RUSA Store: Another Great Place to Spend Your Online Dollars

Good news: the RUSA store is now open online. There's lots of great merchandise for you randonneurs on your next brevet.

My favorite item is something for a rainy day: The RUSA handbook, which is chock-full of information by folks like Bill Bryant and Don Hamilton. Look closely at the cover and you'll see Fleche Wound teammates Greg Schild and John D'Elia. The photo was taken by another teammate, Cap'n John Ende, during PBP03.

Burn Baby Burn

Burned my old shorts after Saturday's 300K. Yep. Cranked up Jimi and got down with some lighter fluid. "Let Me Stand Next to Your Fire" will forever hold new meaning for me. Probably for my wife and my neighbors too.

It started with a sickening feeling only a few hours into our 300K, just past Snow Camp. My hinny was not happy. Lantiseptic is my choice for every ride longer than the commute, but that morning- I simply rolled out the door without it. "Got you covered," my buddy Lin reassured me. "I have plenty of Bag Balm." Instant relief at the first controle. But something still wasn't right.

As the day went on, it became apparent that the chamois' stitching was getting too cozy with my cheeks. Never had a problem there before, but I sure had one now. A heavy downpour doused us 10 miles from l'arrivée and suddenly, things got much worse. The stinging was so bad I thought about DNF'ing right then and there. I still finished, but the next day, my wife took a look and scared me with an "Eeeewwwwww!" She's a burn nurse. If she's freaked out, it's time to say "buh-bye" to these bibs.

I'm not going to mention who made them. To be fair, they've been pretty good up until now. I think I just held onto them too long. My advice? Unless you want to do a firewalk across your old shorts one day- learn to let them go. Before you get burned.

300K Brevet / April 26, 2008

The plan: ride the 400K in DC. Plans change. Plan B: the 300K in Raleigh.

Two hours of bike prep. Schmidt wheel? No. Battery light.

Saturday: 5:30 a.m. Panic. Change of plans. New tire on the Schmidt wheel. Pump it up, hold my breath while it holds air. Bad luck to change it out before a ride? Very superstitious, Stevie says. Pack the battery light. Pack too much. Ride it heavy. Test the legs and the resolve. Test fate.

A latte, peanut butter bread, no change in the pre-ride meal.

A pink half moon. 6:15. Meet and greet the usuals. Paul, Lin, Paul, Branson, Sridhar, Fearless Leader, Bob, Chuck, John, Jon, Byron, Dean. Road warriors with apprehensive war paint. Randonneurs. Gabba gabba we accept you, one of us. New faces: Victor, Dennis. Out-of-towners Ed of Daily Randonneur fame and tandem partner Mary, dressed in wool. And there’s flechmate Lynn and her husband Gordon. And Jeff.

Off at 7 into a forecast. Headwind on the way out, heat on the way home. No disappointments.

A slow roll up Jack Bennett until the tandems drop the hammer, a whip stinging the flanks. Off the front, a small team climbs through the hills, ignores the scenery, crosses Chicken Bridge. Car against car or overturned truck, competing stories.

The seatpost. The damned seatpost. 12 miles before I get a wrench on it, working for the clampdown.

At the control, Jerry with water and a pen, and I roll on alone. Ride my ride, chewing out a rhythm on my bubble gum. The tug of war: society and solitude. Some things never change. I make my bed, I lie in it. Stop three times to check the seatpost, once to piss.

Battle the ride demons and the wind, dodge caterpillars, wave at the lawnmowers, dodge grass clippings and holes. Wes reels me in, side by side for a few moments of chatting, and he’s off up the next hill.

The turnaround. Jerry and Wes there in their silk-upholstered chairs, talking to some rich folks that they know. Here we are in our ragged company.

Half a burger, greasy fries, three cokes and I’m off with Paul and Lin. Lin is our locomotive, our ride compass. The invisible hand of the wind is on our backs, the heat on our cheeks. Malcolm asks: Who done it -- who carried you?

