Spokesong

Reckless Necklace

2011-10-04T20:14:00.000-07:00

Thanks Mark

Guinevere

2011-09-25T18:00:00.000-07:00

"Winter is coming"
Ned Stark (Lord Of Winterfell)

Khaleesi

2011-09-11T15:37:00.001-07:00

Got hitched to Khaleesi on the 8th month of the 4th year

But could not hold it together for very long

So I broke it down and flew Iceland air

To a Velo-land that speaks a different tongue

We set out at nite for the women of the Gite

I gave her a wrenchin and she gave me her word

I asked our objective, she said we'd be back by the 25th

Most ambiguous thing I have ever heard

Kindness in everyone seemed the norm

As we spun through the nite and into the dawn

Sadness and spasms when he died in a storm

But we made up our minds that we had to go on

Ridin for fame as there is no gold?

Or bling bling strung on a nylon necklace?

Thinkin miller time or any beer that's cold?

I was thinking Khaleesi thought I was so reckless.

Then she told me we would do this again

And things would be different the next time we would

If only I could calm down and just be a friend

Too tired to understand all the strange things she pulled.

Thanks Daenerys Targaryen and of course Steve Hampsten.

Remembering Thai Pham, we never got to meet.

Winter of My Discontent 2 (Cocoon)

2011-07-16T21:04:00.000-07:00

Riding so many miles, so many things went to mush.
Even the legs went to mush, Vinnie's paralysis! I called it.
Fired too many cannons, Sir Robin sez?
Only a phase, I sez.
Just a dark cocoon before I get my gorgeous wings and fly away.

Thanks Tim Foon Feldman.

The Winter of My Discontent 1(the feast of the immortals)

2011-02-10T18:28:00.000-08:00

How does one start to write again? A story perhaps? Long long ago in a very special time...... Maybe once upon a time... How about, just the year two thousand and ten. The year when, without actually knowing when I decided on it, decided to ride either 30,000 kilometers or 20,000 miles on a bike. Being a bike polygamist, and a tinkerer with bike electronics. And at the same time a poor log keeper, I would use RUSA to keep the log. So off I rode, every Brevet I could manage in the Great Northwest including a 400k Fleche from the White House (Charlie White's Home) into British Columbia. But that is a different Country and so is Texas I gather, or is the Jury still out?

Congratulations! Gary Gottlieb, made a marker for the Long Distance Rider.
Much of a long distance ride depends on logistics, I tried to look at it as one big ride. With a full time job and children it would be tricky. It helped that RUSA sanctions a "Workers Ride", I would also learn a lot about working Brevets. The Seattle International, and Oregon Randonneurs are a tightly knit bunch, they support long distance cycling rain or shine, but Brevets would not be enough. Again RUSA sanctions a "Permanent", a Brevet that one could ride at anytime agreed on by the owner of the Permanent and the rider. I remember vaguely Kent Peterson's blogs on training to race the "Great Divide". Practicing not training I think he called it. With Coach "No Car", Coach "No Gears" and I think there was a third one. I called on Coach "Permanent". Owning no Permanents of my own and not having yet unveiled any aptitude for routing courses, I called on the SIR Permanents which are all owned by the inexorable Geoff Swarts.

The Mystic Mjolnir at Cape Flattery, it only takes a camera to make her smile, though I had carried her through rock, bramble and bush to get this shot. As long as I had my Serotta I was down for whatever.

It was also the year Professor Dan and my friend Andy from down under visited with me for the Cascade 1200. Kole joined us in a pre ride libation. I thanked them for the visit and explained the significance of libation amongst the Igbo people. A must at any significant event which we ritualized by dropping some of the contents of our goblets on the earth in which we have interred our ancestors. Sharing with them our pleasure, for if they had not copulated, it would not have been possible. Though in my self centered take on it, the only reason they existed in the first place was to make the moment possible. I further explained my gratitude, for in our philosophy a poor man is a man who prepared a big feast and no one came to share it with him. My assumption is that most of the feast would go on the ground to the ancestors, hence the "feast of the immortals".
The SIR list of Permanents is a feast of Olympian proportions. May we gather again from far an near to participate in this feast. What use is a website full of courses if no one rides it.
And that's just the beginning of my story.

Thanks Gary Gottlieb for pushing the envelope.

A Forest by the Sea

2010-10-12T15:43:00.001-07:00

Forest, show me how to roll!

Thanks Dan Boxer

The Cauldron

2010-09-22T09:04:00.001-07:00

I have just read Robert Higdons post "what it takes to volunteer". I realized that my last entry was a tribute to RUSA volunteers in June. Dereliction!

Geoff, Kole, Mark and I Volunteered to Pre ride the Crater Lake 1000K Unsupported. We left the Seattle ferry terminal last Wednesday, a cloudy drizzly evening. At Bremerton it was raining and would rain for most of the 70 plus hours that it took to complete the ride. Problem from the start, I had lost the backlight to my GPS unit temporally. So I stayed behind the Guys who all have units to avoid the first navigational pitfall, the somewhat tricky turn from the 304 into Belfair Hwy. Much too early for bonus miles. We took temporary shelter at the Matlock store from the rain. A man inside the long closed store wondered, we made reassuring signs, wrote in our zip-locked Brevet cards and disappeared into the cold wet night. I suffered my circadian 0500 disorientation just before Raymond and hoped coffee at the gas station would help. Daylight was much more of a supplicant. Respite came with the Naselle Diner, by that I mean breakfast and friendly faces, as Mark looked out of the window and noted it was pouring. We dripped out leaving puddles in the previously dry establishment and crossed over the mouth of the Columbia into Astoria. We stopped to eat again at Cannon Beach before tackling some high rollers of the 101, the rain lightened a bit, but the wind picked up, a headwind that caused a few touring bikes with heavy looking panniers to dismount, go figure. Pacific City finally, felt great to be indoors, made good use of our time and left early just after midnite, there is no bonus time until after Reedsport. Weighed down with extra food and drink we faced a sub 1000ft climb and more rollers. Here I lost both my Edelux and GPS. At Reedsport I make a tactical decision to try and sprint ahead to Roseburg before all the Bike stores close. Mark uses his Smart phone to locate the stores, while Kole (who has volunteered to run with me) and I, wolf down a sub. No time to pack more supplies we leave, the stores we called closed at 1730 giving us over 6 hours to cover close to 80 miles including a 2000ft forest road climb. What goes up will fly down, but I know from the Permanent (pre-ride of the pre-ride) that it is not an easy descent. We enjoy the Idyllic Camp Creek road with increasing confidence and then Kole gets a front wheel flat. Fixed, we push a little harder till we hit the stiff grades. Kole darts ahead, to find the information control at the summit and I summit to his declaration that it is all fresh gravel on the descent. Without a second glance at him I plunge into the gravel at a high grade, alternating between the front and back brakes to avoid a heat blow-out. I find 17mph very unnerving. As the grade eases bringing some relief to my cramped brake hands, it starts to pour. Kole appears as I put on more clothes and I realize that my legs have nothing to work with. Kole volunteers a baggie of Pistachios and some liqorice, I am so grateful. We find the Lighthouse Bakery before Roseburg, and to hell with it, we treat ourselves. We drag to Waldrens still open at 1800, which sells me a planet bike front light. And we soft shoe it to the overnight. Out on foot (no more sitting) to find dinner we run into Geoff and Mark. We decide to re-route to cut out that descent on the Tyee access road, sad that the camp creek road will go with it. We buy lots of food and drink and depart after sleep, just after 0100. Now for the featured climb from Roseburg to the Rim Village in Crater Lake, well over 7000ft but also 92 miles away. Geoff and Kole ride ahead and Mark and I take our time. I enjoy the climb better than the last time during the Permanent, mostly because it is cooler and there are no mosquito attacks. Mark seems unabashed by my constant Yakkity-Yak. Then we get to the rim. We are in a rain cloud at near 8000ft, I dare to peer at the lake close to the edge of the rim.

It is a witches cauldron. Visibility is appalling and all blinkies are on for safety reasons, we ride close together to increase our visibility. After a much needed rest stop at the Village where Kole and Geoff were kindly waiting for us, we descend to Fort Klamath. We run along the west side of Lake Klamath and then turn towards Klamath Falls. Barring some sections with poor to no shoulder, this is a pleasant end stretch. We make our Objective of catching Sizzlers still open. Straight for the Salad Bar!

The Ride starting tomorrow will be largely unsupported, though there will be drop bags. Geoff and I will carry these and help in any other way that we can. I find Volunteering the most stressful and challenging aspect of our sport. It is very rewarding.

My friend Ward Beebe took this shot of a volunteer at Mckenzie Bridge, during the Willamette Headwaters 600K, underneath are his accompanying remarks.

Vinny,

Good to see you Saturday night. Too bad we didn't get to say good bye Sunday morning.

Ward.

Thank you Buddy

Weather looks promising, it is my hope that We have taken it for you.

The Sisters of Mercy

2010-06-21T11:29:00.000-07:00

The Words Of Leonard Cohen;

The sisters of mercy, they are not departed or gone

They were waiting for me, when I thought that I just can't go on

And they gave me their comfort, and later they brought me their song

I hope you run into them, you who's been traveling for so long

Thanx all RUSA Volunteers

The Man Who Danced Too Slowly

2010-06-02T07:26:00.000-07:00

Baka mythology holds that the first humans that populated the earth were reincarnated as animals. This explains why different animals, to them carried some human trait. perhaps it engendered better respect for the animals and care of the environment.

The millipede descended from the man who danced too slowly. The Baka, very small in stature, live in a very dense tropical rain forest devoid of modern day industrial noise. In adaptation they have come to develop excellent hearing, which is more important in relation to sight in such a setting. It followed that they acquired a fine sense of music, which was central to their sense of community. Their language does not distinguish between song and dance, it is the same word.
As I think about this, and this creature the millipede, I wonder what their thoughts were about "the man who danced too slowly".
My Fleche and Dart team-mates, and my Permanent and "Temporary" riding buddies have probably noted my slow grinding cadence. I think this results from, and I quote Geoff "I have only three fast fibers".
Memorial Day Weekend was to be the Pre-Ride of the OBM 1000K, I decided to ride the lighter Nwachinemelu (the one the spirits favor). She had been hanging from the ceiling since returning from Sydney for the Alpine 1200K. I felt she should be even lighter now with new Mavic Open Pro front rim with the SON Deluxe hub. However she has had Drive Train problems in the past, especially with wet weather, with her Compact Double crankset and external bearings. So off to my LBS (Local Bike Shop) where yes! need new bottom bracket, chain, cassette and big ring, but the inner ring was as good as new.

It was Salvatore Maranzano that was reputed to have said; "Mr Luciano does not like to dance, but when the music plays a rat a tat a tat, he will have to dance."

What I am trying to say is that I learned to spend a lot of time in that inner chain ring.

So if you are going to ride The OBM 1000K, do not forget your dancing shoes, I mean climbing shoes, and your beauty appreciation glasses. Because the Oregon Blue Mountains are not just blue, but also come in green, amber, elkhorn, strawberry with a dusting of icing sugar, but mostly keep coming.

Thanks to John Kramer, Eric Ahlvin, Vinny Sikorski, Kole Kantner, John Pearch and Dave Read.

The Loneliness of a Distance Rider

2010-05-17T14:09:00.001-07:00

[Cogito Ergo Sum] I think therefore I am! This was the single truth that allowed Descartes his "reversal of doubt". Then he goes on; "At first nothing more is proved by this truth, I think therefore I am, than the existence of my thinking self. My doubts still remain about the existence of my own body and about anything else that is other than my thinking. To say Cogito ergo sum is to affirm my existence: But what then am I? A thing which thinks. What is a thing which thinks? It is a thing which doubts, understands, affirms, denies. wills, refuses and which also imagines and feels."

Lonely-eh!

the Distance Rider affirms that every rider has a finite number "x" of pedal strokes. He imagines and hopes that the current stroke, will add to the total number, not subtract from the residual. He understands the rationalist argument that the afferent (input) is highly virtual and that the efferent (output) is observed and measured by the virtual afferent. It is the processor that does the Math in the Matrix.

The Distance Rider cannot break fast out of the blocks, he cannot will himself fast, out of the pain of the age he would deny. He needs time and then he prays to a Gut, that he is not sure exists. If it listens, he may surprise himself on the fourth day of a Grand Randonee. He is after all the "knowing substance". Everything else, perhaps, particles of change, orbiting the sun.
The Distance Rider listens to Leonard Cohen and Tupac Shakur. Sometimes he does not hear them at all, for the screaming of drunk youth in a pick-up truck, and the collective "Ribbit" of all his frogness. He imagines the most perfect silence, when there is no need to speak, there is no need to explain, no need to show that something is true, seeing the same picture from a different point of view. He feels the best moment, when we all come from different circumstances and flow with the Ferry in the same direction.
the Distance Rider does not grade Riders, he grades Rides. He knows that no two rides are the same even if exactly the same course. His highest grade he awards to the Next ride. He refutes that the earth is either round or flat, but will twist you in every direction but loose.
He longs with foreboding the challenge of the mountains. Yet he understands that the wind of the flat lands is as capricious as all his x's that do not reside in Texas. And when it blows east of the mountains, makes rolling resistance a spit in the Ocean. The Distance Rider has heard of several R-goals, his goal is Recovery and better still on the bike.
The Distance rider will encounter many bodies of water. Looking into each one, he finds the same reflection looking back at him, a shaking head, as one mourning, for it is the very last time he will be like today. He wonders what Descartes, Spinoza and Liebniz think of change in "the thing which thinks". He proclaims that a thing that thinks is a thing that lets go. So he lets go of the wheel in front or the slower behind, he knows that he cannot own.

The Distance Rider does not sprint for minutes and seconds but he will sprint for a Ferry or Traffic lights, someone please ask him what is the difference? He does not eat a mix of 65% carbohydrate and 35% protein. He eats roadkill, always with a big dose of fat, more bang for the buck. He loves his equipment, he does business with it, but he does not trust his equipment. He affirms that "a bad workman blames his tools", "a good one fixes his tools". A weight weenie with a bag of tools seeking to gain time on the climb and a prudent descent.

So perhaps beyond the boundaries if your imagination, is a world of "knowing substances" such as him. If he could get you there, he would show you a deeper story and the Loneliness of a Long Distance Rider.

For my Friend

Kantner "Ukwu Elu Ani" Kole

When a child living just east of the River Niger (from which Lady Lugard coined the term Nigeria) there was much myth about the Great Onitsha Market on the Niger. Rumor had it that as much as half of the beings at the market were from the world of "spirits". One could easily find out who they were by pretending to drop a coin, and then bend to pick it up, and look to see whose "feet did not touch the ground" (Ukwu Elu Ani).

On the Country Link Train from Melbourne to Sydney, I learned that Kole rode up to 17.000K in the villages of West Africa without his feet touching its red (laterite) earth. I there and then bestowed him with the title. On a brevet you may hear me salute with the title, if I can get within earshot.

Forest

2010-04-09T05:29:00.001-07:00

Slender tubes, handlebars wide

Would you take me on your Brooks for a ride

If I should crash

Could you limit it to just road rash

Forest, show me how to roll

And to eschew one more meaningless goal

Seems I spent my life running around

But here on these pedals my feet do not touch the ground

Let us roll through the Cascades

Temper the heat with your shade

Oh Forest! carry me to heights

Where singing breezes blow in the night

Please do not let me fade

As we take on another stubborn grade

For if I keep at it, I guess

I will face what I repress

Forest! now dark and deep

Wear me out so I can get to sleep

An hour or two before the light of day

Rush your endo's to take this pain away

Thanx to Boxer Bikes

Lord of the Flies

2010-02-05T00:15:00.001-08:00

"You just catch one of them f---ers and tear her wings off."

Andrew Bragg comforting me at the Hanging Rocks.

Andrew Bragg signed up for the Cascade 1240K a couple of days ago. Brings back some recent memories. At Corryong Kole and myself had shared the room with Bill Olsen, and Simon. Bill Olsen left earlier in the morning. Simon, Kole, and I left Corryong 2 hours after the Control closed. What could go wrong now, the wind I thought, little did I know. The 3 of us had been riding together for a while now. Our common African heritage made for rich conversation. Simon by his familiarity, domicile and employment mostly in Nigeria. Kole for work teaching children in Benin Republique and I by virtue of birth. With time together on the road we were now blending our individual styles for more efficient travel down the road. Andrew joined us and we traded pulls. Talk about fried plantains, bushmeat with palm oil and pepper and giant escargot made me hungry and hungry is good on a Randonee. By the BellBridge we were well on time. We were traveling in the same direction as the Australian bushfly I would learn to call them Beelzebub.
When the first colonists came ashore in 1788, they brought with them 2 bulls and 5 cows, there are now approximately 20 million cows in Australia and a plethora of cow poop. Cow poop makes excellent nests for the bushfly, so they flourished, The occasional but regular warm winds from the north between August and November picks up females full of eggs as breeding was maintained in the warmer north and blows them south. Breeding in geometrical progression creates waves of pestilence traveling south. Shortly after Corryong as the sun became stronger I would note hundreds of these flies sitting on the back of the rider in front of me. They become more active with radiant heat and are mostly smaller females looking for enough protein to remain fertile. They find it in tears, nasal secretions and blood from a skin opening, they are programmed to follow animals. Others are just looking for water and minerals.

Fortunately by Wangarrata most of their onslaught had ebbed. I had spent much of the afternoon and quite a few calories slapping every inch of my body. The Aussies (and some came prepared with chemical repellents) are quite used to this, though Simon once did cough violently after one flew down his lungs.

