Stellenbosch: Day 1

The flight to Cape Town was long but thankfully uneventful. I left State College for DC at 2:40, then DC to Amsterdam took 6 hours and put me on the ground at 6 AM, then 2 hours layover before the 12 hour flight to Cape Town. I always get an aisle seat if possible so that I can stretch out my legs and I had thankfully managed to do so for this flight as well. What that meant, however, was that I wasn’t taking full advantage of the view as we flew the entire length of the African continent. After a few hours of sitting I finally got up to stretch out a bit and gazed out the window in the back of he plane and then at one of the video screens that tracked our progress. We were flying directly over the southern border of Niger, one of the areas that I am going to be talking about at this conference, a place I know only from second hand accounts, numbers and computer files. Even now, just after the peak of the rains, the landscape was all shades of brown with occasional bands of green marking the flood limits of the rivers. There were occasional towns visible from 7 miles up, but it was hard to make out the scale of them. I decided that I was going to have a hard time claiming to be an expert on this region from afar and resolved myslef to come and see it as soon as possible. From that point on I was entranced by the windows though the heavy clouds obstructed my view from central Nigeria until somewhere over Angola, at which point the sun was setting and I could only see the mountain tops bathed in the yellow light of the setting sun.

We landed in Cape Town and I was pleased to find that both my luggage and my bicycle made it through customs ahead of me, so none of the anxious waiting for the luggage conveyor to start up. I was picked up by a van and driven 30 minutes to Stellenbosch. The Ryndeveld Country Lodge is a swank little bed and breakfast, though I’m in the slightly less swank, though still pretty nice, Oude Ryndeveld Guesthouse next door. The proprietor wasn’t expecting me for another day and did a double take when he saw my bike box. He, it turns out, is a mountain biker and is training for the Cape Epic. We agreed to talk bikes in the morning and I headed to the room to get to sleep. Of course, tired though I was, sleep always comes slowly for me in hotels so I built the bike (everything in working order thankfully!) and set up the WiFi to check emails for a bit before finally drifting off around 1AM.

In the morning I lingered in bed until 9:30 before rousting myself for my first real meal in two days. During my “english breakfast” of toast, eggs, baked tomato, and bacon, Boris showed me the town map and pointed me in the direction of a local trail system that I could access from town. Thinking that I was probably still a bit shaky to start riding right away, I decided to set out on a stroll through town to get my bearings. The town was quiet since it is the dead of winter and tourists (and even locals) have all dispersed. The weather, too, was keeping people in doors, the sky was grey with the threat of rain and the temperature was hovering around 12 degrees C. Within a few minutes I came across my first bike shop and then my second, which made me feel at home. Apparently, had I arrived one day earlier I would have been able to do a XC race, which would have been fun, but completely against my hopes of recovery. I strolled down to the cutesy part of town, full of art shops and African folk art, that borders the University. In one shop I listened to the shop owner explaining the CITES conventions to a european customer who was interested in bringing a zebra skin home but concerned about getting stopped at customs. From there I stopped in for an espresso at an all too commercial coffee shop (I was already in the door and seated before I realized that this wasn’t the quiet cafe that I was looking for). From there I strolled around again until lunch and chose a quiet cafe advertising comfort food and sat down to a nice bowl of curry and a glass of local red wine. As I sat there the rain rolled in, a drizzle at first that built to a cold bracing shower by the time I’d paid my bill. I gritted my teeth and headed out into it for the three block walk home, pausing beneath each awning before sprinting to the next dry spot.

