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

Channelling Flèche on the Portland Daytrip 400K

I'll be honest with you, the 400K has not been my favorite distance over the years. Oh, there have been 400s on which I've enjoyed myself and I generally feel the powerful sense of accomplishment that comes with finishing one, but as far as sheer joy goes, the 400K ranks pretty low.

Unlike the 200K and 300K, which are both essentially long days out on the bike, and the 600K, 1000K and 1200K, which are grueling multi-day adventures where just about anything can happen, the 400K often feels like a mind-numbing slog. It seems like a ride that should fit comfortably into one day, but it seldom does. Something was going to be fundamentally different about the Portland Daytrip, though, I could just feel it.

For one, the Portland Daytrip is a destination ride. Riding a bike from one major city to another (and back!) is an accomplishment tied up in the histories and cultures of the two locations. There is something fairly epic about it. Mention to someone in a control that you're riding from Boston to Portland and back and he or she immediately perks up and shows you some respect. "That's a long way in a car," they may say. Unlike much of randonneuring, civilians get it.

Second, the roads that New England Randonnuers selected for this brevet were out of this world. The route was quiet, scenic and took in a wide range of beauty over the course of 250 miles. We hugged the coast for a long stretch on the way north, for instance, and the views were simply spectacular, especially on this clear, dry day. At some points along the way, I felt like pinching myself to make sure I was awake.

It was more than these qualities, though, that made the Portland Daytrip so enjoyable: could it have been that a group of us simply decided to make it so? For much of the day, I rode with a somewhat eclectic group of between 4 to 8 riders, each of whom seemed to be having the time of his or her life. Our merry band included PBP anciens and 400K first-timers alike, men and women, locals and travelers.

The turnaround in Portland was especially fun for me since I arranged to meet up at the control with dear friends that I've not seen for a few years. After a few hugs, they handed me an awesome pair of lobster-themed cycling socks I will wear with fondness for my trip to Maine and convinced me that I need not cycle 250 miles to come back to see them next time.

Our group split up a bit at the turnaround control as often happens with each rider taking a slightly different amount of time to refuel and reorient. No one was in much of a hurry, though, and it was not long before our core group reassembled on the 50-mile stretch to the next control. It was here, as we sat in the lawn refueling, that Emily professed her love for the flèche. As she extolled the flèche's many virtues (teamwork, cycling at a relaxed pace, heterogeneous groups riding together undaunted by time pressures, etc.), we began to wonder why we could not simply apply these principles to our current ride. 

As night fell, we donned reflective gear, turned on lights and rode off into the quiet, still and mild evening with full bellies and a shared committment to each other and to fun itself. There were word games for those feeling drowsy and enough turns to keep things interesting. At one point, we passed by an amateur speedway with highly-tuned engines crying out, a reminder that we were not the only ones enjoying our time outdoors on this mild summer night. As we all rolled into the final control, it was clear that each of us had achieved something special on this long day and night in the saddle with the help of each other, whether it was one's first 400K or one's tenth, the day was a reminder that the social side of randonneuring is powerful and extraordinarily rewarding.

Southern Hospitality on The Gainesville (GA) 200K

How is it possible that my last post to this blog was made on December 4, 2017?!? I guess I've been busy . . . At any rate, the brevet I am about to describe took place on March 10, 2018 and it was quite special for several reasons that get right to the heart of why I love randonneuring so much.

Every year in late February/early March, thousands of independent school educators from around the country converge for an annual conference and this year’s event brought me to Atlanta where I’ve never really spent any time. Getting in an early 200K in the Northeast is always a risky proposition, so I scanned the RUSA calendar and realized that Audax Atlanta was hosting a 200K not far from Atlanta the day after the conference closed.

This realization led to a series of emails to the RBA and then the ride organizer to see how I could make this all work. When I asked about bike rental options, the organizer asked my frame size and quickly offered up one of his own bikes for the job. This would be the third time in two years that a generous randonneur loaned me a gorgeous bike for an out-of-town ride. A recent post in the "randon" listserv asked for input on the "spirit of randonneuring" and to my mind, it's generosity like this that goes straight to the top of the list.

It turns out that Atlanta is a pretty spectacular city. While I could easily have been trapped for days on end in the Georgia World Conference Center, I decided to buy a cheap monthly membership in the Atlanta bike share program, thanks to the recommendation of my Facebook friend and fellow randonneur Scott C., which allowed me to roam the city streets and bikeways with a light blue cruiser each day before, between and after my conference sessions. 

