Paris: Day 2

Up after 12 hours of fitful sleep I joined the boys on the street at the market just outside the apartment.  It was abuzz with people buying produce, fish, meat, textiles, and trinkets.  After coffee, Steve and I went to the market to picky up lunch while Billy and Joe sought out the magical skin cream that Billy had found 8 years before on his first PBP.  Back at the apartment we each had a quick panne au chocolate and then laid out a spread of jambalaya, chicken, potatoes, and wine (the latter a recurring theme).
After lunch we loaded up and headed to the metro to get out to the Saint Quentin en Yvelines for the check in and bike inspection.  We had to ride almost to the Eiffel Tower on the other end of town in intermittent rain and were all slightly soggy by the time we loaded onto our train.  As soon as we were out of the station in Saint Quentin we started seeing bikes everywhere and the chaos began in earnest as we approached the start.
The bike inspection was cancelled because of the rain, but we were able to pick up our packets and numbers.  The area was a mess with bikes of all colors and sizes.  Singles, tandems, recumbents; race bikes, touring bikes; bikes with full panniers and racks, bikes with little more than a spare tube in a saddle bag.
We scoped out the lay of the town for tomorrow and headed back to Paris around 5.  Back in town we struggled to make decisions about food as we were all fading with hunger.  We finally settled on a café near the Sorbonne where Steve and I were treated to fabulous tripe sausages.  From there we headed back to the Latin Quarter for crepes.  I opted for the relatively light “sucre et citron”, while Steve and Billy stepped it up a notch with Nutella and chocolate (respectively), bananas, and whipped cream.
Back at the apartment we’ve spent the night organizing and packing the bikes.  We leave from here tomorrow as though the ride has started and only take with us that which will come on the bike or go in the drop bag.  Its all packed, a spot check in the morning, a few last minute items at the store, and we’re off!  For now, sleep.

Paris: Arrival

I’ll add pictures when I have time.

An impromptu lunch meeting on Friday had me running a little late to get the last minute packing done: a quick trip to TJ Maxx for a cheap towel, BestBuy for a voltage adapter, and the grocery store for toiletries and food for Nita while she watches Sophie.  At 3 we loaded into the Jeep and headed out to the airport.  We got there with plenty of time, but the people ahead of me were baffled by the self check-in and set us back a bit.  The girl manning the checkout counter looked at the bike case and reckoned it weighed less than it looked, gave it a quick lift and proclaimed it fit to load without charge. Unfortunately, she came running over to get me just as I was checking through security and told me that I would have to be charged.  I cringed at the thought as I knew the bag was heavy.  It weighed in at 83 lbs but she let me through with only a $25 charge.  As I boarded I watched a burly guy at the back of the plane heft it up and I was off.
I sat in the back row and in Detroit we could hear the luggage handlers hollering in the bay as they unloaded.  They were hooting it up about how everything had been tossed around in flight.  After everything else was out we heard one yell, “Wait, I got one here in the back!”, and my case came sailing out the luggage bay and crashing down on the truck below as the “handlers” jumped out of its way.  Thankfully I got this second hand from the woman sitting at the window, as I may have not survived seeing it.
For the flight to Paris I sat next to a young woman named Sandrine whose voice dropped in disappointment when she asked if I was French.  She was returning from a month in Durango, her first trip to the US and her first experience with English.  Her English was surprisingly good after only a month, but a month of struggling to keep up with the conversation had left her tired and she was eager to get back to the simplicity of her native tongue.  She was greatly intrigued by my tale of two bikes in the cargo bay and waited with me in the baggage area to see the case.  It was a long, and nervous, wait, but I was reassured that all the other PBP riders on the plane were also waiting anxiously for the same precious cargo.  Mine was the first to arrive, and looked OK on quick inspection and we were off.  Sandrine and I were heading to the same part of Paris so we headed to the train together.  She was gracious enough to buy my ticket into town and headed to the tracks.  The first hurdle was getting the case through the turnstyle and I had to heft it over, and then down the stairs.  The latter required running the first bags down, leaving them, and returning for the bikes (note this).   We boarded along with another PBP rider from Seattle and breathed and sat back in our seats for the ride into Paris.  Within minutes there was an announcement (that I would otherwise not have noted) to which Sandrine exclaimed “Shit!”.  There was a bomb scare due to unattended baggage (recall my ferrying issue with the bikes and the stairs?) and they were shutting down the station.  I have no idea if it had anything to do with me, but we all had to leave, go up an escalator, up another, up another, down an elevator and into another airport shuttle train to the next RER station.  From there we had to maneuver more stairs and escalators and came to another set of entry turnstyles.  Of course, our tickets were no longer good.  Rather than buy new ones, we hopped in behind other passengers (no small feat with a double bike box) and snuck in for free.  Finally on the RER we headed in Paris and changed at Chatalet station, which entailed more stairs, more escalators, and a long set of moving walks.  The case was a great hit with the other passengers and drew non-stop looks of surprise and occasional outbursts of laughter.  Sandrine got off a few stops before me with a promise that we would try to get a drink later in the day before her train to Dijon, but the looks of exhaustion on our faces indicated otherwise.
Back above ground I found myself on the Avenue D’Italie.  Texts back and forth with Joe indicated that Billy would meet me but he was nowhere to be found and I headed up the apartment on my own.  Getting the case and bags and me in the tiny Parisian style elevator to the 11th floor was a bit of a feat but I emptied out in front of the apartment hoping to find someone home and was disappointed.  Joe and Steve texted that Billy should have been there long ago and they were on their way.  I proceeded to unpack the box and started building my bike, which went relatively smoothly except for the automatic light switch in the hallway that shut off every 3 minutes.  In transit from the airport, up and down stairs and escalators, I had managed to knock the brevet bike out of the fork mount, but it assembled well and seemed to roll true.  Just as I was finishing up, Billy arrived in his Moots skinsuit after a 2 hour detour through the streets of Paris.  As I mounted my new tires and did the more finicky tuning, Billy headed downstairs for wine and baguettes which finally made me feel like I was in Paris.  Joe and Steve followed soon after and we were able to toast the official start of the assault on PBP.
Once the bikes were together we headed out so that I could check the build.  We rode from the 13th to the Latin Quarter for a coffee and then a beer.  Fortified we headed to the Seine then across to the Academie de Music, then out to the Champs Elysee at the Arc de Triumph.  We took a couple of laps at pace in traffic, then headed straight down the Champs on the tour route.  At the far end we regrouped and picked a direction for dinner.  After a bit of winding through the backstreets on the right bank we ended up at a fabulous and cheap falafel stand for dinner and headed back to the apartment as night fell.

