How I Cheated Death At Lake Anna

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Yesterday was the first running of the Lake Anna Century Classic.  As with any first-time event, I expected a few hiccups.  It’s hard to work out all the little details that make up a successful event on the very first try. I was not disappointed.

The first hiccup occurred at registration, where I noticed there were only two porta-potties to service a field of over 200 riders, a very large percentage of which had a strong desire to use the facility prior to the start of the event.  I patiently waited with about 50 others to take care of my business and cheerfully joined the pack waiting to start the ride.

As we departed under the escort of the Spotsylvania County Sherriff’s Department, I brooded on two things:

• My lengthy wait in line pushed me well to the rear of the field, thus requiring me to work my way to the front yet again.
• I had forgotten almost all of my energy food, leaving me to nurse a single energy bar between the ride’s various rest stops.

That's a lot of people to pass

There were plenty of packs to join at the outset and the pace was typically fast – around 20 mph.  The 60 mile and 100 mile (well, actually 95.77 mile for the century – why they came up short on the distance is beyond me) riders were travelling together at this point and there was an eclectic mix of roadies and comfort bikes which were pedalling furiously to keep the pace.  There was even a fellow in one of those aerodynamic bikes you see breaking speed records on the Nevada salt flats.  It took me seven miles to catch up with this fellow, who was achieving speeds I would not have thought possible on a curvey and hilly course such as this.

Rest stops were every 20 miles and the paceline I was with disintegrated at the first one when almost everyone – about 20 riders – decided to take a break.  I was doing just fine and pressed on with two others who were a bit ahead of me.  This was actually a key part of my strategy for the day – I wouldn’t take as many breaks and would therefore be able to catch the wheels of the faster riders when they eventually caught up with me.  This worked out rather well; when these riders eventually reeled me in at Mile 33, I was able to stay with them for five miles before they spit me out the back once again.

A crowd favorite

This was the fun part of the ride.  I was relatively fresh, and the views of Lake Anna were enjoyable.  Many riders were complimenting me on my Couch Potato Cycling Team jersey and the banter was quite pleasant.  I eventually hooked up with a rider named Barry who sported a US Coast Guard jersey.  After 15 minutes of conversation, we discovered we live about five miles from each other and know many of the same cyclists.  We’re pretty sure we even went on a small neighborhood ride together two years ago – the first time I was ever in a paceline.   Small world.

Barry at one of the lake's bridges

I skipped the rest stop at Mile 40 at which point the routes for the 60 and (almost) 100 mile routes diverged.  The fast riders caught up with me more quickly than at the earlier stop, but I still was able to squeeze a few more miles in their line.  I had eaten my energy bar and I had drunk 1.5 bottles of Gatorade.  I was going to have to stop at the Mile 60 rest stop and reprovision.

Imagine my dismay when I reached the rest stop AND FOUND NOTHING.

All that was there was a porta-potty and a cheerful sign announcing it as the Lake Anna Century rest stop.  No water.  No snacks.  Just some bemused cyclists commenting on how very bad this was.  I couldn’t possibly agree more.  Somehow, I would need to nurse the remaining half bottle of Gatorade (a bottle I had already been nursing for some time) for another 16 miles and the final rest stop at Mile 76.  It would hurt, but I could do it.  Just manage the pace, stay within myself, and get to that stupid rest stop.  I would get some fruit and some water there and things would improve.

Along the way, there were more pretty sites, like the several old homes and lumber mills which dotted the landscape.  I was also entertained by riding on the delightfully named Bumpass Road.  Sadly, I do not know the origins of the name.  I can only report that it was neither more nor less bumpy than the surrounding roads and my posterior was largely unaffected by it.

This appeared to be inhabited

At Mile 65 I was grateful to make the turn towards the finish line.  We had been cycling against the wind for about 40 miles and I really needed the wind at my back at this point.  I had never ridden so far without stopping and I was becoming dehydrated to boot.  I was really looking forward to rest stop at Mile 76 and the mild scolding I would give the volunteers for abandoning the previous stop.