Back at the hotel I collapsed for a nap for an hour and a half, but when I awoke the rain had passed and I quickly suited up for a ride. I overdresesed for the weather, not knowing if I was going to get rained on again, or what I might encounter. I also brought two tubes, and a patch kit as the idea of getting stranded in a strange land was unappealing. I headed out to the spot Boris had described but couldn’t find any good access to the trails. I could see them in the hills above me but the trail heads all had signs forbidding bicycles. With a plan to feign ignorance I disregarded the signs and headed up. I puttered around on a set of dirt roads and occasional washed out double track wondering if these could indeed be the trails I’d been promised. Finally, after half an hour of stumbling around I came across another rider who pointed me in the right direction. Apparently I was heading up the descent and had missed the double track that would have taken me to the top at a grade amenable to singlespeed gearing. But once at the top of the climb I was treated to a nice technical side hill that led me to a collection of short singletrack trails that looped around on each other through Eucalyptus and Pine woodlots. A tore around those trails for a while taking each new turn cautiously so as not to get overcommitted on something that would drop me out in a part of town that I didn’t know. The trails were obviously set up by mountain bikers as there were the telltale banked turns and gold foil GU packets. Once I turned around I was able to ride a bit more confidently as I was no longer worried about getting lost and I got to enjoy the rocky descent that I’d had to walk up earlier. From there I continued to follow the well worn descent through the Eucalyptus on a set of well banked fast turns with built jumps that was obviously the way I was supposed to get up the hill. At the bottom I was dumped out in an athletic field at the University and peddled around a bit looking for the obvious access point to the trail system. After a while I was convinced that it didn’t exist and that getting on the trails probably neccesitated breaking a few rules, but none that I wasn’t prepared to break.

After I bit of relaxing at the hotel I headed out to check out the nighlife in Stellenbosch. Not that rowdy on a Sudnay night but I did manage to find a pub that served shepards pie and Guinness (Eva told me that fish and chips were the thing to have here but I was saving that for an occasion when I could pick the spot a little better). The bar was full of happy young South African singing along to a lone acoustic guitar singer whose moving rendition of “The Streets Have No Name” was shockingly similar to his equally stunning rendition of Coldplay’s “Yellow”.

Now off to bed. Real work tomorrow. More mountain biking to come.

Speedy

Rolling out to the speed ride yesterday I was still feeling the effort from Sunday.  The heat took a bunch out of me that day and I haven’t had much zip since.  On the way out Strauber came flying past me and I knew that at the very least I’d have one person to ride with.  At Whitehall and Nixon we were joined by a new guy, Paul, who said he was a triathlete, which didn’t bode well, but said his focus was on half and full ironman distances, which meant that he didn’t mess around.  After 10 minutes of bitching and moaning about nobody showing up Strauber said that he wanted to do Alexandria at tempo.  I winced at the idea of 60+ miles when I had no food and only water in my bottles, but couldn’t stomach the idea of riding alone.  Paul said he was in, so we headed off up Pine Grove.  After the turn at the bottom I dropped my chain as we shifted into the rolling ups and Paul reached out and gave me a push as I shifted the chain back in, at which point I knew he wasn’t going to be just another solo flier tri-guy, and the conversation over the remaining miles confirmed that my initial worries about the triathlete stereotype were unfounded. We rolled on and Strauber and I pushed the pace while Paul sat in.  Eventually he started pulling through but took short turns at the front.  It soon came out that he had just completed 3 hours before turning up for the speed ride so we cut him some slack.  We made a quick stop in Petersburg for some food as I was running on fumes.  Strauber fronted me $2 to load up on calories and a quick search of the wares led me to a pair of Mrs. Freshley’s fruit pies that packed an unbelievable 480 calories for 79 cents.  Off again quick we kept the pace high and rolled back through  Water Street, Spruce Creek, Camp K and Dry Hollow.  About Spruce Creek I started to feel the bonk and ripped into one of the aforementioned fruit pies, a move I have come to regret as the thing is still sitting in my stomach more than 24 hours later.  As we neared town the high sun told us that we’d made good time and we eased up off the blistering pace.  As we started chatting it came out that this was Paul’s third workout of the day, following an hour and a half in the pool and an interval workout on the track.  To our amazed faces he simply replied, “well, this is kind of what I do for a living”.

When I got home the clock read 8:15, which meant that we did the ride, 60ish miles, starting from Whitehall and Nixon in 2.5 hours. Today I was worked, by legs feeling empty even on the commute in to work.  Thankfully, I will have some forced recovery over the next few days.  I’ve just packed up the IF for the trip to South Africa.  I fly out tomorrow and will spend some 40 hours in transit to arrive late Saturday night in Cape Town.  Monday to Wednesday I will be in a conference, but Wednesday afternoon I will head to Dirtopia for a few days of riding in the Southern winter.  Pictures to follow!