Kole, that guy is impervious, he advised that I find a mind over matter solution. It helped, I focused on one thought, I would ride through and arrive in Melbourne before the sun could get them airborne again. As the sun and the bushfly went down I felt strong, as we approached the overnite at Euroa riding with David and Peter from Wagga Wagga, Simon developed a rather acute Achilles tendinitis. I have seen this end a 1200k before so I was concerned. Simon was tough, we told jokes to keep endorphins high and in Euroa hit him with ice and NSAIDs.

He made a marvelous recovery, so in the morning all four of us set off for the final 200k.

I know the enemy, I have looked into his face. As the sun hit noon high, we are climbing into the Hanging Rocks.

They struck again, I guess I am a big moving mass of blood, sweat and tears and snot too. My only reprieve was, shaded areas were they lost the radiant energy, and speed which was not possible on the steep pitches.

Passing cars with their wind was a surprising comfort as, I pedaled, slapping and popping wheelies. Andrews words gave me long lasting mental supplication.

At Lancefield a group of riders have gathered, some are on an Audax Australia 200k. The remaining 80k is beginning to look like an eternity. We, without planning, seem to all leave together in a little peloton and a glorious tail-wind pushed us towards Melbourne. I am in the back with David from Wagga Wagga and unmolested. David must have read my feelings for he turns to me and says in that accent "God roides a boike".

Albert Park in Melbourne! Oh what a beautiful sunny day.

Thanx to Andrew Bragg
See you in Farmer WA.

Wallaroo

2010-01-20T20:25:00.000-08:00

My ears he uses to hear
Still ignoring all my fear
In the upper paddock
As if concealed behind a rock

These arms he uses to shove
Shoved away everything I love
He has control
He intends to take a toll

Hustling me up to Corryong
Wondering what took so long
He will heed no whine
As he forces his will over mine

Nobody knew my fragility
Nobody quite like he
Up in there
Taking over the upper sphere

There is a Wallaroo in my head
Who never, never goes to bed
All nite like cicadas, so fascinating
Always, so response evoking

Many things shall never pass me by
To fight him, I no longer try
I just keep my eyes open to see
For the little Roo in me.

Thanx to Simon Maddison

The Road to Cabramurra

2010-01-11T09:56:00.000-08:00

"He's got a kangaroo loose in the upper paddock"
-Simon Maddison on learning in Corryong that I was on my fourth Grand Randonee for 2009.

We were headed for the Snowy Mountains or the "Snowies" as they are referred to in Oz. They are part of the Australian Alps the highest mountain ranges in the Continent and part of the Great Dividing Range that straddle New South Wales, the Capital Territory of Canberra and Victoria. These ranges were inhabited from time by Aboriginal tribes and the ranges initially presented an obstacle to British settlers seeking agricultural lands east of the range. We would pass through Cabramurra the highest inhabited town in the Continent. Running in the direction of the Hume Highway, we are rolling upward for about 125 klicks to the first control in Mittagong. It is beginning to get rather hot and humid and I am concerned. I will need some time to acclimatize after so much winter riding. There is a faucet in the Park and I wet down while worrying about my depressed appetite. Between Mittagong and Goulburn I skip a chance to refuel and suffer for it. Kole is wound up like a spring ready to release its potential energy, I reassure him that all will be well. By Goulburn I am starting to reassure myself also. The Greengrocer Cafe in Goulburn has all kinds of expensive bikes as part of the Motif. These interested me more than the assortment of edibles. I am able to push a couple of cokes down and a few calories.
It was Shakespeare in the "Merchant of Venice" that wrote.
"The quality of mercy is not strained
It dropeth like a gentle rain from heaven
It is twice blessed
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes"
So the gentle rain came and by the control at Gunning I felt quite capable of keeping all these promises. Rode with Phillip who we had met at Critical Mass, a Pediatrician and their riding buddy to the Capital Canberra and called it a night.
We had done 366k, more than the minimum distance of a Fleche, with 13,000 feet of climbing to boot, we are in Kole territory.
Intrepid French Randonneuse Sophie Matter had read the wind and rode on through the night, we take 5 hours of unwind, refuel and blissful sleep and re-saddle for the road to Cabramurra. 127k to Cooma, the next Control, we are trashed by 25mph winds both climbing and descending, I urge Kole to go on ahead and I keep low like the proverbial grass to let it pass. I even passed (no pun intended) on the train of a strong group of riders in that wind. Finally galvanized by the thought of how dangerous it would be to let Kole get a significant rest in Cooma, I stepped it up and picked up Rick Blacker and Simon Maddison just before Cooma. Found Kole ditch-napping and dragged him to a nearby restaurant and we had steak and fries, for the real climbing. Simon decides to join us and we pedal now as a group of three.

Beautiful Country these Australian Alps pictures cannot describe.

Next stop Cabramurra. It is cool and good climbing but we are wary of ice on the steep descents before the next steep climb. as it gets steeper Kole pulls ahead, soon we have all made it to Cabramurra the watershed. As we refuel there are a lot of Randos in the shop, the air is electric with a strange melange of exhaustion and exhilaration. Kole opts to split early, Simon and I follow shortly. Both of us are descending so fast (look out for Wombats) to Tumut Pondage, we whiz by Kole, but this is the low-point of the steepest most sustained climb or so it seemed. There is mayhem on this climb, riders are getting off the saddle and resting or walking. I promise myself to hold strong and focus on Simons blinkies just a little ahead.
When Kole gets off his seat to pedal, and that is a rare sight, it is like Michael Jacksons Moonwalk played in reverse. And just like that he was up and away. Slight technical issue, my Garmin charger was stealing the poor electrical current at the low speed from my E3 lights in that dark night. I pulled the plug on the charger, slowing a little, but still focusing on Simons tail-lights. By the top he was still visible, I stopped to reconnect the charger for downhill and Simon was gone. In the black liquid ooze of that night the only thing I could see was the Ay Up front lights of 2 riders coming up behind me. One of them was Andrew Bragg but I did not know him at the time.
I hurriedly connected and waited to join them, riding behind and that is when it happened!
Deja vu or an Edgar Cayce type trance, but I had seen this all before! I knew exactly what would happen next. Downward now through Tooma Dam and finally up to Corryong, I was happy, I was singing. We picked up a third rider and lost Andrew to a flat. 2 Aussie riders now behind me sensed my confidence and stuck behind.

At Corryong Kole and Simon were still unwinding.
Day 2 adds up to 316k by my instruments and 16,000 ft of climbing, somehow I had lost a water bottle and the cap to the second one.

Thanx to the Gentleman who loaned me his bottles in Corryong.
I still have them.

Oz

2010-01-02T17:01:00.001-08:00

"Just another nasty reminder that it's not just about Skittles and Beer"

-Aussie rider on one of the last steep hills before Melbourne.

I had heard from Rick B. who had heard from Sophie M. and I had told Kole that there was going to be a Walkabout and Dreamtime. I first confirmed that we would be sparing not spearing any encountered wallaroos and I was in. It was easy to convince Chris Rogers, Organizer of the 2009 inaugural run of the Sydney to Melbourne Alpine 1200, since we were "internationals" and not only were the Audax Australia membership fees waived, we paid for the Randonee on arrival to Sydney. In Oz they are relaxed about that sorta stuff.

Kole and I, we split up the logistics. I handled the planes, trains and youth hostels, Kole assured our near flawless navigation in a Continent Country which both of us had no prior knowledge of, through scores of email and Bike Route Toaster. When we got the route sheet only a few days before we left, Kole had the "TCX Courses" up and distributed to all the "internationals" the same day. Great! I was not in for "bonus miles" in the great Outback.

We were set! Just one problem, how to get rollers on the commuter that took us from SEA to LAX so that Kole could ride to the ride. I had choosen an 8 hour lay over in Los Angeles over a 11/2 hour one to reduce the chance of arriving without our bikes in Sydney. and with time in our hands on Thanksgiving Wednesday we greeted a Turkey that just received a Presidential Pardon.

In the hoopla we met Janet and Johnny returning home on the same flight, who gave us already a warm feeling about the Aussies.

Fairly restful slumber on the long flight, shortly after a winter 300k (Monroe-Marblemount-Monroe) I woke to this view out of the window just before landing in Sydney.

But knowing that there was no time for Sun and Surf or a drink with an umbrella in it (we left Wednesday and got there Friday). We got ourselves quickly to our Hostel and Oooh it was small for 2 men and their bikes.

Bikes built, we tried our hands at riding on the wrong side of the road and it was time to go meet Bindi who had kindly e-mailed the "internationals" and informed us about "Critical Mass".

We found her were she said she would be "hugging the fountain" in the park and we had a chance to improve our skills riding on the left on the one day that bikes are allowed to ride in the car lanes across the harbour bridge.

There were several distractions but we were getting a hang of it and thanks to Bindi and several Aussie riders we got safely back to our little hole in the wall while enjoying our first sunset in the Land Down Under.

Saturday was housekeeping and we took the train which was essentially in our backyard with our unwieldy bike boxes to Lindseys house. Super Host Lindsey! and Nice home, there was lots of beer and chips, no Skittles though. We completed our business with Audax Australia and Bindi helped with a great exchange rate (dollars). Took the train home, bed early.

Sunday early at the Opera House, almost zero hour.

For those magnificent men and women and their flying machines.

Chris Rogers reminded us that it was a social ride (indeed) and we were off, The Sydney Chapter of Audax led us in a large peloton out of Sydney and then you were on your own.

At my pace I felt quite certain that she was not referring to me.

But as we got deeper into the big open country, I admit I started to feel rather small.

Thanx Audax Australia

Recovery

2009-12-08T21:23:00.000-08:00

Many years ago in the city of Lourdes nearby a series of 18 apparitions appear to Bernadette a young shepherd girl. Call it mass hysteria if you will but it has persisted. Lourdes is the second most visited city in France and everyday pilgrims pour in seeking their own miracles. They pray for health, wealth and love and purchase water and wax by the gallons. The apparition held out for a while before revealing her true identity, she asked only one thing of Bernadette; Penance and likewise promised Bernadette one thing; Happiness not in this world but the other.
The last few days had been so much fun that I doubt that it would qualify as true Penance and the other world on my mind was the Land Down Under. Yes, Sydney to Melbourne 1200K was fast approaching. Time to recover.

Day 6: Hourquette D'Ancizan, Col D'Aspin and Lourdes.
It is our last day of riding in the Pyrenees, I am perhaps already thinking of home. The Chinese say that a journey is its own reward, perhaps one of the rewards is an increased appreciation of home. Mostly I missed my own bike.
I would do today's climbs at recovery pace but I would do them all. We start from Bagnere and head up to the remote and pristine Hourquette d'Ancizan. This is Yumis favorite climb and starting from just under 2000 feet a straight climb of 3500 feet to just over 5000 feet. Stopping on the way in the Village fountain at Ste. Marie to keep hydrated, I am trying very had to not create any more lactic acid on the climbs.

A rider on the way down warns us that it is very windy up there, but it is nothing compared to Windy Ridge on the Mountain 600K Pre-ride.

At the top all we find really is the Gendarmes as this is a remote path often chosen by smugglers from Spain.
Second climb is a Tour Favorite; Aspin

But it is just as pretty.

A well rested Trudy is well ahead and I am Lanterne Rouge today, yet no one can tell me the origin of the term. I am sure Dominique B. knows.
After flying down the steep grades, the route starts to make sense as a recovery ride with a high cadence spin down the 2% grade to Bagnere.
Guess who is in the office?

Monsieur Fignon, the last French winner of the Tour, he is looking well and he is pretty busy, but takes a time out for a photo with old glory in the background.
Then off to the city of Bernadette.

We all need Miracles.

Thanx to Laurent Fignon

The Grange

2009-11-16T11:39:00.000-08:00

Dominick at the Miramont spoke very good English, she like all our hosts in Argeles were eager to be helpful. We would always see her at dinner time when she was eager to explain the menu.
On learning that I had climbed the Hautacam her interest was piqued and she reminisced about hosting a famous Texan while encouraging me to try his favorite desert. She remembered he was pissed because the Hautacam was closed. Like me he likes to climb in cold weather I thought.

Day 5: Cirque Du Troumouse, Cirque Du Gavarnie
Up early to get the bikes from the Grange

Trudy would decide to leave her bike in the Grange under the watchful eyes of Champion American teams who left memorabilia to thank their hosts.

A wise decision indeed as this would be a difficult day on the bike for me.
We set out to climb to the Cirque Du Troumouse (Jean-Phi's favorite) we had missed it as the second climb when I broke the cranks. I am doing fairly OK until we get past Gavarnie and the real climb begins.
I wonder if I need protein, but the charcuterie only serves to bloat my gut, I am not climbing well.

I can see why it is J-Phi's favorite climb, it is desolate and preaches for solitude.

I encourage my friend to ride on ahead as I plod slowly through switchback after switchback.

Very wobbly amongst the sure-footed.

Lost in my own thoughts till I need a break from those thoughts.

I do make it to the top and walk it off in that remote natural amphitheater.

Time to go back down to Gavarnie.

We have climbed close to 5000 feet in 27 miles and I am pooped.
We spend the afternoon hiking up to the Cirque Du Gavarnie, on the way we are entertained by a donkey show.

I think I am happy to be off the bike.

In this other famous natural amphitheater.

So Happy I perform a little rap skit.

Thanks to the Owners and Staff of the Miramont

Hautacam

2009-11-13T02:36:00.000-08:00

For the years that I have known Jean Philippe. we had spent almost all our time together either fighting our way up a stiff grade or descending on the other side, with greater trepidation on my side. Like quite a few cyclists that I know, he must have some disdain for my almost always clasped-on headphones. He had told me once that he much prefers the sound of nature, but on I-90....
As we clawed our way up Hautacam, I saw the sign indicating 1k to the summit and I gave it my all. J-Phi then did two things he had never done before. He rode close and removed my left earpiece, and he asked me to back off. He had good reason, though his clock would stop as it did in the TDF time trial at the posted summit, we had to climb 2 more miles to the Ski Lodge.
He had opened Pandora's Box, he would discover what I keep shut down in there. That I talk a lot and with a loud guttural African voice, that I am not reluctant to be opinionated about controversial subjects and that I interrupt without being aware of it. Qualities that can make me rather insufferable.

Day 4: Col Du Solour, Col D'Aubisque, Hautacam

By morning the clouds were gone.

Trudy led us up the beautiful Col D'Aubisque

And though I wish I could fly up these mountains.

I am more like these fellas.

It is nice to be out there and Trudy is climbing strong in her blue shirt.

To get to the summit of Aubisque we have to pass through the Solour.

We descend into a wooded area with beautiful fall colors.

And stop to refuel with dried fruit.

Finally Col D'Aubisque.

There is a restaurant open up there and I order the Plat de cyclistes. It is Gabure as it is called in the region, similar to a Cassoulet, It is a hearty soup with beans, potatoes, pork and other vegetables. This time they have a drumstick of duck in it. I wash it down with a heated light wine almost like a Sangria and it is time to descend. Trudy follows us back down and up back to the Col Du Solour and joins Yumi.

As we descend deeper into the valley towards Argeles, J-Phi starts to lighten up and I follow suit.

Next is Hautacam. J-Phi wants to time us on this brutal climb and its the last thing I want to hear. I had spent it all a week ago on the last 3 days of "Endless Mountains" I am on vacation.

I block his encouraging words out with my headphones and the numbing view.

Yet I let him pace me up, using the milder 8% grades to clear the lactic acid.

Battling through the bonus 2 miles after the official summit, I can only wonder if we made his time cut-off.

That look on his face at the Ski Lodge says it all.

Ice cream at the lodge; this one's for Kole.
And a shot of cognac for the cold descent.
About 10,000 feet in less than 60 miles

Thanx to Kole for his backwheel on many a climb.

Whidbey without the Mambo

2009-11-03T15:47:00.000-08:00

Ferry Chaser's at Fairhaven

Thanks to Mark Roberts for the Photo

Tourmalet

2009-10-28T19:47:00.000-07:00

I came across this link on the randon wire, usatoday.com/communities/driveon/post/etc. Got me thinking. I did not approach riding in the Pyrenees as though it was a very safe thing, the roads are smaller with no shoulders and the drivers are just in the same big hurry. Maybe I was somewhat prejudiced by Jean Phi's constant admonishment to be careful and that the drivers here are crazy.
I did not find much broken glass and human debris on the roads, but there are always debris from falling rocks in the mountains. Conspicuously different was the attitude towards cyclists. One motorist swung his vehicle around one of the switchbacks on the Tourmalet rolled down his window to yell at me "Allez! Allez!" The attitude reflected, to me was "I wish I was riding today". Workers on a roof stopped for a moment to cheer you on.

Day Three: Tourmalet and Croix-Blanche
Yumi is driving SAG today as she will for the rest of the tour. A minor mechanical, actually "Vince breaks something else", takes us to the local cyclery in Argeles. Problem solved at a decent cost of 5 Euro's and Yumi drives off with Trudy to the foot of the Tourmalet. She looks nervous, it is the giant of the Pyrenees, it is steep and long.

I ride up from Argeles with Jean Phi and we catch Trudy. I know I will irritate her on her climb so I push on after a while leaving that job to Jean Phi. This side of the giant is moonscape with cliffs I would not want to overshoot.

And the last kilometer gets a little more steep

I ask a spanish cyclist at the summit to take a photo. He asks me if it was difficult. I give him my standard answer; "it is always difficult".

It is getting cold, I put on my coat and why not a hill repeat.

I go down to join them for the last 2-3 k.

