Randonneur Apprentice

Retirement?

2012-01-31T18:59:00.000-08:00

January 2012, Shell Beach

There is a reason for the question mark in the title. Quite simply: I feel am not there yet, in opposition to my idealistic and naive expectations, and in contrast to what I suggested ten months ago. Then again, I did hint at that time already that - who knows - the big life style change might bring along some psychotic disturbances.

Over the last year, I was fortunate enough to accumulate some of the most rewarding long-distance rides ever. True, I missed the last of my three big goals for 2011; but even that miss came with its own rewards. In parallel, however, I have not been so fortunate in some other areas, mainly related to my lifelong fragility of the respiratory tract, in particular during the last third of the year. Some special other circumstances (not everything belongs in a blog) made that my last post, over three months ago, became a thinly disguised admission of, shall we say, discouragement.

That's the moment to say Thank You to my friends who called me up or otherwise let me feel, more or less cautiously, that they wanted me to be back on the bike and in shape again, soon. I am particularly grateful to those who managed to inspire me with new goals and who shared their own doubts about how far and for how long we randonneurs and unconditionally excessive long-distance riders really should go with our common delightful obsession.

And so I am back on the bike. Here is proof of it.

For this first little ride since the finish of PBP, I had to borrow Fabienne's bike (I had left mine in Europe). When she emailed me the question how her bike was doing, I sent her the above picture in response, with the caption "It's under the cow." - I rode out from Shell Beach (which has been mentioned many times before in this blog; e.g., scroll down to the end of this) to test my legs and lungs on the See Canyon climb (nearly 800 ft in 1.5 miles). I didn't expect to perform well, and I didn't. But the climb gave me good sensations and made me very happy ...

This was nearly two weeks ago, and since then I tried to maintain a minimum of rather casual training, mainly for the purpose of improving my health. However, there is currently so much else going on in this retiree's life (traveling back and forth for family obligations between Mountain View, Shell Beach and Los Angeles, among much else; I do have plans to reveal some of it later in this blog) that the "training" involves more setbacks than improvements.

But, no complaining: the obligations are often quite sweet, and the fact that I have lost the focus on preparing for and achieving ambitious goals on the bike makes me spend more time on thinking and philosophizing about my raison d'être in this stage of life. It's a matter of reshuffling priorities. I know I am not alone in this situation.

Since I committed myself to become a randonneur apprentice, about six years ago, I have achieved more than I could have reasonably expected, even though I did not succeed at everything I attempted, and even though I didn't get to attempt everything I wanted. The failures were precious as well, because they made me experience where my limits are. The scheme of RUSA awards appeals to some childish desire to gather brownie points; I admit that I gathered enough of them to become an Ultra Randonneur. I even received gentle comments which questioned my denomination of apprentice, given the substantial list of completed brevets and randonnées.

The above might sound a little as if I was trying to motivate my retirement from randonneuring. Not so quick! I still want to maintain my ability to safely, healthily and not too slowly ride long distances on a bicycle and I want to be ready again for Paris-Brest-Paris 2015. And I honestly believe that randonneuring is inherently a never ending apprenticeship.

---------

With all this being said, I plan to include in this blog over the coming months more and more subjects which are not related to bicycling. I want to demonstrate that the randonneur apprentice does well to deemphasize the focus on long-distance bicycling events and to expand his horizon to unrelated endeavors.

Why?
Because that turns out to be now my fundamental understanding of being in retirement ...

Wistfully Upbeat

2011-10-25T10:11:00.000-07:00

Cannes, towards the end of October 2011

One of the contradictions in my personnality (and I don't think I am unique in that) is the tendency to be simultaneously nostalgic and forward-oriented. Over the last weeks, I had reasons to start worrying about a healthy balance between both attitudes. The obvious public explanation is a lack of health and a lack of physical activity (both go together for me). Can you believe that I still haven't touched my bicycle since the finish of PBP? That's pretty serious, after all.

While working on recovering enough health to break the vicious cycle of not getting enough exercise, I want to get closer again to the bicycling story in my life. This will provide a better balance between nostalgia and optimistic forward-looking.

I wish I could illustrate all the important events with photos or other credible documents; but mostly, you need to take my word for it. However, over the summer, Fabienne did come across some old photos which I should include in my blog:

Here is the first photo of me on a bicycle (note the Lederhosen!). My great-grandmother (the same as mentioned here) understood that I desperately needed a bicycle in my life, and she miraculously arranged for transferring that very old and very simple woman's 26"-wheeler to me. I didn't even know this photo existed until this summer; the fact that it does exist indicates that riding the bicycle was extremely important for me.

I must have had nine years at that time. My first real contact with a bicycle, however, happened nearly five years earlier, and I do recollect precisely what happened. At that time, in the early years after World War II, barely anybody in our village had a car; people travelled by bicycle. And so, one day, a visitor came to do grown-up conversations with my parents inside, while I stared in fascination at his bicycle leaning against the outside of the house. After a while, I couldn't resist any longer: I had to try it out! I had seen other children ride a bicycle, contorted under the high horizontal tube of a men's frame; I would do just the same.

Not only did I topple over, of course, and soon enough (because the house was high up on a hill and I didn't even think about how to operate a brake) - in falling over, my leg got caught and pinched between the front wheel and the frame and I was unable to get up by myself. This made a big impression on me and I screamed accordingly. The subsequent additional punishment made another big impression on me. But it did nothing to discourage me from pursuing the dream of riding a bicycle.

I rode my great-grandmother's bike a lot and became a self-taught bicycle mechanic with it. Over time, it got tuned up quite thoroughly. I believe all of my eight younger siblings learned to ride a bicycle on it. But it was not street-legal; and by the age of twelve, my bike riding had become so convincing, both in quantity and skill, that my uncle handed his heavy but very solid 3-speed bicycle over to me. Now I could go on the roads and start bicycle touring with friends! It sounds absolutely incredibly nowadays; but barely two years later, the parent generation of those times thought nothing about letting me and three of my friends pack our bikes and leave for a trip of four days, sleep in youth hostels, averaging 80 miles per day, on Bavarian roads that touched some of the very same places I would not see again until last June on this occasion!

In the meantime, I had read articles about bicycle races in the newspaper and followed the annual Tour de France with my friends - Gastone Nencini (the winner of the 1960 Tour de France) and Hennes Junkermann were our heroes. It became clear that I needed a bicycle with drop-handlebars. Not that it came easily - quite the opposite. But it came: a yellow 10-speed "Bauer" bike with rack and fenders. I loaded it with panniers and took off for long distances and high passes (more about that later; there is a story to tell that deserves its own title); and at the end of 1961, I started racing on it (each time removing the rack and fenders, and putting them back on for the daily commute to school).

I am not in the above picture from the traditional annual Pfingstbahnrennen at the velodrome in Niederpöring, Lower Bavaria; but I am the photographer. I rode my yellow 10-speed there as a spectator; but the village volunteers let me in for free, thinking I was one of the racers. Later, I went there with my home club RSV 1895 Passau for some little club races with our geared street bikes (we couldn't afford track bikes). Besides, the velodrome had a dirt/gravel surface at that time, which made for interesting traction problems.

Here is a picture of me - I am the one on the right side, in danger of getting dropped from the field (which you need to imagine to the left of the picture). This and the following picture were taken at the annual "1st of May" criterium in Gerzen, probably in 1964. In the end, I managed to hang on and to finish in the field, but without points - I had no chance in sprints. That's why, one year later, I attempted to break away nearly two laps before the next sprint for points - I had used this tactic before already, but never succeeded. This time however, only three racers passed me, and I saved a little point for showing up in the results and bringing home a sausage as a prize!

