Greensboro, NC: The Bicycling Hall of Fame?

It may have entered the race a little late, but Greensboro is still rolling along the path to become the new home of the U.S. bicycling hall of fame.

See the article here, which includes an interview with Dale Brown, bike shop owner and the owner of the Classic Rendezvous site and listserv.

Wrapping Things Up

Hey. The next time someone tells you riding a bike 250 miles in a day is crazy, point 'em to this Web site. That should buy you a couple days of peace and quiet.

A Rider Cap

Want to be the first on the randonneur block to have one of RUSA's new cycling caps? Too late, pal! We've already placed our order, and the mailman delivered the goods yesterday.

I ordered two cotton ones -- one to wear, and one to lose. Maxi tried one on when she got home from work. Her verdict? "Those look pretty good," she said. "Not as nerdy as I thought they'd be." Haha! High praise from my Fashion Queen, who is still not quite used to the idea of Men in Tights.

The caps are truly sharp. My bald head is already thanking me for protection from the summer sun.

Order yours today through the RUSA store. They come in two flavors -- wool and cotton. Don't miss your chance to look like riding buddy Byron, who has not been seen without a riding cap since 1938. Here's his pix from last year's fleche.



A big tip of the cap to Mr. Jerry Phelps, the guy who got the RUSA cap project off the ground.

Bike Biology: Stalking the Florida Panther

One of the thrills of cycling is catching rare glimpses of nature. This past weekend, I came upon what I believe to be a small panther carcass at the edge of the road near Gainesville.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have my camera with me. Thus, my sighting will forever remain an unidentified furry object (UFO).

But the incident led me to wonder about the possibility of such a sighting. The naturalist in the first video is convinced that there are panthers in Alachua County, Florida, where we were.

One more consideration: later in the day while on the Gainesville-Hawthorne State Trail, I heard a strange animal sound, causing me to look in the direction of emanation. In retrospect, after watching the same video, I wonder if it were a female panther. I think it could have been.

The second video describes the loss of natural habitat for panthers in south Florida.

The Jungle That Is Amazon

Ain't the Internet great? A recent discussion on the randon list spun completely out of control as posters debated the wisdom (?) of carrying a handgun while cycling. Those who fear for their safety while out on their bikes might consider this alternative vehicle instead.

Over and out.

Jan 17 2009 Gainesville 200K: Sweet Ride from Frozen Concentrate

Scene of Lochloosa River along the Gainesville-Hawthorne Trail within a few miles of the final control.

RBA, Jim Wilson (left), and ride volunteer at the final control at Boulware Springs Park in front of the Pump House on the National Registry of Historic Places.

NC Randonneur Lin O here doesn't even look like he's broken a sweat at the final control. But now he will with some of Meegan's hot soup.

Lin and I knew we’d be trading the unseasonably frigid air mass swallowing the Triangle over the weekend for the unseasonable cold of Florida. But it was our problem, and we’d deal with it best we could. So pointing the car south, we rode the cold wave all the way to “the swamp” with bikes draped off the back.

Not that we were such great weather prognosticators. We simply saw a three-day weekend on the calendar and thought, “Road trip!”

This was yet another chapter in the southerly migration of riders in early January. What is the Gainesville allure? Perhaps there are those who want to rush brevet season. In areas of the country where ice and snow rule, Gainesville promises escape from cabin fever, or an R-12 ride opportunity. During PBP years, it offers early qualifying, early training. Stealing a warm weekend in the dead of winter offers the illusion of control of the laws of physics and time travel. Whatever the itch, Gainesville is the cure.

It seemed like a PBP year with 53 eager riders converging on the swamp. At least one rider arrived from as far away as Massachusetts. Then there was the perennial group from Ohio. Lin met a couple of Shenandoah riders at the Friday night check-in and learned that a handful might be riding. And then there were the Floridians. Who were the hardiest of all? It was no contest. Believe it or not, a couple of Floridians showed up bare-legged with start temperatures hovering at or slightly below the freezing mark. Someone said that it wasn’t surprising, since randonneurs are crazy to begin with.

