I Received Another Email

After the Lake Anna Century, the ride organizer saw fit to send me an email explaining why some of the problems (ie., no food or drink for the last 40 miles) occurred on that ride.  In what is quickly becoming a routine for me, I received today an email from the Event Director of Bike DC, which I include below unedited for your edification:

Subject:  Bike DC Afterword

Bike DC Participants,

From the comments we have received since Sunday’s Bike DC, it is clear many of you had the great experience those of us who plan and produce this event had hoped you would. Equally clear however is that many of you did not. There were three things that contributed to the unfortunate situations that impacted some of you.

The first factor is the growth in the number of participants. This was by far the biggest Bike DC yet and some of the routing that had been adequate with a smaller ride, was unsatisfactory for this larger group. The good news is that we can make the changes necessary to accommodate a larger field.

Second was the road construction near Iwo Jima. That project grew dramatically in scope late last week, seriously impacting the ability to get thousand of cyclist through that section. As the magnitude of the problem became apparent, National Park Service and Arlington police made tactically decisions on how best to keep the situation from becoming dangerous. I cannot argue with any of the decisions they made.

The third and by far most significant factor was decisions made by DC Police. Unfortunately the Washington police officer assigned to this event for the past several years left work on medical leave late last week. Those who were left to oversee the event made some unfortunate decisions. They spontaneously re-routed the approach to the finish line, sending riders onto streets with live traffic. They re-opening of the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge to motorized traffic while thousand of cyclists were still in Arlington. Though both of these errors were eventually corrected, they should not have occurred.

I apologize to those of you whose ride was impacted negatively. I wish you all a full summer of safe and enjoyable bicycling in and around Washington.

Rick Bauman

Event Director

Bike DC

It’s good to see the Event Director provide an explanation, which heretofore has been lacking on the event’s website or Facebook page.  Although Mr. Bauman doesn’t give a specific number of riders, the Facebook page reports approximately 5,000 people signed up before the event and many more registered on the day of the ride.  That’s quite a crowd.

While I am still shaking my head at the very avoidable problems which occurred (everything seems so much easier in hindsight), I am encouraged to see the event acknowledge and apologize for their mistakes.  Perhaps they will be able to apply the lessons learned to next year’s ride.

As for me, my next goal is to participate in an event that does not enduce an apology letter from the event organizer, as my last two have done.

Bike DC

Mother’s Day, 2012, found my wife and I driving through the early morning light to Washington, DC, to participate in Bike DC.  At 24 miles, this was by far the shortest organized ride I have ever signed up for.  I would normally not give this distance a second thought except:

• We would be riding through downtown DC on streets closed to traffic, which promised to be an interesting experience.
• My wife was interested and it would be the longest event in her incredibly brief cycling resume.  I was excited to be part of the experience.

A sharp-looking cyclist and myself at the start

We found street side parking near the White House with no problem and made our way 1.5 miles down Constitution Avenue to The Capitol, where the start line was.  The weather was fantastic, though a slight nip in the air at the start caused many to don jackets.  Yours Truly did not, and I hope everyone who saw me concluded that I was a hard man. The fact of the matter was I managed to pack only one of my arm warmers and didn’t want to advertise that fact by wearing it.  Then again, I may have started a new cycling craze.  I encourage others out there to give it a shot and provide feedback in this space.

I’m not very good at estimating crowd sizes, but there were a great many people at this event – hundreds, certainly, and perhaps a thousand or two.  The “long” ride left promptly at 7:00 AM while scores of others were still arriving for the 12 mile ”Family Ride” which would start 45 minutes later.  To thin the throng of riders, ride officials put up some small blockades which funneled the riders almost immediately.  This was handy as we needed to make a left turn onto Pennsylvania Avenue almost immediately.  Well done, ride officials.

Pedalling quietly past the White House so as not to wake the tennants.

We cruised down Pennsylvania Avenue and saw all manner of bicycles and cyclists.  Recumbents, mountain bikes, cruisers, folding bikes, tandems, and even a threesome bike were on the route.  We saw roadies decked out in full cycling regalia and others riding in gym shorts and flip-flops.  The pace was casual and the atmosphere was relaxed – exactly what I was hoping for my wife’s first organized ride.

Rock Creek Park

After passing the White House, we zipped along E Street and through a tunnel which required the ringing of bells (we had none) and shouting (which we could help with) to achieve an exciting echo.  All streets were closed and intersections guarded for us by the Metro Police, which helped explain where our $40 registration fee went.  Marshals were present at each turning to keep us on the right path.  We quickly reached Rock Creek Park and pedaled up it for about three miles before turning around and coming back.  The road is nicely shaded with some incredible bridges spanning over it, such as the one pictured above.

Staying focused on the TR Bridge (camera looking south).

Shortly after Mile 8, we crossed over the Potomac River via Interstate 66 at the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge.  I enjoyed playing tour guide and pointed out the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts and the Watergate Hotel (now an apartment complex), which we ran by during last year’s Army Ten Miler.  My wife was very polite and feigned interest.  It was quite enjoyable to be riding in the middle of a U.S. interstate highway and the view of the river was nice as well.

The GW Parkway.

Onward we went to the George Washington Parkway, which had a moderate climb for well over a mile.  I heard several residents expressing awe at being on this road, which is normally packed with traffic and closed to cyclists.  I was very pleased to let my wife lead the way, past a great many casual cyclists who acted as if this was Alpe d’Huez.  Ironically, I passed a cyclist at this very point who was actually wearing an Alpe d’Huez jersey.  I asked him if he had climbed that fabled mountain and he looked at me in confusion.  Even though he was wearing the jersey, he had no idea what Alpe d’Huez was.  He probably thought it was some sort of beer.

We hit the turnaround point and zoomed down the GW Parkway.  At Mile 17, we reached the Iwo Jima Memorial, which I was very much looking forward to.  After climbing a short hill, we moved onto N. Meade street, just west of the monument.

It was at this point that everything went wrong.

