Back in the Saddle on the Cranbury 200K

The climb back to event fitness has been slower than I imagined following my total hip replacement in October 2018. For planning purposes, I naively assumed the shortest possible recovery time, as if personal will had anything to do with it. As it turned out, however, my muscles were pretty out of whack following eight years of adaptation first to my 2010 fracture and then to the slow decline that came with the avascular necrosis. It turns out that some of my pain was the result of improper muscle use and general overuse rather than direct joint pain. So over the past six months, I’ve had to retrain the correct muscles to engage which has involved both mindfulness, physical therapy, and training.

In late April I felt prepared for my first 200K having ridden both 100K and 100-mile training rides earlier in the month. I selected the Cranbury 200K in part because it was organized by my friends down at NJ Randonneurs and would provide a great opportunity for brevet socializing and also because the route is blessedly flat. As the date approached, it became clear that the weather gods were on my side. With the exception of a nasty wind, the conditions could not have been better. It was cool and sunny with dry roads and lovely spring foliage in abundance throughout the day.

The enthusiasm for this ride was impressive with over 80 riders registered. I clipped in, following an overnight at my mother’s house where we enjoyed our annual joint birthday soiree and enjoyed the energy and camaraderie that comes from riding with dozens of riders heading out into a brevet. A field so large on a 200K almost ensures that one need not ride alone and this proved to be true for me as I enjoyed catching up with old friends and acquaintances and meeting new ones along the way. I rode much of the first two stages with NJ Rando stalwart Joe R. and we swapped stories about bikes, PBP and friends we have in common.

Just as I was approaching the Jersey Shore near Bradley Beach, though, I felt the tell-tale softness coming from my rear triangle that could only mean one thing. My tire was in need of immediate attention. Not more than five miles from the location I flatted on last year’s Cranbury 200K, it felt like some sort of cruel joke. While I replaced my tires the night before with brand new Continental GP 4000s, I seem to have installed my tubes too hastily causing a pinch flat to develop about 60 miles into the event. Luckily, I was able to replace the tube within eyeshot of the beach while sitting on a fresh patch of sod.

Having spent 20 minutes fixing my flat, I decided to pass straight through the lunch control after having my card signed and rear tire inflated and headed off into the hinterlands of South Jersey alone. While I do not recall much in the way of tailwinds throughout the morning, we all definitely experienced some major headwinds on the way home in the afternoon. The winds were of the 20+ mph variety with gusts up to 40 and there were several times I found myself struggling to stay upright. Luckily the route was not a straight shot into the wind so we were afforded breaks along the way. Not only that, a group of four of us teamed up together to ride in a paceline for much of the afternoon making the return journey much more enjoyable as a result of both conversation and workload reduction.

The final control on the well-organized Cranbury 200K offers a welcome banquet of pizza and beer. While I passed on the latter, I had plenty of the former and enjoyed some great conversation with friends new and old. The best part of the day, of course, was what I learned about my physical condition. While a bit tired at the finish, I was sore in all the right ways. Any discomfort came from my undertrained quads and adductors and not and from my hip which was stiff rather than sore. Not only that, but I somehow shaved 20 minutes off my 2017 finish time.

Up next: The Bash Bish 300K

Paris~Brest~Paris as Seen in the Rear View Mirror

To say that my recollections of Paris~Brest~Paris are impressionistic is as clichéd as it is true. I have many memories, some vivid, some faint, but they are not tied together neatly into a linear time sequence despite my best efforts to reconstruct a logical narrative of my adventures. This has been one of the most challenging writing assignments I’ve faced since sophomore year in high school. How do I capture the magic of PBP? Where do I start? How do I end? Ultimately, I’ve chosen to present my memories in a thematic fashion to try to make some sense of the whole experience while leaving the chronology behind.

As I’ve written many times before, PBP was a goal toward which I have worked for many years. After being struck by a car in 2010 while training for PBP 2011, I was faced with many months of hospitalization and rehabilitation and a long period of rebuilding both strength and technique so that by 2015 the time for redemption had finally arrived. This exceptionally long build-up to the event turned out to be both a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing in that I was singularly focused on completing the ride within the timeframe I set out for myself and careful and deliberate in my planning, but it was also a curse in that it was bound to disappoint in some areas as my long-held fantasies met reality.

To maximize my comfort and the likelihood of success, I selected to ride with the 84-hour group, which provided me with a morning start time of 5:00 am. Not only did this mean that I'd sacrifice six hours on the road, but I'd also traded the opportunity to ride along with the large and festive group of 90-hour riders. As a result, I was not surprised that my ride was somewhat more solitary than I would have liked at times as there were fewer than 500 riders in the 84-hour start as opposed to more than 5000 in the 90-hour group. This was both good and bad. It was good because there was barely any congestion at the controls and bad because some of the exuberance of the event itself was undoubtedly dialed down with only 1/10 the number of riders on the roads.

The Start. I spent four days in St. Quetin before the ride connecting with old friends and making new ones as we prepared for the big event, but I only recognized a few faces at the start. We were released exactly at 5:00 on Monday morning and the first ninety minutes or so of the ride were shrouded in darkness, so I maintained a small buffer between myself and other riders to ensure that none of us got into an accident as the field began to stretch out. The excitement of an early morning group start always seems to lead to an elevated pace and this ride was no exception. I tried to refrain from riding full out, but it was hard to contain my enthusiasm and so I spun along with a group of fairly fast riders even though I knew that my pace was not sustainable over the long term. Watching the taillights ahead in the distance, it was easy to gauge the shape of the route as we wove our way through suburbs and then farmland in our westward march toward Brest. As dawn broke across expansive fields, the crisp air made us feel good to be alive and lucky to be part of this grand tradition.

The Riders. While I knew very few riders in the 84-hour start, one of the riders I did know was Keith C. with whom I rode a 400K out of Rochester this spring. Keith was in the 5:15 start and I knew it was only a matter of time before he caught up with me as his pace is brisk and his legs are strong. It was shortly before the first control that I heard Keith’s familiar voice, and it was nice to catch up with one another so many miles from our last encounter in the Finger Lakes. We rode together for a spell, but I knew that Keith’s pace would soon surpass mine and as it was still very early in the ride I wanted to protect my reserves. We ran into each other at several points along the route, though, and it was always a pleasure to see Keith and his friend Kristen who was providing support. Their good cheer and generosity of spirit was a real lift along the way.