outta here

Leaving for the plane.  2 bikes, 1 box.  My stuff plus water bottles and tires that the boys left behind, and a rain jacket for Billy.

Next post from Paris, baby!

Bonafide

Just as I was leaving the house for a calming spin on the fixie yesterday I got the call. Nita got hit by a car on her commute home. She’s fine: a minor bump on the ass, a little soreness today. The bike needs a new front wheel, the rear needs some work too. But otherwise, she escaped any real harm. The collision happened on campus, at one of those ambiguous transition zones between road and bike path where we cross from vehicle to pedestrian. Basically, the woman that hit her wasn’t looking and didn’t see her. She did stop, and gave her name (Nita got her license plate number as well), but did not give up her insurance information and apparently got a little indignant when asked, replying that “In Pennsylvania, bikes are considered vehicles and you need to obey the law” (which, of course, Nita had been doing). We’ll see how this ends up, hopefully it will simply conclude with the exchange of a little cash to cover the new wheel(s) and be done. Oddly, when Nita called the police (and was redirected to the campus police) to make an accident report in case there was an insurance claim, they said they would contact the driver. Hopefully that won’t annoy her into failing to cooperate amicably. But, when Nita hops on her other bike to get into work today, she will join the ranks of jaded bike commuters who can tell war stories about when they got hit. Color me proud!

Back at home I started packing in earnest. The bikes took longer than I had hoped and I was still in the garage at 12:30 playing with different configurations in the box. I think I have one I am happy with, but I need to pick up some more zip ties to feel really satisfied with the state of affairs. It weighed out at 75 lbs, which is heavy by airline standards, but not bad considering that there are 2 bikes in there. I did take out the tires, one chain, and the skewers to keep the weight down. Now I have to see if I can manage to get everything else packed in maneuverable luggage!

The official PBP site is running near full capacity and now includes interactive maps of the route, and a site that should host video of the event (including the start and finish). There is also rider tracking that should report our position during the ride (there are also instructions to get it via phone or text, but that seems a bit much). Our plate numbers are: Me 6614, Joe 6615, Billy 6596, Steve 6595; for those of you who want to follow along. With any luck, one of those numbers will be good enough to track all of us, but any drama along the route will be immediately apparent if a gap forms.