As we reached the end of North Meade street, a ride marshal instructed us to turn around and head back, which we dutifully did.  Had I been closely following my cue sheet, I would have said, “Now see here, miss, the instructions clearly state to turn left onto Marshall Drive.  Why are you telling us to turn around?”  Sadly, I had not been following my cue sheet closely.  Everything had been going smoothly and the ride officials were everywhere telling us where to turn.  Inexplicably, this one gave us incorrect information.  Possibly, she had us confused with the Family Fun Ride.  I don’t know what their route was, but they were definitely mingled in with us at this point.

This is becoming a bit of a tradition for me – a major navigational error on a ride, usually due to no fault of my own.  I’ve been on four rides this year and three have had this sort of issue.  Thank you, DC Randonneurs, for being the exception to this rule.

As I pedaled back up North Meade Street, I could see the monument and wondered how we were going to reach it.  When we were subsequently directed BACK onto the road leading to the bridge, I knew we were not where we should be.  A confused gaggle of about 50 riders began to build up at a point where oncoming cyclists blocked the path to the bridge.  We compared notes.  Some had already done the full ride and were heading to the finish.  Others were on the Family Ride.  Still others were like us, wanting to do the Full Ride but horribly off course.

What we needed to do was turn around, go back up a short but steep hill, and get to the monument.  When I explained this to my wife, I could see the figurative wind leave her figurative sails.  We agreed to simply head back with the others.  Even this was a challenge as there was no ride marshal to direct us on the DC side of the bridge.  We followed the riders in front of us, who chose poorly and we ended up in the middle of DC traffic on very open roads.  Fortunately, it was still early on a Sunday and the danger was minimal.  I could easily handle these streets but it was not the sort of experience I wanted for my wife, who chooses to ride on sidewalks in our suburban neighborhood in order to avoid traffic.

The Finish

After a few blocks, we found our way to the finish line, where there were ample amounts of food and drink.  We picked up our ride T-Shirts and tried to decide if we were happy.  We ended up riding 19.6 miles, which was still a personal best for my wife.  We got to see much of DC on closed roads, which was all we hoped it would be.  But we didn’t complete the course and that was very deflating.  I think my wife’s expression in the above photo captures the mood quite well.

And that concludes the Bike DC trip report.  This event was sponsored by the Washington Area Bicyclists Association (WABA).  It is the third WABA event I have attended and all three have featured route confusion.  UPDATE:  Alert reader Liz P. points out that WABA does not run nor sponsor the event and merely is a beneficiary of a portion of the proceeds earned by it.  Riding in a major city is difficult and full of split-second navigational decisions.  I can see how it is easy to make an error, although having a ride marshal specifically take you off course is a level of difficulty I was not prepared for.  I think I will give WABA and downtown DC a rest and strike out for other places in the coming months/years.

Vasaloppet 2012

click for details

There were many more riders at this year’s Vasaloppet Ride, due primarily to the absence of a torrential downpour.  The temperature was in the upper 30s as I pedaled to the Swedish Embassy, colder than recent mornings but in keeping with a ride named after a Swedish cross-country ski race.  At the embassy, there were several hundred people milling about and chatting excitedly amongst themselves.  I overheard the Race Director say that only 40 people completed last year’s ride (thank you) despite having 600 registrants.  The ride was capped at 400 people this year in order to placate the DC Police Department.  140 people were signed up for the “Full Vasa” ride.

A bit gloomy at the start

The Honorary Ride Marshal and the Ride Director, performing their duties with aplomb

Shortly before 8:00 AM, we were directed to the starting line, where the Race Director made some comments over a bull horn, including an admonition to follow the rules of the road.  In short order, we were off, whereupon everybody immediately began to disobey the rules of the road.  Stop signs were routinely ignored, even with cars waiting to cross at side streets.  After a short stretch on the Capital Crescent Trail, we climbed up a cliff to MacArthur Boulevard, where the scofflaws took their art to a new level at red traffic lights.  You will be pleased to know Your Humble Author took no part in these shenanigans and even cast reproachful looks at cyclists who pedaled past him while properly stopped.  Sadly, the reproachful looks did not seem to have any discernable effect.

After a couple of miles, we cleared most of the traffic lights on MacArthur Boulevard and a nice paceline emerged, thanks in no small part to a man who rode up and down the length of the pack, putting us into line and exhorting us to keep on the wheel of the rider in front of us.  I was especially grateful for this paceline because we were heading into the wind and it cut through the resistance quite nicely at a speed of about 20 mph.  After eight miles of this, the paceline broke up on a serious ascent at the end of MacArthur Blvd.  We may have regrouped, but the first rest stop was waiting for us at the top of the hill and what was left of our hearty band disintegrated.

Incidentally, I wish I knew there was going to be a rest stop.  I wouldn’t have filled both my water bottles in advance, which would have reduced my load and also allowed me to partake in some of the free energy water they were passing out.  There weren’t any last year so I assumed things would be the same this time.  Lesson learned.

The humble abodes of Potomac, MD. I passed scores of homes like this.

With the temperature warming, I pulled off my cold weather gloves and swapped them with normal full finger gloves.  I felt very proud of myself for having thought to bring two sets of gloves, which just goes to show that it doesn’t take very much to make me proud of myself.  With no large gaggles of people leaving the rest stop when I wanted to go, I departed with a single partner – a gentleman from DC who had the ride cue sheet on his handlebars and exhibited an air which suggested he knew where he was going.  We chatted a bit, but mostly kept to ourselves, about 100 feet apart.  This gave me the opportunity to survey the palatial estates along Glen Road and South Glens Mill Road.  I was still two miles from the turnaround point when I came across the once-proud remnants of the MacArthur Blvd paceline.  There were only about six or seven left and they were now four miles ahead of me, meaning they had moved thirteen miles while I had covered only nine.  Pacelines are awesome.

I pulled into the halfway point – a convenience store at Mile 26.5 (which, I know, is not quite half way) and purchased a banana for a snack.  Sitting at a picnic table, I attempted to memorize the next several directions from my cue sheet:

• Turn right on S. Glenn Rd at Mile 29.7
• Turn right  on Falls Rd at Mile 31.4
• Left into the Wegmans parking lot for refreshments at Mile 32.0
• Left on Oaklyn Dr. at Mile 33.0
• Cross Persimmon Tree Rd and Oaklyn turns into Bradley Rd

And so on and so forth.  There were a total of 46 separate instructions for this 58 mile course, which is something like 25 instructions per mile (or at least it seemed so at the time).

