French Toast February

A good-sized gang showed up at my place Saturday morning for french toast.  We had a great time catching up, eating toast, drinking way too much coffee and even touring my newly "renovated" basement.

We headed down the hill and onto the path.  Pedaling felt hard and even weird.  My legs felt like they had been moth-eaten while in some forgotten storage outpost.  Anthony captured the feeling, which we all shared, saying these are our "Winter Edition" selves.

Between a depressing and frightening political climate, an unusual frequency of snowmageddons here in Portland, and general laziness brought on by malaise, guts have gotten pudgy and legs gooey.

Luckily, nothing is forever, and we kept pedaling anyway.  We stopped at Linneman station to find the bathroom doors locked.  The too much coffee sensation started to elevate into a where's a potty feeling.  Anyway, I've emailed the city of Gresham and I'm sure they'll get right on it.

A rider peeled off.  The sun shone.  The rain did not fall.  Nor the snow.  The wind did not blow.  It was exquisite to feel that old sensation of hurtling forward through space and smelling nature between giant inhalations of car exhaust.  I wish people would limit or stop driving, but that's a fantasy for another post.

We regrouped at the Sandy River, near the Stark Street Bridge, and split into two groups, reminiscent of when the motley crew of ring questers in the Lord of the Rings had to part ways.  Onward and upward, up and around and down the hill, we regrouped again near the Troutdale bridge.

After a nice bathroom and playground stop, we crossed the Sandy River yet again, using the river valley as our own bicycle playground.  We were lucky to find our way across the new bike path and onto the old secret bike path.

Marine Drive makes my legs itch so I pedaled harder.  Following our theme of regrouping near bridges, we put a foot down at the 205 Bridge before heading south to Velocult, where I pretty much spent the weekend.

After sandwiches and sushi and goodbyes, some other friends descended on Velocult to remind me of our Oregon Out N Back planning meeting.  In case you haven't heard of that, it's a bastardization of the Oregon Outback.  We'll start in Klamath Falls the Friday before Memorial Day, head north until it's time to turn around, and finish in Klamath Falls six days later.  For more information: http://rideoregonride.com/diy-adventure-oregon-outback/

TNR!

I went to meet Mark for a beer before the ride.  It felt like old times again, except he’s dating someone else now.  We talked about Thursday Night Rides past and present.  I’d be leading tonight’s ride, the last one of 2016.  This urban ride is styled much like Critical Mass, although a bit more peaceful and a lot more party-centric.

This would be the first time the ride would end at a bar, or a brew pub, as it was not meant to be alcohol-centric.  The irony is that my plan to finish at a brew pub was to limit the drinking, not enhance it.  Also, it’s been in the 20s and 30s degree-wise and I didn’t fancy freezing my butt off under the bridge wishing there’d be more pallets to burn.

On to the ride.  The view from the Hawthorne Bridge was spectacular.  The city lights seem crisp and sharp when it’s cold and dark.  As we arrived at the fountain, we could see a good-sized crowd had gathered.  While most are saying Merry Christmas and Happy New Year this time of year, these folks offer a hearty Happy Thursday.

“FIVE MINUTES!”.  I delight in yelling this phrase, and talking loudly to the crowd in general.  Riders ask if those are bike minutes, beer minutes or real minutes, so I yell again, this time “FIVE ACTUAL MINUTES!”, to the seeming dismay of many.  Off we go, on a roundabout loop of downtown, taking the streets where we can and corking intersections when needed.

This is my second time leading this ride.  When I create a TNR route, I fantasize about places and roads I'd like to ride but usually avoid because of cars.  Because the turnout at this ride is reliably large, we can usually mass in the street and take lanes without conflict.  It’s a nice reminder that these public thoroughfares are for all humans to enjoy, not just those who have committed to spend much of their lives in a metal box polluting the air.

We encounter a closed street with a policeman stationed there.  Luckily for us, we respected his directions and detoured, as we learned later that some poor soul had taken to throwing bricks off of the penthouse bar at the top of the Nines.  This was just the first detour of the evening.

Taking the lane on the Morrison Bridge was fun and I yelled at those ahead of me, RIGHT ON WATER.  So much yelling was required all evening, I was hoarse by the end of it.  It would be easier if the half dozen riders and one skateboarder who regularly go ahead would instead follow behind.  A friend coached me a few nights later to be more aggressive and yell more at those passing me, but I just don’t have it in me.  I’d rather lead those who’d like to follow and allow those ahead to run the stale green light that the rest of us will stop at.

Using Ladd’s Addition as a labyrinth was pure genius, if I do say so.  First we rode the big circle in the middle, then split west to ride the neighboring diamond, then back to the middle circle.  From there we split east to ride the eastern diamond, again returning to the middle circle for one last go-round.  Besides being fun, this enables the group to stay together, catch up and generally coalesce.

Finally we exited heading northeast and popped out on Hawthorne, which we were to take to 26^th.  This was another case of a handful getting ahead of me, and I’ll blame them for missing the turn.  Luckily the number streets are in order, so we found our way back.  We headed to the Lone Fir Cemetery and stopped in the middle to enjoy the dark solitude.