I also checked the weather. It looks to be improving, but there is still some rain forecast along the route: here’s the outlook for Paris and for Brest.

departed

The boys made it off yesterday (barely).  The plan was to meet Billy and Joe at Joe’s apartment, load the van, pick up Steve’s bike and caravan to the airport with Cecilia and the kids for a 2:10 departure.  A well laid plan, though our timing was questionable.  I got to Joe’s at 12:30.  We loaded the van and called Steve, who said he was just starting to pack.  On the way out the door we met up with Richie, back in town from Cali and looking a bit hangdog that he wasn’t joining us on the trip.  We arrived at Steve’s at 12:45 and were greeted by Cecilia and Benicio in the yard.  Joe poured a few glasses of parting champagne and we found Steve’s bike in the basement.  Richie and I quickly dug out his fenders from a pile nearby and shoved them in the box to stave off the rain that would inevitably have plagued our ride had they been left stateside.  We sipped champagne, and sipped some more before I finally went inside to see if Steve was planning on joining us: I found him upstairs in a towel.  As I coaxed Bella out to the car Steve came running out to the yard, still in his towel, to assure the boys that he was coming and then re-emerged within minutes, fully clothed and carrying his luggage.

We took a circuitous route to the airport due to all the construction downtown and on campus, but pulled into the terminal with 45 minutes to spare before takeoff.  Billy breezed through the line, while Steve and Joe got hung up as their more conscientious agents scrutinized their bike boxes and levied additional weight fees. As I was hopping back in the van to head out, Joe came running out with Billy’s locks from his box.  Apparently, he’d not managed to sneak his 80 lb box through the baggage handlers and it was back out on the floor and Bill was frantically trying to lighten the load.  He got it down to 70 lbs (mostly box) and checked an additional bag and the boys were off.  No word yet, which I assume means that they made it to Paris and are enjoying the sights and the wine today.

My workday never quite recovered from the afternoon excursion to the airport.  At 5:30 Richie and I went out for a quick spin in Scotia.  I felt bad not taking Sophie, but it was much more fun to just blast through the trails without having to hold up while she chased chipmunks.  Afterwards, Richie, Nita and I dined at Faccia Luna bringing the day to a close.  Some lessons learned from watching the boys battle the ticket agents.  With any luck I’ll manage to put them to use on Friday when I head out.

back

Back from Cali on Friday.  The travel/recovery on Monday was among my more unpleasant experiences.  I got a short hour on the fixie in the evening rain on Sunday following the 101, but that was hardly enough to get my muscles stretched out for the 13 hour epic to San Jose. My muscles slowly constricted as I sat on the 3 cramped flights and by the time I got off the plane in San Jose I was walking like an 80 year old man.  Thankfully, my conference accommodations were pretty posh and I was able to take full advantage of the marble bathroom to soak and stretch over the next few days.  Even so I had just barely shaken it off before I had to get back on the flying sardine can on Friday.

This weekend was about getting the legs stretched back out and getting a last few miles on.  Four hours each on Saturday and Sunday got me feeling pretty good again, though I’ve been struggling with the heat to stay hydrated.  I have to drink so much water during the day that I actually have come to dislike the the taste (does water even have a taste?) and I’ve taken to adding embellishments (yes, beer counts as an embellishment) to make it go down easier.

El Cacapon, Billy, and AccuJoe are packed up and leave tomorrow afternoon for Paris. An extended network of friends have stepped up to provide us with some pretty sweet lodging in Paris.  I’ll be following of Friday and probably carrying along everything they’ve forgotten to pack.

As of Saturday night we were down to 4.  Mikey’s been feeling his form slipping since the 600 and hasn’t been able to do the long miles for a while.  He made a valiant effort to fight through it, but may ultimately have to concede.  The ticket’s not canceled yet though, so there is hope for a mid-week rally.

Yesterday also kicked off the Trans-Rockies Challenge and saw Chipper and Leech move into 8th position in the open men’s category (14:36 back) after the first stage.  That puts them in the top American spot and well within striking range of the podium at the end of the week.  Keep it up boys!!