Having failed miserably at my memorization task, I stowed my cue sheet in my jersey pocket and set out alone for the return trip.  I came across a handful of riders along the way, each with a cheery hello as I passed them (or they passed me).  Slowly, the traffic increased as I moved from the outskirts of the city into its heart.  I reached Bethesda at Mile 42 and this is where everything went wrong.

Bethesda. Not the best place to ponder a cue sheet.

I need to figure out a system for displaying a cue sheet.  Touring cyclists usually have a nifty bag on their front fork with the cue sheet displayed under a plastic screen.  Other, less elaborate, systems include placing the sheet in a sandwich bag and clipping said bag to your bike cables and/or handlebar.  My system – shoving the sheet in my jersey pocket – was not terribly efficient, especially in a jam like the one I found myself in at Bethesda.  The traffic was quite heavy and the instructions were quite intricate – something like, “turn right on Bethesda Road.  There, you will see an old man with a dog.  Take the first left turn 100 feet beyond the dog dish.”

Capital Crescent Trail

It wasn’t quite that bad, but it was bad enough to fool myself and another rider (whose cue sheet storage strategy was to fold the sheet into a small square and bite on it).  We eventually found ourselves in a flea market and several helpful vendors pointed us in the right direction – back where we came from.  We made our way to the Capital Crescent Trail (CCT) and then we were looking for an exit to Jones Mill Road, which was to come after we crossed Connecticut Avenue “with the traffic signal.”  Sadly, we did not see a traffic signal nor an exit for Jones Mill Road.  When we stopped a passer-by on the trail and asked for help, we learned we had once again overshot our turning point.  This event was feeling less like a bike ride and more like a scavenger hunt.  My fellow traveler had had enough and opted to take the CCT straight back to the embassy.  Not interested in attempting to navigate the streets of Northwest DC by myself, I chose to bail out as well.

Interestingly, this is precisely the same point in last year’s ride when my companions decided they wanted to bail out.  I guess a detailed route study of Bethesda is in order if I hope to not become lost next year.  Fortunately, my cue sheet was not destroyed by rain this time, so I can study it closely and avoid similar mishap next year.

Blueberry Soup Line

Back at the embassy, there was a nice after party going, with the embassy staff serving hot blueberry soup while wearing t-shirts which said, “Hug A Swede.”  Cute.  There were plenty of “war stories” being swapped by the ride participants both inside the embassy and along its steps.  It had turned out to be a sunny day and the somewhat warm temperature was welcome.

Soup and the Madone.

There are some buds on that tree!

Coming up short is something I prefer not to do, so I made it my business to knock out the remaining eight miles of distance on my own “unofficial” finish.  I pedaled onto the National Mall and took in the sites.  I’ve visited many cities, but Washington, DC remains my favorite.  I was surprised to see most of the Mall engulfed in a colossal four-mile long construction project.  The reflecting pool at the Lincoln Memorial is being rebuilt while a brand new pool is being constructed at the opposite end near the capital.  Something else incredibly large is being done to the grounds near the WWII Memorial behind construction walls that make it impossible to see.

The Madone in front of the Capitol

I did a brief experiment on this part of the trip.  I attempted to make the ride up to the Capitol on walking paths, rather than compete with city traffic.  After two miles of fighting sight seers, joggers, and pedestrians of all types, I could take no more and hit the city street.  This was very exhilarating and far less of a hassle.  This was tempered with the knowledge that Death stalked my every move, waiting for a mistake.  On this day, I was mistake-free and I made it to The Capitol and back to the Lincoln Memorial without incident.  A quick spin around Haynes Point got me over the 60-mile mark and I called it a day.

I have mixed feelings about the Vasaloppet.  It was fun to get out on an organized ride and start the “official” part of the year.  This event serves notice to me that Winter is over and Spring has begun.  The volunteers were great and the House of Sweden was an excellent host.  Still, attempting to navigate while fighting through city traffic or sharing the CCT with a gazillion pedestrians was less than thrilling.  It really isn’t possible to compare the pace of this ride with any other due to the frequent stops due to traffic.  Having done this two years in a row, it may be time for me to take a break from it.

The Army Ten Miler

I have concluded my recent foray into the running world with today’s edition of the Army Ten Miler.  Since I am too sore at the moment to do anything besides type, this is a great opportunity to tell you how it went.

The DC Armory, and a portion of the crowd waiting to get in

Things started on Saturday at the DC Armory, where my wife and I went to pick up our race packets.  The fact that this event was on a completely different scale than any cycling ride I have been on was immediately brought home in the form of a mammoth line of people waiting to get inside.  Outside the armory, there were military displays, rap music singers, furry mascots entertaining the children, police security, members of The Old Guard playing the piccolo, drums, and flute, and a US Special Forces dirigible flying over the scene.  This was a marked contrast from most cycling packet pickups, which are either sent to me in the mail or given to me at a nondescript table after a wait of one or two minutes.

The vendor area - sorry for the fuzziness, but hopefully you get the feel for how big it was

Once inside, we were confronted with a row of about 20 registration stalls.  Each stall was responsible for a series of bib numbers.  I was proud of the fact that I knew my and my wife’s bib number and quickly located the right stall.  Otherwise, I would have been forced to look our names up on a bulletin board containing the bib numbers of all 22,000 registered runners.  We got our packet, then shuffled over to a magnetic strip to make sure the magnet which carried our personal data was properly working.  Then we got our race shirts.  Then we were free to browse amongst the 100+ vendors inside the armory.  It was amazing to see and once again on a scale unlike anything I have seen with cycling.

On Race Day, we were on the road at 6:15 AM.  Parking would be limited, so we pulled into the Franconia-Springfield Metro and took the train into Pentagon Station.  The train was full and EVERYBODY was wearing running clothes.  At 7:45, we eventually made it to our designated “coral” (assigned based on estimated finish time) and began to wait.  I blatantly plagiarized Mr. Tootlepedal and said to my wife, “Many people are asleep right now.  They think they are having a good time.  Boy are they wrong.”  Tootlepedal, your phrase made my wife smile and for that I am in your debt.