Imagine my horror when I reached the final rest stop AND THERE WAS NOTHING THERE!

The Tea Party is quite active in the area, with signs like this posted in several locations

The stop was at a convenience store, so I could have simply waltzed in there and purchased some goods.  That is, I could have done so if I had any money.  Stupidly, I left my money in my car.  When I was going on a supported ride, I did so under the mistaken notion that I would be supported.  I resolved I wouldn’t make that mistake again, assuming I lived through this one.  I amused myself by taking photos of the train depot at Beaverdam and the historical marker there (yes – a historical marker!) and steeled myself for the final 20 miles without food or water.

This was becoming seriously dangerous.  The temperature was well above 80 degrees at this point and I had been nursing my hydration for the past 20 miles.  I now had another 20 miles to go without anything to drink whatsoever.  I had burned well over 2,000 calories and ingested about 400.  I would burn another 1,000 calories before I was finished.  My mouth felt like I was eating handfuls of cotton.  There was nothing to do but ease myself to the end and buy something to drink at the nearby gas station.  There might be a tongue-lashing toward a ride official if the opportunity presented itself.

At Mile 82, I was given another treat.  My cue sheet stated I should turn left on Eastham Road.  What it should have said was, “Please do not turn left on Eastham Road.  In fact, ignore this instruction entirely.  You’re doing just fine on the road you are on and should remain on it.  Sorry for the confusion.”

This is what happens when you build cue sheets based on MapMyRide or some other computer program.  Roads often change names or have silly little idiosyncracies that confuse these programs and the directions get muddled.  I was on a road which would change its name from Greene’s Corner to (ever so briefly) Eastham to Arritt to Lewiston.  One road – four names.  The cue sheet reads like I would be on three different roads (oddly, there is no mention of Lewiston Road).  This is why it is critical to proof the course in advance.  On a bike.  I am proud to say that my newfound club, the DC Randonneurs does precisely this before every ride, even ones they have done many times before.

I like the DC Randonneurs.

Anyway, it took me two miles to discover my mistake and double back to the road I should have stayed on.  Oddly enough, this was PRECISELY the distance I needed to make my ride a full century.  The final fifteen miles were a great struggle.  I found it increasingly difficult to hold my line, meaning my bike would wander into the road while my mind checked out.  Fortunately, the road was not busy.  The final three miles were on Courthouse Road, which was considerably busier and I forced myself to focus on the white line near the shoulder.

Despite staying near the line, I still almost died.

A mere half mile from the finish, a line of cars approached from the opposite direction.  Third in line was a late-model Trans Am, the driver of which had lost his patience and decided to pass the front two cars in one swoop.  He didn’t see me coming from the opposite direction.  As he pulled into the passing lane (the lane I was in, heading in the opposite direction), he gunned his engine.  Then he saw me.  Then he swerved toward the car he was passing.  In the end, he missed both me and the car he was passing by less than two feet on each side.

I pulled into the parking lot, having ridden 100 miles without stopping except for the briefest of periods to take the occasional photo or consult my iPhone map.  My final time was 6:26, well short of my goal of six hours, but still quite good considering I ate almost nothing and flirted with heat stroke for the last hour and a half.  I quickly got my bike stowed and drove the short distance to the nearest convenience store where I bought the best-tasting Gatorade I have ever had.  I went on to drink about 100 ounces of fluid in the next three hours without feeling the slightest need to use the bathroom.  I was a tad dehydrated, I think.

Thus concluded the Lake Anna Century Classic.  Proceeds from this event went to Law Enforcement United, a charity which helps the families of police officers and firemen who die in the line of duty.  It’s a worthy cause.  I’m just glad I didn’t need to die to support it.  In the future, I will begin all organized rides with the assumption that I must support myself.  Yesterday, that was precisely the case and my failure to be prepared cost me.

Historical Marker Segment!