House of Pain

My alarm went off at 4 AM and I rolled over for another 20 minutes wondering what I possibly could have thought would take up an hour’s worth of time before leaving.  When I started to hear Richie stirring downstairs (he made it in late on Friday) I rousted myself from bed and headed downstairs to make coffee and breakfast.  Neither of us was awake enough for conversation, so Richie left at 4:40, with only a handful of words between us, to start rounding up Billy and Chipper. I pulled deep on my double espresso and contemplated my eggs as I waited for AccuJoe to come and pick me up at 5.  I ran through the mental checklist in order of importance: bike, shoes, helmet, kit, tubes, food.

Joe showed up on time and we loaded the truck.  When I climbed into the cab Kenny and Joe’s friend Mike were already in.  We made our way out to Coburn and pulled into the park while it was still dark.  Mumble’s was borrowing Joe’s truck for the day, so we go a prime parking spot right next to the starting area and proceeded to unload.  I spent the first half hour cruising the park, catching up with familiar faces and scoping out the competition.  From the looks of it, it was going to be a stiff field. On the local end of things: Strauber, Chipper, Jacob, Billy, and Joe.  Representing points east: Wes, Gunner, Yozell, Topher, Harlan.  And from further afield: Jeremiah Bishop, Tinker Juarez, Dejay Birch, Tim Daugherty, Greg the Leg, Skip Brown.  Conspicuously absent this year was defending champion and course record holder, Chris Eatough.  Apparently, Chris wasn’t fully recovered from winning 24 hour nationals last weekend, I suppose we can forgive him for that.

As 7 approached I suited up and made my way into the fray for the start.  As I lined up I saw Tinker a few bikes over.  I’m not usually one to get all caught up in stargazing, but it was pretty cool to be lining up along side one of the great names in the sport.  Tomi Miller pulled up along side me on his fixie.  He’d brought his geared bike, but decided last minute to go hard man and said he was planning to make a run at the hole shot when we pulled out of Coburn to see what kind of idiots he could draw out.

After a few inspirational words from Mumbles we were off.  Everyone kept pretty much to the planned neutral rollout as we hit the asphalt out of Coburn but there were plenty who were feeling twitchy and getting nervous and guys moved up on the left to get good position when we hit the hill.  Soon after we hit the rollout I bumped into Trish Stevenson, back on the bike and looking good following her recovery after breaking her back on a fun ride the day after winning Tran-Rockies last year.  When the course turned left up the first climb, the race started in earnest.  The pace wasn’t outrageous, but it definitely lifted and I worked my way to the front group, taking notice of those around me.  The opening climb is usually all about trash talking and the local boys and the Philly crowd set the tone.  We came across the top of the climb in as a complete group and I started spinning like wild across the top trying to hold on through the first descent and into the flats out to 322.  It was work, and I drifted back and forth between groups of geared riders, holding the draft as long as I could and then spinning like mad.  Things broke up a little, but we all came back together before we hit the tunnel to cross 322 together.  Once on Crowfield Rd. we dispensed with the chitchat and the pace lifted.  Harlan and Jeremiah stopped for a nature call and someone at the front attacked and that set the tone all the way into Aid 1.  The pace was blistering, Wes and I hung towards the back of the pack, spinning ourselves silly just on the edge of what our legs would allow.  As we approached the last descent into Aid 1, Wes and I pulled up and coasted into the climb, each grabbing a water bottle as we came through.  At the front, it had been the usual circus, 10 guys fighting for the hole shot onto Thickhead.  But experience told me that once the initial fight was over, there would be lead break (with the likes of Jeremiah, Harlan, Tinker, Brandon) and everyone else would slow on the climb.  Wes and I rode together through the field, picking off riders one by one and came across the top with Strauber and Richie in tow.  When we turned down Detweiler, Straub and Richie put their derailleurs to good use and I kept Wes just in my sights on the descent.  He managed to stay just out of reach through the climb and descent to Bear Meadows, but we hit Lonberger as a group of about 6.  Wes got the hole shot into the woods and managed to ride out of sight as I rode behind a bunch of 3 that was just barely slower than I would have liked, but not so slow that I could have realistically come around.