It was not until well into the second day (or early in the third day), that I met up with NJ Rando stalwart Paul S. who was riding alone as well after becoming separated from his two riding partners, one of whom was riding a bit faster and one of whom was riding a bit slower. This meet-up came at a very good time for both of us as our energy was flagging and good conversation and companionship was a real morale booster. As it turned out, Paul and I rode together for a big chunk of the middle section of the ride. I’m a bit foggy on when exactly we teamed up, but we rode together until the stage between Villaines and Mortagne when I urged Paul to catch up with his riding partner Chris who was resting at the Mortagne control. It was a good thing that Paul took off, as my pace was grinding to a near standstill on what became one of the slowest and most molasses-like stretches of the ride for me.

The Spectators. The route between Paris and Brest is beautiful and very pleasant to ride. The roads are well paved and quiet, the hills are never too severe and the rollers and small villages provide interesting yet predictable variety. More memorable than the terrain, however, are the amazing French people who line the roads and occupy the villages along the way. Never in my life have I experienced such enthusiasm, support, encouragement and love from perfect strangers. Cycling has a long and storied history in France and the enthusiasm for PBP seems like the exact inverse of the typical reaction cyclists receive in the USA, where we are generally scorned and treated like trespassers on our own roads.

In contrast, the Bretons revere cycling in general and PBP in particular. It was possible to feel like a celebrity riding with enthusiastic families lining the streets, cheering us on, and offering us food, drink and words of encouragement at every turn. At times, I found myself weeping as a result of the pure joy, gratitude, and pride I felt to be a part of this amazing cultural and historical phenomenon. It felt like I was a part of something truly important. At times, the relationship between the riders and spectators and volunteers seemed actually symbiotic. We needed and derived energy from them just as they needed and derived energy from us. We reinforced each other in ways that brought joy and satisfaction to us all.

The Controls. Approaching the control at Villaines was especially thrilling as spectators lined the roads and cheered our progress on both the outbound and inbound legs. Early on the first day this was my first experience with what would become fairly typical in the layout of a French control. I quickly discovered that the various services were pretty spread out with the control point at one location, bathrooms in another, water in another and food in yet another. Luckily I did not need to rest or visit health services as these were in different spaces as well. One could burn up considerable time in a situation like this without even realizing it, and we did not even experience the delays and lines that plague the large bulge of 90-hour riders since they had long past this point. 

 

The Iron Rider beautifully and aptly described the route in his blog as a “charm bracelet of small quiet French towns linked by long and winding roads that border spacious golden fields.” This pattern with its predictable variation was both comforting and enjoyable. Entering a village was always a thrill with surprises around each corner, gorgeous historic buildings of all shapes and sizes and deeply appreciative locals around every corner. No one seems to mention the nearly unbearable stench of manure throughout the agricultural sections of the ride, but this was another reason I looked forward to the break that the villages provided.

Sleep. Managing sleep throughout the 3-1/2 days of PBP seemed at times to be a much greater challenge than pedaling my bicycle for 1200 kilometers. There never seemed to be enough time for rest and as my margin of time shrank, my time for rest shrank just when I needed it most. Things started out well enough, but they eroded considerably over the course of the event, as I will describe. On the first night, I held to my plan to cycle the 278 miles to Loudeac before sleeping. I rolled into the control at 2:19 am, about an hour and 19 minutes behind schedule. 

After checking into the control, I grabbed a little food, showered, changed clothes and signed up to sleep for 3 hours. The sleep area at Loudeac, fondly referred to as the “disco morgue” by several of my friends, was an amazing example of French organization and efficiency in action. Riders interested in sleeping simply pay a few Euros, indicate the time they wish to be awakened and place full trust into the hands of complete strangers to find them in a numbered cot among hundreds of other snoring and farting riders in a darkened room that resembles a large airplane hangar. Once I surrendered myself to this arrangement, I got some of the best sleep I can recall. After nodding off immediately, I shot bolt upright certain that I had overslept only to discover after dressing and running out the door that I had awakened 30 minutes before my appointed time. Oh well.

Following my long sleep at Loudeac on the first night, my sleeps got shorter and more frequent. Throughout the first two days, I was able to maintain a time cushion of over two hours. This lasted through to Loudeac at mile 485 on the return leg of the journey at which point I had reduced my buffer to less than an hour. It was from this point forward that I felt as if the clock controlled my every decision.

The Dark Times. While most of the ride felt like a magical adventure, a few sections were downright unpleasant. These times were dark both literally and metaphorically. I fully expected periods of great physical and emotional difficulty from my previous experience on long rides, but no matter how much this is anticipated, when the dark times hit, they can be somewhat overwhelming. While I generally love riding at night with the unique perspective on the world that this time affords, it can also be difficult, especially when riding on very little sleep.

The most challenging section for me came on the third night as I was beginning to feel like I was running on fumes having slept so little in the preceding days. Sleep depravation was wearing me down just as the coffee was losing it’s staying power, just as I was running up against control closures, just as I needed to ride through some pretty hills sections. As my time margin shrank, my ability to sleep or even to rest decreased dramatically. This had a snowball effect that was hard to correct. I was fighting off sleep as I rode and increasingly found myself taking 20-30 minute catnaps at tables hunched over my cell phone alarm.

To make matters worse, I began to hallucinate a bit as I rode through the stretch between Villaines and Mortagne. One of my emergency measures was to take a caffeine tablet that Paul offered me since there was no coffee at hand. As it turned out, my body responded very well to this intervention and I was chatting away in no time without a care in the world. I also swapped out my old contact lenses (that had become foggy and distracting since I had left them in for over 24-hours) with my glasses that I had luckily thrown into my trunk bag at the last minute as an afterthought. 

While these techniques helped me stabilize my safety and feel better about riding this stretch, my pace had slowed to a real crawl, which did not help my secondary problem of riding much too close to control closure times. When I snapped to attention and realized the combined impact of riding slowly, climbing hills and stopping periodically, I realized that it was entirely possible that without a concerted effort, I could easily run out of time. I dug deep into my reserves and began to chant (literally and out loud) the mantra “Relentless. Forward. Motion.” It is a phrase I attribute to my friend Susan O. who tells me it is one she learned from Mark T. himself.

Whatever the original source, I found this simple reminder to be remarkably helpful. Even slow progress in a forward direction is helpful while any time off the bike is potentially destructive. This mantra allowed me to focus on the only thing that mattered (moving steadily forward) and remove the things that did not matter (lack of comfort, sleepiness, the big questions related to WHY in the hell I was doing this, etc.) from my mind in a way that contributed to my success.