We lapped the lagging group, then I led everyone into a dead end fenced off area.  Swallowing my pride and dismounting, I turned back on foot, letting the gaggle of bewildered riders know there was nothing to see back that way.

Out onto the streets again, we bounced along to as many beats as a dozen sound systems can create.  I heard some complaints about the hills and explained that the map I had looked at showed only two dimensions.  We circled Joan of Arc at the usually forbidding roundabout on Cesar Chavez and Glisan Avenues.
 

Then off through some northeast neighborhoods until we found Sandy.  Several weaves later, we had passed our destination, Base Camp Brewing, home of the worst IPA I’ve ever tasted.  Once again, I had to stop in my tracks and turn back.  This time, I told my friends “We’re there!” and headed in for a cold one.

Dark Days

We had been hoping for bad weather but were disappointed.  Although the great ices of Snowpocalypse 2016 had begun to melt, the streets were still cold and slippery, so I took the bus to our start breakfast meet spot.  After a delicious croissant sandwich, and a respectable amount of dawdling to allow the temperature to rise, we were off.

It wasn't raining, but we couldn't tell because tree branches were melting so quickly.  Some branches lay in the street, others cracked and threatened to fall on our helmet-clad heads.  The whole weekend would be filled with snowballs tossed from trees and snow sabers tossed from power lines.

Our leader demonstrated how icy ice is with a quick fall on a wafer thin footbridge overpass.  We stifled our laughs and carried on, cautiously and always behind our coalmine-canary leader.

Finally arriving in the great state of Washington, we enjoyed a mile or two of new pavement on the Evergreen Highway, until it turned back to its usual cement crap complete with crevasses.  We passed through Camas, with all its special smells, and carried on to Washougal, where we got lost for a minute before finding ourselves at a cozy brew pub.

Two pm isn't late unless it's solstice time, in which case it's almost sunset.  So, we skedaddled east and up and away from downtown Washougal.  A few miles up the hill, the higher elevation had more snow and slush and ice in store for us, so walking became the new way to go.  Luckily, I had worn my special bike cleat walking shoes, which is a lie.

About six miles later, after dark, a car stopped and a man jumped out to ask if we needed help.  We were dumbfounded and didn't answer, so he asked again.  I told him I'd accept a ride.  He asked about my friends and I said "what friends" and hopped in.  Turns out we were just a half mile from our destination, but I had no regrets.  The car was filled with a friendly family, complete with two cheery children and a blazing hot seat warmer.

The destination made it all worthwhile.  It was a lovely castle of a home, packed with big cats and friendly people, delicious vittles, cold beer and a wood burning stove.  We ate, we drank, we stripped our wet clothes off for laundering, and finally, we headed across the street for sauna time.  This sauna was hot!  We took turns jumping out and rolling in the snow, some of us in our underwear.

By the next morning, most of the snow and ice had turned to slush.  There was one slippery patch left, which gave our ride leader another chance to demonstrate his wipe out skills, but otherwise it was pretty easy going.  Back to the pub, back to town, back to life.

October Three Speed Challenge 2016

 

Date: Thursday, October 6th

Time: 6pm

Destination: A friend's house for potluck

Conditions: Warm and dry-ish 

Distance: 5 kilometers (round trip)

Date: Friday, October 7th
Time: 10am
Destination: Dentist
Conditions: Sprinkly and warm
Distance: 7.7 kilometers (round trip)

Date: Friday, October 7th
Time: 1pm
Destination: Grocery store and bank
Conditions: Still sprinkly, still warm
Distance: 5 kilometers (round trip)

Date: Sunday, October 16th

Time: 7pm

Destination: The movies

Conditions: Rainy and dark

Distance: 10 kilometers (round trip)

Date: Monday, October 17th

Time: 8am

Destination: Work

Conditions: Rainy

Distance: 16 kilometers (round trip)

 Date: Tuesday, October 18th

Time: 7:30pm

Destination: Potluck at friend's

Conditions: Dark

Distance: 5 kilometers (round trip)

 

Date: Sunday, October 23rd

Time: 1:00pm

Destination: Hardware store

Conditions: Warm and dry

Distance: 5 kilometers (round trip)

Date: Sunday, October 23rd

Time: 4:00pm

Destination:Society of Three Speed ride

Conditions: Warm and dry

Distance: Many kilometers

Date: Monday, October 24th

Time: 8am

Destination: Work

Conditions: Dry

Distance: 16 kilometers (round trip)

 

Society of Three Speeds Challenge

I received this electronic telegram from the Urban Adventure League.  I will be participating, maybe you want to too!

 Introducing a little challenge! You of course realize that I love all things three speed. But here’s the thing: I love three speeds as bikes to ride, as transportation. Not as things to gawk at or pull out just for “special” rides. Nosiree! So to encourage folks to get on their three speeds and ride, I introduce a li’l challenge: THREE SPEED OCTOBER!

