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.

How I Cheated Death At Lake Anna

click for details

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.

Getting Ready For Lake Anna

As I am an experienced cyclist with literally several organized rides under my belt, you may be interested to know how I get ready for big events such as the 1st Annual Lake Anna Century.  Here’s how I managed things this week:

First, it is important to taper your training to just the right level so you hit the event at your peak level of performance.  This week, my training consisted of the following:

• Saturday:  Ride 30 miles in the wind and grumble at my poor performance.
• Sunday:  Ride 16 pleasant miles with my wife, including a lunch break at midpoint.
• Monday:  Decide it is too hot and windy to ride.
• Tuesday:  Buy my wife a lilac bush and arrive home too late to get in a ride.
• Wednesday:  Look at the rain and not ride.
• Thursday: Plant the lilac bush and not ride.
• Friday:  Rest and write this blog post.

In addition to proper tapering, there are several coordinating functions which need to occur, not the least of which is figuring out where the ride actually is.  Failing to arrive at the start point for an organized ride is a poor way to begin the event.  The Lake Anne Century website helpfully provides the address of the start point, but the published route had the unfortunate quality of NOT INTERSECTING THE START/FINISH LINE AT ANY POINT.  This was clearly a problem which needed rectifying.  A quick note to the ride director clarified the problem and a new route was posted on their website.

click for details

I like to study the route ahead of time and ponder the various ways I can meet with disaster.  The route for this century seems fairly straightforward, so the chances I will become lost are low.  There is little elevation to the route, so I shouldn’t be overwhelmed in that regard.  It would seem the most likely cause of misfortune is rain and/or lightning.  Right now, it looks like I’ll be dodging thunderstorms with temperatures that start in the low 60s and rise into the low 70s.  I’ve already come close to death in a lightning storm at last year’s Reston Century, so let us hope I am not yet due for another one so soon.

Finally, it is necessary to pick out all the clothes and equipment I might need.  By having everything laid out in advance or packed in the truck, my morning routine is greatly simplified.  All I need to do is wake up at a ridiculously early hour, get dressed, and leave.  Clothing decisions are based largely on the weather forecast, which has vacillated wildly for this Saturday over the past several days.  The forecast calls for arm warmers and plenty of ziplock bags to protect phones, cameras, etc… from the rain.  Water bottles are filled, foods are placed in the truck along with shoes, helmet, gloves, pump, sun glasses, chamois cream, Garmin, and a few other odds and ends.  The clothes are lovingly laid out at the foot of my bed, making it unlikely (but sadly still possible) that I will have a wardrobe malfunction in the morning.

Having completed these complicated but necessary steps, I am now fully prepared to excel at tomorrow’s event.  I am not aware of anyone in my vast reading audience who also intends to be there.  If that is not the case, feel free to say hello.  I promise to be very polite and an engaging conversationalist.  The flat course suggests a fast time may be possible.  If the rain holds off, I will be shooting to break the six-hour barrier.  Wish me luck.

Wilderness Campaign 200K ACP Brevet

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

Pre-ride bicycle prep and registration

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

The Grand Depart

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

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

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

Early morning paceline

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

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

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

Puttering south of Rte 3, near the first control

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where Longstreet fell

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

Sedgwick's Monument

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

Riding behind Jim into Spotsylvania

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

The road to Chancellorsville

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

Chancellorsville information control

Hunting Run Reservoir

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

Chris at the Rapidan

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

The Madone at the Rapidan

The final control - Mile 111

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

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

After Party

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

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

My Next Stunt

I joined a bicycle club.  The club is called the DC Randonneurs.  As you may have guessed, they enjoy randonneuring.

If you didn’t guess that this club enjoys randonneuring, that must be because you don’t know what randonneuring is.  Randonneuring is a cycling discipline which combines elements of racing, touring, and ultra-long rides to form a unique cycling event.  Randonneuring is a French word which means, “cyclist who doesn’t know when it’s time to stop riding,” – at least that’s what it should mean.  These guys go on seriously long rides, some as far as 1,200 kms.  The authors of four blogs listed on the right are already members of the club: Rev Rider, Porta-John, Iron Rider, and Chasing Mailboxes.  They all cycle long distances.

Very long distances.