The sweet pain comes now, the shortstop for our sandlot team. The left knee, the stomach, the left calf, strained eyes, the left hand, the palms. Scraping off the attitude. This road, this road, we’re ready to see the end of this road. Paul the statistician with the countdown. Lin the motor.

Climb out of the deep hole to Andrews Store for cool drinks and the peer pressure of Nutty Buddies. I put all my change in the penny cup. 1:15 left and a five-mile downhill roll to the lake. This is the Golden Age.

Dodge the holes on Lewter Shop, power up a ridge and a fast run to Al’s. Handshakes and Pepsi and pizza. A shower from two cans of hot seltzer, a change into street clothes. Al and I watch World War II weapons and Cars of the Future in high definition. Tomorrow we can drive around this town.

The porch light flips on and here is another group, and then another. Tired sweaty riders with war stories of heavy legs, heavy rain and swarms of bugs.

Dinner it is. Salsa Fresh? No. Closed. Change of plans. Smithfield Bar BQ for plates of hush puppies and jumbo shrimp and monster lemonades.

Give Branson a ride home, a proper shower, and in bed by 11 with Maxi.

Another fun day on the bikes.

Nitto Seatpost? Not Really

In my formative cycling years, back when I was 10 and paper thin, I ruled my corner of the universe on a Schwinn Traveler. The bike had a two-piece seatpost. There was the post and a separate clamp that secured the seat. Problem was, the clamp wasn’t all that great. I didn't weigh any more than a sack of feathers. But hit a big bump and the seat would tilt violently back. -- the biking equivalent of a bucking bronco. I’d hang on and hope I didn’t land on the pavement noggin first.

I haven’t thought much about seatposts since then. With the modern seatpost, what’s to think about? It’s just there, doing its job. Grease it, slide it in the old seat tube, adjust the seat to your liking, ride your bike. End of story.

Lately, I’ve been reliving my childhood seatpost experience. And it ain’t a pleasant memory.

My new Coho randonneuring bike has a great mix of parts. But the one weak link has been the single bolt Nitto post.

Here’s how it’s described on Peter White’s site:

This is about the nicest single bolt seat post on the market. Extremely well polished with top quality machining for the clamp. This is clearly the best looking seat post available. It's extremely well made, as are all Nitto products. When making adjustments, you can't isolate the fore/aft positioning from the tilt, so it's not as easy to make small adjustments as it is with a two bolt post. But once you do have it adjusted, it won't slip.

Sure, it looks good. Nice and shiny. But as for no-slip: horse pucks. Mine has angled back as much as 10 degrees.

It did it on the very first long ride I did, the 230-mile fleche. When I finished, I noticed the seat had about a 3-degree angle to the back. Odd. I could have sworn I’d had it level at the start.

When I got home, I reset it. Next long ride was the S.C. 300K. When I got done. I checked it. Same problem.

And again on a 20-mile ride around town.

I was fast losing confidence in the best looking seatpost available. Maybe it’s true what the say – looks aren’t everything. Maybe at 195 lbs. I was too big, too fat, for this single-bolt design. I mentioned this to Chuck. He said the post/clamp interface probably had some grease on it. Clean it with alcohol, he said; that should cure it. He also sent me a small sample of valve lapping compound, a gritty substance that he said would help bind the two surfaces.

Okay, Saturday’s 300K, I’m riding along and I notice a new pain around the old groin area. I was in a pace line and did not want to stop, but it was obvious what was going on. We hit the control at 100K. I climbed off and had a look. I joked later that the saddle was pointing at the North Star. Everybody had a good laugh. But there was nothing funny about it at the time. The damned thing wrecked my left knee for half the ride and -- how shall I say this in polite company? –- it nearly put Junior Johnson in a coma.

The fix: I angled the seat down in the front by about 5 degrees and climbed aboard. By the time the Nitto finished with its slipping down life, it was back to level. Is that any way to set a post? No, it ain't.