The premise is simple: Ride your three speed during the month of October! Here are the basic stipulations of this challenge:

1. Ride a three speed bicycle
2. Three times a week during a calendar week (Sunday through Saturday)
3. At least three miles (5 km) each trip
4. For at least three weeks
5. Between Sunday October 2 and Saturday November 5 2016
6. At least one ride a week should be for utility/errands/commuting

And those of you who successfully complete the challenge will get something! Three lucky folk will win memberships to Society of Three Speeds, and anyone who completes the challenge will qualify for a discounted SoTS membership.

Rides need to be documented! You can document through your blog, or post on Instagram, tumblr, or flickr. (Facebook entries DO NOT COUNT.) Or, you can email me or mail me accounts of your trips. You should include AT LEAST ONE photo of your three speed from one of your trips! In the trip account, you should include:

• Date
• Distance of trip
• Location
• Describe the trip. What was it like? What did you do? Where did you go?
• If it was for utility, what specifically? Grocery shopping? Dentist appointment? Ride to work?

Okay, simple enough! But you’ve got questions. You want details. So here goes:

• Why October? For many in the northern hemisphere, it’s the last good month before cold and unsettled weather really settles in. For some, this will be the last time they regularly ride a bike before spring. Or, if you live in a place like Phoenix, it’s the first tolerable riding weather since April! And if you live in the Southern Hemisphere, it’s spring. In any case, it’s generally an OK time to be riding a bike wherever you are on this planet.
• Why three speeds? If you are already here do I need to answer that? Okay, it’s because three speeds are totally reasonable and practical bikes for many an application. This challenge is to encourage you to think about them in this way, rather than a “show” bike for your Tweed Ride.
• Is this just limited to three speeds? Well, yeah. A three speed internally geared hub is what should be ridden for this challenge. We’ll also accept four and five speed internally geared hubs, hubs that were available from Sturmey-Archer by the mid-70’s. But no more or less speeds than that! To be clear, it doesn’t have to be a Sturmey-Archer hub, it can also be a Sachs, Sram, Shimano, SunTour, Hercules, or (insert brand here.) But it can only have three, four, or five speeds!
• Any exceptions? We’ll allow Bromptons that have that infernal Sturmey-Archer with derailleur combo, but that’s it. And you have to promise to not use that derailleur!
• What if I ride less or more trips in a week? You’ll need to hit three trips in a calendar week to qualify. If you ride any less, it won’t qualify. If you ride more, great! But you can’t use “extra” trips towards another week.
• What if I ride more than three miles in a trip? That’s great as well, but all that matters is hitting three miles in a single trip. You can’t use “extra miles” towards another trip. To be clear, you need to ride three separate and distinct trips in a week. They don’t have to be on a different day, but you can’t just do a nine mile ride and take a one hour coffee break at the third and sixth miles.
• I don’t have a cycle computer/Strava/GPS. How will I know if I’ve done three miles? You can use a mapping program before or after the ride to figure out distance. We recommend using Ride With GPS. If not, just figure out a rough estimate of mileage.
• What if I try to ride three times in a week, but something comes up and I can’t do it? Can I ride an extra trip or two in the following week to make up for it? For the most part, no. There are five full calendar weeks between Oct 2 and Nov 5, so if you “biff” one week, there is still time to complete three other weeks. If for some reason something happens that you can’t somehow complete three full weeks of challenge in this span, you can file for a “hardship” exception. You’ll need to get it approved by me first though. I’ll only make the exception if: a) Something personal comes up that doesn’t allow you to complete the challenge in the aforementioned timeframe, b) Weather related issues and c) Bike related issues. You won’t get a pass if you forget to follow through or you get too busy with other things in your life.
• Well yeah, what about the weather? What if the weather simply sucks, we get a blizzard, etc? Yeah, I know that winter can come early in certain parts of the world. For those of you who live in early winter locales (like, say, Duluth), try to do your three weeks of riding during the first three weeks of the challenge timeframe. If something weather related comes up that prevents you from fulfilling the challenge in the time constraints given, contact me and we’ll see about the “hardship” exception. But the weather has to be something real. It can’t just be “well it sprinkled a bit today”. The British rode their three speeds through all sorts of miserable weather, a little rain ain’t going to kill you. Just get out your rain cape and brake before you need to stop!
• What if my ride starts Saturday night and continues into Sunday morning? Well, then it will be considered for the week that the Saturday falls in.
• Why the weekly utility trip? Well, we’d like to showcase the fact that three speeds are practical bikes! And it’s easy to take three “fun rides” of three miles in a week on your local bike path. But we want to make you “use” your bikes for good too! So hit up your dentist, pick up your prescription, pick up some WD40 from the hardware store, ride to work, ride to school, ride to jury duty, etc. If for some reason, you can’t do a “utility” ride, don’t sweat it. But at least try.
• Does the ride have to be a “standalone” ride, or can it be incorporated with another ride? Whatever ride that incorporates a three speed and is at least three miles counts! So if you decide to do a “club” ride or a gnar MTB adventure with friends, or on a 200K brevet, or on a coffeeneuring adventure, it doesn’t matter! In fact, I’d love to see you do the 200K brevet on a three speed!
• Ok, I completed the challenge successfully! What do I get? Everyone who successfully completes the challenge will get a small award, probably a sticker and/or button. Those folks who are not already members will qualify for a discounted rate for Society of Three Speeds. Three lucky folks will win a membership outright! These three winners will be chosen at random from qualified candidates. If you are already a member, you can’t win a membership.

