

It was only a few miles from the control to our first battlefield – The Wilderness.  Fought in May, 1864, this was a particularly brutal affair fought mostly in close quarters due to the difficult wooded terrain.  To get to the battle, the Federal Army marched over the old Chancellorsville Battlefield and discovered many skulls and other bones that had been dug up by animals or exposed by erosion.  During the battle, the brush was accidentally set on fire and hundreds of wounded who could not escape were burned alive.  It was nasty stuff, and I felt compelled to stop at several of the markers to learn more.  This did not help my overall time but it did make the ride more enjoyable for me.

Where Longstreet fell

After The Wilderness, it was off to Spotsylvania and the second battlefield of the day.  This battle was fought about a week after the Wilderness, as the Federals tried once again to get between the Confederate Army and Richmond.  Before reaching the battlefield, I stopped at a site commemorating the accidental wounding of James Longstreet by his own men, which occurred at the end of the The Wilderness and almost exactly one year to the day from when Stonewall Jackson was killed by his own troops about 1o miles from this location.

Sedgwick's Monument

While puttering about a monument to the mortal wounding of Union General Sedgwick (Commander, 6th Corps) at Spotsylvania, a rider named Chris pulled up to ask if I was ok.  Chris and I had chatted earlier in the ride and seemed interested in the history I had to relate (or at least he was very polite about my ramblings).  We rode together to the “information control,” a place on the battlefield where we had to answer a question to prove we were there.  Jim joined us on his recumbent and we eventually came across the site – a question about the Mule Shoe Salient which the Federals attacked.  I already knew the answer to the question, but dutifully waited until arriving at the marker in question before filling out my control sheet.

Riding behind Jim into Spotsylvania

Jim, Chris, and I pulled into Spotsylvania a little before noon.  We had covered 69 miles in less than five hours.  Suddenly, finishing the ride in under ten hours seemed very possible.  The day was fantastic  and it felt like summer was in full swing despite it still being officially winter.  Spotsylvania was an “open control,” meaning we could pull in to any store in town and get our sheet signed.  We just needed to keep our receipt to prove we were there.  I carefully placed my receipt in the ziplock bag I was using to store my control sheet and credit card, then sat down to enjoy my convenience store lunch of a chicken sandwich and Gatorade.

The road to Chancellorsville

After lunch, we moved to the third and final battlefield of the day, Chancellorsville.  This was chronologically out of sequence from the first two, but there was nothing to be done about it.  Chancellorsville was fought a year before the other two battles and was the site of Robert E. Lee’s greatest victory.  I rode through the battlefield last September and you can learn more about it here.  We just dipped our figurative toes into this field in order to answer another information control question which I already knew the answer to “Question: What was the battlefield named after?  Answer: The Chancellor family home.”).  Since lunch was only forty minutes ago, this was a short stop and we were once again on the road, heading back to Kelly’s Ford over the Rapidan.

Chancellorsville information control

Hunting Run Reservoir

It was about here, at Mile 80, that things began to lose their luster for me.  I knew this would be the case; the battlefield tours were over and all that remained was getting back to the finish line.  And that was 50 miles away.  I also knew that the road we were on was hilly for the next seven or eight miles with little to catch the eye apart from a lovely drive past Hunting Run Reservoir.  There were five of us at the Chancellorsville Control, but shortly after restarting three of them were off in the distance.  I was left with the companionship of Chris, who happily discussed anything I was interested in talking about as we took on the hills in the increasingly hot day.  I am in Chris’ debt.

Chris at the Rapidan

We stopped for a rest break at the Rapidan Bridge, where I ate some Clif Shot Blocks.  These babies were absolutely key for me.  I ate a packet faithfully every hour – except for when I had already eaten at a control.  Every time I downed a packet, I felt much better for several miles.  It may be psychosomatic, but I don’t care.  It worked.

The Madone at the Rapidan

The final control - Mile 111

Shortly after leaving the bridge, Chris realized he hadn’t flipped his cue sheet and he stopped to do so.  I was going to stop with him, but he insisted I continue, saying he would catch up.  I didn’t like leaving him after he had faithfully stayed with me but he was insistent.  I was fairly certain he would be right back with me in a few miles.  I didn’t see Chris again until the final control at Mile 111 – the Handymart where I regularly stop on weekend rides.

I was pretty well spent at this point, but the level terrain and the fact I knew every nook and cranny of this part of the course greatly aided me.  I knew when to conserve my energy and when I could push things a bit.  I managed 16.2 mph pace on the last 19 miles, which was quite satisfying to me.  In Nokesville, I came across Barry, another cyclist completing his first-ever Brevet.  Barry’s from Frederick, MD, and I’ll most likely be heading up his way for the club’s Gettysburg 200K brevet this September.  Barry informs me that there are many more hills in his neck of the woods, a statement which I now have six months to ruminate on.

After Party

Barry and I pulled into the Caribou Coffee finish together with a finishing time of 9:40.  I never thought I would be able to go so quickly, especially given my dalliances at the battlefields, but the weather was fantastic and the fact I knew many of the roads was very helpful to me.  I signed and turned in my control sheet and enjoyed the nice after party, which consisted of pizza, sodas, cookies, fruit and other goodies.  It was a nice way to finish a great day.

I don’t think I’m ready to take on some of the more ambitious events of the DC Randonneurs, but I do know that I thoroughly enjoyed my time with the group and hope to join them again this September when they take on South Mountain and the battles of Gettysburg and Antietam.  Until then, Bon Route!

Bristow

Sometimes, goals can be helpful and today was one of those times.  The cold and wind would have certainly kept me indoors but for my goal of reaching 3,000 miles for the year.  I was 35 miles away and it was mocking me.  I would certainly have broken the mark with my evening rides, but I didn’t want to achieve the goal on a short neighborhood pedal.  I was hoping for something more appropriate for the occasion.  So I plotted a 37 mile route through Bristow and set out into the wind.