The Final Push to Paris. After that long uphill slog through the dark third night, I finally arrived in Mortagne with time to spare, which was a huge morale booster. With 28 minutes until the cutoff and dawn not far away, I was able to eat, charge my phone and take a short nap before heading off for Dreaux, the penultimate control another 50 miles down the road. I picked up the pace considerably with renewed energy and excitement knowing that Paris was less than 100 miles away. At times, I was hammering along at 20 miles an hour and even as a light rain came, my spirits were not dampened. When I arrived a Dreaux, the rains had stopped and the sun began to poke its way through the clouds. I had also increased my buffer to almost 1 hour and 15 minutes so the time pressure was greatly reduced. 

In fact, as a result of some curious route calculus, I found that I had almost 6 hours to ride 40 miles and so timing out was no longer a serious concern. My dream was about to become a reality; I would make it back to Paris within 84 hours. I could feel the stress leaving my body. That was until about 45 minutes after leaving Dreaux, when I heard the telltale sound of air quickly escaping from my tire and pulled to the side of the road only to watch dozens of riders zoom on grateful not to be sharing in my fate. It was remarkably time-consuming to change the rear (why is it always the rear?) tire as my mind and fingers were not working at peak efficiency. I decided to swap out the entire tire rather than simply change the tube just to be sure that I wouldn’t develop another puncture from the culprit that had caused the current flat. In all, it took me almost 25 minutes to change the tire, but I was then back on the road with a light tailwind at my back. What I had envisioned as a fast and triumphant victory march all the way to Paris, though, was now a fairly gentle and mostly solitary ride plagued by a (probably irrational) concern that I might run into additional mechanical troubles that would claw deeper into my time buffer. 

As it turned out, I did not experience any further trouble and crossed the finish line 82 hours and 33 minutes after I set off, which left me with almost 90 minutes in the bank. While this was MUCH too close for comfort and leaves tremendous room for improvement, I had achieved my goal. What did it feel like to finish? Was I elated? Was I disappointed? In all honesty, it was a bit of an anti-climax. Since the large bulge of 90-hour riders finished hours earlier as a result of their Sunday night start, I ended my ride without much company, fanfare or enthusiasm. It would take over 24 hours (10 of which I was sleeping) for me to begin to put the ride and my accomplishment into some sort of perspective. Only in the days that followed, as I caught up on my sleep and began to feel like myself again and share in the excitement of others, was I bathed in a feeling of great satisfaction and excitement.

Postscript. I lost sleep in the days leading up to PBP, nervous that I had given myself a 6-hour handicap in exchange for a morning start, but reflecting back on it I think I would make the same selection again. While I missed out on some of the fanfare, I don’t particularly like crowds and beginning with a morning start got me off on the right foot. The general pace of the 84-hour riders was brisk and familiar and with additional training and a knowledge of the course, I think it will be possible to shave several hours off my time, while also affording myself the opportunity to stop more often between controls to enjoy Brittany’s culture and culinary riches more fully.

The most peculiar sensation I felt during the ride as I approached Paris on the return leg, though, was a feeling of relief. It’s not easy to hold onto a goal for such a very long time. In a weird way I feel like completing PBP has actually set me free. I’m no longer that guy with a single-minded goal on the horizon. I no longer feel the need to worry about whether I can ride long brevets again with my reconstituted physical condition following my accident. I was so fixated on FINISHING the event that dialing in speed and strategy was not really so high a priority. Successfully completing PBP feels like the end of an era and the beginning of a new one with the future unknown and the sky as the limit.

One of the fairly disorienting outcomes of a serious injury is coming to terms with one’s new strength and ability in the aftermath. In 2010, I was actually training for a Charly Miller (sub 56:40) finish at PBP. Whether or not that would have been possible, I doubt that such a performance is in my future at this point. Now that I have a solid 1200K finish behind me, though, I’m eager to test the new limits of my speed and climbing strength. Having just transitioned into my 50s this year, I'm eager to consider ways to make this my strongest decade yet as a cyclist. In fact, I just ordered a copy of Joe Friel’s recent book Fast After 50 for advice. 

Two things I know for sure, I am back and I’ll be back. I’d like to include a final word of gratitude to my loving wife and family for their eternal support and confidence in me and to all of my friends - thanks for your ongoing patience.

PBP: The Film

In this early planning stage, I've spent a some time watching assorted video clips and documentaries of past events to build enthusiasm (as if I need more enthusiasm), learn a bit more about how to prepare and soak in the ambiance. It was in this frame of mind that I found myself sitting by a warm fire on a cold December night watching the official PBP 2011 video below.

If you've not yet watched this short film, it is well worth your time. The countryside looks even more luscious and the villages more beautiful than I imagined and the enthusiasm of the French people and the hearty spirit of the participating riders just leaps off the screen. I know that somewhere deep into a cold, wet night of riding in late August, I'll wonder why I let myself be duped by such pleasant fiction and curse the day I set off on this adventure. In the meantime, though, in the comfort of my warm living room, PBP looks like just about the best possible goal a person could set for him or herself.

Up next: I clip in tomorrow morning to ride the Walkway Over the Hudson 100K permanent populaire.

Paris-Brest-Paris: T Minus 364 Days . . . and Counting!

I first caught the PBP bug in 2007 during my introductory year of randonneuring. I was swept up in the PBP frenzy, but knew better than to attempt to squirrel away several thousand dollars to make my way to the start in Paris that summer. The next time around, I was sidelined by my 2010 crash on the Endless Mountains 1000K and I have spent the past four years slowly rebuilding my fitness and confidence on the bike to undertake a similar long brevet.

Needless to say, PBP has been on my mind quite a bit on and off over the past seven years. I even went so far as to secure a “PBP 2015” license plate to help me to keep my eye on the prize during my long recovery. While I never imagined hosting a vanity plate, the coincidence of a three-letter-followed-by-four-number license plate pattern in New York State was too much to pass up. This way I can have a vanity plate that only the initiated can interpret. Clever, right? No, my family didn’t think so either. Oh well.

Now that we have rounded the corner and entered the final stretch, I could not be more excited. With less than a year to go, it’s time to plan out how to prepare to not only successfully complete the event, but to do so with a strong foundation so that I can enjoy every minute of it.

Why am I so excited? 1) I love France, 2) I love traveling, 3) I love good coffee, 4) I will have attained a goal I set many years ago and which has seemingly receded into the distance the closer I have gotten, and 5) All that I’ve heard and read about PBP suggests that the event will be as exciting as I found London-Edinburgh-London (LEL) and then some.