Okay, simple enough! Really, I tried to make this challenge not that hard. If that doesn’t satisfy ya, feel free to pull three centuries a week on a three speed!

So please let me know if you are participating! Email me at urbanadventureleague@gmail.com and provide links to your rides, or just email me the details. Or, you can write me via post. You can email me as you go along or wait until you are done. If you email me as you go along, please keep count of what you’re doing (i.e. “This is the second ride of my first week of the challenge”) as I may (hopefully) be overwhelmed by participation and won’t be able to keep track!

All completed challenges must arrive in my email inbox no later than 11:59 PM Pacific Time on Saturday November 12.  If you are going to submit by post, the envelope must be postmarked by Saturday November 12. Please submit to Shawn Granton, PO Box 14185, Portland, OR 97293-0185.

And...stay tuned here as I post my own results.

The Steens Mazama 1000

I made it home.  Corn on the cob is cooking on the stove, the cat's on the patio and I have a little story to tell.

It starts way before day one but that is where the start line is, so I'll begin there too.  Well, first, the ride to the start line at the Tilikum Bridge had my heart rate at its highest pace of the entire race.  Nervous about something stupid happening or forgetting something, or, really, of starting something I might not finish.

So many amazing friends and boosters and racers gathered by the opera house that morning.  It felt like a nice miniature of the spectacle I'd witnessed at the start of this year's Trans Am Bike Race in Astoria.  I can't imagine doing what those racers or any of my competitors on the inaugural Steens Mazama 1000 do.  Riding through the night.  Spontaneous bivvy overnights in unexpected places.  Going with very little sleep.

My plan to survive this thing involved just that, a plan.  I scotch taped giant map pages on my bedroom wall and traced the route in black sharpie, crossing the already marked Oregon Outback route.  Which reminds me, I couldn't've done this, no way, without having done the Outback. Although they're different in many ways, riding the Outback gave me valuable gear and terrain knowledge. Also critical was my experience as a randonneur, which I've been away from while training for this race.  My rando brain would calculate "miles in the bank", which varies from some randos' "hours in the bank" strategy.

All spring, I tried hard not to take it as a bad omen if a map page wafted off the wall randomly.  I marked my planned overnights with smiley face stickers.  Then I stared at the map a lot, made grids and lists, and even came up with a post office drop scheme to ease my way.  I am still somewhat stunned at how the rhythm of planned overnights and spontaneous ones worked out.  The little cabin called Squirrelville and the hot springs camp in the Hart Mountain Antelope Refuge were equally sublime even though one was reserved and the other totally unexpected.

So, who did I ride with?  I had the pleasure of riding with almost everyone at one time or another, but mainly I rode with my good friend James, who I also rode the Outback with, and who confirmed during a TNR (Thursday Night Ride) that he was for sure racing the Steens and would like to match my day plan.  We had a third, a lady, but she had to pre-scratch due to health stuff.  A last minute add on to the ten dayers: Justin.  This kid: a prodigy.  A serious bike prodigy.  He was originally a bicycle kitty blog fan, and we met and became friends by chance.  We also rode for several days with a really fit Ironman lady who pedicabs in Austin for a living.

What went wrong?  Well, I got a flat tire.  That was a mile from Riley and I filled with C02 til I got to the little store, I was so thirsty and hungry.  My panniers and trunk bag off, tools out, bike upside down, eating chips and ice cream while fixing my dirty tire.  Classy lady, c'est moi.

I always joke to kind motorists who offer flat help - "oh, do you have a floor pump?".  So naturally that's what I said when a coupla cute guys asked me if I needed help.  One said "well, actually..." and the big camper behind him pulled away to reveal his company sprint van wrapped with a popular mountain bike brand logo.  He told me he knew the rules of trail magic and offered me not only the floor pump, but a tube and a sticker.  A really cool sticker that I put on my chain stay.  Tell me what it says and I'll give you a pair of painted valve caps.

Ok, onward.  The main thing about riding bikes, the main thing I like anyway, is how important it is to stay in the moment.  Yet, being consumed with planning and training in the months leading up to the race required the opposite of that staying present mindset.  I recognize how there are deposits and withdrawals in life and all of that planning and training worked as a large credit that I could pull from during the challenge.  It's kind of like being two people - one of you taking care of the other.  My caretaker self treated my riding self like a coddled princess.  Thank you, caretaker self.

Leaving town, I was just so high on life.  Everyone riding with us, blowing horns and cheering. Nathan at the front, just like on other urban rides, directing the way.  "Neutral roll out, people!", then, around Foster: "OK people, bike ride!".

The best piece of gear I had were my thermal knee warmers, which give great coverage from high thigh to below the knee.  I wore those almost every day.  I also felt really good about my first aid kit, and never needing it.  Improvements: My kite sucked and wouldn't fly, even on top of The Steens.  My disco ball was way too small.  I thought I could get away with a micro-mini one for this, but it really wasn't big enough to create the desired light show in my tent.  Live and learn.