As we turned up towards three bridges I saw the first casualty as Chipper stood hunched over pumping up his tire.  I came into 3 bridges with The Leg leading the bunch and 2 geared riders behind him.  The Leg dismounted and ran at the first bridge and, fearing the same from the guys behind I started hollering to let them know that I intended to ride through.  I didn’t see many faces, but I heard familiar voices all around me urging me to ride through.  Approaching the rocks the riders ahead hesitated searching for the line and I held up, knowing I’d need momentum to carry through.  Nearly in a track stand, I hollered again as the lead rider fell and the guy behind him bobbled.  They both snarled at me as I approached but had just barely managed to get up and running by the time I hit the rocks, to the cheers of the local spectators.  On the other side, as we started the climb I rolled up to the guys who’d fallen and apologized for my impatience, but, I explained, “I’m a local, and if I’d not cleared those rocks I’d be hearing about it all year long!”.  I received begrudging understanding and we headed up the climb.  Wes was in my sights, but not for long as he hit the descent with a full complement of geared riders and they were off like a shot when it turned down and I had to roll the descent alone.  I hit the bottom alone, and knew that, rolling or standing, I’d be waiting for a geared rider to pull me across the flats into Aid 2 so I paused to unload the 3 water bottles I’d consumed so far, at which point I missed my first ride when Chipper rolled past.  Gunner also had made it past and I hopped back on the bike hoping for a friendly draft.  Soon enough, Jacob came flying into my peripheral vision and I hopped on his wheel.  He was in full tuck and cranking in the big ring and we quickly bridged up to Gunner, who hopped on the train.  The three of us came into Aid 2 together and made short work of stop.  As the road turned up Jacob drifted back and Gunner and I headed into the climb up Greenlee together.  Gunner was riding strong and he started to walk away from me about half way up.  I kept him just in my sights, but I was no match for him on the descent and he was well out of sight by the time I hit the bottom.

On the flats at the bottom I started feeling cramps in my hamstrings and eased up to try and ride through them.  Just as I started to work it out I heard tires behind me and jumped on Richie’s wheel all the way into Seeger.  There were a handful of guys at the start of the climb and I could just make out Gunner ahead.  I started to the steady work of picking off guys on the climb but Gunner was riding steady and I couldn’t make any time on him.

After the descent and into 3, I tried to make the stop quick, picking up a banana for the cramps and a little sugar from Tracy to keep the spirits up.  Cathy said Strauber was just ahead and I hit Sassafras feeling reasonably good.  My gear was lighter than usual, but I still dismounted and walked parts of the bottom of the climb where traction was an issue.  As I approached the top I caught one rider ahead of me and was within 30 ft of Strauber as we came out onto the road.  Back into the singletrack we had a group of 4 with Strauber in the lead and me in the rear.  I was fatigued and fighting cramps and when the guy ahead of me eased up I didn’t have it in me to come around and Strauber got a gap and made it stick.  Coming through the Lewistown Contingent I passed Greg the Leg fixing a flat and felt good about gaining a position in the single speed race, and knew that Strauber was well within striking distance on the upcoming climbs.  I passed Strauber hollering about the Heed in his bottle on Cooper’s Gap road and took the lead in the local’s race, but was caught by Les Leech, which meant I was riding backwards in the singlespeed category.  I was steady, but not terribly fast, through Beautiful and No Name and hit the road in the same position I’d started.  But quickly I was joined by Benji on a singlespeed and, soon after, Strauber came blasting past, head down, with not so much as a nod.  Benji commented on the odd tactic by my teammate and we rode into 4 together to find Les and Strauber filling up.  I was fighting some tough cramps and debated taking a rest or riding it through.  But before I could make up my mind, Strauber had taken off.  I dunked my head in cooler of ice and chased after him, feeling a little dejected at the though of loosing the local’s race and a podium spot in the singlespeed race at one Aid station.