And that last steep pitch. I will pay later.

Congratulations T, you have conquered the Tourmalet.

Then Jean Phi leads me on the descent. A quick bike check at La Mongie and we fly all the way to Bagnere. This side is greener with more shade and will be a more clement climb in the summer.

But there is more, Jean Philippe knows the Pyrenees better than the back of his hand and takes me on a scenic tour of this area popular for its healing natural springs.

And beautiful old Churches.

Rolling Pastures, that got me thinking, if sheep are so stupid, how come they make wool.

After a steep Climb of about 1000ft we stop for a picnic which Yumi and Trudy will spread from the SAG. Jean Phi stretches, for he knows what lies ahead.

For after rolling through the most beautiful countryside on a road that would not fit 2 cars side by side.

We climb to Croix Blanche through a brutally steep 1000ft. I can barely stay with Jean Phi at this point. At the top I take a sweeping look at the panorama.

Before Collapsing like Roland.

But clouds are beginning to gather in the mountains quickly.

No sniveling, time to go home, hope the clouds clear by tomorrow, Oh! who can think that far?

Back at Argeles Jean Phi asks Dominick, the wife of the Chef and owner of the Mirramont to add an extra bowl of pasta to my Dinner. "Pas de Probleme" I will need it.
10, 000ft of climbing in just over 70 miles.

Thanx to the people of the Pyrenees

Breche de Roland

2009-10-26T08:43:00.001-07:00

Charlemagne and his forces have been forced by the Moors to retreat from Spain through the Pyrenees, he has left his cousin Roland with his men at a strategic location in the Mountains as a rear guard. He will come to his assistance once the withdrawal is achieved. At least in one version, when Roland blows his horn, a signal for the relief effort. Charlemagne ignores the signal. Roland then pulls out his broadsword and cuts a gap in the mountain, the breach of Roland, an impressive 300 by 200 foot vertical cut in the mountain ridge. His men escape through the gap and Roland dies of exhaustion. Or so the story goes.

Day two: Col de Boucharo
After soup, salad, main dish and desert the night before. I did not feel that I had packed in enough calories, so I was still pigging out on bread, Nutella, pastries and orange juice when Jean-Phi arrived promptly. His plan was to get me 10,000 vertical feet of climbing. He has several options but as a cyclist I am sympathetic to the story of Roland. He would be kinder to Trudy and drive her up to Luz to start her Climb there, while I am to start from Argeles almost a straight shot south to meet with them at Luz.

It is a cold and frosty morning, I am in wool and a softshell, but there is sun and no storm clouds up in the peaks.

I ride up with the river (Gave de Gavarnie) and it is a non-punishing grade, there are contemporary bridges across this river as well as bridges built by Napoleon and the Romans.

I meet up with them and we head up to Gavarnie. These sleepy little towns come alive in the summer with tourists and soon during the Ski season.

We make a right turn and head up the Col de Boucharo riding past Our Lady of Gavarnie as she looks over and protects the sheep in the valley.

As the grades start to exact a toll,

Our guide stays with Trudy while I run up to the Port de Boucharo, the door to Roland's Breach.

I have mountain bike shoes I may be able to get to it.

As I get there I am thinking that a mighty glacier must have been before.

I cannot find a place to hide my bike for the hike.

And I do not want to declare "Je suis Perdu" like Bob Brudvik on the Rev.

Realizing that I am by the lost mountain between France and Spain.

I cross over to Spain and I shout "Hey Pistolero" (Alberto) "will you fire your piece at the top of the Tourmalet next year"? As if he could hear.

They come looking for me, and we all manage a careful descent back to Gavarnie for lunch.
A beer and pizza, I am ready for the second climb to the Cirque de Tromouse, Jean Phi's favorite.
Oops! once again I break something on a bike.

Plastic Bike! I can hear Bill Olsen say. I can coast to Luz were we get the car and drive to Bagnere. Alain is helpful he replaces it with the slightly smaller size that I passed over the day before.
45 miles and 6,000 accumulated vertical feet, I guess that will have to be enough for one day. Trudy quickly agrees.

Thanks to Alain and the Laurent Fignon Centre

Pyrenees

2009-10-23T05:32:00.000-07:00

Day one:
With service of Expedia and the Star Alliance Trudy and I set off for the Pyrenees. I have to admit this was my dream, but Trudy had done a lot of the logistics work from this end. I wanted to ride with Jean Philipe in the Pyrenees, where he was born and bred and served in a mountain rescue unit. We start off already tired for different reasons, and though I dislike long flights I appreciate the opportunity for sleep in the cramped up position.
Like Jung I believe in synchronicity, well next, maybe determinism. So here lies the cascade of events. I had been to France before, Paris, No not PBP but as a fugitive family from the defeated Biafra. As a child of war the tensions I felt were incredible. My Dad had been serving for a little more than a year in the African, then called the Portuguese Island of Sao Tome as Biafran envoy. Even at that very young age I realized how lucky we were to escape all the death and starvation in Biafra.
When Biafra was defeated I can only Imagine the stress my Parents went through. Six children and a pregnant mother, No Country! But we had the Catholics. Both strong Catholics, I believe my parents knew every Catholic Priest in that part of Africa. CARITAS saved many a life in the blockaded Biafra and the food that they flew into Biafra was often via Sao Tome.
Somehow they got us (my Dad and the five older children) to Dublin through Paris. I have a very less than romantic memory of Paris, the donated and ill fitting winter coats we were wearing. My Dad whom I had the pressure of trying to be everything his humble beginnings denied him was everything that I am not. With little or no money he still hired transportation to show us the Champs D' elysee and the Eiffel tower. What did I care? I had just parted from two Gems in my life, my Mother and my only brother who, was not yet of school age, they had flown to Libreville in Gabon where my last sister Lota (Remember) was born. They would stay there till my Father figured out his next move. The rest of us were enrolled in school in the Catholic and English speaking (actually bilingual) Republic of Ireland.

The Muoneke Children before departing Sao Tome.

A Catholic Family The O'Malley's in Dublin Volunteered to shelter me. My Dad dropped me off with Mrs O' Malley. She had six children of her own, Chris was same age, so I would share his room and a bunk bed. I hit that bed and slept for almost 24 hours. Looking back I have known depression as a child, I am positively glad the diagnosis was not made as it is frequently made now in this part of the world, so no therapy.
I adapted to my new life and my next bout of depression would come with the news more than a year later that my father had returned to Nigeria and we were to follow. I had come to completely love my new life, Yes! I am fickle, selfish and was growing independent.
The O'Malley's now including me had 8 children, I am including Sophie their Pyrenees Mountain Dog(Patou). She was the friendliest sentient being in the world. I hardly ever saw Dr O'Malley who was out early and back late. He would always be present in his tweed jacket and tie at recitals/barbeque that his wife would hold at their home for the parish choir in which she sang.
He would also join us in our frequent idyllic forays into the outdoors of their beloved Ireland, the land of Lochs and Glens. I always sat with Chris and Sophie at the very back of their Peugeot station wagon. Chris adored Sophie but having come from a different culture, still remember the somewhat unpleasant experience of her strong breath and friendly drool especially in the summer days.
In the Pyrenees, they highly treasure their sheep and the Brebir Cheese they make from its milk. So they are particularly fond of 3 breeds. The Border Collie which is very intelligent unlike the sheep they herd, but with intelligence comes some fear especially with the storms in the mountains. The Labri is a small and fearless herd dog. The Patou while usually docile and friendly will face down a bear to protect the sheep and often work with a nail studded collar to protect them from the wolves that go for the throat.
We arrive in Toulouse, via Frankfurt without our luggage but I have my wool, shoes, pedals , gloves, helmet, eye-ware and electronics in my hand luggage. I am ready to ride. Our luggage will arrive in Toulouse on the next plane from Frankfurt 4-5 hours away and they can deliver it to the Pyrenees Midi the next day. We squash all riding plans for Day One and hang out for a while in Toulouse. We call Alain to inform him of our late arrival.

In Toulouse it is cool and sunny, great weather if you ask me. most of Europe is in a cold front.
The French call it the Pink City on account of the bricks favored for building in this area.

After walking around the city for a bit we settle on L'Entrecote for lunch. We are a little early (the French are very rigid about their meal times) but this proves to our advantage as a line quickly forms behind us. "Must be good" I thought.

They serve only one thing, beef steak and French fries and the only choice is rare, medium rare, medium etc. both items are cooked I believe with duck fat which is loved in this region.

An of course French bread and red wine.
We pick up our luggage after lunch and drive an hour and a half to Bagnere, Jean Phi picks up his bike and we head to the Laurent Fignon Centre for ours.

There the Geant of the Pyrenees sits looking up at the Tourmalet were he will be taken amidst fanfare for the 2010 Tour de France.

Where the winner next year will probably be decided in a mountain summit finish.

There is History all over but this is a very modern training center with its own hotel.
Alain the manager of the centre is very warm and sets us up with a couple of Time machines.
My Orange Fizik Alliante sticks out like a sore thumb.

Next: Argeles-Gazost and more sleep glorious sleep.

Forever Grateful To Trudy, Jean-Phi and Yumi

Endless Mountains

2009-10-07T03:16:00.000-07:00

Endless Malfunctions
How I longed that it disappear
I cannot believe the things I hear
More than a few bonus miles have led me to a wall
And each passing day brings unpredicted cold rains of fall
And looming right in front of me
An invisible and ominous line between
What I am and what I came here to be
Why was this not foreseen?
Undulating line in space
That my courage must erase
I try to think beyond what I seek
And the fear that I may be too weak
Thru the Brothers, Henk and Vince I peek at the other side
Quakertown like an Amish girl soon to become a bride
Yet it all depends on the B B
Bittersweet uncertainty

Endless Memories

Liberty or...

Barlow Trail

2009-10-06T15:46:00.000-07:00

Bent man Lobo put on a 300K through Barlow Pass, a few days before PA.
I was in.
Michael Wolfe, Mark, Geoff and myself carpooled to Sandy Oregon.
Mark was at the wheel, It would be "Easy Skanking".

We pass the rollers to the river grade and then to higher grades into magnificent forests.

Views of ice capped mountains cool your fire.

Crossing into the Microwave.

A strong Tail pushes us to the Tygh valley and we will pay to climb out of it. By the time we got to the Pass things have cooled, by Government Camp it is cold.
With a little help from my friends we roll into Sandy in the dark, where Philipe Andre and other good Volunteers await with refreshment.
I sleep in the backseat as Mark and Geoff Navigate us home.

A Freebie!
"with a little help from my friends"

Thanks Guys

The Kola Nuts

2009-09-27T11:25:00.000-07:00

What kinda Nut, Rides out at 0600 in the Cold Rain?

To all who participated in Dart 09

L'Affaire Cascades

2009-09-17T20:35:00.000-07:00

On the 29th of August very early in the morning,
The results of the crime was found, in the Jail-town of Monroe.
The world had discovered to its absolute dismay,
4 men missing from their daily lives.

An Investigator was called in,
Who started an inquiry.
Arriving on the scene, some photographs were shot.

A roadside worker was waving his sign in the air,
Shouting; "Its Geoff and Vince that are responsible,
It was his dream from the start."

The strongman of this bunch was found,
Wandering without the group.
In a complete state of freedom, waiting for Elk to pass.

Though the whole thing seemed unreal,
It soon became quite clear.

That the authors of this crime, needed some assistance.

Exhaustive study on the subject
Led experts to conclude.

They were victims of a strange case of split personality.

The trial neared its end,
All the facts had been exposed, but the mob still wanted blood.
They were in for a big Surprise!

Not Guilty!
By reason of Insanity!

With all respect for "The Box"
Thanks to Carol, Trudy, Ralph, Geoff and Kole.

HydroCooling

2009-09-16T09:07:00.000-07:00

Vincent Sikorski is helluva Rando.
Heck! he has a pretty cool first name, and his last name makes me think, Helicopters!
When we met at Maupin in Kramers XTR, we uttered only one word each, to each other; "Vince".
"Vince".
No wonder my selective memory holds unto a post on the ORRando Wire.

[ORRando] Fwd: Barlow Trail 300 Pre-Ride

Vincent Sikorski
Wed Jul 22 18:14:26 PDT 2009

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Since I saw my name mentioned, I thought I'd comment on
the benefits of hydro-cooling. (Not to be confused with
cold beer instilled into the stomach). When it is HOT,
I do not pass up the opportunity for a cool soak. I find
a spot to lie down in the water with just my head
sticking up until I feel cold. You need to bring your
core temperature down, a quick splash is not enough.
Several years ago I did a loop Bend- Willamette Pass-
Aufderheide-McKenzie Pass -Sisters. Was 104 degrees
in the shade. Would not have survived without several
trips into the South Fork of the McKenzie River.

Vince
PS The above loop, Bend to Bend, would make a great
400K when McKenzie Pass opens up.

I believe that Vincent treats the matter here completely, the essential thing is to lower the core temperature, I use shivering as a sure sign that the bodycore temp is down.
A walk in to Lake Sharbot in Ontario Changed my Granite Anvil this was followed by a prophylactic dip in Lake Pateros, While Kole, Geoff and Ralph sat in the air-conditioned restaurant at the gas station. When I came out of the Lake I was too cold to go into the restaurant, next! Loup Loup.
More recently a climb of Whitepass in the Heat of the Day portrays my real addition to the subject matter. I knew my core temp was up as I was fluctuating noticeably from shaded to unshaded zones, I passed one but not the second opportunity to stop by a micro waterfall, whatever you call it, but cold water falling down and creating a little rivulet. Of course one of my many water bottles is already empty, these waterfalls tend to appear higher up in the pass, when you need it most. My bottles are different colors so I can remark it, I removed all water sensitive material from my wool jersey pockets, I collect water with the bottle and douse myself until wool jersey and pants are soaked and I am shivering. I get on the bike and its a totally different climb. I really thank Ryan who very kindly washed out my bottle at Rimrock.
It is also possible to really cool the core with ingested material, on a Brevet, I recommend a Slurpee not Beer.

Note: The Barlow Trail 300 Running Sept 26.

Thanks Vince for sharing.

Yours to Discover

2009-09-14T15:23:00.000-07:00

That's what Ontario license plates proclaim.
My dream was different, that was to ride the Goddess in full form, the Cascade 1240K.
When Geoff a strong mentor and an early pathway to The Grand Randonee recommended the Ontario Anvil, how could I resist.
Life is a training ride!

Five years in McGill as a young man, no stranger to our English and French speaking Friends to the North. I had driven to Ottawa and visited a Friend in Toronto, travelled across the USA tunnel between Detroit and Windsor. Now I was about to really discover.

Five years in Montreal, twenty years ago, what flashback?
The words of Guy Pisapia, Lead Singer for the little known French Canadian Rock Band "The Box" that oddly enough sang only in English.
"this is the secret, that you keep within yourself, and never to forget. One sees well only with the heart, for what truly matters is invisible to the naked eye"
He goes on in gratitude for efforts that were spent and love that was given, and Proclaims in the Refrain "We will always be friends".

Through Geoff I would make another friend Dave.
I tried not to get uppity about this ride, its a training ride I always tell myself, reassuring myself again with "there are no big mountains there".
I was actually on a pretty tight schedule and I had to steal this one so to speak.
So plan was to fly in with the bike the day before the Randonee and bale the following morning.

A week before the ride I panicked! What if the airline does not bring the bike, that's happened before, there was no space in time for a fallback plan. Now the bike was the only reason for the trip, my imagination was running wild.
I responded by calling the airlines, what it would cost to move my flight a day earlier I could buy a whole new bike, I have very few and disorganized airline miles and had already paid through the nose for the flight. Ship it earlier I thought and remembered my Friend from the McGill days in Montreal, found him and he put his office at my disposal to clear the bike since it is an international shipment and I would arrive too late to clear it myself. I thank him greatly, but after the details and costs involved became clear, I opted to do what the airline agent advised.
Come early with the bike! This I did to find my flight canceled, I swallowed my bile and took the detour through Vancouver that put me even later into Toronto. The ride website had warned that the Start at Durham College in Oshawa was quite a drive from the airport. Once again my friend came to the rescue. Igbo Hospitality, he made sure I was fed thank you, 2 beers as part of the Carbo-loading my pain was alleviated some.

Now we both start thinking about the 3 hour drive God Bless him.