The wind and the 41 degree day definitely had me riding at a winter pace.  I pulled into the Bristoe Station Battlefield having done 22 miles averaging less than 14 mph.  Welcome to December.  There were even a few snowflakes falling.  Nothing stuck to the ground, but it was my first ride in falling snow.  The Trek seemed unimpressed and behaved pretty much as it always did.  I’ve been riding my hybrid a lot recently, and it’s always nice to hop back on the old road bike, which runs as silent as a submarine compared to Old Ironsides.

When I reached the battlefield, I stopped for a Clif Bar and some Gatorade.  The below view is looking south and Bristow Road is just beyond the fence on the left.

While I was taking in the view, some folks pulled up with three horses for a ride on the battlefield trail.  It was an interesting show, watching the man in the cowboy hat (who was clearly in charge, since he was the one wearing a cowboy hat) lead the horses out of the trailer.

The way home was much more pleasant.  The wind was at my back and the majority of the ride was downhill.  As I neared Brentsville, an enormous brown hawk glided next to me for a few yards.  He was only 30 feet away and was very impressive.

I was almost home when I reached Mile #3000 at the intersection of Rte 234 and Spriggs Road.  I took a picture to capture the moment.  As you can see, the heavens did not open and there were no angelic choirs to commemorate the event.  I realize that a great many cyclists, including most of the regular contributors to this blog’s comments section, do many more miles than this.  In fact, combining my 2010 and 2011 totals would still make for a below average year for the more accomplished riders.  Still, it is a significant milestone for me and worthy of note, if for no other reason than it got me outside on a cold day and gave me the opportunity to see an incredible bird.

Historical Marker Segment!

There is a mystery afoot at Bristow Station Battlefield. The two markers I previously noted along the road are now missing.  This may be my first-ever case of stolen markers.  When I pulled into the parking lot, I spied this new marker.  It is unusual in that it does not have a date indicating when it was erected (almost all of these markers note the year they were created).  Very strange.

Markers noting the location of Confederate encampments and cemeteries are not unusual and the description provides a lengthy and somewhat interesting telling of what camp life was like during the war.  However, I do find it strange that NOT ONCE have I come across a marker noting a Union encampment or cemetery.  The obvious answer is this is Virginia and an in-depth discussion of Federal activity is just not going to happen in these parts.  But perhaps there is something else going on – maybe Union dead were not buried on the field in the manner described in the marker.  Maybe they were shipped to a common location – Arlington National Cemetery for example.  It doesn’t explain the lack of detail on encampments, but does help to address the dearth of Union cemeteries.

Night

“Take the highway to the end of the night.

Take a journey to the bright midnight.”

                                                                           – The Doors

This weekend marks the end of Daylight Savings Time, which means (barring days off from work) all my weekday cycling will occur during hours of darkness.  Daylight Savings Time returns on March 11, 2012.

For those of you who want to keep track, that’s 128 days away.

It’s time to embrace the darkness and attempt to maintain some level of cycling fitness through the cold weather months.  It’s also time to confront drivers, cyclists, runners, and walkers who have varying levels of preparedness for conducting their activities at night.  It is my earnest hope not to run over any pedestrians who choose to clad themselves in dark, nonreflective clothing.  There are few cyclists out at night in my neck of the woods but the few who are about will hopefully have lights on front and rear (a 50-50 proposition, based on personal experience).  In an attempt to avoid cars whenever possible, I will restrict my movements to multiuse paths and quiet neighborhood streets.  As ice begins to appear, the hybrid will emerge from the garage and the Trek will take extended breaks.  I shall endeavor to find pleasure in the stillness of a winter’s eve and not miss the sounds of crickets and birds.

Wish me luck!

The Trek at rest, at night (there's a small lake on the other side of the guardrail)

Historical Marker Segment!

It’s been awhile since I’ve been able to bring you this long-running blog feature.  I’m afraid I’ve encountered almost all the historical markers within a 30-mile radius of my home, which makes encounters with these new markers on my Chancellorsville ride all the more special.

The first marker can be found at the main road juncture on the Chancellorsville Battlefield.  It’s remarkably brief, yet accurate.  After reading it, the casual visitor probably has no idea that he is standing on the site of an epic victory for the Southern cause.

This marker is about ten miles from the battlefield and was thus a pleasant surprise.  I chuckled at what must have been Jeb Stuart’s reaction to the news he had to abandon his supporting attack.  He just couldn’t let it go after all that work and decided to put three volleys into the Federals before leaving to take over Jackson’s Corps!

This last marker is in Richardsville, just across the county line into Culpeper County.  It chooses an interesting event to commemorate and an even more interesting way of saying it.  It gives you a sense of the sort of community I was riding in out there in the wilderness.

Chancellorsville

I got ambitious yesterday.  Aided by my wife, who transported me and my bike 30 miles to Fredericksburg, I headed out to the Chancellorsville Battlefield for a look-see and then a 55-mile return trip, the first 20 miles I had never traversed before.  I had been wanting to do this trip for several months and finally had the opportunity to give it a shot.  Although there was frost on the ground at sunrise, the forecast was for sunny weather and temperatures reaching the mid-50s.  It seemed like a good day for the attempt.

We pulled into the Spotsylvania Mall and my wife said her goodbyes, immediately after which I noticed I had forgotten my cell phone.  I always ride with my cell phone – always.  It’s my security blanket which lets me cycle with the certain knowledge that if I get into difficulty I can call my wife and hear, “You got yourself into this mess.  Now get yourself out of it.”  Now I was about to strike out into The Great Unknown (aka Spotsylvania County) with no communications device.  I believe Thomas Stevens would have been proud of me.

