Bridging the gap

Winter

In the winter of 2017, I stepped away from long bike rides to get stronger. Following a consistent routine of ever heavier squats, deadlifts, overhead presses, bench pressing, and chin-ups required time to recover. So I set aside long rides in the cold for shorter, intense sessions under the unforgiving steel bar. Each session was a simple pass/fail test of will and growing strength: either I lifted or I failed.

February

By February 2018, the sessions had paid off. I found myself stronger than I had been in decades. Truth be told, physically, I am far more suited to strength training than Randonneuring. This kind of training may be the polar opposite of the endurance needed for Randonneuring, but I knew that when I took the step back to rebuild and rebalance. Yet, in the process, I had let months pass without my riding a 200K or even a 100K,

But as the days grew longer, I found myself questioning the wisdom of taking that much time off the bike. Before this break, for eight years I had maintained a streak of monthly 200K rides in part because the prospect of starting over to regain that necessary endurance intimidated me. The first go around to build it, to put it mildly, challenged me. Now, I found myself older, stronger, more experienced, but basically having to start again. 

{"I found myself" - what a strange expression. When you think about it, it becomes complex, hard to explain. Who is the  "I"? What is the "myself" that was found?  How did "I" lose "myself" and what is it about that moment of the discovery that leads to the expression "finding yourself? But I digress, let's return to Spring 2018 ...}

A good place to be (notes from the Boston 600K)

It is the middle of a sunny Saturday afternoon in July.

I am on an audacious New England adventure, riding my bike up yet another hill, in temperatures well over 90 degrees.

The sun relentlessly beats down on the sun sleeves that protect my arms and the white wicking skully cap that protects my head.

My short sleeve, green plaid bike shirt is unbuttoned to my belly so that passing breezes can lift the sweaty fabric and cool my back.Fortunately, after weeks of summer bike commuting, I've acclimated to the heat and humidity and actually enjoy the hot weather.

On the descents, the wind cools and refreshes. I soar through the curves of the rolling hills having earned these moments of flight.

This is my life today, any for most of tomorrow, because this is a 600K in July.  

East Creek 600K - a simmering melange of desires

Close to 40 Randonneurs stream out from the Days Inn located off Exit 8 of the New Jersey Turnpike. Our red bicycle taillights stretch out along the roads that lead away from the north south Interstate  highway, away from the destination driven journey that the highway represents, away from that thoroughfare where every mile is made fungible, forgettable, less than a passing thought, less than a minute's consideration. On the small roads we ride, the miles grow large, significant, they take on their full meaning. This morning we set out to ride 600 Kilometers, 377 miles. The travel, the distance that we take on with our legs and our machines, is the destination. Over the course of this brevet, we will test ourselves where the only outcome that matters is pass or fail. For me, completing this ride will qualify me to ride Paris-Brest-Paris. I have been waiting five years for this. I have 40 hours to finish.

 seeking upekkha

In the darkness of 4:00 am, the cool air sits heavy with dew. As I ride through, tiny drops  collect on the tips of the individual hairs on my arm. I begin the ride searching for balance, equanimity, a place between extremes to accomplish the extreme, looking for that pace that will carry me through the uncertain miles before me. In my randonneuring, I have failed enough to know that success is not certain, but I have succeeded enough to know that perseverance and patience, especially now, in the first few hours of a major ride, can overcome almost any distance. I ride on, working on patience and building perseverance, as the world turns beneath my wheels toward the rising sun. 

First Friday Writing for Randos: Seeing what is capable

{First Friday Writings for Randos - A monthly post that features pieces from other writers that touch some facet of the Randonneuring experience, even if that was not the author's intent. It's stuff that's best read out loud - slowly.} This month it's a ride report from Bill R., a Randonneur and Iron Man from New England who rides brevets in a velomobile:

"It is a shame for a man to grow old without seeing the beauty and strength of which his body is capable. " Socrates

On the day that the sun stands still: East Creek 600K

On the Solstice, the sun pauses in the sky before it transitions to a new season. As long as humanity has looked to the heavens and searched for meaning, we have taken this event as a cause for celebration. Less so now, but there was a time when people danced for rain. A time when we knew the meanings of the shape of clouds and the names of the full moon. We once built structures of stone that aligned with the stars on midsummer's day, the longest day, the Solstice. 

Call it what you will, but a celebration so specific in time yet so global in performance must come from a quality intrinsic to our very nature, one inherent to our humanity. If we, as Carl Sagan said, are made of star stuff, then on the Solstice day we celebrate our origin; our collective journey through the universe. 

 

A notch above: The North Country 600K and the Kancamagus affair.

I ride long stretches - 20 miles, 30 miles, 50 miles - on remote roads. I pedal past mountain lakes, through wildlife refuges in Northern New Hampshire, the North Woods and over the White Mountains of Maine. In this unfamiliar vastness, at times as distant as the blue peaks on the horizon, at times as close as the thicket of trees edged along the shoulder, I am uncertain but eager. A child of adventure taking his first steps, wavering but willing. Without the barriers of a car or the silencing noise of a motor, an unbound consciousness tentatively reaches out for the edges of the world, stretches toward the distant mountains, rises toward the cumulus clouds, teeters at the edge of the wilderness, learning to find its way.

I leave invisible traces as I travel through this place. Molecules of my DNA infuse the North Woods. My breath joins the cool air. My sweat seeps into the asphalt. But this place also leaves its traces in me. My legs and my lungs intimately know the measure of Dixville Notch and Kancamagus Pass in ways beyond mere miles and meters. Hours spent climbing mountain passes are not soon forgotten. Between the conversations, the arguments, the dances, disappointments and triumphs, we practically had a relationship.