Pupped

Recover, recover, recover.  Not an easy thing for me to do.  I spent Monday taking it easy after the pain of Sunday and today was planning on a casual trail ride with Sophie.  Alas, the weather had other plans for me and a thunderstorm rolled in as we were heading for the trail.  So we retreated to the safety of home and I went for a quick spin on the fixie after the storm.

    The big news for the day was that Nita got her new dog.  After a week of touch and go with the landlord going back on her word about the pet policy, things were finally straightened out and we picked Bo up in the morning and spent much of the day helping him get used to his new surroundings.

Perseverance

I finally managed to roust myself on Saturday for a little road spin in the afternoon, but spent much of the day in awe over how much time there is in a day when you’re not at work and not riding 5-plus hours. Now I see why people think I’m nuts!

My alarm went off on Sunday morning at 6:30 AM and I opened my eyes wondering if I’d actually slept at all. After a few seconds the reality that the sun was out indeed confirmed the passage of time, though my body and head were clearly questioning this state of affairs. Following Santi’s going away party (at which I was introduced to the liquid orgasm that is Centenario Tequila) I swung by the Brewery to catch Wilcox Hotel’s reunion show now that Jason is back from fieldwork in Mexico. When the bouncer turned me away because I’d forgotten my ID I should have just gone home, but foolishly I was swayed by the batted eyes of a beautiful woman and Nita talked me in to coming back. To make matters worse, after my return, Billy and the infamous Tina showed up and stymied my attempts to not drink further. So when my eyes opened at 6:30 I it felt like little more than a 4 hour blink.

I quickly decided not to get up and rolled over until 7. Then 7:30. I’d been debating all week whether or not to go to the MASS race in Neshaminy and had no luck in enlisting anyone else to travel down there with me. I really wanted to race as it was my last chance for a while, but I figured I was too tired to make the drive and the expense worth it. At 7:30 I’d decided that the cost would keep me from going, then at 7:45 I faltered and went to look at what I had sitting in the rent money pile. I decided that I would go and balled up the rest of the rent money and went to hide it in the bike fund box when I was surprised to find a stack of cash that I had successfully hidden from myself 3 months ago when I was building the IF. That solidified my decision, I couldn’t believe I was going to let something as petty and irresponsible as finance affect my racing decisions and I sprinted downstairs for a quick breakfast, a few tosses of the ball with Sophie and I was on the road at 8:30.

An hour into the drive I was wondering where I’d gotten that sudden burst of energy to take on this foolish endeavor.

I pulled into the race venue at 11:45 with a little more than an hour until my start. It was hot and there was no shade at the Highschool parking lot and practice fields that were the staging areas. The lots were packed with cars as racing had been going on since 9. As I headed over to register I ran into Kevin from Bean’s, who’d organized our MASS relay team on the Oesterling’s farm. He said I should be racing the elite class since they were paying 20 deep and I was virtually guaranteed a money finish. While I was standing there, Topher rolled up (and I got immediate facial hair envy) and seconded that registration advice. I’d been planning on just riding expert single speed and didn’t have too many high hopes though I was harboring the vague hope that all the spring base would play in my favor and I took the plunge and registered in the Elite Open, my highest class start ever.

After registration I headed back to the car and ran into Amy as she was getting ready for her start at 1 also. I told her I was here alone and she quickly offered to introduce me to the BikeLine folks, who agreed to feed me on the laps. I tried to roll around a bit to get warmed up, but it was so hot that I had to keep swinging by the car every 15 minutes to dump water on my head and keep my temperature down. With 5 to go I headed over to the staging area and managed to slot in at the back of field for the start. I was running a 34×19 and didn’t have much snap anyway, so I wasn’t expecting much on the opening prologue. The gun went off and the field took off, and I found myself dangling at the back as we took the hard left into the single track descent that started off the race. I was near the last bike in, right behind Topher, and I focused on holding his wheel through the opening trail. The course was really twisty with and opening section of ups and down. The trick to the course was running lowish pressure and really working the banked turns in to hold speed in the 120+ degree turns. I was running Rothrock pressure (years here just make me wince at running 35 lbs) and cornering is not my strength, so I struggled to maintain contact for the opening miles, but eventually the gap widened and found myself increasingly alone. The course twisted and turned on a slightly greasy surface that rode much like the local Tuesday night race course. After an eternity of hairpins and one slow, washed out grunt uphill I hit the one technical descent of the course. I knew there was someone behind me and I took at full speed finding the line with surprising ease, but thinking, after getting to the bottom with my bike still under me, that I would be a little more cautious on the next lap. From the course alternated between sidehills and tight twisties before hitting the one real rockgarden and heading up again. I started catching some of the racers that were still on course from the previous races, but had, by now, lost all contact with the other elite racers ahead and behind me. As I came back up to the top of the course I was certain that I was turning an abysmally slow lap and had my first thoughts of quitting. The course turned back down, through tight corners and rapid fire log and bridge features before throwing one more washed out power climb at me and heading back out onto the practice fields. I’d managed to ride the whole course so my gearing was good, but my legs felt horrible and I was feeling searing heat throughout my arms and torso which meant that I wasn’t thremoregulating well. As I came through the feed area I was sure that I was getting pitying looks from the crowd as I struggled to look forward hoping I would at least catch a glimpse of one of my competitors.