When I rode LEL in 2009, I was swept up in the collective enthusiasm of participating in a long, long, long ride with hundreds of other riders from all over the world. Riding in a 1200K brevet with over 5000 other riders from around the globe in the country that invented randonneuring and where citizens have not only an actual familiarity with the event but a reverence for those who ride in it sounds positively supernatural.

As with most large-scale, expensive goals, the planning and preparations will be half the fun. Here are just a few of the steps I anticipate along the way:

• Rekindle my R-12. Riding at least one 200K each month between now and August will help me build a strong base.
• Ride a full SR series. While this is a requirement for entry, I am eager to see the 2015 calendar that will be published in early October to find some outstanding and challenging brevets to help me develop optimal fitness while at the same time connecting me with friends and acquaintances also preparing for the big event. 
• Complete at least two challenging 600Ks in 2015. I would love to ride the Westfield 600K again next year and NJ Rando may well run the Catskill 600K again next year. 
• Spend a lot of time refining my equipment. I plan to ride all 2015 events (except for the salty winter rides) with my brevet bike set up for PBP to fine-tune my set-up and work out any kinks in my planning.
• Have fun!

Up next: the Princeton 200K on September 13.

The Final Stage of Redemption: The Lap of the Lake 1000K

The Lap of the Lake 1000K brevet is the single longest ride I’ve attempted since my 2010 accident. It is an event that would test whether my physical repairs (specifically those in my shoulder and hip) would support my ability to ride hundreds of miles over multiple days. I have had this particular ride on my mind ever since I was unable to start after being sidelined (also in 2010) by a crash in which I broke my arm. As a result, this ride was about more than simply having a good time with friends new and old and seeking out adventure on an exciting and unique course. It was about confirming that I have the ability to successfully ride long brevets once again and, specifically, that I will be able to train for PBP 2015 with confidence.

Since I was unsure of my performance at this distance (especially since the LOL 1000K is run unsupported and offers no SAG support in the event of emergency) I thought it wise to team up with others. I was especially grateful that JB, a two-time LOL ancien, was interested in teaming up along with hearty randonneur Nigel G. Our plan was a simple one: we would ride for 300 miles on the first leg, 200 miles on the second and then finish with 125 miles on the final day. With a 7:00 pm start, this meant that we would also front-load our night riding by powering through the first night as well as the second day and that we would need to arrange hotel accommodations on both Thursday and Friday nights.

I would recommend this mileage pyramid to anyone seeking a successful way to divide a very long ride. By front-loading the event with big miles, one builds up a time cushion as well as a buffer against fatigue. One of the ways we handled the sleep deprivation that results from this approach was to take a few “micronaps” along the way. Once on the first night when Mike W. developed a flat tire, several of us spied a gazebo in the middle of town and laid down for a ten-minute snooze, which we all found to be strangely refreshing. We also grabbed a similar rest in a park in Kingston the following afternoon after eating our lunch at a fine little café.

One of my least favorite sections of the route, due in part to my somewhat debilitating fear of heights, was the bridge crossing at the Thousand Islands. These bridges provide a spectacular view of the Thousand Islands region, but they also require cyclists to walk their bikes over two miles of vertiginous walkway with tractor trailers and cars speeding towards them at 60 miles an hour several feet away. As one nears the top of the bridge, the roadway literally bounces as heavy trucks power their way between Canada and the USA. Another low point of the route involved cycling through the sprawling suburbs of Toronto on roads that were both under construction and completely ill-suited to cycling. It is a blessed miracle that no one was hit by a car in this section and I hope the RBA seriously considers a rerouting to make for a safer and more pleasant way to navigate this major world city. While I’m a big fan of urban riding, suburban sprawl riding, where hostile drivers have no idea what to do with cyclists, is something no one should have to encounter, especially on a well-designed brevet.

My favorite sections of the route came before dawn on both Friday and Saturday mornings. On Friday, JB, Nigel, Gil L. and Mike B. and I clipped in around 2:15. It was a bit more chilly on Friday than it had been the night before, but I added my rain jacket and my new wool glove liners and felt more than adequately dressed to be comfortable in the cool morning air. It always seems to be a pleasant surprise to get back onto the bike after even the shortest of sleeps. As if by magic, the soreness and fatigue is gone and the excitement of starting a new day takes over on an emotional level. Several things made this particular section so remarkable. First, the roads were lumpy, curvy and rural, all of which added a mysterious quality that was accentuated by the full moon reflecting in the lake which popped into view on and off for the first 25 miles. Due to the amazing expanse of the lake, it appeared to my tired mind as if we were riding on a remote island rather than the shores of a massive lake and I almost thought I would see a goat cross the road as one might in Greece or some other romantic location.

The pre-dawn ride the next day between Niagara on the Lake and Niagara Falls was similarly magical. Nigel, JB and I clipped in around 3:30, this time to make it to the border control before it closed at 5:12 am. This deadline turned out to be a fantastic catalyst as we were compelled to ride through a glorious stretch of road bordered by regal estates with views of the Niagara River that were accentuated by the bright, full moon. Not long after leaving town, we stripped off a few layers to prepare to climb the escarpment, which was steep but not too terrible and magical in it’s own right. The Canadian government has maintained gorgeous parkland around Niagara Falls that makes the approach from the West very pleasant. Once we arrived on the top of the escarpment, it was not long before we entered the honky-tonk sections of Niagara Falls that cater to the tremendous volume of international tourists interested in catching site of this remarkable natural phenomenon. Our trip through town induced a bit of panic as the trail was not easy to navigate with signs hard to interpret and the clock ticking away. We very much did not want to break the border control and so were relieved when we entered the Rainbow Bridge in enough time to snap a few pictures and pass through the control at 5:10 am, two minutes before it closed. I’ve never before been the Lanterne Rouge at a control and the adrenalin rush associated with passing through just before the the control closed was not unpleasant.

Upon returning our passports safely to our bags, we pedaled over to the Denny’s in search of some coffee and breakfast. It was a joy to see Susan’s and Arthur’s smiling faces as they finished their meals and prepared for their next leg. We were not disappointed as the menu was perfectly aligned with our needs and I ordered a hot cup of strong coffee along with another plate of fried eggs, bacon, sausage and home fries. This was one of the many “real” meals we ate along the way, which is another strategy that requires an investment in time, but which pays great dividends with digestive comfort and energy management throughout the day. To hell with pocket food and liquid nutrition.