Santiam Pass was a trial of overcoming fear and bracing oneself against a relentless onslaught of fast cars, semi trucks, double long semi trucks, huge campers and campers towing cars.  I'm sure I missed a few types of vehicles.  I ate a huge chocolate bar at the bottom of the hour long climb.  That helped a lot.

Which brings me to the fascinating topic of nutrition.  I feel like I really rediscovered my nutritional instincts on these ten hard days in a row.  Ramen and jerky for dinner, oatmeal and dried fruit for breakfast are old standbys and worked great again.  I had lots of intense cravings for anything made of potatoes and candy of all sorts.  Oh, the chocolate bars I put away.  I sucked down citrus like I had scurvy.  Little middle-of-nowhere stores often have lemons.  Cut 'em up, suck on 'em, toss 'em in your water bottle.  The best.

Day five was by far the hardest.  An early start to summit The Steens, then onto a terrible washboard gravel road, heading into a headwind, a hot afternoon sun and nowhere to hide.  Sage brush desert as far as the eye can see in every direction, with the stern silhouette of The Steens and its now familiar "bite" shrinking behind us.  Surreal to see it get so small after having just climbed it. 

It just kept going.  The washboard, the wind, the sun.  Until the sun set, which it tends to do.  I don't really dig night riding, especially as my approach to gravel is to train my eyes on it and pick the most supreme line possible at all times.  Surprisingly, once the light faded, I stopped looking down and it didn't seem to matter.

The sage brush became a big monochrome in the fading daylight and animals started to awaken for their night duty.  I saw several huge white owls that flapped away dramatically when they heard me coming.  A few weasels, which I thought at first were meerkats.  Cows.  Wild cows!  Lots of jackrabbits with cartoon-looking ears.  No antelope.

I hallucinated just once.  A big black shaped moved up ahead.  A bear?  Puma?  What's my puma plan of attack?!  I slowed down and rang my bell gently.  The animal receded so I continued on.  It turns out what I was seeing was the road itself.  Losing daylight can really mess with the way you see things.  I finally arrived at "headquarters", after watching their lights twinkle on the horizon for at least two hours.  Headquarters is what they call the ranger station in the Hart Mountain Antelope Refuge.  I couldn't see a thing and dogs were barking.  I unhooked a hose to access a spigot located just past a sign that literally said "do not pass this sign".

I was freaked out about the place and continued on.  A mile or so up the road, I stopped to look at my phone map and realized a huge descent lay just ahead.  No way did I want to try that with my tired, scared, not-seeing-straight self.  So, I did what comes naturally, I cried.  At just that moment, a pair of headlights appeared and a man stepped out of a white pick up truck to ask how I was.  He may as well have been riding a big white horse.  He drove me to the hot springs.  He had heard about the race and assured me it's not cheating to accept a ride off course.

The hot springs were unbelievable.  Just what I needed to recover from the horrible day five, and the not so easy days one through four.  I broke a personal policy, uncreatively named my "no public nudity" rule.  That's a thing of the past now.  I must be getting really old because even my mother approved of that story.

Locals in this area would say things like "now all you've got to do is get down this mountain!".  If you saw someone in a car, you'd all stop and say hello and compare adventures.  One couple pulled over to ask if I knew I was in the middle of nowhere.  Another couple slowed briefly to tell me only five more miles until pavement.

I only cried twice.  Well, three times if you count one for happy.  That one was descending out of the refuge.  It felt like being on top of the world. Knowing the tough climb and most of the gravel were over didn't hurt.  I had been writing a little song during the ride and started to serenade the panorama around me.  You could just see forever up there.

There was still a lot more hard stuff ahead, but we started announcing the number of the day at camp every morning.  We felt the hardest part must be behind us, but we weren't quite right.  Even our alleged rest day included a huge washboard descent, and about fifty paved semi-hilly miles.  What I didn't factor in was how my fatigue and fragility would increase as the ride wore on.

By the time we were crossing the Outback route (for the second time), I was a shell of my former self.  Climbing took energy.  Heat took energy.  Moods plummeted.  Performance fell into the crapper.  Tears were expelled.  I bought a bottle of beer with my hand down my pants the whole time.  Yes, I'd fallen that far.  Arriving at camp after the non-stop climbathon that was Crater Lake, each of my co-riders came up and hugged me.  Good guys, those two.

Day nine may have been my favorite.  That was the stretch from Diamond Lake up to Springfield.  It was beautiful terrain, nice trusty pavement, just one medium-hard climb and a nice fried potato lunch at a cafe.  We rode on a little BLM road along the Umpqua River that felt like a secret.  Ideal conditions.  We developed a multi-tiered road grading system during the race and this one earned four stars, despite slightly bumpy pavement.

Day four was a favorite too.  I loved the pretty patchwork country leaving Burns, which even featured a water spigot stop at the Agricultural Research Center.  The road to French Glenn, and the way through The Narrows, felt like we were leaving this world and going somewhere else.  The land formations, which you watch change as you gained on them, added to the other-wordly feeling.