Obligatory Battle Map

A quick note on the battle.  Chancellorsville was fought May 2nd and 3rd, 1863, between Confederate General Robert E. Lee and the unfortunately named Union General Joseph Hooker (although the etymology of the modern-day use of “hooker” is unclear, many experts trace its use to the camp followers of Hooker’s Army of the Potomac).  With both armies staring at each other across the Rappahannock River near Fredericksburg, Hooker moved a large force westward, forded the river and sought to attack Lee from the West.  Lee recognized the Federal move and broke off a portion of his army to meet the threat.  The armies collided at the Chancellor Family home, located at a crossroads about fifteen miles west of Fredericksburg.  The result was Lee’s greatest victory.

I cleared out of the retail district and made my way to the battlefield on River Road, which existed during the Civil War.  This is the lesser of two roads heading toward Chancellorsville from Fredericksburg and no doubt some Confederates used it as they moved to the battlefield.  Given the road’s name, I was disappointed to glimpse only one short view of the Rappahannock River.  After ten miles, I reached the intersection of Route 3 and Elys Ford Road – the epicenter of the battle.  It was here that the Union Army collapsed upon itself after Robert E. Lee divided his smaller force (a MAJOR tactical faux pas born of necessity) and executed a surprise attack on two fronts.  17,500 men were killed on and around this field – a rate of one man per second for five hours.

The Chancellor House was destroyed during the battle under a withering Confederate artillery bombardment.  Hooker used the building as his command post and was leaning against a column when it was struck by a shell, causing a possible concussion which made it impossible for him to direct the battle for a period.  Today, all that is left is the foundation, which is preserved near the artillery pieces pictured above.

I puttered about the periphery of the battlefield but didn’t see any other monuments worthy of note.  I therefore decided to head to the park’s Visitor Center, where I came across one of the war’s most important sites – the place where Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson was accidentally killed by his own pickets.  This was a stunning loss for the Confederacy which would have implications for the rest of the war.  Upon learning of Jackson’s death, Lee said, “I have lost my right arm.”  The trail is faithfully maintained and is remarkably close to the very busy Route 3.  There is a stone marker at the site, erected in 1881 by Confederate veterans.

I could have wandered some more, but I had quite a distance to go so I made my way back to Elys Ford Road and moved Northwest.  Just as was the case in the Civil War, there are few crossings of the Rappahannock River and I needed to travel 20 miles to Kelly’s Ford.  The road was pleasant, with a very picturesque view of Hunting Run Reservoir.  Oddly, the road name changed from Elys Road to Eleys Road when I crossed from Spotsvylania County to Culpeper County. There is a story there, I am sure of it, but I can’t imagine what it might be.  The air was crisp, but not cold and the leaves were in peak color.  I had nary a care in the world as I pedaled over gently rolling country.  This changed when I reached my first turn at Mile 25 – Fields Mill Road.

It was a gravel road.

I hate gravel roads.  After suffering eleven flats last summer/fall, I remain extremely risk averse when it comes to punctures.  I haven’t had a flat since February – I was due.  And I had no phone with me.  And I was nowhere near anyplace I had ever been before.  And there were no significant buildings to speak of, apart from a light sprinkling of farms.  With little choice, I decided to take it easy on this three-mile stretch of wilderness that would eventually deposit me near Kelly’s Ford and asphalt.

About a mile down the road, I began to hear gunfire.  I wondered if it was hunting season.  Whether it was officially hunting season or not, it was definitely hunting season here.  I was very grateful to be wearing my optic yellow vest.  I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be killed.  That assessment changed when the dogs came.

Let me just say it is extraordinarily difficult to cautiously manuever a gravel road while being chased by three dogs.  The first thing I abandoned was caution.  Since I am typing these words, I realize there is little drama to the outcome – I made it.  About a half mile up the road, I was rewarded with a pleasant view.  I leaned my bike against a sign which read “Warning – Coyote Trapping In Progress” and took the below picture.  I could still hear gunfire coming from the woods behind the farm houses.

I was very happy to reach the end of Fields Mill Road and rejoin Western Civilization.  I crossed Kelly’s Ford (Mile 30) and left Culpeper County for Fauquier County.  I had cycled this road once before during last October’s Great Pumpkin Ride.  I celebrated by pausing on the bridge to enjoy the view and eat a Clif Bar.

The remaining miles were uneventful.  I must say that the country roads of Fauquier County are in better condition than those of Spotsylvania or Culpeper Counties (even the paved ones).  At Mile 48 I pulled into one of my favorite rest stops, the Handymart convenience store near the west end of Quantico Marine Corps Base, and ordered a slice of pizza and a Mountain Dew.

Despite their French name, they worked well

Having refueled on quality convenience store cuisine, I had more than enough energy for the remaining twenty miles.  The sun was getting low in the sky, but I remained warm in my vest, skull cap, leggings, and brand new Garneau shoe covers (which worked MUCH better than the ones I wore last year).  I arrived home after 68 miles tired but pleased to have completed the sort of adventure that makes cycling eminently more enjoyable than any other form of exercise I can think of.

Manassas

Detail of "Old Town" Manassas. Click for the entire ride route.

Ordinarily, I like to avoid cities while I’m riding.  Sometimes, there is a nice network of bike paths and trails which make the experience pleasant.  Such is not the case with Manassas, a good-sized town about 15 miles from my house.  I’ve cycled about 4,500 miles in the past 18 months, much of it in Prince William County, yet I have studiously avoided Manassas.  The main reason for this is my aversion to being hit by large rolling metallic objects driven by people only vaguely aware of my existence.  That and the fact that riding in cities can be tiresome, what with the constant stopping and starting at intersections.