As with all long brevets, there were some times we were literally laughing out loud, and in this respect, “LOL” fully lived up to its name. One notable moment was our trek on day three across what appeared to be a post-apocalyptic highway along the southern coast of the lake. Not unlike the Palisades or Taconic Parkways in the Hudson Valley, this four-lane highway, complete with expansive green median was beautiful. The only thing missing was cars. We rode through the warm, dry and sunny afternoon as intrepid randonneurs might after a robot uprising has destroyed all other humans. When we spied an abandoned car in the shoulder, it caused more than momentary panic and fits of hysterics. Every so often, a lone car would zip down the road at 60 mph, but most of the time, the parkway was ours.

Another favorite feature of long brevets is the natural “hopscotching” that occurs when riders speed up and slow down and take breaks of varying lengths. As a result, I was able to enjoy the company of a wide range of riders over the course of our three days in the saddle. Mostly, I rode with JB and Nigel, with whom I had organized a strategy and reserved hotels to meet the demands of this unsupported ride. I was also able to meet and ride with an interesting assortment of riders of varying backgrounds and experiences that included: Gil L., a rider in his first season of randonneuring, Mike B., the president of DC Randonnuers, Steve Y., the RBA from Long Island Randonneurs, Calista, a quick rider from DC, Arthur from Toronto, Bob T., a strong rider from NJ with whom I have ridden before, Susan O., from Portland who (insanely) rode over 600 miles from Chicago to the start of LOL in what she lovingly refers to as her “Dumbass Tour” along with many others. It was also a real treat to be able to jump on the “Severna Park Peloton train” on day three as we made our way across the southern coast of Lake Ontario with a tailwind at our back and sun on our shoulders. With all of the hard work and motivation of this well-oiled machine, it was not difficult to keep a pace of over 20mph, which was a thrilling way to make up a bit of time across relatively flat terrain.

The penultimate control in Charlotte brought us to within 25 miles of the finish and afforded us some of the most spectacular frozen custard I have ever eaten. Since JB has been raving about this treat for as long as we’ve discussed this ride, I allowed him to buy me a “double” which we relished as we considered the final stretch. Having been separated from Nigel a bit earlier in the afternoon, we waited for him on the banks of the Lake and savored the rest before the final push to the end. When Nigel, Steve and Gil arrived with an appetite, they encouraged us to forge ahead and to meet them at the finish. With this encouragement, we clipped in and made the final approach. 

It was Susan who first introduced me to the term “full value” riding to describe her pattern of riding towards the back of the pack on a brevet and planning stops strategically and efficiently to allow for a comfortable and manageable pace on the route. This was, honestly, my first experience with full value riding as I typically spend my time in the first third of the pack. Having now spent time at all parts of the field over the course of my randonneuring career from first finisher to last man through the control, I can honestly say that I think the latter has the potential, especially in fine weather with a good group of riders, to be a whole lot of fun. I guess I have been thinking that folks at the very back of the pack were somehow suffering. This certainly was not the case with this event. We were having a blast sucking every bit of value out of this brevet. Thanks, Susan, for introducing me to this helpful way of looking at things.

All told, the LOL 1000K was an amazing event. Not only was it a brevet filled with unique natural wonders and amazing weather, but it was also an opportunity to ride with and learn from some awesome randonneurs. The Lap of the Lake 1000K was most remarkable to me personally, though, because it proved to me that my body is ready to take on PBP and any other 1200K in the wake of my terrible accident. It allowed me to discover that I was not permanently and irreparably damaged. While I may never be quite as fast as I was before the crash, I am confident that I will be able to take on whatever cycling challenges come before me. None of the pain I felt at the finish of LOL was in any way related to injuries I sustained in 2010. My shoulder gave me no trouble and neither did my hip. It was only the pedestrian pains of palm and knee that caused me to pop ibuprofen tablets on day three. In other words, I’m back, baby, I'm back!

Goals for 2014: the Lap of the Lake 1000K and Beyond

One thing I love about the coming of winter is the chance to sit back and assess the past while planning for the future. As a cyclist, this process begins for me when RUSA posts the ride schedule for the coming year in early October and my head begins to spin with options for organized rides around the country.  For me, the structure of the year is largely determined by the longest ride that I will build towards as the ultimate goal; a ride that from the comfort of the couch seems like it might be slightly out of my reach. Once this is established, I look to build the season around brevets and training that aligns with my family and work obligations.

This year, the answer for me was obvious. The last time I had planned to ride in the Lap of the Lake 1000K (LOL) was 2010. It was to be the major goal of that season of riding and was to serve as the event that pushed me to the top of the pecking order in the new system of pre-registration that ACP established to regulate the size of PBP. While preregistered for LOL, though, I was unable to start due to a humerus fracture I sustained during the NJ 600K that June and I had let let my pal Andrey ride on to success without me.

2010 was a momentous year in my life. It was the season I pushed myself to complete a full SR series in under 60% of the maximum time allowance, or or R60 according to the rules of the Cyclos Montagnards challenge set up by Jan Heine and the folks at Bicycle Quarterly. I was interested in this challenge as a way to assess whether I could successfully complete PBP in under 56:40, which at 60% of the total allowable time of 90 hours, would qualify me to become a member of Le Societe Charly Miller. By June, things were going pretty well. I had finished the Princeton 200K, Saratoga 300K and the Boston 400K all safely within the time limits. It was my strongest season ever; I felt like I was on top of the world. This feeling would not last long.

In late June, I set out to complete the NJ 600K, a beautiful, flat ride through the magical Pine Barrens of southern New Jersey, in under 24 hours. Never having completed a 600 in 24 hours, I was not concerned about the pace or the distance, but rather the impact of riding straight through the night without sleep. To make matters worse, the ride start was at 10:00pm and I clipped in after a full day at work. Starting out strong, I fell in with Anthony M. from VT and we kept pace as we rode through the peaceful night and reached Cape May at the southern tip of the state by dawn. All was going according to plan until mile 309 when I lost focus for a nanosecond and hit a patch of sand on the shoulder and went down hard on the pavement. I knew something was not right with my shoulder, but thought it was more likely a muscle injury than a fracture as I clipped back in and rode with determination to the finish 66 miles down the road. Anthony was a prince and paced me as my speed declined. No longer able to hit the 24 hour goal, we finished in 25:50 and I was left with an R70 finish for the season.