So, all that's left now is the ending.  Day ten was our longest one, with a fair amount of climbing.  I had anticipated the combination of being "trained up" from nine days of riding, the gear drop in Springfield, along with that phenomenal smell of the barn, would make us fast and strong that day.  And we were.  In great part due to the dot-watchers, our friends and families and fans from home, who started making themselves more and more known during that last stretch.

Nothing can beat roadside cheerleaders standing by their cars and waving and screaming your name. Other riders started to join us in Oregon City and soon we had an entourage.  Riding the race with friendly faces made each mile easier.  I asked to be in the middle with both guys' arms on my shoulders for the finish, and they generously agreed.

There was a great little crowd at the finish line, which included most of our fellow finishers.  The three of us were tied for last place, and happy for it.  People handed me beers, flowers, hugs and congratulations.  I've never felt like such a real athlete, especially when all of the finishers lined up for a photo.  What an honor to be counted among this group.

So, now I'm at home, eating corn on the cob, swimming in butter - just as I'd fantasized about during the ride.  My achilles is swollen and I took a three hour bath today.  I miss riding my bike, after only riding to work this week.  The boring recovery time, along with the post-climactic mood of finishing something big like this, has me wondering what to plan next.

UPDATE: I was just interviewed by my friends over at the Sprocket Podcast.  If you have an hour to kill, give it a listen!  To listen, click here: Sprocket Podcast of SM1k.

The Big Race

Hello Racing Fans!

I am about to embark on a little bit of a bike ride this Friday.  I have a ten day plan and my strategy is to view each day's ride as just one ride.  I'll get to sleep each night, which is more than many of my Randonneur and Trans Am Bike Racer friends can say.

If you'd like to follow my progress, keep an eye on the website, I'll be represented by a pink dot labeled MS.  Here's the website: Steens Mazama 1000.

Thank you to everyone who supported me in preparing for this endeavor.

Glut Glutton

It's summer in Portland, or at least it feels like it, and the streets are brimming with cyclists and other active road users.  It's good to see everyone looking healthy and like they're having fun.  As a community, we've been working hard to encourage more people to bike and it's really happening!  However, some more seasoned cyclists, those who've been in Portland for some time, riding for a while, and who regularly brave bad weather, can feel frustrated at the sudden crowd in the bike lane.
 
Portland has experienced a huge boom lately with a large influx of new population.  Who could blame anyone for moving here, it's a great place.  It's our job as current residents to show them the way Portlanders act, which is welcoming and friendly and just pure fun-lovin.  It's also our job to show them that cyclists are courteous, which includes running stop signs in a safe and non-cutting-other-people-off way, and that above all, we enjoy riding our bikes and they can too.

I had an idea during a recent pilgrimage to check out the new Copenhagen-esque North Williams bike corridor.  This is a great game to ward off the feeling of being edged out by the new crowd of cyclists.  Pull up to a light and stop (providing the light is red and you feel like stopping).  Check out the other cyclists around you.  What are they riding?  What are they wearing?  You might catch yourself judging someone's Huffy or feeling jealous of someone's carbon racer.  You might start thinkin one guy's seat is too low, while that other gal's seat is too high.

What if you look at this small group of riders as your new bike gang?  This is the group with whom you'll be fighting zombies, rescuing children, foraging for food, crossing rivers and scaling rock faces.  Suddenly you'll see the riders in a different light.  Maybe you'll realize you're the oldest rider at the light, and although you're proud of your fitness, when the chips are down you might be the weakest link.  Or maybe you'll end being their leader and help them survive by showing them how to fix flat tires and outrun zombies.

Whatever the case, this is your new bike gang and everyone will somehow fit in and contribute to your gang.  Maybe that guy on a Huffy is a doctor and the lady with the weird brakes is a nutritionist who can show everyone where to find berries.  Maybe your prowess in flat fixing will be elevated to a higher level if you're the only one in the group who can do small mechanical bike repairs.  Each of you will have a valuable contribution to the group.  Keep on keepin on people and have some fun!

The Salmonberry Trail

Built in the 1930s, this old Pacific rail line once connected the Oregon coast and Portland.  Flooded and repaired again and again, it was finally abandoned in 2007 and left for nature to grow over. 

As we set out to ride this future rails-to-trails project on a morning in 2016, I thought riding on the pilings between the tracks would be the worst part of the day.  I was wrong.  By the end of the day, any section of pilings clear enough to bump over while on our bikes would have felt like pure luxury. 

We invented a new term that day: bushpacking.  Our credo: "we don't ride bikes, we carry them!".  The bike was actually pretty useful in helping me navigate steep climbs on foot and it made for a nice water and snack carrier.  Otherwise, it was almost completely useless on this epic adventure. The word epic is often overused, but in the case of this particular adventure, it felt perfectly appropriate. 

One rider carried a machete, but the woods were too thick for it.  We'd scramble and rest and repeat over and over.  One treacherous creek crossing featured a deeper than apparent current that almost took my bike away, and gave me a bloody ankle.