Manassas is probably best known for being the site of the first major battle of the Civil War in 1861 and a second battle in 1862.  The Union, as was their custom, named the battle after a nearby creek – Bull Run.  The Confederates, following their tradition, went with the name of the nearest town – Manassas.  Truth be told, there wasn’t much of a town here in 1861 – just a strategically important railroad intersection.  The place was known as Manassas Junction until it became a town in 1873.  Nowadays, it is part of the vast network of urban sprawl emanating from Washington, DC.  It’s residents are primarily commuters who work in the city or nearby in Arlington, Crystal City, or the Pentagon.  Fun Fact:  John and Lorena Bobbit were from Prince William County and their trials took place in Manassas.

I was more interested in the Civil War history than the Bobbit trials, so I aimed for “Old Town,” a small strip near the railroad which still runs through the city.  Nearby is a Confederate Cemetery, which I was interested in taking in as well.

I entered the city via Fairview Avenue and was pleased to see my strategy of timing my ride with a Washington Redskins game was paying off.  Traffic was light and there was ample space for motorists to get by me without incident.  I quickly made my way through a residential section and made it to the famed railroad line.  I crossed the tracks and turned onto Quarry Drive, which would lead me to “Old Town.”  All cities in this area have a historic district which is usually labeled “Old Town.”  Here, city planners attempt to refurbish older areas which have fallen into an unsavory condition by trading off the historic nature of the place.  Restaurants, souvenir shops, parks, etc… greet people who come to soak up the local ambiance.  Old Town Alexandria is probably the most famous of these places.  I quickly discovered Old Town Manassas has some work to do.

I was hoping to see some historic buildings, perhaps an old church (Quarry Road gave way to the encouragingly named Church Street) but nothing terribly exciting caught my eye.  I was reminded of the fact that this was merely a railroad junction in the Civil War and no doubt life was hard on the people who lived in this war-torn part of the world for many years afterward.  Constructing grand and (someday) historic buildings was probably not on their agenda.  I did note with satisfaction that the streets were wide and nicely paved – a bonus when traveling in downtown areas.

On the western end of town lies the Confederate Cemetery, which I ducked into for a quick inspection.  The land for the original cemetery was only an acre donated by a local resident.  It has since grown to accommodate more recent burials, but the overall size is not imposing.  USA flags at the civilian portion of the cemetery gradually give way to Confederate Stars and Bars, until one finds oneself standing beneath a 20 foot tall monument with a Confederate Soldier atop of it.  About 250 Confederate soldiers killed in 1861-1862 are buried here.  Surrounding burial plots with cast iron fences must have been the fashion at the time because there is a maze of these in this section of the cemetery.  They  and the aged grave markers definitely give the area a historic feel.

I made my way back via Center Street and crossed the railroad tracks again.  A train station did double-duty as the city’s visitor’s center, which is only appropriate given the importance of the railroad junction to the town’s history.  I pedaled past the Manassas Museum, which was a large building on nice grounds, and soon found myself where I began on Fairview Avenue.  I noticed the Reformed Presbyterian Church and thought the architecture to be interesting.  Later research has informed me that the building dates from 1879, when it was consecrated as the Catholic All Saints Church.

Visitors' Center

The Beginning of The End - long sleeved shirt and full finger gloves with a light mounted for riding in the dark.

The ride home was a very pleasant fall ride, although as the sun dropped below the treeline the cooling temperatures made me glad to pull into my driveway.  I managed to get by with a long sleeve base layer and some full finger gloves.  I don’t think that will be sufficient for much longer.  Winter riding is upon us.  Here’s hoping for just a few more pleasant days before the onslaught begins in earnest.

New Years Cycling Checklist

click for details

1.  Reset blog odometer to zero. 

Check!

2.  Get on bike. 

Check!

3.  Pedal. 

Check!

New Years Day brought the warmest weather we’ve seen in six weeks.  With temps in the mid-50s, I only had to don about HALF my cold weather gear, which was great.  I got in a 43-mile ride which took me to the far (Western) side of Nokesville Road.  Only four of the miles in that area were new to me and there wasn’t much to report, other than construction of the yet-to-be-named Prince William County High School #11 appears to be almost complete.  I sampled two new (for me) Clif Bars – Carrot Cake and Blueberry – and both were quite tasty.  It’s hard for me to miss with a Clif Bar. While riding through the small town of Nokesville, I was treated to a rendition of Ave Maria from the town’s church bells.  Very nice. 

Lest anyone think that it was "balmy," please note that the creeks are still frozen

There were a lot of cyclists on the roads today.  I counted 14, which is a large number, even for a summer’s day.  As I passed a couple on Aden Road, we congratulated ourselves for cycling every day in 2011.  If I can keep this rate up, I’ll log 15,695 miles this year!  Somehow, I don’t think I’ll reach that mark.

The Trek, standing amongst the salt on a bridge over a frozen creek

 

Virginia Historical Marker Segment!

While pedaling by the Bristoe Battlefield, I spied these two markers which I had not noticed before.  A couple of things caught my eye.  First, the markers were erected nine years apart and you can see the difference in weathering between the two.  Second, I have no idea why the place of the battle is “Bristoe Station” when the town is presently known as “Bristow.”  Very strange.  Those with an exceptional memory will recall my first post on this battlefield, where I mention a local housing contractor is refurbishing things.  The latest example of this effort is the wooden plank fence  located behind the signs.  These fences are obligatory at every Civil War battlefield.  I’m looking forward to visiting again in the summer and seeing what other improvements have been made.

click for details

2010 Wrap Up: Part 1 (The Rides)

As the year draws to a close, please permit me to add my personal recap to the growing list of similar posts by authors of cycling blogs.  Because I am absolutely certain you will be enthralled with this topic, I will be providing my recap in not one but three parts. Part 1 will focus on the actual act of riding my bike. Parts 2 and 3 will concern themselves with things I do related to my bike, namely taking pictures and writing this blog. So grab your favorite beverage, sit back and enjoy this trip down memory lane!