I prefer arriving early at events, allowing sufficient time for last-minute bike prep and clothing details, not to mention meeting and greeting friends. Consequently, we’d already located the starting point. All we had to do was awake on time; grab a quick biscuit; get to the park; make some last-minute adjustments, don a helmet, get a brevet card stamped.

But somebody had misplaced the MickeyD’s that I’d sighted on the way into town. Wandering the predawn streets of Gainesville in search of some morning performance enhancers, time slipped away. We finally spotted a BK and quickly pulled in. Ah, coffee!

We arrived at the park and quickly unloaded our bikes. Just in time to miss roll call, last-minute instructions, and official start. Meegan, who would serve a post-ride meal that included hot soup, quickly affixed our brevet cards in the appropriate spot with the official frog stamp.

Finally, we were off. Not with the main pack that had already left, but with a couple of other stragglers. For all the pre-ride drama, if not comedy, neither Lin nor I would garner the distinction of lantern rouge, even though we’d worked hard up to this point on a down payment. But there lay 125 miles ahead of us, time aplenty for exciting turns of event.

Lin wasted no time getting back on track, once we exited the park. Apparently, he’d been studying the cue sheet. His movements were deliberate and as clear and crisp as the cold morning air. I could tell his steel Trek wanted to run. At mile three we approached a slight, yet perceptible, incline and Lin looked back at me with a grin and said, “A hill. It’s not too late to turn back!”

Lin pulled the first 11.7 miles heading out of Gainesville. After a right turn off the main road, I moved to the front until a tandem recumbent, which had been dogging us from the start, made its move, passed us, and ramped up the pace. I decided to settle in and enjoy the scenery, being pulled along by the two-wheeled tour bus. Hey, I’m on vacation! The lead changed hands with each slight incline all the way to the first control at mile 21, where we caught an orderly horde of riders.

The busy though efficient clerk stamped and time-marked my brevet card, and I paid him for a bottle of water. I hit the restroom. Lin and I left the control together. Soon we caught a couple of riders whom we joined along with a brightly-clad group of riders, representing a cycling club out of Atlanta. We quickly formed a paceline. A disciplined bunch, the cycling club shouted out road hazards and pointed out turns. Lin jumped into the driver’s seat, controlling the pace. I followed. When I peeled off the front, I assumed that I’d be joining Lin at the back. But apparently a space had developed near the front into which Lin had slipped. But there was no space for me, so I drifted all the way to the back. After a few miles, a gap developed, forcing me to scramble to catch the lead group. Eventually, the unit slowed to regroup, at which time, Lin and I took leave off the front.

A few miles down the road, Lin dropped a chain on one of the few hills on the route. We pulled over. Lin discovered his derailleur is bent. While he wrenched it back into position, the red and yellow paceline passed, but not without a courteous offer of assistance. We waved them on. Chain back on, we’re on the road again.

We caught the red and yellow jerseys again. This time, however, Lin is reluctant to rejoin the paceline due to his shifting mechanism. He didn’t want to create a potential hazard for the string of riders. Lin informed the group and we took our leave. And we reached the second control at mile 53 ahead of the pack.

It began to warm. I didn’t miss my shoe booties still in the car as much as I did my camera while riders mingled and parked bikes stood alone. I spotted the sweet Surly single speed Tom M rides. Tom gets the Polar Bear Award dressed in sandals, two pairs of socks and lycra cycling shorts. No one could fathom why his feet were cold.

After a quick break, Lin and I pushed on to the next control. A lone rider who was tailing us easily passed. We saw him a few miles later alongside the ride. We asked if he needed help. He informed us that he was just letting some air out of his tires. But that didn’t prevent him from getting back on and passing us again. Later, we are joined by a Massachusetts recumbent rider, who was happy to have left the icicles back home and whose training of late had been solely on a stationary bike.

By now the temperature approached sixty. We enjoyed the afternoon sun. The rested paceline came into focus in my mirror. Eventually, they caught and passed us. We would see them for the last time at mile 93 as they left the penultimate control and we approached. Meanwhile, we enjoyed the sun as we meandered past several large lakes dotting the landscape. We spent a little more time at this control than usual before getting back on our bikes and tackling the last leg of the ride.