I didn’t have any more problems the rest of the ride. Maybe it’s cured. Who knows?

I know there are a lot of you out there who swear by Nitto products. Me? I spent part of my Saturday swearing at it. If you’re a big guy like me and don’t want to spend any of your precious time thinking about your seatpost, you might think long and hard before you buy the single bolt Nitto post. As for me, I'm thinking about replacing mine.

Talk about your research trailer...

I may have to turn over the reins to these guys. They've taken it to a whole 'nother level.

Two Tragedies

This is a tragedy of the worst sort. Nancy Leidy is a cyclist out for a morning ride. Brian Anthony Reid is a college student who on the very day he turns 21 apparently celebrates with some early morning drinking. He then climbs behind the wheel of his pick-up truck.

The paths of Leidy and Reid fatally collided at 11 a.m. on Wednesday. Reid has been charged with felony death by motor vehicle as well as impaired driving.

In an editorial today, the Raleigh N&O noted the remarkable generosity of spirit demonstrated by Leidy’s husband. “I feel bad for the guy,” Mr. Leidy said. “I was young once, and I remember getting [drunk] before. I don't think it was at 11 a.m., though.”

A quote from the same editorial:

There would be less call for such generosity of spirit if motorists would simply take more care around bicyclists. Each year about 30 bike riders are killed in North Carolina and another 160 seriously injured. Some are victims of their own bad judgment or bad riding, but too many are needlessly struck by drivers who could have avoided trouble if only they'd slowed down or allowed a little more leeway. Or let a little time pass before passing the cyclist in the clear.

For any driver whose vehicle hits someone on a bike, it's too late to think about what could have been done differently. For the rest of us, the time to think is now.

Here’s the first story on the accident and a follow-up report on the new charges.

Mechanical Issues

A friend wrote this week:

It seems I learn a little more about how to do these rides each time out. My main weakness now is I don't know about bicycle maintenance & repair. I haven't been able to find a course so I pick up what I can. Any time you have hard earned advice I have an open mind.

My randonneuring experience on more than 50 brevets or permanents is that only a few mechanical issues (beyond a crucial part failure, like a rim or the frame) will end your ride. For instance, I’ve ridden more than 120 miles where the rear dérailleur would not shift. It was inconvenient but not a show-stopper. But there are some things that will sideline you for good if not repaired.

* Tires. I carry one now, folded up beneath my rear tool bag. I’ve cut a tire so badly that it could not be booted. But for those cuts that can be repaired, I usually carry a tire boot. I have one made by Park Tools. Truth is, I’ve had very few flats on brevets (knock on wood). One reason is that I always inspect my tires before any brevet. It only takes a minute for a quick check. Do the tires look worn? Are there any big, suspicious cuts that might conceal a piece of glass or metal? If so, I fix, or switch the tire. Also, I use Michelin Pro Race tires. They are incredibly puncture resistant and perform well in roll tests.

* Tubes. I usually carry two tubes and a patch kit. As I’ve just noted, I’ve had very few problems with flats on rides because of preventive maintenance. I foresee the day when I have three flats, but I'm not looking forward to it.

* Broke spoke. I’ve had this happen a couple times. This is a huge problem on modern bikes with very little clearance and low spoke count wheels. I’ve switched over to 32-spoke or higher wheels, and I usually carry spare spokes or a fiber fix spoke kit. I also carry a spoke wrench. I’ve built several sets of wheels, which is a fun way to learn about wheel repair. That’s an invaluable skill on long rides. I periodically take my wheels off, check them for loose spokes and true them.

* Bottom bracket. I’ve had the BB loosen up on a few long rides. This can bring things grinding to a halt -- or at the very least, prove to be incredibly annoying. There’s usually not much you can do about this unless you’re willing to carry an assortment of tools (or stop in the local Wal-Mart and buy a $5.99 tool set with hammer and punch, as I once did). The better solution: If you suspect the BB's loose, or if the bike is fairly new, get it tightened before the ride. This one comes to mind because the BB on my new Coho just loosened up. The BB was a brand I did not have the tool for at home. I had to go into Ed's shop after pulling the crank arms. I ordered the puller while I was there.