The Numbers.  When I think about the past year, I think about numbers. The numbers include 2,032 miles traveled, 148 hours in the saddle, and 95,900 calories burned. There was not one, but two new bikes and plenty of replacement parts for the first, including nine inner tubes, three spokes, two new wheels, and two new tires. In addition to replacement parts there was plenty of other biking equipment to be purchased, including a headlight, a tail light, two seat bags, three water bottles, two water bottle holders, two floor pumps, two hand pumps, two CO2 cartridge units, ergonomic hand grips, a bike stand, two bike computers, and a bike rack for my car. Then there was the clothing: a pair of summer gloves, a pair of full-finger gloves, cycling shorts, cycling pants, jerseys, a Camelbak, sunglasses, socks, cycling shoes, cold weather covers for the shoes, a skull cap, and a helmet.

I haven’t figured out the cost of all that. I’d prefer not to know.  I certainly did not fully appreciate how “gear intensive” this hobby could be when I wandered into my local bike shop last March.

Lessons Learned.  A lot has changed in the 15 years since I last dabbled in cycling.  Hybrids have been invented, along with brifters and clipless pedals.  Somewhere along the line, brake levers along the top bar became a faux-pas.  There were plenty of things I needed to relearn, like proper cycling mechanics and how to ride with automobiles.  And there were plenty of things I needed to learn for the first time (these are too many to count). Much of my learning was through trial and error.  Some of it came through research and a bit of it came from personal conversations with bike store people and friends who are cyclists.  A great deal came from reading other blogs and from the comments offered on this blog.  Thank you all very much for that! 

Favorite Rides.  Oh yeah,  somewhere in all of this I actually rode my bikes and thoroughly enjoyed it to boot.  The speed, the travel, seeing new things, enjoying the views, meeting interesting people, and pushing myself to new limits were all extremely rewarding.  I got on my bike 87 times this year – about once every three days for the period I owned them.  Unless it was one of the nine times I flatted or three times I broke a spoke (one spoke broke on a ride where I flatted, so that’s a slight double count) I enjoyed every ride I went on.  However as I think back on 2010, these rides were my favorites:

1. Canberra.  I went on a bike ride in a beautiful foreign city on the other side of the world.   How cool is that?  Extremely cool. 

2. DC Tour.  It was only 5.5 miles but so what?  It was a beautiful day with my family in a beautiful capital city just down the road from my house.  It’s hard to beat that, in my humble opinion.

3. Culpeper County Ride.  It was my first organized ride and my longest ride to date.  The volunteers were great and I met some really interesting people along the way.  I can only hope my organized rides next year are this good!

4. Manassas Battlefield.  My first significantly long ride (I broke the 40 and 50 mile barriers in one shot) and the longest ride on Old Ironsides to date.  It was very hot and I was not very fit.  Physically, this is still my most demanding ride.

5. Fredericksburg Battlefield.  It’s a very nice park and it was the first ride where my wife dropped me off, leaving me to find my way home.  What I’ll remember most, though, is the long slog up the extremely busy Route 1.  Never again!

Things I Think I Think:

• I think 2010 was a great learning year.  I’m ready to “go to the next level” in 2011.
• I think I’m looking forward to buying fewer things and riding my bike more.
• I think I’ll never grow to love cold weather cycling!
• I think 4,000 miles is doable.
• I think several centuries are doable.
• I think another 25 pounds lost is very doable.

That about sums up my 2010 cycling experience.  Thanks for stopping by and sharing it with me.  Tomorrow, I’ll regale you with my favorite photos of the year!

The Last Great Day Of Summer?

As the calendar moves deeper into October, there are fewer Summer-like days.  Today, Summer made a mid-Autumn appearance with a cloudless sky, low humidity, gentle breezes, and a temperature hovering around 80 degrees.  We may not get many more days like today for some time and I took advantage of it.

I tried to take some pics of the bike from different angles while I was riding.  Here are some of the better ones:

This is the bike path on Rte 234.  Hard to believe you can hit someone on this path at night while using a light, but I’ve almost done it twice!  Walkers, please note that black jackets and jeans are a bad combination at night.

I tried to get creative with a shadow pic.

Self-portraits while mounted (and clipped in) are a bit challenging.  I don’t like my expression, but I thought the image of my arm, the road, and my shadow in my sunglasses was pretty cool.

It took more than a few shots to get this angle lined up properly!

I took these pics over the first seven miles of the ride.  After passing the Lake Jackson Dam on Rte 234, I turned onto the Prince William Parkway and made my way over to Yates Ford Road.  On my way, I ate my first Power Bar and was very pleased.  It is more moist than my Clif Bars and required far less water to wash it down.  I have no idea which has more nutritional value.  I guess I should read the label and figure that out!

After a short while on Yates Ford Road, I turned onto Davis Ford Road and took full advantage of the big descent leading down to the Occoquan River.  I managed to break the 40 mph barrier – barely.  I hit 40.2 mph but I believe I could have squeezed 2-3 more mph out of it had I not been so worried about the car that was following me.  Traveling 40 mph on  a bike in traffic definitely keeps you focused!

A couple of miles later, I came to the Bacon Race Cemetery.  Since there were historical markers, I had no choice but to stop and take some pics.

Bacon Race Church was the first Baptist Church built in Prince William County (c. 1774).  Two more churches were built on this site, the most recent one collapsing in rather ominous fashion on Christmas Eve, 1987.     Below are all the details:

During the Civil War, a South Carolina brigade under the command of Colonel Wade Hampton used the church for its winter headquarters.   Yet another marker for a Confederate happening.  It’s quite remarkable that these historical markers dot the landscape but I have yet to find one which commemorates some aspect of Union activity.  This is especially odd as the area was under Federal control for most of the war.  I can’t imagine why this oversight has occurred!