I grabbed water, poured it over my head, and headed back into the woods as the Redbull and Jagermeister that Billy bought me at midnight lingered at the back of my throat. I took the opening section fast and started thinking that I might actually be able to ride consistently enough to sweep up the field as they faltered in the heat, but as soon as the course turned up my chest started burning, reminding me that I have done almost no intensity training this year and have gotten way too used to riding with my heart rate at 120.

Halfway around the second lap I struggled to convince myself to keep riding through the feedzone and started worrying that at any point I was going to get lapped by the race leader. Heading into the third lap I grabbed an ice cold water bottle, and poured more on my head and managed to keep going. I was caught by a fast sport rider (who knows where he came from) as we hit the woods and let him pass me after the initial climb so that I could follow his line through the twisties and hopefully keep my speed up. The third lap was all mental and I kept telling myself over and over again “You’ve got 500+ miles in the last week” and “You’ve never dropped from a race”.

When I hadn’t been lapped by the start of the 4th lap I figured I would at least walk away with my dignity and headed into the woods for one last round of pain. Mike Yozell caught me at the top of the opening rise and I rode his wheel a little bit before he walked away from me. Soon thereafter I was caught and passed by Tim Dickson, the expert single speed leader (the race I’d planned on!), but wasn’t getting passed by any expert racers and so figured that I wasn’t blowing up completely.

Finally, the course opened up onto the grass again and I dug in for the ride across the line. As I spun around looking for water I was quickly struck by how few people were around, the parking lot was nearly empty and many of the spectators had taken off. Apparently the heat had taken its toll on everyone and many people had abandoned after only one lap and left rather than sit out in the sun. I rolled back over the the Bikeline cooler where I was handed an ice cold water bottle which I drained mostly in my mouth, but partially down my chest. I must have looked as bad as I felt and I was quickly handed a refill which ended up mostly on me rather than in me. Those guys informed me that finishing was the key to the day as, indeed, most folks didn’t make it around because of the heat.

After a quick change and pseudo-shower at the car I went to see the results, which were being posted with amazing speed and saw that I finished 16th in my field, which put me in the money. That was a nice surprise, but I was mostly pleased to see that I was only 20 minutes off the race leader and 15 minutes off the Topher, the top singlespeeder and 5th overall, and 6 minutes behind Rob Lichtenwalner. Normally, I’d have liked to be closer than that, but after how bad I’d felt all day, and with no training for events like this I was reasonably pleased to have fared so well.

Other notable results were Mike Yozell and Mike Hebe, who won their respective master’s classes.

The did the awards relatively quickly and I managed to take home $55, which meant that I really only paid $45 (gas, tolls, and registration) for this painful experience. And in retrospect, that seems about fair. The course was great, unlike anything I’ve raced before and a real challenge to my weaknesses, so I feel like I probably came away a better rider for it. Big thanks to Amy, Dan, and the Bikeline crew for the water and cheering me on, without that cold bottle on lap 3 I probably would have dropped. And big thanks to Kevin and Topher for convincing me to race the elite race; a second place finish in the singlespeed race might have felt good and I’d have gotten to stand on the podium and get one of the pilates mats off the swag table (surprisingly little bike related swag!), but one of the things that kept me going around that course was that, despite the fact that I was getting my ass handed to me, I was getting my ass handed to me by the best in the business, and so I could hold my head high and maintain my little fantasy of being a bike racer.