Once my conference ended on Friday, I took the train to the airport where I rented a car to drive out to the ride start in Gainesville 90 minutes north of the city. On the way out of town, I stopped at the ride organizer's house to get my loaner (a gorgeous and comfortable Rivendell complete with downtube shifters, handlebar bag and Brooks saddle) dialed in. Andy A. and I chewed the rando fat for a while before I drove the rest of the way to the cute college town of Gainesville in northern Georgia, had a nice meal and got to bed early in preparation for the big day ahead.

The ride began at 7:00 AM and, with a forecast for a day filled with rain, most of the field kept a steady pace early on to put some miles under our wheels before the skies opened up. Since I had very little mileage in my legs at this time of year, I decided to take it easy and settled in with a nice guy from Atlanta named Bradley D. with whom I rode most of the day.

I wasn't quite sure what to expect on this, my fist brevet south of the Mason-Dixon Line. The route, one of Audax Atlanta's oldest, weaves its way through the hills of Northern Georgia on quiet, low-trafficked roads with nice views. Since the roads never freeze like they do in the northeast, they are buttery smooth rather than frost-heaved and cratered as they are up north at this time of year. 

I'd heard that dogs tend to run a bit freer in the south than they do in the north and this proved to be true, but not dangerously so. While the sign below was a bit unsettling to see early on in the day - shortly after being chased up a hill by a barking hound - things settled down a bit and so my worst fears were not realized.

Luckily, the rain held off until mid-day after we hit the turnaround, where Andy met us with a carload of treats, but when it did arrive, it made for a pretty soggy slog back to the start. Bradley and I split up at the mid-point, as he was eager to see the lunch spot that involved "goats on the roof," whereas I preferred to keep the momentum going. 

The route is a classic out-and-back and the second time I passed Lake Rabun was as pleasant as the first. Unfortunately, when the rains really started hammering, I missed a cue, turned the wrong way at a T intersection, and added about six miles EACH WAY onto my ride. I would have cried if it would have done any good, but let's just say I was a bit grumpy as I slogged back in the pouring rain along the only heavily trafficked main road on the route. It started to get pretty cold and my fingers grew increasingly numb as I reached the penultimate control where I ran into Bradley and a few other randos including a strong recumbent rider named Graham S. who dragged be back in to the finish control. 

It was nice to have company on the final push and it was very pleasing to make it back before sunset. The Rivendell performed like a charm even if the rider was a bit rusty and everyone I met in my travels was welcoming and fun to spend time with. This Southern hospitality business is no joke! I'm already looking forward to my next opportunity to clip in and share the roads with the folks at Audax Atlanta. Thanks for the good times!

The Million Meters of Milk 1000K Ride Report

I first learned about the Million Meters of Milk 1000K (MMoM) when I was scouring the calendar for long rides to cap off my 2017 riding season. Originally hoping to ride in the famed Gold Rush Randonee (GRR) 1200K, I had to change plans to accommodate the needs of my family during the busy month of July. With my son heading off to college in the fall and my wife finishing up an MFA program in Milwaukee this summer, taking just three days to ride in Wisconsin rather than four to ride in California seemed like the best possible solution. The MMoM would cover much of the state on lovely low-traffic roads in three large loops enabling riders to return to base camp (or Moo Central as the ride organizers called it) each evening. With a plan like this, I was sold.

In 2016, I rode a wonderful 200K permanent in Wisconsin, which whet my appetite for more. Soon after registering, I noticed that several of my East Coast friends would also be riding, which added to my excitement. Nigel G. and Chris N. and I were in touch as the event grew closer and developed a plan to share the ride as well as some time in Milwaukee afterwards between the finish and their flights home. Schlepping bikes and gear long distances to an event is never very much fun, so I was pleased when Chris recommended BikeFlights.com as a reasonably priced alternative to bringing the bike on the airplane with me. After a little research, each of us decided to ship our bikes directly to the event hotel, which proved to be a far better plan than rolling them through airports and baggage carrousels.