My, it’s been a long time since I’ve bagged a new marker!  This one is located in the town of Beaverdam, near the nonexistent Rest Stop at Mile 76.  It commemorates a train depot whose claim to fame seems to be that it was repeatedly destroyed by Union forces during the Civil War and John S. Mosby was captured there.  I find the notion of the Great “Gray Ghost” being captured while waiting for a train to be quite amusing.  The station is restored quite handsomely and sits in a nice park, quite fetching for this small town.

2012′s Color Is White

I am excited to present a change to the Trek which will fundamentally alter its handling and performance.  It’s an important new piece of gear that I have placed a great deal of thought into.  Like most cycling equipment, this gear will wear out and I hope to come up with a new version each year.  With a little luck, this announcement will become an annual event eagerly awaited by you, Dear Reader.

I have changed the color of my handlebar tape.

Ta Da!

I thought it would be fun to change the tape color each year, if for no other reason than it will be easier for me to identify when a given picture was taken.  This is not a decision to be taken lightly.  The color of a bike’s handlebar tape says a great deal about its rider.  For example, the original color of black says, “I just want to blend in with everyone else using the stock tape that came with my bike when I bought it.”

The color white looks snappy (to me, at least) but it runs the risk of giving the impression that I am a “poseur.” Poseur is a French word for “poser,” which is an English word for someone who takes on the mannerisms and fashion of serious cyclists without actually having the ability to ride like a serious cyclist.  This is a very serious allegation in the cycling community and I will need to be mindful of this issue as I come into contact with other cyclists – an event which occurs about once per every 500 miles cycled.

I took the tape (along with the rest of the bike) on its maiden voyage yesterday.  Winter remains pleasantly mild, but much of the weekend was shot due to rain and personal errands.  With a few hours of sunlight remaining on Sunday, I shoved off for Quantico Marine Corps Base’s “downrange” reservation.  This is the part of the base west of Route 1 where field training occurs.  I had never ridden these roads and was alerted to their existence by Roger, when we met for a pedal last Fall.

Before reaching these new roads, I had to fight my way through the hazards of Dumfries.  I managed this with nothing untoward other than the elevated frustration levels which are normal for me in that place.  I stopped by one of Quantico MCB’s gates to take a picture of a replica of the Iwo Jima Memorial.  This one is considerably smaller than the original monument, which stands next to Arlington National Cemetery.  For those interested in a detailed account of this battle, I highly recommend Clint Eastwood’s Flags Of Our Fathers and Letters From Iwo Jima.

After enduring the swarms of traffic along Route 1, the back roads of Quantico were very refreshing.  The roads were quite hilly.  The first 3.5 miles were at a steady 7-8% grade.  This gave way to a series of rollers which had grades of 7-10%.  I think I’ve found a good place for some mountain training, which I’ll need for the Civil War Century this September and its 7,400 feet of climbing.  Sunday’s 30-mile circuit was 1,600 feet, meaning I’ll need to climb at approximately 1.5 times this rate for the CWC.  That is a humbling prospect.

Historical Marker Segment!

It’s been awhile since I have been able to bring you one of these.  This marker is close to the Iwo Jima Memorial outside of Quantico MCB’s gate.  Although I often drive by this spot, I’ve never noticed it before.  In it, we learn the ancient and glorious history of Quantico.  The nearby town of Dumfries used to be one of the largest and most important ports in America, due primarily to the huge tobacco crop which was exported from there.   This fact is remarkable to contemplate as the creek is no longer navigable and there is no remnant of the port facility that once existed.

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.

Horsing Around In The Dark

New light on the left

I got my latest gadget in the mail yesterday - a Niterider Mako 2 Watt light.  I’ve been making do with a basic Planet Bike Beamer light that makes me visible to others, but does almost nothing to illuminate my path.  This means that I needed to stick to pathways I knew VERY well to ensure I did not end up upside down in a ditch or wrapped around a tree or worse.  Even with extreme caution, it was still very easy to “outrun my lights,” making me very vulnerable to unexpected obstacles in the path.  There were even times when the headlights of approaching cars caused shadows in the path, meaning I could not see anything whatsoever for several seconds at a time.  That is a disconcerting feeling to have – almost like vertigo – and not what you want to experience on a bike.

