Streak: Part II

It would have been an easy to day to skip. Fog and light rain in the forecast. Temperatures in the 40s. Maybe it would warm up. Maybe not. Time for a gut check on my commitment to another streak.

At stake was a five-month string of 200Ks. Twelve 200Ks in a row are needed to earn RUSA's coveted R-12 award. A December 200K would put me at the half-way mark. However, as I watched the weather reports, my motivation began to flag.

But across the nation my fellow rando brothers and sisters were facing real weather obstacles to their R-12 attempts. Friends in Seattle and Colorado forwarded pictures of deep piles of snow. They were smothered out there with little hope of clear roads before year's end. Some R-12 hopefuls publicly threw in the towel. Others decided to jump in the car and head hundreds of miles to R-12 routes in warmer states.

So who was I to whine about a little fog, a little rain, a little cold? My beloved Lake Loop was calling. Pick up the phone.

This would be a solo trip, my second of the year. Kelly doesn't like me to ride by myself, but the only drawback is that my pace is usually several miles an hour slower than a group ride. There is much more meandering, poking about at the side of the road. I stopped five times in the first 50 miles, and it took me 1:45 to cover the last 23 miles.

The weathermen nailed the forecast. A steel gray day with patches of fog and patches of rain. I dressed accordingly. Lots of wool from head to toe, shoe covers, orange glasses. I rode my faithful Coho, with full fenders and fore and aft running lights. I left Stony Hill Fire Station #2 at 6:30 a.m. It was still dark and the world was socked in by a heavy fog. The world is different in the fog. Smells cling to every molecule -- for the first 8 miles it was skunk, then cow shit and wood smoke until finally the fog lifted at daybreak and the smells broke free. The cloud ceiling hung low, trapping the world's din; bored dogs along the route anticipated my arrival and gave full chase.

No special photographic talent was needed to capture the gloom of the day. Just point and click.











Loyal readers of the Park will know it's de rigueur to stop on the dam for the obligatory photo. Yesterday, as I neared the dam, I saw a bird watcher at one of the parking lots. He appeared to be peering through Hubble Telescope: the Home Edition. Like me, he was enjoying a world painted in a million magnified shades of gray. I asked how the bird watching was going. Lots of grebes, he said. We shared two minutes of warm company on an otherwise solitary day, and he took this shot looking toward the dam.



I ran into moderate rain from Skipwith through Clarksville. Enough to get me iced down in the five minutes I stopped to have my card signed and buy AA batteries that took one picture before giving up the ghost. No more pictures for the day.

The roads remained wet until Stovall, 90 miles into the ride, but were quickly dried by a headwind I battled for the last 40 miles.

Back at the start at exactly 4 p.m., back in my baby's arms by 4:42.

The Streak Lives: Part II. Speaking of, congratulations are in order to N.C. rider Jerry Phelps, who just completed R-12 #3, and to other local riders on the R-12 track -- Paul P, Byron, Branson. I'm sure there are others I'm missing, so chime in. [Note: I missed Dean -- see his note below. Apologies!] And for those riders across the nation attempting to keep their R-12 streaks alive, may you have tailwinds, blue skies and dry roads.

Tolerance Ends

Streaks.

Got mine yesterday, with the help of JoeRay: #84. That's 84 months in a row with at least one century ride. 7 years. The picture is from century #1, way back in January 2002, when this madness started. My goal at the time was to do a century a year, not a century a month. But I had not counted on the undue influence of several randonneuring lunatics. Rich. Adrian. Dan G. Mike. Those are the guys who got me started down the path to rides of 200, 400, 750 miles. Distances I did not believe were possible, or advisable, back when I dipped my first toe into the sport of randonneuring.