There are many similarities between randonneurs and traditional road cyclists, not the least of which being an affinity for the French language and the metric system.   Official rides are known as “brevets” and in April the group will be competing in a unique form of race called a “fleche” in which teams start in different locations but converge on a common finish line.  Riders often hail each other with perky French phrases such as, “Bon Route!” and “Allez!”  The Paris-Brest-Paris race (which occurs in France, you will be interested to learn) is the grand randonneuring event that many serious riders aspire to participate in.

Annoyingly, all rides are measured in kilometers.

I have already discerned a few differences between randonneurs and traditional roadies.  Probably the biggest shift is the randonneurs’ fondness for lighting and reflective material.  Lights (front and back) and reflectors (both on the bike and on your ankles/torso) are required.  Randonneuring events are so long that they almost always involve some riding at night and they take the safety issues attendant to that fact very seriously.  Another difference is the practice of using bags on the front or back  fender (oh yeah, they use fenders) to hold the items required to complete their journey.  There are no support vehicles in randonneuring and riders are expected to be self-sufficient.

click for details

This Saturday, the DC Randonneurs are heading out to my neck of the woods for a ride which starts in Bristow, a mere 15 miles from my house.  Since it is early in the year, they’ll be going on a “short” route of only 200 kms.  This is one of the shortest rides the club will do and is the minimum distance one must complete to be considered a “randonneur.”

200 kms is 124 miles.

The location of the start point and its eventual destination of the Civil War battlefields of The Wilderness, Spotsylvania, and Chancellorsville cinched it for me.  I paid my $10 annual membership fee and the $5 ride registration fee and was ready to travel 18 miles further than I ever have before.  I traded emails with the ride leader, who informed me the actual distance was 130 miles, so now I’ll be breaking my personal best distance by 24 miles.  Yippee.

So I’m going to ride 130 miles this Saturday, Lord willing.  I’m looking forward to meeting my new club mates who (despite the French and metric issues) seem to be a fantastic group of people.  I suspect I will have something to say about this event and I shall regale you with the tale sometime after I recuperate.  Wish me luck!

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!

Reston Century

This one did not go easily for me.

I arrived at the Reston Town Center without event and picked up my cue sheets.  There was no line at the registration tent, which was nice, but it was also an indication of how few people were leaving at 7:00 AM.  This was a “rolling start,” meaning people could leave as early as 6:30 and as late as 9:00.  Generally, people riding the century would start earlier and those riding shorter routes would head out later in the morning.

Check in at Reston Town Center

On its surface, this is a very convenient way to start a ride.  There are no lines, no “crush of humanity,” and people can start as they deem best for them.  It also means the field is dramatically spread out, which means pace lines are unlikely to form.  In my first century last May, I was in a paceline for much of the first 50 miles.  I was about to find out how painful it would be to ride 106 miles on my own.

In short, it was very painful.

I didn’t see another rider for the first 2.2 miles.  I eventually happened across a small group, all riding casually.  I closed with these folks and mingled amongst them for a bit.  It was here that I picked up a “friend,” who decided to sit on my rear wheel without so much as a “Good morning,” for the next seven miles.  He was riding a hybrid with flat pedals and was wearing gym shorts, so I took pity on him and let him pedal away in my wake.  While I was willing to put up with this cycling faux pas for a while, after seven miles he was still sitting there and I began to feel like a potential stalking victim.  There was a rest stop at Mile 10 and ordinarily I wouldn’t have bothered to pull in after such a short distance, but it was an opportunity to lose my leech and ingest some calories – a strategy which I had decided would be important.

The first cyclists I saw (note the lack of pacelines)

The next 20 miles were a leisurely ride around the city of Leesburg.  I met a man who had just completed RAGBRAI for the sixth time and he regaled me with stories of that epic event, where 20,000 riders descend on small Iowa towns as they spend a week traversing the state.  We stopped to render assistance to a rider who flatted and couldn’t figure out how to make her pump work for her presta valve system.  For a moment, I was concerned I would have to give up my one and only CO2 cartridge in the name of chivalry when my RAGBRAI friend got the pump working properly.

A few miles down the road, I met a lady who was cycling the 60-mile route with her teenage son.  Amazingly, they TOO had just completed RAGBRAI.  I guess I should get myself out there.  It seems to be the thing to do.  I also met a fireman who was laboring under a rather significant set of muscles and some people with neat jerseys, like the one pictured below.