Lurking behind, shifting up at the top of the hill!

~~~~~~~~~~~

OK; I feel better already.

Looking forward.

Life is not perfect

2011-09-21T03:54:00.000-07:00

Mille du Sud, September 15 - 18, 2011

Yielding to some pressure from friends, I posted early August about my Big Goals and listed the three of them for 2011. The title of today's post gives a hint towards the outcome of the third. It's DNS - Did Not Start. The reference to my immune system at the end of my PBP report gives another hint: Although I did get rid of the cold in time, the bronchitis which it had generated as a side effect persisted. I proudly assert that I am still reasonable enough to know when not to attempt a big long distance effort.

Be that as it may: as so often in life, there are benefits to setbacks. In this case, the coughing had become rare enough that I could make the 90 km drive from Cannes to Carcès on Wednesday afternoon (the day before the start) and go with Ghislaine on a four-day vacation trip which included about half of the 1000-du-Sud route. This way, I enjoyed meeting with the 31 participants at the common Wednesday evening dinner:

partake of the common breakfast served by Sophie before the 7 a.m. start:

leisurely discover the Green Provence around Carcès during Thursday:

Healing in the clean air of Tourtour

and spend most of Friday and Saturday on the road to Le Bourg d'Oisans and back, mostly on the route of the Mille du Sud, taking pictures of the randonneurs on the road:

I also enjoyed meeting with the organizer, Sophie (the same as the one mentioned here). Here is another picture of her, close to the finish of the recent Paris - Brest - Paris:

Yes, she road that bike, named Charlie-Ferdinand. Note the drop-handlebar-rider in the background desperately trying to hang on. When she presented her brevet card at one of the controls, with her flowing flower dress, the man with the rubber stamp in his hand said something like "No madam, your husband needs to be present to get his brevet card stamped." Her prowess on a bicycle is one thing; her ambition and dedication to making "Le Mille du Sud" the most outstanding 1000 km brevet is another.

----------

Six months ago, Bob K. from British Columbia and I (we knew each other from having ridden many miles together in grand randonnées) agreed to ride together and to share rooms. I was profoundly distressed not being able to share the experience with him. When we passed him on Saturday, half-way up the Col du Lautaret, he said "You cannot believe how much fun you are missing out on!"

Actually, I could believe. However, I also realized that Bob was behind schedule at that point. I didn't want to hold him back by asking more questions, but I learned that his second night was sub-optimal and that he worried about his sleep deficit. In the end he decided to stay overnight in Le Lauzet-Ubaye (there were bad hail and lightning storms), which made him finish hors delai (past the time limit of 75 hours). Given all the other witness accounts from the road, I have no doubt that had I ridden with Bob (even at my best), I would not have been able to do any better. And I would have been just as happy and satisfied and proud with my hors delai finish as Bob must have been.

We passed my riding companion Roland from last year's Mille du Sud half-way up the climb du Col Saint Jean. He had just stopped for a sandwich-lunch break. He appeared to be well within the time limits - but he had taken a short-cut on the evening before and would not qualify as finisher any more. The heat on the first day had put him out of contention.

The same might have happened to me (I am not strong in the heat either). But there is no way to know, now. Roland took a hotel room in St-André-les-Alpes, left at 3:30 a.m. and finished at 9:30 a.m. - contagiously happy and gregarious as ever. We will communicate regularly over the next months: I can use his recommendations for my first Diagonale, next year!

We passed several other participants - and finishers - on our way back: a group of Germans, a group of Italians, several randonneurs riding alone, and the 2-man team from Mulhouse/Kingersheim (Alsace). We did not catch the first three on the road; they were too far ahead already, and we decided to take a shortcut towards the finish (we were running late ourselves). All in all, it appeared that the percentage of finishers was clearly better than last year, despite a harder route and more difficult atmospheric conditions. The reputation of this event already has some effect on the self-selection of participants and their preparation.

I stayed overnight from Saturday to Sunday at the finish in the Salle Polyvalente to be available in case I could be useful for anything. The case occurred when the duo Pascal/Gilles from Mulhouse/Kingersheim arrived, at 1:15 a.m.. Less than an hour from the finish, on a winding descent through a forest Provençal, Pascal hit two young wild boars on the road and both he and his companion went down. Gilles didn't appear to be injured, but Pascal was severely shaken and suffering (while the wild boars probably got away unscathed). They both finished - Pascal with a broken collarbone (!) and extremely painful severe contusions. After some deliberations to overcome Pascal's objections, Gilles and I drove Pascal around 4 a.m. to the hospital in Brignoles where he had to stay for two days.

Pascal and Gilles on the road to Digne, Saturday afternoon

There would be several other heroic stories to tell, like the one about the four recumbent riders who came close to finishing but eventually got defeated by hail, thunder, lightning and floods. Or the one about the last hors delai finisher, the 68-year-old Italian Marziano. He had trouble with broken spokes and navigational errors, but found no way of notifying Sophie (who was worried about his whereabouts, and even alerted the police) until Monday evening. She waited for him the following night until she was too exhausted and fell asleep. Early Tuesday morning, she found him sleeping in his car, at the finish. "È tutta una avventùra ...", he said.

Instead, I close with a photo from the restaurant L'Olalpa in Carcès, early Sunday afternoon.

In the background, Sophie with three of the recumbent riders. In the foreground, the "presidential couple" of the Argens Cyclo Carcès club, from our table of six.

I think the picture reflects much of the true spirit, beyond bicycling, of Le Mille du Sud: Friendship and conviviality. We parted with "A l'année prochaine!"

Mind Games

2011-09-05T10:40:00.000-07:00

Paris - Brest - Paris, August 21-25, 2011

It's a little stretch to apply the concept of "mind game" to what remains for the me the dominant impression from my PBP 2011 experience; but that's what it was - except for the "deliberate", "on another" and "competitive advantage" parts in the definition above. I played all the mind games on myself - unwittingly.

It started earlier this year, when I set up my big goals for the season and completed my qualifying brevet series for PBP. Somehow, this exceptional event got downgraded in my mind, to the point of having its historical weight, its challenges and unique characteristics repressed. I should have known better; but I brought myself to belittle it as a relatively easy 1200, sandwiched as a filler between my first Big Eight of Bavaria and a desperately sought-after successful finish at the Mille du Sud (coming up on September 15). I was only partially aware of the psychological mechanism that was going on, and did occasionally express concerns to my friends about "not taking it seriously." Even up to the last days and during the long hours waiting for the start, I couldn't bring myself to be as excited as expected. It took a couple of days on the roads of Brittany of being exposed to the enthusiasm and generosity of the population and of the countless volunteers, and of being surrounded day and night by 5000 randonneurs from all over the world, to normalize my attitude. Even then, in particular when the lack of sleep triggered some of the usual symptoms, I still had difficulties truly understanding what PBP precisely was: something different from a "usual" 1200k brevet; but what?

Physically, my preparation was adequate; I had been able to take advantage of rather favorable circumstances that minimized the risk of overtraining and maximized the opportunities to rest. Mentally, I could have done much better. At least, I had put together a list of controls, with km-totals and estimated arrival times, and kept it on my route sheet holder. Below Fabienne's copy where she applied in red the adjustments due to my late start at 19:40 instead of at 18:00.

Undeniably, one thing was very special about PBP for me again: In contrast to most of my other long rides, it was a "family event." Even though we couldn't repeat the big presence of 2007, Fabienne made a point of coming from California to keep Ghislaine company during the ride, and my niece Nathalie joined them again. The three enjoyed the special atmosphere and made it clear that they were looking forward to be there again in 2015, no matter what! From my side, I had made it clear that I wanted to ride alone this time, and without any personal support at controls. I didn't use a drop bag either and carried everything I needed for nearly four days on the bike.

Bisou. "And be careful!"

"The hardest part (the waiting) is done. From now on, it's pure pleasure!"

Despite showing up shortly after 3 p.m. in the hope of catching an early wave (and then seeking some sit-down opportunity in the shade, rather than standing for hours in the burning sun), I managed to leave with the next-to-last wave only - what a waste of well over four hours! I still have to learn a lot ...
On the other hand, I had opportunities to chat with friends, to make new friends, and to wave and shout across the lines to other randonneurs of various nationalities who recognized me before I recalled that we had met already somewhere some time in the past.

Paris - Brest

My plan (i.e. the estimated arrival times at the controls) was "agressively optimistic" as I put it in a pre-ride e-mail to friends, so they could follow my progression on my SPOT device and the official tracking of participants. I had announced that I was going after a sub-80 hour finishing time, which was pretty ambitious for me. I didn't seriously expect to succeed unless the atmospheric conditions remained favorable and I didn't encounter any snafu. The fact that I knew something about this event from my first attempt four years ago, and that I had accumulated some general randonneuring experience since then should give me confidence, however. Not to speak of some reluctantly admitted modest progress I had made over time in terms of speed and endurance (remember: it's all relative).

And so, more than a little upset about the wasted time at the start, I went out fast enough that I caressed hopes of absorbing my 1h40 delay before Brest and finishing by 2 a.m. as planned. This would make a big difference in perceived comfort (the last night would be shorter by 1h40), and I would be able to brag about a 78:20 finishing time ...

I had no trouble going through the first night and kept my stops at a minimum. Despite some headwind, I was 1h10 ahead of my schedule at the Loudéac control (km 451) - only 30 more minutes to gain and I was "even." I remembered many of the more characteristic climbs on the route from four years ago and found that they had become much easier, in the meantime; life was good! I only had to reach Carhaix (barely 80 km away) for a major sleep stop of about 3 hours, push on to Brest and then relax on the return trip with its tailwind!

Before I could leave the Loudéac control, I had to wait for the passage of the groupe de tête - they were racing the event (while still satisfying the control-stamp obligation) and about to set a new record of something like 44 hours, due to the above-mentioned tailwind back from Brest. Back on the road, I meditated for a little while about the conflicts between racing and randonneuring and the contradictions in the mission statement of PBP (as imagined by me), but decided to remain philosophical about it.

The new-this-year eat/sleep stop (not a control) in Saint-Nicolas-du-Pélem, about 30 km before Carhaix, was pleasant and inviting. While I chewed in the restaurant tent and listened to the invitations to take advantage of the available cots in the sleeping tent, I heard some thunders in the not-too-far distance - hmm? For a split second, I considered changing my plans and staying right there for my sleep stop. But only a split second. Carhaix was only about 90 minutes away, and I could get quickly closer to my new intermediate goal of recovering the 1h40 of my late start if I pushed through and kept the sleep stop in Carhaix.

Big mistake!

Less than five km later, it started to rain, and then to pour, and then to thunder, spiced up with some lightning. In hindsight, it would have been better to turn around to Saint-Nicolas and to stay there, after all. The wet ride to Carhaix was miserable and slow (I wasn't alone - misery likes company). By the time we arrived, I had already lost a good portion of my advance; but the real loss (and snafu!) was still to come. The way from the control to the sleeping quarters in Carhaix was long across a field - and the sleeping quarters were full. We learned that only after being held standing in line for at least ten minutes outside in the rain. I then figured out that I could enjoy some quiet minutes in a dry place if I asked for the rest rooms (they are called rest rooms for a reason). Also, I could change into dry clothes there. But still no sleeping opportunity, and it was past midnight on the second night. I walked back to the cafeteria (getting wet again across the field) and looked for an emergency napping opportunity. This was not very successful; but I could at least close my eyes for half an hour and get stiff. When I realized that the rain had stopped, I decided to leave and sleep in Brest instead. Despite the lack of sleeping comfort at the Carhaix control, I now believe it was the wrong decision regardless. I advanced very slowly, stopped many, many times to keep myself going with micro-sleep stops on half-way safe ground and generally was rather angry with myself. At some point, I realized that my SPOT didn't blink at all. This was odd; it should blink either green or red, depending on whether the satellite transmission of the coordinates had succeeded or not. It would have indicated low batteries for several hours before failing - and I had changed the batteries in the afternoon. But it was so dark, I couldn't see anything without stopping, and I had stopped too often already. Later, when I had street lights, I saw that there was no SPOT any more: I had lost it, probably on some rattling descent. I must have missed to fix it properly after changing the batteries in the afternoon!

This was a major blow. For one, on these long rides, I always enjoy thinking of family and friends who are following my progression on the map based on the SPOT messages with my position every ten minutes. Now, I felt disconnected and lost and alone and discouraged. But, there was also another disturbing sensation. I know that I have to expect an onset of mild hallucinations if I am in the second night essentially without sleep. I learned to deal with them in a scientific way and to be entertained by their mystic absurdities. By the way, they have never been threatening or troublesome, and mostly even esthetically pleasing (like floating carriages without horses on the side walks which dissolve into nothing as soon as I approach them). This time, no hallucinations. Instead (or does this count as a hallucination, too?) - I feel the presence of Ghislaine, my spouse, on my side. It is as if we are traveling in a car, me driving and she in the passenger seat. And she is talking to me, blaming me for having lost the SPOT device which is, after all, last year's Mother's Day gift for her! She keeps going about reminding me how bad this is for all our friends and family members who are worried about my well-being, now that they don't know what happened. As if I didn't know it already, all by myself. I find it annoying enough (nothing against my spouse!) that I squint my eyes, look at my handlebar, down to my slowly grinding cranks, and to the side where there is nothing but a fog line: I am alone on the road to Brest! Five minutes later, Ghislaine is at my side again, and the nagging about the lost SPOT continues. - Doesn't it feel like Ghislaine was playing a mind game on me?

It went on and on in complete darkness, up and down, with small groups of other riders passing me every so often. I didn't attempt to hang on to them; it was just between me and the night. I could guess when we passed the highest eleveation, Roc Trévezel, and felt much better on the long downhill. Day broke when we arrived in Sizun, and with relief I joined a group of other randonneurs in an early open bar for a grand café and a huge croissant. The night was over - not too soon!

Now in daylight (although subdued by dense low clouds), I made the effort to join some faster groups to get to my sleep stop in Brest as soon as possible. The more or less touristic detours built into the route this time were a test of patience and stoicism; they played a mind game of making me believe we rode repeatedly around loops. But all was well as soon as I got my card stamped and a cot assigned - it was Tuesday, 8:34 a.m. (less than 37 hours for 618 km - not too bad, after all!), and I slept like a stone for over two hours.

Brest - Paris

Just when I left the breakfast cafeteria, a man stepped in my way, introduced himself as Jackie Krebs, and I said "OK. What did I do?" He was a little dismayed that I didn't recognize him, and showed me the family letter with pictures we had sent him for Christmas. As documented on page 4 of this, four years ago, my daughters had met two cheerful, helpful and generous gentlemen at the control in Brest; but maintaining the contact had proven to be precarious. Now, one of them had looked for my control times on the PBP website, come to the control and waited (possibly for hours, while I slept) to meet with me! He had his hands full of gifts and souvenirs for me and my family (good thing I had big enough bags on my bike). And then I took off. - That's what PBP is all about!

The two hours of very deep sleep had done miracles. I smiled when I recognized the spot where I had slept on a bench, four years ago. I enjoyed the scenery, enjoyed the moderate climb up to Roc Trévezel, enjoyed the descent and the rolling hills where I was "fast" already four years ago towards Carhaix. I tried to identify the hill where I must have lost my SPOT and scanned the left road side, but without success. At 15:48, I checked in at the Carhaix control and didn't even realize that I was still on target for my originally hoped-for 80-hour finish. I only enjoyed the ride and intended to keep it that way.

I was only worried that my planned sleep stop in Tinténiac (where I should arrive before 2 a.m.) might get marred by the same mishap as in Carhaix on the way out. That's why I didn't hesitate this time (I had learned my lesson!) to immediately lay down on an empty soft mat at the secret control in Illifaut, somewhere between Loudéac and Tinténiac, shortly after 11 p.m. I texted home where I was and what I was about to do, that I did well, and that I didn't care about my 80-hour finish any more! I just slept ...

When I woke up and decided to continue, I didn't even look at the watch. I arrived in Tinténiac without any trouble at 5:40 a.m., didn't stay longer than necessary and continued cheerfully towards Fougères, because I had kept good memories from this relatively short and easy leg between controls since 2007. My card got stamped at the control in Fougères at 9:18 instead of a planned 8:10 a.m.; but, as I said, I didn't care. I might as well have made a mistake in my spreadsheet calculations when I estimated the control passage times!

Next goal : Villaines-la-Juhel, km 1009. This control town is special in many ways; but most importantly for me, this is where Dr. Fressier expected to see me. Four years ago, Fabienne offered her services as French - English - German translator there, and we stayed in touch. This time, I arrived alone, still 40 minutes behind my original schedule, but reducing my delay (thanks to some growing tailwind) and visibly in great shape. I got an exceptional VIP treatment, an excellent free lunch (carried to the table by a charming little girl), many pictures taken, and took off for the remaining 230 km in high spirits.

With Dr. Fressier

Fresh like a flower!

As soon as I was on the road, I couldn't believe how fast I went: the tailwind was absolutely fabulous! I enjoyed recognizing much of the scenery and basked in the contrast between my current experience (middle of the afternoon, blue sky with some white clouds, terrific tailwind, great shape) and the one from four years ago (around 3 a.m., total darkness, rain, headwind, exhaustion). This all didn't last, of course; and in the end I arrived in Mortagne-au-Perche half an hour later than projected (shortly before 7 p.m.) but again well before my original 80-hour plan timeline!

I had learned earlier via some text messages from Ghislaine, Fabienne and Nathalie that in the end, they decided after all to come and see me at the control in Mortagne. This was of course a nice surprise, and I was happy that I was still able to let it all appear as "easy."

"Hotel de la Bouteille" - checking in at the Mortagne control

Still easy!

The future of PBP is assured ...

... according to the drawing photographed by Ghislaine.

Meanwhile, Fabienne made friends with our guardian angels

So, all this was nice and good. But, as you can tell from the difference in lighting and sky color between the first and last photos above, I stayed much longer than planned and adviseable. Also, the long break somehow affected my performance on the bike negatively, and I slowed down, down and even more down when night fell. The fact that I didn't know the roads to Dreux and to the finish (and that much of those roads had a rough surface) didn't make it easier. Many other small groups of riders caught up to me and passed me. I tried sometimes to stay with them, but they were nearly always too fast for me. And when I finally found a group with which I could cover the last 20 km to Dreux, the group riding at night didn't make an allowance for grabbing food in the handlbar bag and eating on the bike, and even less to stop and put on another layer - it did get a little too cool for me as we approached Dreux. As a result, when I finally arrived at the control and had the surprise to see Ghislaine, Fabienne and Nathalie again (they had made the decision to come to Dreux on a whim, after I left Mortagne), I had no desire or even ability to pretend it was still "easy."

I warmed up with a hot tea, added a layer, and exhorted my female family fans not to hold me back and let me leave as soon as possible for the last 65 km. Every five minutes would make a difference by the time I approached the finish - not because of the overall finishing time, but because of the time it would take until I could go to bed! And so I left in company of some anonymous and rather silent other riders, finding our way out of Dreux by looking collectively for the infamous reflective arrows, and - as far as I am concerned - reflecting on the mysterious geographical configuration of the route. Before getting there, I imagined a no-brainer easy run into the finish and was much more optimistic than my state of exhaustion allowed. But this optimism was about to change, and I was to experience the most outrageous mind game of my life (so far).

I am still puzzled today by this experience, and I still have no real explanation. If I had the opportunity, I would want to go back to that 65 km stretch from Dreux to the finish in daylight and reconstruct - or, rather, deconstruct! - my impressions from that night.

Something slightly similar has happened before. When riding in darkness, there is not enough visual information for the cerebral cortex to build a complete spatial structure of the surroundings. My mind, however, desperately wants to get hold of such a structure (the more interesting the better), just for intellectual satisfaction, if I dare say so. For example, I have been riding many hours in Death Valley at night, and nearly always (even without being sleep deprived or particularly tired) I developed the conviction that the road I was riding on lead through a forest of high, dense trees.

This time, a specific sequence of turns, short and steep uphills, turns, junctions, turns, tunnels, short downhills, turns seemed to repeat itself all over again and again with only slight variations in the length of the individual segments or the characteristics of the turns. It was absolutely incredible, and I could nearly predict the next element of the sequence. It was not easy either, and the repeated climbs were often steep. We must have repeated the sequence at least seven times, each time getting a little higher. Or that's what my mind told me. I kept thinking about the genius who designed that sequence of turns, uphills, downhills, tunnels, such that it could be repeated on that half-urban geography with only slight variations; and the city planning committees who approved such an Escheresque design and managed to raise the money to build it. This could be a rival to the Seven Wonders of the World! - I really need to look this up on the maps, tomorrow! (But first, I need to get to the finish and sleep ...)

At that moment, I was grateful that I was not alone. I was riding in a group of seven, mostly French riders, with Kevin M. from Cayucos thrown in. I had the impression that he was more upset than me about the unexpected difficulties and the apparent artificial lengthening of the route so close to the finish. He has completed PBP several times before, but said that he never encountered that particular routing artifact. From my side, despite a thorough conviction of discovering something exceptional, I didn't insist on sharing my bewildering experience. Who knows; maybe not every cyclist is as sensitive to world wonders as myself? And then, I had to sprint again to catch up to the group - that preceding climb was a little longer and steeper than the others in the series! - and I certainly didn't want to be alone in this situation.

And so we arrived in Guyancourt and found our way to the finish control. I knew Fabienne and Nathalie would make a point of staying up and be there for me; and so I attempted to arrive before the bunch of the group. Fabienne recognized me from across the oval:

Ghost rider

I don't want to include any other pictures from the finish - I didn't look good. Fabienne and Nathalie are telling exaggerated stories about how I had forgotten my frame number even though I could see it on the helmet in my hands, or how I turned around when I couldn't see right away the table where I was to check in. But, eventually, I checked in and got my stamp. It was 3:33 a.m. on Thursday morning - I had finished in under 80 hours.

Coda

For the first time after a long ride, I ended up with catching a cold. The immune system didn't appreciate the late hours of the last night.

We left Guyancourt for a long drive to Bavaria on Friday, to arrive in time for the wedding of my niece Barbara (during PBP, I explained to friends who were surprised by my short stops at controls that I needed to finish early, or the wedding of my niece would have to be postponed).

Since then, I am trying to recover in Lower Bavaria with the help of considerable quantities of locally brewed beer and other specialties. It seems to work - I gained over six pounds in a week.

Discovering the Roannais

2011-08-17T06:13:00.000-07:00

Roanne, August 8 - 15, 2011

Picking a title for this post was easy: I just had to translate the sign below:

If you are curious: the Roannais is the area around the town of Roanne which is situated pretty much in central France, with Saint Etienne (see previous post) and Lyon as the nearest bigger cities.

Roanne happens to be the home town of Ghislaine's cousin Jacques and his wife Marie-France. They have a big house there which makes that I like to call Marie-France the Chatelaine. The title is well deserved, in particular because of her outstanding hospitality. I know, because we just spent a week of vacation at their house (and with their grandson Kylian, who told me I was chouette).

Of course, I brought my bicycle along and went out on a 4 - 5 hour ride, every other day, as a last tune-up for next week (my frame number is 4605).

Of course, I wish I could have managed to go back to St. Etienne and do the venerable Col de la République climb at least once; but this will have to wait for another time. Instead, I picked the mountainous area north of Thizy (on the top-right corner of the map above - click on it to zoom in) as the destination of my first excursion. And what a destination it was - Que Du Bonheur!

I started out on the "Milk Road", but soon gained altitude through Coutouvre with its mural paintings:

... and reached areas with greener grass and even happier cows:

It was very cloudy at times, but I stayed dray and enjoyed the change from Cannes' sticky atmosphere to the clean, fresh air in the forests. I accumulated several cols and quite some total elevation gain:

At the Col du Pavillon:

... I was amused to find a sign towards Belleville:

And I touched the border between the Départements of the Loire and the Rhone:

I stopped for two more pictures on the long downhill on the way back:

Pretty little town of La Cergne

--------------

Two days later, I followed the recommendation of Jacques and went southwards along the Gorges of the Loire to Balbigny and back, discovering a different view of the Roannais. No altitude to speak of (the Loire is well below 300 m at this point); but the road often goes up and down on the hills along the river, and the climbs are generally steeper than in the forested areas at higher altitude. All in all, another wonderful excursion and good training!

Château de la Roche

Pretty railroad bridge

A flower tree in Balbigny

-------------

Finally, one last day of riding in the Roannais, this time to the top-left corner of the map at the beginning of this post:

For the occasion, the Chatelaine had made me yet another pair of sandwiches for the road, and in recognition we urged her to pose for a souvenir picture with me before I left:

This was the route with the highest elevation and the longest, most demanding climbing; I enjoyed it even more thoroughly than the previous two.

Isn't that the prettiest name for a Col?

The declared destination was the station of La Loge des Gardes. I certainly wish I could have stayed there in the woods at 1100 m for several days:

Time to smell the flowers!

And now, I also know where the département de l'Allier is!

------------

We are back in Cannes now, but only for a couple of days before leaving for Guyancourt / Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines. Onwards to my second big goal of this year! (I won't be able to report about it immediately after the event, however; we have additional travel plans before coming back to the South).

Pilgrimage

2011-08-08T14:15:00.000-07:00

Col de la République - August 8, 2011

There will be a lot more to write about some time soon. For now, I am only quickly posting a map and two photos from today. Anybody who knows me just a little bit will understand that they are very meaningful for me. It was the first time I had a chance to get there. Even though it was only by car and not on the bike - yet!