Now, more than 60 brevets later, I have a profound appreciation of the goals that can be achieved on a bike, and of the magic landscapes that are accessible only on two wheels. The high desert of Washington state with 300 miles in the legs, a 30 mph wind at your back and 50 mph on the speedometer. The deep green fern-lined lanes of France in a bone-chilling rain. A midnight snowstorm on the road to Liberty. I have a friend who says he does not understood the benefit or value of travel. But he'll never conjure those images in his mental slideshow, and he'll never understand the rejuvenating power of a family ice cream stand on the side of a Vermont mountain.

Goals cannot be achieved without sacrifice or pain. Or sometimes drudgery. Yesterday's century was one of those. Miles for miles' sake. Pounding out a rhythm on the pedals with one eye on the odometer. A day that started in a thick fog and ended in a light rain. With a flat tire thrown in for good measure, and a repair job that went south when I pulled the valve out of the new tube. But we got 'er done. The streak lives. And in one month, I'll tie Bruddha Rich, the guy who persuaded me in January 2002 that a century a month was a good idea. Back then, Rich had 12 months under his belt. I never thought that I would catch him. I thought a full year would always separate our marks. Then, without notice, Rich let his streak go last February and the door of opportunity opened. With each new month I've closed the gap. It's only fitting that he join me in February when I move past his record...You out there, Rich?

Virginia Eastern Shore Permanent: Wonderful Ride Lost in Place, Time, Translation

For those of us who want to believe . . . Yes, Virginia, there is an Eastern Shore.



And now, thanks to Keith, who's on a 300k brevet here last year, there’s also an Eastern Shore Permanent for all of us to enjoy. Thank you, Keith!

Keith has fashioned a great, year-round route. One stretch, in fact, is officially designated by VDOT as a scenic route.

I was thoroughly spoiled on the inaugural ride this past Saturday, thanks to Keith, who literally pulled me up and down the peninsula. You can read his ride report on his blog.

Before I could ride the Permanent, I had to ask myself, “Where is it?”

When I pulled out a map, I could see that the Eastern Shore somehow got separated from the Virginia mainland. What’s up with that?

So, I had to ask myself, “How do I get there?” Well, I discovered several options: fly; boat; bridge; or enter by way of Maryland.



How do you suppose these boys and gulls get there?

I chose the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel. In part, it’s a car-tunnel allowing big ships like these currently parked at sea to sail into and out of Chesapeake Bay.

Caboose I spotted the evening before the ride at the Cape Charles Historical Museum. I fully expected to see it somewhere on the peninsula the next day. Well, perhaps not. But there’s truly a palpable quaintness to the Eastern Shore as if transported back in time. This is part of its allure.Although our predawn start was chilly, with temps just below freezing, it nonetheless guaranteed us a beautiful sunrise. A slight 5-10 mph headwind resisted us most of the day, that is, until dusk.

Yes, the Dark Monster caught us. Although there is an intuitive appeal to be home by dark, my limited experience at randonneuring has taught me not to be afraid. Dusk is a magical time to ride after a long day in the saddle. A reward, in fact.

The world is finally at peace with itself at dusk. You are alone. You glide along. A sense of accomplishment looms large as the last few kilometers melt away. And it is at this point, like the legendary Adrian, that you want the ride to last forever. But you know it must end. You’re tired, hungry, and thirsty. But you summon the energy to press on until you reach the goal.

Winter is a special time to ride, and I learned a few lessons about the cold. Next time, I’ll protect my face not covered with a balaclava with Vaseline to prevent wind burn. Power bars become too hard to bite in the cold.

On the other hand, Keith was prepared. Check out the flask. Keith explained it was a lot easier than bringing along the St. Bernard, even on a Surly LHT.

Along the route, the names of towns symbolize their historical past, places like Onley, Onancock, Wachapreague, and Nassawadox. Modest Town and Temperanceville sit next to Assawoman. What?

Keith conducted some research. Turns out, “assawoman” is an Algonquin word. But no one today seems to know its meaning. My personal take? I’m betting that the Algonquins knew more English than they let on. But that’s just my opinion.

Indeed, the Virginia Eastern Shore is wonderfully lost in time and translation. And definitely worth a ride.