After the creek, we encountered a steep muddy cliff.  We stood there and looked at it for a whle.  How could we turn back?  I didn't want to do all of that hard stuff again! We spied a knotted rope, tied to a tree near the top and decided to give it a try.  At that point, our group was split up and there were just two of us.  I was able to scramble up the cliff and reach the rope.  Once I got the rope, I felt like a junior high student in gym class, but with more on the line than potential humiliation.  Finally at the top, I was able to hang on to the rope and grab my bicycle as it was handed up.  Next, my friend, a tall guy with a big bike, handed his bike up.  I was able to put the rope through his front wheel and just hold it while he scrambled up to help me retrieve his machine.

This entire operation took around 45 minutes.  We laid at the top exhausted and covered in mud and sweat.  Just then, we heard people clapping.  Some hikers on the other side of the river must have spectated our entire ridiculous ascent.

The afternoon wore on.  I missed riding my bike.  We kept going, often seeing fallen trestle bridges, sometimes crossing those yet to fall.  Finally, we could go no further.  We hadn't seen the tracks in some time, and had been scrambling over boulders between a loud rushing river and a steep stone cliff.  There was nowhere else to go, so we turned back.

We found a tiny gravel path that led to a gravel road and took it with the hopes we could escape the Nehalem River valley and get back to civilization before nightfall.  We trudged up the steep hill for a very long time.  It was so steep that it was easy to stop and rest, you just leaned onto the hillside.  The sun was starting to set and my friend said we might be spending the night out here.  Between us we had an emergency blanket, water, a large chocolate bar and a small flask of whiskey, so we knew we'd be okay.  

A lifetime later we reached the top of this diabolical road (which we later learned is called Beaver Slide Road) and we mounted up and rolled east.  Sitting on the saddle never felt so good.  The vistas were incredible and we quickly undid the day's miles in an hour.  It had taken us eight hours to traverse 13 miles of this undeveloped rail trail through the woods.

Steens Mazama 1000

This is the sort of race that I knew I had to do from the moment I first heard about it.  First of all, there is no car support allowed.  This is a rule I can get behind. Second, and even more important, this looks way too hard for me.  So, I'll suck it up and actually train for this one.  A thousand mile loop, visiting the two highest points of Oregon, is no joke and I'd like to do it in style.  Plus, I'll get to sleep every night, which is more than randos can say.

When I described the event to my dad, he said he didn't understand why I'd want to do something so hard that is guaranteed to hurt.  "Why would anyone want to sign up for so much pain?" he said.  Normally very supportive, his feedback gave me pause. 

I used the pause to ask myself the same questions he'd asked me.  Why would I want to do this race?  Bragging rights?  No.  Ok, yes, but also the adventure of it.  The challenge.  The views.  Will it just be all pain all the time?  No.  Ok, maybe, but there'll be breaks between the pain and I'll cope with it. 

The bottom line is this: what if this is my last chance to do something like this?  What if all this global warming or political lunacy or an asteroid or earthquake end everything and I missed a chance to do something amazing?  I don't want to know, so I registered.

Since that moment of publicly committing to compete, it's pretty much all I think about.  I've put together a team of three, because I like riding with friends.  I taped a series of map pages on the wall with the route sharpied in.  I created a day plan.

Unfortunately, I also got sick.  And my knee's been weak.  But I won't let these things stop me, or even slow me down.  I'm still training.  I got a new fit on the bike.  I visited a physical therapist and have signed up for regular massages.  I'm doing it.

Thomas

A very long time ago, I was an office worker in San Francisco enjoying an afternoon smoke break.  There was already a cultural disconnect between me and my co-workers, or I should say bosses.  They were older than me, more successful, and all drove into the office from their suburban houses.  They would often dictate letters during their commute for me to type up later.

I lived in a cheap rental flat in the city and rode my bike to and from work.  This was before people riding bikes to work were called bike commuters, and this was before I called myself a cyclist.  I simply rode my bike to get around. My co-worker/bosses would always warn me to be careful, and I felt they were implying my lack of care might get me killed.

Bike racks weren't a standard piece of street furniture yet.  The high-rise office building where I worked didn't have a single rack - not in front, or in back, or even in the huge underground parking lot.  I would lock my little cruiser bike to a no parking sign in the adjacent alley with a long chain, Pee Wee-style.

So, there I stood on the south side of Market Street, right between 2nd and Sansome, enjoying my Marlboro Red cigarette while watching the world go by.  A cute bike messenger boy rode by, headed up town.  I would learn, many years later, that he had just handed off some concert tickets to his best friend Thomas, then ridden off to do a delivery.

A bus came up behind him and I heard brakes screech.  Then I heard a lady scream.  I've never heard such a dreadful sound before or since.  Everything else went silent suddenly, and a young man lay next to his bike, underneath the front wheel of the bus.




Just writing this now brings tears to my eyes.  On that day, I cried also.  A life had ended.  Someone's son had died.  Someone's brother was gone.  Just like that, over in a heartbeat.

But it was time to get back upstairs, so I numbly zombied my way inside, past the concierge, into the elevator, into suite 707 and to my desk.  I just stared at my computer and my hands on the keyboard.  How can things just keep going for everyone when one of us has been killed?