* Rear derailleur adjustment. I’ll be honest. The 10-speed der. adjustment is still a mystery to me. I can get it close, but never perfect. Hearing myself say this, I’m going to crack this riddle. But it should not stop you. I rode PBP with my rear derailleur out of adjustment. I figured out which gears to avoid.

* Broken chain. I’ve seen this happen a few times and it will definitely end your day if you can’t repair. But it can be done roadside, assuming you carry a chain tool. I usually do, as well as an extra pin and a bit of extra chain. My current chain has one of those snap links in it, so I could shorten the chain if need be and get back on the road.

Of course, you can expect things to get ugly on a chain fix. Here's a shot of Brother Tim's hands after a successful repair. He broke a spoke on the same ride b/c the rear der. damaged some spokes when the chain snapped. He finished the century with a very wobbly wheel but a great attitude. He was not going to be denied.

* Front derailleur adjustment. I’ve seen people break chains by throwing the chain and trying to pedal it back on. The front der. is usually pretty easy to adjust with the two set screws. If you’ve been throwing your chain to the outside, or dropping it inside, take a moment to get this squared away.

* Lights. A broken light could/should put an end to the night ride. What to do? On my set-up, I carry a spare bulb for the front dynohub light (and often a spare battery light). I have redundant lights in the back.

Celebrity Death Match Brewing: Schmidt Edelux vs. Supernova E3

We randonneurs who use Schmidt dynohubs can hardly sleep at night. Like the man said, the future's so bright we gotta wear shades. New products are lighting up the road like never before.

The standard for years has been the E6 light, which throws a very even yellow light up the road. But the E6 is being eclipsed by a new generation of white bright LED lights.


The Supernova E3 has been getting rave reviews from riders who've already put it to use on early season night rides. A Seattle friend used one on last weekend's fleche and said it was "just outstanding.... it lights up the world." You'll see on the Supernova site that the maker brags about using "the world's brightest LED."

But....


Inquiring minds want to know how it will match up against a new Schmidt light, the Edelux, that will be available in June. The picture above is from this page of Peter White Cycles. The Edelux is said to have three times the total light output of the E6 and throw a beam twice as wide. It has a four-minute standlight and a sensor that automatically turns the light on and off as needed.

Bicyclists will have to pay dearly to see these two lights slug it out. Both lights are priced at over $200 -- and the price keeps climbing as the dollar falls. But one or the other will soon be lighting the way for my new Coho.

Lake Loop Riders / April 13

The Lake Loop Permanent saw four randonneurs yesterday -- Tom and Mary Florian (who were part of last weekend's S.C. 300K adventure), as well as Dean and Sridhar. Sridhar sent those pictures from the final control. Three of us -- myself, Danno and JoeRay -- met them at the start yesterday and tagged along for 30 miles before turning back. It was such a beautiful day that we all regretted having things to do that prevented a full Lake Loop.

Here's Dean's description of the full ride:

The four of us---Mary, Tom, Sridhar, and me---had a wonderful ride yesterday. The weather was perfect. Despite the fact that I've done the Loop year-round, this was the first time that I've done it when the redbuds and dogwoods were in bloom.

The Florians are really something---completing the 43-mile Mt Mitchell Training Ride Saturday in Spartanburg, S.C., and then doing the 130-mile Kerr Lake Loop Permanent ride on Sunday.

We got the Skipwith wind boost, which kicked in nicely after Clarksville.

Stopped and ate lunch at Subway in Clarksville. People are amazed that we pedal up from north Raleigh and back. I can understand that---it amazes me!

Congrats to all. See you on the road soon.