2 Days / 2 200Ks / The Great Escape

I needed a weekend out of the house, so I settled on a two-wheeled escape. This is a shot from Saturday's 200k -- Joel Lawrence's Sauratown loop, which rambles from High Point up to Virginia, passing near Hanging Rock (pictured, I think, in the gold coat of Autumn), Sauratown Mountain and Pilot Mountain, which is visible from one of the controls. Thankfully, you don't have to climb any of those peaks, but there are still plenty of hills.

Four of us -- me, Branson, JoeRay & Wes -- managed to escape the showers that rolled through in the early morning hours, but there wasn't much we could do about the wind on the way up. It would turn in our favor as we neared the Virginia line. It was a glorious day to be on the bikes, but unfortunately Wes developed knee problems just past the 100 mile mark and Joe ended up fetching a car from a nearby relative and sagging Wes in. But the route will be there for them another day.

Branson and I finished just after 5, and I celebrated with a double shot of espresso at the finish. Bad choice. That kept me awake half the night. I could have used the sleep because I got up early, escaping from a day of leaf raking, and met Byron and Geof (also known as Team Bianchi) for a Lake Loop. Both of those guys blog. Check em out. Geof is here and Byron is here. If Saturday was all about Fall, Sunday was our first taste of winter, with lines of fair weather clouds and a northwest breeze that chilled down considerably in the afternoon. This was Geof's first 200K of the year (!) and we rode along at a pretty leisurely pace, which suited my legs just fine. He was in fine form and finished with a big smile.

Below are pix. Joe and Branson from Saturday, the rest from Sunday.

Doing Your Part by Riding Your Bike

For those who rode on Saturday's Black Creek Permanent, here's a note of thanks for your contribution to a worthy cause:

Dear Mike and the NC Bike Club Randonneurs,

Thanks so much for the gift of $75 from your Saturday 200K ride from Wakefield High School to Black Creek, NC and back again. Your gift will be used to help build and maintain North Carolina's Mountains-to-Sea Trail (MST).

As you know, the route you biked on Saturday is a portion of the MST which runs 940 miles across the state -- from the Great Smoky Mountains to the Outer Banks. Governor Mike Easley declared October as "Mountains-to-Sea Trail Month," and we set a goal of trying to get people out on every section of the trail. We appreciate that the NCBC Randonneurs helped us reach the goal.

We're also delighted you are working to make this stretch a "permanent." It will be wonderful to have you all enjoying it, spreading the word, and reporting any needed route changes, new or closed stores, or other notable events.

Friends of the Mountains-to-Sea Trail is the citizen support group for the trail. We welcome your members to get involved by contacting me or visiting our website at www.ncmst.org.

Kate Dixon
Executive Director
Friends of the Mountains-to-Sea Trail

www.ncmst.org

Showdown at Black Creek: Cowboy Bob, Stuck & a Duck Named Aflac.

When you announce a "Showdown at Black Creek," you better get ready. The good citizens of Black Creek are right damn serious about their showdowns.

When the locals hear a gang of nine rogue randonneurs are riding into town, they bring in the hired gun, Giant Cowboy Bob, to handle the dirty work.



The whole town turns out at high noon to see whether blood will be spilled. Hell, they even sell cotton candy out of a little booth called Custard's Last Stand.



If you're counting on the local law to get your back, think again, Tex. The police have more pressing problems of their own.



The gunslingers square off on Main Street ... someone in the crowd yells "Duck!" ... and a guy named Bobbie shows up with one.



A stunningly handsome wood duck named Aflac.

Yesterday was one of those magic randonneuring days, a two-wheeled trip into the Twilight Zone. Maybe it was the croissants and coffee at the Wakefield High School, courtesy of Jerry and Branson. Maybe it was the street fair in what is normally the ghost town of Black Creek. Maybe it was the first real fall day, where the chilly air made forward motion a must. Maybe it was a grey and purple sky with a promise of rain that never really delivered. Maybe it was the biscuits at Bojangles. Maybe it was the social stop at Sheeeeeeetz, 10 miles before the finish, where we sat outside, warming our insides with coffee.