Big Goals

2011-08-02T08:27:00.000-07:00

Still in Cannes

It's time to think aloud again. Some (currently faraway) friends have indicated that they like to read about my whereabouts and my dreams. Or, rather: some of my dreams ...

As indicated earlier, the Big Eight was only the first of three big goals in this Paris-Brest-Paris year. The second goal obviously has been set up nearly four years ago, in Saint-Rémy-du-Val, when I decided not to finish my first attempt at PBP. I seem to recall that up to then, the idea was to consider my PBP participation a once-in-a-lifetime escapade. But with that unfinished business on my hands, and the first experience of three days and nights on the roads of PBP in my heart, I had no choice any more: Now I was to become a "real" randonneur. Not only to prepare for PBP 2011, but (excuse the pathos) to find myself.

Similarly, the third goal has become mandatory last September, at the moment I decided to stop, half-way through the first edition of the Mille du Sud. Of course, even if I had been able to complete the distance within the time limit, I would still want to repeat the feat on this year's remodeled route. But given that defeat and unfinished business, the goal has maintained its imperative and threatening quality.

It has been suggested (thanks, Jack!) to refer to the trilogy as my Triple Crown. We will talk about that later in September ...

For now, I find myself preoccupied with the mental preparation of the remaining two big events.

I am taking care of the physical preparation "my way" which is to say not too seriously. This comes with a silent, respectful nod to somebody who once approved of my way with a grinning "You mean you have a life?"

Within the circumstances and constraints of that life, I make my arrangements as sketched in the previous post, changing routes and (always rather short) distances at will and at humor. I don't always take a camera with me; if I do, the pictures tend to look like the following:

View from Montauroux to Callian

This time, I'm going to climb to St. Cézaire sur Siagne!

There I am - looking back in time

What I nearly always do, however, is to include the climb to the Grand Duc in the beginning of my route. I mentioned it in my previous post already; the route is here, and this is the profile (courtesy OpenRunner):

Note the extended ramps above 10% on the profile! Come to think of it, I should also take pictures from the views along the climb and share them. Until I get to it, here are the reasons why it hasn't happened yet:
a) I need to wait for a day with dry winds; otherwise the views are too muggy in July/August
b) I am always too busy climbing and don't want to stop
c) Some of my readers tend to get too envious if they see the views.

So much for the physical preparation. The mental preparation happens during the spare time between rides, with maps and route sheets. I am visualizing my progression through days and nights, over plains and hills; I am estimating average speeds and time spent at stops, and I am projecting arrival times. I also try to visualize the feeling of running on empty, but never succeed. That's why I have to go back and actually do those rides, in order to experience it again.

The other aspect of my mental preparation is to manage my optimism and my tendency to overestimate my abilities. And that's the hard part ...

Mont Vinaigre etc.

2011-07-11T13:38:00.000-07:00

Training rides, Summer 2011

As the blog address suggests, the original purpose was to keep track of my long-distance bicycling pursuits, and I intend to keep it that way. But it is the prerogative of old men to reminisce about the old times (when they were stronger and faster than now); and so I will include more and more often some flashbacks as they present themselves.

As soon as I arrived at the Côte d'Azur in Fall 1970 (a scholarship of the French government allowed me to pursue my studies of Mathematics at the Université de Nice), I used the weekends to discover the mountainous surroundings. I had brought along my new Goëland custom randonneuring bicycle and did put some mileage on it, but not nearly as much as anticipated. One reason was that I got caught up in rock climbing (mainly on the Baou de St. Jeannet):

- the other reason was that I got caught up in meeting my future wife (who neither climbed rocks nor rode a bicycle). Somehow, rock climbing soon moved into the background and eventually all but disappeared from my life, whereas the future wife moved into the foreground. I did maintain the desire to ride my bicycle and still collected some good memories from rides with high elevation gain through spectacular scenery, over the years; but many destinations I had located with the finger on the map remained unreached, even some that were rather close - like the Mont Vinaigre, the highest summit in the Massif de l'Esterel.

Fast forward to early June 2011. We just arrived in Cannes after a lengthy trip from California with a good week of stopover in Germany. I urgently needed to get back on my bike and to get my legs moving in preparation for the Big Eight. No need to do long distances; conventional wisdom mandates tapering under those circumstances, just a little bit spiced up with some shorter efforts to keep the juices flowing. And so I decided to rediscover the Tanneron - it must have been well over thirty years since I was last time on those roads on a bicycle!

It was a revelation, and I was enthusiastic. I had forgotten how smooth the roads could be (20 years in California do that to you), the vistas breathtaking, the air delightfully clean - and no traffic! If only I could start out from Mandelieu (where we used to live for a couple of years, in the eighties)

On my Tanneron loop - view towards the Lac de St. Cassien

... instead of from Cannes, which requires to ride a couple of miles on a dense stretch along the beach. Granted, the beach pictures are good for bragging and for associations with a life of vacation and leisure; but my personal feelings are more than mixed - I am not a beach person (my wife is ...), and I would rather not be surrounded by hundreds of thousands of tourists and vacationers.

Posing for Cannes' Office of Tourism

(Note: This was in early June, before the onslaught of the tourists)

But, no complaining! For the following two weeks, I repeated that same loop nearly every other day, alternating the direction to vary the pleasure. And I was satisfied to come close to my personal best (from over 30 years ago!) of 35 minutes on the 4.7 mile 1400 ft climb to the Grand Duc - not too shabby by my standards.

Immediately after coming back from the Big Eight, the urgency to train was subdued for a couple of days. I needed a new stimulus. What if I finally tried to find the road to the summit of the Mont Vinaigre? - Oh yes!

What can I say: Now I have a new favorite ride, and I already returned twice there. I let the pictures speak for themselves!

From 0 to over 2000 ft

The last portion is kind of steep

But - here we are! (The tower is off-limits)

From the Institut Géographique National

View towards Fréjus

At the end, I had to carry my bicycle ...

... in order to climb as high as possible

... while it's muggy down there!

I think I need fatter tires ...

... to continue my exploration of the "Route des Cols"

The Big Eight

2011-07-01T09:46:00.000-07:00

ARA Nordbayern/Fränkische Alb, Große Acht durch Bayern 1000k, June 23-26, 2011

Wikipedia's disambiguation page of "Big Eight" has currently 13 entries, including four in Sports; but the Große Acht durch Bayern is not there. Even a search for "Große Acht" doesn't show the brainchild of Karl Weimann (click on Über mich on the sidebar of www.randonneure.de) on the first page. Clearly, it is not yet famous enough. A good reason to write about it on my blog.

Karl Weimann: "Randonneurfeeling pur!!!"

Ever since I learned about it, some four or five years ago, I considered it a "must do." Only, I had two problems: a) I couldn't figure out a way to fit the required transatlantic trip into my constrained vacation schedule, and b) I wasn't ready for its level of difficulty (over 30000 ft of elevation gain, much of it on very steep hills; plus infamous navigational challenges and unpredictable weather patterns). But this year, with my "catch-up" stay in Europe over the summer, it finally became one of my top three goals (next to Paris-Brest-Paris and the Mille du Sud). Over the last years, without even talking about it, this goal motivated me to patiently build up the required stamina, including the ability to ride over 600 difficult kilometers without sleep stop - because I had the first loop of the Big Eight in mind!

I had the good fortune to benefit from a carpooling arrangement from Southern France to the start/finish in Osterdorf and back with Sophie. With her outstanding global randonneuring experience (not to mention her completion of the Big Eight, two years ago) and a good measure of philosophical consensus, she was the ideal travel companion for the randonneur apprentice. However, I would be on my own during the ride; regardless of her modesty and her abnegation of any competitive spirit, she is still riding in a different league.

The day before the big trip Cannes - Osterdorf, at the Auberge Provençale:

Joseph - Ghislaine - Sophie - Ghislaine's sister Christiane

The adventure started before we even arrived. A terrible storm had passed through southern Bavaria just minutes before us; if we had driven any faster during the day, we would have been in trouble! Even so, the deep layer of leaves and branches torn down from the trees by egg-sized hail made a big impression - until we got stuck in a labyrinth of narrow country roads, blocked in all directions by fallen trees, which made an even bigger impression.

A car driver ahead of us seemingly lost his mind and drove off across a meadow. We escaped narrowly by setting the venerable Citroën Xm's suspension into high clearance mode and making her wade through a closed section of submerged road construction while puzzled villagers looked at us in disbelief. On arrival in Osterdorf, we recovered from the stress with an Andechser Dunkel at the Enten Stub'n, a nearby restaurant where we shared dinner with the iconic brevet organizers Karl and Heidi and half a dozen other randonneurs.

Weather was perfect on Thursday morning at the 10 a.m. start, when Karl sent off 79 riders, himself included. Twenty more had registered and later cancelled; the storm on the day before must have had to do with it. I felt good and rolled along with various smaller groups, changing alliances according to the upheavals caused by the first climbs. However, I noticed how I would have missed several turns during the first hour already, had I not had the help from various companions who knew better. One of them, Frank, was about to accomplish his 10th finish of the Big Eight in ten consecutive participations - he had only missed the first edition because he was not a randonneur yet!

Before the start at the Alte Schule in Osterdorf

Early in the afternoon, the predicted rain set in and accompanied us for several hours. No big deal - I was well equipped and optimistic about the weather forecast for the next days. Later in the afternoon, I ended up riding alone, ever so often leapfrogging other riders who stopped to take pictures of the alpine skyline. My goal was to arrive at the open control in Bad Tölz before darkness (235 km in just a little over 11 hours), and I succeeded. I picked a traditional Wirtshaus for a generous traditional dinner with a traditional dark beer, and I texted home "Life is good!" Too bad it cost me half an hour more than I had budgeted, but I didn't regret it. I would need a solid sustenance for the night ahead.

I should resist the temptation to give a chronological account of the ride - 1044 km is just a little too long for that! But the first night was special. First, I managed to get lost a little earlier than good for the morale - well before arriving in Nußdorf with its "Turn left when the road makes a right turn" instruction. In darkness, any navigational challenges are multiplied. To begin with, I should admit that over time, I have lost much of my good sense of orientation (don't know why). Then, the sustained pedaling effort seems to make the brain hypoxic (at least mine). This is a problem when the instructions in the route sheet are coded in a way that requires puzzle-solving skills and a flawless short-term memory (you can find lines that translate into something like "turn right after 400m, then again after 300m, and turn left 1.8 km later"). Obviously, this type of route sheet coding doesn't take into account that some people (like me) sometimes let their minds drift off into uncontrolled psychoanalytical areas while riding their bike. But I was extremely careful when looking out for that tiny little sign Duftbräu - because this was one of the more outrageous climbs on the route (I didn't know yet how many of them were still to come!).

Late at night, high up at the Duftbräu

(Photo: Sophie)

I found that sign, was proud of myself, and proceeded to climb up an incredibly steep paved narrow path, so steep I resigned myself to pushing the bike, which was still hard enough. Maybe 200 vertical meters later: dead-end! This path ended up in a narrow hiking trail which would have required to carry the bicycle on longer and even steeper stretches - and probably get lost in the woods for good! So, I turned around and was relieved to find two other riders standing at the junction where I had made the wrong turn; they knew the way. (In fact, I could have avoided the mistake by observing the distances on the route sheet more scrupulously; but a slight rain had set in again, and this made it more difficult to read the instructions under the helmet light. And, remember the hypoxic brain!). Of course, I got lost again after the long downhill. Eventually, I saw a woman push a bicycle on the sidewalk: she started distributing mail in the little town around 4 a.m. and was friendly enough to help me out. I arrived at the control in Bernau at daybreak and caught up with a bunch of bleary-eyed randonneurs there. They left before I was ready, however, and so I continued alone.

As I said, I had been looking forward to riding this 1000 km brevet through Bavaria for several years. I considered including in this report an account of the flashbacks that punctuated my progression (but then it would have become a book). It was fascinating to experience the conflicting feelings of being a stranger in my own home country. I thought that emphasizing and reviving the memories from 45 years ago (when I last rode the bicycle over those roads, be it in lengthy road races or while touring with my little brothers or alone) would help me resolve the mental discomfort. But instead, it only led to more instances of taking the wrong turn when I instinctively followed the road travelled as a youth rather than the route sheet!

So, you will understand how happy I was when a little later on that Friday morning, Karl caught up with me: he would know his own route, and I just had to follow him and would never get lost again! - It turned out that we would stay together until the finish, and that more than once he did get a little lost himself, too ... which is a way for me to buy back some of my own blunders. But, let me say it loud and clear: I would have never finished the ride without Karl; I would have never even attempted the second loop without him!

Overall, we had a great time. We harmonized pretty well. He was generally stronger than I, but he suffered from severe hip pain and consequential side effects, and this handicap evened the playing field - until it turned into a major road block for him. I still cannot fathom how he managed to finish, with a smile on his face and abounding with jokes (except when he thought nobody would observe him), while being nearly unable to lift his leg over the bicycle after each stop.

The way back to Osterdorf was geographically interesting and rewarding, but very demanding physically, with its sustained and sometimes violent headwind and a lot of steep climbing (30000 ft of elevation gain have to come from somewhere!). We arrived around 2 a.m., just when Sophie was ready to set out alone for the second loop. Our sleep break would have to be much shorter than hers (I reckoned about two hours), because there was another control closure pending on Saturday noon!

I changed gloves after the first loop - too many miles!

That early morning, I acknowledged a gentle tailwind on initially fairly easy roads and credited both for the illusion of being in good shape. When the "regularly scheduled" climbs started, I stayed cautious and explained to Karl how my lighter body weight penalizes my power/weight ratio more than his when we add luggage as necessary for the long distances. As I learned later that day, I was just rationalizing away a lack of confidence in my abilities and an unjustified fear of blowing up.

Karl suddenly broke the cable for the front derailleur (inside the STI shifter) and decided after some tinkering and experimentation that he would rather continue on the smallest chainring than losing more time trying to fix it. Less than half an hour later, at the top of a climb, we saw two riders wait for us: Frank (the one who was on his 10th participation and finish!) and Tom, a talented mechanic. They had learned about Karl's mishap from riders who had passed us earlier and caught up with them, and decided to wait for him and fix it (not without a healthy dose of ribbing). And then they stayed with Karl and me to the finish!

Joseph, Tom and Karl at the top of the Erzloch Anhöhe (1.7 km at 17% or so)

Photo: Frank

We had some of the most beautiful areas of the whole route ahead of us (I promised myself to come back there with my wife, one day, for some vacation days!), but also some of the most demanding climbing. Somehow, the units of measurement for the steepness of slopes change over time on a long ride; on the third day and after 750 km, what was 14 % initially (already more than enough when it goes on and on for a couple of km) now felt like 24%. I was still adequately intimidated by those climbs and voluntarily let myself drop back on each of them - until I said to myself, later in the afternoon, after a snack-and-beer stop, "What the heck!" and set an imaginary personal record on that reputable Wichsenstein road (17%), climbing faster than my companions in the process. Wow - I improved on the third day of the ride?! (Alternatively, one might want to consider the possibility that Bavarian beer acts like a natural doping for me ...)

View towards Wichsenstein

(Photo: public domain)

The route was meandering and meandering over wonderfully smooth trails along rivers - pure pleasure! - and ever so often found yet another absurdly steep hill to struggle over. Karl admitted not without pride that he has always been a fan of extremely hard climbs, and that his brevet route design follows his own ambitions. As if any route in this region was not already hard enough all by itself!

The last night was hard. The steep climbs and slow descents (they were dangerous on the dark, narrow and now again wet roads) made our average speed drop below the required minimum between controls, and we desperately needed a minimum of sleep to keep the bicycle under control while the headlights reflected themselves hypnotically in the falling rain. Several times we stopped, leaned against a street sign post or similar to avoid falling over, and closed the eyes for a minute. And then we had to press on. I was not the only one truly exhausted when we arrived at the penultimate control Oberpfälzer Alb Süd (km 912) around 5 a.m., only minutes before control closure. And then I passed out for an hour under a table.

The time limit for a 1000 km brevet is 75 hours, corresponding to Sunday 1 p.m. in this case. Our little group included Frank who aimed for his 10th "Big Eight" finish and clearly didn't want to miss it. Karl himself had suffered so much over the last days that it would have been really unfair to deny him a finish within the time limit. I pretended that I didn't mind that much; I was already very satisfied with what I had experienced and achieved so far; but this was only half true. Of course I wanted to become an "official finisher" - and I started worrying about us cutting it too close. The road was still difficult, and I ended up becoming paranoid in my mental calculations of average speed and projected arrival time, and distrustful of Karl's and Frank's reassuring estimates (they did know the region, distances and times like their pocket, whereas I continued taking "links" for "rechts" on the route sheet, causing all kinds of trouble to my companions). But suddenly, less than an hour from Altdorf at km 1009, which was designated as a check-in control for people who were too close to the time limit to ride through to Osterdorf at km 1044 (this doesn't include all the "bonus miles" ...), my calculations started matching their estimates, and we finished the 1009 km distance together with 40 minutes to spare. Now we had the luxury to restore ourselves properly before riding back to the "real finish" in Osterdorf.

With Karl at the finish in Osterdorf

(Photo: Sophie)

As so often after a long distance, the joy and satisfaction over the accomplishment didn't sink in until later. I had to make a conscious effort to tell myself that I had moved up to a new level in my randonneuring career. Only about half of the starters finished - and I was among them! And (barring exceptionally bad atmospheric conditions), Sophie confirmed my hunch that this 1000k was more difficult than both PBP or even the Mille du Sud ...

*****

Sophie made her photos available to illustrate my blog - thanks!

Towards Seeshaupt / Starnberger See

Beuerberg

Towards Bad Tölz

Bernau

Early morning, towards Ampfing

Vilsbiburg

Between Wörth/Isar and Kelheim/Donau

The Befreiungshalle in Kelheim

Frankendorf: Franconians most beautiful village

Wichsenstein

The Wiesent river (between Gössweinstein and Waischenfeld)

Hohenmirsberger Platte

"Backdoor access" to Autobahn rest stop and control

Fränkische Schweiz - Pegnitz

Soon after that: another bicycling paradise!

Kastl

(each time you see an illuminated building high up, chances are you'll have to climb up there!)

That's where Sophie slept in the night from Saturday to Sunday: a communal bread oven

(nearby Berching)

The Big Nail

2011-06-29T07:59:00.000-07:00

San Francisco Randonneurs 600k, May 7-8, 2011

This was my third participation at my home club's 600. The previous two experiences (here and here) were rather satisfying, despite the route's prestige of being "not easy." As it happens, I didn't feel very well at the start without knowing why; but based on my previous experience with this route and my generally better conditioning this year, I didn't worry. Rather, I intended to ride alone and still try to improve my previous times, which implied in particular to ride through without sleep stop. I wanted to train my sleep-deprivation tolerance a bit more in prevision of the upcoming more ambitious goals, this year.

After not much more than three hours, however, my intentions were discouraged by a nail. Not just any nail, but a big hand-made soft-iron nail as they are used for horseshoeing. The specific problem was that the wheel made several turns with the nail before I came to a stop, and that at each turn the tip of the nail hit the rim (from inside the tire) to the effect of spiraling it up: it was impossible to pull the nail without destroying the tire! - I was so disgusted by this situation that I forgot to take more pictures from the spiraled-up tip inside the tire.

The situation could have been a deal breaker right there, if I hadn't put a small plier back into my saddle bag, shortly before the ride, thinking "why didn't I carry it along throughout the last year?" I still had to work hard (and nearly break the pliers) for what seemed like half an hour before I could somehow unwrap and eventually break the nail such that it could be removed. But, of course, now I was last on the course, and not in a good mood at all!

I replaced the inner tube, booted the tire, pumped it up and went on my way. About half a mile later, pfft - another (unrelated) puncture ...

The attempt to find the address of a friend's weekend house in Boonville to say "Hi!" (just before it got dark) failed as well, not without costing me another wasted half-hour. Oh well.

I was still determined to make the best out of this ride. I already felt better than in the morning, had the impression that I was stronger than in previous years on this route, and kept going at my preferred pace. On the way back from the turn-around in Fort Bragg, we had a little rain and wet roads, but I didn't mind. I arrived later than ever (maybe around 1:30 a.m.) at the Dimmick campground rest stop, restored myself and relaxed for about 45 minutes, but didn't sleep. I performed satisfactorily on the remaining climbs back to Cloverdale, where I saw two bicycles outside a coffee shop - breakfast time!

During the uneventful remainder of the ride, I had the pleasure to meet many faster riders who were still not quite awake from their extended sleep break (but who I couldn't follow for long regardless), and who I met again at the Point Reyes Station control where they stayed even longer than myself. I used the last well-known climbs from there to the finish to test my legs and compare with how I felt there in the past - the result was reassuring.

I got a picture taken when handing in my brevet card (with Alcatraz in the background), called home, and felt fresh enough to join my family at a dinner invitation by our Scottish friends where I continued my sleep-deprivation training successfully until well past midnight.

Too Much?

2011-06-18T09:50:00.000-07:00

Santa Cruz Randonneurs 400k, April 16, 2011
Pacific Coast Highway Randonneurs 600k pre-ride, April 21, 2011

From the experience of the last four years, I know that I can recover from a 600 within a week and ride 600 km distances safely on consecutive weekends. So, a relatively easy 400 like the Santa Cruz Monterey Bay shouldn't do any harm a week after the San Diego 600 (even though it was the hardest). And I don't think it did.

I knew the route quite well and progressed steadily. In the evening, on the way to Gonzales, I connected with Mick J. and we rode most of the way back to the finish together, picking up three other riders on the way. While Mick was dissatisfied with his finishing time of 20 hours (and this was with nursing a bad tendinitis in his ankle!), I was more than happy with it and didn't mind dropping off on the last miles and losing a handful of additional minutes, mainly due to stop lights.

Originally, I then had the PCH Randos April 29 600k brevet on my calendar. This would have left nearly two weeks for recovery - more than enough. But, being in retirement, I decided to follow up on an old promise and offer volunteering instead. In exchange, I would get an opportunity to do the "Workers Ride" - which started on Wednesday evening, barely three days after the finish of the 400k! Oh well - that's going to be a good stress test ...

The event master Vickie had designed an attractive and challenging route with start, rest stop and finish in Lompoc, and an overnight arrangement in San Luis Obispo:

Day 1

Day 2

We were only three at the start on Wednesday evening 9 p.m.: Vickie and Tom R. on their recumbents, and myself on the only non-recumbent. This made drafting less rewarding for me and challenged me on downhills, but put less pressure on me on the uphills. Regardless, all in all we were pretty well matched, worked well together and had a great time through the night ...

... until the rain started, shortly after midnight. In order to avoid halting our little group, I did not put on my protection against getting wet feet, which I would regret bitterly later. When we arrived at the San Luis Obispo Denny's control around 3 a.m., we were thoroughly soaked and chilled. It was easy to stay longer than reasonable before getting back on the route and climbing Cuesta grade with more rain, some mechanical mishaps and other reasons to extend stops and prevent forward motion. Later in the morning, the sun came out and we had some very nice riding through the back-country, although my feet stayed wet and uncomfortably cold. Also, on the hillier portions, I made the experience (new to me) of waiting for my companions, whereas I didn't always succeed in following them into the wind when the road was flat or downhill (in which case they waited for me). We did not run out of time relative to the control closure times (although we were sometimes a little too close for comfort); however, I was seriously worried that our slow progress did not provide the cushion I was counting on to make a necessary second-night sleep stop (after riding through the first night without sleeping), where I could also change into dry socks and generally warm up my cold feet.

Serious headwind towards Cambria cost more time, and in addition, the windchill got more and more bothersome as the sun went down on the way back to Morro Bay. I started feeling sickly (scratchy throat, feverish) while cursing the cold feet, and realized that my endurance reserves were running low. Was this the consequence of not recovering enough from the hard San Diego 600, and adding a 400 just four days earlier instead? I was riding alone for a while at that time, because Vickie and Tom had stopped to add layers (I had put on everything I had earlier already); and so I had time to come up with ways of rationalizing the upcoming "DNF" decision. The real kicker was not the fact that I felt uncomfortable, cold and weak; it was that there would be no time left for a sleep and warm-up stop in San Luis Obispo, and that I did not want to go into a second night without sleep, for safety reasons.

When I got together with Vickie and Tom again in the Morro Bay area, it turned out that Vickie had called her husband already to pick her up - she had suffered earlier in the afternoon from sleep deprivation symptoms already. Tom, however, was determined to finish: he needed this 600 for his PBP qualification. He expected me to stay with him at least until the San Luis Obispo area (from where I would fork off to reach my "home base" in Shell Beach with Ghislaine and friend Yolande); but when we took off, two things happened: a) I realized I was unable to hold his pace on even slight uphills; b) I picked up a staple in my rear tire and punctured. Tom understood that waiting for me would definitely compromise his goal and reluctantly rode on. (He succeeded to complete the 600 km within the time limit, riding through two essentially sleepless nights!)

I was lucky that my "sickly" feelings that pushed me to abandon didn't have any consequences, and that I was in good shape to go from there babysitting for a week in Los Angeles (grandsons!), and to come back for volunteering activities at the official 600k brevet on April 29 - 30. I hope I can get back onto this route some time in the future!

My Hardest 600

2011-06-18T07:49:00.000-07:00

San Diego Randonneurs 600k, April 9-10, 2011

If my count is correct, this was my 13th 600k brevet. I had committed to it as soon as it showed up on the calendar; the good memories from last year's 600 out of Borrego Springs and the desire to ride again with my friends Kelly and John M. on those Southern Californian roads that I always found so attractive made it a priority for this year as well.