Arriving at Durham College late, late at night, I found a note from the Ride Organizer who I had been considerate enough to call about my late arrival. He left me my package bag and instructions to create 3 drop bags for the 3 overnite spots. Luckily my friend had an odd bag at the back of his truck, he loaned me the bag and left, so with my original SIR style single drop bag, the ride package bag and the loaner, 3 bags, now to divide everything from endurolytes to maltodextrin and extra clothes into 3. I still had not built my bike, to make a long story short I called Trudy who was working nites in Seattle for a time adjusted wake up call. After preparing my gear for a Randonee, I must have just passed out. The call came no more than One hour later and I woke up with the feeling Of sand in my eyes.
A Grand Randonee has a life of its own, it is long enough that if you are feeling good it could still cave in on you, that morning I was hoping for the corollary.
There is energy definitely at that first morning breakfast, the familiar faces for whom the long road is a rainbow with a pot of gold at the end.
Late bike inspection, crammed down breakfast and there was Geoff, he introduced me to Dave, the 3 of us would ride the whole thing together. I was glad I could trust Dr Spock with the logistics decisions, he has a clearer head even with a full nite of sleep.
So they slit the chains and we were off again, Day 1 was long hot and humid, keeping with the Creed; one control at a time, we passed through the Hockley Valley to Eugenia and then on to Victoria Harbor, everything was in English and French but only in Kilometers. We took the Taybike path to the overnite, I braved a cold shower as the hot water was out in the male bathroom and immediately had a back spasm that had me hurling into the porcelain bowl.
Emotionally strong, I slept on 6 chairs put together in 2 rows, when Geoff got me up, I craved more sleep and looked longingly at Mike Fox, who's eyes seemed to say, lets sleep more and ride harder later. Day 2 lots of short steep hills hot and humid made me grateful for an earlier start. We all agreed to nickname the Randonee the Gravel Anvil on account of the miles of gravel roadwork. We spent quite a bit of the day with Carol Bell, for whom I have the greatest respect since the 2008, C1200. Passing through Big Chute and Fenelon Falls (where Greg Courtney, I met at Last Chance and The Dudes 600XTR was concerned at the way I looked) I never felt good that Day, but Carol would have no negative talk, it was hard to suck it up. As we approached the overnite at Bancroft, some rollers allowed me to settle in my aerobars and to respond to the attacks that were now coming frequently. Not a good move as the hills persisted and I just felt worse. I fantasized about having 3 bags of lactated ringers via I.V.
Twenty something miles to Bancroft began to feel like an impassable chasm. Geoff and Dave stuck with me, we pulled over and a country homeowner let us use his hose, I was not the only one as an incidental rider on a mountain bike also sought reprieve from that humid heat. We stood around for long minutes waiting for cooler water to come out of the hose.
There is always a silver lining, for in Bancroft within walking distance of the Control was a Guesthouse Inn. A no-brainer we bought a room, Geoff kindly took care of my bike and I stayed in the Inn to try and recover. I took one bite and and a sip and brought it all out in the bathroom, I crawled into that beautiful bed.
There is no ill that 4 hours of sleep cannot cure, still I woke up very dehydrated. My 2 roomates were clearly concerned about my condition. I urged them to ride on without me if necessary. Dave dismissed this and Geoff reiterated what I already believe, that you ride with your head, know when it is time to say quits but this made my bonehead even thicker. First trial; breakfast at 0100, the sausage tasted good, but be careful with your gut. Rode first 500 meters and I already had bilateral muscle spasms. No panic I am missing salt and water, so I went "tout gauche" and threw caution to the wind downing water and endurolytes furiously till I was pee-ing buckets, that lost the spasms, now I had to pamper my gut as the heat and humidity began to rise.
I felt like I was being a drag on my room mates, but I just will not throw that power out without the Calorie base for it. Then came my Baptism in Lake Sharbot, for I ignored all the logistics babble removed all perishable items from my clothes and walked into that lake up to my neck in water. No asking! I was back!

At the overnite in Tyendinaga I was feeling no pain, I became an asset not a drag, I had 3 plates of food, 2 hours of restful sleep and it felt good to be the one saying to my friends "take your time, no hurry" while chomping at the bit.
A well oiled Englishman at a Bar in Bermuda many rains ago once asked me in jest (knowing I had come from Canada).
"Whats the difference between a canoe and a Canuck"?
"Every now and then a canoe tips" he answered his own question while covering me with inflammable air. He has no idea!
Our Friends to the North, they threw down a big post ride party

Where SIR gear and bling-bling go together.

Where what one girl fears in the night is another girls paradise.

Where old friends finally catch up

And Can-Am award recipients still have legs to stand on.

And the Organizer of this first time Randonee takes it all in.

We will always be friends

Mountain 600K Pre-Ride Report

2009-09-08T18:08:00.001-07:00

I have done a lot of pre-rides but this is my first ever pre-ride report, I say this because a pre-ride report is supposed to be meaningful information for the intended future rider. My style is more like musing over a ride frequently on another ride and depicting what I find the poetic aspects.
So reader be warned that I may ramble-on in my own poetic reverie, I found this ride very challenging and I had the help of a giant on 2 wheels.

The Cascade 1200 was a beautiful thing and there is no room to talk about it here, but from the moment the four of us and Carol met at the Starbucks on Mercer Island, we agreed that the mission was collective and success defined as 4 bikes rolling into the finish in Monroe.
Mentally I felt Loup Loup would be the watershed after a day of cooking in Eastern Washington, but I believe it was the bone shaking that we got in old 97 before Mallot that softened us.
Geoff took the bull by the horns this time riding ahead, leaving Ralph, Kole and myself to negotiate carefully with her grades, leaving me baffled how such a great athlete had the incredible ability, self restraint.
So that is how it all started, somewhere on Loup Loup, I offered my 2 friends Kola nut in true Igbo tradition and they accepted and liked the wake-up effect, Kole even liked the bitter taste.
In Monroe Kole had asked if I had extra Kola as he would be doing the Pre-Ride of the Mountain 600K. I did, but in the post ride buzz could not find a darned thing in my bags, so I promised I would deliver.
Mark meantime sent out message on the wire, to ride the new permanent from Duvall to Stevens Summit and I eagerly signed up, since I wanted to catch up since helping Mark run the 1000K an experience that I found unusually rewarding.
So Tuesday night we finish the 1200k, I go by to visit my friend Kole on Thursday with Kola nut.
No I cannot do the Pre-ride with him on Friday because I am going on this wondrous journey with Mark (the GPS) Thomas, but of course I can come on Saturday and we do not have to leave till 2100 Saturday, lets start sleeping right away.
The biggest Pre-pre-ride challenge was to apportion the right amount of miserably little time left between sleep and logistics. Weather, Body Gear, Bike Gear, Food, Water, I am no superman I like to say. Truth is I am no Geoff Swarts either, the Spock of Randonneuring. Truth is I do like to leave somethings to chance. Well what did Nostradamus (my fond name for Geoffs Garmin 705) say; that we should cancel the ride based on the weather. I was now way past the point of no return. I had the good sense at least to call the Snug Harbor for an overnite room, the lady at the other end of the phone sounded puzzled, "the holidays" she retorted as if with a cigarette dangling between long nailed fingers "I have no room". I did not even realize that it was holidays, any day on a bike is holidays for me. I quickly called the Silver Beach Resort, they had the perfect room for me, with a door directly outside for the bikes, clearly this type of journey-man was not news to her. There was a Cinderella clause in the contract, at 2200 everything would turn back into a pumpkin, no problem we would be there at about1800.

Conventional "Rando Wisdom" if that is not an oxymoron holds if Pre-riders have bad weather, then the riders will have good weather. I wonder what the greats like Jan and Kent think about these superstitions. If there is any truth to it, I would immediately sign up for a challenging and gorgeous ride and to fall in love with the Goddess the Cascades with her sensuous curves outlined so delicately by the moon gradually rising above one of her crests. If not sign up anyway and here is what I took: baselayer long sleeve Smartwool, long sleeve Woolistics blue-shirt, Shower pass jacket, wool skull cap, waterproof hat, Ibex 3/4 length wool pants, wool leg warmers, booties, Endura 3/4 length water proof over pants. Ibex thin wool gloves, regular padded Pearl Izumi gauntlets and oversize wool mitt.

Nwachinemelu my black Specialized Roubaix with Mavic Ksyriums in the back and Mavic CXP 30's built by Joe Platzner with a Shcmidt hub in front powering an E3 light mounted on the right side of the skewer. Both aluminum rims with Dura-ace caliper brakes, 700 x 28 tires both in front and behind and fenders basically snap on race blades.
The Mystic Mjolnir my new rando Serotta Ottrot with the Dura ace triple in front, full size fenders, tubus rack and large front bag would have been my first choice but after 1200K things were stretched and needed tweaking, wrenching and there was no time. So I deluded myself into going lite for the climbing. In this thinking a carbon Topeak back rack was clamped unto the carbon seat post of the Roubaix with lite panniers to carry what I deem essentials; clothing, batteries, emergency light a Stella with a rechargeable battery 2-7hrs depending on intensity, and the outlet charger ( I find that electrical outlets are very easy to find out there), tools, spare tubes, spare tire CO2 canisters and micro-rocket hand pump. A Jandd triangular bag was suspended from her horizontal tube for food and Brevet paperwork and clamped on her carbon handlebars was an additional lite water bottle holder, in which I hold many different things like a bag of salty chips and of course water. I also added a Bento box solely for carrying my Olympus Stylus (though on the heavy side for a digital camera, has great shock and water resistance) as Kole indicated we may need images and my cell phone as it was important to make contact and respond if circumstances dictated. The cell phone though wrapped in a plastic bag stopped functioning from moisture before we reached Paradise.

As I drove to Enumclaw I asked myself, who was I kidding, I was going to be riding alone with Mr, Kantner, he had done this ride last year in an inspiring 27+ hours including an hour of sleep and an hour lost in a fog. He had been the first one in on the last HPC to windy ridge. The only thing I had going was lots of miles in my legs, and the fact that Kole seemed to want me to come with him. Was he grossly over-estimating me, I promised myself to tell him early that he could ride away anytime he chose as I am quite comfortable riding by myself.
At Enumclaw I suggested we get a receipt at Safeway where I parked, we rode down to the Start Motel and departed promptly at 2100, following the RAMROD route to the park entrance, we enjoyed cool weather initially clear skies and a madman's moon. Eatonville I had no needs and did not really look for a store. By Elbe I was beginning to consider pre-ride logistics and noted two bars where open, clearly a congregation point for the holidays, I wondered if they would serve for water or food during the ride itself but it had no pull for me. Beware the railroad tracks in the Elbe area, its acute angle, one of which is unmarked by a sign, it can quick-end a Brevet especially when wet. We ignored another open bar at Ashford but stopped at the Nisqually entrance of the Park for more clothing as it progressively got more cloudy, windy, cold and wet.
I told myself that this was good weather for climbing and Imagined stopping at some point to strip off my Jacket and climb in my blue shirt, but it just got more blustery and my caloric needs shot up, I ate everything I was carrying and accepted every offer from Kole. Paradise and I am a little shaken. the Inn doors are open and I walk in. My first concern is that my cell stopped working a long time ago and I head straight for their pay phones, good news! all is quiet on that front, this could be fun, then I see the dude sleeping on the couch in front of a fireplace. The other fireplace at the Inn has an empty couch where I sit and consider my cold wet shivering self and then its time to go.
The descent from Paradise I found challenging, I was truly surprised by the poor performance of my brakes, this robbed a lot of my confidence, so I prayed for the little three mile climb in between to raise my core temp. Without the stopping power on demand it was a slow ride down that mountain in that weather condition, a steep learning curve, I will just have to try disc brakes one day if I make it out of here.

Dusk light and better visibility brought more confidence but this hour also is programmed for sleep in my DNA, I Ignored the Kola fearing caffeine on my empty stomach. We pushed for Packwood were from 0600 eating places start to open we had a choice of eating places and settled on a restaurant recommended by a bystander. I stuffed eggs, meat, potatoes, bread into my face, it went down easy. We filled the bottles and it was time to go, on the road to Randle Kole told me that he had averaged close to 25mph on this stretch the previous time and I remembered averaging over 20mph at the start of the HPC in 2007, surely I had improved as a cyclist since then, but today I had to be content with a slower pace, in time my legs would warm up. A routine stop at Randle and then the climb to the Windy Ridge, we were pelted with cold wind driven rain, it was hard calorie consuming work. Kole stuck by me, he is by far a better climber than I am, yes I can generate watts on a bike but I need rests in between, at least I can rest on a bike by backing off the pace. Windy Ridge true to its name greeted us with icy wind blasts gusting up to 40mph.

The descent was a mixed bag, there is a little store open before the T junction of 26/99 with bare bones selection, mixed in with some little climbing like up to Bear Meadows, in the daylight we could let it rip, slowing at a point for a herd of Elk. We stopped before Randle this time just to strip of clothes and pushed on to Packwood. Stopped at the gas station at the junction of US 12 and Skate Creek Road and had Tacos and took care of various bodily functions before heading up the US 12 to White Pass. The Weather was reasonable at this point but we were off our projected time table. I encouraged Kole to ride ahead because of Cinderella Clause and get keys to the overnite at the Silver Beach Resort. I was mesmerized by the moon a sight that I cannot aptly describe as I crested White Pass alone. Then it all changed, I got hit by a squall that I could not imagine was there. Another nasty descent brought me to the Silver Beach at 2205, Kole was already in one of the double or was it triple beds, he had made it there 45mins earlier.
I took off my jacket my very wet leg warmers and booties and shoes, and shivering like a pine in the wind. I went to bed crunching on chips Kole had bought at Packwood and left out by my nightstand, now the only source of calories, we should have loaded up at Packwood.

I woke spontaneously about an hour and some change later and saw Kole upright, I got myself together and we left, the Squall now gone we went tearing down US 12 getting concerned a little about time. At the junction with the 410 we started our long ascent to Chinook Pass. Kole seemed to be fighting sleep, I was fighting fatigue. Kole got a flat and fixed it quite fast, I pushed him to ride on ahead. After Clifdell where I was able to find a working payphone to call in, he stepped it up and I was kinda glad to be left alone to find a firing solution for my muscles and I did. I was able to kick it up way more than a notch. 2-3 miles to the top of Chinook Pass I saw Kole stopped, I believe he was waiting for me, I rode past him and heard him say something about me flying up the hill, I think he was surprised given my earlier fatigue. He rode easily up to me and asked where I found the energy I muttered that I had cried for this Brevet what else could I do. I passed Kole again as he stopped at the top to gear for the descent, I did not care anymore and just plunged down the mountain riding both brakes in yet another Squall that appeared as we crested the pass. The rear brakes seemed to do absolutely nothing and the front brakes when pulled too hard seemed to make a concerning metallic sound. I guided my apathetic self to the Sunrise road where Kole came up behind me and we raced to the White River Campgrounds. His smile came back, we have lots of time now he said but we have to tell Jan about the lack food between Packwood and Greenwater. Re-fueled by Greenwater I drafted at a steady tempo behind Kole till he flatted again, we decided to meet at the Mud Mountain area where I would scope out an information control question. The exhilarating descent from the Mud Mountain area brought us to the Finish, we had less than 2 hours to spare.

A cautionary note: the most difficult aspect of this Brevet was the drive home and I live less than an hour away in Federal Way. Get some sleep if you need to, driving or riding it will be the best Motel money you ever spent.

Forever grateful to Kole, Jan and Ryan

Kryptonite

2009-08-11T20:34:00.000-07:00

Remember the heat!
Like Dave Matthews I ain't no superman, but a day in the mountains is a good day.
But with the kinda heat we had, I call it "Kryptonite"

Whats up Glen, Cell don't work up here, I say that's good.

Geoff suggests we enter the dragon, head up to gravel road in that heat to Bon Jon pass.

I must have been driving him crazy, kept calling it Bon Jovi Pass, the path less taken.
Suggested by Bill Gobie to Sequim and the shining sea. Yes there were bugs, horse fly, deer fly, you just have to keep moving. The Bees would draft along for a while and then Attack!

Down to Sequim where the Poplars break the wind and perhaps the sweet soap smell of lavender.

Oh! for summer by the sea, for grown-ups.

As well as kids

and the odd in between.

Its all Flotsam and Jetsam

And then more Lavender.

Got Soap? Mr salt monster man of the Bainbridge Ferry!

Because the very next day you have to show up to ride with the Road Czar and two of his strong buddies, the last bastions of free un-organized cycling. While everyone else seems possesed with riding around the old grand volcano (the lite version) we will go to the younger more active one.

They accept my suggestion to climb on 26 and descend on 25.

Initially protected by shade we rapidly find Kryptonite. And the bugs get very BUGSY
The Czar saves my day by stopping at the little store before Windy Rigde and carrying water to the ridge. They have bottled water in a cooler, No Ice!

Or I might have drowned in Spirit lake seeking cool refreshing release.
Back at Randall we are all pretty knackered.
Like Dave Matthews I ain't no superman.

Go Lahar BC

Sunrise-Chinook-Sunrise

2009-07-19T13:56:00.000-07:00

The Native Planet cycling group do one thing, they climb up hills and descend and repeat, and yes they are a very sociable group. Their Tuesday evening training ride is basically 3000 feet in 20 miles in the Issaquah alps and the Thursday ride have hills nicknamed "Goat Hill" "Death Threat" "Guillotine".
When Rosemarie the ride coordinator scheduled Sunrise-Chinook-Sunrise, an 85 mile ride with just under 9000 feet of climbing and descending as recorded by my VDO, I was in.
The Club plans its ride to accommodate what they define as Social, Moderate, Strenuous and Super strenuous. The ride is set up so that at any point if you change your mind you could just wheel around and coast to your car. This ride was definitely not a social one, I was going to have to be ready to spend the day with people who do not mind being in the red zone.

Traffic was a strong presence with the glacier that brilliant.

Starting from the Crystal Mountain parking lot there is water at the bottom of the Sunrise climb at the Ranger station and also at the visitor center at Sunrise at over 600o feet above sea level.

Also the park authorities were letting in cyclists for free on this day. Otherwise you have to pay $5.00 at the gate for the day without a season pass.

The first climb up to Sunrise I was having odd aches and pain, with the abrupt warm-up.
Going up to Chinook I was beginning to find my legs. It was not that difficult to repeat Sunrise, but no time for photos this time.
I took the last one on a little bonus climb from the east side of Chinook pass.

Hamburger and beer at the Naches Tavern in Green Water with good friends after the ride, and home to catch tour action.

I think Fairwind had a great time, she was dressed for it and felt light as a feather and stiff as a board.