Runners weren't allowed to bring cameras, so this stock footage from last year's race will have to do

After watching some Army sky divers jump onto the starting line, we heard a cannon fire, signifying the start of the race.  The first group to leave were wounded warriors.  Then the fastest wave left.  Then the second fastest wave.  Then us, in the final wave.  We slowly walked up Boundary Channel road with the Pentagon on our left until we reached the Starting Line.  Music was blaring and people were excited.  We crossed the Starting Line 25 minutes after the lead group was off.  This didn’t affect our race time, but it does give you a sense for how long it takes to move 22,000 people up a road.

So far, so good.  My wife was thoroughly amused to see several men break off to relieve themselves in some large bushes.  The mob was very congested and the pace was slow.  My calf was holding up fine and I promised myself not to push things until after Mile 7.  After half a mile, my wife spied an opening in the crowd, wished me well and was off.  I would see her again in about 60 minutes.

We wandered toward Arlington National Cemetery and got on the Arlington Memorial Bridge across the Potomac.  This was about 1.5 miles into the run and it was here I felt the first twinge in my right calf – the one that has plagued my training for the past six weeks.

Damn!

This was not good at all.  It was only a twinge, but I knew from experience the thing could blow at any moment and with no warning.  I was extremely cautious as I approached the Lincoln Memorial.  I adopted a running style used in the Army when running in formation.  It is a shuffling maneuver commonly known as “The Airborne Shuffle.”  Rather than fully extend my legs and thereby flex my calves, The Airborne Shuffle allowed me to putter along at a pace around 10 minutes/mile.  At this pace, I reckoned I could hold out the entire distance.

As I approached Mile 4 and the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, my calf took a dramatic turn for the worse.  It was not quite the complete rupture I felt 10 days ago (which caused me to abandon any training since), but it hurt.  A lot.

Damn!Damn!Damn!Damn!

I could still run.  Barely.  All around me, people were beginning to walk.  To be sure, many were passing me, but I was still passing some and this buoyed my morale.  I bit down hard, slowed my pace further, and resolved to gut this thing out.  Maybe the pain would subside if I just kept pushing it a bit.  I hoped so, because I honestly couldn’t see myself doing another six miles in the state I was in.

Onward I puttered, past the Lincoln Memorial again and up Independence Avenue.  The Tidal Basin was on my right and the Washington Monument was on my left.  The sun was shining, it is was a beautiful day, and I couldn’t care less because my leg was screaming at me.  Along the way, there were water stations, marching bands playing inspirational music (which always seemed to be a selection from one of the Rocky movies, for some odd reason) and hundreds of spectators cheering us on.  It’s always cool to be running on roads that are normally clogged with traffic and today was no exception.  The fans and music added extra ambiance that added to the effect.

As the Great Tide Of Humanity moved east on Independence Avenue, we eventually came upon runners coming back in our direction having reached the turnaround point.  I looked in vain for my wife amongst the hundreds of runners I passed and didn’t see her.  As I was dodging a person who was slowing down in front of me (a not uncommon occurrence) I heard someone shout, “Steve!”  I look up and briefly saw my wife, who was by me in a flash.  I was heartened to see her doing well and for her to know I at least reached Mile 6 in a conscious state.

My leg was feeling a bit better at this point and I was ready to pick things up a bit at the turn around point (Mile 6.5).  I was very frustrated, knowing I could be doing so much better.  There once was a day when I could run a mile in less than six minutes and I routinely strung together eight minute miles without difficulty.  Here I was, hovering between 10 and 11 minutes per mile.  My cardio was fine and I was barely out of breath.  I could have been doing better but I was not in the right shape and I pushed my training before I was ready, thus giving me the chronic injury I was now dealing with.  I was feeling sorry for myself.

I then saw a man running with no legs.

He was a wounded warrior who had lost both legs ABOVE the knee.  He was running on two prostheses with a female friend.  Usually, one normally needs legs to run.  It’s kind of a basic requirement.  Not this guy.  He was awesome to behold and it made me remember my sore calf muscle was not something I should be feeling sorry about.  It was very inspirational.

It was now Mile 7 and my leg was behaving, if not cooperating.  I had plenty of energy left and decided to see what I could do.  I lengthened my stride and picked up my pace.  Briefly, I was 30 years old again and moving at about an 8:30 pace.  It felt great, despite the annoying problem in my calf.  I was passing all sorts of people and would have done even better except the roads were still too clogged to allow a straight run.  I was dodging and slowing to get around all sorts of slower people.  I was reminded of Gerry’s recent cycling event when he took pride in passing riders with lower bib numbers than his.  This event identifies runners by the color of their bib.  Mine was orange and the only group slower than me wore Purple.  I was pleased to see I was passing some white bibs and some blue bibs.

After passing the Holocaust Museum on 14th Street and the Jefferson Memorial, we were approaching the 14th Street Bridge back over the Potomac.  My calf sent me two renewed spasms that told me it had just about enough of my zipping along and would soon put a stop to it if I did not do so myself.  I dialed my pace back to about 10 minutes/mile, crossed the bridge, and turned into the Pentagon’s South Parking lot.  The last mile was a tough one – and not just because of my calf.  I was physically spent at this point.  I eventually made it to the finish line.

I was really, really glad to be done.

As I shuffled up the road in a sea of fellow runners, my mind turned to the practical matter of linking up with my wife.  We had agreed to meet at the finish line, but it was immediately apparent that would not be possible.  The runners were herded along for another half mile, where we were given water and finishing coins.  My wife was waiting for me near the coin station (a huge area where hundreds of runners were queuing up in several lines for their coin) and somehow managed to spot me.  Thank God for that because I don’t know what I would have done next.  I suppose I would have wandered the area aimlessly until we eventually met.  That would not have been fun in the least.

We got our coins and toured the vast sea of hospitality tents set up in the parking lot.  There was some more water and plenty of snack food in the form of bananas, bagels, cookies and other treats.  Many military units had set up display tents and were handing out free items like posters, tote bags and whatnot.  After a few minutes, we headed back to the Pentagon Metro stop and joined the throng of people attempting to get on a train.  An hour later, we pulled into our driveway and I was happy to be home.