The first feature of the event that stood out to me as a participant, was the high level of care and support we would receive from RBA Michelle B. and the volunteers from Great Lakes Randonneurs (GLR). This began with the decision to base the event at the Comfort Inn in Fond du Lac. Three nights of hotel were included in the modest registration fee and riders were allowed to establish a base camp to return to each night, which made for a rather deluxe experience complete with warm shower, soft bed and fresh clothes each day. The organizers also commandeered a room off the hotel lobby to create Moo Central where we were fed rather gourmet meals assembled and served by a randonnuering “chef” at the start and finish of each day. This high degree of support was a welcome feature of this event, but the cloverleaf route also brought with it the shadow of easy DNF as we would return to the start each night and need to leave the comfort of our rooms again each morning.

Day One (400K):

Our long adventure began at 4:00 AM on Friday morning following some brief announcements from our RBA. Unlike the 600K two weeks earlier, the weather was pretty much ideal with mild temperatures and clear skies forecast through much of the weekend. The first day’s route would bring us to Door County in the northeastern section of Wisconsin along the shores of Lake Michigan and back. We soon found that the winds were coming from the northeast and fought them much of the day until the turnaround hoping the weather would not shift as we started to make our way home. The headwinds heightened our cycling discipline as we pace-lined many miles to ease the burden. By early afternoon we would hit the turnaround in Sturgeon Bay just as we peered out across the beautiful expanse of Lake Michigan. Heading southwest we were treated to marvelous tailwinds that made the struggles of the morning seem entirely worth the effort. 

The next milestone on the route was Renard’s Cheese Shop, a lactose-lovers dream where we found such treats as potato cheese soup, grilled cheese sandwiches and (of course) fresh cheese curds (they squeak!). Fortified by this feast, Chris and Nigel and I set off for the next control with reports of thunderstorms looming in our future. We received only two warnings at the start of the event and one was to avoid electrical storms at all costs. A benefit of riding in open farm country is that storms can generally be spotted off in the distance long before they become a pressing danger. With this in mind, we rode through corn and oat fields with growing cloud formations and took increasing interest in the location of barns and garages into which we might make an emergency landing should the storm catch us off guard. This also encouraged us to pick up the pace and hammer our way to the next control so as not to lose time stuck along the way. Luckily, we were able to reach the next control just before the skies opened up and the lightening and winds would have made riding both difficult and dangerous. Mercifully, the storm was short and allowed us just enough time for dinner and a little early evening rest before we clipped in to ride through several sections that encountered pretty significant storm damage just as the sun was setting.

Since the first day's loop contained 400 kilometers, it would be well after dark that we would arrive back at the hotel. When we did arrive, we were greeted by welcoming volunteers, cold beers and sodas and warm and tasty pasta with bolognese sauce that reminded me very much of my meals at the controls on PBP. The rain and humid nighttime conditions left us wet and dirty so our warm showers and beds were most welcome after a long day in the saddle. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

Day Two (300K):

Little did Nigel and Chris know, but I had mentally quit this ride on that last section of riding back to the overnight control, but as is often the case, a little sleep and nutrition can work wonders so I clipped in again for another day of torture with only slight trepidation. As luck would have it, the weather on the morning of the second day was even better than the first and we encountered lovely views of the farms all around as majestic light conditions made the difficulties of the night before seem like a distant memory. We encountered quite a bit of wildlife on this adventure, but the coolest animals we saw, from my point of view, were the Sand Hill Cranes that dotted the fields along the way.

Another defining feature of the Million Meters of Milk was the outstanding road quality we experienced. Despite a few concrete block-induced road seams, the entire route was filled with great roads. The surface was generally smooth and the sight lines clear. While one might expect that long straight roads through agricultural areas might be mind-numbingly dull, that was not the case on this ride and we found that Wisconsin is not quite as flat as one might expect. What's more, the drivers we encountered were decidedly polite and courteous and this was equally true for sedans, pick-ups and semis. Everyone gave us wide berth and, with the exception of one troglodyte in a pick-up who gassed us with coal fumes as he passed, was seemingly happy to share the road.

The stories coming out of the GRR in California that we were able to pick up through social media painted a picture of high temperature-induced suffering that made us feel very lucky NOT to be riding in that event this year. With temperatures in the triple digits, organizers apparently saw 11 riders DNF on the first day alone and no one I spoke with wanted to switch places with anyone on that ride anytime soon. Suddenly, our 1000K seemed not only 200K shorter than the GRR, but also blessed with far better luck than the weather gods were showing our friends out West.