Very nice!

After a brief spin through Old Town Leesburg, we traveled over some significant hills, including a nasty haul up Woodburn Road, known by the locals as “Thigh Burn Hill.”  At 15% grade for half a mile, it was an apt description.  The hills took their toll and when I rolled into the next rest stop at Mile 30, I was mildly concerned at my level of fatigue.  I was nowhere near spent, but I shouldn’t have been this tired so soon.  The rest stop was very well supplied and I helped myself to several orange slices and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  I refilled my bottles and set off on a 30-mile loop that would eventually take me right back to the rest stop at Hamilton.

The Trek at rest - Hamilton Rest Area

At this point, the early morning haze was burning off and the sun was shining brightly.  It was warming up quickly.  The country roads were great to ride on and I was once again traveling in a very loose knit group of five or six people.  Imagine my dismay when all of them broke off when we arrived at the turning point for the shorter 60-mile ride.  We weren’t exactly drafting one another, but it seems rather silly to sign up for a large group ride and not actually ride with other people.  I do that every weekend from my own driveway.  There was no need for me to pay a registration fee and drive 40 miles at 6:00 AM for the experience.  Still, the scenery was nice and afforded pleasant views of the Blue Ridge, the gateway to the Shenandoah Valley.  I pedaled along and watched my GPS thermometer climb to 91 degrees.

This is when I met Carol, who saw me pedaling on my own in the distance and sped up to catch me.  Carol came down from Maryland for the ride and found herself alone like me.  She’s hoping to do a century in Moab, Utah, later this year which features a large climb known as “The Big Nasty.”  I have since learned that this hill features 3,000 feet of climbing in seven miles at sustained grades of 19%.  Yikes.  I found that to be interesting, since Carol (by her own admission) is not very good at climbing hills.  Climbing mountains in Utah – which is thousands of feet above sea level on its flat lands – can be quite arduous.  She’s already done a century at Lake Tahoe and seemed to be quite experienced, so I guess she knows what she’s doing.

Farm Houses nestled against the Blue Ridge

I must have been looking a little ragged, because Carol became very interested in what nutritional supplements I was using in my drinks.  When I told her it was just Gatorade, she suggested I try one of her Nuun tablets, which supposedly offer all the key vitamins, minerals, narcotics, or whatever that you can’t find in Gatorade.  I happily took a tablet from a total stranger and dropped it into my water bottle, where it fizzed like Alka Seltzer.  Alka Seltzer is good for you, so this must be as well, right?

I can happily report that I suffered no ill effects from the tablets (Carol eventually forced a second one on me at the Mile 50 rest stop).  They may have even helped me as I seemed to get a fresh bit of energy around this time.  This could also be attributed to the friendly company of another rider or the rest stop at Mile 50.  In any event, I did not become worse off and there is a lot to be said for that.

Loyal readers will recall that it was at Mile 50 when I expected to encounter two Category 5 climbs after leaving the town of Lovettsville.  I pedaled onward with a sense of excitement and foreboding, knowing that at any moment I would hit the first climb.  Sadly, MapMyRide let me down again.  Rather than two somewhat significant ascents, I was greeted with ten miles of multiple smaller climbs, each one at about 12% for a third of a mile.  These were taxing but not nearly as eventful as I had hoped.  Still, the cumulative effect of these climbs were beginning to stress me and altitude totals were building up.  As I rolled back into the Hamilton rest stop, I had climbed over 3,000 feet in 63 miles.  The sun was blazing.  I was beat and in trouble.

Pulling into Hamilton again

I took an extended break.  After eating another PB&J, a banana, and restocking my bottles, I felt a little better and was off again.  My next task was to complete a 20 mile “South Loop” which would deposit me once again back at the Hamilton rest area.  While turning onto Silcott Springs Road (west of Purcellville), I noticed very dark clouds approaching from the west.  This was not good.

Not good at all.

Four miles later, I was engulfed in a thunder storm of biblical proportions.  The rain was incredibly hard – almost like hail – and it was coming down in torrents.  Lightning (some of it close) streaked across the sky and thunder (some of it loud) boomed over the valley.  I began to contemplate my mortality and looked for shelter.

Note this expression - this is how a horse looks when he's trying to tell you that, for the love of God, you should turn around due to the approaching thunder storm that may kill you.