Motivation

Motivation has been at a low all week. The completion of the 600 meant that for the most part I have made my major goal for the year. Funny though that may sound, qualifying has always seemed like the more challenging task than actually riding PBP. And because of the changes to the qualifying schedule and conflicts with work travel I’ve had to eliminate some of my other goals for this year. No 100 milers except for the the Wilderness 101, no Tour de Burg, no Fitchburg.

So now I’ve just been taking it easy. I recovered well this week and did my first ride on Tuesday with Sophie out on the ridge. It was nice to go on a leisurely mountain bike ride and I was surprised at how well my legs felt. Wednesday, rather than face disappointment of the speed ride I went for a little spin on the fixie, an yesterday Sophie and I went out for another run at the ridge (including, Laurel Run Rd, Old Laurel Run Trail, and Longberger).

Today is the first Saturday that I haven’t gotten up wit a specific ride plan in a long time.  The day’s not over, maybe I’ll still find my way onto the bike.

600K Day 3

Sunday began with the alarms blaring at 5 AM, though most of us had been off and on since 4. We moved quick to get the chammies lubed up and get out the door. When we arrived at the guest house, we were greeted by the folks that had come in late on Saturday and were making a hasty morning of it. These guys had all come in past midnight and were scrambling to get a 5:30 start. Several had already taken off! Once we got there though, we dominated the room and the volume cranked up a bit. These brevet folks didn’t really know what to do with us and largely ignored us while they wolfed down the last few bites of their breakfasts and headed off.

Breakfast as pretty much whatever was leftover from the night before, but a couple of slices of quiche with swiss cheese, sandwiched in between two toaster waffles made for a hearty start to the day. After a disappointing reheated cup of coffee we were off on the road again: first to arrive, last to leave.

Richie had promised us a coffee shop in Lake Placid, 10 miles away, so we set off at a brisk pace. The temperature was crisp, hovering around 50 degrees, but the sun was out and the sky was crystal blue. We rode a gradual uphill along the Au Sable River all the way to Placid. This was one of the prettiest streams I’ve seen on the east coast, and the scenery and temperature had us all in good spirits and riding strong. We caught and passed the breakfast bunch before we hit Placid but assured them that we would be in the rear again after stopping for coffee.

As we came into Lake Placid the Olympic ski jumps loomed over our heads and we saw an increasing number of people out running and riding tri-bikes. As we got into town we realized that the Tin Man half marathon was staging and the roads were getting clogged with runners warming up. Not to be deterred by the commotion, we rode off course, up hill (much to Mikey’s chagrin) into town to find a coffee shop that served espresso. We sat down for a quick espresso in the sunshine and enjoyed the scenery as hundreds of runners headed for the staging area for the race. Properly caffeinated, we rolled out as a group but were quickly split up as AccuJoe and Billy lagged behind. Billy had managed to lose his brevet card (the necessary currency by which one actually qualifies for PBP), money, and credit card somewhere after the coffee and before we got out of town. Thankfully, disaster was averted and we headed out of town as a group along 73. The road turned up and Mikey started to dangle off the back feeling the fatigue from the day before. When we stopped to unload our coffee, half way up the climb, Mikey rode on to get a jump on it. We regrouped at the top and were greeted by the first of many signs warning of a long descent. The road rolled down, and down, and down some more. This gave everyone time to get some more food in them and was just plain fun and rejuvenating. By the time we hit the bottom and the long set of flats down to Schroon Lake, Mikey had found his legs from Saturday morning and was back riding consistently at pace for the first time in 150 miles.

From there onwards we rode about 70 miles of rollers as we slowly worked our way out of the lakes district and back into civilization. It was the last day of Americade and most of the hogs were now coming at us instead of from behind us, which was much less startling.

Pulling into the control in the tourist town of Schroon Lake we had our only real run in with a vehicle of the whole brevet series. We were riding two abreast in the shoulder as we came into town, and Billy, in the leftmost lead position was buzzed by a pickup truck closer than I’ve ever seen without contact. He took off after the truck and we all sprinted up to offer backup. We surrounded the truck and let Billy unleash a verbal assault while the locals on they Sunday morning stroll gasped in horror. As we came into town, the truck pulled into a parking spot but we opted to ride on rather that pick a fight in our state. We had to stop at a control not more than two blocks away, but thankfully the truck’s driver saw fit to stay put and not come looking for more.