Most nice light sets run at or near $100.  I found this one online for about a third of that.  I also saw that my LBS sold Niterider lights so I checked with them.  Naturally, they were out of stock and wanted $15 more than what I could get online.  Oh well, I tried to support them.

The Mako 2 Watt emits 130 lumens, which is a far cry from top of the line lights which can blast 1,500 lumens and serve as an anti-aircraft search light in a pinch.  It may be humble, but having been forced to ride nearly blind at night for over a year, the improvement was fantastic.  It was no longer necessary to use “The Force” to navigate.  I could actually see the path in front of me!

I tried some experimental night photography with my camera and got some mildly interesting results.  This is a pic of Interstate 95 as it crosses Cardinal Drive.  I need to do a better job of keeping the camera steady during these long exposures.  That’s a little tricky when your heart rate is elevated from cycling.  I may have just invented a new sport – cycling/photography biathlon!

REMINDER:  Don’t forget your homework assignment this weekend.  Take a pic and send it to me at martinsj2@comcast.net with a description of what you’re up to, and become part of the most amazing documentary ever conducted in the history of cycling!  Well, at least on this blog.

Historical Marker Segment!

This is my first-ever night-time photo of a historical marker.  Isn’t that exciting?  I drive by the Neabsco Church almost every day, but this marker is far enough off Cardinal Drive that it cannot be read by anyone not standing in the church parking lot.  It is impressive to me that people have been worshipping at this site for so long and many of the original parts are still intact.  We’re talking about former slaves building with wood – not exactly people of means with materials meant to last 150 years.  During the Civil War, one-third of the population of Prince William County were slaves.  It’s interesting to see how some of them got on after the war.

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.

Getting My Bearings Packed

I took my bike into the shop Monday night for routine maintenance.  I’m 50 weeks into a one year free maintenance agreement which came with my purchase, so I wanted to take care of some nagging problems.  I’ve been having challenges keeping my rear wheel true since the shop replaced a broken spoke back in May.  There’s also a disturbing clicking sound coming from the head stem which I hoped they could explain and (better still) fix.

I met with the store manager, Levi, who kindly offered to tweak my bike on the spot.  He placed my rear wheel on a truing stand and got to work.  He was friendly and let me watch him adjust the spokes.  As we discussed my challenges, Levi mentioned that the wheel might need to be relaced.  That sounded ominous, but I didn’t press the matter.  We could jump off that bridge if we came to it, was my reasoning.

Levi finished truing the wheel and said he didn’t like the feel of the bearings.  “The wheel seems soft,” he said.  How on Earth he came to that conclusion I can only imagine.  It seemed perfectly normal to me.  Fascinated, I watch Levi unscrew a cap covering the innards of my wheel’s axle.  He looked inside and announced that my bearings needed to be repacked.

“Really?” I responded with my usual wit.  “How can you tell?”

“See how the bearings are brown?” answered Levi.  “They shouldn’t be that color.  They should be clear or green, the color of grease.”

I looked at the circle of bearings and confirmed they were indeed brown.  Faced with this incontrovertible fact, I agreed to leave my bike at the shop (which was my original plan anyway) and have them repack the bearings.  All of this would be covered under the warranty and/or free maintenance package, so I thought this was quite a nice arrangement.

Not my wheel, but you can get the gist of what I was looking at. My bearings were covered with brown goo, not completely dry as these are.