Due to the high density of organized brevets in this PBP-year Spring, only 11 riders (myself included) were at the start in Temecula; and ten of them were known to be (much) stronger and faster than myself. Sadly, John M. was missing - he didn't feel ready for a 600; but throughout the first half of the ride he volunteered on several controls and intermediate water stops together with his charming spouse, and this was a nice compensation.

I felt in good shape. Since the Arizona 600 three weeks earlier, I had participated in the second edition of the Santa Cruz "Buena Vista 300" the weekend before and was an hour faster than in February on the same route, while riding nearly all alone this time.

Soon after the start in Temecula, the road went up into a chilly altitude, and I performed quite well in staying with the second half of those strong riders. The 3rd control in Warner Springs was particularly memorable with its snow-covered trees under the blue sky; I wish I had the photos to prove it - it felt like a magical winter ride, just before we plunged down to the warm desert floor and then rode South-East to Ocotillo and back West along the Mexican border. Kelly and I still caught close to half a dozen other riders at the Ocotillo control, but we left after them and were now the last on the road, even though several hours ahead of my projected pace. On the dreaded 12-mile, 3000-ft climb on I-8, Kelly was tempted to chase down Nicole H. and Jim Swarzman who were less than half a mile ahead; but I was unable to follow and Kelly resigned himself to staying with me. This climb came much later in the game than last year, and in conjunction with my earlier big efforts and the unrelenting and forceful headwind, it brought me to my knees. Trying to do my best, I went temporarily into the red zone and knew I had soon to stop and "walk it off" for a little while. Kelly felt what was coming and stopped before me at a roadside SOS phone, stone-facedly pretending to make a call to request SAG for me ...

The violent headwind stayed with us until the evening in San Diego. As long as I could hide at Kelly's rear wheel, this somewhat evened out the disparity in our strengths. Still, I was determined to make this a "Hard 600" and see how far and how fast I could go - Kelly should be proud of me! On the other hand, as so often on a long ride, both of us together lost the ambition to keep stops as short as possible. But we were still ahead of schedule and would have no trouble arriving in Oceanside early enough for a restful sleep break (Kelly had reserved a Motel 6 room there). Kelly was a little worried about getting too sleepy around midnight, and I teased him into controversial discussions on training methods which kept him alert. In retaliation, he teased me into believing we were on top of the Torrey Pines climb out from San Diego when we weren't.

We arrived in Oceanside much, much later than anticipated. I don't want to write about what happened - those of you who don't know are referred to this page. Suddenly, this brevet was not just a "Hard 600" - it had became my hardest 600 ever.

Chris H. (I must have mentioned him several times on this blog, for example here, and I have met him on the roads many more times since I started randonneuring) joined Kelly and me overnight and decided to stay with us. I finished the brevet in company of two true gentlemen under good conditions on Sunday afternoon in Temecula. - It was hard; no: hardest.

The Big House

2011-06-18T03:35:00.000-07:00

Arizona Brevet "Tombstone 600" March 19, 2011

Somehow, the beginning of the "Golden Years" (see previous post) disrupted my blog posting. This is particularly unfortunate because my first 600 in 2011 really would have deserved a prompt report - it was a very special event for me. I don't know why, but I had been looking forward to riding in Arizona for many years already. Work being what it is with its limited number of vacation days, I never could afford the extra time for the long trip - had to wait for retirement! Then, I was particularly motivated this year to complete the first SR series as soon as possible - it is required as a qualification for Paris - Brest - Paris in August. Finally, I liked the date of March 19th: In my youth, this used to be an official holiday in Bavaria (and other countries): St. Joseph's day ...

Fabienne could make herself available to accompany Ghislaine and me from LA to Casa Grande. We were excited to travel into the AZ state which we hadn't visited in a long time. A sign at a rest stop set the tone:

The next morning, Ghislaine and Fabienne made a remarkable and much appreciated effort to get up and accompany me to the 5 a.m. start:

While I was out on the roads, on my way to Tombstone and back, the women would enjoy the Best Western swimming pool, go shopping and visit the Casa Grande museum.

As so often when my enthusiasm gets the better of me, I couldn't help but trying to stay with the group of the strongest riders to the first control in Marana. I nearly succeeded; it helped that the road was flat and that there was a headwind. But on the way around the southern edge of Tucson, the expected punishment ensued. Many of the friends who had wisely stayed behind now caught up with me, and I was unable to follow them. It started to warm up (first time in the year that I rode in short sleeves and without leg warmers - and got sunburned!), and the hills through the Saguaro National Park took their tool.

So I went into my recovery ride mode and enjoyed the beautiful day and the fascinating scenery on my own. And because I had finally learned to spend less time off the bike (for lunch stops and the like), I could still meet with stronger riders on the road and accompany them for a while. This includes the friendly Rick B. and Irene T. who were riding together. (Search for "Colorado" in my report from the Cascade 1200, last year; the "young and strong women", that's her). But later in the day, on the long climbs around the Sonoita area, Irene let Rick go ahead, and I met her again at the Elgin control, not quite 35 miles from the turn-around in Tombstone. On the way out, it was dinner-time at this control (Susan the RBA had cooked for us!), and on the way back it was our sleep stop. Irene and I decided to do the night riding together, and it turned out that we would mostly stay together to the finish.

The last miles before Tombstone (around 10 p.m.) were not particularly pleasurable for me; it was cold, I did have stomach issues and the unexpected climbs before Tombstone made me feel weaker than I would have liked. Consequently, I could not care less about the touristic attractions of this historic town. I spent much more time at the Tombstone control than I should have, sipping a somewhat soothing herb tea, desperately trying to bring my digestive tract back into working order, while Irene was patiently waiting. I literally couldn't stomach the cold water (or any other cold liquid) in the bottles, and wished I had the heat from ten hours earlier back. The long, dark, cold, lonely way back to Elgin was a serious test of our randonneuring aptitude; both Irene and I expressed that we were happy not to be alone in it. As we approached Elgin, it became colder and colder - just as knowledgeable friends had predicted. I was lucky to have my full winter equipment with me, and it was barely enough.

Under these conditions, we extended the sleep stop more than absolutely necessary, to minimize the remaining cold night riding. It turned out to be not too bad (it helps to be rested and well fed again); and the super full moon turned it into a memorable experience. When it was in our back, it threw a shadow that made me believe more than once that a car was approaching from behind.

The long downhill into the Tucson area brought daylight and higher temperatures back, and I finally had to get my personal "Saguaro with bicycle" souvenir photo:

For a couple of hours, the wind was mostly in our back, and the ride appeared easy (except for the cracks in the road that vibrated through the bike to the handlebars and you know where). Only the last flat and boring 45 miles became challenging again; the wind was strong and became unfavorable. I felt fully recovered from the more difficult periods, however, and proud to be able to accompany Irene without any trouble to the finish. Fabienne and Ghislaine (who said they enjoyed the time while I was out) waited for me at the hotel and were surprised to see how easily I could still carry my bike up the stairs to the "real" finish:

*******

Based on my excitement about the ride and what I had seen there, we decided to stay another day so we could go together to the Desert Museum in the Tucson area on Monday. It turned out to be one of the better decisions we ever made - highly recommended!

But the story is not over yet. Before driving back to LA on the next day, I managed to convince my passengers that we had enough time to make a detour to the Casa Grande Ruins. I had no idea what it was all about; I only saw the signs and recalled that there was an early 200k brevet named after them. When we approached the entrance, expectations were still subdued. Should we really pay money to stand around and stare at some old sand and stones? - Boy were we wrong with our attitude!

We were lucky to arrive just minutes before a gentleman named John Andrews started a guided tour. I believe I have never before seen and heard such a talented, knowledgeable and charismatic tour guide. He drew us into the history of that unknown native people who had built this incredible Big House some 600 years back - and then disappeared. We imagined their lives, rooted for them, and were distressed to learn that some unknown events and conditions drove them away. A big ride like a 600 km brevet always makes me more receptive and sensitive to "feelings" which may appear to be an unusual reward for a cyclist - but it is for me. And so, when I walked up to John Andrews after the tour (he was standing alone and watched the reactions of the group from a small distance) to compliment and thank him for the wonderful tour, I choked up. The whole story of that Big House as presented by him was just too impressive for me.

Riding off into the Golden Years

2011-04-07T00:21:00.000-07:00

PCH Randos "Wine and Waves" 400k, March 12, 2011

OK, it's time to admit it: I finally went into retirement, on March 3rd. Nearly everybody who knows me imagines that ever since I am spending all my time riding the bicycle - but that's not how it works! (At least, not if you are married.) It's a cliché that retired people don't have time for anything any more; but it's true. Proof is that I am still four weeks behind in my blogging! I even didn't get to ride the Davis Bike Club 200k brevet on March 5th - although I had a good reason for that. I felt a little "under the weather" the day before and didn't want to overtax the organism. (I also had been busy celebrating the special milestone).

Celebrating retirement at Hardy's Bavaria

(note the Bavarian colors of the balloons)

It might be a worthy subject for a dissertation or a blog post to analyze the feelings that come along with the deep cut in one's everyday routine and the identity crisis that could arise from suddenly missing a very substantial component of one's self-worth - but I don't have time to get into it!

Identify crisis or not, on March 11th, we drove the familiar route down to our friend Yolande in Shell Beach. We found a nice dinner on the table:

and some "retirement balloons" in the bedroom:

All this didn't distract me from getting in time to the start of my first 400 km brevet of the season, the next morning in San Luis Obispo.

I was familiar with most of the route from various previous events in the area, and I was very much looking forward to a long day on the bike through the wonderful scenery of the Central Coast.

It was quite chilly in the morning, and I was overdressed as usual. Also, compared to the last time I climbed up Cuesta Grade, I was much slower, had much less ambition, and was much further back among the nearly 60 starters. I remembered, however, that many riders tend to relax on the following downhill and over the bucolic flat portion through Santa Margerita and beyond, and that I could catch up with them if I didn't abuse of the freewheel. And so I found myself eventually part of a friendly and very competent group which included several randonneuring luminaries (you know who you are!). I was thrilled of course to be in their midst and did my best to pretend being worthy of the privilege. As a side effect, I could benefit from drafting them (yes, again!) and arrived at the San Miguel control much earlier than anticipated. I was competitive in staying focussed and to-the-point during the time off the bike, but I did not remove enough layers. About half an hour later, when we got into the hills to the west of Paso Robles, I realized my mistake and had to let everybody else go while stopping for wardrobe adjustment. Then again, my legs had already started to twitch on the uphills and I would have been dropped from the group at that point, no matter what.

The climbs over the mountains towards the coast did nothing to make me feel stronger - quite the opposite. At the highest point, volunteer extraordinaire Bobbe (already mentioned several times in this blog) had set up a water stop. I certainly appreciated, but honestly couldn't buy into her compliments about my good riding. I felt lousy and had trouble articulating coherently. Silently, I promised myself to finally start training, some time in the months to come!

Recovery was slow during the long downhill to the coast, and I needed to extend my lunch stop at the Cambria control longer than planned. My feelings regarding the upcoming 22 mile stretch to Ragged Point were mixed, to put it diplomatically: the headwind was quite unforgiving (good thing I had seen much worse not so long ago). It certainly overpowered any consideration of the spectacular scenery. And my legs still didn't feel confident enough to wait for the company of some friends who had arrived during my stop. Of course, it would be reasonable to team up with them into the headwind; but I honestly felt unable to contribute my fair share, and (call me whatever you like) didn't want to only hang on their rear wheel either - heck, I wasn't even sure I would be able to hang on their wheel. And so I set out on my own, carefully optimizing my effort for this most demanding part of the whole ride.

After about twenty minutes, it didn't feel quite so difficult any more. I felt more comfortable keeping my head down and adopting a lower more aerodynamic position on the bike, and I realized that I was slowly catching up to a rider who had left the Cambria stop several minutes before me: Mel (who I had ridden the last portion of last year's Clambake 1000 with). This felt very motivating, and I increased the pressure on myself to actually catch him. I guess Mel wasn't sure whether I would cooperate with him into the headwind when he realized that I was at his wheel. He knows that he is fundamentally stronger than I; and I needed a recovery from my effort to catch him. But my morale was suddenly intact again, and as soon as possible I started trading pulls with him. I was satisfied of having overcome the earlier low point and was determined to put up a good fight against the wind. Mel seemed to feel more motivated himself and several times rode harder than I could follow. As soon as he noticed that I was "gone," he waited for me. And I am proud to report that this happened also reciprocally (even though much less frequently). All together, we covered good ground under difficult conditions and closed in on another rider ahead of us, maybe two miles (or three) before the climb up to Ragged Point. That's when I suddenly developed leg cramps and had to let loose. Still, I was happy: getting the cramps was evidence and proof that I had been working really hard - harder than I thought I could. I wasn't worried about recovering and finishing the ride in a satisfactory way.

On the way back from Ragged Point

For one, we were rewarded on the return trip to Cambria with a wonderful tailwind (which mostly died down at sunset, sadly). And then, back at the San Luis Obispo control (mile 175) the event master Vickie offered not only a well furnished dinner, but also moral support for the remaining 75 relatively easy miles - it was all good!

About eight miles after leaving San Luis Obispo, the route lead through Shell Beach, not far from where Ghislaine stayed with Yolande and her daughter Gerry. I had convinced them not to expect me for a stop - I wanted to cover the last portion of the ride in a good rhythm and get home as early as possible. But because Ghislaine followed my progression on SPOT, she had a good idea when I would come through and waited for me with Yolande, Gerry and the Pomeranian Jacquot at a street corner. This was quite a surprise; and Ghislaine needed to document the event with a picture. Because her old iPhone doesn't have a flash, I used my helmet light for illumination:

I rode the remaining distance mostly alone and without any trouble other than the bitter cold that fell on us during the last hour. Even though I finished in good form and in good spirits, I did not expect that my rather modest finishing time of 21h44 would position me so close to the middle of the pack:

Despite some difficulties in the first part, my first ride in the Golden Years was a success!

Riding with the Daughters

2011-04-05T23:38:00.000-07:00

Mega-Monster Enduro 2/12/2011
Death Valley Spring Century, 2/26/2011

If anybody had made me bet on the likeliness of one day riding a century with my daughters, even just two years ago, I would have lost all bets. Not that I didn't believe they could do it if they wanted to; but that they might want it appeared to be extremely far-fetched. Well, you may remember that I proudly titled a blog post "High Five to my Daughters!", a year ago, and that Valerie also completed the Fall Death Valley Century up to Scotty's Castle, last October. Even better: she then said that after those experiences as stoker on the tandem she now also needed to complete a century solo. This was all the more remarkable that Valerie doesn't even have a bicycle of her own and that she didn't ride a bike (other than on the backseat of the tandem) since childhood. Her younger sister Fabienne already had more solo miles under the belt and trained on indoor bikes; but her health is fragile and she missed out on the Fall Death Valley Century due to illness. So, both were signed up for this year's Death Valley Spring Century, again. Together with their elder brother Sebastian and myself, we certainly had the biggest family contingent in the event!

Due to the usual (Valerie is in a demanding full-time job; Fabienne's schedule is highly unpredictable) and some unusual constraints, training and preparation were less than minimal. So, participating in the 103 km option of the "Mega-Monster Enduro" as a dress rehearsal two weeks before the big event became absolutely mandatory and appeared to be a big enough challenge in itself. Fabienne still had trouble with the occasional annoying knee pain, and Valerie had accumulated, all in all, less than two hours' worth of practice on a borrowed bike that I adjusted to her needs as well as I could. I promised myself that I would not push them and rather encourage them instead to take it easy and turn around early if just ignoring the lack of preparation didn't work.

The conditions were rather favorable for the season, but the miles went by a little slower than planned (not a big surprise). Also, because I had changed the rear derailleur on Valerie's bike (to accomodate a MTB cassette for the steeper uphills), the derailleur cable needed to be re-adjusted after some time: the gears didn't change properly any more. After a couple of more miles, I asked her if shifting worked OK now. She said, somewhat grumpily: "Yeah, the gears are shifting OK; but I still don't find any one I like."

Several times, I suggested to cut it short and turn around earlier; but they didn't want to hear anything of it (stubbornness seems to run in the family). And so we arrived at the Bitterwater checkpoint and had our picture taken:

The return trip was easier because of a flattering tailwind (except for the last ten miles) and the loss of altitude. This (together with the marvelous scenery) explains the big smiles:

I encouraged them to take little rest stops - in particular when we arrived at unexpected places like Brigadoon in the Scottish Highlands:

All this did cost a little extra time, but it was worth it. Of course, a "racing team" is supposed to try to win and to save each and every second; but given that we were the only starters in our team category of "Father and Daughters", we took first place no matter what!

One week later, Valerie and I even managed to bring my fairly new son in law along for a training ride on the Coyote Creek Trail.

Granted, he turned around early (he didn't like the saddle of my old mountain bike that I loaned him) and probably was impressed by the sign that pointed out that we were in mountain lion habitat. But it was a start! And I made Valerie a compliment after our sustained 2-hour ride: if she rode similarly well on the following Saturday, the century would be "in the bag" for her.

*****

Finally, the weekend of our traditional Spring family reunion at the Furnace Creek Ranch was there. Ghislaine and I arrived early on Friday afternoon, Sebastian came with his two toddlers accompanied by Fabienne from Los Angeles soon afterwards, and Valerie with Roman joined us a little later. The bad news: a) Fabienne was sick again and unfit to ride; b) a horrible wind made it a challenge to get out of the car! Despite keeping my mouth shut (already difficult enough for me in itself), I couldn't carry the luggage from the car to the hotel room without getting sand between my teeth. Of course, we had followed the weather forecast over the last days (it promised very low temperatures and rain!) and prepared our equipment and our mental selves accordingly. I reassured Valerie that the upcoming rain would bring the wind down - and that we didn't fear the rain.

Well - no rain overnight, and no rain at the start. Instead, a clear, crispy (even chilly) sky with gorgeous views to Telescope Peak:

(from the AdventureCorps web site)

Instead, we had to fight a headwind as I had never encountered it before. Recall that Valerie really didn't have many miles on a solo bike at all, and that consequently she was still not adept at taking advantage of somebody's rear wheel. I figured that this would be the day where she would learn it, and I was somewhat right, eventually. Until then, I puffed my little frame up as much as I could to increase the shelter for Valerie, and turned my head every two seconds to check if she was still there. If not, the wind had instantly blown her back so far I had to turn around to pick her up again. It was one of those situations where the difficulty turned into ridicule. When the first 40 km under these conditions took us 3 1/2 hours, I knew I needed to look for a "plan B." Diplomatically, I convinced Valerie that we would make it a metric century and turn around at km 50; this would be "hard enough." - Little did I know!

It is true that right after our turn around, we had an outrageous tailwind for about an hour. But we were still so exhausted from fighting the gale that we just let ourselves get pushed, without barely ever turning the pedals. And when we arrived at the Badwater rest stop, we were in no hurry to get back on our bikes for the last 18 miles. Now we didn't want to arrive too early at the finish and we could maybe even wait for Sebastian. He had left us shortly after the start to join a paceline of stronger riders, and I figured he had a good chance to catch up with us even after riding 40 more miles which included the climb to Jubilee Pass.

We should have hurried up! There was a wall of grey air between us and the finish which moved towards us. It represented the collision between the wind from the South which we had enjoyed during the last hour, and the wind from the North which was about to try to prevent us from reaching the finish!

(from the AdventureCorps web site)

We needed nearly three hours for the 18 miles, at some point even walking the bikes for a quarter mile (after the wind had blown us off the road while on a slow uphill). We saw other riders being sagged in by the dozens; several of them then climbed into their cars to come back and help sag in even more riders. Only two or three miles from the finish, one of them even offered to pick us up as well; but Valerie was the first to decline. We wanted to complete our "metric century" which was harder than a full century under "regular" conditions. And we did.

Note that we kept our jackets throughout!

Alexandre is complimenting his Grandfather to a memorable ride ...

... and enjoying a ride in the rocking chair, the next morning.

Sebastian (left) finished in 9h49 - the slowest Century finishing time of all my children.

He had hoped for a time under seven hours; but under the conditions, 9h49 was good for rank 21 out of 73 finishers!

True to family tradition, we celebrated with a Sunday brunch at the Furnace Creek Inn (Julien in the middle). I had pushed the grandsons there, for some recovery cross-training:

It Felt Like Cheating

2011-03-29T11:30:00.000-07:00

Pacific Coast Highway Randonneurs 300k, Jan. 29, 2011 and
Santa Cruz Randonneurs 300k, Feb. 5, 2011

It has happened before that my blogging was accused of a big backlog. No time and no point trying to excuse it ...

As my two 200k brevets in January demonstrated all too clearly, I was much less in shape than a year ago at the same time. Consequently, I went into my first 300k of 2011 with a very subdued optimism, although a joyful anticipation. I knew the route well from the previous years; I like riding there, and I was looking forward to seeing many good randonneuring friends from Southern California again.

It was quite chilly in the morning, but if anything, I was overdressed and well equipped. Given my lack of form and the awareness of it, I didn't hesitate to suck wheels in order to save my legs and to save some time. The Jack and Kathy T. tandem was a particularly welcome "victim:" we've known each other for several years of randonneuring by now, and even though they have become stronger and faster since last year, I could still hold their wheel while my legs were fresh. After a longer downhill where I had to keep more distance for safety and where I was spinning out my biggest gear, they were gone, however. I still found several other riders on the way out to the coast who gracefully pulled me along again much faster than I could have gone alone, until I had to let them go as well.

After about two hours I checked my average speed and estimated with big satisfaction the time I had gained by taking advantage of the slipstream of stronger riders. That's when it hit me: "This feels like cheating!" I needed to think more about what that meant to me.

As anybody with little more than a minimum of bicycling experience knows, drafting other riders ("sucking wheels") makes a huge difference in the power required to maintain a given speed. That's why a group of bicyclists riding together often form a pace line, taking turns in front into the wind and recovering behind the other riders until their turn comes up again. The problem in my case is that I am not strong enough to share the workload in front (if I tried, I would be too slow for the common good), but I can manage to hang in there in the back of stronger riders, at least as long as there are no major uphills. It's not something to brag about, but I believe I am pretty good at instinctively detecting the best spot behind another rider and constantly adjusting my pedal power optimally to safely stay in that spot without any unnecessary expense of energy (probably a left-over from a couple of years of racing in my youth).

So why is that a problem? - It's twofold: For one, there is a justified disdain of "wheel suckers" in bicycling and I don't like the idea of being disdained. And then, there is my own internal conflict when I try to finish a brevet in a (relatively) good time while having to admit that I don't deserve it because I took too much advantage of the slipstream of others.

In my defense, I am not alone in this predicament; most other bicyclists (including randonneurs) just don't think so much about it (although there was a nearly virulent thread about the subject on randon.googlegroups.com over the last weeks). And after a couple of hours (earlier in hilly terrain), I am mostly riding alone anyway, and my sad sore legs infuse me with feelings of deserved penitence and consequential redemption and allow me to get back to the basics of my enjoyment of long-distance bike riding.

That's how it was again this time. I enjoyed the Montecito climb into the hills above Santa Barbara - alone and slow. The better I know a route, the easier it appears, even when I don't get faster on it. So, although the busy stretch down the coast through Ventura towards Malibu felt shorter than in the past, it made me give up on my optimistic finishing time prediction. I felt that my endurance had come back, and that was more important to me than being speedy.

Lunch break in Santa Barbara

I still kept my stops fairly short; that's something I want to practice in order to prepare myself for more ambitious goals this summer. As a consequence, I was not too far behind some small groups of stronger riders who had spent more time at controls. At some point, about 25 miles from the finish, such a group had stopped collectively on the roadside to work on fixing a stubborn defect and I passed them. When they came back and passed me, soon afterwards, they recognized me and invited me to join them. - Now that was different - thank you, guys and gals (Tom, Kerin, Renée, Julie, ...)! They knew I would not be able to contribute and would only take advantage of the "senior discount" they accorded to me; yet they made me feel welcome and part of the team. While we were gliding along through the agricultural flats around Camarillo, they casually chatting, me hanging on by the skin of the teeth, I tried to think of ways of paying them back, to feel less guilty.

Much to my surprise, I succeeded in staying with them even on the lengthy uphill on Santa Rosa Road, and we finished together in the backyard of the RBA residence. The ever so overflowing hospitality of Greg and Lisa made me forget the feelings of "nearly cheating" earlier in the day and I enjoyed a guilt-free beer to celebrate my endurance comeback.

Checking in at the finish

Custom-made BBQ burger

Watching the PBP 2007 DVD in the backyard ...

... with friends!

*****

One week later, I had another opportunity to take advantage of my wheel-sucking skills, at the Santa Cruz Buena Vista 300. Again, the route had no secrets for me, and I only had to find out again how fast and how far I could go before completing the rest of the brevet on my own terms.

Turn-around control in Half Moon Bay

Because of some climbs along Hwy 1 and because of the need to stop and remove layers when the morning chill got defeated by the rising sun, the "riding on my own terms" started well before the first turn-around point in Half Moon Bay; although I still gratefully took Phil's wheel when he passed me several miles before the control, in order to get there several minutes earlier than I would have riding alone into the wind. But the tailwind on the return trip and the tired legs encouraged me to let everybody else pass without accepting their invitation to join them; I said (as so often) that I was now on my "recovery ride."