Day Three (300K):

Getting out of bed on day three was similarly difficult, but after a short struggle, I donned a fresh kit, ate a bit of warm breakfast and clipped in for some additional punishment. Things generally hurt after 700K, but I found that turning the cranks was not only possible, but also enjoyable as a way to continue the adventure. The route on this final day was the flattest of the three, which was a comfort as muscle and contact point soreness grew with each passing mile. My lack of training this year actually seemed to become manifest in the pain I felt in my shoulder and hands rather than in my legs, which seemed to be handling the demands just fine. My left shoulder in particular, which has been weaker than my right following my 2010 crash and subsequent surgeries, seemed to be weaker without the miles in the saddle and gym work I might otherwise have been able to undertake. In addition, the palms of my hands were not taking the constant pressure as well as I might have liked, which was exacerbated (or caused) by the lack of real estate on the top of my handlebars as the result of my front bag choice which limits my options to the hoods and the drops. These issues prompted many discussions with my companions who were both happily cycling with new Dill Pickle handlebar bags whose unique shape frees up additional space for one’s hands.

The route may have been flattest on day three, but the ambient temperature was hottest and this, along with the accumulated miles, led to fatigue for all three of us. Luckily, just as the sun was reaching it’s peak, we discovered an ice cream shop that sold root beer floats made with fine locally brewed root beer and cold, creamy vanilla ice cream that really hit the spot. After a short rest stop, we were off again to put this ride to bed. As the sun got lower on the horizon, we approached the top of Lake Winnebago and a scenic overlook I was, unfortunately, unable to enjoy as my attention was needed in the men’s room before going any further. I was pleased not only with the cleanliness of the park restroom, but also with the hook I found on the back of the lavatory door, which any cyclist who wears bib shorts will tell you is most appreciated.

We were fortunate that the forecasted thunderstorms never arrived and the skies cleared to make for a lovely evening ride by moonlight. The return to the finish brought us past giant windmills that reminded me of those that I saw throughout Brittany on PBP. I decided to scrap the contact lenses I typically wear while riding in favor of my regular glasses once it was dark since my poor night vision on day two slowed me to a crawl on the descents. As if by magic, my vision was greatly improved using this technique and I was able to ride mile for mile alongside my friends rather than causing them to stop at the base of every hill as I had the night before. Note to self: night sight is good.

We rode the final eight or nine miles to the control through deserted city streets as we felt a growing sense of triumph with each pedal turn. At exactly midnight, 68 hours and a million meters of milk and suffering and fun and corn fields and companionship after we began, Chris and Nigel and I were done.

Postscript:

Waking up in the same bed following the event felt decidedly different than it had the previous three mornings. The alarm was set, to be sure, but only so as not to sleep the whole day away and miss the scheduled FedEx pick up. After acquiring some strong coffee, it was time to pack up our bikes and watch the TdF in that post-ride glow where everything feels just right. The body may be sore, but the endorphins and the sense of accomplishment make it all seem worthwhile. It would have been much harder to complete this ride without the companionship of my riding partners and the support of the fantastic volunteers. I am forever grateful for both and eager to ride my next brevet after giving my legs a bit of a rest. If you ever have the chance to ride in Wisconsin or better yet on a GLR brevet, seize it!

Up next: the Vermont 400K on July 22.

Off to the Hills!: The Englewood 300K

When I shared my estimated finish time with my wife, I may have forgotten to factor the hills and my utter lack of training into the equation. While the Englewood 300K didn't exactly kick my a**, it did take longer to finish than any of my previous 300K attempts. The thing is, though, I had a great time riding along some beautiful roads, catching up with a few old friends and even making some new ones along the way. As my pal Susan O. would say, it was a "full value" ride for sure.

I certainly cannot blame my bike for slowing me down. After discovering a few problems on the Cranbury 200K a few weeks earlier, I replaced the full drive train, properly reattached my front fender and installed a fresh set of tires. In short, this beautiful bike purred like a kitten all day long. One of the unfortunate things one discovers, racking up rando miles on a bike, is that distance is rough on a drive train. As you can imagine, I don't enjoy forking over several hundred dollars for new parts, but the smooth sensation of riding on an essentially "new" bike never feels like a mistake. I also found the new Panaracer Gravelking tires that Gil L. recommended to be superior to the POS Grand Bois tires I've been riding for many years. "Supple" may be a nice quality in theory, but changing flats on just about every long ride I undertake has long ago gotten old.