The bosses were gathered at the office window looking down.  I didn't want to tell them I'd seen the crash and I didn't want to talk with them about my feelings.  But I had a piece of paper to deliver to that office, so I snuck in and dropped it in the in-box.  What I overheard turned my blood cold.

"Why are they making a mess all over the street?  That's littering!  Stupid bikers.  Stupid bike messengers.  They're slowing down traffic with all those flowers"

I backed out of the office and away from these monsters and back to my desk to wait out the afternoon.  I remember walking my bike home that day.  About three miles.   I didn't fully realize yet that I was right at the precipice of beginning of a new life.

Random Rando

Late Saturday afternoon, I put on my jeans and rode my antique three speed over to the grocery store in Woodstock.  After shopping, I drove my cart out to the bike rack and transferred the panniers onto the bike before unlocking.  My receipt flapped away at the bottom of the cart and I left it.

A tall gentleman in Castelli knickers walked up to the rack, almost tripping over my front wheel.  He locked up his road bike, with its Brooks saddle and randonneur-style bag, and swiftly scooped my receipt out of the cart.  I marveled at how interested he appeared to be in this little piece of paper that revealed nothing more than how much I like expensive chocolate. 

"Oh, you've found my receipt.  Is there anything of interest on it?".  He looked up and told me he'd just finished the ride.  I am used to strangers finding me familiar, as I believe it's one of my overriding qualities, but he actually knew my name.  "The ride?" I asked.

Turns out, this was the chap who had requested to ride my permanent route, the PAP or Portland-Aumsville-Portland.  He was looking at the receipt because he thought he might use it as control proof instead of going into the store. 

He looked fresh as a daisy but insisted it had been a hard nine hour day.  My best 200k time is ten hours.  We chatted about the route, which he said was a nice easy choice for winter, and then we went our separate ways.

Spoke Card Etiquette

First, if you are planning any sort of urban ride, Pedalpalooza adventure, alley cat race, or bicycling event wherein your duty is to provide a dandy good time for your riders, and possibly perpetuate the reputation and therefore future attraction to your ride:

You shall provide spoke cards*, **

*except in the case where attendance far surpasses your expectation, or you have gamified the spoke card giving (as in the case of the In Search Of...ride series where riders were challenged to find hidden spoke cards along the route to win prizes).
**or in the case that you're giving away some other prize(s)/memento(s)

Second, these spoke cards must be your own art or imagery, or at least art or imagery you have permission to use.  The art or imagery must reflect the flavor, or branding (if you will) of the event.  Your spoke card must be two-sided and appropriately-sized so that it may be fitted between two neighboring spokes on a standard 32-spoked wheel with a double crossover lacing pattern.

The spoke card you create is required to be weather-proof, which may mean different things in different localities.  For Portland, it means: waterproof.  In Mexico or other points south, this means UV-proof.  Near the ocean?  Salt-proof please.  Etcetera.

If you are offered a spoke card, you may only refuse it if you have radially laced spokes on all wheels on your rig, or a minimum of eight spoke cards already installed and in good condition.  Otherwise, you must graciously accept this handmade gift and immediately install it on your steed, whip, ride, or whatever the heck it is you call your two wheeled tumbler.

Unless you are on a tricycle, cargo bike, or dragging a trailer, you will only have two installation choices for your new memento.  Front wheel or back.  Either is acceptable.  If you already have spoke cards installed, it is best to pair the new card with the existing card by displaying them in the opposing position on the same wheel.

Spoke cards installed on the rear wheel will ideally be on the drive side, where most photography seems to point, and opposite the valve stem.  Spoke cards installed on the front wheel will also need to be on the opposite side of the valve, except when an existing spoke card is present, in which case the new card shall be placed on on the same side as the valve.

The spoke card must not be deliberately removed in any case, with the following exceptions:

• it is of shoddy quality and is shredding (shame on the maker)
• it is compromising your aero-ness and you've registered for a triathlon
• it is compromising your aero-ness and you've registered for a time trial
• it is making noise and cannot be adjusted enough to be quiet*
• someone died
• you have crashed or otherwise "tacoed" your wheel
• you are having new wheels built

*this condition is voided if your bike is making other noises including but not limited to chain squeak, bottom bracket chirp, disc brake squeal, spoke violin, rim brake-pad rubbing and/or mystery ticking.

If you are a bike mechanic, wheel-builder or somehow have found yourself in charge of someone else's bike which has a spoke card displayed, you may only remove the spoke card if it is required by the scope of work you are performing.  Please do not re-install the spoke card.

In the case of a new wheelset, the spoke card is removed from the old wheelset and handed to the customer (or friend you just did a massive favor for) when they are receiving the new wheelset.

That is all.  Unless it's not, in which case, please add your comments and I will amend this article immediately.

Many thanks to the Missing Link's talented mechanic Matt, who recently built new wheels for me and brought this important issue to my attention.  (He placed the spoke card he removed from my wheel into my basket, which is the preferred and premium method for those of you with baskets).