The church is gone but the cemetery remains.  I hopped off my bike for a moment to take a drink and snap this picture:

The rest of my ride was uneventful.  The horses were out as I passed the farm on Hoadly road and I had a pleasant chat with a 20-something Burger King manager who was pedaling to work on his Schwinn.  He bikes 10 miles to work each way, five days a week.  Not bad!  I pulled into the drive and tried to remember the feeling of cycling on a hot day.  I don’t think I’ll have many more of those for the next six months!

Culpeper County Ride

Many people (including commentors on this blog) advise not to try new things when embarking on a long ride.  This is good advice.  New equipment may not perform the way you expect it to.  New food may not agree with you as you had hoped.  A lot can go wrong with new things and it is best not to try them out as you attempt something challenging.  I thought about this as I put on my brand-new long sleeve compression shirt and loaded my brand new full finger gloves and my brand new sun glasses into the car.  The thought also occurred to me as I loaded my three-week old bike, clipless pedals and shoes.  I even pondered it as I drank Gatorade’s Prime drink mix for the first time, 15 minutes before the start of the ride.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. 

The day started off well.  Remarkably, I packed everything I wanted to bring, ate a light breakfast of toast and jam, loaded the bike on the rack and departed for Culpeper right on schedule.  It was cold out and the sun was just beginning to rise.  Light fog was burning off in the fields as I passed through Nokesville.  It’s a 45 mile drive to Culpeper and I briefly thought this was a long way to drive in order to ride a bike.  It then occurred to me that if 45 miles was a long distance to drive, how would one describe the 65 mile distance I was about to pedal.  A sobering thought, that.

I arrived at the start point – a store named The Bike Stop – precisely on schedule.  This was a bit unnerving because things were going too smoothly for me.  I fully expected something to go wrong and preferred it to occur as soon as possible so I could get on with things.  I did have a minor challenge during check-in when the volunteer briefly refused to wait on me because I have the same name as her ex-husband.  It was all in good fun (I think) and she eventually gave me my T-Shirt, yellow wrist band, and cue card.

Pre-ride instructions outside the Bike Stop

There were about 200 riders participating in the ride.  By 8:20, most of them were filling the street in front of the bike shop, where a lady from the country rec department welcomed us, thanked the sponsors, and quickly raffled off some door prizes (none of which I won – darn!).  At 8:30, a police motorcycle escort led the group out of town.  As we started, I was presented with my first challenge: clipping into my pedals in a crowd.  I slipped on the first attempt, but caused no harm to anybody.  I quickly regrouped and was on my way on a sunny cold morning, with the temperature hovering around 50 degrees.

The pace heading out of town was pleasantly slow.  Everyone was in a good mood, joking with each other and happily waving to the police officers who were blocking the intersections for us.  I was polite to the police officers, but didn’t chat with many folks.  I focused on getting a feel for the group and not slamming into anyone.  At this point, things were kinda chaotic.  Many fast riders were working their way up to the front while less experienced riders (even less experienced than me!) were weaving  erratically and generally making things harder for the rest of us.  After two miles, we were outside of town and things had mostly sorted themselves out.  It was at this point that I met Jimmy.

Jimmy, showing off his Felt Z5

Jimmy was a gregarious fellow who was cycling alone, talking up a storm to anybody who would listen to him.  When I pedaled past him, we struck up a conversation that was to last the next 25 miles.  Jimmy lives in Ashburn, where he is a network administrator for an IT company.  For years he has been an ultra marathon runner and has participated in runs over 50 miles long.  Jimmy took up cycling this Spring when his doctor informed him he had microtears in his hips that would eventually make it too painful to run anymore.    He had never done a century before and was still debating whether to go on the 100 or 65 mile route.  Apart from being a great guy, he had one interesting aspect:  he absolutely refused to believe any of the data my Garmin GPS was providing.  He was convinced that we were going much slower than the computer suggested.  I eventually took to grossly exaggerating the read out to play into this paranoia.  “Now it says we’re going 55 mph, Jimmy!”  Jimmy seemed amused by all of this.  We took turns drafting and pulling and even joined a small four person pace line.  It was all very cool.  You can definitely feel the difference – when I was in trail there were times when I was barely even pedaling.

Rest Stop #1 - Rapidan VFD

The biggest event on this first leg occurred around Mile 12, when a woman strayed into the left lane and was almost rear ended by a pick up truck flying past our group.  After that momentary scare, we reached Mile 15 and the first rest stop – the Rapidan Volunteer Fire Department.   This being my first organized ride, I have no idea if this was a good setup or not.  I can report that many of the riders were very pleased with the place, including ample supplies of cookies, PBJ sandwiches, trail mix, energy bars, water, sports drinks, and an on-site mechanic.  The volunteers even went to the trouble of placing many of the snacks into zip-lock bags so the riders could put them in their jerseys and eat on the road.  A nice little detail, I thought.  I texted my wife and informed her I had lived to see Rest Stop #1.  After refilling my water bottle, I was ready to head back out.  Little did I know that I was three short miles from making a fool of myself.

Yours Truly at Rest Stop #1

The incident began innocently enough.  A group of about ten riders were waiting to cross Highway 15.  Jimmy and I were with them.  Jimmy shouted, “Car left!” meaning to stop because there was a car (you guessed it) on the left.  So I unclipped and stopped.  Then Jimmy noticed the car had flashed its lights, so we all began to cross the road.  Then another rider shouted “Car right!”  So we all stopped again.  Except this time I didn’t unclip.  Oops.  My weight was on my left pedal, which was at the downstroke position and the bike tilted to the left.  I was going to fall and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

Shockingly, the fall was virtually painless.  I tried to roll with the fall and avoided putting my left arm out to brace myself (an excellent way to break a wrist).  I was pleasantly surprised to see my shoes come out of the clips, thereby avoiding a troublesome compound fracture, and I quickly regained my feet.  Smiling, I walked my bike to the side of the road and checked it out.  Only a few small scratches on the left pedal.  That’s it. 