This was of my most memorable 200Ks ever. Thanks to all who made it that: Branson, Jerry, Bob, Dan, Dean, Tom & Mary, Byron. Slideshow below.



The proceeds of the ride have been donated to Friends of the Mountains-to-Sea Trail. A couple folks made extra donations. You know who you are. Thank you.

Riding? Well, Yeah...

Where have I been? Hanging out with these turkeys.



My little boat has been swamped between work and living, but even so, I've gotten in lots of riding in the past few weeks, and life is good, if busy.

I snapped that turkey shot at a poultry farm about two weekends ago on a really fun ride from Raleigh down to White Lake, a 100-mile backroad jaunt, to hook up with Brother Tim for the last day of Cycle North Carolina and a high-speed run through the coastal plain to Oak Island.

By the way, here's what passes for a henhouse these days.



The best part about that ride was just deciding to go, generating a good google maps cue sheet in about 20 minutes, packing light -- and putting on the lights -- then hopping on the bike and heading out the door on a cycling adventure. The first 20 miles was slightly urban, through Raleigh and Garner, and then I was out in the wilderness of rural N.C. and loving every minute of it. My cue sheet didn't let me down, although occasionally things didn't match up and I'd have to stop for a quick study of a sign like this one.



Also things got a litttle confusing whenever I crossed a county line. Like this one. The names are changed to protect the innocent, I guess.



Traveling without maps, I turned on to a 3-mile section on the cue sheet and came face-to-face with the Dreaded Dead End sign. What the...? A 3-mile dead end? No way. I took it because, well, I didn't have a clue where else to go. Two miles in, there's the "Road Ends" sign. Oh shit. But hey, I wonder what this dirt driveway does? Well, what do you know, it connects to another dirt road that takes me out to my cue sheet road. Nice! And here's the end of it. That sand was deep. It just about took me down twice.



And so it went, a fun day rattling around in my head and on my bike.

I caught up with the Bro and Rich and Paige and Nina and Chuck and had a fine time in a high-dollar White Lake singlewide that I'd rented for the night.

And the next morning, Brother Tim ramped up the pace until I cried uncle as we motored to the finish. He was looking good and riding even better. They string that "Danger" tape around him everywhere he goes.



Last weekend, I joined some Gyro riders for a fun Lake Loop. Another blazing day on the bikes with those guys kicking booty all 130 miles at a painfully fast 19.6 pace. I got spit out at mile 126 or so. Hey, I'm starting to enoy the view from the back.

I won't bore you with the details, but if you want more the Gyros have posted several ride reports on their forum. It was a fun day all around, with lots of my Gyro buddies -- Mario, Derrick, Ed, Steve, Chris, Mike D (did I forget anyone?) -- and rando buddies Wes and JoeRay who hung in there like pros and finished with Steve and Chris. The hat's off to everybody who rode that day, including some who had not done that distance before. I was good and wasted when I got home. It felt great.

Here are the obligatory dam photos....





And the boys heading out....



Last Sunday, I did 43 miles with Jerry as part of NCBC's Fall Rally. We hit it out early and mostly chatted as we rode into a pretty good headwind. Always fun riding with Mr. Phelps.

Wednesday, I did a 30-mile night ride with the Gyros and got to see how the edelux compared with several other lighting systems. The verdict: It kills em.

This weekend, we have a 200K perm scheduled, the Showdown at Black Creek, with about 10 riders. I'm hoping this will be a social event, not Hammer Time, but hey, I'm just along for the ride, I'm hanging with the party.

Weekend after that, it's off to Clarksville to do the Annual Lake Loop with Brothers Rob and Tim. We've done this for the last three Boydton Days. There's always a good barbecue sandwich to be had at the festivities, and a heaping helping of brotherly rivalry out on the road. Should be another fun day.

So riding? Well, yeah.