Along the way, thoughts bubble up and burst into ideas and emotions - at times elated, at times melancholy, at times at peace. Rain falls sporadically from a turbulent sky. Flowers bloom in colors that overflow from the fullness of the summer rains. The road rises, falls, twists and turns and still I ride. Always moving forward until movement becomes its own stillness.
 

Catskill 600K - Meditations in the mountains

A good Randonneuring course showcases its region. On the ride, you get an intimate appreciation of the terrain, a feel of the place's history, immersed in the geography. Going to the controls to get receipts and brevet cards signed (which seemed odd when I first started) forces you to interact with the locals beyond the basics of buying and selling, you hear their accents and exchange greetings - you talk to people. You get a sense of the soul of the area in a fingers in the cool earthy dirt kind of way. Randonneurs not only ride through a place, we participate in it, we live in it, if only for a moment. Such was the case on this ride.

The Catskill 600K starts near the majestic Hudson River. The scenic course is a visual treat. From the Palisades cliffs along the river, it weaves  through mountain towns which run the gamut of mountain town possibilities; from standard middle America to art enclaves, exclusive schools, monasteries, many places of exotic worship or meditation and working farms. Sets of pictures from this year's ride can be found here and here.

The NJ Randonneurs have a detailed description of the Catskill 600K course on their website. They also gave fair warning that finishing would mean lots of climbing - over 22,000 feet of elevation gain. 

This would be the climbiest 600k course I had ever attempted. But somehow, despite the fact that I make a much better descender than I will ever make as a climber, I decided that I would keep to a schedule for a personal best 600K. In fact, I would eat and sleep well and finish the second day strong. Yup, that was going to happen, for sure. All I had to do was follow the plan.

Images from the Catskill 600K

Grand Bois Lierre tire after a sidewall blowout that was field repaired with a patch, a dollar bill and duct tape wrap.  It lasted for over 100 miles.

A collection of images from the Catskill 600K: I recommend Full Screen

New Holland 200k - Skipping rocks across time

Sometimes a brevet fools me into thinking that it is one event, one story to be told. Maybe because the rides have a start, a finish and lots of stuff happens in between. Maybe because my mind wants to follow the path of time, connect the experiences along the way and have them make sense. That is a trait of the human mind after all, to try to find some order in the chaos. 

But then something reminds me that just because things happen sequentially doesn't necessarily mean they connect in any other way. Real human stories have a way of skipping through time, like rocks bouncing on the surface of a pond leaving intersecting ripples as they pass. Sunday was one of those reminders . . . .

Friday writings for Randos - The Moon and the Mountain

{Friday Writings for Randos - A weekly post that features pieces from other writers that touch some facet of the Randonneuring experience, even if that was not the author's intent. It's stuff that's best read out loud - slowly.} This week it's an excerpt from a blog post titled:

 The Moon and the Mountain

 

by Mark Thomas* 

Not my finest hour (or two, or three, or maybe more). By turns walking, riding, throwing up, and sitting on the guardrail trying to settle my stomach, I was making poor progress up White Pass on our 600k brevet Saturday night. Last or near last among the riders on the course, I began to lose confidence that I could finish the ride. Of course, that confidence was at best a thin veneer from the start. "Petrified" was apparently the word I had used earlier in the week to describe to Robert Higdon my state of mind about the 600k. . .

The Pennsylvania Randonneurs 600K - There once was a man on a bike

  

There once was a bike ride through Limerick

It is about 9:00 a.m. on Saturday morning and I think that I am finally, completely, awake. Yes - the ride started at 4:00 a.m. Yes - five hours later, the sun is up, over 60 miles have gone by and Yes - I have already gone through two of the ten on course controls. But here and now, reality has set in. I am here. Now.

I waken in the midst of a 20 mile climb toward Promised Land. 20 miles of ever increasing grade - steep, followed by steeper. 20 miles until we reach the highest point on the elevation profile. 20 miles of reminder that this is a Pennsylvania brevet. 20 miles of reminder that I am not built for fast climbing. 20 miles of this is what you signed up for. 20 miles of reminder that I still have over 300 miles to go. That realization now has my full attention.

Jitters

The Pennsylvania 600k starts on Saturday.  Walking the dog this morning, my legs feel weak in anticipation. 600K, 375 miles, 40 hours. The numbers are too big. I did a 600k once before. But it was flat - it was not Pennsylvania. Think good thoughts. Breathe. Cool morning air. Put one foot in front of the other. The dog wags her tail and smiles. My legs feel weak. Perhaps I will ride to work - see if I still know how. Or maybe I should take the day off and rest up. I should have slept longer. The Pennsylvania 600k starts on Saturday.

Hightstown, NJ 600k - Ride your own ride

The NJ 600k ride started on Friday at 10:00 p.m., after a three-day heat wave. With temperatures approaching 100 humid degrees, the heat wave lasted long enough for the heat to seep into the pavement, which would radiate it back to night sky.

This would be my first attempt at this distance. On the drive to the start, I felt like I was about to take a pass/fail final exam in Randonneuring 101. My first two-day event. The 10:00 p.m. start guaranteed back-to-back night rides sandwiching a full day in the saddle. It guaranteed sleep deprivation. How much would be up to me. Could I ride 376.2 miles in less than 40 hours? Could I ride straight through? Should I try? How much sleep do I need to do this? What would it take to ride that far?