As I hit the climb up Stillhouse, Strauber came out of the woods after a nature call.  He jumped on his bike and started riding ahead of me without even looking back.  After a few pedal strokes, when it was obvious that he was digging deep to hold his position I hollered up to him, “Strabuer, I love you like a brother, but I’m going to have to kick your ass today”.  Without missing a beat he shouted back,”I’m going to drop you like Rabobank dropped Rassmussen”.  The mood lightened a little bit, I admitted to him that I was cramping pretty bad, but that I was pretty sure I could take him on those last few climbs and he assured me that there was 10 miles of flats ahead and I had no hope.  I slowly crept past him and hit the forestry gate with a 20 second gap, once back on my bike and pedaling I heard Strauber yell out with cramps when he dismounted to get under the gate and I yelled back to him to “ride it out”.  Thinking I had him now, I lowered my head for the climb.  Near to the top Benji rolled up and make a slow speed pass that took almost a minute, but got him enough of a gap that I couldn’t see him once the trail turned down.  I passed Benji stopping for a rest in the blueberries and managed to hold Strauber at bay until  Sand Mountain Rd. He pulled up along side of me and we rode together for a bit until he decided to drop the hammer and put a gap in coming into Poe trail.  I’ve always been slow on that road and Strabuer was able to take advantage of the gap, gaining 2 minutes on me by the time I hit Aid 5.  On the rail grade I my legs felt OK and I kept the spin high, but I knew that I was just waiting for geared riders to catch me and pull me in.  Approaching the last climb I was caught by Benji, another geared rider, and Jacob, who was pulling off a stunning recovery.  Benji and I dropped the other two on the climb, but he slowly walked away from me on the ascent.  Speeding down the other side Jacob caught back up and we hit the Fisherman’s trail together.  Never the prettiest trail, we worked our way across the singletrack and came back out on the rail grade within a few seconds.  He could easily have dropped me in that short gap, but held up and we rode together back into Coburn trading off pulls hoping at least to hold our position.  Just before the last bridge, Mike Kuhn came screaming past us and never looked back.  He later would tell us that he was pretty sure we were going to sprint at the finish and he wasn’t up for it so he pushed through to get away from us.  His prediction was right, and as we hit the asphalt and made the right-hand turn into Coburn Jacob said to me, “You know we have to sprint for it”.  Of course, that would come from the guy with a choice of chainrings, but I consented and we made the right-hand turn into the park.  I knew my only hope was an early gap and spun up as soon as we hit the dirt.  I almost held the lead, but he came around me on the left-hand bend and drifted into my bike with a loud clang.  We both eased up, but he was already carrying enough momentum to roll in just ahead of me.

I finished in 8:23, nearly half an hour faster than last year.  I was the third local, and the 4th singlespeed (Wes, Gunner, and Benji all rolled in ahead).  Strauber took home the local title a mere 6 minutes ahead of Jacob and me.  In the big show, Jeremiah took the win over Harlan, but both managed to beat Chris’s course record.

This was the fastest 101 on record, nearly everyone managed to drop their times (mine would have been good enough for the singlespeed win last year).  Billy and Richie both finished strong, Chipper and Joe both abandoned.  Lewis finished his first 101, on a singlespeed no less, and was happy with his gear (for which I was thankful after all the trash talk and subterfuge on Friday).  From the Shop, Frank, Glover, and Beth all turned in good rides.  After the race Nita and I took the dogs to the stream to cool off (and for me to clean off), I got the best massage I’ve ever had (thanks again Steph!) and we settled in with ice cold beers to cheer in the remaining riders.  The spirits were high all around after the race and there was a big contingent of locals among the riders, spectators, and volunteers to keep us entertained until the last rider came in around 9:30.  All in all, a great day.  The ride was good, I rode well, and go to catch up with all the folks that I’ve missed by not riding the ultra circuit this year.

Now, time to recover.  Off to San Jose for work this week, then one more week before heading to Paris for what may prove to be the most foolish idea I’ve ever had!

half mental

90% of the 101 is half mental. In particular in the hours leading up to the event.  Folks begin arriving in town on Friday and by dinner time the atmosphere is thick with testosterone as we each look over each others bikes and cast off-hand comments about their gearing, choice of tires, grips, the food they might carry or drop forward.  We all converged on AccuJoe’s place around 7 to pick up the registration packs that Strauber had gotten for us in Coburn.  Joe had whipped up some pasta and ribs for all so we packed into his kitchen (me, Joe, Strabuer, Lewis, Billy, Ken, Joe’s friend Mike, Nita, 4 dogs) for dinner. We started laying it on thick pretty early.  Joe had just put on a set of Kenda small block eights that were drawing lots of attention, Chipper had been wavering for days over his tire choice and we did everything we could to increase his level of confusion, Lewis was in the midst of his second gear change on the Rig.