Pocket Coffee

What to do when it's 2am on a brevet and you can't stop for a cup of joe? Introducing Pocket Coffee. Problem solved! It does work- the espresso concoction inside packs a noticeable punch. The only downside is Pocket Coffee isn't imported by our friends at Capri Flavors in the summer. Guess the chocolate candy part doesn't hold up well above 70 degrees. Titina is selling it with a decent discount right now, so you can get enough to carry you through to November. And if you do, tell her Research Trailer Park sent you.

Of Crepes, Coffee, Cycling & Computers

I'm landlocked this weekend, chained to my computer while I complete RUSA's newsletter. But I managed to sneak out first thing this morning for a 15-mile loop on the Coho with buddies John and Lannis. They do the same greenway loop at the same time every morning. They've been doing it for years. I join them once a month or so and catch up on all things personal and political.

When I got back, Maxi had been down to the grocery store, returning with a quart of strawberries and a free pint of blackberries (don't ask; I never do). She had something sinful on her mind: breakfast crepes. We learned to love them on our two trips to Paris, also known as the "City of Crepes."

Cap'n Ende and his wife Amy inspired us on a mountain weekend with homemade crepes, and Kelly gave me a crepe pan and a cute little crepe paddle for one of the major holidays -- Jan. 6, whatever that one is.

Crepes are quick and easy. Here's our recipe (makes four crepes):

1/3 cup flour
1/2 cup milk
1 egg
1 tablespoon melted butter
salt & pepper

You simply whisk it all together and pour a small amount (about one crepe's worth, by my calculations) into the heated crepe pan. Each crepe takes about a minute -- or about twice as long as it takes to eat it.

The real magic is in the stuffing. For ours, we used some of Richard Lawrence's honey, Nutella, and fresh strawberries and blackberries.

I made two small lattes and we enjoyed crepes en plein air.

And now, back to the newsletter...

Bike to Work / Verse 1

May is Bike To Work Month and our good friend Yo Adrian has prepared a little song to motivate would-be bicycle commuters.

Oh the weather outside's delightful
And your belly's looking frightful
Gas prices have gone berserk
Bike to work, bike to work, bike to work

My only question: How did he get a look at my belly? I've done my best to keep it under wraps.

2 Bros 2 Stepping

Many of the local riders know I have two brothers who also ride. What you don't know is that they also dance. Here they are taking a short break on the Lake Loop.

Song by the immortal Skeleton Crew Jr.

Besides being good dancers, both are fine athletes. Brother Rob has been riding with the N.C. Randonneurs and successfully completed a fleche -- his longest ride ever -- two weekends ago. Brother Tim spends most of his athletic energies training for masters swimming. But he's no slouch on the bike and at 6'4" provides a fine wind block for wheelsuckers like me.

Just a Reminder: Boycott Clear Channel

One of our local DJs is at it again. His name is Bob Dumas (rhymes with Dumb Ass?). He works for G-105. He likes to insult people. Apparently it's good for ratings. This time Mr. Dumas insulted American Indians. He called them lazy. Haha. What a Jokester, Mr. Dumas is.

The local Indian leaders are upset and have called for his firing. The station suspended him for 3 days instead.

In 2003, Mr. Dumas encouraged motorists to run bicyclists off the road and throw Yoo-Hoo bottles at them. Haha. What a Jokester, Mr. Dumas is.

The local cycling advocates were upset and called for his firing. The station suspended him for 2 days instead.

It feels like we're caught in a rut here.

G-105 is owned by Clear Channel. Want to have the last laugh at DJs like Mr. Dumas? Stop listening to Clear Channel radio.

Here's the list of 20 stations they own in North Carolina.

You can search for stations they own in your state here.

Also, feel free to drop Lisa Dollinger an email at lisacdollinger@clearchannel.com. Or give her a call at 1-210-822-2828. She's in Communications / Media Relations for Clear Channel so she'll love to hear from you. Haha.

Update: A friend in Washington state just forwarded this note about a new Clear Channel show.