In the end, my 1:43:51 time gave me a place of 14,404 out of 21,914 runners.  In my age group, I finished 1s 1,342 out of 1,747.  It was not my finest hour, but I was tremendously proud of my wife, who finished twelve minutes ahead of me and 201st out of 981 in her age group.  Apart from a 5K run, this was her first-ever organized race and she began jogging only 18 months ago.  When I talked her into registering for this event back in May, she wasn’t sure if she would be able to finish the race.  Not only did she finish, but she excelled.

Now it’s time to get back on my bike.  It was nice to see the “Running Life” and I will probably still engage in the occasional jog around the block, but I’m ready to feel the wind on my face and watch the miles fly by without feeling the effects of massive concussion injuries in my feet, ankles, shins, calves, and knees.

Allez!

Mount Vernon Trail

Since tomorrow is July 4th, a ride which paid homage to the Founding Fathers seemed appropriate.  I chose the Mount Vernon Trail, an 18-mile mixed-use path that starts at George Washington’s home and follows the Potomac River to Rosslyn.  Since I live 30 miles to the south, I don’t ride this area very often.  Last year, I managed to pedal two miles of the trail with my (then) 13 year old son before his handle bar loosened at the stem.  With the bike barely rideable, we beat a hasty retreat to the truck and called it a day.  Today, I intended to ride the entire length of the trail.

I parked in a small lot near Mount Vernon and set off to the north.  The path is separated by a dashed yellow line, encouraging people to treat it like a roadway.  For the most part, they do.  Each lane is wide enough to accommodate two pedestrians walking side by side, or one cyclist.  And there were plenty of both on the trail today.

The path winds its way along the river, with many twists and turns along small hills and the occasional boardwalk over a marsh.  In the southern portion, the trail offers glimpses of the Potomac, where I noted fisherman along the bank and sail boats in the river.  There may have been more things to see, but I spent a fair amount of my time navigating the scores of walkers, joggers, and cyclists of all abilities, plus stopping/slowing for several road crossings.

Boardwalk

One has to have the right attitude on a trail such as this and I struggled mightily to keep my perspective positive.  “This is not a road ride.  This is not a road ride,” was my mantra.  I may have been better off taking Old Ironsides.  It doesn’t want to go fast like the Trek and is more maneuverable. Still, there were plenty of lycra-clad roadies zooming along, some of which with a rather callous disregard for other trail users.

Old Town Alexandria

After eight miles, I came to the Capital Beltway and was forced onto the streets of Old Town Alexandria.  Had I not studied a map of the trail beforehand, I doubt I would have found my way back to it on the other side of town.  The trail is well sign posted, except for this most critical section.  It looked like there was some recent construction near the Beltway, so perhaps that explains the lack of signage.

Alexandria City Hall, decked out for the holiday

Locals, watching planes land and take off

On the north end of town, I briefly fumbled about, looking for the trail.  In short order, I was on my way again and heading toward Crystal City (site of the Crystal City Ride!).  I passed by Ronald Reagan National Airport and reflected on the irony of the name – it was Mr. Reagan who summarily fired the nation’s air traffic controllers when they went on an illegal strike in 1981.  At the northern end of the airport is Gravelly Point, which affords an outstanding view of the runway.  Locals gather to watch planes land and take off.

What the locals are looking at

A bit up the trail brought me to the 14th Street Bridge across the Potomac River and the view captured at the top of this post.  I zipped by the Pentagon and Arlington National Cemetery, although I couldn’t see either from the trail.  There was a rather large and unexpected monument to people lost at sea, which I had never heard of.

Navy - Merchant Marine Memorial

There weren’t many trees at this point, which afforded fantastic views across the river.  I had to be very careful not to stare too long as the traffic was at its thickest at this point.  At times, I felt like I was in my rush hour commute.  Long lines of cyclists would back up behind a jogger/pedestrian/whomever, waiting for an opportunity to pass.

“This is not a road ride.  This is not a road ride.”

Waterfront, north of Alexandria

Given the large numbers of people in an urban environment, it probably isn’t surprising to learn that I saw an incredible variety of people, including a bagpiper, a roller blader in a bikini, a man in full cycling road gear riding a folding bike, and bunches and bunches of people (including cyclists, to my horror) riding with earphones on.  In addition to the tiny “iPod” earphones, I saw people wearing large ear-muff Bose headphones while riding their bikes.  I saw a man riding with no hands so he could type a text message.  I saw two or three people talking on their cell phones while they pedaled.  Amazing.

The view just north of the Arlington Memorial Bridge

Just a bit up the trail was the end of the line, so to speak.  The trail quickly gave out and I suddenly found myself at the intersection of Lee Highway and North Lynn Street.  Somewhere nearby was the trailhead for the W&OD Trail, which runs 48 miles to Leesburg.  I didn’t see a sign for it, which I thought was a bit unfortunate for anyone actually wanting to make that connection.  I did see a sign for the C&O Trail, which would take me to the other side of the river and up to Pittsburgh, if I so desired.  That was a bit far for me today, so I turned around and headed back.

The trail at Rosslyn

On my way back, I stopped at a pedestrian bridge to Roosevelt Island and enjoyed a Clif Bar as I watched kayakers in the river.  I also read a historical marker (see below) which explained that John Smith, whom we discussed during last week’s visit to Ft. Story, ventured up this way in 1608.  The guy got around.

Rest stop over the Potomac with Roosevelt Island on the right and the National Cathedral in the background

14 miles after my break at the decidedly relaxed pace of 12 mph and I was back at my car.  I’m glad I made the trip north to sample this trail, but I doubt I will be back soon.  There’s lot of things to see, but now that I’ve seen them it will be even more difficult for me to put up with the throngs of people on the trail.

Historical Marker Segment!

Today’s edition proudly displays three markers, the first of which details the travels of John Smith in 1608.  He made it considerably farther up river than this location, looking for gold.  He eventually brought back plenty of Fool’s Gold, but none of the good stuff.

Our next marker is located at the edge of the frontier in 1674 – modern-day Crystal City.  It was established in pursuit of the rather quaint notion that English settlers and Native Americans might coexist.  Bacon’s Rebellion was the first rebellion in the Colonies and resulted in Jamestown being put to the torch.  The rebellion lost momentum when Mr. Bacon died of dysentery.  Governor Berkeley was recalled back to England.