Pigeon Point Lighthouse

I allowed myself a Subway lunch stop in the Soquel/Capitola area (which I still kept relatively short, repressing my urges to socialize with Willy and Sol in the process), before setting out alone into the second half of the ride, a southern out-and-back via Marina to Buena Vista. Because of my overall shorter and less frequent stops, many small groups of stronger riders passed me more than once. Sometimes, as with Jack H.'s group (which included Mark, Robin and Mireya), I did try to stay with them, but they were still too fast. At some point, Jack stopped to assist a rider who had made a mistake with some extremely sticky nutritional substance and needed a major clean-up. When he passed me again while pursuing his companions, he stayed a little while with me and started a conversation about his plans to create a club for those who want to ride PBP at the age of 80 or more. He felt that I was a good candidate. But I was in a mood of modesty and played the card of my reality checks. Completely unfazed, Jack scolded me that I should be happy to be riding the way I was riding - and I fully agreed. He then motioned me to his rear wheel and started accelerating into the wind. With everything he had just said, I had no choice but to follow him as long as my legs and lungs could carry me. After a couple of miles, I wished him a good continuation of his ride. He seemed to be satisfied with my effort and let me continue at my own pace, alone, while chasing his companions even more furiously. On my side, still out of breath and with trembling legs, I couldn't help but distort my face into a happy grin.

The rest of the ride was the usual exercise of detecting and following the fine line between riding too hard and riding not hard enough for the distance. I still got passed repeatedly by other riders who had stopped more often or longer, and I still was unable to stay with them beyond the next uphill. But in that darkness with some occasional sketchy road conditions, I preferred riding alone anyway; and this reinforced my "felt like cheating" innuendo and reassured me about my ability to complete the long distances alone if necessary.

Back to the finish!

(I borrowed the last two photos with permission from Roland B.)

Carrier Pigeons and American Brown

2011-01-25T22:36:00.000-08:00

Santa Rosa Cycling Club 200k brevet, January 15, 2011

Yes, I am still out of shape, and the legs did hurt a lot during the lunch break at Skyline Park in Napa. It was the third time I rode on this fast route (last year's account has a map of the route and some more pictures), and despite nearly perfect conditions, I was 45 minutes slower than ever before. But, as I like to say: "It doesn't matter." What matters is that I thoroughly enjoyed the day out there, and that I finished the ride in lasting happiness.

Given that this was the third time, I should have remembered and prepared my camera to catch the moment right at the start when - just like at the last few editions of this brevet - homing pigeons were released at the same time as over 100 randonneurs. I recognized the pigeon handler when he caught me fifteen or twenty miles from the finish and we rode together for a while. I told him that my wife's grandfather in northern France, close to Belgium, was a passionate owner of racing pigeons; but Jose didn't give me the impression that he could relate to that. Instead, he explained that he always says a prayer when he releases the pigeons at the start of a brevet: "Fly up into the sky and watch out over all the cyclists on the road today!" (apologies for not recalling the precise wording).

(borrowed from results of a Google image search)

It was rewarding as usual, no - even more so after the long winter break! - to meet many randonneuring friends again, to chat with them, and (in my case) draft them for a while until I had to let loose. In contrast to last year, I didn't see any tandems, but all the more fixies in exchange. And because (in case you didn't notice in my last installment already) I decided this year to let more and more memories from childhood and youth infiltrate my talking and blogging (apparently old men are entitled to it, and I finally feel old enough) I played the game of guessing the gearing (i.e. numbers of teeth on the chainring and the rear sprocket) just by looking at it. I was good at it when I was young. And I still get it right sometimes, as for the 48:18 of Karen B. who seemed to be quite puzzled about my precise guesswork. Which, by the way, reminded me that in 1962, the year I started racing in Germany, 48:18 was the highest gear allowed for racers under 16. Because I was already over 16 (but not yet 18), I could have used a whopping 51:18; but I didn't have the money to buy a special 51-tooth chainring and had to make do with a more standard 50:18. We still exceeded 25 mph on some short time trials - which required two pedal rounds per second!

Back to the lunch stop at Napa's Skyline Park. Ten days have passed since then, but I won't forget the memorable compliment Bobbe (volunteer extraordinaire) made me when I arrived there: "You always look so composed!" I know she meant it in good faith; but I certainly didn't feel like it. Taking into account the situation with my sore legs, she might have said, at best: "You are hiding it well ..." - In any event, while munching on my sandwich and refilling my bottles, the pain in the legs got worse and worse, and I had no choice but to go back on my bike and pedal fast to get the blood flowing again and dissipate the pain. At least, it taught me to keep the lunch stop short. Otherwise, who knows how much and for how long I would have chatted around reminiscing the times when I was young and fast ...

A little tailwind made the way back along a nearly infinite number of Napa Valley wineries appear shorter than it was and lulled me into an impression of not being so slow, after all. The awakening came on the objectively fairly soft and less than a mile long climb north of Calistoga, and it was brutal. I couldn't believe I actually had to stop and walk the bike for a little while, to shake out the legs. Good thing the remaining 20 miles were mostly downhill!

There is one special reason why this Santa Rosa brevet route is one of my favorites; and everybody who knows me only a little can guess what it is: the finish at the Bear Republic Brewery. Of course, the perspective of sitting together and socializing with all the randonneuring friends is priceless, and fortunately, I am not alone in appreciating it very much. But this doesn't explain why I am always suddenly so strong again on the last ten miles, where it's all flat - no downhill any more! Given that this happened on all of my three participations there, I have to conclude that the explanation must lie in the beer I am looking forward to (my personal variant of "smelling the barn"). This time, it was the American Brown (search for it here):

I don't insist on suggesting it too heavily, but look at the end of the first paragraph, above: "... lasting happiness ..."

I basked in the additional satisfaction I got from favorable comments made by several randonneuring friends about my "wine and cheese" write-up which had made it into print in the American Randonneur newsletter, and even found yet another reader of this blog (more than a handful already!). I know her as a pretty strong rider and innocently wanted to know when she had arrived. She clearly had concerns about hurting my feelings if she revealed how much faster she was than myself (over one and a half hours); and I didn't know how to reassure her. It only occurred to me on the way home. I could have rambled along (like all old men do) about how fast I was when I was young. At the age of 18 (and without gearing limitations!), I actually participated in two road races of 210 and 215 km respectively (in Bavaria; with routes hillier than Napa Valley!), and finished both in under six hours ...

Winterreise

2011-01-12T23:09:00.000-08:00

San Francisco Randonneurs Point Reyes 200k (Workers Ride) January 8, 2011

To the day fifty years ago (actually, the date may be off by a couple of weeks plus a year or two), I had a memorable morning bike ride. At that time, I was bike-commuting to school year-round, six miles from my parents' home over a couple of hills and through the Neuburger Wald to high school in Passau (according to a statement attributed to Alexander von Humboldt, one of the seven most beautiful towns of the world).

Passau (in summer)

Typically, the snow plow came through early enough, just in time before I had to leave for school which started at 8 a.m. Even though the temperatures could sometimes drop down to about 0 degrees Fahrenheit, I never worried about the cold; and just like other Bavarians today, I actually liked riding in the snow. But on that day, the overnight snow storm had been so violent that the roads were not plowed yet when I set out in near darkness. I could ride only about half the distance through several inches of snow, had to push the bike through the other half, sometimes carrying it (including a hefty bag full of books) through thigh-deep snowdrifts. I did arrive late at school; but so did those who came by public transport.

More memories from another year or two later: I was racing with the Radsportverein 1895 Passau and was thrilled to finally have an opportunity to participate in my first cyclo-cross race, in Regensburg. At that time, Rolf Wolfshohl was my big hero; he was then the world-champion in cyclo-cross. Somehow I had learned that my height and weight were the same as his (things have changed since then - at least the weight); this made that I felt like a pretty good cyclo-crosser myself. We were 18 at the start; and just as we had watched Rolf Wolfshohl on TV, nearly everybody (in particular myself) was racing in shorts, despite some windy snowing and temperatures around 15 degrees Fahrenheit. We did use some capsaicin cream to produce heat on the bare skin, to keep the knees from freezing over; but, as an aside, this had quite painful side effects after the race (it was discovered in 2006 that tarantula venom activates the same pathway of pain as is activated by capsaicin). I was in 4th position after the first few laps and felt good, when I hit a hard-frozen edge on the ground and broke the rim of the front wheel such that the tire was neatly cut through. I ran half a lap with the bike on my shoulder to receive a spare wheel. When I resumed my race, I was last, of course. I am still proud today that I was able to fight hard and to finish 8th.

As I said, things have changed - and not only regarding my weight. (As a matter of fact, I added more than half a dozen additional pounds just over the holiday break alone). What has changed, also: I am now terrified by low temperatures, i.e. anything under 50 F. Given that the last days before the SFR Point Reyes 200k workers ride (I will be volunteering at the official event on 1/22 at the finish control) were unusually cold, I ended up panicking in the perspective of riding out on that Saturday morning at 7:30 into the winter of San Francisco and Marin County. And so, on my way home from work on Friday evening, I made a detour to buy a wind-tight balaclava (has nothing to do with this). Of course, I tried it on at home in the kitchen, to show the wife how well I would be equipped for the cold ride:

In the end, as you might guess, I never used it. And with my four layers, I was never really cold either, except maybe a little bit on the tip of the nose in the evening, after the descent into Fairfax. It helps to be so slow that wind chill is not a factor, and that even moderate climbs bring me up to the "breathless" level with a consequential body heat production. By the way, not all climbs on this route are moderate; I find the last ones before the light house actually quite steep. That's where I caught my leg cramps, after less than 50 miles. It is true that my longest ride since end of October was only 30 miles, and that there was only one of them. So what did I expect?

The good news is that I recovered satisfactorily; the count-down of the last five climbs on the way back from Marshall Store through Nicasio went better (at least subjectively) than on my first brevets there, four or five years ago. The other good news is that I was very thoroughly happy to be finally "back in business" with my randonneuring. It's going to be a very special year!

PS: Yes, I did finish last out of ten or eleven riders, in 12 hours. But it doesn't matter.

Year's End Interview

2010-12-19T20:00:00.000-08:00

Towards the end of 2010

There were times in my youth when I dreamt of becoming (moderately) famous, later in my life. The 'later in my life' is now, and I still have not become famous, not even moderately. My blogging didn't help either. But it gives me an opportunity to pretend. Like pretending that somebody is interviewing me, as only "famous" people are being interviewed.

Q: Your last blog post dates from September. What happened - did you stop riding your bike?

A: No, I didn't - although it's true that the miles/month statistics dropped substantially, and that the only ride longer than 30 miles since then was the Death Valley Fall Century on October 30th. But we had the wedding of our elder daughter Valerie, early October; and that was big enough that everything else had to step back.

Q: You could have posted about the wedding, then.

A: I should have. But at first, I was still too busy entertaining our guests from Europe. Then, some kind of flu or cold virus got hold of me and bogged me down for a couple of weeks. Finally, there was still work at the office, which is always another good excuse.

Q: So, tell us something about that famous wedding now, and show us some pictures! The couple is still married, I suppose?

A: Yes, that's always my first question when I see my new son-in-law. He and I agreed at the wedding to do something about the fact that most in-law jokes involve the mother-in-law. From now on, the father-in-law will be the butt of the jokes.
The wedding was big (140 guests from six continents), a little outrageous (the celebrations went on for four days) and very pluricultural (can you say interfaith? Did I mention six continents?).

Q: Your most memorable moments from the wedding?

A: The first was the Father - Daughter dance. I selected the music ("Prague Waltzes" by Antonin Dvorak); and the bride, a former professional ballet dancer, knew how to come up with some choreography. Even though we did better during the rehearsals, the performance went well enough and I am very happy with it.

The second was my series of push-ups while waiting for the elevator in the hotel, when we finally came back from the restaurant and decided to go to sleep, around 4:30 in the morning. Frankly, I don't quite remember how this came about - too much pluricultural celebrating, involving no small amount of vodka, I guess. (There was the consensus during that evening that you cannot trust people who refuse to drink; and I pride myself of being trustworthy). It could have been the result of some kind of dare. I certainly did impress some people, favorably I hope. But not enough to become famous.

Q: You mentioned the Death Valley Fall Century. I understand (from the previous posts here, here and here) that the Death Valley weekends in Spring and Fall have become a family tradition. How did it go this time?

A: This time, I didn't believe we could go there at all, because I was suffering from that bad virus and thought I could not even drive, even less ride the bicycle. In addition, Fabienne had spent a very uncomfortable night (and that's a euphemism!) in the emergency room of the UCLA hospital a couple of days earlier, and was absolutely unfit to ride. But eventually, everybody made it to Furnace Creek in time - even Sebastian who came back with his family from New York. I still did not believe we (Valerie and I on the tandem) would be able to ride more than an out-and-back to the first rest stop; but I underestimated how strong-headed Valerie can be. In the end, we successfully battled it out up to Scotty's Castle and back. I did admit at the finish that it was "hard." By the way, Sebastian finished the century two hours before us.

This was three weeks after Valerie's wedding. (My new son-in-law was there, too; but I couldn't get him to ride a bicycle - yet). Complimenting Valerie's gutsiness once again, I would like to report that she fulfilled one of her long-term dreams on the way to Furnace Creek, on the afternoon before the ride: to stroll and jump around in the dunes in her wedding dress!

Q: I can see you are proud of her. - Back to bicycling and your randonneuring apprenticeship. It's time for a review of the past season. Your blog posts suggest you have had a pretty good year?

A: Yes, it was my best year ever - so far. I feel fortunate that I could accomplish nearly everything I had put on my calendar, a year ago, and I am very grateful for it.

www.rusa.org/cgi-bin/resultsearch_PF.pl?mid=2638

Q: But you failed to accomplish what you had declared as your number one goal for 2010, the Mille du Sud?

A: Correct. I certainly wish I could have finished this demanding high-end randonnée in my first attempt; but I don't make a disease out of a situation where I am confronted with my physical limitations and some circumstantial restrictions. It was not a defeat or a failure, only a consequence of consciously prioritizing some honorable aspects of randonneuring that happen to require a higher level of athletic ability than what I have to play with. Besides, the final lack of success in this case is probably again a blessing in disguise: it will motivate me all the more for next year's edition!

Q: You are calling "Wine and Cheese" honorable aspects of randonneuring?

A: As long as you don't accuse me of any missionary zeal: yes.

Q: And you are attempting the Mille du Sud again next year, only three weeks after Paris - Brest - Paris?

A: Of course. Remember: I said "it was my best year ever - so far."

Q: What else is on your calendar for 2011?

A: Before answering your question, I should mention that I will go into retirement, in early March (no more excuses with too much work at the office, after that ... and no more complaining about not enough vacation days to travel longer distances to brevets).

Aside from the local brevets in the early months of 2011, and aside from the traditional Death Valley weekend of February, I plan to do my first 600 on March 19th (Saint Joseph's Day) in Arizona where I always wanted to ride. This will complete my qualification series for Paris-Brest-Paris which is of course a "must." Taking advantage of my new retiree status, I then plan to stay in Europe from May through October, to catch up on what I missed since we moved to California in 1991. For example, I could never participate in the 600k Bayern Rundfahrt and the even bigger 1000 km Große acht durch Bayern - in 2011, I should be able to do both, in June! July will bring the prestigious Brevet de Randonneur des Alpes; and I still have to figure out how to work my ambitious plans regarding the Mont Ventoux and hopefully the Super Randonnée de Haute Provence into my schedule.

Q: It looks like you are going to be quite busy in your retirement.

A: Oh yes. Do you want to hear about my plans for 2012?

Q: No.

A: :-( :-(

Photo credits: Kerri-Ann Watson

Defeated by Wine and Cheese

2010-09-23T18:46:00.000-07:00

1000 du Sud, September 11-14, 2010

When I learned towards the end of last year about that new "1000 du Sud" in Southern France, it instantly became my number one goal for the 2010 season. Everything else was relegated to the role of preparing me for this event. I like picking goals that are a little above my head; this motivates me to be more disciplined in my training and life style (yes I know, still not nearly enough). This route with 40000 ft of elevation gain including many serious "cols" definitely was threatening enough. In addition, there was the fact that much of the route would take me back in time by 40 years, when I had moved from Germany to Southern France as a student, eager not only to study mathematics but also to discover the geography and the cultural riches of this attractive region - and to find a wife there. Consequently, it was an easy decision to pencil a two-week vacation trip to Southern France into our calendar, first to celebrate our 37th wedding anniversary, second to participate in the "1000 du Sud."

I felt well prepared and reasonably confident when I showed up at the Hotel Kyriad in Toulon - La Garde to meet with Sophie Matter, the designer of the route. She introduced me to a bunch of other participants, including Jean-Philippe Battu whose generously outgoing personality has earned him high visibility throughout his last three PBPs even among US randonneurs. It was an exceptional pleasure to share a big table with all of them at the hotel's restaurant for a common pre-ride dinner and again the next morning for breakfast, before lining up at the start for equipment check, sign-in and payment of the registration fee: €3 for FFCT members, €5 for foreigners - something to let melt on your tongue if you are used to the fees at RUSA brevets. In exchange, rigorous self-reliance was the rule of the game (as it is meant to be in randonneuring ...). The special event t-shirt handed out by Sophie was obviously not covered by the registration fee: she had decided to take a chunk out of her personal savings to offer it to the riders of the inaugural edition. That's how dear this event is to her heart.

And heart-shaped is the route itself, from Toulon at the Mediterranean to the foot of the Mont Ventoux, out west to the Gorges de l'Ardèche, back east over the Rhône and through La Drôme before approaching the heart of the French Alps and climbing the Col du Lautaret, the literal and metaphorical high point. The remaining 350 km are far from being all downhill, and I knew very well that the accumulated fatigue would do the rest to make them slower than my optimistic-as-usual planning predicted. Nevertheless, I had no doubt about being able to finish before Tuesday 10 a.m., the 75-hour time limit; I had even built a margin of five to six hours into my time table.

The first day certainly seemed to validate my educated guesses about when I would ride through where, even if only because we enjoyed a pleasant tailwind for much of the day and I could take advantage in the morning of riding with a larger group which represented about half of the 34 starters. The lunch stop in Cadenet (km 115) made the group fall apart.

Jean-Philippe in Cadenet

Much to my bewilderment, I watched many of my companions seek out restaurants that matched their expectations - the search alone took quite a while. Or they settled for relaxed chewing and drinking on a shaded bench and didn't seem to be bothered by the thought that 890 km were remaining. In contrast, my timeline for this clearly very difficult 1000k mandated to minimize all off-the-bike time. I was confused enough that I stayed longer than planned before I took off alone, not without erring a bit in the medieval narrow and steep streets.

The Col du Pointu soon afterwards was easy and enjoyable, in particular because Jean-Philippe caught me there (he had stayed behind in Cadenet). Jean-Philippe's companionship has to be a randonneur's gift from heaven; in hindsight, I feel privileged that I could enjoy this gift for the next 400 km. But (and there is a but) he is also much faster than I am, even without making an effort; and I was unable not to do my best trying to avoid that he had to wait too long after each major climb. I could tell that my legs complained and threatened to punish me for stepping over my boundaries, and I certainly tried to explain that I really, really didn't mind riding alone at my own pace and that he should just take off without ever waiting for me again. But there was nothing I could do to persuade him, and so we continued together. With him, I certainly advanced faster than alone; and I marveled at his experience and authority in matters long-distance riding. After all, he is a well-known member of the brotherhood of "Diagonalistes" - the guys who ride their bike across France following imaginary diagonals from any one of the six vertices of the hexagon to any other non-adjacent one, following rules very similar to those we know from brevets. He has completed 12 diagonals so far - and I cannot even expect my first one before 2012! Clearly, he is the master, and I am the apprentice. I decided to let go of my personal planning and to model my ride from now on after his, regardless of the consequences.

Approaching the Mont Ventoux - very impressive!

Can you tell I am struggling to follow Jean-Philippe - while he has the time to take pictures?!

(This and most of the following photos are his)

The consequences started in Pont-Saint-Esprit (km 246). My original plan was to arrive there around 8 p.m., refill provisions for the long night and set out as quickly as possible into the very demanding stretch through the Gorges de l'Ardèche. We arrived around 7:30; so that was good. But Jean-Philippe had decided to stop at a restaurant for about an hour and a half for dinner. He didn't have to persuade me, because, as I said, I had decided a couple of hours earlier already to model my ride after his. But I admit that I had to consciously silence my concerns, and that I was ready to leave well before him (he was genuinely taken aback that I declined to order a dessert - my belly was already too full from my lasagna). This is the time where I should explain the catchy title of this blog post. To begin with, I don't consider the outcome of my "1000 du Sud" a defeat. Second, I didn't have that much wine and cheese - it's only a cliché. And finally, don't come to the conclusion that all French randonneurs spend hours dining in restaurants and only finish within the time limits because they are fast; I know there are many who like riding alone to optimize their performance and personal experience, regardless of how fast or slow they are. Then again, when we finally left and passed by the restaurant next-door with outdoor seating, we recognized half a dozen other 1000 du Sud participants, solidly anchored at their dinner table ... (they passed us later that night, but I believe none of them finished within the time limit either).

Midnight photo-control in Vallon Pont d'Arc

The next consequence was that Jean-Philippe offered I share his reserved hotel room in Aubenas (km 328). I had planned to ride through the first night (three 600s and one 1000 earlier this year were supposed to condition me accordingly); but in the end, the dehydration from the hot afternoon climbing on the Col de Murs and along the foothills of the Mont Ventoux to Malaucène, and the fatigue from the redoubtable roller coaster along the Gorges de l'Ardèche made me accept his offer without second thoughts. Besides, I would have been seriously in trouble through the night without extra water. If only the hotel had been closer to the route, and if only we hadn't added some substantial extra climbing (and lost another half hour) to get back on the route, after our generous hotel breakfast!

I did enjoy the smooth and long climbing on the Col de l'Escrinet in the fresh morning and proudly shouted to Jean-Philippe who was waiting for me at the top that "I gave it all!" Indeed, I felt strong again, knew that the legs would recover on the long (and cold) downhill, and was determined to make good time at Jean-Philippe's rear wheel over the following 90 mostly flat kilometers in order to absorb our time deficit. Indeed, we had lost over four hours in connection with the hotel in Aubenas, and my climbing speed on the Escrinet, while subjectively honorable, was far below the mandated 15 km/h brevet average. We would not be able to make the next control cut-off but didn't worry too much, because we had knowledge of the organizer's intention to be lenient as long as we arrived at the finish within 75 hours.

Given our delay, I thought we would hurry at that next control in Voulte sur Rhone (km 375). Well, what can I say: we didn't. We met Roland from Brest there (yet another confirmed Diagonaliste!). He had climbed the Col de l'Escrinet before us and encountered a wild boar there - quite a story! He also knew stories of other riders who had had a rough night and who were still behind us - I couldn't believe it. Roland didn't seem to be very motivated to continue, even though we had the long flat stretch along the Drôme river valley ahead of us. And so Jean-Philippe proceeded to motivate him, successfully; and after some more cafés and delicious Ardèche specialty pastries (I had stopped looking at my watch by then) we finally climbed on our bikes, crossed the bridge over the Rhône and rode on, although not as fast as I would have liked: we didn't want to lose Roland who didn't admit yet that he was suffering from tendinitis around his knees.

Still, it was very nice riding towards Die. The weather was perfect, and we could have made good time - if we hadn't stopped at every other little town, often walking our bikes through the utterly pittoresque medieval centers instead of using the bypass roads, always looking for places where we could sit down and order meals - not easy because they were nearly all closed on this Sunday morning. Out on the road, Jean-Philippe proudly explained the geography, history and other notable features of the area, which included the "Clairette de Die." This inspired him to make us stop at a Dégustation Gratuite where he had no trouble convincing the owner to serve his "friends from America and from Brest" a generous sample of the specialty.

There was some wine involved, after all ...

American tourist in Die, killing some time

Jean-Philippe later wrote on his web site that "in a couple of pedal strokes, Joseph fell in love with this remote region of Diois and promised to come back next year" - and it is true. But I also wanted to leave the region now, climb over the upcoming Col de Grimone and continue on the route of our 1000 du Sud. I started getting nervous about our increasing delay.

Climbing towards the base of the Col de Grimone

Despite my best effort, I was unable to follow Jean-Philippe and Roland as soon as the serious climbing on the Col de Grimone started (around km 460, roughly 3000 ft). They waited for me once half-way up, and Jean-Philippe waited again after the descent on the other side, while I caught Roland towards the top - the climbing revived his tendinitis and he had to slow down.

I worked hard on this climb, but also found it extremely rewarding and spontaneously declared it my "all-time favorite pass." The scenery was breathtaking. If I hadn't been so busy climbing, I would have taken dozens of photos:

With Roland at the top ...

... and on the downhill