Riding on a well-tuned machine, I spent the first part of the day chatting with my friend Nigel G., which made the time pass quickly during some unexpected rain showers. After the serious hills began in earnest, Nigel and I split up so that he could nurse a sore knee without fearing that he would do further damage riding at someone else's pace. This time alone provided me with a chance to take in my beautiful surroundings as the rain subsided and the hills continued to fill the horizon.

NJ Rando enjoys a well-deserved reputation for outstanding support and this event was no exception. It was wonderful to see Super-Volunteer Steve H., Ride Organizer Laurent C., Katie R. and Lenny Z. at several controls along the way proving that a smile, some encouraging words and a bit of cold water can go a long way on a day like this. After refueling at the Port Jervis control with a (gulp!) bacon, egg and cheese sandwich, I met up with fellow randonneur Vadim G. who turned out to be fine company for the balance of the day. While we had never ridden together, we soon discovered that we shared quite a few friends and common interests and so didn't run out of things to discuss for the rest of this (long) ride together.

It turns out that Vadim also owns a Brompton and was particularly interested in my plans to race in the upcoming Brompton World Championships in NYC on June 18. In fact, I think he's now registered for the race himself. Luckily, Vadim's still in his 40s and so will not provide me with competition in the "Veteran" (AKA Old Fart) category on race day. We spent many of our miles together speculating on how to best approach this unique racing opportunity. Stay tuned for more details.

The final third of the Englewood 300K route connected us with familiar roads through Harriman State Park as we make our way south to the finish. Luckily, despite our casual pace, Vadim and I made it to the scenic park before nightfall and so could enjoy its full glory. After climbing through the park, the general tilt of the route is towards sea level, but there were, of course, a few bumps along the way to keep things interesting.

All in all, this was a fine day in the saddle. With good weather, fine company and lovely scenery, there was very little not to like about this event. I would certainly recommend the Englewood 300K to others, but recommend that you spend some quality time in the saddle in the months leading up to it if you want to finish within a reasonable timeframe. Having taken nearly 18 hours to complete the ride, I made it home much later than I had planned and needed to stop a few times along the way to rest my eyes. All's well that ends, well, though.

Up next: the Brompton World Championships on June 18!

Learning to Say No

Some lessons are harder to learn than others. With randonneuring, this is especially true. Giving up on a ride seems to conjure a special feeling of failure. It’s an endurance activity after all. “This too will pass,” we tell ourselves to make it through the especially dark times. With age and experience, though, I've learned that there are two pretty good reasons to quit: safety and family. The trouble is that both require making decisions that are seldom black and white; there is always considerable grey involved.

Since randonneurs throw care to the wind simply to participate in this crazy sport, we are generally a group of people with our priorities a bit out of whack. Suffering is a necessary feature of the activity as is a certain amount of risk and personal sacrifice. Cycling at night, cycling in all sorts of weather, cycling with precious little sleep, the list goes on and on. Seasoned (and wise) riders learn to separate the safety risks worth taking from those that are not. Since endurance cycling also generally involves countless hours away from family, randonneurs also risk alienating those closest to them while pursuing their passion. 

This week I learned this lesson again as I decided to end my sixth attempt at the Festive 500 Challenge. The challenge, sponsored annually since 2010 by the British cycling apparel company Rapha, draws thousands of riders from around the world with a premise that is really quite simple: log a minimum of 500 kilometers between Christmas Eve and New Year’s Eve ~ no matter what. Riders who complete the challenge successfully get a patch as well as a feeling of satisfaction and perhaps even some bragging rights.

I first completed the Festive 500 in 2011 as I was recovering from a serious crash and logging monthly 200K rides in search of my first R-12 award. The timing seemed perfect. With school on break and a new year on the horizon, what better way to launch the training season ahead? Armed with this goal, I completed the Challenge five times in as many years and even found myself one of ten finalists in a grand prize competition that awarded a Trek Madone to the rider with the best story of the endeavor that first year. Despite not winning the bike, I was hooked and the Festive 500 has become a part of my annual riding plan ever since.