Go Astana

For You

2009-07-17T01:22:00.000-07:00

There is a magazine I flip thru all the while
Tells a story of a man-child on a bike
And there are digital images here and there
Images that I would seek to share

Pictures that show the Rando way
The way that I seek to live today
Of course there are thoughts that could be only mine
Relics that are fading out with time

So for the recumbent that ploughed the air for me
For the mountain top that enabled me to see
For the rider that showed up on demand
For the blogger that helped me understand

And I still find tantalizing things now and then
Mesmerizing things, inexplicable Zen
Leftovers from brevets that I rode
Rode, loved and cherished on the road

Thanx to the three volcanoes

Icarus Flies

2009-07-12T11:21:00.000-07:00

At least for a while.
When Geoff called for a ride of SIR permanent 0187 counter clockwise, multiplicity was aligning.
When he was non responsive to the kind suggestion of BunnyHawk to consider the more humane forecast of Sunday as opposed to Saturday there was not even a hint of duality left. This is a near perfect example of what I call "high and hot training". How could I resist.
Like Icarus the wax that hold my wings together melt in the sun.
If you have no life and have managed to read my playful treatment of the Fleche.
"The sun comes up on Icarus
Its so cold the night clothes stayed
Yet it lights the maps and diagrams
That Geoff and Mark had made"
So don't get me wrong I like the sun and the light, I just melt when the temperatures push past the seventies as towards the sun I pedal in frequently exposed areas.

AKA the mountains, my first love on a bike, more duality for I do not have the morphology of a climber. I have to power up a hill and generate a lot of heat, my body then has an inappropriate response, by pouring out salt and water from all my skin, the things that I need to keep in right then. To boot this response is not a very efficient coolant in proportion to the losses. To complicate the picture the body has to ration critical blood flow, the working muscles are a priority right then, the exaggerated response steals blood flow to the skin short-changing the gut who has the arduous task of replacement.
I am a salt looser, not all bad, I have a blood pressure that would make a 20 year old seem unhealthy, though both sides of my family do have high BP, and my body type has protected me in many a crash.
Whatever! I know that I am not unique, people before me have overcome this, need adjustments.
First adjustment was to ride in winter, more duality, I am African and was born there.
I tell you I work better when I am cool, but winter riding is a whole different game and the mountain roads are closed.
Time for hot and high training.
I was pleasantly surprised at the interest in the ride (9 or 10 of us) and early in the morning ran into Charlie White at Enumclaw Safeway as I scrambled to get cans of Ensure. I was slightly embarrassed and remained so for the rest of the day because of my white skins, I generally wear black bottoms and just felt that I looked kinda stupid.
It was cold in Greenwater and I was eager to get going before it heated up.
Michael Wolfe was another pleasant surprise, recently trans located to Seattle I have always admired his riding and his optimism. As usual Michael wanted to get going and I had to pedal rather hard to get to the tail of his Baccheta, perhaps I should have saved it for Chinook. But it was cool and protected by old growth forest and I just liked to see a recumbent go uphill that fast as we climbed to the first pass, Cayuse. A few hundred feet from Cayuse as it got more exposed I backed off and let him go, only to be joined from behind by Eric Anderson Sporting a few gears, now thats always dangerous. Unimpeded descent down Hwy 123 to go join Hwy 12 with Eric in front we were joined at the junction by Charlie "Big Watts" White. As we headed up to white pass, the training conditions that I call "Kryptonite" were materializing. Again I let them both go concentrating on not sweating too much. All four of us met at the White pass control and if I was concerned about my white skins, a look in the bathroom mirror left me horrified. I washed the gobs of salt of my face and arms, filled my water bottles and chased after the already departed three with no thoughts of really catching them.

It was a pretty descent through Rimrock, into a stiff head wind. I like to believe the lake had a cooling effect, but past the lake playing "Snakes and Ladders" with the Tieton River the temps began to fly, by the junction with Hwy 410 we were well in the nineties. Now for tailwinds to help climb the last pass, it was marginal at best and had the effect of making the air seem still. I concentrated only on making it to the Cliffdell control and there lay a few surprises, I ran into my three fellow Randos though Michael was just getting ready to leave, I arranged for him to carpool with me. I spent a little time recovering with Charlie and Eric and was also surprised by young ladies in bikinis. Out in Cliffdell! I guess a river runs through it.

I bade the boys farewell as they left, taking a little more time again to clean off salt, today it was Allure Libre. The final climb put me face to face with a good number of the dilenmas. I was careful to go slower than I felt like and yet I could feel the overheat, I opted not to use water from multiple sources to douse myself, and rationed my 2 big bottles of ice water. The 3rd bottle was a mixture of maltodextrin and honey to make it palateable and this supplemented with 2 cans ensure had been total source of calories. I had spaced out the endurolytes and had a V8 at Cliffdell, but felt quite sure that I was behind after the glances in the mirror. First problem was that I had a really hot right foot and resorted to pulling instead of pushing the pedal which caused the hamstring to complain. Now I was anxious about having a spasm, so more fluids, more electrolytes, calories and a hyperventilation to send hopefully more oxygen to cover the debt. The last 3 miles was the steepest, toughest, exposed, and my VDO was reading 96 to 97 degrees. Eventually my gut starts to get queezy but I have already chewed some mylanta. I drip some precious cold water on my right Sidi (shoes) which are extra wide and a I have already maximally loosened the straps. I decide that pain is temporary but a hamstring spasm is bad news so I resume pushing the pedal. Best decision was to stop at the parking lot a 100 feet or so from the top, after this it was business as usual but everyone was in the mood for fun.

A bomb down and a little work brought me to my three friends at the final control at Green Water.
As we are driving towards Seattle, Michael tells me "you are not supposed to mix complex carb (maltodextrin) with simple sugar (honey)", now for a new formula.

Thanx for the advice Michael

Reckless Rando

2009-07-09T09:56:00.000-07:00

Running! Reckless! Rando!
I have been three days on the road.
Northwest Days early in July
That blow hot and cold.

Out on the vast seclusion of nowhere
The split tongue wind speaks.
In my face about my attitude,
Nudging me on with a gentle breeze.

She says; there are snakes on a brevet
And there are eagles up above.
What are you, dragging mud flaps in the dust,
A hawk, or a dove?

I said; I come also from a rain forest,
Given some wit, and a lot of spleen.
Last nite I dreamed of the old ways
As fireworks lit up Aberdeen.

My soul cried for those old eagle ways
Knowing how much I have tried.
But the wind laughed at me
Saying; your snake cannot be denied.

My snake empties a Fosters oil can
And checks out the woman at the bar.
Know when you put me on your endangered list
I am so much like you are.

Frightened of the unknown altitude
When will this mountain crest?
Endless struggle between yes and no
Out on the line once more for saying; yes!

That nite under stars and stripes
In the home of the brave and the free.
Both reckless and afraid;
Definitely duality, if not multiplicity.

Behind my motel door,
The snake and the eagle are at war.
The snake wants nothing in the way of the mission,
The eagle seeks clarity of vision.

Strange trinkets these battles win
These highs and these lows.
What about the bragging rights?
Who has more suffering to show?

So we ride up to clear vistas
And disguise our fears with a smile.
There is enlightenment and danger,
Living The Rando lifestyle.

I touched you on the road my kin,
Three shadows overlap on an open field,
Where neither snake or eagle will yield,
To me it was skin to skin.

Thanks to my son Ugonna (Eagle of his father)
AKA Ugo (Eagle)

A Blue Shirt Runs Through It

2009-06-23T06:13:00.000-07:00

Having read "Ready to Ride", the choice for the ORRando 1000K was a no-brainer, but typical of the ORRando's they put it out there on the wire. My attention to the ORRando mailing list became taut. Oh Yes! they made the right choice and I learned from a note from Susan France that only 2 riders had ever done Portland to Glacier unsupported, Mark Thomas and Greg Cox.
How Romantic, I was getting needy, one big bulkhead there, it would not be possible to escape my mundane world on the day of the ride.
Was it possible, Maybe! Perhaps? then word on the street was that Susan had invited Mark and Greg to do the Pre-Ride, everything in me was buzzing now. Oh No! Greg was committed already on the Pre-ride weekend, I was ready to shine Marks shoes, and I mean his mountain bike shoes for a month.
When word came from Mark that Geoff Swarts and I could come, I was too happy to remember how tired I should be.
We three had ridden a few Permanents together and I already liked the Chemistry. Most Rando are minimalists of sorts and the way I see it Mark is a minimalist for nonsense and foolishness (never mind the facade), Geoff is a minimalist for waste and time (the logistics type that knows when the store will open and close), and Vincent? well, from what I read, a minimalist on negative ideation. Too bad, but I think I would have really enjoyed a long ride with Greg Cox, Maybe one day?

With Nwachinemelu fully loaded as seen here at Dusty in front of Mark's Serotta, We left Troutdale just before dawn and headed in the drizzle to the Vista House were the Vista was all fog. Already we managed to get between a Baby Elk and Mummy Elk.

The door was locked, no shelter from the barely palpable northwest drizzle, we were off to our next challenge, crossing the Bridge of the Gods in the drizzle.

Our Serpent would not be denied and soon assisted by a solid breakfast at Lyle, we were rolling serpentine from left to right and up and down the Columbia River Gorge with a magnificent tail wind.

The Temps were going only one way which was Up, forcing stops to strip off pieces of clothes.
But with that Tailwind it was possible to catch up.

Caught up with a Tandem, nice couple from Davis California, fully loaded and headed for Portland Maine, shared time at Roosevelt WA.

They stayed, we left into the warming air and then to turn north out of the good wind, climbing out of the gorge unto a rolling plateaux, before the sweet descent into Kennewick.

At Subway I predicted that Fairwinds would soon have us in Connell, I was barred from making any predictions after that, we even ran into quicksand. Made the overnite in time for decent sleep but not in time for any decent food. I roiled my belly that night, trying to grab omnivore calories and woke up a little concerned, but I knew my bike was the solution. If I just rode at the right tempo my gut would start working again, and it did, at the Arby's at Colfax where I had 2 beef sandwiches, no curly fries please. After that I was able to tolerate caffeine and it helps.
I sensed that the next stage to Plummer was pivotal, but the Palouse was inspiring.

After lasagna and chicken in Plummer as we entered Idaho we got on their beautiful bike trail.
Which took us down to their big lake.

And this trail ran flat and for miles, interrupted only by whitetail deer leaping across.

It was a battle of attrition as our average speed stumbled downward. In the end, the trail won, as darkness crept in and we had to bow away from the still eastward trail to our overnite in Wallace. Again too late for a decent meal, vowing not to make the mistakes of yesterday I settled for beer, chips and sleep. I could almost taste white fish.

So you are a blue shirt, and you like mountains, and 700k into the ride is a mountain 300k, you wake up early and you start climbing the first pass, you passed (no pun intended) on a few bonus miles to breakfast, maybe! Then another call to skip breakfast before Thompson Pass the second and bigger with a long 8% grade. The maltodextrin was getting old, Mark offered me a precious Ensure and it was so, so, good. I will put that in my care package list. I stymied the stomach acid with antacids but I knew it was the right call unless I wanted to reclaim that breakfast.

The temperature was great for climbing, but we were all sweating at the top and then gearing up for a cold descent.
Excellent breakfast at Thompson falls, felt renewed and now daring to think how many miles left, we were in Montana.

One should really be of good behavior in Plains Montana, but we just had to go and make a left turn north and a hot muggy climb unto a rolling plateau that passes through Hot Springs.
It reminded me of the climb at the Warm Springs Indian reservation in Oregon, was I just making word associations?
No time for sniveling, Geoff had made a mental reservation.

We were jilted, as the lone pine behind the closed store rustled in the mild north wind without as much as a morsel to offer. This was perhaps the low point as quite out of character from this point my head phones remained lowered. Preferring to listen to the few words of my companions and mostly their silence.

It was Big Sky alright stretching on for what seemed like forever with an irritating 1% grade mixed in with some rollers, not that we were bored or nothing because everyone and their cousin was pulling a trailer at max speed on that shoulder less road. So Flathead Lake was a sight to see.

We still had to work for our late lunch with big rollers around the lake to the Dairy Queen in Lakeside a saver.

My friends were ready to muzzle me when I predicted again that we would "thread the needle" and escape all the thunder, lightening and rain in the forecast.
I almost had it, but in Kalispell the Sky started crying and the streets were filled with tears.
Big rain came down and washed 3 days of salt from our Blue Shirts.

Thanks to Mark, Geoff, Susan, Greg
Nels for the ride, and Peg it was all you said it would be.

Paradise

2009-06-15T20:04:00.000-07:00

Dad is visiting from Isseke, his beloved village to where he retired, the birthplace of one Gustavus Vassa (Olaudah Equiano), the first African Slave to produce literary documentation of his passage.
Concerns about his vision brought him this time, and his daughter and my sister Vivian was kind enough to visit with him taking the opportunity to visit her son in Seattle University (Trudy's Alma Mater).
Dad's Name is Vincent also but don't call me Vincent Two as that belongs to Peter "The Great" and certainly not Junior as nobody in my family or in my Igbo roots calls me Vincent (The Christian name), to them I am known as Emeka.
I thought the best medicine for my guilt for disappearing on the weekends on Rando business was to show him what we do. So off to the Nisqually Entrance of Mount Rainier National Park. Vivian drove Vincent while Trudy and Emeka rode to Paradise. We all had Ice Cream up there and Trudy and I almost beat them to the bottom.
He assures me he would do it again, so he must have liked it.
For this I am grateful.

Sailin' thru Port Orchard

2009-06-08T13:26:00.000-07:00

The Prineville Principle

2009-06-05T15:22:00.000-07:00

Arrived at Prineville hungry and enthusiastic to ride in the cool of the night, had a delicious bowl of pasta. I had been craving chicken on the pedaling descent from Ochoco Pass, and the Apple Peddler was a big temptation. The Principle: Riding Thru!
At Overnite,
"fill the belly
before
jolting the brain"
After the Caffeine I looked miserably at the second bowl of pasta, and my gut did not disappoint. I nursed her like "Wounded Knee" all the way to The Dalles. Mylanta, Thanx Geoff for the chiropractic adjustment, mostly I put very little down, but riding in the early cool helped. Ice cream at the suggestion of Peter (you rock) at Maupin, to my surprise, felt good.
Tygh Rigde, Heartbreak Hill, Whatever!
I put down 40% of a big water bottle (100 % water) the whole way from the bottom at the Deschutes River, to the finish line where the pull of Sandman overcame the nausea. The other 30 big bottles from sprinklers, irrigation channels and of course Scott Peterson I thank you. They went all over my body and everytime a gentle breeze passed, it felt like the breath of a lost lover.

The Dude
I Salute You

Even Stevens

2009-06-01T09:51:00.000-07:00

This Ephrata Moon shines on in my memory, harbinger of a magical day of such beauty that left me so bewitched that I forgot my eyewear at control twice. Perhaps the lapses of memory were Freudian (some need to see things more clearly)? Maybe just the result of body composition derangement and its attendant mental confusion. This is my second 400K and there were major similarities. I call on Freud to explain that again and he suggests that I use them for my wake up call. I remember riding under the stars from Electric City to Ephrata sorely in need of salt water and sugar but expelling rather than absorbing gut contents. Then came the lunatic smile, as I thought, I am killing a lot of body fat, but that is not the way to do it as there is also breakdown of lean body mass. When will someone invent cycling clothing that cools you using solar power? Till then I have to figure this out, cycling is mostly a summer sport, if you cannot stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen.
By now everyone remotely interested knows "Vinny's Panacea" "ride a permanent or two and call me in the morning", this time out of the "briar patch" to Wenatchee "Home of the Crank".
There are two 200K permanents from Redmond to Wenatchee, RUSA 0122 and 0110 and they are both reversible.
I tried not to leave too early as I wanted to climb in the heat, could not resist stopping at the bakery in Cle Elum and then Blewitt obliged hot and high. At the top I saw SIR legendary climber dancing on the pedals of a tandem. I yelled out to Kole as he disappeared in the other direction, then concluded that It was just "Summit Fever".
Nice drop to the US 2 and fairwinds on the rollers to East Wenatchee, yes it was hot, 91 F at least.
The control in Wenatchee, now called "The Inn by the River" was fully booked so I got a Corona at the Casino next door for my receipt. They recommended a place next block, they seemed happy to have me, they also promised as I requested a 0400 wake up call that they would have breakfast that early as part of the deal.

The Room was quite adequate and they let me take my bike upstairs with no fuss (always a bonus). But they had no restaurant.

Settled in, my focus went to fuel, top of the list of things that I have to work out, nutrition on and off the bike. One small problem, shoes, not enough room in those weenie panniers for shoes. I would rely on "fast talking".

I declined the easiest option.

Was told straight up that I could not dine without shoes, but after they heard my tale, I was allowed to sip beer and wait for my order.

Back to the Cedars Inn for my Feast, it was excellent.

Moist Chicken and Cow muscle for protein, declined the fries,whole grain bread instead and salad of course. How good that tasted after a whole day of maltodextrin. Nothing gives me confidence on a bike like a good appetite.

The reason I chose the earlier wake up on the return, yes that picture of the Columbia River where I would have to go to Re-"Check the condition, my condition was in", but I did not know that at the time. My silly plan was to escape the wind, I rode into a strong headwind and while I was goo-goo ga-ga over the River it occurred to me that next control Leavenworth was not very far, with a strong headwind it could be missed. So back to work already. Did not have a good appetite for breakfast (bad sign) at Cedars, nothing jumped at me at the subway in Leavenworth so back to maltodextrin V8 and Choc milk yum!
But the mountains are always grand.