The Joys and Sorrows of Club Riding

Know how to do a 21 mph 100K?

Head out with the local club at 23 mph to the 31-mile turnaround, then claw on the back as long as you can when the pace ramps up on the way home. When you crawl home at 12 mph, whipped and exhausted, for the last 10 miles, you've got your big average in the bag.

I love riding with the North Raleigh Gyros, a congenial bunch of guys and gals that focus on two-wheeled camaraderie at 19-20 mph. That's about my limit. Much faster and the wheels are likely to come off two-thirds of the way through a 60-80 mile ride.

Because of other rides and other commitments, I've only ridden with the Gyros twice this summer. So I was looking forward to joining them this Saturday.

I checked the schedule online and saw the note from Tony, one of the Gyro leaders:

G-Men & Women,

We'll be riding "The 2008 Road Dog Rally" this Saturday. It will start from Pleasant Union Elementary at 8:30am and will do the Oxford route.

Distance was advertised at 63 miles, a 100K. And the speed? "Usually FAST going out and FASTER coming back."

Hmmm. This sounded a bit above my instrument rating. The Road Dogs are a club with a reputation for a high pace. Their slogan: "We only drop our friends," and apparently they make friends easily. But what the hey. I decided to stick it out for as long as I could, then drift off the back and do a leisurely pedal in from the "drop zone." I had one other advantage. The route was on the stick portion of my Lake Loop. I'd know every dip in the road, I'd know where the pace was likely to get amped up. And I'd know the way home when I inevitably lost contact with Planet Bike.

The ride started at 8:30 a.m. from one of the Gyros' typical locations, Pleasant Union School in North Raleigh. I put the bike in the car, made a latte, a nutella sandwich. I rolled into the parking lot a few minutes past 8. I didn't see any of my Gyro pals. Instead I saw some of the Simple Green riders, a local racing team. Then I saw David LeDuc in his work van. David is a legend in local and national racing circles. Uh oh. This was going to be a fast day.

Eventually, some of the Gyros showed. Among them: Ed, Bert, Mario, Tony, Derrick. I took comfort in familiar faces, and I took a good look. I wasn't sure how long I'd be seeing them. We clustered, swapped small talk. Riders from other clubs, elbows on handlebars, gathered in separate clumps in the parking lot. Like the Ramones said, we're a happy family....

Lo and behold, somebody actually shooed us out of the parking lot with an official LET'S GET GOING. And we were off. There must have been 50 of us. Lots of club jerseys, lots of banter, and lots of hard pedaling. The first 10 miles has a couple good uphill stretches. They didn't put much of a dent in the overall average of 21. Every time I looked down we were doing 24,25,26, with surges of 30,31. This was going to be tough.

I sat on the back. There was no need for me to do any pretending about a pull. Also, this big pack of mixed clubs made me nervous. I'd seen a crash just two weeks earlier on another Gyro-Road Dog combo ride. Too many riders who don't know each other, too many riders riding at or above their limits. In my experience that was a recipe for touched wheels -- a recipe that never comes out well.

Riding in the back may be safer, but it's a helluva work-out. You get the worst of the accordion effect, with the pace slowing to 22, 23, and immediately pogoing up to 27, 28 as the pack feels the chain at the top of hills and through intersections. The constant seesawing was working my lungs and my legs.

My bike computer showed 31 miles and a 22.8 pace when we hit the turnaround point, the Exxon in Oxford that serves as a Lake Loop control. I told one of the Simple Green riders I'd had a rough ride on the way here. He leveled with me: "That was the easy part. They're getting ready to crank things up."

The line inside the convenience snaked around to the very back, near the drink coolers. It would be at least 10 minutes before folks were ready for the return. And so I made the easy call: I'd get a head start and let the group pick me up. Hopefully, I'd be able to jump in and hang on for the wild trip home.