This year I mapped out a path to success that carefully considered the long-range weather forecast as well as a complex schedule of holiday gatherings, but despite my careful planning, I simply could not see sacrificing the 20+ hours with family needed to complete the 310 miles. With my daughter home for just a few weeks as she prepares for a semester in Southern Africa and my son recently accepted into his dream college in Minnesota, I'm starting to realize (with an empty nest on the horizon) how important it is to savor the nest while it's full. A challenge that once served as a chance to reconnect with the self amidst a swirl of work and family demands, now seemed like a terribly selfish activity at a time of increasingly rare family proximity.

There is still plenty of time to jump-start my training for 2017. But the clock is ticking on this all-too-short time we have together as a family. While I’m disappointed that I’ll not be adding a sixth patch to my collection, I’ve already built some memories that I would have missed out on if I had chosen to spend the day pedaling through the cold winds of winter. So while I could certainly have shoehorned the training hours into the week, the risk was too great that I would miss out on something more meaningful and fleeting. I don’t regret my decision one bit.

Into the Darkness: The Nocturne Podcast

There's nothing quite like riding a bicycle at night. Night riding is one of the defining features of randonneuring, something that separates our sport from other forms of cycling. Other than the 200K or 300K (if you're quick), riding in a brevet is going to involve riding in the darkness. For this reason, organizers of all rides over 200K require front and rear lighting as well as various forms of reflective gear. Not only is night riding a necessary component of randonneuring, it is also one of the most enjoyable. I was reminded of this aspect of randonneuring as I listened this week to a fine podcast that capture the spirit of night riding with great subtlety and precision.

Much of what I find to be appealing about riding a bicycle in general is magnified in the darkness. The feeling of connection with the natural world, for instance, is enhanced at night when visual input is muted and sounds become amplified. The call of an owl, the babble of a stream, the swaying of the trees in the wind make me feel a part of rather than an observer to the natural world around me. I've also seen things of great beauty and mystery (like the bridge in the photograph above) that I never would have seen without riding at night. Some of my most pleasant and enduring randonneuring memories have been created in the darkness.

Night riding seems to me to fall into two categories; the type that happens in the early morning hours and the type that happens deep in the middle of the night. Pre-dawn riding at the start of a long ride has a special magic as riders are typically packed into large, quiet groups sharing something special as they plan the long ride ahead either silently or in muted whispers. The smooth buzz of bicycle tires and chains in quiet rotation is accented by the glow of red lights ahead. Similarly, when taking off in the early morning hours from an overnight sleep stop, it's not uncommon to feel a sense of fresh optimism in the air as dawn steadily approaches.

I don't typically sleep for long periods of time during brevets, but even several hours of shut-eye brings new life to my legs and hope to my spirit that enhances my enjoyment of these early morning hours. After awakening from several hours of sleep on the second night of the Lap of the Lake 1000K in 2014, for instance, I rode through the pre-dawn hours with several friends climbing and descending gentle rollers along the banks of the Niagara River with the sounds of the might Falls growing louder and more majestic with each turn of the cranks.

Riding deep in the night after a long day in the saddle can be a time of camaraderie and contemplation, but it can also be a time of great suffering and misery. Riding together with other randonneurs at night brings a sense of added comfort and security just in case anything fails to go according to plan and I've found it to be a great opportunity for quiet reflection either alone or in conversation with a friend riding by your side. It can also be a time of great suffering, however, when you're forced to ride for longer than you had hoped before resting or when hallucinations or other signs of acute sleep deprivation rear their ugly heads. After riding for eight hours into the dark, driving rains on the London-Edinburgh-London 1400K in 2009 for instance, I found myself mentally composing a Craig's List posting for the sale of my bicycle to keep myself from crying.

As we enter this darkest time of the year in the northern hemisphere, I stumbled across two episodes of the wonderful Nocturne podcast, in which the joys and mysteries of night riding were eloquently discussed with several veteran randonneurs. Never have I heard the essence of randonneuring captured so accurately. There is something for everyone in Nocturne episodes 23 and 24. If you've never ridden at night, you'll understand more about the attractions as well as the dangers. If you're an experienced randonneur, you'll be reminded of your own nighttime adventures. Either way, it will make you eager for the warm days ahead when riding through the night is a more readily available option.

Learn more about the Nocturne podcast and listen to individual episodes here at this link.