At mile 109, we turned off US 301 into the small town of Hawthorne, where we hooked up with the Gainesville-Hawthorne Trail State Park, which we followed all the way to the final control. We could relax. Not only was the brevet in the bag, all the vehicular traffic was gone. Time for nature along the 16-mile paved bicycle path stretching through the Paynes Prairie Preserve State Park and the Lochloosa Wildlife Management Area.

Earlier in the day near Gainesville, I’d seen a group of Sandhill cranes, who, like us, had migrated south. We’d also seen fine-looking longhorn cattle up close, looking as inquisitively at us as we were at them. Lin spotted a white heron. Everywhere were Spanish-moss-laden trees. Yellow mustard blossoms lined highways, while yuccas, palms, and pecan trees framed pastures. Now, at the end of the ride, a deer stood just a few feet from the trail. We slowed.

We’d seen plenty of dogs. They chased us from behind fences, barking as we passed. But not a single pooch’s paw pressed pavement. This led me to believe that there must be local canine ordinances with teeth.

Alan D from Massachusetts here was on a long chain this weekend, literally. The chain on his recumbent bike drapes in a figure-8 and is 2.5 times the length of a regular road bike. Recumbents really like the flat Florida terrain and show up in large numbers.

In truth, most bikes book in this part of the world. Andrea Tosolini, a local celebrity (who was only the second person ever to complete BMB in less than 50 hours), blistered the 200K last year in six hours flat. I, too, set a personal flat record here last year with four. I hope he broke his record this year. I’m glad I didn’t break mine!

Time now for a post-ride bowl of hot soup and sandwich served up by Meegan.

Meegan graciously prepares sandwiches to each rider’s specifications.

Thanks Jim, Meegan, and volunteers for the experience! We hope to return to the swamp.

Jan 3 2009 200K: A Ticket to Ride

Another Saturday, another morning socked in by a blanket of fog. What gives? This is the third weekend in a row where, to borrow from Mr. Sandburg, the fog came in on little cat feet and sat on its big fat haunches until noon.

In years past, the N.C. Randonneurs would have to wait until spring to get the ACP series under way. Things crank up way earlier now, thanks to Tony Goodnight, who took over as High Point RBA from good friends Richard and Joel Lawrence. Tony has rides scheduled before and after the series of Fearless Leader Al Johnson, which means we now have year-round excuses for ducking yard work. Of course, we also find time to drop in on randonneuring pals in the nearby regions of South Carolina, Virginia, Georgia, D.C., Tennessee and Florida. Have bike and credit card. Will travel.

Tony calendared his 2009 200K-kickoff for Jan. 3. The ride launched from Denton, home of the Southeast Old Threshers' Reunion, which is billed as "the greatest steam, gas, and antique farm equipment show in the Southeastern U. S." We would be riding threshers of a different sort, every bit as impressive as the old farm equipment but propelled by a more stubborn variety of mule.

I carpooled down with Byron, leaving Raleigh at 5:15 a.m. for the 7:30 start. We took 64 to 49 before hooking off on Hwy 47 to Denton. During the pre-ride ride I collected a pre-ride brevet card -- a pink one doled out by a humorless but efficient police officer. Reminds me of a story from buddy Rob Wilson. He was in upstate NY on the Taconic Parkway, driving a beat-up old Plymouth, and got pulled over by a trooper. Do you know how fast you were going? the trooper asked. You were going 88 in a 55 mph zone. Really? Rob said. Write that down because none of my friends will believe this car can go that fast.

Our roadside fun over, we reached the start with 15 minutes to spare. So how foggy was it? The ride started in the Lowe's parking lot. We turned around at the parking lot's entrance and headed back into downtown Denton, not being able to see the dozen or so bikers just 50 yards away and already lined up for the start. A quick circle through town and we were back.

I saw lots of the usual N.C. suspects, including Branson, Chuck, Dean, JD, Joel, and happy couples Tom and Mary and Gary and Sara. The N.C. rides have something of a regional pull because of our forgiving winter and spring weather. So we had Glenn and Bill and Justin down from Virginia, as well as VA RBA and friend Matt Settle, Phil Creel from S.C., Larry from Ohio. I'm sure there were one or two others I'm missing.