I wasn't alone in this decision. I'd seen two or three riders head back down the course, and I eventually caught up with one, a rider from Cary named Michael. He was good company. We rode together for about 10 miles, swapping our cycling histories. He was a former racer who had been out of the sport for years and was getting his legs back again -- at least as much as family and work allowed. Like me, he was going to grab a wheel as the peloton came by. He said we'd probably be fine if we made it up the big hill at the Tar River crossing before the catch. He too was worried about the twitchiness of the pack, and he said crashes were more likely as red line riding began to affect peripheral vision and reaction time.

Michael and I got swept up about two-thirds of the way up the Tar River hill. The pack came out of nowhere. One second my mirror was clear, the next it was wall of cyclists pushing a wall of wind. We latched on. The chatter was gone. Riders were now leaning into their handlebars and furiously working the pedals to stay in contact. Any gap now and all hope of reconnecting would be gone.

I stayed on for the next 10 miles or so, but the accelerations had taken their toll, and it only took a very small rise to spit me out the back. I saw another rider come off as the pack crested the rise and got serious with a stretch of straight flat pavement.

I'd hung on for 50 miles and my average was still over 22. I was content. I could come in easy now, 18-19, with lots of downhill.

The route features a 3-mile downhill run to Falls Lake. I imagined the group descending at 35 or 40. They'd be 3 or 4 miles ahead of me by that point, maybe even dumping the water bottles and loading bikes into their cars at the finish.

As I neared the bottom of the Falls Lake Hill an approaching car blinked its beams several times. And I knew what that meant. Around the next corner, there it was. The crash. A rider was down in the far lane. Traffic was stopped and a rescue vehicle was already on hand from the fire station at the top of the hill. A dozen riders and a few motorists were gathered around.

I'm not sure who the cyclist was. He did not look good and appeared to have hit heavily on the left side of his face. He was awake and talking. He knew his name and he knew where he was. One of my Gyro buddies said he'd been knocked out for a minute or more. An ambulance pulled up. Three or four of us left together, did a sober pace line up the next hill. The ambulance caught us and roared through the red light where New Light crosses Highway 98.

I saw Mario in the parking lot at the end. "That could have been any one of us," he said. We could only hope things turned out well for our fellow rider. I finished off my water bottle, loaded the bike and headed home.

Sunday Update: the downed rider was a Gyro, Don, who posted that he's fine, although his injuries required 40 stitches.

Weekend rides

Too many projects. Just getting to the weekend post.

Two days of weekend riding -- I'm not sure I've done that all summer. But I made it happen last weekend with a 200K on Saturday and a social ride on Sunday with several old friends.

I got back-to-back days in just under the wire. Fall officially sprang on Monday, but the weather on Saturday and Sunday was Autumn's advance team, with temperatures in the mid 70s and a steady wind from the north or northwest.

I glommed on to John M's inaugural ride of his new permanent from his neighborhood just behind Eno State Park up to Hyco Lake and back. Along for the ride were Dean, Mike O, John, and Jerry for about 20 miles. John said the route was relatively flat, but relatively is a relative term. It was flat except for all of those hills.

We rode into a stiff wind all the way up to Hyco. We visited with Gilbert and his fantastic bike shop in Yanceyville on the way up and the way back.

A fun time was had by all, and Mike and Deano apparently had so much fun that they threw in some bonus miles at a missing sign post as they neared Durham.

This is a fun route and highly recommended. Thanks to John for putting it together.

On Sunday, I hitched a ride over to Chapel Hill with Dan for a social ride with JoeRay and Wes. What a great crew that is. This was a foodfest. We did a 100K to Hillsborough and back, with a meal stop at Weaver grocery and a milkshake at MapleView. Did I mention I had an egg, cheese & sausage bagel before heading to Chapel Hill?

Highlight of that ride was watching Joe and Wes chase down and spit out some racer guy who went by without a hello. I watched from a seat way at the back of the train.

Two days of riding. I'm looking forward to an encore presentation this weekend.