And that is where I was headed, for a photo shoot:

So if you read this and you have that shot of me cooling on the ice of Stevens SIR spring 08 400K, know that I would love a copy and that I still suffer overheat and gut issues, but I will do whatever I can to keep rolling. Stevens, she still confuses me I thought she would block the wind but faced headwinds from Wenatchee to Monroe.
Have you ever had to read a cue sheet in reverse, because you cannot trust your Garmin? Tough!

I Thank Mike Norman and Shane Balkovetz

The Osprey and the Rando

2009-05-26T18:08:00.000-07:00

Sez the Rando to the Osprey:
You don't remember?

The summer skies hue,
Or the the symphony in blue.

Osprey:
I was not there friend,
Everything comes to an end.

Rando:
Then fly to your tomorrow,
Leave me to my sorrow.

Thanx to Ralph "eagle eyes" Nussbaum

Ring The Bell Twice

2009-05-25T18:00:00.000-07:00

Canadian poet Leonard Cohen admonishes us in a song to do the things we love to do, never mind the imperfections. It is from these imperfections that enlightenment comes.
Due largely to the clemency of the weather the weekend before the Ephrata 400K. I loaded Hatsumomo and her new gearing (now a double instead of a triple) unto my Pogo Stick and we were off towards Canada.
The Bell, Bellingham for back to back 200k permanents, first to Elger Bay, Camano Island and back and day two to Fort Casey, Whidbey island and back.
Most impressive was in between. After the return from Elger Bay it was a no-brainer not to drive to Federal way and back.
Found an Econolodge a little north of town.

I convinced them to an extra $2 discount and took a ground floor room, perfect for the bike. After shower I rode into town, and the natives were loving the weather, people, free live music, lots of Margaritas and Canadian flags.
I kept thinking that this would be a great caper with a group of friends, me! I must be insufferable.
Finally settled on a Mexican restaurant called Jalapenos.

Extra salt with the chips please.
I highly recommend if you have a sweet tooth like me, Ice Cream at Mallard
Ran into the Captain on the way there, no blood relative I presume.

As soon as I had the Vanilla, (next time I must try the Rhubarb) my mind became fixed on Fort Casey so I hit the sack. But not before gathering with a few natives.

To validate this sunset.

Within 36 hours I rode Chuckanut Drive four times (as well as the Skagit Flats). On the final return I thought the "Drive" must be ready to "chuck this nut" but the feeling was not mutual. I really love it especially in the early morning.
Mark Thomas once told me that a flat tire has more to do with your karma than the tire that you were last heard extolling its virtues. What I am saying is that it is not in my karma to retain salt and water like a camel in the Sahara, nor will I ever win the "David Zabriskie award" for cutting through wind.
Winds in the Skagit, I could pass.

Thanx to "Meester Secret Control Man", I learn something every time our paths cross.

Jumbo Mambo

2009-05-10T20:40:00.000-07:00

Be careful what you wish, it may come true.
I was invited by a friend to ride the Jumbo Mambo
Another friend joined in, this is synchronicity for in my "kitchen Swahili" (perhaps because Africans patronize their friends by calling them "chief") I would call my friends Jumbo.
Also these guys are tall and good to hide behind in the Skagit.
They rode quick by my standards.

But still had time to break Mambo bread.
Geoff thinks this one is a winner.

Gratitude for permanents AT seattlerando DOT org

Mambo-jumbo

2009-05-07T19:04:00.000-07:00

I am sure that is what I sound like quite often.
I ramble on:
After poking fun, the fleche got me thinking, 360 km that is the distance you must cover every 24hrs to remain in the in the good one of the 2 columns. If it was a brevet how long would it have taken.
This is of significance specially in the multi-day rides. If you cover the 360 in 24hrs or more then you must ride on with no stop. I am also thinking that the only place that a 200k helps (in a multi-day ride) is in the second day of a 600k.
As these multi-day rides loom, is the 200k permanent still good training.
Tell me.
I am thinking that to be comfortable, if such a state is possible, with the 1000, 1200, and higher.
At least mix in and be somewhat comfortable with the 300 to 400k permanents.
What are those? Where? How many?
Well! battle innoculation, start with a 250k
Whidbey Mambo!
How did I do? I cut off 3hrs from last years time, mostly from better navigation, this is very important, I think, and skipping the Mambo. Yes there were winds in the Skagit and Traffic lights in Everett just when you really don't care to race them.
Running half awake and wide alive, ran into unprecedented traffic.

And Tulips

And still Daffodils

Daylight from start to the finish.

Thanks to Ward who stopped to chat as we crossed on Whidbey.

Amigos

2009-04-26T22:41:00.000-07:00

Back in my vast seclusion,
Could it have all been in vain.
Fleche-Freedom just an illusion?
Hammering around my brain.

I realize
To my surprise
The Images still flood my eyes.

Lacey

Amy et amis

Montesano

Monte-"say, are we there yet"-no!

Westport

I don't care about fish!
Gimme a guy with BIG Big Miles.

Aberdeen

Matlock

The sun comes up on Icarus
Its so cold the night clothes stayed,
Yet it lights the maps and diagrams
That Geoff and Mark have made.

Kamilche

Are you serious we have to wait till 1300?
I am ready to decaffeinate this ride.

Olympia

Here in the midst of the Cyclos
Washed up on triremes of war
Trying to assist our egos
But the pressure is hard to ignore

Special gratitude to Carol and Ralph.

3 Capes and a Pilgrim

2009-04-20T21:33:00.000-07:00

As I rode past the Trappist Abbey in Lafayette, OR with Sam Huffman. The Chant came to me.

Oh Lord of truth, oh God of might.
Who orders time and change aright.
Who sent the early morning ray.
And lights the glow of perfect day.
Extinguish now each sinful fire.
And banish every ill desire.
And while you make the body whole.
Set forth your peace upon the soul.

Easter morning Pilgrims just outside the cloister.

"Peter Abbott" as we fondly refer to Abbott Peter has done some amazing things.

Including a radiant new chapel.

Nor did it take away anything from old places of solitude,

and collective meditation.

The grounds remained magnificent and serene.

Prompting a stroll through the field of dreams.

To the unassuming alabaster shrine to the Virgin Morena of Guadalupe.

Cadence and cascades
Once kept Vince in his jade
Cool in the shade.

Thanx again Sam

Echelons

2009-04-08T00:06:00.000-07:00

There is an African saying "that when a strong wind blows, the mighty Iroko is felled, but the grass, they bend over and let it pass". I told this to George "Big Guns" Metzler as we worked together in that memorable desert wind from Willcox to Tombstone. His reply; "In that case my ass is grass".
The Arizona Desert supports very few trees, and the grass, their biggest problem is water. The excellent logistics of the Pactour crew provided ample hydration. The wind was no stranger, I had ridden in a three man echelon with the legend ultracyclist Lon Haldeman and Scott "The Mast" Stinnett in big winds breaking on the side of the wind every half-mile as we approached Douglas Az. A good tutorial, but it did not prepare me for the march into Safford Az. See the Video:

We had ample warning about the stage from Willcox to Tombstone, and it came on the heels of the previous day, a mountain stage with a climb to Mount Graham peaking at 9200 ft. This was followed by a second lesser climb that proved to be the Guillotine. Soon after we left Willcox, Mark "Windjammer" Thomas, found his legs and was in Tombstone before the Motel keys were available. So I worked with George, Doc Stinett, Phil "n' Good" Misek and Ivan "The not so Terrible" Umble. We blended our individual power for more efficient travel to Tombstone. The road did not belong to us and the shoulders were pretty bad, with a strong cross wind from the left, the echelon stretched from left to right, it required almost absolute attention. 3 miles from Tombstone and we do a right hand turn for the only fair-winds of the day and I get my only flat of the tour, I watched them fade into the distance but not before reminding George to check in his guns at the Sherriffs in town. Right there was John "The" Kramer, he had more than his fair share of mechanicals in this tour, but it had not touched his "other worldly" smile. As we got to Tombstone we were both ready to bury that day in Boothill Cemetary.
Next and final stage to Tucson was to be almost as windy, after an exhilarating descent to lunch, George, Peter "The Great" Beeson and I decided to end this thing.

Endorphins ran high.

And stayed High.

We of the Echelons, all thank the crew.

Please save a bone for Bisti our mascot.

Mt. Graham Az.

2009-04-02T22:56:00.000-07:00

If I could change, I would
Take all the pain, I would
Trace every wrong move that I made, I would
If I could stand up and take the blame, I would
I would take all my shame to the grave.
But it's easier to run...

Linkin Park

Thanx to Nano and Pactour

BlackDiamond and Snow

2009-03-23T13:42:00.000-07:00

What snow?

Thanks Joe P. for the Pic.

Ride On: 09

2009-03-19T04:33:00.000-07:00

Seems just like yesterday you were young
So free, and so strong.
Now there's a creak in your knees
And so many people to please.
Caught in the lug-lines of steel and titanium,
You bent low in the stiff breeze.
Come out mechanic, navigator, racer
And ride.

Departed for the fleche after noon
And howled at the moon.
Protected by softshell at night,
Lost salt in daylight.
Knew locations, closing times, of all the services
Slept in the post office.
Mount the saddle recumbent, tandem, fixie
And ride.

No one knows where you are
How near, how far.
Did not make control today, fine!
We are all running out of time.
So go! man-child, no winners, no losers
Just ride.

Note:
Hatsumomo gets new shoes; I have read that women think of shoes as often as men think about s-x. I hardly believe that is true of T-bunny or Obia my 14 going 25 year old. But a Geisha, that might be quite a different story. I planned to ride Hatsu for SIR 09 populaire, she has a third chain ring. So the day before I took her up to the Ranger Station by the Carbon Glacier. The "plan" was to "gain time" in the rain and to "take time" in the snow.
She brought me home safely but the pre-populaire inspection revealed the toll that rough weather riding can exact. (Fairwind usually a fair weather friend got the populaire).
Funny! on East Sammamish, heading north, I thought I heard Hatsu humming; "there must be 50 ways to leave your lover"
Perhaps?
But I think she deserves new shoes.

In admiration of Kole (rode single speed)

U-Turn

2009-03-14T22:05:00.000-07:00

Ran into the road closed sign.

He said U-turn.

Back through the eye of the needle.
But the rain helped though, made it slushy and ride-able especially when climbing, a good section of the descent was with one foot unclipped and probably as slow as the climbing.

Second visit to Cumberland, spotted two Rain-birds, riding Amy's Permanent.
I tried to exchange secret control initials with them, but they were on a Bee line to Renton.
Days like today the bike gets the worse of it.

Thanks Eric for work on my new fit.

Chuckanut Redemption

2009-03-06T21:23:00.000-08:00

Within drafting distance of the black hole.
Redemption came in the form of;

Joe, Mark and Geoff.
I like to call it the Chuckanut redemption.

Recall the Shawshank Redemption? Where Andy Dufresne crawls through half a mile of sh-t to come out smelling like a rose.
The whole time the sun poured down like Honey on the coves and the bluffs.
Eleven miles left and we turn west towards Elger Bay and rode into the sunset.
Just like a Spaghetti Western;
The Good, The Bad and The..... well as the name (Chuckanut) implies The Simply Crazy!

Thanx Mark for ordering up the weather.

Birds of Appetite

2009-03-02T19:19:00.000-08:00

We of the road know;

"Where there is carrion lying, meat-eating birds circle and descend. Life and death are two. The living attack the dead, to their own profit. The dead lose nothing by it. They gain too, by being disposed of. Or they seem to, if you must think in terms of gain and loss. Do you then approach the study of Zen with the idea that there is something to be gained by it? This question is not intended as an implicit accusation. But it is nevertheless a serious question. Where there is a lot of fuss about "spirituality," "enlightenment" or just "turning on" it is often because there are buzzards hovering around a corpse. This hovering, this circling, this descending, this celebration of victory, are not what is meant by the Study of Zen- even though they may be a highly useful exercise in other contexts. And they enrich the birds of appetite.
Zen enriches no one. There is no body to be found. The birds may come and circle for a while in the place it is thought to be. But they soon go elsewhere. When they are gone, the "nothing" the "no-body" that was there suddenly appears. That is Zen. It was there all the time but the scavengers missed it, because it was not their kind of prey."

Thomas Merton

Three Rivers and a Rando

2009-02-18T03:52:00.000-08:00

So! I have my issues.

Once, I asked a retired Psychiatrist and a friend if he wrote a book what would he convey, without hesitation he relayed that he would explore the effects of childhood events on human behavior.
I was absolutely infatuated with my Mother as a little boy and hung un-ashamedly to her apron strings, often prompting the incredible and busy Lady who works till this day in Enugu as an Educator while raising 7 children to shoo me away.
Did this create a fear of abandonment? and did that create a fear of commitment?
I know that I was extremely lucky with my Parents, I am glad that they forged a sense of independence in me, but strange how we deal sometimes with our issues.
The abandonment issue reared again at the end of January, how did I deal with it? I ran to Geoff the "Mother" of the SIR permanents. Tired as he was just having finished a 200k that day with Mark he took the time to send me a card for the three rivers cruise.
Choosing this particular escape reeked of thoughtlessness, just over a week before there had been a major incident involving ice. I had overlooked this, focusing instead on the relative ease of this permanent an SIR favorite. I also overlooked how far north I had to drive from Federal Way.
0630 at Haggen in Arlington to prepare for planned 0700 departure, still a little groggy from a very early rise on a Friday morning for the hours long drive north, I found myself again lone Ronin, No! lone Rando! for in my foggy thinking, by then I have traversed enough terrain on two wheels to make secret claim to that title. But what really is a randonneur? I read something somewhere about an umbrella, something that we fondly refer to in this neck of the woods as a bumbershoot, a shelter for a smorgasbord of cyclists with different goals, abilities and riding styles not to overlook different levels of discretion which is supposed to be the better part of valor. Not to oversimplify there are a few rules and in some events perhaps too many rules, but the rules are hardly the essence of the game. For me it is certainly not racing, I witnessed recently a well respected and tenured Rando, who I had the priviledge of sharing a 1000K, a few mountain passes and varied road surfaces and ambient temperatures, declare B. S. and U turn when a traning ride took on a racing atitude. I also recently read a blog that lumped bike racing, bass fishing and bull riding in the same sentence, prompting me to ponder what they all had in common, obviously the Versus Channel if you watch cable but as my thoughts further crystallized and considering the recent history of racing I settled on "animal abuse". "Selective outrage and prosecution" I mumbled under my breath remembering an ex-Atlanta quarterback.

I see the essence of randonneuring as Distance, enough distance (both horizontal and vertical) to put a stamp on your character. Enough miles to learn from Gaia(mother earth), the capricious atmosphere that surrounds her, fellow randonneurs as diverse in personality as snowflakes, motorists, and Canadian Honkers as they fly above in perfect draft formation taking turns at the point. This is justification for the rules, how tempting the shortcuts if there are no rules. However cycling is mostly physics and distance is the product of speed and time, so speed to some extent opens up our options, but if you live by the sword you die by the sword, you still have to go the distance.

In my opinion "the Cherry on the pie" of our "sport" is "threading the needle", that is finding that narrow window in time, weather, roads sometimes almost washed away to complete what may seem as an insane adventure. Therein lies the beauty of the RUSA's R12 program for a 600K in June maybe very good filling for the Rando Pie, a mere 200K in January may require threading the needle.

As soon as I alight from the truck I immediately note that icicles have formed on "little wing" my black Cannondale, as well as almost everything on the parking lot.

I immediately consider quitting before I start, but reports from the usual unreliable sources called for warming later in the day and for warmer temperatures at Marblemount, though colder at Darrington. I decide to wait at least till dawn.

So, asks Krishna of the Myst
When does darkness succumb to light?
When is the day born of the night?
What is this dawn you speak of?
Is it when you can tell black top from black ice?
Or when you can see the tree line from the distance?
Ah! intuits Rando;
"It is when you look at the many and see the ONE".

So we all became ONE: the frost and the fogline.

The mountains and the fields.

The eagle and the tree.

And just after Darrington, with the words of Chief Seattle;
"Man does not weave the web of life
He is merely a strand in it
Whatever he does to the web
He does to himself".

Also three rivers.

Of course little wing and the sand that gave her traction.

I asked a puzzled motorist at the control in Marblemount to take a pic.
He asked where I was coming from?
Africa, I replied, but I am a Seattle Rando.
He reached for the disposable Fuji Camera in his car and took one for his scrapbook.
Fair trade I reckon.

Yes! I have issues
I could cry, or drop dead
But I think I'll sit here and go numb instead.

Thanx for reading

A Cold One

2009-01-28T19:55:00.000-08:00

Was it summer when the river ran dry
Or was it just another dam.

I saw a bald eagle frolicking on the beach with ravens

And gulls

I couldn't help thinking

They are back

So was it conservation
or was it the cold spell with flooding rivers that brought them here.

A week today was the coldest 200k ever for me. Amy, Kristie, Ralph, Mark and myself set off from Tully's with some trepidation for various reasons. It was a simple plan; we see ice and we abort.

Feathered in Woolistics and Synthetics
Snubbed mostly by other birds of the cold
And a large Squadron of Snoqualmie Swans.

A bird feathered for tempest
Cannot become a sparrow seeking a nest.

So Ralph was the ranger riding ahead, Mark was a GPS with an uncanny sense of True North, guiding us especially in the dark. Amy's long legs beat out an unforgettable stroke during the last hills as Kristie spun her cranks, yes, like a hummingbird.

A cricket in my ear was chirping the words:
Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in.

of Leonard Cohen

And

We did it! Thanks Guys.