I picked up my bike last night and all was well.  Levi wasn’t in and I spoke to Chris, the shop mechanic (aka “Pit Boss”).  He had nothing dramatic to report.  He repacked the ball bearings, lubed the shifting cables, trued both wheels, tightened my rear brakes (which I had loosened due to the slightly untrue back wheel), lubed my chain, and cleaned the bike up after Sunday’s messy ride.  Chris checked out the head stem and couldn’t find anything which would cause a clicking sound.  That’s disappointing as I have no doubt it will reappear the moment I get back on the road.

While chatting with Chris, he asked me if I participated in the Reston Century on Sunday.  Levi must have mentioned it to him.  (I can imagine the conversation: “Guess who owns this Trek, Chris.  It’s an old, pudgy man who actually completed the Reston Century!”)  Chris rode the century as well, only he left earlier than me, rode faster than me, and consequently missed the mammoth thunder storm, unlike me.  We talked about the ride a bit and since hydration strategies came up during the ride and in the comments to my ride report, I asked Chris what he does.  It turns out he’s a Nuun consumer, like my temporary riding partner, Carol.

Chris also mentioned that my stock wheels would come out of true a bit more often than I would care for and he recommended that I consider upgrading to some Mavic wheels.  Mavic is a French company that makes high-end components.  Their cheap wheels go for about $120 apiece.  Someday, when I am a high-end rider, I might consider such a purchase.  For now, I’ll just keep adjusting the stock wheels when they fall out of true.

In return for all this work (and conversation), I wanted to contribute to the shop’s business in some small way, so I asked to buy a chain measuring tool.  As luck would have it, they were out of stock.  I couldn’t see anything else I might have a use for, so I simply thanked Chris for a job well done and headed home.

So that’s that.  No more free adjustments.  From here on out, I am on my own or I’m paying for the help.  It should be interesting!

Historical Marker Segment!

I neglected to include this in my ride report.  I rode 106 miles and encountered only one historical marker – a very low number for such a long trip.  This marker tells the tale of Major General Ben Fuller, the 15th Commandant of the Marine Corps and can be found at Fuller Park, the place I referred to in my ride report as “Hamilton Rest Stop.”  As a recently-retired officer, I found General Fuller’s career path to be a tad odd, namely:

• He graduated from the US Naval Academy at the age of 19.  Nowadays,  graduates are 22 years old or older.
• He wasn’t commissioned as a Second Lieutenant until two years after he graduated.  I can’t imagine what he did in the interval.
• He was the Commandant as a Major General (two stars).  Today’s Commandant is a full General (four stars).

Midland

The Reston Century is in two weeks and today was no day to ease off on the miles.  So I rolled out of my driveway at 9:45 AM into 85 degree temps and 85% humidity.  Good times.  I wanted to stretch my distance a bit and decided to make for the small town of Midland, about 30 miles away.

The road to Midland.

The map indicates there isn’t much to see in Midland and the map was right.  There is a small airport, the view of which is frustratingly blocked by roadside trees.  I had accepted the fact that there would be nothing of interest on this route and this would simply be a pleasant ride through rural Virginia when I came across a small park, built in honor of Supreme Court Justice John Marshall.

John Marshal Park

Marshal was the longest-serving Supreme Court Chief Justice and fundamentally shaped the role of the court and therefore the US government.  He was born in this area in 1755.  His home is gone but there is a stone pyramid which marks the site, one half a mile down a nature trail which starts at the park.  The park itself is rather simple, with a parking lot for five cars and a couple of markers describing the site and Marshal’s contributions to the republic.  I didn’t travel down the path as it didn’t seem conducive to 23mm tires.  I was quickly on my way again to the heavily traveled Route 28 and a favorable tailwind for the next 12 miles.

In short order, I found myself back in Nokesville, then Bristow, then back home.  I focused on keeping my heart rate down early in the ride and eating something every 30 minutes.  This paid off as I had plenty of energy towards the end of the trip, even with temps well over 100 degrees.    I wish I placed equal emphasis on applying sunscreen.  Inexplicably, I neglected to use any on this trip and as I type these words I am regretting that decision.

Historical Marker Segment!