Last Chance Update: Saturday (and Natchez)

I heard from Jerry this afternoon. He and JoAnn are safely in. Jerry finished in 78:59; JoAnn was a bit behind that time at 82:36. Congratulations to both. Hopefully, we'll get a ride report from one or both of them. Sounds like the last night was very chilly, with temperatures in the 40s and snow in the nearby mountains.

The adventures continue for our NCBC riders. Branson & Byron are currently on the 600K Natchez Trace course.If you're wondering about the Natchez Trace, here's the official description:

What Is The Natchez Trace Parkway? The 444-mile Natchez Trace Parkway commemorates an ancient trail that connected southern portions of the Mississippi River, through Alabama, to salt licks in today's central Tennessee. Today, visitors can experience this National Scenic Byway and All-American Road through driving, hiking, biking, horseback riding, and camping. Come out and ride on this amazing road with us.

Branson just called from the turnaround, where he & Byron are waiting for a pizza. Branson said some of the course reminded him of Flint Hill Road. Ouch! Best to those two riders, and I know we can coax a story out of those boys.

Update: Byron & Branson did us proud with a strong finish despite lots of wind and rain. Results are here.

Last Chance Update: Friday

Just talked to Jerry. As of 10 a.m. EDT, he was about 5 miles away from St. Francis, a checkpoint at 511 miles. He says he spent about 6 hours at Atwood, and is currently riding with Brent & Beth, a tandem couple from Denver.

Sounds like he is having a fun ride. He said he is on his Mongoose, a geared bike, and is glad he brought it because of the winds they've faced.

Last Chance Update

At 9:00 a.m EDT, I reached Jerry by cell phone as he made his way along the Last Chance route. He sounded great and said he'd just passed the 300-mile mark. His goal is to return to Atwood (497 miles) by this evening. He also said JoAnn is doing well and is about an hour behind him.

Updated rider progress is here and John Lee's ride blog is here.

While you're waiting for the next rider update, you can read all about Jerry's single speed accomplishments here. I'm not sure whether he took his geared bike out west.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

11 p.m. Update: Jerry left a message saying he was back in Atwood at 8 p.m. local time. He said he was doing great.

Last Chance: Jerry & JoAnn

Two local riders have traveled out west to tackle the Last Chance 1200K, hosted by John Lee Ellis. The ride started Wednesday around 3 a.m.

Follow rider progress here. Blog updates with rider mentions are here.

Jerry & JoAnn, we're pulling for you!

Blackbeard's Permanent / the Vacation Edition

Greetings from Hatteras Island where the surf is fantastic in advance of Hanna.



I rode down with Chuck on our dueling Coho bikes. A fine time was had by all and Chuck filed an excellent report, so I'll take a blog vacation. Chuck's report is here.

In the meantime, here are a few pix from the ride.



I snapped this shot 5 blocks from home, where we camped out under a gas station for 90 minutes, waiting for a monster cell to pass.


Water water everywhere. Chuck grabs a drink before we get rolling.


I took a picture of this tree in Bath after riding all night. I think the tree was delirious.


Here's Chuck riding up in Bath. Notice his Supernova E3 is on. We both rode with our lights on during the day. They're visible for a half-mile up the road.


Everything in Bath, Blackbeard's home and the state's oldest incorporated town, is named Ye Olde, including the liquor store.


Photo retouched in Picassa.


A break at the Hyde County line.



A view from the saddle. The last stretch features some bumpy pavement.

Route Scouting: Showdown at Black Creek or Who's Your Daddysville

Do we ever get tired of talking about PBP?

Apparently not. That celebrated randonneuring event is just too big, too life-altering. Do it once and it's forever burned into the DVD of your memory, cued up for replay anytime two or more anciens gather for a ride.

And so it was Saturday when Branson, Byron and I tested a route I'm preparing for an October brevet. (I'll call it "Showdown at Black Creek," because it has a nice western sound, like a John Wayne cowboy movie. But the first alternate could be "Who's Your Daddysville" since we cut right through that crossroads community.)