There was absolutely no shelter.  No country store, no barn, nothing.  So I did the one thing that every five year old is told not to do in a thunder storm.  I stood under a tree.  A few minutes later, two cyclists joined me.  We all agreed this was not the brightest of ideas, but we had no idea what else we could do.  Riding was too dangerous.  We could barely see where we were going and therefore there was no chance a passing car would see us.  I waited about 10 minutes and the storm abated somewhat.  My fellow lightning poles-in-waiting were still eating a snack so I pressed ahead without them.

Let me just say that it was physically impossible to be more wet than I was.  If I was pedaling underwater, I wouldn’t be more wet.  As I looked down, I could see small streams running off my arms and helmet.  Little gushers would erupt out of each shoe on my downstroke.  The temperature had dropped 25 degrees in about 30 minutes.  I was now freezing cold, especially in my feet.

I had 30 miles to go.

For me, this was no longer a pleasant bicycle ride – an attempt to test myself and perhaps reach some sort of personal best.  This was now a matter of survival.  I needed to somehow stay ahead of another line of thunder storms that I could hear approaching from my rear while not getting hypothermia or getting hit by a passing motorist in the poor conditions.  In 30 miles, I could find my truck, some dry clothes, and some heat.  That was my goal.

Self-portrait, after The Deluge

I believe it is now necessary to discuss the indelicate subject of chafing.  If one soaks oneself in water and then executes a repetitive motion, the clothes one is wearing (no matter how form-fitting) will wear on the skin.  This will result in chafing.  If one does this for the better part of three hours, there will be dramatic amounts of chafing – trust me.

Cyclists have discovered this condition long before I did and thus the invention of chamois cream, which can lubricate key areas.  Often with witty names such as “Nubutt” and “DZnuts,” many cyclists swear by this stuff.  I have never had a use for it and always considered myself some sort of blessed soul who was somehow immune to the condition of chafing while on a bicycle.  At 2:30 PM on Sunday, I decided that was no longer the case and that all I wanted for Christmas was a 50 gallon drum of chamois cream.

Onward I pedaled.  Alone.  I believe many people had abandoned the course at this point.  As I approached Hamilton for the third time (Mile 83), I saw some folks leaving the rest stop.  With the storm fast on my heels, I skipped the rest area and pressed on with them.  I was completely spent at this point and this group of four soon dropped me on a moderate hill.

Pedaling around Leesburg’s southern side, I came across a glorious stretch of road that was essentially a five-mile long descent.  Manna from heaven is what it was.  I was able to get the Trek up to 25+ mph, outrun the storm (which was still drizzling on me) and build up some energy.  At the bottom of the descent I jumped on the W&OD Trail and began the gentle climb back to Reston.  By the time I reached the final rest stop (Mile 96), the sun was out.  The volunteers could see I had been through some sort of travail, but I don’t think they quite believed my descriptions of the storm.  No worries.  They had free food and Gatorade and for that I was grateful.

I cruised the final ten miles and eventually made it back to the Reston Town Center, where a somewhat sedate party was underway.  I was greeted by a cyclist who said in a surprised voice, “Are you just getting in?”  When I told her that I was, in fact, just arriving, she said “Oh, I guess you stopped to get out of the rain.”  That  was apparently the only explanation for my late arrival.  I shook my head, told her that I did not break for the rain, and that there were a great many people still behind me.  She seemed confused by this information.  She awkwardly smiled and said, “Well, welcome back!”  Hooray.

After Party

There was some tossed salad and pasta salad, which I didn’t care for.  There was free ice cream and soda, which was delightful.  I wandered into a tourist information center which doubled as the ride headquarters, filled out a short survey, grabbed my T-Shirt, and headed to the car.  It was time to go home.

Messages at the after party

Thus concluded the Reston Century.  I did this 106-mile ride (4,300 feet of climbing, no pacelines, baking heat, and a near-death thunderstorm) in 8.5 hours.  By way of comparison, I knocked out the 101-mile Cap-2-Cap Century (1,600 feet of climbing with extensive pacelines and ideal weather) in 6.5 hours.  It was not my greatest moment, but I still am pleased that I persevered.  I also learned a great many things, from the potential fun of RAGBRAI to the criticality of chamois cream.  It was just about all I could handle on this day and I look forward to some more sedate pedals around my neighborhood!

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.