The Lap of the Lake was less than two weeks down the road and while unable to secure a visit to the orthopedist in time, I knew something was wrong enough with my shoulder that 1000K was not a good idea. So I took a DNS and subsequently found out that my shoulder was broken. After six weeks in a sling, four of which were spent with family off the bike in Europe, I entered the Endless Mountains 1000K in hopes of completing the 2010 season with a 1000K under my belt to secure my spot in the first wave of US registrants to PBP the following year. As you may know, the Endless Mountain 1000K did not work out as planned. I was hit from behind by a distracted driver merely two hours after clipping in and spent the following six weeks in the hospital, and the following three years out of the hospital, recovering from 26 broken bones and three surgeries.

It's been over three years now since my accident and I've accomplished quite a few things on a bike about which I am very proud. I was permitted to ride again 9 months after the accident and in my first full year of riding I completed D2R2, a full SR series, the Festive 500 and an R-12. My perspectives on life and cycling have changed, though, as often happens following a catastrophic event. Since the accident, I've not been able to ride as fast as I once did. Neither have I completed an event over 600K. My ultimate goal, though remains clipping in to ride PBP in 2015. I doubt I'll be in shape to complete the event in Charly Miller time, but complete the event I will.

As all of us who consider ourselves randonneurs know, our sport is all about incremental change. This year, I will complete a full SR series and I hope to increase my pace to at least R70 limits to see if I am capable of training to ride more swiftly than is currently the case. LOL will also be a step along my journey to PBP. I need the experience that a 1000K close to home will give me to plan and build confidence for that legendary ride. LOL will not only be a stepping stone, though. If I have learned anything from my accident, it's to savor life as it comes. The Lap of the Lake will be an amazing opportunity to ride with friends in two countries along a majestic course around a Great Lake, which in itself is a goal worth savoring. Care to join me?

So here's to 2014. May all of your dreams come true.

Diana Nyad's XtremeDream: On Age, Goals and Endurance

Diana Nyad's successful 110-mile swim from Cuba to Florida this week reminds us that age need not get in the way of achieving monumental acts of physical endurance. In fact, age may even be an asset. Success in endurance athletics is mainly the result of mental stamina and this is a quality that often improves over time. Given so many opportunities to throw in the towel, it's those that persist despite blinding pain and suffering who eventually succeed. We're wise to remember ultra cyclist Lon Haldeman's advice, "if you think the pain will go away within two weeks, keep riding."

The most amazing lesson from Nyad's achievement may not be the swim itself, but rather her persistence in completing it. Don't get me wrong, swimming for 54 hours straight is nothing to sneeze at, but hammering away at a goal for 35 years and making the attempt FIVE times is a remarkable lesson for us all. At age 64, Nyad's achievement will inspire many to do crazy things they barely believe possible, and if they fail, they will see the value of trying again and again and again. As she reminded us upon reaching Key West, "never, ever give up."

Anyone familiar with randonneuring knows that age is often an asset. The emphasis in our sport is not on who finishes first, yet it is not uncommon for the tortoise to beat the hare over great distances by bringing wisdom and careful planning to bear. Anticipating and avoiding show-stopping problems helps as does developing the patience and persistence to complete our "extreme dreams."

Think about it: what if we actually get better with age? It's counterintuitive in our youth-obsessed culture, yet Diana Nyad is a shining example of what's possible if we persist. The best thing about setting and committing to goals of great magnitude is that they are deeply personal  As Nyad remarked, "I swam from Cuba to Florida and no one can take that away from me." I know that I'll be thinking of her achievement as I pedal through northern France in 2015, especially if the weather turns foul and my confidence begins to feel tenuous.

My Story Published in American Randonneur (Winter 2012)

I was honored to have my reflections on my accident and subsequent recovery included in the Winter 2012 issue of American Randonneur. While much of the article was adapted from writing that appeared first on this blog, here is the article in its entirety.

As I look up into the bright lights, I realize that I’m definitely not still riding my bicycle. The fact that I cannot remember anything about my crash is probably a significant factor in my ability to ride again. I have no creepy feelings when I ride; I don’t look over my shoulder with dread every time I hear a car roll up beside me. While I’m told I was conscious and able to communicate with the paramedics on the side of the road for at least a few minutes, I have no memory before looking up into those lights. I don’t know whether I was in the ambulance or the hospital at that point.

The first thing I said when RBA Tom Rosenbauer handed me his cell phone to speak with my wife was “oh no, she is going to be so worried.” It didn’t occur to me that she was already pretty worried after being awakened by a 6:30 am call as the words “Hospital . . .Pennsylvania” flashed across the caller ID on the bedside phone. “Yes, there’s been a serious accident,” the voice said, “no, we can’t tell you how he is. You’d better get down here to the hospital as soon as you can. We need to operate.” My wife describes an eerie calm as she woke our two children and called her parents to arrange for the three-hour ride to the hospital.

I rode my first SR series in 2007, but was unable to finagle a trip to Paris that year, so PBP has been on my mind ever since. Riding in the 2009 edition of London-Edinburgh-London further whet my appetite for international rando-adventure and I was riding the Endless Mountains 1000K, in part, to ensure priority pre-registration for PBP 2011. At 4:00 am on August 26, 2010, about 25 riders and I rolled through the dark hilly countryside of Eastern Pennsylvania. At 5:45, I was fully awake and rolling along with the rhythm of the front pack of riders as the sun was just beginning to peek its head over the horizon. As a responsible randonneur, I was lit up like a Christmas tree, but this did not deter a young, distracted driver from gliding into the shoulder and taking me out like a bowling pin. My custom-made Independent Fabrication was totaled. I have no memory of the accident.

Fortunately, my bad luck ended when I was hit. I was rushed by ambulance to St. Luke’s Hospital in Bethlehem, PA where both my legs were operated on within a few hours of the accident to repair my broken right femur and left femoral neck. Two days later, I underwent another surgery to repair a badly broken left clavicle. All in all, I broke 24 bones – none of which was set with a cast. I now have a titanium rod the length of my femur permanently implanted in my right leg. I also have a bunch of screws and a plate holding my left femoral neck and clavicle in the right places. In addition to the breaks that needed surgical repair, I fractured my right scapula, ten ribs, five vertabrae, three hip bones and more things with names I can’t recall. Remarkably, I did not sustain any significant internal injuries, spinal damage or head trauma. There was not even a patch of road rash anywhere on my body. My wife Jessie never left my side and slept in a small foldout chair typically reserved for nervous spouses awaiting the birth of a new child.