View Larger Map

We gathered Saturday morning at the parking lot of Wakefield High School in North Raleigh.

Byron and I were both wearing our PBP '07 jerseys. Coincidence? Well, yeah, but Branson later surmised some bigger forces might have been at work since exactly a year ago we were on the PBP course, suffering through the rain and the cold and the hills.


Under the big clouds of eastern North Carolina, we mentally relived the rolling hills into Villaines and Mortagne, the speed-run to Dreux. But there were very few hills on yesterday's course, which largely followed state Bike Route 2 before switching off to Bike Route 7 northwest of Wilson and angling south to Black Creek. The route is often signed as a bike route, making navigation fairly easy. The roads were exceedingly quiet, with the exception of Thompson Mill about 5 miles from the start and 3 or 4 miles of Tarboro Road around Youngsville, also near the start.





Here are the boys rolling along on one of the many quiet stretches of back road.

The ride is being planned as part of an effort to travel the state's Mountain to Sea Trail in October. Land is still being acquired east of Raleigh for a true hiking trail, so it currently follows the bike routes. This effort is being coordinated by friend Kate Dixon, the executive director of the Friends of the Mountain to Sea Trail. She's married to randonneuring buddy Dan Wilkinson.

Kate drew out the route for me in the N.C. topo map book. I generated a cue sheet in about 15 minutes using Google's new "Walking Directions" and a program Branson found. See this post for more info.

The mileage on the cue sheet was right on the money, but occasionally Google had trouble when the road crossed a county line and changed names. Google would put in an extra direction or two that, while not wrong, was confusing. Once we had to stop and decide whether we were still on course. We were. Also, Google does not put in confirmation points -- for instance, it makes no mention of crossing a major road. But these minor quibbles were easy to fix in the shake-out ride.

We passed multiple country stores, noting all of them and taking advantage of several for water and fuel. Running out of water should not be an issue on this route.


Here's one we stopped at on the way down. It's at 40 miles and I may use it as a control. It used to have a grill but I'm not sure it's fired up these days. However, there were plenty of food options.


Speaking of options, with a growing Latino population in eastern North Carolina, we now have some new drink choices.

We picked up two riders along the way -- a guy named Jeff who let us know he was very competitive, it was his nature in everything he did, before riding off the front.


Just outside Black Creek we picked up a kid riding into town for a sleepover with a pal. He had a 40-pound pack on his back and a Bozo strapped to the front. He also had a competitive streak and hung with us for a couple miles.


View Larger Map
When we hit Black Creek, the odometer read right at 62 miles -- hmm, this might be a perfect 200k.

The Wilson County municipality of Black Creek is closer to a ghost town than an ongoing enterprise. At one time the railroad must have been the town's lifeline -- it literally slices the place in two, dividing East Center Street and West Center Street. But the railroad doesn't stop there any more. Not much stops there anymore. There are a dozen old storefronts along the two Center Streets, but only one or two appear to be up and running as a business.


Luckily, the Black Creek Grocery is open -- "8 to 8" -- Mickey the proprietor told us. His family has owned the store since 1979. We bought a gallon of chilled water, chips and sandwiches. Byron heated his sandwich in the microwave until "it was 1,000 degrees on the bottom but still frozen on top."



We ate lunch on the only seat in town -- the bench in front of the BB&T bank -- before heading back around 1 p.m. for the second 100k. Any legs I'd had on trip down must have taken the bus home. On the homeward journey I relied on the kindness of Byron and Branson to break wind, but in a good way.

After so much flat riding, it was almost a relief to get back in a few hills around Youngsville.



Speaking of flats, Byron had one about 5 miles from the finish but got it repaired in no time flat. We finished up a few minutes after 5.

All in all a great day on the bikes, topped off by a pizzas at Rudinos, where we were joined by Maxi.

Here's the map in EveryTrail, after being dumped from my GPS.

Showdown at Black Creek

Widget powered by EveryTrail: GPS Geotagging