Camp One

2009-01-28T08:34:00.000-08:00

An old Igbo proverb states that when a maiden divorces her husband and marries her lover, she gets to figure out who was the better man. Me, I loved them both, having rode Hood Canal Loop 2.0 on Wednesday and the Original Hood Canal Loop the following Saturday. Both rides were done under similar conditions, relatively dry January days but cold enough for a 200k to exact a toll. Geoff describes the geographical and topographic differences, I tend to remember more clearly the Rando's and the Rando's and perhaps two long climbs on the original loop, from Allyn to Belfair and then out of Belfair and the feeling of freezer burn on my african skin.
There was endorphin-talk on the ferry ride home Saturday about Hood Loop 2.5 a 250K
Sunday I found myself very stiff and definitely in need of a recovery ride and the motivation to undertake one.
The motivation came from John from the Lahar club. he was going to do one of the popular club rides, what we refer to as "Camp One". We would start from Orting instead of Sumner cutting the ride to 30 miles.

We start from John's house in a neighborhood that takes stunning views of The Mountain for granted, you can hear the Carbon river running in his backyard. We head south on the bike trail, running parallel with Hwy 162 between the Puyallup river and its vassal, the Carbon river, this is the flat part.

I am behind John the whole time pretending to be taking pictures, truth is that my behind is pretty sore. I had spent much of last fall breaking in my Brooks saddle yet it seems it tightened up again in the freezing weather, should I have used more proofhide?

Should have! Could have! Would have! it tilts up to 2-3% as we abandon the Carbon river to stay with the Puyallup river towards Lake Kapowsin. Then we turn off into the Camp One forest road

to greet 5-6% and ice, deciding to explore further we walk past the ice and continue without

further interruption to the turn around point.

Where it is a balmy 60 degrees Fahrenheit. I wonder why there was no inversion at Walker Pass that registered 30 degrees the day before. We have gone 15miles out, climbing from close to sea level to 1500 feet ASL.

We start the return to a view of Lake Kapowsin and a narrow atmospheric line that may be the point of inversion, watching carefully on the descent for the ice which we walk across, agreeing unanimously that it would be no fun to hit it at 30MPH.

Jury is still out if this was a good choice for a recovery ride, but I felt a lot better after a cold one and some mmm tasting almonds at Johns.

Thanks John

Lahar

2009-01-18T07:19:00.000-08:00

First 200k of 09 and a month away from R12
A shout out to the Lahar Bicycle Club

A Band of Brothers and a few Sisters.

Sharing the road with rivers rising

and rushing.
Just a false alarm.
The Ocean refuses no river.

Lama Sabachthani

2009-01-06T06:30:00.000-08:00

I heard once; "if you try and don't succeed, try! try! try again, if you continue to fail, quit! don't be a dang fool about it".
There is a little town Brinnon WA (home of the Shrimpfest) that straddles US101 on the west bank of the Hood Canal. Brinnon serves as the halfway control for the out and back RUSA 0202. Brinnon the northern tip of this route sits just north of the Dosewallips river, which runs north of the Duckabush, which runs north of the Hamma Hamma. These rivers run from the Olympic Mountains to drain into the Hood Canal under the bridges of the 101.
Dr C's paper made reference to the brackish waters and tide flats of the mini-estuaries of these rivers, in fact I was inclined to believe without any concrete evidence that the "said conversation" took place here. Close examination of the paper also suggested that the whiny Osprey was most likely at this point annoying Hugo Chavez and his countrymen with his screeching.
The last day of the year, Olympia is still sleepy at 0630, Top Foods is quiet, I suspect it will later be thronged with revelers eager to chase away a year of record low consumer confidence with lots of alcohol.
I wonder if the state and local police are up calibrating their breathalyzers. I start to think that most folk would find this last gasp grasp for the Osprey foolish, I reassure myself that Karl Jung would have called it synchronicity.
The Black Lake roads were icy and the lake was a black hole that early in the day, it was smart to rig up Little Wing with big 25 Armadillo's running 100PSI and an outrigger from her fork for the Light in Motion lamp. Lucky traffic at this section was almost non existent.
I was happy to get past the info control and get unto the 101. I like riding the 101, its rollers have just about the right gradient and wavelength for me, it has a decent shoulder mostly and the cavitation created by highway traffic facilitates displacement. Careful! there are some problems. Rumble strips from Olympia to Shelton, not fun to hit at speed, but if you find yourself on the wrong side of the strip slow down and cross it: Debris on the shoulder, usually wood from logging trucks but at this time of the year sand and gravel: Exit points, and you have to stay on the 101, requires pre-planning the crossing and vigilance: One dangerous underpass at Hwy.8 on the southbound lane.

It starts to rain as I get on the 101, forecast called for winds and precipitation, but the wind is now at my back and I make progress. Past Shelton the shoulder is sometimes not so good.

As I go further north into the peninsula it gets milder and the wind and rain subside.

Potlatch, I find the Hood Canal and the sun is rising east of the waters.

Got to Brinnon before noon and before my heart rate came down, in came two Raptors swooping down from Walker Pass, with SIR mud flaps. "Vincent"! Joe calls in surprise. I feel like a kid caught with his hands in the brownie jar. Geoff flashes a big grin and announces that they have come to set up a secret control. "Whatever", I quipped "you are two certifiable's, just like myself". We all laugh.
Short Business at Brinnon and we are off now into the wind, I believe they had been fighting it for some time and it is always better done in a group.
I realize that I did not get a pic of my Raptors and pull out and power on my cybershot still on the fly and inadvertently put it on video mode which I never really use and captured a moment in the last gasps of 08, my first year with the randonneurs. As well as this still shot.

Too little and too good for a randonneur, the time we had together, a brief stop at Hoodsport, Potlatch and they split east on the 106. I wished them fairwinds and stayed on the 101 passing the cow sculptures of the Mud Bay area

there was still a liitle daylight at the final control.

Driving home amidst a plethora of flashing red and blue lights, part illuminating sobriety tests, I realized that I had forgotten all about the Doc's Fish-Birds.

Congrats Geoff on the 10K (no re-name needed).

Hazels Quest

2009-01-05T05:13:00.000-08:00

As a teenager in Eastern Nigeria (after the failed secession as Biafra) I had read much of the work of John Steinbeck. If you have read "Sweet Thursday" the sequel to "Cannery Row" you need no introduction to the bawdy characters, the denizens of the Row in Monterey. Doc was modeled after Steinbecks friend and marine biologist Ed Ricketts. Hazel (an unlikely name for a male bum) one of Mack's boys and a regular at the Palace Flophouse made up with heart what he lacked in refinement and common sense.
Having read the Doc's paper I felt akin to Hazel. I had to do something. "The Calling" came after communication with Ward Beebe (the Seer in this case) and the road would again hug the sound. Ignoring a previous abject failure the Quest would chase further north in deeper cold.Chuckanut Drive 0730: 12/28/08.
Turned south towards Edison and BayView and it looks like permafrost. Then!

Hot soup at deception pass, Ward leisurely fixed a flat, then off to Fort Casey.

Where it seems a little strange.
And clear up to the Port Townsend Ferry no sign of snow.
We headed home, mixed results, I think I saw an Osprey, I wish I saw an Osprey.

Sincere gratitude to Ward who patiently slowed down while I constantly scanned the land sea and sky and snapped incessantly with Cybershot.

Guinevere

2009-01-04T04:08:00.000-08:00

It was a deep and sustained freeze all over the land and the horses where confined to the stables. Only the older natives could remember such a deep and persistent cold front. Lake Limerick and I am sure hundreds of other lakes were frozen.Then Merlin sent out the call to Charge the Solstice. This created a great buzz in Camelot, the neighing of thoroughbreds could be heard from all over as knights polished old studded Armor. Word on the street was that the most gallant of Knights would lead the charge with no Armor at all. My heart went to Guinevere and beat a little faster in my chest, but the sky opened and the snowflakes kept coming down, even the Budweiser Clydesdale's stayed in.
The wire relayed a lot of valuable instruction from the old Pro's, but if I may modify the words of Sir William Osler; Learning a skill without instruction is like sailing an uncharted sea, but learning a skill by instruction alone is like not going to sea at all. So one has to go out on that internship.
Xmas 0700 I put out a call to my friend Doug, a local team road racer, high octane,yet very easy to be around.0929 at the Green River Trail he takes a look at Guinevere and shakes his head. "You should make it a dirt bike", he tells me, "your knobblies are not for off-road and get rid of the Garmin" I explain that I had ordered 26 Nokian studded tires but they had not arrived.It was difficult (much more than I expected) to get going. Life is a game of adjustments, so first I let a lot of air out of those "Walmart Knobblies" and then I really lowered the saddle so I could push off from a more stable seated position. I also noticed that it was easier at least on this day to ride the fresh snow with no tracks.Careful don't fall into the green river. You can see the learning curve, eventually hitting 13mph. A whopping 2 miles this ride and back to the truck.
Getting cocky I decided to use momentum to smash through a snowbank rather than circumnavigate it.
I harmlessly crashed into snow and lay there laughing from deep down in my belly for a few minutes.
My brain chemistry was already coming back!

Thanks Doug.

RIP 2008; A Moment In

2009-01-03T20:00:00.000-08:00

A moment caught inadvertently of the last gasps of 2008

Thanks Joe and Geoff

The Doc's Fish-Birds

2008-12-25T17:31:00.000-08:00

I tried riding Guinevere (my Trek hard-tail from 17 years ago) in the snow Xmas day after drooling over the photo's from up in Alaska. I did not get very far (more on that, next blog), but yes my brain chemicals were getting way off. The last time I had rebalanced or rebooted, two Saturdays before Xmas and I had refused to believe that this (the storm) was all going to happen. Reality set in as a permanent set in Oregon with John and David had to be postponed. Back up plan; The Charly Miller training ride. Being a denizen of the south end I got a little pumped about riding that Saturday in my own turf so to speak.
The weather that morning was what my friend Jean Philipe would refer to in his French Pyrenees accent as "Randonneur Weather"

A famous poet once wrote; "drink deeply, or taste not the pierian spring, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing". This proved to be true this day as considering this my turf, I thought I knew exactly where the training ride began--wrong.

Waiting at a Starbucks half a block from the meeting point (another Starbucks) I missed the Blue shirts. As I was waiting in vain I could not get a blog that I had read recently out of my head, like a pesky tune that will not go away it had gripped me, perhaps the fact that I had read it over again and again had something to do with it. Perhaps it reminded me of my ex-neighbors the Blue Herons that had a nest in the trees you see in the picture until new construction (note the snow-covered roof) forced them to relocate.

Heron Family was a big talking point, I pointed out to my children how every late spring they would hatch typically 4 new Herons teach them how to fly and fish at the Redondo waters and by mid to late summer the new members were on their own. I remember once interfering, and maybe I should not have when a bald eagle hijacked the nest for a hearty breakfast of eggs.
I reckon I miss them and the feeding-time racket they made.

0900 no Blue herons or Blue shirts, just noisy gulls in the parking lot, I headed north, I was going to find The Doc's fish birds. From Southcenter thru Fort Dent on to the Duwamish river trail.
If you don't like the weather around here, stick around it will change.

Like a bird on a wire
Like a drunk in a midnite choir
I have tried in my way to be free
L. Cohen

Free as it may be, this was no Blue Heron or Osprey so I had to push on.
Thought crossed my mind that I really should be doing a permanent today but I had no clue how long it would be before I could get another permanent in.

Past South Park with opportunity to practice riding my fatter tires on gravel which was sure to come.

To the West Seattle bridge and then to Alki; spectacular views of Seattle, I ran into a friend Dan walking his dog. Still no Heron or Osprey, just the inexorable gulls.
Things were getting choppy as the storm was for real, glad I wore my Gore soft shell. Pushing past Fauntleroy and climbing into Shorewood I decided to go visit briefly with Michael an old hiking buddy and his Swiss mountain dog Anton (who likes to lay by a fireplace).
I forgot my eye-wear there and had to repeat the steep climb out to Marine view drive but the view made for easy sublimation.

Hugging the sound, I stopped to snap pics at the Des-moines Marina and Saltwater Park before climbing through Woodmont and then back down to Redondo.

Only birds there was a penguin with SCUBA gear and a weathercock with nothing good to report.

Joined By T-bird who was antsy to try out her new Shower Pass jacket at Redondo. I had company to Dash point and Browns Point. Heading back north from Tacoma on 99 past Fife
and down Peasley Canyon to the Green River Trail. Temperatures were steadily dropping but not enough moisture for significant icing. The trail took us back to Southcenter and by now it was beginning to snow.
I got 92 miles and 4000ft but not A Blue Heron or Osprey.

Thanks to Paul Johnson
Please Keep Writing.

Come Oh Beautiful Rain

2008-12-24T19:25:00.000-08:00

Rain come down and wash this snowbound town.
Rain come down I crave an apres ride with friends and liquid carbs.

In envy of the randos from down under

It has come to my attention that wishing for warm rain may not be entirely appropriate.

Oregon Skies

2008-12-07T16:22:00.000-08:00

Having spent 30 days in monastic retreat at Our Lady of Guadalupe Trappist Abbey in Lafayette Oregon, I feel sometimes that I miss the smell of the woods in winter in Oregon. The retreat had been the last 15 days of November and the first 15 of December in the year 2000, and it required a vow of silence, obedience and poverty which mandated a vegetarian diet, some hard work which entailed running a self sufficient cloister, managing the abbey's significant piece of wooded land and making the abbey's famous fruitcake and creamed honey. I also remember there is a book binding workshop and we built ware houses and stored Pinot Noir wine from the very delicate grapes that for some reason like to grow in this part of the world. My best times, was the Chapel singing (not barred by the vow of silence) and the personal meditation time. I had the hardest time with the seated meditation, I reckon I am a creature of motion. I spent all my personal meditation time hiking in the nearby woods and sometimes had the silent company of one of the monks who was a strong hiker. One of the brothers was a hermit and had his Shack up a hill in the woods and I would often go up there to see if I would catch a glimpse of any activity. I only saw him twice, once when the Abbot took me up there and when he came down for Guadalupe day, talk about lost in prayer.
I wrote to John Kramer and David Rowe and explained my ailing and they recommended a Susan France Permanent. As it happened a group of ORando's were riding the 3 Prairies, I suppose to satisfy R12 requirements. Now a Randonneur would have done the STP on Friday and the permanent on Saturday but with gas prices down,I loaded my bike and and drove south on I-5.
I left really late and did not arrive at the Travelodge in Newberg OR (Lafayette is a few miles further south) till it was past midnite and with gear management involved was able to get 3 hours of sleep before driving to the Newberg Public Library, the agreed meeting/parking place.
Everyone arrived promptly with lots of reflective gear in the freezing cold and we rode a short distance to Thriftway to obtain reciepts for the first control, 0730 and we were off.

Hatsu idling in front of the Randonneuse from the fogline at Thriftway. She had arrived from White Salmon that morning.

More about this tandem team later, they created a big sucking sound that pulled us to the final control in the last hour of the ride. It was not long before the Sun came bursting in, I was pondering the effect of a degree on the longitude line on the atmosphere. Mostly rollers and a few rather steep ones we cruised past farms, orchards, vineyards, hazelnut groves and ofcourse grassland.

Cecil Anne paced us up the early hills, what a climber? I had seen her work earlier this year at Bingen and she does it with a rather heavy bike with wooden fenders and springs on the saddle, not to forget her trademark stuffed Bunny to keep her company on long rides. Here at Dayton between Doc Sal and The Kramer, heading for the control at Dallas.

The group stayed pretty much together on the way to Dallas, chatting under blue sky with frozen grass on the side. A gentleman (and I use that term loosely) stopped Cecil and myself just before a climb and asked what we thought if bikes were required to travel the road in the opposite direction with motorists. "It would be very blinding at night" I thought out loud my mind already on the rest of the group who were already at the summit of the climb. He continued to develop his premises, argument with Cecil until I heard about a "biker in MY lane", "My Lane" I retorted and quickly admonished myself about my own ego, leaving Cecil to explain the Law to him.

A rather peaceful ride in the sun, we controlled at the subway in Dallas and then at Newberg before going back out to Mt. Angel. Returning to Newberg, I stopped to capture Mount Hood whispering in the distance (you probably have to click on the image to see it).

Then the sky became magical.
Even the eastern sky had its own glow.

It just got better and better with the sunset.
Turning us all into Sunset Paparazzi to use Cecil's term, and thats when a front grupette disappeared sucked away by the tandem. I decided to chase, wanting to thank John Kramer before he left for White Salmon.
It was hard, what a mirage of shimmering light glimpses as my hopes of catching them swung back and forth. Assisted by a traffic stop I caught them a few miles before Newberg and the final control.

Photo taken (that's Bill Alsup in the shadows to my left), it was back to the library where the rest of the group met up, sadly I had to skip the invitation to Burgerville to get into the drive back north.

Thanks to the Oregon Randonneurs (ORando's).

Black Friday

2008-12-05T14:02:00.000-08:00

The last Friday in November and almost always some over-indulgence the day before, this is when the store owners are supposed to start writing in black ink. Kim and Ben a mountain biking couple had invited Trudy and Myself to meet at the QFC in North Bend. Still giving thanks for good health, and good people and an excellent meal the day before which we shared with Jess (whose Husband is in Iraq) and her 2 year old daughter. It was not a bad idea to get up early to meet Kim Kadence and Ben.
I don't generally favor bringing in dead trees to brighten up the cold months so we would go to live ones out there. However happy to report no dead store clerks at the QFC.
I have been promising myself to try to stay away from the extra winter blubber this year having set my sight on 2010, now was as good a time as any to start getting in shape.
I have not hiked up a mountain in a long time, at least not since I fractured my ankle last November and I wondered how it would work out as cross training. I had also discovered that Peter Beeson runs a spin class in West Seattle, early Monday morning and after work on Thursdays and his spin music is right up my alley.