I was hopeful that I would find markers on Route 28, which is an older (pre-Civil War) road with ample opportunities for something historical on its path.  I wasn’t disappointed.  The first marker can be found outside Calverton, the first town north of Midland.  In keeping with the decidedly Southern perspective on these markers, the Confederates are mentioned in a positive light, even when they lose, as Mosby did at this place in 1863.  As a New Yorker, I was happy to learn the 5th NY Cavalry played a role in his demise on that day.  Since the sign won’t tell you, I am pleased to inform you that the 5th NY was commanded by Colonel John Hammond of Crown Point, NY.

The next town northward is Catlett and it is here we can find another Civil War marker.  This time, Mosby is the victor.  As a raider, he tended to run away when things got too hot, but that was his job so we won’t fault him for that.

The final marker was an interesting design.  Normally, these markers have the same writing on both sides.  However the marker at the county line has a different version on each side – one for Fauquier County and one for Prince William County.  As you can see, the Prince William side is in need of some gardening.  This is the first time I’ve come across a marker that couldn’t be read.

Clifton

The chain worked.  It skipped a bit, but it worked.  The skipping could be due to wear on the rear cassette or the cheapness of the chain.  Either way, it’s tolerable and I’m good for another 1,800 miles (or so).

I headed north this morning on Minnieville Road, a road which is normally very busy, but at 8:00 AM on a Sunday was lightly traveled.  Only one car beeped at me – I was as far to the right as possible but I was delaying her turn into Lowes DIY store by at least ten seconds.  I turned to look at her and asked her what she wanted me to do.  She stared straight ahead and didn’t respond.

After nine miles, I made it to the Occoquan River and the town which bears its name.  There are very steep banks on either side of the river, which made for a fun descent which was paid for very shortly thereafter with an equally steep ascent.

Crossing the Occoquan

I then traveled ten miles further north on the multi-use path on Ox Road.  The route was generally uphill at a slight grade.  Eventually, I made it on to Chapel Road and enjoyed pedaling by $1 million homes for several miles.  At the end of a long descent (during which I topped out at 44.8 mph), I came upon the horse farm pictured below.  It was a really nice setup and I don’t think the picture does it justice.

Horse Farm near Clifton

A few miles on, I pulled into the town of Clifton.  During the Civil War, this marked the end of the railroad from Washington, DC.  It was a bustling place, as troops, animals, and supplies continually arrived.  There were no residents here, just an encampment to guard the railhead.

After the war, a post office was built and people began to settle in large numbers.  John S. Mosby, a Confederate general who spent a fair portion of his time attempting to destroy the railroad at this location, started a church in the town.  This church was replaced by the one pictured below in 1910.  The house to the right of the church was one of the finest in Virginia when it was built in the 1870s, or so the sign in front of it states.

Today, the town is an out-of-the-way hamlet, striving to trade off its history (and I will thank my European friends for not snickering at the notion of one hundred year old buildings being “historic”) and some upscale restaurants and art stores.

Clifton Baptist Church and the Quigg House

I ate an energy bar on a park bench and drank a great deal of water from my Camelbak.  With the summer heat on, I have once again started taking my Camelbak on longer rides.  I realize this makes me look uncool, but I have weighed this against how I would look passed out on the side of the road from heat injury and have concluded the Camelbak is a preferable fashion choice.

You don't see 'em like this nowadays

After my break, I struck out for home.  Clifton is in some low ground and it was quite a chore climbing up out of it.  The terrain on the north side of the Occoquan is quite rolling and I managed to rack up 1,800 feet of climbing over 40 miles.  That isn’t a huge number, but it’s large enough to tell me that I need to do plenty of hill work in the next two months before I take on centuries with 4,400 and 7,400 feet of climbing.

Historical Marker Segment!