A radio show for cyclists is being launched by Clear Channel sports station 1460 KXNO in Des Moines, Iowa. It's scheduled to air Sundays at 6-7 p.m. CT beginning on April 20 and be available worldwide at http://www.kxno.com. The show host is longtime cycling advocate Kim West, who promises to deliver his "provocative and entertaining insight" into racing, racers, touring, advocacy issues and lots more in a call-in format.

That does not change Clear Channel's responsibility for this local mess. Clear Channel: why do you keep Mr. Dumas on the payroll?

Rain Men / Spartanburg 300K brevet

The calls and email started trickling in on Friday afternoon. Was I still planning to do the Spartanburg 300K?

Well, yes.

Had I seen the forecast?

Umm. Yes, I’d seen it.

In fact, seen it on every weather Web site I could pull up. Looking for one that promised something more optimistic. But I couldn’t find it. They were all the same. 100 percent chance of rain. Heavy at times. 1-2 inches expected.

Yes, several of my riding buddies had been eyeing the weather. Now they were bailing like the management team at Enron. But I was in, come hell or high water – and most likely the latter. I’d signed up for the S.C. 300K, and I had pride on the line, that suspect human emotion that usually comes before the fall.

I’d promised to give riding buddy Jerry a lift. When I talked to him he was still gung ho. And riding buddy Branson was still in.

And so there you go. Rain Men. Without the math skills.

Jerry and I drove down to Spartanburg after work, stopped for a barbecue dinner at Jimmy’s in Lexington. As we neared our destination, waves of driving rain lashed the car. At one point we hydroplaned helplessly, a sick feeling of the car slip-sliding at 60 mph until the wheels found a shallow spot and grabbed asphalt.

I feared this was just the appetizer tray for the storm that would be dished up tomorrow.

We pulled up to the Quality Inn near the start and began unloading the bikes in a heavy rain. That’s when Jerry discovered he was missing one of his nuts – specifically, the one that fits on the end of his front wheel skewer. Without it his bicycle was unrideable. We searched for about a half hour on the wet, black pavement and in the back of my car. We even recruited the guy from the front desk. No luck. It looked like Jerry’s ride might be over before it started.

Jerry went off to his room, perhaps to contemplate his good fortune, while I went to mine and did a final set-up on the Coho, the Weather Channel in the background painting a meteorological picture of Doom and Gloom. Not much had changed in the forecast, except now the forecasters had begun to overlay tornado warning grids on the region just east of us.

How to pack for this ride? The only thing I knew to do was overpack. And so I crammed two extra pairs of socks, an extra skull cap, extra gloves in my Berthoud bag. The thing bulged like a beer belly in a Father’s Day t-shirt. Overpacked? You bet.

Branson arrived about 11:00 and took the second bed in the room. We talked weather and we talked PBP07, another epic rain event with better pastry options.

Come morning, the streets were still wet, the skies jam-packed with low clouds, but no rain was falling. Perhaps the weather forecasters had missed it. Perhaps the sky would lift and the sun would come out and we’d have a good laugh at all of our buddies who’d bagged the ride.

Perhaps I’d find a gold nugget in a creek bed while fishing for speckled trout. Anything could happen.

Speaking of finds, Jerry located the skewer nut. Catastrophe averted. Turns out it was in the last place he looked. He was back in the big show!

We had breakfast with Tom and Mary Florian, a delightful randonneuring couple from Lumberton. They’ve only been cycling for three years but they’re as gung ho as the rest of us and exceptionally strong riders. For a flatlander, Tom is a monster up the hills.

Over a toasted bagel Tom told the story of how a ferry gate (!) had busted his seat at the start of a multi-day ride, forcing him to ride about 100 miles with a duct tape repair until he found a replacement. During the ride, Mary would tell the same story, but with a few details that were lacking in Tom’s version.