The NYC 200K: Coming Home Again

The NYC 200K was the very first brevet I ever rode back in 2007. At that time, it was scheduled in early April, but since then it has become a fixture on the NJ Randonneurs' fall calendar. I've ridden this route six times over the years and this past weekend was one of my favorites. With a year filled with slower than average times and weaker than average performance on the bike, I was eager to redeem myself with a strong showing to end the formal brevet season on a high note. While work and family commitments have made it exceedingly difficult for me to ride as often as I would have liked this summer, the beautiful weather and my overall enthusiasm for this ride combined to thrust me forward along the route at a good pace.

The ride starts and ends in NYC just a few blocks north of the George Washington Bridge, which riders cross in both directions at the beginning and end of the day. On the New Jersey side of the bridge, the route heads north through some fancy suburban towns along the western banks of the Hudson River towards Bear Mountain where riders begin to climb in earnest as they make their way west through the hills of Harriman State Park.

After leaving the first control in Stony Point, around mile 50, riders soon enter the shaded, hilly and recently-paved roads that are used to criss-cross Harriman State Park in both directions for much of the afternoon before heading back down toward our final destination. Cyclists aren't the only ones taking advantage of the fine fall weather on a day like this and it was not uncommon to hear the sound of motorcycles or sports cars approaching from the distance. Despite their somewhat macho enthusiasm, everyone seemed to be on their best behavior, eager to share rather than to compete for available space on these gorgeous roads. Due to a newly-enacted traffic rule, the organizers were unable to include the famed Perkins Hill climb in the route, which chopped off a five-mile out-and-back up a rather tall hill.

I was moving along pretty swiftly through the third control, which is located at a bagel shop in the village of Monroe. Arriving at the control as a solo rider, I missed the fact that there was a tent set up by a few volunteers around the corner and so waited for 10 minutes on-line for a bagel and a signature on my brevet card. After leaving the control, time slipped further through my fingers as I missed the first turn and continued on about 3 miles more than was necessary and came upon a crash involving one of our fellow brevet riders. Apparently, one of our own had careened into a car that had recently been T-boned by a pickup truck right on the main street through town. Luckily everything seemed OK, but I somehow managed to blow through about 20 extra minutes hanging around not being particularly helpful. After consulting my iPhone, I retraced the route and was on my way.

The NYC 200K is not an exact out-and-back route, but the second half does follow many of the same roads riders traverse in the early part of the day. My pace over the back nine was not quite as brisk as it was in the morning, but I was pleased to be able to keep the pedals spinning at a fairly good clip, which got me back to the start in under 10 hours. While not my fastest time on this course, it was nice to end the season feeling strong and quick rather than weak and sluggish. With any luck, this is a good omen for 2017 when I hope to again have time to train myself into better shape than I did in 2016.

Up Next: The Coffeeneuring Season Begins on October 7!

A Tale of Diminishing Returns: The Blue Mountain 400K

I don't think I've ever clipped in for a long ride without wondering what I left behind. At the first turn on the recent Eastern PA Blue Mountain 400K, I realized that this time around it was my wallet. Now, I can scrounge and forage with the best of them, but a flask of Hammer Gel, a few Clif bars and two bottles of water really didn't strike me as a large enough stash of rations with which to set off on a 250-mile journey, so I turned back to collect my money and begin again. It would be some time before I reconnected with the group, but my ride through the misty early morning hours along the Delaware River was exceptionally beautiful and reminded me of why I love to get on my bike before dawn to see a world that most people don't even know exists.

After 30 minutes or so I came upon my first randonneur repairing a flat by the side of the road. Establishing that he had all of the necessary tools, I continued on feeling noticeably more comfortable to be riding within the rando-fold. It was not long before I encountered several other randonneurs who were either currently or just recently dealing with issues that caused them delays. One of these was Jan D., who had just repaired a flat when we fell into riding at a common pace. My story made him realize that he too had forgotten his wallet and that combined with some unexpected house guests back in VT made him almost throw in the towel. He decided to hang in, though, and by the first control we ran into several other riders with whom we would spend large chunks of this brevet.

It was great to see volunteer Gil L. along the way with his broad smile and comforting knowledge of the route. By late morning, Gil was joined by Doug H. who eventually took over and hooked me up with some valuable chain lube in advance of the impending storm. The current Blue Mountain 400K route does not contain any particularly epic climbs, but like many of the the Eastern PA events, what it lacks in drama is made up for in choppy repetition. We stopped mid-day for lunch at a diner with table service and a nice outdoor seating area. The rains had held off, but the skies became more threatening as the day wore on so it was clear that we would get wet before too long. Doug, who had been tracking the storm on his phone, showed us a dramatic radar image of a wall of intense thunderstorms coming from the west.