From there we headed off through our last real climb of the ride on the way out of Schroon Lake and then into a set of king sized rollers that dumped us out into Chesterton. There we saw the beginnings of the Americade craziness as the town, only 30 miles from the Americade site in Lake George, was lined with chrome and leather and the streets clogged with motorcycles. The temperature was hitting +80 degrees and we could actually smell all the leather in the air.

Out of the control we rode from the frying pan, into the fire as the route took us right down the main drag in Lake George and then along a busy road lined with strip malls. The noise of the bikes was deafening and the riding was tense with traffic until we made it to Glenn’s Falls.

In South Glenn’s Falls we managed to miss a turn and ride 5-6 miles out of our way before figuring out where we should have been. Mikey and I hung back with the directions, while the others rode ahead and I ultimately had to do a little time trial to reel them in once we figured out what had gone wrong. After a stop in the gas station, we figured out how to get back on course and were on our way until Joe managed to break his chain jumping too hard at a red light. With the chain fixed we rolled on, this time a little more cautious than before, and everyone feeling a bit stressed and eager to get to the finish after 360+ miles.

Thankfully, the last 15 miles took us through some pretty rolling farm country that made up for the miserable commercial stretch through Lake George and Glenn’s Falls. We rolled into the finish at about 3:30 and would have been the first in had we not been passed during out little detour.

We got signed in and ate some of the pasta that John and his wife had made for us all while we started to pack up the truck for the ride home. John was nice enough let us all shower at his house and we all queued up in the order we arrived. I was out loading stuff up for the truck while Mikey, Billy, and Steve hit the shower. In that time a few more riders came in including the bunch we’d seen at breakfast. I realized I’d better assert my place in the shower line and I went inside to find Richie talking to one of the new arrivals on the stairs up to the bathroom. When Joe came out, the guy pushed his way in saying “I’ll be out in 5 minutes”. He’d pimped us on the shower! Richie and I stood there in disbelief and contemplated dragging his wet, naked ass out to the yard for a little lesson in etiquette. Ultimately we decided that we were the strangers in this bizarre culture of every man for himself riding. These guys might roll within sight of each other for 12 hours in a day, but if you get a flat, or need to stop for a piss, they’ll happily leave you behind. Once we were clean we beat a hasty retreat back to the truck for a little bit of group celebration.  From there we piled in and headed to Saratoga Springs for dinner an, FINALLY, a well earned cup of espresso at Uncommon Grounds.

So that’s it.  We’re all qualified.  Now comes the hardest part, organizing the trip, getting everyone registered, getting the bikes and gear over there, and keeping motivated for the 67 days that remain until the start of PBP.

600K Day 2

Saturday followed quick on the heels of Friday. Three hours after I’d drifted off to sleep I was awoken by several alarm clocks and bright lights. We hurried to get everything packed up and into the truck so that we could make the 1 mile ride down to the brevet organizer’s house for registration. At the house we were shocked to be among the first to arrive, rolling in at 3:40. We got signed in and availed ourselves of bagels and cream cheese ahead of the start. Several other riders came in as we waited on the lawn for the start. Among them was a guy on a handcycle that had arms like tree trunks and a dude on a BikeFriday folding bike. Ultimately there were 15 of us at the start. The pre-ride meeting was pretty lax and we got rolling a little after 4AM.

The rollout took us out a couple of blocks and then a left turn up a shocking wall climb that was a bit much for that hour. For the most part the group held together and we hit a 10 mile rolling section towards Saratoga Springs as one. The six of us led the charge with the rest of the bunch sitting in. At the first stoplight, crossing a medium-sized county road with no traffic at 4:30, we were scolded by one of the older members of the bunch for rolling through at which point we began to worry about any efforts to hold this train together. We were still all together as we hit Saratoga and slowed down a little as we passed Uncommon Grounds, lamenting their lazy staff who couldn’t roust themselves from their slumber to open the shop before 5. As we turned out of town we hit the first of a set of long stretches: 30 miles until the next control, no turns. As we hit the opening set of rollers in the gathering dawn we dropped the riders behind us. Dropped may not be an entirely appropriate word as they seem to have selectively held behind. After we stopped for a nature call they all hung back and paused themselves 50 meters behind until we rolled on; I suppose we can be a bit much to handle. Richie and Mikey led the early charge in the morning and pulled for the first 15 miles before handing off to me and AccuJoe who took up the charge most of the way into the first control.