The final marker can be found in the parking lot near Mount Vernon where I started my journey.  While it explains how the Washington Family came into possession of some of this land.  More interesting to me was the notion that there was a second family, the Brents, who received a rather large portion as well.  The Brents founded the small town of Brentsville in Prince William County just down the road from my house.  Otherwise, they are largely unheard of – a remarkable contrast from the Washingtons.  Just goes to show you what winning a revolution and getting elected President of your new country can do for your notoriety.

Crystal Ride Pics

For the handful of people who might be interested, here are some photo proofs of Yours Truly at last weekend’s Crystal Ride.  This is only the second time I have been photographed while riding a bicycle.  Very rare stuff, indeed!

Le Grand Depart.  Me and 1,600 of some of my newest friends begin the ride.

This is me having fun.  This was a right angle turn at the bottom of a gentle descent.  I enjoyed trying to get as close to the cones as possible at speeds around 25 mph.  This was one of my wider turns, so it must have been taken early on as I was still learning the course.

This is me having less fun, at the hairpin turn by the USAF Monument.  I had just scaled the hill leading to the monument and was busily trying to lower my heart rate by sucking in as much air as I possibly could.

Five laps down, three to go.  I’m pondering my strategy for the upcoming lap and realizing that I am fresh out of good ideas.

Another shot by the monument.  By the looks of things, this was taken well into the race and I am trying to recover from yet another ascent of that stupid hill.

Crystal Ride

26 minutes.

Fast people at the front. You can barely make out Air Force Chief of Staff Norton Schwartz talking to some riders

That was the thought that was on my mind as I joined the crowd at the starting point for the Crystal Ride.  To complete eight laps in 3.5 hours, I needed to complete each lap in 26 minutes.  If I could manage that, I would receive a shiny gold medal.

Piece of cake.

My view at the start. You can make out the blue starting sign in the distance. There were an equal number of people behind me.

The ride was supposed to start in two waves.  The first wave would consist of anyone who earned a Gold Medal at last year’s ride.  The second wave would be everybody else.  That meant I would be starting in the back half of the field and the folks I most wanted to be with (guys who were most likely to move at the pace I wanted to be at) would be extremely difficult to catch up to. I hoped I could weave my way through the crowd and link up with a paceline from Wave 1.  As it turned out, we all started at the same time.

Laps 1 & 2: Getting Acclimated

After some brief safety announcements and comments from the Air Force Chief of Staff, General Norton Schwartz, the PA Announcer counted down from ten, and we were off.  Well, the front of the pack was off at least.  I didn’t move for many seconds and it was over a minute before I reached the start line – one minute eaten up just to get to the start!

The field was very packed as we moved up Crystal Drive.  The pace was slow and turns onto 12th Street and Army-Navy Drive were an adventure.  After crossing under I-395, we came upon the first of several hairpin turns, which were also very exciting with the course clogged with riders.  Fortunately, nobody was hurt (yet).

As we reached Boundary Channel Drive on the East side of the Pentagon, the field opened up a tick and I could pick up the pace.  Turns were still tricky with so many cyclists, many of whom seemed uncomfortable with so many riders about them.  On Washington Blvd, we had plenty of space and I briefly linked up with a paceline.  After only a mile, however, we were at the Air Force Monument.

A word about the USAF Monument is in order here.  It sits atop a rather significant hill – about 100 feet high.  Climbing it once was no problem, although some of the weaker riders were struggling with it.  I wondered how I would feel about it on my eighth attempt.  The descent on the backside was luxurious – nobody was beating me and my extra “ballast” on the downhills!  I flew by people who reeled me back in a half mile later when we climbed a smaller hill to get back on Washington Blvd.

The rest of the route was basically a backtrack of the route to the Monument.  The entire circuit was 7.7 miles.  I came up on the Start/Finish Line and noted my split:  26 minutes, 40 seconds.

This was going to be tougher than I had hoped.

My initial strategy was to build up a cushion of a few minutes each lap which I could use in the later laps to take pictures or go at a slightly slower pace.  I was thus alarmed to be 40 seconds behind schedule after my very first lap.  This was due to the bunched up start, but I was still hoping to make up the difference as the field opened up a bit.   You will note that there are no more pictures in this post, which should give you some sense of how the next three hours went for me.

With the field spread out somewhat, I was finally able to pick up my pace on Lap 2.  Finding a paceline was difficult as there were so many turns to negotiate and the pacelines tended to break up at each one.  By the time a gaggle of strangers got themselves organized into another line, we would arrive at turn and the line would break apart.  Each lap had fifteen turns that required braking.  Still, I was very fresh and moving at a 20 mph pace.  I finished the 2nd lap at 50 minutes, 40 seconds – I now had 1:20 in the bank.

Laps 3 & 4: Mayhem

I was eager to add to my slight cushion on time.  I bounced over the potholes, asphalt cracks, etc… in Crystal City and hammered as best I could.  Apparently, I was not the only person with this idea.  At this point, most of the weaker riders were to the rear and the very good riders in organized teams were well to the front.  That left us – pretty good riders with no teams, panicking to keep on pace.  People were darting in and out of groups, slower riders didn’t know to keep to the right, people fought with each other to get into pacelines as they quickly emerged.   The ride took on a different character at this point and I believe I now know something of what it must have been like to be in a Roman chariot race. 

The first accident I saw happened right in front of me at the Air Force Monument.  A guy simply cut in front of another rider’s line and his rear wheel hit the trailing rider’s front wheel.  They both went down.  Hard.  I grabbed my breaks for all they were worth and felt my rear wheel come off the ground.  Fortunately, I stayed upright and nobody plowed into me.  The trailing rider had a nasty scrape on his left knee and elbow.  I stayed long enough to make sure he was all right and left when a race official arrived.

Bikes were breaking all over the place.  I saw at least twenty riders dealing with flat tires and broken chains.  I think the rough city streets were taking their toll.  Near the beginning of Lap 4, I saw my second accident.  This one involved a woman who was attempting to pass a group and got too close to the curb.  Her tire lodged in a storm grate and she flew over the top of her handlebars.  She was holding her ankle in agony when I passed.  A race official was already there, so I continued onward.