But the hard climbing also made me think hard. By the time I arrived at the top, I would be about six hours behind my plan. It was obvious that the time limit of 75 hours was now out-of-reach; but I still would have liked to finish the whole distance on my bike, no matter what. I had invested so much mental preparation into the second half of the route, bragged so much in anticipation about the Col du Lautaret - and I felt I owed it to Sophie to complete the distance. I had a hotel room reserved in Briançon (km 650) where I had hoped to arrive around midnight. Riding through the second half of the night over the Col de Lautaret without additional (precarious!) sleep stops was unrealistic; I would arrive at my hotel in Briançon barely before check-out time on the next day. I would then need another overnight hotel room e.g. in Digne (km 790) and still have over 210 mostly serious kilometres to go on Tuesday. It would be better to forget about my reservation in Briançon altogether and spend the night in a hotel before tackling the Lautaret; but this would again push my arrival at the finish to Tuesday afternoon at best. On the other hand, Ghislaine was expecting me early Tuesday morning, and we had commitments for lunch with friends in the area for Tuesday noon, and for dinner with family in Aix! The only conclusion was that I could not complete the ride. (By the way: Roland found a room in La Mure (km 518) and continued on the next day to finish by Tuesday evening - chapeau!).
It was very hard to communicate my conclusion and decision to Jean-Philippe. But when he understood that I meant it, he didn't hesitate to support me. I saw him hesitate only at the control in Vizille when he decided to withdraw as well - the delay had increased further. As a result, I found myself staying overnight at his appartment in Grenoble. The next morning, he accompanied me to the nearby train station and looked to it that I got the appropriate train tickets back to Toulon. Then he waved good-bye when the train left ...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The quote below has been carried over from here. You can see it in context here.
I think I am a true mountaineer ...

The true mountaineer is the man who attempts new ascents. Equally, whether he succeeds or fails, he delights in the fun and jollity of the struggle.

Alfred Mummery "My Climbs in the Alps and Caucasus" (1895)

Riding Unnoticed

2010-08-24T22:07:00.000-07:00

Tour de Menlo (100 km), August 21st, 2010

It's nice to delegate blogging on special occasions. As you will see, Fabienne had good reasons to accept taking over the keyboard!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I kinda' got sucked into doing the "Tour de Menlo" when both my best friend and my sister begged me to sign up with them for a fun day of beginner girlie riding. But then, they both ended up having to work, so I was stuck riding with my Dad. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing more rewarding than spending the day in my father's element, pedaling (endlessly...). But given his fame, you simply cannot ride unnoticed, which can be pretty embarrassing when you're no longer riding with beginner girls, and the route gets changed from 25 miles to the 100 k "for experienced riders."

I have to admit, I enjoy my gym spinning classes, but being perched up in the street with a helmet, my feet cleated in, and not being able to reach the floor at red lights is not my idea of fun. But I know that if I want to spend any time with my father when I come to visit, that's a sacrifice I have to make, even with an injured knee. Like a friend said, "if he's not at work, he's on his bike." So I made it my secret goal to go ride with him, but to remain as unnoticed as possible...

At 6:30 a.m., I was layering up and my Dad walks past my room to say: "Here's your jersey! Don't you want to match? We're a team!" That's when I knew I'd have to be on my best behavior if I was to accomplish my goal. It's a 1992 jersey that looks like it came from the 1970s... Rainbow Apple and all. You either have Apple pride or you don't. I guess that jersey makes a statement, and I couldn't complain: it's different. I got lucky that it was a cool, dark morning, and I had a great excuse to wear a jacket and "blend in" with the other riders ... NOT.

We arrived at the start, and there were 498 other participants! We were on the road with other cyclists in a heartbeat, and I nervously focussed on not only staying in the bike lane, but not falling over while trying to uncleat at red lights.That's when I realized I stuck out like a sore thumb... People were passing me and very nicely calling out "I'm passing you on your left!" as they left a huge margin around me.

The route was beautiful! I knew I did not have to memorize the route sheet, because I could simply draft my Dad's back wheel and pretend I totally knew what I was doing. When I quickly looked the directions over, however, one turn specifically stayed in my mind: right on Bunker Hill. At that intersection, two men yelled out that this was the wrong way, and that we should follow them straight ahead. I answered sheepishly that I thought we needed to go right on Bunker Hill. My father convinced me not to let myself get distracted, and we continued over Bunker Hill to Polhemus Rd. There was a surprise water stop there, and we hung out for about 15 minutes. As I got back on the bike, those two guys arrived swearing about the "stupid route."
They passed us on the uphill, grumbling "We should have listened to you!"
I wanted to tell them that they got more miles for their buck, but they zoomed past so fast they almost threw me off. So I was left to ruminate in my own thoughts...Great... I had been spotted and I could not blame the jersey or the matching costuming... I knew I looked as awkward as I felt.

An hour later, I saw police lights flashing after a stop sign, and carefully uncleated and got ready to unmount and put my foot down about 400 feet before actually needing to. That's always the moment when I have so much time left before actually reaching the stop, that I start wondering if the police will feel bad for me if I fall trying to uncleat in front of them, and maybe let me slide through at the following stop sign... But as we passed the cops, they were busy writing tickets. And I was amused to see that it was the same two old lads who had missed the turn on Bunker Hill (they were not amused). Clearly, they were not having a good day. They looked at me as if to say: "We should have stayed behind you."

This reminded me of a quote written about my father. Not only do I enjoy riding with him because he is "a marvelous riding companion and witty conversationalist" (Karen T.), but as Alex P. once wrote,
"He's sneaky, too. The way he rides so casual while outbound in the morning, and then quietly passes you while you're stopped." I decided right then and there that I was going to keep cycling, not stand out like a mop on a bike and that this was going to be my riding technique as well: sneakiness...

All of a sudden, I felt really sneaky and could swiftly (or not) ride by and get ahead of faster riders. My moment of glory was short lived, and maybe I deserved it. It wasn't too long after that my left knee started shooting pain and I had trouble pressing down uphills. And not only did it get much warmer and I had to take off my jacket (and match my Dad) but my famous Dad was showing off by pushing me up the hills as he was riding so we would pass the other riders on the hill.
Needless to say, we got many compliments on our jerseys, and I was going even less unnoticed.

When we reached Montebello, our last climb before lunch, the pain in my knee became acute and I cannot remember a time in my life where pain was so unbearable I had tears streaming down my cheeks. I had to stop until my knee would give me a break as riders passed me and said, "you can do it! You're almost there!" Might as well wear my Marilyn Monroe costume because at that moment, I was pretty sure 498 people had seen me completely fail. The Picchetti winery was much closer than I imagined, and I cannot even believe (nor can I remember how) I made it up there with a combination of walking/ lightly pedaling.

The hot lunch of grilled chicken (served amidst free roaming chickens) was a great treat - I had a hot dog. I dreaded the descent.

When that hot dog was unquestionably finished, I once again made sure everyone still around noticed me... My Dad was already gone before I realized that I did not know how to click into my pedals on a steep slope. Everyone passed me asking if I was ok or if I wanted a ride, and I must have looked exactly like my nephew in this video:

When I finally did make it onto my bike and wore out the brake pads completely, I saw my Dad climbing back up to find me: He had been told that I "was ok" by the descending public.

As much as I enjoyed the 25 km back to Menlo Park, they were much slower than I had anticipated. My knee was reminding me who's boss and I had to stay in small gears and allow each light to turn red on Foothill Boulevard. I like to think I just wanted to spend more time with my Dad.

And maybe that was a good thing, because at another crossing, my father's Apple Europe coworker whom he had not seen in 20 years recognized him and they chatted a minute. If it weren't for my goofy riding, we might never have met him.

Knee problems aside, in my father's own famous words, "best ride ever."

Six Years Later, in my Boxer Briefs

2010-08-08T23:01:00.000-07:00

Santa Cruz Randonneurs Skyline 200, August 7, 2010

I already told the story here and won't repeat myself. But I want to point out that when I decided to take "bike riding more seriously" and started riding brevets in 2004, the SCR Skyline 200 was my first official brevet ever! The results from that 2004 edition are still available here; they show that I finished in a time of 9 hours 55 minutes - not too shabby given the challenging route, and given that my lungs were still in slow convalescence then.

Six years later, I came back to this route which has remained one of my favorites. I picked the RUSA jersey for the occasion, both to mark the anniversary of my first RUSA brevet, and to honor the RBA couple consisting of RUSA cofounders and past and present RUSA presidents. What would we do without them? In comparison to 2004, the number of participants had doubled, and my RUSA number was now among the lower numbers whereas it was nearly the highest six years ago - so many new faces! The weather forecast was favorable with mostly cool temperatures and no precipitation - a prediction that didn't quite come true during the first two hours, where the moisture in the air came dangerously close to a fine drizzle. But that's Santa Cruz ...

Given my ambitious plan for the next month (stay tuned!), I had to make this brevet into a hard training session, desperately hoping that this will eventually have some beneficial effect on my "engine." I also looked to it that my stops at the controls were not too lengthy - it's all part of the training for bigger events - although I tried not to make it too obvious that I was going for time. After all, brevet riding is non-competitive. And when other riders passed me effortlessly while I was huffing and puffing at close to my (whatever) threshold, and asked me how it was going, I honestly replied that I was enjoying myself. Too bad I don't have pictures from the great views from the Skyline, both east and west; or from the fast ride back south along the coast!

For a while, the friendly Brian S. kept me company, and we negotiated the traditional postcard control in San Gregorio with the infamous question about the color of the Post Office door together (for one, there are two doors, a green and a brown one; and then, some time during the last years, a rider happened upon this control alone and realized that he couldn't answer the question for reasons of color blindness).

By that time, I also noticed that my hard riding had been successful in making my legs tired, but not so successful in getting me earlier to the finish. I still don't know why.

No matter what, I tried to recall how it all felt six years ago, for comparison. I do believe I can enjoy these rides much more now that I don't have to worry about the distance any more, and that the various sources of possible discomfort on the bike have been mostly eliminated or at least greatly reduced. Another difference is that the perceived distance scale has changed: I never look at a stretch of road as "endless" any more ...

And so I arrived at the backyard finish with the satisfaction you get from a good workout. Life was good in the sun, with salty peanuts and a Pepsi (or was it a Coca Cola?). My finishing time was mysteriously a tad slower than six years ago (the route changed slightly and is probably a little longer now; or the wind was even more favorable along the coast in 2004?); but I signed in among the first half of finishers - good enough for me!

Bill (right) conducting an imaginary symphony at the finish

I had parked the car around the corner and decided to change clothes for the drive home. With traffic, it could take an hour, and I would be more comfortable replacing my sweaty clothes (even without washing myself off) by dry ones; in particular my bike shorts with their accumulated reservoir of Lantiseptic by my clean Boxer Briefs:

(Sadly, the legs are not mine. Don't know whom they belong to)

There was no traffic where the car was parked; and so I set myself up discretely on the passenger seat where I had more leg room, with the bag of dry clothes handy on the driver seat, and proceeded to do my exercise in contortionism which you can visualize if you are so inclined. It all went well - I was back in dress shirt (or close) and boxer briefs, and only needed to pull my pants over the legs and I was done. But - there were no pants in the bag! I had prepared my clothes the evening before, while I still had the pants on me - I would add them later. Well, I must have forgotten. What now? No way I would go through all the exercise again to put my Lantiseptic shorts back on!

And so I drove home in Boxer Briefs. Don't tell anybody. The apprenticeship continues.

Lost!

2010-07-10T23:07:00.000-07:00

SIR: Cascade 1240, June 26 - 30, 2010

No, the title does not refer to that highly rated TV series of the last years (they say only Desperate Housewives could beat it - I didn't watch it either. Actually, I once tried to watch one episode of Lost but immediately got the impression that the script writers were making fun of me and was offended. No wonder: I don't belong to the "crucial 18 - 49 demographic" they targeted).

Rather, the title refers to the late evenings of the third and fourth day of my participation in the Cascade 1240. Up to then, that event went so well for me that I became concerned about my blog: if nothing else happened, my corresponding blog post (the one you are reading now) was going to be quite boring! I could still recommend to look at the reports and pictures collected on the event web site; those write-ups give insights from different perspectives and experiences, and the pictures there are all much better than mine. (By the way: some of the pictures below are borrowed with permission from Roland Bevan's collection). In comparison, my own account, apart from expressing the delight over the exceptionally rich and contrasting scenery on this route and the gratitude to all the volunteers, would be reduced once again to exhibitions of my inferiority complex due to the all too little cardiopulmonary engine and the little legs, and to my bragging when favorable circumstances (can you say "tailwind"?) let me advance nearly as fast as I had hoped in my most optimistic plan.

With three complete Super Randonneur Series since the beginning of the year plus a 1000 km brevet, I felt well prepared for this fairly prestigious event. Still, on the first ten or twenty miles after the start I wasn't so sure whether the thorough resting during the preceding three weeks was a good idea: it felt like I was pedaling "squares." And when I was finally warmed up enough to get the hang of this pedaling thing again, my legs started feeling tired.

My workplace for the next four days

There was this climb up to the Eatonville control where the sun came out (and Mt. Rainier, too!), such that I arrived at the Truly Scrumptious Bakery highly overdressed and profusely sweating, but happy to be there.

What a beautiful country!

Up to then, I had been riding with groups a little above my means, and finally realized that this was not sustainable. So I stayed longer than absolutely necessary and continued alone. I could afford to slow down and to save my legs for the White Pass in the evening because I had made good time so far. Besides, we had a dominant tailwind, and I continued to progress nicely anyway.

As we joined the smooth US-12 on our approach of the White Pass, the tailwind became even more eager to please, and I became even more optimistic and upbeat (if that was possible). I had always liked the mountains and long steady climbs; the temperature was perfect, and the tailwind made me feel like I was (nearly) as strong as I always wanted to be: life was good! Even after the twelve mile long climb I was still so far ahead of my schedule that I decided to soft-pedal to the overnight control in Naches as a "recovery ride." After all, the second day was going to be difficult, and I wanted to keep some gun powder for it. It's hard to believe, but I completed the 360 km with the big climb in the evening in not even 17h40, despite some generous breakfast/lunch/dinner stops. More importantly (for dealing with my inferiority complex), the times recorded in the rider progress table show that I arrived at the Clear Lake control (km 303, on the downhill from White Pass) after just about half of the participants: that's where I wanted to be!

Morning of the second day: just like in a picture book!

As expected, the second day was much slower. I paced myself conservatively on the beautiful 45-mile ride up to the Lodgepole Campground near Chinook Pass, taking all the headwind by myself. The Fruitvale/Yakima lunch control made most of us lose quite some time - long lines, big crowds. And then the hot 40-mile stretch through the Rattlesnake Hills - I loved it (in particular when I rode along the extended hops fields in the first part).

All the while, I stubbornly insisted on riding alone each time a paceline passed and invited me to join them. Despite mostly unfavorable winds, I didn't want to compromise my optimal pacing and my defensive attitude against riding in the heat; the triple-digit temperature stories from two years ago had left an impression on me. I felt vindicated when I caught up to a stronger rider ahead who had run out of water and was very slow now (I still had plenty and didn't have to make an effort to share), and a little later when we found the young and strong woman from Colorado lying on the road side with heat exhaustion, on top of the hill that has the now famous annotation on the route sheet "yes, up that hill!" (She got shuttled forward to the next control in Mattawa, recovered there for five hours, and then requested to be brought back to the spot where she dropped, to continue - and finish! - her ride).

The last 40 miles from Mattawa to the second overnight control in Quincy were much harder than anticipated; but I still arrived well before midnight, had a beer, a great dinner (thank you, Barbara - and all the others!), slept well, and set out after a good breakfast shortly after 4 a.m. into the third day to Mazama, only 180 miles away. All this was going better than I thought!

On the morning of the third day

At the "Dry Falls" - once the biggest waterfalls on earth:

This is Christophe Denetre from France. A week before the start, he flew in to San Francisco and rode the bike up to the start in Monroe. He then finished the Cascade 1200 in just a little over 85 hours and continued the following day northwards to Vancouver/British Columbia.

Apparently, many of the stronger and faster riders had slept much longer, because I was again positioned in the middle when I arrived at the spectacular Dry Falls Visitor Center control. This didn't last, of course; but I arrived at the Malott control (52 miles from Mazama, with the Loup-Loup pass in between) at 16h20 and was satisfied with it.

Of course, the Loup-Loup pass is a hard climb (over 1000 meters of elevation gain in 20 km) and would cost me two extra hours; but it sure looked like it was impossible not to arrive in Mazama by 11 p.m. at the latest!

Or so I thought.

Here is a map of Winthrop (for some reason, I have difficulties memorizing that name since that evening. It seems to be quite a charming little town, though. Need to go back there some time - maybe at the next edition of the Cascade 1200 ?).

We (three of us) were there at 9:45 p.m. and had less than 14 miles to go to the fabulous Mazama Ranch House overnight control (OK, we might arrive a little after 11 p.m. after all, because of more headwind and uphill. Also, we had spent too much time in Twisp to "refill" - so what?). The route sheet indicated a left turn after the bridge. We got that, and we saw a big road sign "Mazama" which made us feel happy. So happy that we forgot to continue looking at the route sheet and continued straight onto Bluff St. (and we no longer looked at any street signs in the complete darkness).

I call it a brain failure - a collective one at that! - because none of us had the lucidity over the next hour and a half to realize that this road (Eastside Chewuch Road) cannot possibly be the Washington State Route 20 which would take us the following morning over Washington Pass! Instead, we kept complaining about the bad road surface, the tight turns and the disheartening up and down (more up than down, that is). I am so embarrassed you cannot believe it. When I woke up the next morning, a saying from my childhood popped up in my mind: "Was man nicht im Kopf hat, muß man in den Beinen haben." - So there.

But it gets worse. As proudly presented here, I carried my Spot messenger so the loved ones at home could follow my progression, with a "spot" message every ten minutes. By now we were getting close to midnight, and the device had trouble getting a view of satellites because of the high, dense forest in which we evolved. When the device fails to acquire the position or to send it, it blinks red. This was quite unnerving in the dark night; so I turned it off to save its batteries. After all, the people at home would be asleep by now and by the time they checked my position again the next morning, everything would have been happily resolved.

WRONG! They immediately noticed when and where we went off-route and watched us continue in the wrong direction for an hour. Then, suddenly, no "spot" messages at all any more. Hmm - he must have fallen in a ravine and is in big trouble now! And so, to rescue the husband and father, they googled and called around and e-mailed all over the world: The Audax Club Parisien, the Randonneurs Mondiaux, Angela Merkel, the Pope, and Mark Thomas the prez of the Seattle Randonneurs.

At least that's what I inferred from how Mark received me when the three of us arrived at the Mazama Ranch House, a quarter past 2 a.m. - about three hours on the minus side for my overall finishing time. Good thing I performed so well over the first three days and had enough time in the bank!

On the brighter side, instead of leaving again as planned around 4 a.m. in darkness, I now stayed until 7 a.m. and could not only appreciate the environment of this charming site, but also take advantage big time of the wonderful breakfast offering in the restaurant. Only 162 miles to the finish, with the exciting super-climb up to Washington Pass, the "Cima Coppi" of the four days, right at the beginning!

The mishap of the night before was (nearly) forgotten; I only had to replace the original most ambitous goal of arriving by daylight by the next-level goal of arriving before midnight (i.e. under 90 hours). And I still had one notch left on my list of goals in decreasing order (i.e. just arrive before the time limit of 93 hours); but I didn't even think of it.

I should have.

The day went quite well. I enjoyed the Washington Pass climb, catching up with another rider who had passed me on the first miles quite powerfully but who apparently had underestimated the length. I was equipped well enough for the chilly and windy descent, and didn't mind riding again for most of the day alone into a headwind. It wasn't strong; and it was only fair to pay back for the advantage we had on the first day. The scenery through the mountains was breathtaking, and the pastoral atmosphere of the flatlands peaceful. To buy myself back for the emotions I had caused the evening before, I even texted home "Only 100 km remaining" when I stopped in Darrington at a gas station for liquids and snacks and relaxed for a couple minutes on the bench outside with my ice cream. An elderly gentleman approached, shy and very polite, and asked about the story behind all those funny-looking cyclists on the road. I explained equally politely, but somewhat minimally, to avoid getting into a lengthy conversation just when I was about to leave. So he kept asking for more precisions about the route. While I confirmed on this Tuesday afternoon the distances we had covered since our departure from Monroe on Saturday morning, his face grew longer and longer and his regard more and more serious. Finally, after a longer pause, he said: "Your legs must be pretty sore, then."

Ten miles before the last control in Granite Falls, it started raining, but not enough to make me wet or to make me regret the missing fenders; it was just a symbol to remind me that I was in WA. At the same time, the road became hilly and challenged me to show how much strength I had left. It turned out that it was still enough: I decided to finish strongly, and to reduce my stop at the Granite Falls control to just getting the time stamp and signature on the brevet card - I would need nothing else for the last 19 miles.

I was not even surprised to catch up with another rider ahead. At first, I passed him in a swoosh, but on second thought decided to stay with him. After all, we were in complete darkness, and it would make for a much better experience to finish together. We got talking, and he told me that the route file he had loaded onto his Garmin apparently was defective; it had led him off-course earlier in the evening, causing some substantial climbing on an extraneous loop. Now he couldn't trust his Garmin for route finding anymore and appreciated to share the navigational responsibilities. Unfortunately, while talking and listening, I got distracted from following my route sheet. Because of the accumulated discrepancy between the distances on the route sheet and the odometer, this made me match the wrong line with the current bifurcation of the road and propose "Right turn" when his Garmin said "Left turn". We stopped and discussed the situation absolutely dispassionately; after all, I was in a bad position to draw attention to my route finding skills and I was aware of it. But he said that he had been led astray by his Garmin already once and would now rather follow me.

Meanwhile, back home, the family watched the next "spot" message indicate coordinates on the wrong road, and I don't dare to imagine what they uttered at that moment, referring to my brain. This continued for about an hour, and by now, we were far away from the Lake Roesiger Road where we belonged. At least, there was no problem with my Spot device acquiring and sending coordinates (and I had no reason to turn it off; the batteries held up just fine); we even had cell phone coverage. I know it because I heard my phone ring in the handlebar bag while riding. But of course, I would not stop and pick it up. How often had I told my family not to call me while I am on a bike ride? Whoever was calling me, I needed to teach him/her a lesson and not pick up!

It was my daughter who left a message with the explanation of where we had gone wrong and that we needed to turn around.

Eventually, we found out by ourselves, returned all the way to where we had made my wrong turn, stumbled around some more in deep darkness, and finally arrived at the finish in Monroe at 1:46 a.m..
I believe an estimate of two hours for the "minus" side is rather low.

In other words: I virtually achieved my most ambitious goal of arriving by daylight (i.e. before 9 p.m.) - if I disregard both blunders of the last two evenings. I still achieved virtually my less ambitious goal of arriving before midnight - if I disregard the blunder of the last evening. In reality, however, I finished in 91h46 which luckily was still good for my most modest goal. So, in summary, I should be satisfied with my performance on this Cascade 1240 of 2010. But I am not proud of it.

The apprenticeship continues ...

The Triplets of Belleville

2010-06-09T16:06:00.000-07:00

Santa Rosa Cycling Club 600k brevet, June 5-6, 2010

About five or six years ago, a friend recommended we go and watch the movie "Les triplettes de Belleville." We did, we were fascinated, and we bought the DVD. Now I need to find where it is (and I need to find a nice empty evening) because I haven't watched it for too long and want to see it again. The reason: a very special control location at the recent SRCC 600 brevet. This is how the RBA Bob Redmond announced it:

Be prepared to be spoiled.

A brevet should be self-supportive, but SRCC just doesn’t know how to do things that way. In addition to the world famous Pope Valley Control we have added a stop near Blue Lakes in Upper Lake. Got time to fish?

(...)

Pope Valley Control: You get to experience its day vs night schizophrenic spoils. In the outbound heat we have a shaded kiddy-pool to soothe your feet, music to soothe your soul while we serve smoothies and a full lunch. No skimping on the variety offered from vegan to carnivore.

Grab only a snack in Winters for your return to the oasis. Save room for a full meal on the inbound return. Chef Ellis prides himself on his bolognaise prepared from scratch. We’ll take care of the other senses with lights, a campfire and music or maybe a movie. Pack some dancing shoes in your drop bag. There’s also an enclosed canopy to use for a short nap if you need. It won’t be quiet though. We just want your short time with us to be special.

Yes, you guessed it right: the maybe a movie referred to the Triplettes de Belleville. I listened to its sound track (it was projected on a big screen outside - think of it as a cycle-in movie theatre) while resting in the enclosed canopy on an air mattress after my late spaghetti dinner, before getting back on the road towards Middletown shortly before 2 a.m.!

Words cannot do justice to the atmosphere there; and it would have been difficult to capture the spirit in pictures (I didn't even try). Just imagine the requisite port-a-potty at the far corner of the parking lot abundantly decorated with colorful Christmas lights! Enough said ...

----------------

First, as usual, the map. Compare it with the one from the SRCC 400; there are some common portions.

But the sharp spikes in the profile around mile 50 and mile 352 (obviously, the route was a clean out-and-back) were absent on the shorter distance; they correspond to serious climbing on the Hopland Grade along Hwy 175 between Hopland and Lakeport. In addition, the profile appears quite "rough" on the last 40 miles before reaching the flats around the turnaround control in Winters. I know those roads quite well from Davis Bike Club brevets; they include the ominously named "Cardiac Hill."

Despite the respectable accumulated elevation gain, I insisted mentally on the extended flatter portions of the route and decided to attempt a "fast" ride (by my standards) of, say, less than 32 hours. With my experience on these distances I should know by now how to manage my pedaling efforts and my time off the bike; and this would make my goal achievable.