With Ron Anderson and Laurent Chambard at St. Luke's Hospital (August 2010)

After two weeks at St. Luke’s, I was transferred to the Helen Hayes Hospital in Haverstraw, NY, which sits atop a hill overlooking the Hudson River about one hour downstream from my home. At Helen Hayes, I lived and worked on the spinal injury floor, not because I injured my spine, but rather because I had similar rehab needs with only one of four limbs able to bear weight. I spent several hours each day in physical and occupational therapy and was able to get around with the help of a motorized wheelchair and spent the time not in therapy outdoors reading in the warm fall sun and connecting with friends, family and acquaintances through social networking sites, which gave me a small window into the power of technology to connect and transform the lives of those with physical challenges.

Luckily, my randonneuring experience came in handy during my recovery. Patience and the ability to endure uncomfortable and fairly unpleasant sensations for an extended period of time is useful during rehab. After four weeks at Helen Hayes and six weeks from the date of my accident, I was released on Columbus Day weekend and finally had the chance to drive home with my wife. I had to swap the time normally spent training and commuting by bike with physical therapy sessions, trips to the gym and stretching. I was directed to stay home to recover more fully and returned to work on a part-time basis in early November.

In November, I met with a shoulder specialist to review the results of a full series of scans and tests to find that her initial suspicions about why my shoulder was lagging were correct. It turns out that I was suffering from the effects of a previously undetected, displaced humerus fracture which involved a piece of bone and the associated rotator cuff muscles swimming around in my shoulder unattached. So my 24 broken bones had now grown to 25. No wonder I couldn’t raise my arm. The only solution was surgical and the likelihood of repair hovered around 50%. I was clear with the doctor that the most important outcome was getting my left arm to "handlebar height;" anything else was extra. In December, I went in for my fourth surgery and after a brief period of rest, the winter and spring were subsumed with shoulder rehab and the quest to build greater stability and strength in my legs.

My return to the road came in late March, after being given permission from both my general orthopedist and my shoulder surgeon. While I thought in the weeks after the accident that I would be able to ride PBP in 2011, I soon realized that the pace of recovery would be much slower than I originally dreamed. When I realized that I could not participate in this year’s edition of PBP, I knew that it would be important to replace it with another epic event to mark my return to riding and to use as a goal in my recovery and training. The famed Deerfield Dirt Road Randonee (D2R2) was just the ticket. At 180K, it was not the distance that makes the ride epic, but rather the 180 kilometers of largely dirt carriage roads that snake their way through the mountains of Western Massachusetts and Southern Vermont.

Climbing Perkins Hill on the NYC 200K (July 2011)

In June, I was riding and reaching my handlebars comfortably enough to justify meeting with Paul Levine of Signature Cycles, the fit expert who put me on my first custom bike. The fitting revealed that I didn’t need any specialized accommodations on the new frame and we put the order through. That month, I also rode in my first events since the accident - a local 50-mile ride followed a few weeks later by an organized century. My return to randonneuring came in July as I rode the NYC 200K, which was both physically and emotionally fulfilling. In August, exactly one year and one day after my accident, I completed D2R2, which was one of the most demanding days of cycling I’ve ever experienced. August also included a local 200K permanent and another in September to lay the groundwork for the R-12, which is a goal that’s eluded me for some time.

So where am I now, almost 14 months after the accident? I still love riding and continue to hope for a full recovery as a randonneur. I’ve yet to tackle distances greater than 200K, but will do so after a bit more training. More importantly, though, I feel like I’m approaching riding with a new mindset. I find myself closer to family than ever and have an even greater appreciation of the need for balance between riding and the other parts of my life. I realize that I’m married to an absolute saint. I’m thankful to everyone who reached out, sent an encouraging email, visited me in the hospital, posted a comment to my blog, prepared dinner for my family or was generally patient with me during my long period of recovery.

After a full year of recovery, I no longer feel like a patient. I’m living without chronic pain and moving around almost like I did before the accident. My hip just received a clean bill of health; it turns out that I do not suffer from avascular necrosis unlike 30% of those with similar breaks so there is no hip replacement in my immediate future. My shoulder mobility is still a bit asymmetrical, but I have a full cycling range and feel comfortable and safe on my bike. So what’s next? Randonnuering, like the rest of life, is about making choices. In addition to the R-12, I plan to ride a full SR series and perhaps a domestic 1200K. My white whale, though, remains PBP. While it may be a long way off, this is my true goal. I just ordered a set of personalized license plates that read “PBP 2015.” Join me. It should one hell of a ride.

The Perfect Rando Vehicle: My New 2011 Prius

I didn't receive a huge financial settlement after being nearly killed by a distracted driver, but my medical costs have largely been paid for and I came away with a replacement bike and enough money to buy a new car. In choosing a car to replace the ten-year old beater in my driveway, I was searching for the perfect rando vehicle. I needed something that's great on gas (to get back and forth from brevets and ultra races) and something that would fit my bike and gear in the back. Knowing myself well, I've pledged NEVER to mount a bike on the roof. The sound of a custom frame being mangled by a low-hanging obstacle would be the end of me.

With all of this in mind, this past August I bought a 2011 Toyota Prius which, I will argue, is the PERFECT rando vehicle. With gas mileage hovering around 55 mpg, I've cut my fuel costs in half and feel much better about driving hundreds of miles to ride my bike.

As you can see, there is also PLENTY of room in the back to store my fully kitted out rando bike. In fact, I don't even need to remove the front wheel! Everything fits beautifully.

Other amenities include a great sound system (complete with iPod cable) and heated leather seats.

Finally, after a lifetime of mocking people with vanity license plates, I decided it was time to let the world know about my major long-term cycling goal. I've always found that being public about goals is not only great motivation, but it also helps us reach them. After being sidelined in 2011, I WILL ride Paris-Brest-Paris in 2015. I just won't drive there in this car.

PBP 2015: The Waiting is the Hardest Part

It's not like it's been an actual obsession, but ever since I began randonneuring in 2007, I've set my sights on riding in the Paris-Brest-Paris 1200K Randonneur. That event, which is held only once every four years, begins tomorrow and I will not be among the starters. PBP has served as a beacon for me as I've become a more seasoned randonneur. Long-term goals are like that, they provide a lift and inspiration during hard, wet training rides and on cold mornings when you just don't want to get out the door to ride. I don't know if it would be as physically demanding as London-Edinburgh-London, but I can't imagine that there's anything quite like riding through the French countryside with 5000 other cyclists from all over the world tracing the course of an event that's over 100 years old and started long before the invention of bicycle gears.