As I climbed the Monument’s hill for the fourth time, it was losing its charm on me.  Several riders were walking their bikes.  No f’ing way was that going to be me.  As I reached the plateau and passed by a bandstand, there was a woman on the side of the road who saw my jersey and yelled, “Go Army!  Hooah!”  Each time I passed her, she shouted encouragement to me.  I am in her debt.

As I returned to the Start/Finish Line, I knew I needed a time better than 1:45:00.  I crossed at 1:41:45.  I had built a three minute, fifteen second cushion.  I was hoping to be about ten minutes ahead at this point.  I now knew there would be no photography on the second half.  There would only be hanging on for dear life.

Laps 5-8:  Hanging On For Dear Life

I was beginning to tire and was worried I would “bonk” if I kept pushing myself.  So I slowed a tick and looked for opportunities to latch onto pacelines.  These were maddeningly few, due to the constant stopping and starting for turns.  And that stupid Air Force Monument hill wasn’t getting any smaller.  I still kept my bike out of its lowest gear, but that was quickly becoming my best option on this part of the course.

After Lap 6, the cushion I had built up over the first four laps was down to 90 seconds.  It was here that the ride leaders lapped me.  I was expecting this and was prepared to latch onto their group, but they flew by me at mach speed and there was no way I could keep up with that.  In Lap 7, I resorted to my “Granny Gear” on the Monument hill.  The riders who wanted to get a silver medal (four laps) were now off the course, giving me plenty of room.  I occasionally found myself several hundred feet from the nearest rider.  I was hoping I would have enough energy in the final lap to give it one last push.  As it turned out, I would need that energy.  I finished Lap 7 fifteen seconds behind the required pace.

Sadly, I didn’t have the energy.

I gave it my best.  At various points I felt a stitch in my back, a cramp in my left thigh, and dealt with a couple of boughts of nausea.  Both of my feet were very sore near the toes/balls of the feet.  My handlebar tape was unraveling on one side.  Life was hard.  Still, I stood on my pedals on my final ascent of “the hill” and gave the downhills everything I had. 

Everything I had wasn’t enough.  I finished at 3:32:30, two minutes and thirty seconds too slow for gold.

Ethical Dilemmas At The Medal Pickup

I exited the course and got into a line of about 100 riders waiting to turn in their timing chip and pick up their medal.  I was very disappointed.  150 seconds!  If only I hadn’t burned a minute to get to the starting line.  If only I hadn’t stopped for that crash.  If only…

I realized, of course, this is how losers talk.  And that’s what I was today, so I guess the line of thinking made sense.

I then pondered my average pace of 17.9 mph.  This was actually better than what was required to complete the course.  The problem was that my cycling line was slightly longer (1.3 miles longer, to be exact) due to starting a bit back in the field and rounding corners a little wide over time.  I actually covered the advertised distance within the time limit.  Therefore, didn’t I actually do what I set out to do?

No.  That would be a rationalization, brought about by despair, exhaustion and slight dehydration.  What I set out to do was complete the course in 3.5 hours.  And I didn’t do that.  Period.

I gave my chip to a volunteer who threw it into a bin without checking it.  I expected her to put it into some sort of machine that would tell her my time.   ”How will you know what my time is?” I asked.

“Did you complete eight laps?” she asked.  When I nodded in the affirmative, she said, “Just stay in line and you’ll get a gold medal.”

Hmmm.   When I approached the medal desk, I explained to the volunteer that I had completed eight laps, but not within the 3.5 hour time limit.  “That’s ok,” she said.  “You did the eight laps before the course closed and that is the standard.  Congratulations!”

I sheepishly took the medal and made my way back to the parking garage, where I inhaled a Gatorade I had on ice in my truck.  This was a very tough event for me, tougher than the century ride I completed last month.  Still, I managed to set a new personal best pace for a long distance ride (note: I consider the old pace as still being the official record as pacelines were involved today).  It was fun to be in a big event that had more of a “racelike” quality than traditional century rides.  If I do this ride next year, I hope to shave the 2:30 off my time and remove any doubt as to the legitimacy of my accomplishment!

Vasaloppet

It rained today.  It was raining when I woke up, raining when I drove to DC, raining as I pedaled to the Swedish Embassy, and it rained almost the entire duration of the Vasaloppet Ride.  Most of the counties in the region are under a Flood Watch.  It’s rained a lot.  So today’s ride report is as much a tale of riding in the rain as it is a discussion of the Vasaloppet Ride.

"We few, we happy few" at the start

I parked a couple of miles from the Swedish Embassy and enjoyed a leisurely pedal to the registration area.  600 riders were signed up for this ride but it was hardly surprising to see only a fraction of that at the starting line.  There were about 30 riders ready to head off for the “Full Vasaloppet” ride at 8:00 AM.  The Half and Quarter Vasa’s were to start after us, so I didn’t see how many riders showed up.  I’m guessing no more than 100 total for the day, I’m afraid.

I was immediately faced with a quandary: what to do with the cue sheet?  It was vitally important I kept this paper in decent condition, but exposing it for more than 30 seconds in the deluge we were experiencing would obliterate it.  I had stored my camera in a zip-lock bag in my jacket pocket and so I decided to put the sheet in there as well.  I planned on finding a group of locals who knew the route and stay with them as long as I could to avoid repeatedly pulling my cue sheet out of storage.

Self-portrait during a relatively dry moment

This decision lead to me hanging on to a group of ten riders who appeared to know where they were going.  The only problem was they were going fast and I was on a hybrid (the only hybrid at the start line, I am proud to add!).  I strongly suspected there would be some difficult patches ahead where the trail would turn to muddy crushed gravel and I hoped these areas would give me time to keep up.  My theory seemed to be confirmed at Mile 3, when we hit just such a patch and one of the roadies fell.  Little did I know, but that would be the one and only such spot on the entire route.  It would be hopeless to try to keep up with this pack, but I didn’t know it at the time.  So I gamely pressed on.

I was surprised to see us leave the Capital Crescent Trail after only a few miles and head up a steep hill into city traffic.  I had thought this ride would take advantage of Northern DC’s many mixed-use trails.  I have heard a lot about these routes and I was looking forward to seeing them.  By Mile 10, I had figured out this was predominately a road ride and Old Ironsides was hopelessly outclassed.  Several members of the lead pack gave my bike long stares as we pedaled next to each other.  They weren’t rude in the least.  It was more a matter of them being mildly surprised by its presence and wondering if I was really going to hang with them.  That was my plan and I am pleased to report I was fairly successful at it.