We rolled over to the start at 6:40 or so and met SC RBA Bethany Davison. She was all sly smiles. Yes, there’d be a bit of rain, she said, but it would taper off by the afternoon. Haha, hey what’s that shiny thing in the creek?


Here's Bethany, Branson and Jerry at the start.

There were six hardy randonneurs lined up for the event. Rounding out the field was an S.C. rider named Jack.

Our ragtag crew hit the road promptly at 7. No lie: it began raining within 200 yards of the start. Light at first, the kind of rain you’d call refreshing if you happened to see it out the bay window of your living room while you lounged next to a crackling fire, your favorite book open in your lap.

Five miles up the road, we were caught in the middle of a sho nuff rain storm. We stopped at the first turn and I pulled on the rain jacket. My feet were soaked. My hands were soaked. This was going to be a long day. I sat on the back for a good part of the morning as the pace was a little rich for my puny legs.

Mercifully, the heavy rain abated and the light or misty rain we enjoyed until mid afternoon was bearable and at times downright pleasant, especially with the mild temperatures. We were wet, yes, but we were never really cold.

The roads were a mess, the worst I’d seen on any ride. The gully washers from the day before had littered the asphalt with gravel and mud and debris. I was the only one with fenders. The others soon had their jerseys and jackets splattered with red mud.

We lost Jack off the back shortly before Marietta. As for me, I struck out on my own from the 55-mile control when the others stopped for a biscuit and a break. That gave me a chance to gather myself back up with some easy pedaling at my own pace, a perfect tonic for tired legs.

Branson reeled me like a mackerel near Liberty, while Jerry caught us about 10 miles from the turnaround in Piercetown. Tom and Mary apparently dropped back when Mary had a mechanical issue coming up a hill.

We had a burger or fish sandwich at the turnaround, where Bethany’s husband Steve took a couple snapshots, signed our cards and cheered us on.


Here's Branson at the turnaround....


...And Jerry...


...And Mike.

I suffered back to the Holly Springs store before finally getting my legs back. Odd, as I filled my water bottles out front, one of the locals came out with a toy fishing rod. Maybe there was a good trout stream nearby.

We stopped again in Marietta for a meal and chatted with Bethany and her husband Steve at the Burger King. Our spirits were good, but as we sat inside, eating the second fast food meal of the day, the rain returned, this time as heavy as at the start. We rode for the next hour in a downpour before it tapered off to a light rain and a mist.

We finished at 9 or so, about an hour or two after the dark curtain dropped. Bethany and Steve were waiting with V8s and turkey sandwiches. Branson and I chatted them up while Jerry rode back over to the hotel and talked the desk clerk into a half-price room where we showered, washing road grime down the drain before the four-hour drive home.

When we stopped for gas on the way back I had a hunch. I went inside the gas mart.

One Gold Rush game ticket, I said.

Sorry, the clerk said. Sold out.

Haha. So much for hunches.

Postscript: I nearly forgot a highlight of the ride. With so much water on the roads and on the bikes, the only thing that was dry were our chains. For about 20 miles we endured that horrible scraping sound of metal on metal. My chain felt brittle. On every hill I expected it to snap. When we climbed up to a T-intersection, we saw a guy in an AT&T van pulled off the road. Jerry rode up to him and asked whether he might have a small bit of oil on board. Yes he did, as it turned out. He fished around in the back of the van and pulled out a fresh quart of Valvoline motor oil. Will this work, he asked? Damn straight! He may as well have handed a quart of sweet wine to a street drunk. I poured a healthy dose on the bottom pulley of our derailleurs as Branson worked the pedals.

There were no more squeaks that day.

Update: Looks like the forecasters were dead-on with their predictions. A local newspaper article reported that "1.2 inches of rain had fallen at the [Greenville-Spartanburg] airport as of 9 p.m. Saturday."

"Coffee's got me.."

Something about coffee and randonneuring go together. Many of us love it- Rick Danko enjoyed it enough to write this "funkier, more down-home" ode to java.