Little Si was looking very inviting but it was not to be. Ben had chosen a more difficult climb; Mailbox Peak, I had never climbed this one before. There is 4,000 feet elevation gain and my altimeter read about 5,000 ASL at the top.

It starts off looking pretty gentle and I am thinking about my mountain bike at this point. At that little notice board with warning and statistics on rescues from this hike we branch into the woods and it tilts up.

I was sure I was way over-dressed fighting those grades with my hiking poles and began to strip things off as we ascended.
The last stretch to the top was very rocky and especially on the descent resulted in a lot of impact.

We made it to the top in about 3 hours, the descent was the the killer though as my quads are no longer used to acting as shock absorbers. It took just over 2 hours to come down reminding me of something else to be thankful for: The Wheel.

Fairwind

2008-11-30T05:07:00.000-08:00

Fairwind, she follows Geoff Swarts
As through the mist he cuts
No sun to glint on his chainstay
No other Rando's on this very foggy day
He says I really don't like this Auburn hill
Hearing that gave me a chill
He had worked so hard to bring it fame
Now he would have to work on a re-name
I was glad to hear him speak so
I had followed his riding to and fro
And I longed to gasp the same air
With such a lone-some randonneur
And who's there he seemed to say
To the one behind his seatstay
It is Vinnie, I thought with pride
And I love your solitude and the way you ride
Then Vinnie keep yourself awake
We are going to climb up Alice Lake
And with that he rode by my side
To be my one, my only guide
Redmond at the end of the ride
We parked Green Hornet and Fairwind side by side
And in a soft chair in Whole Foods
We parked the battered body of Vinnie the Pooh
I watched him spin, I watched him rise
I saw the fire in his eyes
Yes! I strive for riding bold
But so steep? so cold?

Forever indebted for your guidance

Back to Back

2008-11-27T20:44:00.000-08:00

Marks Rando Notes, gives an RBAs report of permanent # 0186 last Saturday. Many SIR members showed, several Anciens, a number of newbies and all else in between created a special chemistry. What Mark nicely-conveniently forgot to mention was that I bonked hard, very early in the Snoqualmie Valley. More bad news at the Lake Stevens Control the pack had left maybe 00:05 ago and I was just arriving, was I in Dire straits? Perhaps they fathomed at the reason behind riding in the cold weather with the sniffles, perhaps I should have done so too. I sincerely hope no one caught it from me.
Sultan at last, feeling quite a bit better as I gave up the chase to settle to my own rhythm, Bob and Mark waved me in to Vinaccio Coffee. They were glad to see me and the feeling was mutual. A pretty gal behind the counter fixed me a tall soy mocha with 3 shots for my receipt. We left that town as the Sultans of Swing.
We rocked and rolled to North Bend, from there like the Sultans "we made it fast with one more thing". Starbucks at Fred Meyer Redmond, paper work and some refreshment and a word of advice from Sir Harold Gillies. "Do not do anything standing that you can do sitting and do nothing sitting that you can do lying.
I drove home to Federal Way dismissing any misgivings, I quick washed my Woolistics top and Ibex bottoms and placed them in front of a fan to dry.

0645 Sunday, Ward Beebe handing out Brevet cards to Steve Davis, Stanley Eamon and myself at Tullys in Redmond for #0359, there would be more climbing involved.

The sun at the Issaquah control was very deceptive, it was going to be a rather cold morning. It warmed up a bit with the midday sun and dropped again as the day wore on, winter is on its way.
Stanley led us up the hills and Steve pulled us forward on the rollers Ward was our clutch player and provided the extra drive whenever we sagged.
I just rocked out under my balaclava happy to be rolling with these musketeers.

At the higher elevations we did share some spectacular views of the cascades as well as V8, Chocolate Milk and Oh! that special bonding. With the loss off daylight we were all ready to be done and we did, all together soon after. Back at Tullys, Stanley had to rush off and build a bike. We lost Steve (I apologize) driving around blindly in search of liquid Carbs. but I did get to raise a glass with my Buddy Ward.

I learned that Mark, Bob and Dan rode Sunday too.
So who says the Rando season is over, apparently not in Redmond.

With gratitude to Vinaccio Coffee

The Sun and the Mountain

2008-11-27T09:53:00.000-08:00

I fess up, I think the Seattle Rando Club rocks in so many ways.
I confess too that I look forward to reading the expressed thinking of my fellow certifiables, thereby personally being responsible for a large number of hits on the on the Rando blogs. One that I remember well The Moon and the Mountain. I have never forgiven myself for not showing for that brevet but then I had a Last Chance for a Randonee.
Amy Pieper spelled it out clearly in her communication that there may be one Last Chance to the Mountain. It was calling and the indicators were "go" but road closures put a wrench in the spokes and we all had to settle for the available.
The Seattle area weather has been relatively clement in November, October as well.

Foggy in the morning as I drive to the club ride on sunday.

Like my Kids the Sun sleeps in but finally comes up to brighten up Blue Wool.

Hatsumomo the evil but beautiful geisha was glad for the company. Beer and Pizza after the training ride, I heard from reliable sources that the road condition had changed. Monday was the window. 0700 from Kent/Covington QFC , the fog was enough to make the road plenty wet, I was grateful for my fenders as off we headed towards Black Diamond.

"The woods are lovely dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
Miles to go before I sleep"
Robert Frost

The Bakery and the Mountain. Lets not forget Caffeine.

At Enum-scratch

Hello Mr Cybershot make this day great
Is that a twister brewing on the left
Do you simply capture images of the patterns of the sky
Or is it true the weather heeds the twinkle in your eye

The trouble spots on 41o.
Only trouble was to stop and clean off gobs of mud to quit that infernal noise.

The River was contained,
but I could tell she was gloating.

To the point of no return,
and thoughts of what 09 may bring.

To the lodge for control, and run down with the Sun at my back. Crystal Mountain Blvd. was in good condition better that two years ago when I was last up it on a bike. Still a few rough areas recommend a cautious descent.

Very little of the usual satisfying fare at one of the fave spots at Green Water as there has been very little traffic (OK by me). Always nice, they rigged something up with chicken and bread, showed me photos of the road damage earlier, impressive. I ate and was gone.

Heading south towards the Carbon River and then descending into the little town of Burnett.

No info control give-away, you need a receipt.

Beautiful farms in Auburn towards the end.

Thanks to Mark for bringing it up on Sunday. it helped prepare me for my Wednesday with Mr Swarts, I hope Geoff gets to tell that story.
Happy thanksgiving to all !

Please click on the pictures for much better detail and resolution.

Novelty Hill

2008-11-21T08:57:00.000-08:00

The spell was strong, even our famous northwest weather seemed a little spellbound.
The bug was on the flourish. Word on the wire suggested various remedies, there was no one Panacea. After several second opinions the True Blue Friday band opted for the Hood Loop.
A few stragglers would go for Saturday. The Daimyo of this group had suggested an old fall favorite to Northbend. Unfortunately, due to logistical problems I found myself a lone Ronin at 0645 in Leschi

It was worth it.
Yet the mountain was calling from afar, Perhaps soon?

0720 with no other road warriors to be seen we took off. No trepidation here after a remarkable "training day" with Ye Merry Band of Brothers and Sisters.

By Kenmore the sun joined us, illuminating both new construction and old flying machines.

Flying down Novelty hill we arrived in the valley. Pre-informed by Geoff Swarts and others (thanx) we pre-planned our detour and did not have to swim across.

At the QFC in Northbend be careful with that bike stand, I came out from that control to find the bike (admittedly heavy) tilted on the stand and my front rim dented and out of true.

Still magnificent sun at the Shell at Maple Valley, the last control before the finish.

Crimson skies by the Renton airport.

Dark already by 1730

Thanks to Mark and Albert for the Moral Support

Skele- tons of fun

2008-11-21T00:31:00.000-08:00

In search of my first R12 medal (Congratulations to our hardworking Permanent Chief, Narayan who just bagged one) I wondered what November would bring. Then I heard through the wire that Don Boothby was gathering a number of goblins for the Camano-Bellingham Witch Project.
It was a size able group of ghouls that showed at Elger bay on the first morning of November after a night of trick or treating . With broomsticks well tuned we took off with the first rays of the morning sun
Nothing like the blue shirt to bring out the little devil in me.

This is what happened to the bike of the dude who tried to drop us at Laconner

This is what happened to the dude.

We did not feel too bad since the big fish have to gobble the little ones, kinda like when the peloton gobbles the breakaway.

Caught the Stoker but the Joker was too fast

And Past and old haunt to get to Bellingham

After all said, the spell is on me.

Thanks to Don and his Stokers

Hatsumomo San

2008-11-20T08:20:00.000-08:00

November morning sun, and the air was still

We rode together up Novelty hill

She's like an angel, but her wings

Are weaved together from carbon strings

She says her name is Hatsu-something

But I know she's from Wisconsin

She loves to play, she longs to please

And when she sings, its like a breeze

Sometimes I'm certain she reads my mind

But to her ways I'm deaf dumb and blind

Sometimes she squeaks as if she knows

The weight of rando and all his sorrows

We drag in for the final reciept

As I walk away from that hard leather seat

She leaves the glow of love behind

And memories imprinted on my mind

Thanks to Amy Pieper

About "Issaquahs Rain"

2008-10-15T01:44:00.000-07:00

Perhaps it is pretty much passé (no pun intended) blogging now about "Issaquahs Rain". Perhaps most of us have at least in spirit moved on towards 2009. I learned from Tom Peters, who I found from Peter McKays blog about the folly of wishing time away especially at my age. So lets squeeze out more miles, fenderless runs with beer and pizza après ride, and of course memories from the fast escaping 2008.
Born of the June 7th and 8th, 2008, 600k organized by the Tilden brothers, Don Smith and Ray Mcfall, "Issaquahs Rain" is melancholy soliloquy on crossing the line. The point at which the Seattle RBA declares to me with the certainty of experience, "you are addicted Vincent". The point at which I realize that specialization is for insects, after all if we specialize we are merely learning more and more about less and less until we know everything about nothing. Conversely for an academy without walls the world is a classroom and my Brooks saddle a front row seat. The point at which things close to you begin to struggle with the unprecedented inattention to the "usual suspects". The point at which you have been hit with a missile hurled from the car of a "hater" or perhaps the moron behind the wheel turning the vehicle itself into the missile. At this point a bad day on the bike is better than a good day at work.

Who can forget that morning in Issaquah? The pre-ride anticipation, the fear of the unanticipated. Stories had been told about the reverse of this ride in 2002. Once I committed to the ride, research had suggested that a major challenge would be the various weather conditions to be experienced. I believe that it was Matt Mikul that once wrote "there's no such thing as bad weather, just bad gear" so I had hurriedly invested in a Gore soft shell to add to all the other warm gear despite the fact that the last time I was up Stevens pass three weeks earlier on the 400k I had seriously overheated. It follows that the next logistics issue was how to haul this gear. No time for major changes in bike setup I opted for a large bag in the back suspended from the saddle, light in motion would provide battery and lamp for illumination. I had spent a number of hours the day before putting all my gear together, but just before any big ride I always experience some anxiety that I have left out something. This being my biggest ride so far the anxiety was multiplied and I had no Idea how my setup would work. My biggest source of concern that morning however was the cold rain that was constantly dripping down and at some point actually pouring down in sheets. This concern would be soon forgotten as the pack left without as much as a nostalgic glance backwards, almost immediately breaking into smaller subunits and sometimes recombining with a randomness that brings to mind the math of fractals or qauntum theory as we worked our way through the Snoqualmie river valley. Climbing Stevens pass I found myself in the company of Bob Brudvik. Bob rode up to me and started a conversation in french, english would have been difficult at this point but he inspired me up that pass and I know he dropped it a notch so that I could stay with him, leaving me to wander how love and hate could co-exist so, or maybe not so perfectly. Before I knew it Stevens became even and we commenced the cold descent that warmed up and dried us up as we hit the Subway at Leavenworth. Heading up to Blewett pass, I believe it was Geoff Swarts that rode up and notified me that my brevet card had blown out of my Bento box in that stiff breeze of Eastern Washington. I lost Bob there but fortunately caught my card before it was blown away. I started pushing up Blewett alone now concerned about the rising heat. I was struggling a little bit and unknown to me the stuffed bag suspended from my seat was rubbing, Robert Higdon seemed to fly by me dropping encouraging words, I stopped tightened up my gig and kept ascending. About 1500 feet to climb I heard my name from behind and behold Thai Nguyen, Eric Anderson and James Mckee, I hastened to join them regaining some of my old form. Thai looking as peaceful as the Dalai Lama as he stroked his single speed, kept promising us the crest of the pass but it was still a while in coming. 300 feet from the crest I started struggling again and after another 100 feet it was clear, my back tire was flat. I assured the guys that I would be fine.

I rode essentially alone from that point and through a memorable wind storm to the over night at Naches; plenty of time for soliloquy.
Good morning to the coldest descent ever in my limited experience down White pass followed by a very gratifying (the fourth and last pass) climb up to Cayuse. Sharing that last continuous climb with Charlie White. After breakfast despite a poor appetite at Green water I drifted towards Issaquah until Beebe Ward picked me up near Redmond and we ran to the Finish at numbing speeds. Where we were fed and watered by a very gracious host.
I also particularly remember the Kramers video report on that ride;
"If I dont get some shelter
I think I'm gonna fade away"

So! read the poem again

On Peloton

2008-09-28T21:02:00.000-07:00

"Peloton" was concieved during the RUSA 300k of spring 08. Eric Vigoren and Mark Thomas had organized this ride considering the fact that the earlier ACP 300k was plagued by inclement weather. The mini-peloton consisted of John D'Elia visiting from Connecticut, SIR's very own Mark Roehrig, Matt Mikul, Chistopher Gay and myself. Matt had set the quick pace as I recall early in the ride and having little faith in my own navigational abilities at that point was determined to stay with the pack. As I drafted in the slipstream earlier on that day, I had a flood of negative memories (basically digging in the dirt, to find the places I got hurt). but with the elevated levels of endorphins, that I find such a marvellous effect of endurance cycling, I was able to put a positive spin on my thoughts by acknowleging my own participation in the creation of that past pain.

A few days later at home musing over all this, I noticed that Alder outside my window in such a joyous dance in the wind. How does it get its own endorphins? And why must I run?

Well! probably because I have an Ego.

And now I am thinking that to have a Healthy Ego, if that is not an Oxymoron, is a balancing act.

If I am to take myself seriously at all, I must make good on most of my commitments, so I must avoid making commitments that I cannot keep. On the other hand I must not take myself so seriously that I have to win in every situation.

That strange insect at the very bottom of Pandora's Box is hope. To live is to hope and what can we hope for if we win it all. Perhaps that is why Lance and so many winners before him must continue to seek battle until they know loss.

I love and appreciate this new community and sport that I have found, it has given me so much freedom on the road to self discovery, even if it means going into a little debt.

Special thanks to Sam Huffman who kindly listened to it's recital as we climbed towards Washington Pass and John Kramer as we fought wind past St. Francis.

http://spokesong.blogspot.com/2008/09/peloton.html

Tribute to Volunteer

2008-09-26T02:50:00.000-07:00

Perhaps some may recall a photo taken on May 11, 08 of a rider who threw himself on the ice atop Stevens pass during the SIR 3 passes 400k. I cannot locate that photo now, but the picture, actually the whole day is clearly embossed in my mind.

That ride brought into sharp focus quite a few things, however most deeply etched in my memory (worth more than gold), the selfless and often nameless Volunteer.

Where do I start?

The gentleman who inflated my deflated front tire atop Blewett pass during the SIR spring 08 400k while I cooled from the rising temperature on his supplies. I was so grateful I told him that if I was a French man I would kiss him. He politely recommended that I offer the kiss to the young lady nearby.

The one speed wonders that revived me with food and water at the secret control at Dubuque cutoff and then felt it their duty to inform me that I had already spent more than 15mins in the control.

"The man with the hammer" endurolytes at Maltby as the shadows of the day were growing longer. I was very surprised he knew my first name.

The other gentleman that took the co2 out of my back tire and pumped in 120 psi of air as I flatted again atop Blewett pass, this time on the SIR June o8 600k. He reassured me I was making good time while I refueled under the shade of his canopy.

"The voice" that called out "are you OK Vincent" from his truck as I temporarily dismounted to offer truce to the windgusts past Selah.

The crew at the secret control on the US12 that used their vehicles to create a windbreak and ladled out home-made chicken soup that got me to Rimrock in new form.

The early birds with the blankets and hot beverages at the bottom of a freezing descent from White pass.

The Inn-keepers at Rimrock, Pateros and Darrington that fed and bed me and got the bleary eyed rider out early enough.

The Ancien who loaned his Dear Bike so a rider could complete C1200. Who with his wife and others fed the whole group those 4 days.

My kind and jolly companion in the baggage truck who drove mile after mile while I sat and dreamed of riding the "Big One" someday.

The concerned face that got me back on my way at the Mickey Dee's at Granite Falls during the permanent from Mazama to Monroe.

The "Buff Guy" who sat patiently by his car with gas stove and noodle soup (I had a second helping) waiting for four apparitions to appear on two wheels at Marblemount.

The anesthesiologist that roamed interstate 36 by Last Chance with his truck full of "pain relief".

And on and on, where do I stop?

You are Safety Rock!

http://spokesong.blogspot.com/2008/09/volunteer.html