The Rest Stop

We wandered northward, moving across the DC Beltway and into Montgomery County.  I can report some very rich people live there – their homes are something to see.  I was able to keep up with the 17-19 mph pace on the flats, but the hills took a lot out of me.  The leaders of this little band were very considerate and regularly stopped after the larger hills so stragglers such as myself could catch up.  This was important as it allowed me to keep my precious cue sheet nice and dry.  After 26 miles, we pulled in to a convenience store for a break and some bike maintenance.  One rider’s front derailleur wouldn’t shift and he was stuck on his big ring.  Another more experienced rider generously helped him fix the problem.  Very nice.

Courtney and Sal at the Rest Stop

With the rest break over, the group started back to the embassy.  At this point, two riders had dropped out, leaving us with eight.  Riders strung out very quickly, with Yours Truly bringing up the rear.  Two cyclists, Saul and Courtney, were moving at a more leisurely pace and we ended up cycling by ourselves.  We struck up a nice conversation.  Courtney was visiting the States from his home in London and Saul lived in Arlington and was friends with Courtney.  We were moving along in fine (albeit soaking wet) form when we crossed a busy intersection at River Road and Oakley St.  Saul came upon some road debris and needed to quickly swerve to his right.  There was a puddle there, which he entered and quickly discovered to be a mammoth pothole.  Saul immediately flatted and I then had an opportunity to watch an experienced cyclist execute a fast inner tube exchange in terrible conditions.  I was pleased to see he executed the maneuver in much the same way as I would have, albeit at a faster pace.

Capital Crescent Trail

With the tire repaired, we pressed on.  Soon we were in downtown Bethesda, a busy urban area full of double-parked cars and jay walkers. We zig-zagged our way through the maze and found ourselves back on the Capital Crescent Trail.  Courtney was very tired and wanted to take the trail back to the embassy.  This would shorten the ride by eight miles.  Rather than head back into city traffic alone, I elected to travel with my new partners.  I had wanted to see the trail network and this was my chance.  I was treated to a gradual downhill ride for six miles with some excellent views of the Potomac River.  The rain had stopped by this point and I was able to take some pics as well.

Soup!

Back at the embassy, I locked up my bike and headed inside to enjoy the much-anticipated blueberry soup.  I grabbed a paper cup already filled with the concoction and gave it a go.  It was… interesting.  Definitely an acquired taste.  It was very sweet and very thick – not quite as thick as syrup, but in that category, I would say.  I did not ask for seconds.  The embassy staff was very accommodating and I enjoyed my visit very much.  There was even an exhibit of urban bicycles which the staff graciously allowed us to tour despite the fact it was not officially opened.  One concerned member saw me taking pictures and asked me not to publish them until after tonight’s advance screening to the media.  I’ll abide by his request, though there wasn’t anything more exotic than a Barclays bike from London.

Lincoln Memorial

Upon leaving the embassy, it was time to head back to the car.  I felt guilty about not completing the entire 58 mile ride, so I resolved to put in some extra miles around town to get my mileage up to the proper level.  I swung by the Kennedy Center, the Watergate Hotel, and the Lincoln Memorial (where I discovered the reflecting pool was drained for cleaning).  Eventually, I made it back to my truck, soaking wet and absolutely filthy from road grime spit on me by the tires of my fellow cyclists.  I loaded my bike and started for home.

20 minutes later, it began to pour again.

Just a little bit of dirt...

Thus concluded the 2011 Vasaloppet ride.  I spent more time in the rain today than I have in the previous 12 months combined.  I learned a great deal about how to dress and prepare for the rain.  I was very pleased with my ability to hang with the roadies on my humble hybrid, and as fellow cyclists fell by the wayside due to chain derailments, broken derailleurs, and flat tires, I had to pat Old Ironsides on the side as it pulled me the distance without issue.  The event organizers, embassy staff, and riders were all extremely pleasant and made the ride enjoyable despite the elements.  Although I probably should have brought the Trek, I am glad I took the Crosstrail.  Pushing that weight made for some great training.  And besides, this was probably the last opportunity to take it on an organized ride.  After owning it for almost a year, I owed it that much!

Vasaloppet – The Plan

This Sunday is my first organized ride of the year – The Vasaloppet.  Hosted by the Swedish Embassy in honor of the famous cross-country ski race of the same name, the 58 mile ride will start and finish at the embassy.  The course will follow Washington DC mixed-use trails and blueberry soup will be served for finishers.

And that is just about all I know about this ride.

On the off-chance that you may be signed up (registration is now closed as they have reached the 600-rider limit) and would like to meet up at the event, I shall endeavor to be at the statue near the Swedish Embassy (aka “The House of Sweden” – the gray building on the right side of the photo) before the ride’s 8:00 AM start time.  I’ve never participated in this ride before so I don’t know how they’ll arrange the start.  It’s quite possible the statue will be right in the center of things.  If that is the case, we’ll just panic improvise.

The forecast is for thunderstorms with a high in the upper 50s.  Due to the forecasted inclement weather (and the likelihood of mud on the course) I shall be riding my hybrid.  I have no idea if there will be food or water stops, so I’ll be bringing my Camelbak and all the ride food necessary for the journey.  Regardless of the outcome, it promises to be an adventure which shall have one or two stories worth telling!

Signed Up For Vasa

Vasa Start Point - The Swedish Embassy

Registration opened today for the 2011 Vasa Ride and I’m “all in!”  The ride is hosted by the Swedish Embassy and the Washington Area Bicylist Association in tribute to the famous Vasaloppet cross-country ski race.  I’ll be taking on the full 59-mile ride (same length as the ski race) but there are half and quarter length rides as well.  Registration is free and you even get to eat blueberry soup at the finish.  I can’t imagine a better way to spend March 6!

You can register here.

Today’s 31 mile ride was nondescript, apart from the woman I saw texting while jogging.  That was a first for me.  For the second consecutive weekend, I saw no cyclists on the road.  I hope some more folks brave the cold – being the cycling world’s sole representative to the unwashed masses is a daunting responsibility!