When my family and I were in France last summer, I ate a few extremely tasty Paris Brest pastries (first made in 1891 to commemorate to the inaugural PBP race) and even went so far as to scope out a suitable hotel room in Versailles near the start of PBP in preparation for this summer. But as they say, the best laid plans of mice and men . . .

My 2010 season was built around the twin goals of completing a full SR series as quickly as possible and finishing a 1000K brevet to qualify for early preregistration for PBP. Needles to say, I was unsuccessful at both. I crashed on the 600K in the last 75 miles and (while I completed the event) my hopes of finishing the whole series in 60% of the allotted time were dashed. But it was the accident on the 1000K, though, that really set me back.

Shorty after the accident, I was under the impression that PBP 2011 was still possible, but as weeks of rehab and physical therapy turned into months, I realized that my goals needed to change accordingly. Most of the time, of course, I'm simply ecstatic about the following facts: a) I'm still alive, b) I was not damaged more severely, c) my wife and kids provide such incredible support, love and joy to me, and d) I can still ride pretty well over long distances. Sadly, PBP was not meant to happen for me in 2011 and I now sit stateside ready to follow my friends as they ride their hearts out on the journey between Paris and Brest and back. I am eager to chart the frame numbers of riders who have been my companions on events near and far over the past four years. I'll also be scanning my Twitter feed for updates from riders along the way. Simply search for #pbp2011 for the latest tweets.

The next edition of PBP will begin exactly 4 years from tomorrow. I will be 50 years old and I will be on that starting line just outside of Paris looking west towards Brest with joy in my heart. 

PBP 2015: Tom Petty was right, the waiting is the hardest part.

I'm on a Roll, Baby! The Flatlander's Delight 200K Permanent.

"We don't care about no stinking construction: we're randonneurs."

Less than a week after my inaugural brevet of the year, I was back at it with Jon L. as we spent the day riding the pleasant Flatlander's Delight 200K permanent. I'm on a roll, baby! At the NYC 200K last Sunday, I mentioned to Jon that I thought I might ride a permanent this week, so I was glad to get an email from him a few days ago suggesting that we team up on Friday. Since my long overdue family vacation at the beach starts this weekend, I was more than happy to have a little added incentive to finish up my work and skip out for a day in the saddle.

We got off to an early start and enjoyed a few hours of riding in the cool morning air with mist rising off the fields and streams along the way north towards Catskill. After the first control, we crossed the Hudson River in the Hudson, NY as the sun came out and temperatures rose. Fortuitously, we ran into Bob O. out for a long training ride and for about the next 50 miles we enjoyed tales of brevets past and future. I was especially eager to her Jon and Bob talk about their plans for the upcoming edition of PBP.

Jon and I are nearly engulfed by a giant, refreshing Iced Latte at the first control.

I was eager to squeeze this ride in before heading out on vacation, because this just may be the year I succeed at netting the elusive R-12 award. In years past, it's just seemed like too much of a commitment to get out for a 200K religiously each month. At times it would have meant not achieving other cycling goals that seemed more important at the time. This year, however, as I'm pulling myself back into shape, a 200K each month might be just what I need. Stay tuned!

Next event on the horizon: D2R2 on August 27.

The Englewood 600K: A Volunteer's Perspective

Past and present NJ Rando RBAs: Leroy and Laurent

What a great weekend for a hilly 600K romp through New York's gorgeous Catskill Mountains! Easy for me to say, of course, since I wasn't one of the participants, but the riders I spoke with at the Phoenecia controle on this weekend's Englewood 600K seemed to be fully enjoying the camaraderie, the route and the fine weather. I'm ashamed to admit that this was my first ever stint as a brevet volunteer. I could make up all kids of excuses, but it really comes down to the fact that with time constraints I'd always just rather be riding. Luckily, others have sacrificed their time over the years to make all of the brevets I've completed possible.

NJ Rando's Katie R. got in touch a few months ago to ask if I'd be able to help staff one of the controle's on the Englewood 600K route which swings rather close to my house and I was more than happy to confirm that I'd love to do something to begin to repay the many favors that NJ Rando has done for me over the years. Great news arrived last week when Katie confirmed that my shift would begin at 11:00 am at the Phoenicia controle located 40 miles from my front door. This meant that I would be able to volunteer AND get a great 80-mile training ride in (my longest one-day mileage total since the accident) AND catch up with some friends along the way.

The day started for me with a glorious ride to Phoenicia over low traffic roads that skirt the Ashokan reservoir as they enter the Catskills Park. I arrived at the controle at about 10:45 am to find that the lead group had just left the Rhinebeck controle roughly 40 miles away. It looked like I was to have a little time on my hands. Soon after I arrived at the Momma's Boy Cafe and settled into a shaded Adirondack chair, I was approached by Leroy V., the NJ Rando RBA, who drove up after checking riders in at the start to spend some time along the route. While I had packed the Jonathan Franzen novel I'm reading into my Detours bag, I much preferred chatting about rando life past and present with this four-time PBP ancien, whose first trip to the Catskill mountains from his native NJ by bike took place in the early 1940s when he was a mere 15-years old. As the father of a 15-year old, I'm not quite sure what his folks were thinking.

The first pair of riders who arrived just before 1:00 pm looked fit and full of steam as they took advantage of a little shade and ice cream. They stretched their planned 10-minute stop into 25-minutes, but did not seem bothered by the extension.  The next two groups to come in followed close behind and displayed a similar level of energy at the 1/3 mark on this hilly course. Several more riders came through after a short while and soon there was just one final pair bringing up the rear. Several of the riders in the day's event had come from great distance to participate in what was billed as a hilly tune-up for PBP.  Illinois, Canada and Florida were all represented. Sadly, one of the riders from Florida, who needed this event to qualify for PBP, arrived at the controle with his bike in the back of a farmer's pick-up truck, the victim to some nasty full-body cramping.  His partner, though, was fresh and full of energy as she pedaled off into the high Catskills after restocking her celery supply, fixing her light mount and applying some fresh sunscreen. All told, 18 riders in and 17 riders out.

I began my journey home at 5:30 pm after enjoying a day filled with conversation and merriment. The return trip was even more pleasant than the ride up as I took full advantage of a small tail wind, the sun on my shoulders and a slight decent all the way home. While I'm disappointed not to have been among the riders fin-tuning their fitness for PBP, I'm glad to have been a part of their excitement and to have been able to ride 80 miles with a smile on my face. Next up: the Ride the River Valley century on July 17.

A few minutes of shade and refreshment