When we hit the first control we made good on our promise to limit stops and got rolling again within 14 minutes (Mikey was our timer); just as the rear bunch was catching up. We headed out and turned north on Rt 30 which would be our course for the next 70+ miles. This took us up a long gradual climb into the Adirondack State Park. It was rarely a grueling climb, but always up and never a restful coast. As we slowly pushed uphill the population density dropped from sparse to really sparse and the interval between homes and services increased. Also as we climbed, the sun slowly started peaking through the clouds as the massive storm front that had cut a swath through the eastern US the day before made its way out to sea. We hit the top of the course, 2500 feet above where we started just as the clouds began to fade away and the landscape gave way to a collection of rolling hills separating spectacular mountain lakes . Not long after we were into this idyllic setting I managed to hit a piece of large gravel and flat my rear tire, so we paused by a lovely cobbled stream and soaked in the warming sun as I made my change.

The course rolled and rolled for the next 60 miles, occasionally giving us a strong 300 foot kick in the mouth. At mile 103 we pulled into the next control at Indian Lake around 11 AM. We’d known about the big Americade motorcycle rally but this was the first time we really crossed paths with the riders. The parking lot of the Stewarts was packed with big touring motorcycles, most with aftermarket exhausts that roared like a construction site. We got some funny looks, but the crowd was generally nice to us and we managed to take some reciprocal photos, though I was so afraid of knocking over one of those chrome and steel beasts that I couldn’t do much better than just stand cautiously beside one for my shot. We struggled to keep this stop down to 20 minutes, but managed to keep it to 22, which meant we were still on target given our speedy stop at the first control.

From there onwards to the next control 50 miles away in Tupper Lake through the same rolling lake country. The rollers got a little bigger and there were a couple of big kickers that started to break the group up a bit. Mikey started dragging through the ups complaining of low energy that eating didn’t seem to help. Most of the little lake towns we went through were quaint and full of ticky-tacky and souvenir shops. The folks we saw were cheerful and supportive and once a woman commented that we were much more pleasant than the thousands of roaring hogs that were disturbing the peace all weekend. Tupper Lake was a bit larger than most of the places we’d been through and appeared to be entirely under construction so the roads were torn up and the shoulders, which up to this point had been wide enough to ride 2 abreast, were non-existent. We tried to make quick time at the control because, as with all the towns so far, there was no coffee shop and we were in desperate need of espresso. I’d seen that there was a shop 20 miles further in Saranac Lake and we made the push onward in search of the dark mother.

On the way out Mikey was still struggling a bit and we stretched out over the rollers. Steve got a rear flat and we all took the opportunity to get a little extra rest while he made the repair. From there we rolled easy onward to Saranac Lake, and when we pulled in we saw the telltale signs of an enlightened town: younger folks, outdoors shops, a college. This place had to have coffee. After a couple of inquiries we were directed to an empty storefront that had a sign indicating the black nectar, but appeared to be closed while they changed names and management. Dejected and at our lowest point of the ride we pushed onward. We were 15 or 20 miles from the end of the high lakes region and what would be a 40 mile rolling descent into Plattsburgh. The mood was somber and the sun heated the pavement to its peak for the day. At Bloomingdale we had our last opportunity for services before Plattsburgh and we made a stop at a general store for water. Spirits were stressed and, this being NY, I was able to make the necessary adjustments to raise everyone’s spirits: a big can of Labatts! (thanks to Elk and Yozell for setting the tradition of a beer break on every brevet)

A quick rise out of Bloomingdale and we started into the descent to Lake Champlain. Mikey took the roll down easy, but the rest of us couldn’t resist opening up the legs a bit on some the long flats and, buoyed by a little liquid gold, we managed to take a few fast turns through the pace line and jump a few town line sprints. We regrouped for the last 15 miles into Plattsburgh which rolled through semi-rural suburbs and some nice smooth descents. The time was getting on towards 7 and the setting sun started to cool the day off and freshen the legs. The approach into Plattsburgh took us through a long section of strip malls and we made a pause for coffee at a Starbucks before rolling through town to the control on South side.