The skies became increasingly ominous as we headed into the expansive farmlands of Lancaster County with the option to ditch into an available barn balancing the panic of being trapped in a thunderstorm out in open fields. Fortunately, the ominous skies never lived up to their full potential and we never suffered more than some passing showers throughout the event.

The group with whom I rode hovered between three and seven throughout the day, but ultimately settled into just Jan and me riding together for long stretches of the afternoon and evening. As luck would have it, I became extremely fatigued in the final hours of the ride and found myself having to stop every 20-30 minutes to close my eyes for fear of falling asleep on my bike. As a result, our pace slowed to a mere crawl and I felt increasingly sorry for Jan who hung in like a trooper to keep me from crossing the final stretches of the ride alone. It probably would have been more efficient to lie down for a proper nap, but each short rest provided the illusion that I would be able to carry on to the finish without sleeping.

As we slowly turned our cranks on the final approach to Quakertown, we saw lights approaching from the rear and were rejoined by two additional riders who had been following at a slightly slower pace. When we finally arrived at the hostel, the clock would confirm that it took us just over 24 hours to complete a ride I had planned to finish in 20. So much for muscle memory. I guess my lack of training and sleep during this busy spring caught up with me.

Up Next: the Catskills SR600 in two weeks. 30,000+ feet of climbing in 600K. What am I thinking?

Old Saybrook 300K: Simply Perfect

How is it possible that I haven't posted anything to this blog since January? It certainly can't be due to my outrageous training schedule. Those plans didn't fall into place as I had hoped. I guess things just got busy around here with work and family and there didn't seem to be much to write about in the doldrums of winter. Now that spring is here, though, I feel reborn as a randonneur.  Recently, I was presented a nearly perfect brevet experience. The weather was ideal, the route was spectacular and well-suited to early spring riding and the company was quite pleasant.

I've wanted to ride the Old Saybrook 300K out of Westfield, MA for many years, but the timing never seemed to work out. This season, though, it fit into the spring calendar just perfectly. The route is advertised as "moderately hilly," but it seemed mostly flat to me as I pedaled with enthusiasm from the foothills of the Berkshires down to the Connecticut shore and back. While I haven't gotten out for as many long rides as I would have liked, perhaps it was the rest immediately before the event that left me feeling full of energy.

It was great to see Bill R. at the start, but I knew that with his sleek velomobile well-suited to the terrain this would be the last we saw of each other for the day. Little did I know that Bill would rack up a personal best on this route with a nearly 10-hour finish. After RBA Don P. said a few words to those assembled at the 6:00 am start, I quickly fell in with a spirited group at the front and hung on until just before the first control when I decided to back off the pace a bit to preserve my stores for the long ride ahead.

My favorite section of the route was the state park we crossed on our way to the shore, which was peaceful and beautiful with the early spring sunshine cascading through the trees. The pavement felt like butter under my new tires. I'm a sucker for a ride with a destination and the Connecticut coast did not disappoint with deep blue water glistening in the mid-day sun. The rest stop at the turnaround just a few feet from the beach was maintained by a very enthusiastic group of cyclists from a local cycling club who pulled out all the stops to provide world-class care and feeding. After a tasty barbecue chicken sandwich, I was back on the road again.

I reunited at the controle with two of the fast riders I had been riding with earlier in the morning and we continued on together for the second half of the day. I had ridden with Simon and Jan on previous brevets and it was great to catch up as we enjoyed the weather and the route on our way back to Westfield. After the penultimate control, when we started to smell the barn, I could hardly contain my enthusiasm. Luckily, since I had held back a bit in the morning, I still had plenty of energy under the hood. As a result, I jumped to the front of our little group and laid the hammer down for the last 20 miles into Westfield.

I had privately set a goal of finishing within 13:30 as this was both my time on a different Westfield 300K route last year AND the time at which we were required to switch on lights and don reflective gear. These were both motivating enough to keep me going and I was pleased to end not only within my target time, but also without having to stop to set up my lights.

Up next: "The Return of the Five Boro Bike Tour" starring George and Elias