This marker is located on Minnieville Road near Chain Bridge Road and the town of Occoquan.  I have driven past it on my morning commute almost every work day for nine years and haven’t read it once.  It’s hard to read a sign like this when you’re driving 35 mph in rush hour traffic.  Having actually read the thing, I am left with more questions than answers.  How, exactly, does an emancipated slave have the money to buy hundreds of acres of land?  And why did the Chinn Family disappear from the county after six generations?  Sadly, the marker is silent on both these points.

This marker is off Ox Road about half a mile north of the Occoquan River.  I am not surprised to learn of the Workhouse in this location.  Until 2001, there was a prison right across the street.  It wouldn’t surprise me if those were the very buildings which housed the heroines in this marker’s story.

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.

Shore Drive

For my final vacation ride, I struck out towards the west on Shore Drive. This is a four lane road with no shoulder, making a trip more adventurous than I would prefer.  I was hoping my 6:30 AM start would help with the traffic density and was surprised to see that it didn’t make nearly as big a difference as I had hoped it would.  There are a LOT of people driving west toward Norfolk in the morning!

I made my way past First Landing State Park and the campsites that were still very quiet at the early hour.  I was about to cross over the Lynnhaven River Bridge when I heard the telltale whirring of a coasting bicycle.  A fellow cyclist had joined me!  Unfortunately, he wasn’t the chatty type and seemed eager to suck on my wheel in his aerobars.  Perhaps he wasn’t a wheel sucker but was just looking for an opportunity to pass me.  Either way, I didn’t relish the thought of a non-chatty person on my rear wheel, so I pulled over and let him pass.

Lynnhaven Inlet, viewed from the bridge

A lovely asphalt ramp to the bridge's sidewalk.

Since today was checkout day at the hotel, time was short.  After crossing under US-13 (a major road that leads to a bridge over the Chesapeake Bay), it was time to head back.  Shortly after turning around, I came across a nice bike path which started at a location for no particular reason and lasted a mile, where it ended at an equally odd location.  Such is the way of things at Virginia Beach.  I then came back to the Lynnhaven River Bridge and noted the unfortunate attempt to modify an old sidewalk to accommodate bicycles.  I pulled off the road and immediately hit soft sand.  I was expecting something a little more compact and darn near fell off the bike as I plowed to a stop.   I then eased my bike onto the sidewalk and was on my way.

Back roads of Fort Story

In short order, I was back on base.  I took a quick spin along one of the few back roads on the base and after two miles I found myself back on the main road and near my hotel.  In this nondescript way I ended my vacation cycling and began making preparations for the trip home.  Virginia Beach was a great vacation and the cycling was definitely a change of pace for me.  If I had more time, I would have liked to venture further south, possibly to the North Carolina border 35 miles away.  The roads in that direction appear to be much less congested, which would have been nice.  Still, you don’t often get to cycle with fantastic views of the beach and I had that opportunity on three occasions this week.  All things considered, a very good situation!

Until next time, Fort Story

Historical Marker Segment!

Today’s ride netted me two markers.  The first describes the history of Seashore (aka “First Landing”) State Park, built as part of FDR’s Civilian Conservation Corps in the Great Depression.  The “naval actions” mentioned are intriguing and I have no idea what the 1672 and 1700 engagements were.  A three-minute Google search failed to turn up any results.  1672 marks the beginning of the Third Anglo-Dutch War, but I cannot find a mention of a naval battle off the North American coast, let alone Virginia.  1700 is the time period of the Great Northern War (Russia v. Sweden) and I cannot imagine what two ships from that part of the world were doing near Virginia. 

The second marker may be the most interesting one I’ve come across to date.  In it we learn the tale of Adam Thorowgood, an indentured servant who eventually owns thousands of acres of land, builds a town, and becomes a major political figure in the colony of Virginia.  That is one heck of a journey!  The sign also explains that Lynnhaven is named after King’s Lynn, an English town that I would occasionally visit during my UK tour.  Small world.

FUN FACT:  George Vancouver, the founder of Vancouver, British Columbia, was also from King’s Lynn.  There must have been something in the town that gave its young men the urge to voyage to the other side of the Earth.