Jimmy was good enough to wait for me.  I quickly caught up with him and informed him that he witnessed my first-ever fall in clipless pedals.  We both agreed this was a significant event and he probably owed me a beer.  I told him that once I realized I was going down it was my goal to do it as gracefully as possible.  Jimmy said that he didn’t see the fall, but suspected I was about as graceful as everyone else who has done the same (which is to say virtually everybody and not graceful at all).  A few minutes after this exchange, two cyclists who had seen me crash caught up to us and asked if I was ok.  After I told them I was fine, one guy said (and I am not making this up), “I got to tell you, that was the most graceful fall I have ever seen.  You never stopped moving!” 

Mission accomplished.

Prince Michel Winery

At Mile 26, we came to the turn off point for the Century Ride.  Jimmy decided he was going to go for it.  I wished him well and was once again on my own.  It was still quite chilly and I was very grateful for my new gloves and my compression shirt.  Both were keeping me warm.  I also was not feeling any ill effects from my pre-ride Gatorade drink.  It appeared that I had drawn Aces on all three new items.  The ride was becoming more hilly at this point.  I was surprised at how hard some of the riders found these s0-so hills.  I was passing several with little effort.  Morale was high as I pulled into Rest Stop #2 – the Prince Michel Winery.

The Trek at rest (shockingly on its side) at Prince Michel Winery

The fare at Prince Michel Winery was much the same as at Rapidan VFD.  The volunteers were very nice and were eager to chat about the ride, where you’re from, or just about anything.  I was a bit dismayed that sports drinks were only available in Dixie Cups.  I thought it would be a tad rude to grab 20 of them and fill my water bottles.  Instead, I drank four or five and kept one bottle full of water.  I switched my caloric intake plan to bananas, cookies, and energy bars.  After some stretching, I shoved off.

The rolling hills continued and I was still overtaking folks while the occasional cyclist passed me by.  At Mile 35, I caught up with a rider sporting a Potomac Pedalers Touring Club jersey.  I’d heard of this group and am an ocassional reader of their website.  The rider told me he was, in fact, a member and we struck up a conversation about the club, other local bike clubs, organized rides, the better centuries in the area, and a whole bunch of Northern VA stuff.  The man’s name was Sloan and he lives in Washington DC, working for the State Department as a lawyer.   He rode a steel-framed Rivendell.  About five miles down the road, I watched as Sloan almost died.  Ok, that may be a bit of a stretch, but I DID watch him almost get hit while standing in the road by two cyclists traveling at well over 30 mph.  Here’s how it happened:

Sloan at Rest Stop #3, shortly after the "cue card incident"

Sloan had cleverly attached his cue card to his brake cables by means of a heavy-duty paper clip.  During a steep descent, Sloan flew through a sharp right turn while a stupid minivan driver tried to pass him.  I thought this is where Sloan was going to “buy the farm,” but he got out of that jam without incident – except that his cue card came undone and flew off his bike.  Sloan didn’t realize this until I yelled this fact to him.  He turned around and pedaled to that sharp right turn, where the cue card lay in the road.  He dismounted and picked up his card.  At precisely this point, two more cyclists flew into the turn and were surprised to see the shockingly-stationary Sloan in their paths.  Both riders swerved, narrowly missing Sloan and threw a few choice words his way for their trouble.

Rest Stop #3 - Salem FD

Sloan was remarkably unperturbed by these events and we were quickly back on our way.  In a few miles, we had arrived at Rest Stop #3, the Salem Fire Department.  By now I had the drill down pretty well: dismount, take off the gloves/helmet/sunglasses, text the wife, wolf down some snacks, drink some sports drink, and stretch.  As I went through this routine, I overheard some local riders learn that the route would take us over Drogheda Mountain.  There were groans and much consternation at the prospect of this.  They were no doubt referring to the large climb I had noticed during my highly scientific and detailed terrain analysis earlier in the week.  I informed Sloan of this and we both agreed this was not a good sign.

Speaking of terrain analyses, it seems that almost nobody does this sort of thing.  Almost none of the riders (including Jimmy, Sloan, and the people all around me) had any sense of where they were going.  Most folks were perfectly happy to hop on their bikes and go.  No doubt that’s because this was just one ride out of many for these people, but it still struck me as very odd.  I guess it’s just the Army officer in me:  I don’t go anywhere without a map and if I’m in an unfamiliar area, I will definitely take the time to orient myself using said map.  This probably makes me an uptight anal-retentive cyclist, but there it is.

Sloan congratulating me at Mile 57

After five miles of mostly downhill riding, we came upon Drogheda Mountain Road.  Any road named after a mountain couldn’t possibly be a good thing, in my opinion, and I was right.  We did a little over a mile at a 13% grade, which will definitely take the starch out of your shorts.   Again, I was pleased with my ability to climb the hill relative to the riders around me.  Sloan faded back.  I wasn’t about to leave my new-found friend on the side of a mountain, so I waited for him at the top.  He closed up quickly and we set off to Brandy Station.  On the way, we hit Mile 57, a spot of significance only to me as it marked the furthest I had ever cycled.  I pulled out my camera and took a pic to commemorate the moment.

AJ's Deli and Rest Stop #4

The final rest stop was at Mile 60, in the town of Brandy Station.  In June 1863, the largest cavalry battle ever fought on American soil occurred here.  I didn’t see any remnant of that battle.  All I saw was AJ’s Deli and Rest Stop #4.  It seemed odd to have a rest stop only five miles from the finish, but Sloan and I decided to partake anyway.  Upon our departure, I told Sloan that I wanted to see how much I had left in the proverbial tank and I would therefore be leaving him behind.  We agreed we’d meet up again at the finish.