At the control a woman came in to get a case of beer who was pouring out of her tight v-neck t-shirt. All a little stunned (and a bit relieved that 210 miles in the saddle hadn’t stopped all blood flow), she called out to us as she was getting back into her car that we should come for a cool down to Diamond Dolls, the strip club down the road where she worked, “Ask for Angel”, she told us. Admittedly, as we rolled out, a stop for a drink and distraction was tempting , but the state of the place was not ideal and we pushed onwards along the lake shore.

We rolled through miles of flats and light rollers along the shore of Lake Champlain before the course turned us back inland heading up towards Lake Placid.  We managed a fair way before the the dark settled in and we had to turn our lights on.  As we got closer to the mountains, the rollers got bigger and the backside descents got smaller.  With 5 miles to go we turned up a big wall climb and dropped over into Wilmington at the base of Whiteface mountain.  With 1 mile to go we made a quick pause for a celebratory 6-pack and rolled on to our motel for the night around 10:20.  The organizers had set up a guest house and some food and we made a quick dinner of it before retiring quietly for the night, packed into our own room so we wouldn’t be disturbed by the riders coming in behind us.

The total on the day was 256 miles, 400k down 200k to go.

600K Day 1

The plan for Friday was to start packing up at 1:30 and hopefully hit the road at 2 to make it to Saratoga Springs in time for coffee and dinner. After running around to handle the last few details I lay down on the couch with Sophie for a quick nap, knowing the boys would be running late. I never really got to sleep, but at 3:15 I started to worry, thinking Steve’s condition had deteriorated. A few minutes thought told me that I’d have gotten a call about that and I decided to move my gear to the curb and enjoy and ice cold Lionshead while I waited on the lawn. About 3:25 the boys arrived and we were up and rolling at 3:30.

As we left the weather was skirting 90 degrees with thick humidity and a fierce storm front tearing across western PA. Anxious about what that meant for the prospects of a dry ride we spent the first 50 miles trying to get moving radar running on AccuJoe and Billy’s phones. We took the back roads up trying to avoid the traffic and construction on 80. Despite our attempts to push the pace, we found ourselves coming in to Albany around 9, too late for coffee and wondering what we would do for dinner. We called Richie Rich and he was just putting the finishing touches on a tray of spaghetti with vodka sauce and chicken for us. He met us at a rest stop outside of Albany and we enjoyed a team meal on paper plates in a service area peopled only by fast food employees on break.

Back on the road, and now in the luxurious front seat of Richie’s F150, we headed north to Schuylerville. At about 10 we pulled into the Dovegate Inn. We were the only guests and had the run of the place but somehow the proprietor felt that we should stick to the room we’d rented rather than spreading out among the other bedrooms (without paying extra that is). We sprawled our gear across the lawn and porch setting up for the ever approaching morning. Billy still was working on assembling his new Moots and still needed to get his rack on. The rest of us concerned ourselves with packing up as much food as we could. AccuJoe had purchased 20 frozen burritos that would make up the bulk of our calories over the next day.

Once the bikes were packed up we retired to our room for a restful 3 hours of sleep. I managed to fall asleep quick though was several times awoken by El Cacapon trying to spoon me.

Bonafide

We all made it!  390 miles (yes, thats 628K, we got a little off track).  Now the challenge of organizing (and paying for) the trip to Europe begins.  For now I’m going to sit back and let the legs rebuild for a while.

The ride report is coming in installments.

Better living through chemistry

El Cacapon called in with a diagnosis of bronchitis yesterday that threw the brevet planning into a downward spiral.  Could we make the Massachusetts 600 next weekend? the one in Ohio in July?  Florida and Alabama (gasp) on Bastille day?

After careful consideration and consultation of a physician and a pharmacist, the decision has been made to ignore the advice of the medically trained and go anyway.  Thankfully, Phredd the Pharmacist is about as foolhardy as EC and advised that 2 days of antibiotics should be plenty to keep the nasty buggers at bay long enough to pound out a quick 600.   And this way, he’ll have two full months to recover before Paris.

If the pros can do it drugged, then so can we!