Sadly, the picture above from the Blue Lakes control on the way out reminds me that I stayed there for a first lunch break much longer than planned; and I repeated that slip two and a half hours later at my second lunch break in Clearlake. This is how I consumed all the extra time I had gained during the fast first 30 miles where I had managed to stay with the "big boys" (and girls!), at least until the first noticeable uphill on Dutcher Creek Road. But it was the first ride of the year where I could ride with naked legs; in other words: it was warm, and I was sufficiently unadapted to the temperatures that I was worried about getting in trouble with not eating well enough. I thought it better to invest some time in good nourishment now, rather than bonk later! - However, as a consequence, my full belly prevented me from sustaining a higher workload on the road; and I no longer tried to stay with other riders but followed my own pace from then on. I was satisfied to conclude that I still seemed to position myself not far from the middle of the pack (which was already stretched out over several hours).

On the way to that famous control at the Pope Valley grange, I hooked up with Tom H. and J.T. which made me feel better, relatively. I got the impression that my adaptation to the higher temperatures in the afternoon was successful. The reactions of the concerned volunteers at the control showed that there had been a risk of arriving overheated and dehydrated, but I felt comfortable and in good spirits. On top of that, the ice-cold smoothie did its miracle, and I couldn't wait to get back on the road.

Seeing and greeting the first riders who came back from the turn-around point was a pleasant distraction. I tried to count them; but this was too much to ask from my poor brain at that point. With the help of a strong tailwind, I could compensate for the time lost on my slow climbing (remember: Cardiac Hill!) and arrived in Winters just at the onset of night - theoretically still on schedule for my desired sub-32-hour time. Of course, I had to pay for that tailwind on the way back; and by the time I arrived at the Triplets of Belleville, I revised my goal and added another hour - sub-33-hours it is!

Regardless of my finishing time, I had the goal for this ride to test my ability to ride through the night without a major sleep stop (the 20-25 minute rest after the spaghetti dinner shouldn't count). As expected, I had to struggle with sleepiness around 4:30 a.m., somewhere on Hwy 29 between Middletown and Lower Lake (my least favorite part of the whole route). For safety considerations, I ended up allowing myself another shut-eye when I noticed a big flattened cardboard box not far from the road: not as comfortable as an air mattress, but close! It wasn't even too cold out there; and when I jumped up ten minutes later, I felt restored and this was the end of any sleepiness.

However, my legs and the cardiovascular system didn't agree with working hard at this time of the day, and so I lost more time on the way to the breakfast control in Clearlake. Also, I was really getting hungry now and promised myself a good cup of coffee with my Nutella bread - all in all again over half an hour at that Flyers station. I knew it would be good to learn how to keep the stops much, much shorter; but at that point, I reasoned it away by giving priority - again - to my stomach.

Just a little over 35 mostly pleasant miles brought us back to the Blue Lakes Lodge. That's where Bob's description (quoted above) asks "Got time to fish?" Well, I didn't have the time (and I am not into fishing to begin with); but I can show you what the view from the backdoor looked like:

It started getting warm again; and because I anticipated that the heat would get at me on the remaining major climb of the east side of Hopland Grade, I resisted the temptation to stay longer at this nice place. (Needless to say, I stayed "long enough" anyway).

The heat did get to me; and after some 320 miles, any climb gets to me, no matter what. Consequently, I found that I had to stop several times in order to take pictures for the readers of my blog:

On the lower section

Towards the top: Looking back at Clear Lake

And consequently, I had to revise my goal for this ride once again: just add another hour to the desired finishing time!

To stay with my theme for this SRCC 600 ("Priority to the stomach!"), I stopped at the Sanel Valley Market and Deli after the six or seven miles of gorgeous descent on the west side of Hopland Grade. It would eat another half hour into my already twice revised schedule; but I had to have that really wonderful big egg sandwich and that equally wonderful beer (which I did not drink on the premises, law-abiding non-citizen which I am, but further down hidden in the shade of a tree, instead). This powered me without any more trouble through the last 38 miles to the finish. At first, it looked like some good tailwind would help me with my timing goal; but towards Healdsburg, the wind turned, and I realized that I had to revise my schedule one last time: adjust the goal to arrive in under 35 hours!

I needed two hours for the last 25 miles of fighting a headwind, sprinkled with traffic lights that always turned red just when I arrived and added more stupid minutes. But, on the brighter side, I felt good, much better than in the early morning. I didn't have to fake good form when I arrived: I felt good and could let it appear as easy. And this is always my ultimate goal!

With SFR-RBA Rob Hawks who volunteered at the finish control

Big, heartfelt thanks to RBA Bob Redmond and his team of volunteers - you made this brevet an exceptional experience!

A Mother's Day Gift

2010-05-24T12:31:00.000-07:00

San Francisco Randonneurs 600k, May 22-23, 2010

No, the brevet was not a Mother's Day gift; I did that for my own benefit only. Instead, the Mother's Day gift idea came up towards the end of the Clambake 1000. I ordered the toy two days later and carried it on the SFR 600, this past weekend. When people asked me what it was, I replied that it belonged to my wife (being her Mother's Day gift), and that it's called "Where is my husband?"

Before, I used loopt on the iPhone to "check in" every so often, and it made Ghislaine happy - as long as I had cell phone coverage. But much of the route of the Clambake 1000 carefully avoided areas with cell phone coverage (as do many other brevet routes - they all try to go through unspoiled regions), and instead of helping out with letting Ghislaine track my progress on the road, the phone just drained its battery.

In contrast, the orange-colored "Where is my husband" thingie above runs on replaceable batteries and transmits the GPS coordinates via satellites, regardless of phone coverage. There is the inconvenience of having to strap it on the forearm if I want to use it while riding, because it needs to have visibility of satellites. Pulling it out of a bag or a pocket each time before using it would not be practical. It takes a minute or more to transmit a spot, and I wouldn't want to have to wait for it on the roadside.

I admit that I am interested myself in keeping track of when I was at a certain point in my ride. That's easy to forget, and then I don't have the information when I want to use it in my blog. Now I can interpolate the time stamps of the messages I generate; they are kept on a shared page and I can download the data into a GPX, CSV or KML file. But, of course, the main purpose of the system is to keep the loved ones up-to-date on how the ride goes. They receive optionally a text message on their phone, or an e-mail that contains something like

Latitude:37.80771
Longitude:-122.47507
GPS location Date/Time:05/23/2010 17:38:04 PDT

Click the link below to see where I am located.
http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&geocode=&q=37.80771,-122.47507&ll=37.80771,-122.47507&ie=UTF8&z=12&om=1
Message:TVB

(Extra credit for those of you who can guess what "TVB" stands for. And don't ask about the special red button on the device - I sure hope to never use it. It would bring 911 into the game with my location).

I rode this brevet a year ago for the first time. It is probably the hardest of all 600s I have done so far, not only because of its demanding profile (total elevation gain is over 27000 ft), but also because of its tendency to dish out unpredictably difficult atmospheric conditions (wind, rain, extreme temperatures). Last year was one of the easier years, they said; so who knew what I was getting myself into this time? At least, I would not be alone: first, I was glad to see that John C. could come along with me; and second, there were nearly twice as many starters as in the last years (about 60). That's a big number for this difficult 600 km distance.

John at our lunch stop at the Healdsburg Safeway (mile 88)

It has become a bad habit of mine to ride on the first half day of a long distance as if there was no tomorrow - I did it again. Eventually, on the way to Cloverdale, with the intensifying headwind, I remembered how weak I had felt there last year and finally decided to save my legs for the big climb on Hwy 128, around mile 110. There, John couldn't ride slow enough or wait long enough and drifted ahead to our next stop in Boonville, while I settled in my own rhythm into the headwind. I enjoyed the views and the clean air which stayed wind-chilly despite the sun.

The rest in Boonville was very pleasant in the company of a bigger bunch of "social" riders; but I knew that I shouldn't stop for too long if I wanted my legs not to get stiff. And so I left before them, alone into the continued headwind towards the Paul Dimmick campground. A couple of miles later, Maryann passed me and let me draft. I didn't expect to be able to stay with her; but the strong headwind made the difference between the required efforts of first vs. second rider so big that I managed. Now I owe her a beer!

The following four photos are courtesy Jack H. - one of the top-notch volunteers at the campground (together with Bruce, Tom and his spouse Alayne: heartfelt thanks to all of them!):

As so often, I had set up my route-sheet with projected times that reflected my experience from last year. Despite harder and faster riding this year, we were behind schedule: together, we had been much more relaxed at all stops than I was the year before, alone. I appreciated the opportunity to spend more time talking, but was a little concerned when I became distracted enough to forget setting up my helmet light (among other things) at the Paul Dimmick campground, and had to make John wait for me before we could continue towards Fort Bragg. After all, I wanted to arrive at the finish not later than last year, such that I would still be able to join the party with our Scottish friends Mandy and Katie on Sunday evening in time!

But despite pretty good riding, John and I came back from the round trip to Fort Bragg (about 54 miles) nearly an hour later than I did last year (towards 1 a.m.). It was also much colder than last year - while at the turn-around point in Fort Bragg, I had started shivering and needed to "borrow" a Safeway paper bag to stuff under my vest. The crew of volunteers at the campground had their hands full caring for close-to-hypothermic riders - again, three cheers for them in gratitude!

But there was not just the campfire, the excellent coffee, the hot soups, etc. - there was also a little makeshift shrine to honor the memory of Tom Milton (see the end of this post).

He had registered for this brevet, and his brevet card was carried by several riders in turn until over the Golden Gate bridge into the finish. We also had black wrist bands imprinted in memoriam. And, knowing Tom Milton, the congenial thing to do was to have a coupe of champagne available for each rider coming through the rest stop on the way back - and that's how it was done.

------------

Aaron L. joined John and me for the remainder of the night and the 50-mile return trip to Cloverdale. After about 15 miles, we agreed to stop at the Philo post office to lie down on the floor, protected from the biting outside temperatures, for a recommended shut-eye period of less than an hour to avoid the risk of dozing off on the bike. To be more specific about "biting": some riders had thermometers among their equipment and reported minima of 35 F! It's all part of the adventure ...

Warming up in the sun outside of the Guerneville Safeway control

We were lucky that the wind from the day before was there again without having changed directions: now it was mostly in our back, and if anything even stronger. This allowed us to win back the time we had spent at the Philo post office, and to maintain me in the race for making the (supposed) time limit for joining the party with our Scottish friends in the evening, even though John and I eventually arrived at the finish over an hour later than I did last year.

John and I carpooled back to his home; but (after having coordinated with Ghislaine) I accepted the couch there for a little power nap before going onto the remaining 30 minutes of boring driving. I set my wristwatch alarm, and John informed me that he might sleep himself in the otherwise empty house by the time my alarm goes off, and that I should just sneak out then. Well, we both woke up when the phone rang - but that was much later than my alarm which had gone off unheard. Did I miss the party? Hell no - I joined them late, but there was enough left of food and drinks and laughter. And if I had missed the opportunity of fully testing my sleep deprivation tolerance the night before (because of that Philo post office), I made up for it by staying late at the party. After all, I needed to celebrate with Ghislaine and our friends that I had completed my 10th 600 km brevet:

12/02/2006: "Jump the Gun", Maryborough, VIC (Australia)

5/26/2007: "Brevet Week", Beloit, WI

6/2/2007: "Surf City", Santa Cruz, CA

5/17/2008: Pacific Coast Highway Randonneurs, Ventura, CA

5/30/2008: "Taylorsville 600", Davis Bike Club, CA

4/4/2009: San Diego Randonneurs, Oceanside, CA

5/30/2009: "Fort Bragg 600", SFR, San Francisco, CA

6/5/2009: "Taylorsville 600", Davis Bike Club, CA

4/10/2010: San Diego Randonneurs, Borrego Springs, CA

5/22/2010: "Fort Bragg 600", SFR, San Francisco, CA

Revival of Fond Memories

2010-05-18T17:10:00.000-07:00

Santa Rosa Cycling Club 400k brevet, May 8th, 2010

Four years ago, my son Sebastian and I drove to Santa Rosa to attempt our very first 400 km brevet. We felt somewhat prepared for it through a handful of double centuries in 2005 and wanted to extend the distance in preparation for our goal to participate in PBP 2007. As usual at that time, I was hanging all day long on Sebastian's rear wheel and still felt very weak on the climbs, making my designated pacemaker often slow down and wait for me. Despite my struggles, we finished properly in a little more than 20 hours - the course is among the easier ones, and we were trying hard to limit the time off the bike. But after the wake-up alarm on the next morning we easily agreed that we were "not ready yet for 1200 km!" - we felt pretty much broken.

Since then, I went to the SRCC Randonneurs for their 200k and 300k brevets and finally to a second run of my first-ever 400k, this time with John C. for whom this route was a first. I was eager to get back on this beautiful route and to revive memories from four years ago (meaning: to find out how much easier a 400k brevet has become for me since then). But also, I was a little apprehensive and curious how it would feel to ride this distance only six days after the finish of my 1000 km. That's something I would have considered a "don't even try!" until not so long ago; and that's why I decided to look at it as a social ride and not to worry (so much) about lengthier stays at controls, this time.

Nevertheless, I didn't really try to save my legs either and enjoyed the fact that I could stay with a bunch of good riders and even stick my nose in the wind for a little while.

For some time, my group consisted (from left to right in the above picture above Lake Mendocino, after climbing up from Ukiah) of John C., Theresa, Matthew and Tom. Theresa and her bicycle were already featured here. Tom and I exchanged memories from our previous SRCC 400 experience, four years ago; and I was happy to ride with Matthew and reconnect with him; he had come up from Southern California where he lives and where I had seen him in various brevets over the last years. Our first common brevet (the Santa Cruz 600) goes back to 2006 as well - more memories!

On the fast (although not always very flat) Hwy 20 to California's Lake County, John was the last one to be able to follow Theresa, and I ended up being the last one, period - until Matthew let me catch him and form a 2-man team into Nice.

I borrowed these pictures from Roland

Matthew and I missed the store where our friends had stopped for their "receipt control" and so we didn't even know they were still hiding there when we picked another little store further down the road. We were sure they were all way ahead of us and we, being slower, had of course no chance of catching them before the turn-around in Clearlake. We were both thoroughly confused when they arrived in Clearlake at about the time we had finished our Subway sandwiches and were ready to go! After some standing around, Matthew and I told John and Tom we would "soft-pedal" ahead - the legs were getting stiff, and we wanted the extra minutes to be able to take it easy over the return climb on Sulphur Bank Road .

Looking back from Sulphur Bank Road to Borax Lake

We did take it easy, talked about things in life and enjoyed the views and the perfect temperatures; but later, while riding back around the lake where the wind was now often unfavorable, and with rested legs, it appeared to me that Matthew unconsciously found pleasure in temporarily forgetting about the "soft" in our pedaling. Still, we stopped to take a picture of a somewhat presumptuous town sign:

Matthew and I stopped at the same Nice Market as on the outbound leg, and within a minute, John and Tom caught us there, grumbling something about "good you were soft-pedaling ..."

I felt guilty and remembered my intention from the morning to go for a social ride. But, I just couldn't help it: I still wanted to get back to the Ukiah Safeway before nightfall. And so, after I had listened from the side for long enough to a friendly local who admired our stamina and didn't want to believe it when John mentioned to him that I was 65 (which I modestly corrected to "no, later this year only"), I silently grabbed my helmet, put it on, and readied myself for departure. The friendly local watched us intently and noted, pointing at me: "You must be the chief of the team, a Napoleon of sorts!"

With this new nickname, I had no choice but to work harder on the way back to Ukiah; and my friends decided to humor me by letting me cross the first major uphill in first position (trust me: "Once doesn't make a habit!") For a while, John and I had lost Tom and Matthew, but they came back before we arrived in Ukiah where we stayed for a major dinner control - that soup from Safeway was gooood!

I felt flattered when Tom and Matthew suggested I should take it easy now for the remainder; they didn't know that I was still worried about not being able to follow them. But I took it as a permit to stay behind them from now on, and as expected, both rode faster than I would have been able to on my own in front. It was a wonderful ride through the calm night with its gentle tailwind - at least as long as the road surface was smooth enough. Very often, in particular towards the end, it was definitely not smooth enough.

We relaxed again leisurely at the last control in Cloverdale, less than three hours from the finish, and my legs started getting cold and stiff and itchy again. Clyde arrived and was visibly happy to join us, but - sorry, Clyde! - I had to leave. I pretended to walk my bike from now on ... until John joined me and we started cruising. Tom and Matthew stayed and finished with Clyde. We were still at the finish location (RBA Bob's HQ at the Hilton Garden Inn: first, he rode the brevet himself and came in after 16h44; and then he stayed through the night to check in everybody else!) when they arrived.

Two things stand out from this experience:

a) I can now safely go on a 400k brevet just six days after riding a 1000k distance (although I was sleepier than usual on the following two, three days)

b) The SRCC brevets under RBA Bob are top-notch in terms of luxury at the finish (and elsewhere, too) - Thanks, Bob!

A Horse of a Different Colour

2010-05-12T17:18:00.000-07:00

PCHRandos "Clambake 1000", April 29 - May 1, 2010

The title refers to Eric Fergusson's note (which includes the above picture) about the particular position of the 1000 km brevet distance. Quoted: You might call it randonneur cycling's ugly duckling... the black sheep of the brevet family... neither fish nor fowl. - I had come across that note early on in my budding randonneuring career when I feverishly perused all the major web sites dedicated to the subject, but rediscovered it at the beginning of this year through one of my favorite blogs (in French) where the eminent author dedicated a pretty rich post to "The Wonderful World of the Thousands". By then, I had become particularly receptive to the subject, since I had penciled a first 1000k into my calendar for 2010: the Clambake 1000 (click on the "April 29th" line). As much as this 1000 km distance was meant as a preparation for more important events to come, all the previous 200 - 300 - 400 - 600 km brevets were meant as preparation for this special 3-day ride!

So what is so special about this distance? After all, I successfully finished two 1200 km Grande Randonnées, and I covered over 1000 km in less than 75 hours (the time limit for a 1000 km brevet) at my first attempt at PBP in 2007 already. Based on all the accumulated experience and conditioning from the last years (and with my usual optimism), I felt confident and was determined to try to finish on the third day "for dinner" (i.e. in not much more than 62 hours). But at the same time, I had doubts. In contrast to the big, prestigious 1200 km events, I approached this 1000 km with the mindset of "just another long brevet." It obviously didn't measure up to a 1200, and yet - with five-sixth of the distance - it was nearly as long. Something might be wrong in my mind about this endeavor; somehow, the horse had a different color ...

From my point of view, the layout of the route was perfect: first a big northern loop out of Pismo Beach on the first two days with a suggested overnight stop in King City. I planned to ride the 710 km through and to come back to Shell Beach (just before Pismo Beach) on the second evening. Ghislaine stayed there with our friend Yolande and her daughter while I was on the road. I would shower, eat and sleep there, and leave early in the morning of the third day to check in at the Pismo Beach control before closure and go on to complete the remaining 290 km of the southern loop to the Solvang area (the two maps are at different scales):

Day 1 (Pismo Beach - King City, 226 miles)

Fifteen bicycles plus the tandem of Jack and Kathy T. were at the 5:30 a.m. start on Thursday morning. I had promised myself to stay relaxed and keep things steady; but by the time we tackled the 2-mile Cuesta grade after San Luis Obispo, I found myself close to the front in a group of six and couldn't help trying to stay with them until the top. I knew I was making a big mistake 20 miles into a 624 mile ride (on the last quarter mile of the climb I had to give it all, breathless and with searing legs), but either you have passion or you don't!

As soon as we turned off of 101 and passed Santa Margarita, the bucolic surroundings made me feel peaceful enough to abandon my ambitions of staying with the stronger riders; but then they seemed to slow down as well, and so we still arrived at about the same time at the Pozo Saloon control - allegedly a hideout of the Jesse James band in a distant past:

The roads in this remote area were smooth and bare of traffic; the air was clean and fresh, and the scenery a dream. The terrain was not particularly difficult, but I started to feel a lack of power output on the hills; and this time, I knew better than to keep pushing too hard. I didn't mind riding alone, from then on.

(I borrowed the above and some of the following photos with permission from the ride director's collection)

I still met my companions from the early morning at the Creston Country Store control; but they were about to leave when I arrived.

I kept riding and declared this to be my "best ride ever" (insider joke):

That's how I like it (above and below) ...

When I arrived at Bobbe's wo-manned (ha-ha) control at mile 107, out in the proverbial middle of nowhere, i.e. the junction of Highway 58 and Bitterwater Road, Bobbe was all excited that I was doing so well. She wanted me to catch the group which had left just minutes earlier; but she also wanted me to eat and drink as much as I could (and more) from the abundant supplies in her car. I perceived that as a conflict, which I resolved by opting for the latter.

You can tell from the picture that clouds had come up in the meantime that covered the sun and threatened to drop some rain (I did get rained on a little later, but only for a little while). More importantly, however, a severe wind had come up; and it came entirely from the wrong direction throughout the next 40 miles!

Above: looking ahead; below: looking back.

Hard to see, but the grass lies nearly flat under the wind from the north-west ...

The "best ride ever" was definitely over. This was really hard work, and a serious test of not only physical, but also mental stamina. I was lucky that some previous episodes of lengthy riding into a headwind had hardened me for this situation; but I honestly believe this one was harder than anything before.

There were still many beautiful wildflower views along the San Andreas fault line:

... and cattle which considered that they owned the road (at some point, I would not have been able to pass without the assistance of a friendly car):

Over four hours later (yes, my average speed for the dominantly flat 40 miles was under 10 mph, and I was still proud of my achievement!), I arrived at the Parkfield control (mile 157). Despite its connotation of "earthquake capital of the world" it appeared to be quite charming; too bad I couldn't stay and explore the surroundings:

The next segment led back over mountains to the 101 at San Miguel. I recall very distinctly one major climb at sunset and I am not proud of it: I am glad nobody was around to see how slow I was, needing two involuntary personal rest stops before I managed to get to the top. By that time, I had given up on my goal to arrive in San Miguel before 9 p.m. (when they close their stores). But then, a long descent, a stretch of tailwind, and lo and behold: I stopped in front of the store at 8:57 p.m. and still could buy a hot mocha, calorific snacks and water to refill the bottles. I even caught two riders there from the group I rode with in the morning; but they were just about to take off, and I needed some more time.

I still had 46 miles to go to King City, and even though the notorious headwind there wasn't quite as strong any more as it must have been earlier in the day, it was still very present. If I recall correctly, I arrived at the Motel 6 control around 1:30 a.m. - a far cry from my optimistically calculated estimates.

Ride director Vickie and Bobbe (they seeemed to be everywhere) made me feel most welcome. It had become very chilly outside and I enjoyed the hot soup and the opportunity to warm up and to eat without hurry. I also went to the room next door which was offered to get some shut-eye; but - in hindsight - I made the mistake of not resting long enough.

Day 2 (King City - Pismo Beach, 215 miles)

I left at 2:50 a.m., eager to get back to Shell Beach "in time" and still confident of being able to do so. But as it turned out, I had two things against me. For one, I got sleepier than was safe during the hour before sunrise, which made me go very slow and required an extra improvised shut-eye stop. And then, bad surprise (I have been told to not always be so verbally graphic in this matter, so I'm making an effort): somehow, my digestive tract was in distress, and I had to use up much of my toilet paper behind bushes. All this added up to a substantial delay. And because I thought it also represented a fine set of excuses, I didn't even worry any more about losing more time.

The road over the mountains to Carmel was very beautiful, but also long and with climbs that challenged my weakened legs. I was very much looking forward to breakfast at the Wild Goose Bakery Café in Carmel Valley, and was not disappointed when I got there. I nearly forgot that I was on a timed ride.

I was also looking forward to seeing the Pacific at Carmel and riding down the coast on Highway 1 with tailwind. Of course, I knew that route; but I had never ridden it on a bicycle. I felt a little better already and decided to just take one photo at the beginning, such as not to spend all afternoon stopping for pictures around every turn and at every outlook:

Despite my previous knowledge of the route, I was surprised by the amount of up-and-downs it involved (there is a difference between driving by car and riding by bike ...). And despite the undeniable tailwind, I was much slower than anticipated. The tailwind did help, but not nearly enough when the road went uphill; and it was effectively counterproductive on the downhills, when the gusts made it dangerous to let speed build up.

And finally, I had to stop, no matter what, for the following picture:

I wish it would come out in the picture as impressive, mysterious and fascinating as it was in reality (maybe if you click on it to see it in enlargement?). I thought they were whales - some of them looked like they were 40 feet long; but it sounds too unreal. Any experts out there?

Towards the end of the day, when I reached San Simeon and the flatter portion of the coast, hoping to really capitalize on the tailwind now, the wind died down ...

At the Cambria control, Bobbe was there again (as I said: everywhere!) and watched me buy a bag of pretzels and a coke; I didn't want anything else any more, and it has the reputation of being a remedy for you know what. Not too long later, Tom R. caught up with me and we rode towards Pismo Beach together, with me stopping at Shell Beach, where Ghislaine had waited for me until after 1 a.m. - not what I had calculated.

Day 3 (Pismo Beach - Solvang - Pismo Beach, 183 miles)

After a shower, a "late dinner," a healthy sleep and breakfast, I left at 6 a.m., to check in at the Pismo Beach control well before closure and get on my way for the last and easiest day. I knew all the roads from the Solvang Spring Double Century and other visits to the area and was looking forward to rediscover them. Of course, I wished to be stronger and faster than I was, but overall, I was satisfied with my progression. If only I didn't have to watch out for suitable bushes every so often, or spend so much time in men's rooms of gas stations (of which there were only very few). I got a little too warm over the Drum Canyon south of Los Alamos, but my legs had recovered well enough for the climb, and I could enjoy the view down south from close to the top:

The stretch on Highway 246 to Lompoc led again into a fierce headwind; but just in time, Michelle Santilhano and another rider passed and invited me to ride along in their draft - what a boon! Too bad I couldn't stay with them when the road went uphill for a little too long; but Lompoc wasn't far away any more. And on the way back over Santa Rosa Road, I had the pleasant surprise of being caught by and riding along with the ride director Vickie who was out on her new recumbent to look after everybody on the road!

The tailwind from Lompoc to Santa Ynez was very beneficial to morale and overall average speed; my legs felt surprisingly good again, and I started to believe into arriving before midnight. The control in Los Olivos was staffed by Bobbe again (who else?) - who had remembered that I needed a bag of pretzels and brought it for me! Earlier, out of Solvang, Mel C. had caught up with me (while I was in a bike shop to stretch my sagging saddle a little more), and we had our picture taken by Bobbe. Mel and I eventually arrived at the finish together.

The famous flag pole in Los Olivos

"875 km down, 125 to go!"

Unfortunately, the remaining 125 km still included unfavorable winds and some undesirable extra delays (now don't ask why!), and - close to the end, in deep darkness - some navigational confusion. As a result, I didn't arrive until nearly 1 a.m., all in all a couple of hours later than hoped for. Then again, I had some good excuses ... and I decided to be quite happy after all and even unabashedly proud with my "I did it!"

Sunday belonged to Ghislaine, Yolande and Geraldine. We had a great brunch, a wonderful Bao-Sheng Foot Spa (and a full-body massage for me), and a celebratory dinner at the Spyglass Inn restaurant in Shell Beach ...

... from where we watched the sun set behind a dolphin statue:

Learning something new ...

2010-05-12T15:01:00.000-07:00

Davis Bike Club 400k Brevet, April 17, 2010

The subtitle in my blog header says "Learning something new on each and every brevet." However, in looking back, I did not often spell out what it was that I had learned on a given brevet. You may suspect that I didn't want to embarrass myself by publicly admitting the mistakes I had made (and learned from), and that's a fair suspicion. While I was on the way back from the turnaround point at the DBC 400k brevet, I promised myself to become more upfront about this.

This is the outbound route. The inbound route differs slightly around Winters/Vacaville

As all the other DBC brevets, this one started out with the usual flat stretch where riding in a swift pack allows to put some good time in the bank. Although there are some mountain ridges to be crossed, the overall elevation gain (well under 10000 ft) is moderate for this distance, and I consider this one of the easier 400s in the area. I did it once before in 2008 and it became my only 400k finish under 20 hours. Of course, I hoped to do even better this time.

Everything went well, and I was happy to notice that I could stay a little longer than in the past with groups of faster riders - until a well-known feeling in the legs told me to let them go. Still, I was far ahead of my planned schedule at that point and could realistically hope for a sub-19 hour finish, which was very motivating for me.

But then came the lesson of the day: "Always read the info control instructions on the brevet card before you get there!" (Or: don't be shy to pick up the latest route sheet at check-in and use it when in doubt ...)

The turnaround point was some uphill distance beyond the Lake Sonoma Recreation Area Park. My route sheet (which I always reformat and print from an earlier electronic online version if available) only indicated "continue 1.7 mi to turn-around cone at Rockpile Rd" and so I started climbing and looking for the cone that would indicate the turn-around and presumably offer some secret code to be entered into the brevet card at that point. Well, that cone never came. The 1.7 mi distance passed, and still no indication of a turn-around "info control." I have often seen incorrect distances on route sheets, and so I didn't mind and kept climbing. The scenery was spectacular, the weather wonderful (now, at the warmest time of the day and with all the climbing, I actually did get a little too hot), and I was not even particularly surprised that the RBA (Regional Brevet Administrator) was sadistic enough to put the turn-around point at the very top of the climb, which kept adding yet another steep pitch, and then yet another even steeper one ...

By the time I decided to stop (nearly at the top of it all), pull out the brevet card and read the definite instruction for the info control (which was in fact less than a mile from the park and did not have a cone, only a street sign at a junction), I had wasted more than half an hour with killing my legs on hills much steeper than anything else on the actual route. - That's when I remembered my motto to "Learn something new on each and every brevet."

I allowed myself some temporary disappointment and a more generous rest at the park, but recovered well enough to still finish two minutes earlier than two years ago and be satisfied with it.

Earlier in the day, I had met again Tom Milton of Selle An-Atomica fame (more background here; also mentioned here) - repeatedly, because he was fast enough that I could not stay with him for very long; and each time after he had spent more time than I socializing at control stops and elsewhere, he came back to pass me again, joking that there were more than one Tom Milton on the ride. He was particularly upbeat and joyful on that day, even singing at times; and he treated me like an old friend. While I myself somehow forgot to take pictures, he didn't: his album is here; please, check it out. I didn't see him any more after the half-way point; he finished over an hour before me. - One week later, I was devastated to learn that he was felled by a presumed heart attack. A tribute to Tom in form of collected memories can be found here. Borrowing from Willy's contribution there: I will ride the rest of my brevets with him in my heart.

Back to Borrego Springs

2010-04-19T16:21:00.000-07:00

San Diego Randonneurs 600k, April 10-11, 2010

As I explained here, I always have good reasons to go into the desert. And so, when I learned last October that the prolific San Diego Randonneurs are putting on a huge 600 km brevet out of Borrego Springs for the April 10-11 weekend, I immediately declared it to become my first season highlight of 2010. I don't know why, but I have always been attracted by the mountainous area to the southeast of Los Angeles; and this loop would lead me through some more of the regions I longed to discover, in particular the Overland Stage Coach route down south to Ocotillo and the edge along the Mexican border. In addition, the time of the year promised an attractive outburst of greenery and desert wildflowers, and circumstances allowed the weekend to also become a "bonding experience" for accompanying wife and daughters while I would be out on the road for two days and one night.

Kelly and John M. had decided again to join me for this 600, which made it all even better. I anticipated that the route was not easy, and that some personal struggles would be involved. But this perspective motivated me to work harder on the preceding brevets so I would be well prepared for it; and in turn I considered this ride an important part of my preparation for the much more demanding goals I have put on my calendar for the rest of this year!

For those who would rather watch a 10-minute movie about the experience instead of reading my blog, I should emphasize right away that Kelly has produced another wonderful "Rando Rides" feature on YouTube. And if you are determined to continue reading (all the power to you!) - watch it anyway. It contains pictures I don't have, and conveys impressions I will not be able to articulate.

A little group of 16 randonneurs set out at 04:30 a.m. and quickly disintegrated on the Yaqui pass climb and (after a windy descent) on the dominantly uphill stretch to Scissors Crossing where we turned onto the Overland Stage Coach Route towards Ocotillo. I marveled at the exotic desert vegetation which made the views so much different from what I had imagined. I believe I could have taken hundreds of cactus and other plant photos if I hadn't had something else to do: riding my bike.

Greg Olmstead (above) manned a very welcome water stop at the Butterfield General Store, about a dozen miles before the Sweeney Pass got our attention. Here are some good pictures of the latter, although from a hotter and more desolate time of the year.

The profile makes the 12-mile, 3000-ft climb on I-8 around mile 70 stand out. It certainly kept me honest - there was no way to cheat my way up to the top. As expected, Kelly and John lost me there; but we had arranged a lunch-stop regrouping in Jacumba. Too bad I wasn't in the mood for taking pictures; the views were grandiose. I will have to come back another time to check out the Desert View Tower.

In good bicyclist's delusion I had in mind that the following stretch over Highway 94 out to the coast would be "all downhill" which was doubly wrong: first, because the very gradual loss of altitude was sprinkled with a good many uphills, some of which quite serious; and second, because a murderous headwind during all of the afternoon made me push the pedals hard even on the de-facto downhills. Also, I had managed to miss the regrouping lunch stop with Kelly and John in Jacumba and found myself alone until San Diego. No big deal; but it did cut into my optimistic time line.

Here is one of my favorite views from the Barrett Junction area:

Can you see how the road meanders downhill and through the valley and then climbs all the way out of the valley again on the left side of the background? All this under a violent headwind? - Memorable, I tell you ...

But I eventually reached the coast, was joined by Michael B., and together we rode up to Oceanside and beyond. I convinced him not to wait for me when I had to fix a flat, and despite some little involuntary errands in darkness to San Clemente and back, I joined Kelly and John for a sleep break at the Oceanside Motel 6 around 2 a.m.

As so often on long rides, I felt better on the second day (at least as soon as I had imposed on Kelly and John to let me have a 7-11 coffee and muffin for breakfast), and we climbed back into the mountains in company of Nicole and Jim for a while. The weather was pleasant, the wind mostly cooperative, and I enjoyed recognizing some of the routes from previous rides in the area. Somewhere between Temecula and Hemet I had another flat. John used the time of the repair to relax in the grass and to listen to some of my cross-cultural linguistic explanations (the subject of which is not fit for print), while Kelly took pictures:

In Hemet, we enjoyed a pleasant lunch stop at the Fresh & Easy Market before tackling the dreaded Sage Road climb: on the profile, it's the sharp tooth shortly before mile 320.

While approaching the climb, Kelly meant well to indoctrinate me once again into the virtues of using bigger gears in order to get stronger; but the steeper pitches (probably up to 14%) just didn't leave me a choice: I had to use my smallest gear - and still get out of the saddle, as can be seen on his video. Allegedly, Kelly used some software tricks to accelerate my climbing in post-production - thank you, Kelly!

On top of Sage Road. On the horizon: Mount Palomar

I was running a little low on water and calories and really looking forward to the Aguanga Store. On arriving there, John pointed out that I was visibly due for some restoration, which encouraged me to indulge in my beverage of choice (after double-checking that I fulfilled all the posted legal requirements). I am pretty sure I would not have done so well without it on the remaining uphill stretches that lifted us from 1600 ft to 4000 ft. Although it did help that we honestly had a very supportive tailwind there, too!

Souvenir picture at the highest point of the route, mile 368

On arriving at the top of Montezuma Grade, I felt the ride was over: the rest really was all downhill, and a big one at that! Now what does it say of a 380-mile long ride when - in hindsight - everybody agreed that the worst part of it, and by far, was the last 12 mile long 5 - 8 % downhill? It was horrible.

At first, the road and the tailwind were straight, and we barely noticed that we were catapulted into the 50 mph range. But as soon as the turns and the escarpment and canyons started, the wind came from everywhere and blew us around like littered paper. The rims must have gotten hot from all the braking; there was no way we could let the speed exceed 15 - 20 mph, and even that was too scary at times. About half-way down, I finally stopped to take pictures and to relax a little; this downhill from hell was utterly stressful even for me, and I am not known for being shy on descents.

Deep down: Borrego Springs

Still, in the end we arrived at the bottom and approached the finish at the Oasis Motel where Greg Olmstead checked us in, my "three daughters" waited for us (my wife likes it when she gets mixed up with the daughters), and Fabienne took a picture of the three randonneur comrades:

We were fortunate enough to stay for another night in Borrego Springs, before loading the Prius with four people, their luggage, plus a bicycle (fortunately with S&S couplers):

The front part of the frame with handlebar (and route sheet!) is under the front wheel on the left, while the rear part of the frame is wrapped up in yellow plastic under the black wheel cover of the rear wheel

On the way back to LA via Temecula, the ladies spent some more time at a David's Bridal store in Murrietta (I don't know why); and on Monday evening, we had a peaceful and uneventful drive back from LA to the Bay Area. I used the picture below from our weekend in Borrego Springs to "check in" at work on Tuesday morning.

A New Saddle and Two Good Brevets

2010-03-29T07:52:00.000-07:00

Davis Bike Club 300k, March 20th

San Francisco Randonneurs 400k, March 27th, 2010

For the last seven or more years, I have been using fi'zi:k (excuse the funky spelling) Arione saddles (yes, more than one). They have a longer nose which allows to easily change the fore and aft position and upper body angle while riding, and the narrower sit bone area does not get in the way of pedaling.

I know it's not for everybody; but for me this turned out to be the best saddle choice so far (and I have tried many since the early 60's). I never had any problems with it - other than that the thin cover gets rubbed through every ten thousand miles or so (i.e. too often). Typically, it opens up at the nose, but sometimes also on the side (which then allows me to joke "Wanna see my saddle sore?" and laugh at the bewildered reactions I get). Because Superglue can only go so far, I had to consider buying yet another saddle, this year.

You could say I was too comfortable with my fi'zi:k Ariones, because I suddenly decided to experiment with a new, completely different model, to see what happens. I ordered Tom Milton's An-Atomica, for about the same price as the Arione. Tom rides the SFRandonneurs brevets with us (he has been mentioned here already), and so I would at least get a chance to complain to the designer if the experiment didn't turn out satisfactorily.

After just a little bit of adjustments on a 40-minute ride on Thursday evening, I took it out onto this year's Davis 300k brevet. I certainly should have known better than using a brand new saddle for a 300 km distance; but that's how cocky I felt.

It was the first time I went onto this DBC 300 route, but I knew all the roads from the Davis Double and various other Davis Bike Club brevets. As usual, I took advantage of a fast group (including not one, but two tandems) during the first 30 flat miles; and as usual, I found myself alone as soon as the route entered the hills (the tandems had made a stop in a park just before, and everybody else was way ahead). I was lucky enough to benefit from more drafting a little later in Pope Valley; but the road is not so flat there and I decided to save my legs for the upcoming big climb to the turn-around point at the top of Cobb Mountain instead of struggling to stay with the group.

The Cobb Mountain climb is respectable; it averages nearly 10% for over two miles (the units above are metric again), and the "flatter" portions of, say, 8%, are being compensated by steeper pitches in between. The temperatures stayed cool enough all day long and yet I was sweating profusely and breathing hard while watching the bike computer display slower and slower speeds, down to under 4 mph.

On arriving at the lunch stop control and turn-around point at the top, I was happy of course and didn't feel uncomfortable, just a little "worked up" by the climb, with the voice affected by the hard breathing and the appetite momentarily lacking. But people asked me if I was ill ... ?? No, quite the opposite, I said. After all, seven hours is a good time for me for 150 km and I was perfectly satisfied with it. Now I could still maintain hope for my silent goal of *maybe* finishing in less than 14 hours, if the winds were not too unfavorable on the way back, or if I could find again a tandem or a group of stronger riders to draft.

I did find them (no: they found me), and this certainly made me gain some more time. But not too long later I gave up. The tandem just was too fast on the downhills, and I didn't have a big enough gear to follow them. Also, I got tired from the jostling for the best place to draft and from the heightened concentration which is required when riding tightly in a group; and so I decided to ride the remaining 70 miles alone to the finish. Now I could adjust my pace to what my body wanted, relax and enjoy the scenery, and play the numbers game with average speeds and the anticipated arrival time. The realization that I could arrive in 13h50 (my fastest 300 ever!) made me exuberant and upbeat, and I didn't disguise those feelings when I checked in at the finish. That's when I noticed that the three pages of sign-in sheets (about 70 starters) were nearly full with signatures of people who had finished already, and I said incredulously: "... but nearly everybody arrived before me!" -- "Not everybody" the volunteer said, helpfully.

In the end, it wasn't even so bad, as the graph of the distribution of the finishing times shows. I am not quite where I'll want to be, eventually (in the middle!), but I am calling it a "good brevet" anyway:

And the saddle? you ask. Well, it certainly could have been much worse. It did feel more comfortable in the second half, but not enough to be enthusiastic about it. The fi'zi:k was better in allowing varied positions, like bending forward more deeply when working into a headwind or at higher speeds, and seating more upright for relaxed riding or climbing. And each time I was standing and then got back down into the saddle, I was surprised by how much saddle exactly I suddenly had between my legs - way too much for my taste!

Over the following days, I had time to think about it and to decide that I wanted to give it another try one week later at the San Francisco 400. After all, it is supposed to take more than a day of riding to get used to a new saddle, right?

----------------

I didn't feel very well the following Friday afternoon and evening, and I was worried about having caught a cold virus. I felt better on Saturday morning (at 4 a.m.) and drove to the start of the SFR400 at the Golden Gate bridge. This was going to be the first 400 of the season, and I decided to "take it easy," mindful of how tired I had been the day before. While the forecast promised a sunny day, the temperatures in the morning (and later at night) were more than chilly; I was happy I had brought my complete low-temperature equipment - I needed it.

Serendipitously, Tom Milton showed up at my side during the first hour in darkness from Sausalito to Mill Valley and I had the opportunity to describe my experience with the new saddle. He recommended to tension it some more (based on my experience with leather saddles in days of yore, I had been very cautious with tensioning) and to slide it back in the rails. I hadn't thought of it, but now it made sense. When I switched the saddles, I had measured the position of the saddle nose; but the fi'zi:k has a longer nose, and so the An-Atomica needs to be further back. Also, tensioning the leather will make the saddle longer and straighter and remind me better of the previous seat. Unfortunately I waited with the adjustment until past the halfway point in Hopland (km 214); I could have saved myself some discomfort by doing it earlier. As soon as I left Hopland, I knew that with the correct adjustment my new saddle was preferable to the Arione, and that I was now well equipped for the longer distances to come. Thanks, Tom!

This is the outbound route; the return trip goes more directly from Healdsburg to Petaluma via Santa Rosa. Total elevation gain is around 7500' on the way up and less than 4000' on the way back.

So, why was this another "good brevet"?

First, the scenery: we went through some of northern California's finest, in springtime: birds, wildflowers, vineyards, cows (yes, I like them, too: the cheese, you know!).

Veronica at the top of Wilson Hill. Photo by Greg M.

Happy cows thinking of cheese. Photo by Roland B.

Mountain House Road - a dream!

Of course, in order to get there, we had to pass by the Bodega Country Store control where I took a picture of the grown-up Pippi Longstocking (also known as Veronica):

From there, we had to pass over Joy Road. Ever since I encountered it three years ago for the first time in the uphill direction, I felt more than a little intimidated by it:

At that time, I had "decided" to walk a bit of the 18% section. This time, I made it to the top without walking - progress!

But, even though there was some progress, it was not nearly enough: I got passed by many people who had stayed longer at the controls; they expected me to join them and ride with them. But their rhythm was too far above mine and I had to excuse myself and continue at my own pace. Some time in the future, maybe ...

And so, the 214 km to Hopland took me around eleven hours - too much if I wanted to arrive in less than 21 hours, because there would be headwind on the way back, and the last 70 km after Petaluma included some major climbing again, not to speak of the slowdown due to the distance. I made an effort to keep the stop in Hopland short, but was disillusioned about my abilities when I set out for the remaining 186 km.

Veronica and Chuck had left the control shortly before myself, but had the same doubt about the turn onto East Side Road as I did three years ago, and so I could catch up. I knew Chuck from October 2008 when we crewed for a two-man team at the 508 - a very good experience. Chuck is himself a solo-508 finisher; he is able to ride into a headwind much faster than I could ride in the opposite direction with the wind in my back. And I knew Veronica as a strong rider ever since I met her at the Santa Cruz Randonneurs 600k brevet in 2006. I could only hope to hang on to their rear wheels as long as the terrain was flat enough. It never occurred to me that I might be able to stay with them to the finish.

So, here comes the second reason why this was a "good brevet": Veronica, Chuck and I finished together, barely a minute past 3 a.m. (or: in 21 hours)! Agreed, I had to dig deep for this to happen. Never ever did I storm up the Red Hill after Petaluma so fast, always staying in the middle chainring, close to breathlessness! Chuck showed his strength in front, and Veronica stayed behind me even when I temporarily lost touch with Chuck, so I didn't feel discouraged by being dropped and instead sprinted back to catch him, repeatedly. The situation (and the cold temperatures) reminded me of the second night at the Endless Mountains, when I discovered for the first time that I could ride hard on a long distance without "blowing up."

I was still cautious and doubtful because I knew well all the remaining climbs to the finish, and I remembered all too well the many times when I crawled after a long day with juiceless, painful legs over the Corte Madera ascent and from Sausalito up to the bridge. But - not this time!

Of course, I am paying the price for that extravaganza now, as I am writing this: the muscle soreness is quite lively and much stronger than it has been in a long time. But it's a sweet price to pay: I am thrilled to finally have evidence that I am progressing in my apprenticeship. At least, I am getting better in the second half of long distances. And that's what matters to me.

Barrel Tasting and Piano Concerto No. 2 by Camille Saint-Saëns

2010-03-16T10:16:00.000-07:00

Santa Rosa Cycling Club 200k brevet, March 13, 2010

No, we didn't go barrel tasting (note how the webmaster had a little too much already by the time he typed line 7). As much as I appreciate fine wine, it's not a good fit during a bike ride (ask me how I know - oh, I mentioned it on top of page 5 here). And I am happy to report that other barrel tasters apparently all had designated drivers during that wonderful day that led us from Healdsburg to Napa and back.

(This is the outbound route only; on the way back, we took a shortcut to Healdsburg towards the end)

A big crowd of well over 80 randonneurs showed up at the start, and the joy of seeing many old and new friends was shared by everybody. John and I parked our carpool-van next to a well-proportioned although anatomically questionable horse statue:

The first miles were chilly, with the consequence that all those who were not overdressed set out at a very brisk pace to "warm up." I had warned John that this was a fast course (I did it two years ago already and finished then in 8 1/2 hours, somewhere in the middle of the result sheet sorted by times), and so I didn't hesitate to stay in touch with one of the groups among the faster half of the participants, at least for the first ten miles. Then, the control stop at the northernmost point of the route broke the group up, which allowed me to shed a layer and to continue alone. Not for long, because on the Canyon Road climb I caught up to the tandem (one of seven on that day!) of Spencer and Joann and stayed with them; they helped me make a good time on last year's SCR 300 already. Soon, the tandem attracted more singles and combined forces with the tandem of Ken and Lisa, and so we covered the next twenty miles or so in good speed and without undue effort. I decided to stop for some short personal business during the uphill north of Calistoga and to let the group go. This way, I could negotiate the following curvy downhill and the last stretch into Calistoga alone. The road surface there tends to rattle tooth fillings loose and makes riding in a group more stressful than necessary.

As expected, a substantial part of the group stopped in Calistoga anyway, whereas I was set up to continue on my way alone, chewing on some bone-hard energy bar of unknown brand and origin left over from last year. Only over an hour later, one by one, other riders caught up and allowed me to form a little pace line with them. Sometimes, one or the other showed how strong he was by pushing hard on the shallow climbs of the Silverado Trail with its large bike lane and super-smooth surface, and I felt compelled to demonstrate that I was also willing (at least in spirit) to do my share, take the lead for a while and try to kill my legs to make them stronger for some other day. All this made that we arrived at the lunch stop and turn-around point at the Skyline Park above Napa, mile 70, in less than four hours (3h59, to be precise), which was unexpectedly fast for me and put me at the end of the first third of riders arriving there.

The offerings of the SRCC Randonneurs group there were overwhelming - I called it a "gourmet control." For somebody like me who has some ideological roots in randonneuring as long-distance unsupported endurance cycling emphasizing self-sufficiency, this generated a little bit of a mixed feeling which I was tempted to articulate. But given that the stomach always is overruling all philosophizing (at least for me) and that I had a flawless appetite, I just indulged.

John joined me barely ten minutes later; he had been riding alone without benefitting from drafting tandems and faster groups. I decided to stay with him for the return trip and to have a good time in priority over a fast time. This left me more lunch-break-spare-time to talk with randonneuring friends, and to take pictures of Theresa's jewelry-like restoration of a genuine 1969 Peugeot lady's porteur bicycle:

Needless to say, seeing Theresa nearly effortlessly gliding along through Napa Valley in the middle of a group of racing bicycles was a sight to behold! She left the lunch stop a little before John and I, and finished over ten minutes earlier, even though John and I certainly didn't waste any time on the return trip.

The reason for our not wasting time - as I had explained to John several days earlier - was the ECYS Benefit Concert in the evening which I desperately didn't want to miss. But I didn't want to miss my beer from the Bear Republic Brewing Company in Healdsburg (the traditional location of the finish control of this brevet!) either, and in particular didn't want John to miss it. So, the only solution to the dilemma was to ride faster. Gabe and JimG joined in the fun; and this time, both John and I found reasons to mention our sore legs (we typically don't do that) while fighting the headwind. For a while, I felt weak enough to let the others take much longer pulls in front than I could afford. In the last 20 or 30 miles, however, I surprised myself with a decent recovery, and there was no holding me back on the last six miles when we finally had the wind in our back again, and when I smelled the brewing company.

We finally had our beer (despite slow service), and after a couple of hearty handshakes mounted the bikes again to get back to the van and to the grazing horse. The sun put it in a new light, and I wanted John to take a picture of me with it:

Obviously, the horse had grown since the morning: there was no way I could have mounted it without a ladder. - Note how John put himself into the picture as well.

Now we were on the way back to the South Bay, and I started counting the minutes while we were in dense traffic around Santa Rosa and through San Francisco. I dropped off John at his house, and still continued scrupulously observing the speed limits - the pedagogic value of my speeding ticket from a year ago hadn't been lost on me. I arrived at home at 7:05 p.m. and didn't have time to double-check the time of the concert - I just assumed it was 8:00 p.m., because otherwise I would not make it. I showered and dressed into my concert-going outfit in ten minutes, needed a little over ten more minutes to the Flint Center parking garage in Cupertino, and presented myself at 7:35 p.m. at the entrance - without a ticket. I got a little shuffled around by zealous ushers, until it became clear that I couldn't buy a ticket any more. One of the male ushers (who was even older than I) empathized with me enough to let me into the concert hall at 7:42 p.m.. The moment I pushed the door (it was already dark inside), everybody started clapping. No, that wasn't for me, but for the conductor. The concert was scheduled for 7:30 p.m., but they were running late. I sank into my seat:

- William Tell Ouverture, Rossini

- Piano Concerto No. 2, Camille Saint-Saëns: soloist Claire Huangci (wow!)

- Scheherazade, Rimsky-Korsakov.

Truly a fitting evening for an exceptional 200k brevet!