One of the best parts of the 101 is the mental game. Over 100 miles, you want to be confident in your gear, and it doesn’t take much to shake the confidence of even the most experienced endurance rider.  We are a superstitious breed, each with our own rituals, the food we eat, the drink mix we like, the tires, the gearing.  And each of us tries to gain a competitive edge by convincing the other that our set up is better.  I did 5 hundies last year, and 4 brevets this year, so I should have been feeling pretty good about my set-up.  But over dinner, watching others pack up their food and drinks, I started feeling less certain with my plan to go as light as possible; pack only goo, pick up solid food at the aid stations, run 2 bottles and dump lots of water on my head.  This was the strategy that I had converged on over the course of the races last year.  Is started by packing to much, carrying food that I never ate.  So my plan was to learn from my experience, but as I saw Joe packing up bags of Cliff Blocks and Billy heading home to fry bacon to take on the ride I was a little shaken.

On the way out I ran into Lewis still wracking his brain over his gear choice: 32×18 or 32×19.  I’d been giving him a hard time about the low gear in the spirit of the trash talk that had been flying around when he was switching to the 18.  But now, with the 18 on, I gave him the somber advice that I’d received in the past and have made my mantra: ride what you know.  Every gearing on a singlespeed will be wrong for most of the course, that’s why they make derailleurs. If you’ve been training on a certain gearing, and are comfortable with it, that’s what you should ride.  It’s good advice, and unassailable logic when everyone else’s insecurities are flying high.  But I couldn’t help laughing to myself, as I headed home to get some sleep, at the thought that he was going to have to make at least one more gear switch before morning.

the circus is coming to town

The 101 is upon us.  Yesterday I went out for what was meant to be a short spin just to keep things loose ahead of Saturday.  I headed out to the Tuesday night race course and put in two laps at (almost) race pace to get 30 minutes of effort and then headed off to spin it down.  I swung by the shop for a few adjustments, which turned into half an hour of chatting with the boys as they shut down.  There is still lots of speculation as to who will put in the big show tomorrow.

Mumbles showed up to lead a volunteers meeting (though perhaps Cathy was actually the leader) and we caught up quickly for the first time since the cross season.  Billy and Fred were out mowing Thickhead, Joe was running supplies out to Coburn in the truck, Richie is driving down and should be in town tonight.  All in all, it looks to be good show.

Frank was leaving the shop at the same time as me and I followed him into Scotia on his way home.  He wasn’t kidding when he said the “long way home”.  Though it wasn’t much, I had to turn off early and head home as the hour approached 8 and I started feeling my blood sugar drop through my calves, then ankles, then toes.  Including the time at the shop, I ended up at home 3 hours after I had left.  So much for a quick hour, but I felt good for the first time in a while.  Maybe I’m finally getting used to the heat.

The real test will be tomorrow.

expectation

90 degrees and 3 days ’til the 101. I got home with plenty of time to ride today, but just couldn’t bear to go out again in the heat.  There will be enough of that on Saturday. In years past I recall doing the speed ride and cutting off at Dry Hollow on the Wednesday before the 101, but with no speed ride to motivate me I’m taking it easy.

Officially, everyone is now in for PBP.  AccuJoe has bought his ticket, Billy found his registration lost in the mail, and I have procured a sweet two bike travel case from Kyle and Pam.  Its starting to feel real, though I have a trip to San Jose next week for a conference that I need to get through before I really start feeling like I’m heading to France.  Hopefully one more long ride next weekend to set me right ahead of the travels.

This weekend some of the best in the business will descend on the sleepy town of Coburn for the 101.  Eatough and Bishop will be working as a team for Trek (at least  for the first 90 miles), Harlan will be out to prove that his win over Chris in Michaux wasn’t a fluke, and Josh Tostado will be out riding the momentum from his win in Colorado.

The local race is looking to heat up as well.  Town is abuzz with speculation about who is going to show up on Saturday.  Chipper and Jacob are at the top of a lot of lists based on natural talent, though neither has seen much racing in the last few years. Nate, who put in a big day at the  Stoopid 50, is off most people’s radar but is riding really strong and could definitely turn in an upset.  Strauber has been attacking the climbs for the last month and is looking to redeem himself after last year’s debacle.  And Zayne Braun, a neo-local, is going to light it up on a single-speed following his big weekend in Vermont.   As for me, I never speculate on my own performance.  I could ride well, I beat a lot of guys on geared bikes last year.  This year I’m running a mellower gearing in hopes of staying more consistent throughout the race.  Last year I was running 1st singlespeed for 2/3 of the race, but got passed by several guys towards the end as I faded and they kept rolling. Of course, I’m riding for the top local and top single-speed spots. But in a field like this, I’m not going to go out too cocky.