So off I went, once again on my own.  I had a lot of energy left and was ready to see how fast I could go the remaining five miles.  I rode very hard, keeping my speed around 23 mph on the flats.  I overtook about five riders, but I was quickly running out of steam.  Still, I felt I would be in good shape at Mile 65.

Imagine my frustration when I hit Mile 65 and I still hadn’t reached Culpeper!

It seems the race organizers were just a tad off in their ride planning.  As it turned out, the final length was 68 miles.  No worries.  I was able to gather myself for the final push.  This was actually a positive event as the extra three miles put me over the 1,500 mile mark for the season.  It was nice to be setting a single day ride while also breaking a signficant mileage mark at the same time.

The Bike Stop

The ride back to the Bike Stop was uneventful.  People were slowly coming in all the time, so there were pockets of riders chatting in the parking lots and putting away their gear.  I pulled up to my truck and set about putting my stuff away.  The first order of business was changing my cycling shoes for some comfortable sneakers.  After a few minutes, Sloan pedaled in.  It turns out he parked only four spaces from me!  He had pulled into the parking lot immediately behind me and remembered his bemusement at my New York Yankees and Buffalo Bills car magnets.  We walked into the Bike Stop to let them know we had safely returned.  We chatted a bit about our upcoming rides (mine is a 65-miler in Warrenton in two weeks and Sloan’s is the Sea Gull Century next weekend).  I told Sloan I greatly enjoyed his company and then we shook hands and went our separate ways.

And that was that.  I’ll write more about my impressions of the ride later, but suffice it to say it was a very nice day and it was all I could have hoped for.  I had a nice ride, finished in good shape, learned a bit about group riding, and met some very nice folks along the way.  I even have a couple good stories to add to my collection!

Memory Lane

 

I haven’t gone over 40 miles since August 8th and with my 65-mile ride 10 days away I figured it was time to get back into the swing of things.  I had my new bike and all the “incidentals” (spare tube, water bottles, CO2 cartridge, etc…) necessary for a longer outing so I was all set.  I headed out toward Nokesville along Bristow Road.  As I descended toward the Occoquan River, it occurred to me this route would take me by many of the sites of my short-but-eventful cycling career.

First up was Brentsville, aka “Brakesville,” due to the multiple mishaps in this locale.  I’ve lost two tires, a spoke, and a pair of pedals in this little hamlet.  I pedaled past the old jailhouse and looked for ghosts.  Still nothing.  On my way out of town, a semi flew past me from the other direction.  The huge gust of wind caused me to lose my vision ever so briefly.  Naturally, this is when the pothole appeared.  I hit it with a thud and waited for the inevitable hissing sound of escaping air.  Amazingly, nothing of the sort happened.

Maybe my luck is changing for the better.

Next up was Bristow, scene of a broken spoke on my August 8 ride.  I was forced 20 miles home on a tire that was massively out of true.  It was so bad, the tire eventually flatted.  Today, all was well.  I zipped passed the Bristow Station battlefield and around a man-made lake.  I headed westward toward Nokesville.

In Nokesville, I stopped at a convenience store for some Gatorade and a sandwich.  Both were delicious.  I filled up one of my 28 ounce water bottles (4 ounces bigger than that on Old Ironsides) with the Gatorade and drank the remainder.  I noted that with my Camelbak I am now traveling with 126 ounces of fluid.  That’s a lot of fluid.  As I was leaving town,  I passed the high school which gave me shelter in a rainstorm and the town park where I once had a pleasant break and ate my first Clif Bar.  Now that I think about it, absolutely nothing bad has ever happened to me in Nokesville.  Given my track record, that’s a fact worth noting.

I picked up Carriage Ford Road and enjoyed a five-mile stretch of roads that may be the best for cycling in the area.  They are relatively flat, very straight, free of cars, and provide lovely farm views.  I passed Dumfries Road, the gravel route that I took (and developed a slow leak on) as part of the “Tenerife Incident.”  At the end of Hazelwood Road, I realized I hadn’t taken a pic of this great stretch and stopped to do just that.

Hazelwood Road - no cars, all the time

I swung onto Fleetwood Dr and pedaled passed the Merrimac Wildlife Management Area and the gravel road that managed to flat my brand new Armadillo tires.  I’m still shaking my head at that one.  In short order, I was turning right onto Aden Road and steeling myself for the four miles of climbing that were to come.  A couple of miles up the hills I paused at a historical marker which I never paused to read before.  Virginia has signs like this ALL OVER the place, marking the most insignificant of events.  I guess it gives the prisoners something to do.

You'd never guess this place was once the center of county life. It's deserted today - just woods and a Marine base.

A few miles later, I was back on my old friend, Route 234.  An elderly cyclist was emerging out of the tall grass and I slowed to ask him if everything was alright.  I believe he was just “relieving himself,” but I wanted to be sure.  I think I embarrassed him because he chased me down in a couple of miles and made a point of flying by me.  I could have hauled him in, but I was watching my heart rate in an attempt to train myself to moderate my calorie burn on long rides.  Remember kids, when you decide to match skills against another passing cyclist, you have no idea what kind of workout he is on or how far he has already ridden.  Moderate your sense of accomplishment accordingly.

All in all, it was a very nice ride.  Good weather and not a single mechanical mishap as I pedaled past the markers of this summer’s personal wreckage.  I remain concerned about my fitness level for the upcoming 65-miler.  A review of my Garmin data shows my average heart rate steadily climbing throughout the ride.  By Mile 41, it was well into Zone 4 – a bad place for a guy wanting to go another 25 miles.  I’ll need to be especially careful not to overdo it too quickly in Culpeper.