A quick pep talk from Tony and we were off! And immediately off course. We made two wrong turns in two miles. Fun. Look, I warned my riding buddies, keep this up and I'll pull out my cue sheet. Yes, once again, I was flying blind, no cue sheet, no speedometer. I would rely on the kindness of strangers and the strange for the rest of the day.

Somebody in the lead group was in a hurry. I came off the back in the first 15 miles or so and rode into the first control with Joel and Glenn. Glenn and I swapped a few PBP 07 stories and marveled at the magic of selective memory. Did it rain? Nah, all I remember was a sprinkle or two. Glenn was on his beautiful and immaculate Mercian. That guy really knows how to set up a bike. But his buddy Bill managed to upstage him with a powder blue Waterford that drew the kinds of ahs and oohs normally reserved for classic cars on the hi-def channel. Of course, riding with Joel is always a treat. He's done rides all over the country and he's always good for a story about Texas Hell Week or Calvin's Challenge. And a joke: You the guy that dropped that wad of cash wrapped with a rubber band? Well, I found the rubber band...

We regrouped with the speedsters at the first control, where Paul Smith was waiting to sign cards and greet riders. Always good to see him. As we continued up the road the group dropped it back into social gear. I chatted up JD, the beaming dad who's loving every minute of fatherhood, and Justin, a 19-year-old Hokie student with an amazing focus and ambition. He did our Morrisville series in 07 and last summer rode his bike across the country for a loaded, self-supported tour, including a 1,000 mile detour along the way to see some of the national parks. He now has his sights set on a through hike of the Appalachian Trail. If he represents the leaders of tomorrow I am encouraged. And let me also mention my son, Daniel, who as many of you know is currently serving in the Peace Corps in Mali. I could not be prouder of the path he has chosen.

The fog ultimately skedaddled, leaving behind a glorious day for a bike ride -- lots of warm sun and warmer company. JD and Justin and Tony and Tom took turns setting the pace in our cozy little peleton. I took a couple of pulls for display purposes only before settling back near the caboose of the paceline.

We ate lunch at the control in Woodleaf -- a home-cooked plate of mashed potatoes, pinto beans and strawberry cobbler, washed down with a Dr. Pepper. John Morrison and his daughters showed up at the last control before the finish and handed out yummy coated fruit squares.

Tony pulled the wagon for the last 10 miles to the finish, riding a time trial down Hwy 47 with the rest of us gasping for air. The conversation went something like this: Branson: My heart rate's at 185. Tom: My heart rate's 911.

Back in by 4:20, we changed and immediately swapped war stories, cheering as other riders made the turn into the Lowe's parking lot. A few more stories over pizza just down the street and we pointed the car to home, careful to watch the speed limit as we rolled through each town along the route.

New Years Day Ride

My favorite way to kick off the New Year? A bike ride with some of my riding buddies. For 16 years Kevin of The Spin Cycle in Cary has been hosting a New Years event. The 2009 version was 37 miles on familiar roads near Jordan Lake. My other choice was the annual Road Dog Rally north of Raleigh. However, with local racing legends such as Ronnie Hinson showing up, that ride promised to be several notches faster than the ride I had in mind. So Spin Cycle it was.

I drove over with Danno and we got there early enough to hang around in an icy cold parking lot and chitchat with the local rando crew -- Fearless Leader Al, Sridhar, Byron, Geof, Branson, Alan and others who will remain nameless because I forgot to name em. By the time we got rolling, there must have been 100+ riders.

There is the risk of a crash on any ride, but that risk is amplified by the accordion effect of the peleton. The riders are tightly packed and there is constant acceleration and deceleration. Wheels touch and a rider goes down. And so it was on Thursday within the first five miles of riding. I noticed a quick grab of the brakes three or four bikes in front of me, heard the metallic click of bike on bike, saw the rider tumble to the asphalt. I veered to avoid him, bracing for a hit from behind but none came. The downed rider sat up as I passed; he appeared to be okay.

I rode with Dan for the rest of the trip and we finished with the front group. The day had warmed considerably by the time we rolled back into the Spin Cycle parking lot. We capped off the ride with coffee at a nearby Caribou, a pleasant post-ride celebration with five or six riders who believe cycling goes better with caffeine.

Photos below show Geof styling on his pink Trek, and Branson and Byron in the parking lot at the ride's conclusion.