Phun Physiology: Is excessive endurance exercise bad for the heart?

Maybe. This according to a study published this past week (June 4) in Mayo Clinic Proceedings by a team of cardiologists that bases its claims on a review of a number of animal and human studies.

Because the blogosphere was quick to pounce on the story (here, here, here, and here), I thought a short commentary might be appropriate. One that addresses the original article and whether it pertains to endurance cycling known as randonneuring.   

First of all, the researchers are not referring to daily, moderately intense workouts. Or to 2-3-mile runs four times a week. Nor are they referring to short intense interval workouts 2-3 times per week. In fact, the researchers acknowledge that these kinds of exercise regimens are extremely beneficial and may even add seven years to one’s life.

So what kind of activities does this particular team of cardiologists believe qualify as “excessive endurance exercise?” According to the article,   

[C]hronic training for and competing in extreme endurance events such as marathons, ultramarathons, ironman distance triathlons, and very long distance bicycle races . . .

Cycling? In an interview, the lead researcher, James O’Keefe, mentions the Tour de France and 200-mile bicycle races as examples of excessive endurance exercise.

Inferring from the article, it seems that for an endurance exercise regimen to qualify as “excessive,” it must be 1) almost daily, 2) hours at a time, 3) intense (racing), and 4) chronic (yearly).

The researchers have hypothesized that over time in some athletes excessive endurance exercise begins to remodel the heart in unhealthy ways. I’ve lifted the types of heart changes and their timelines from the article: 

. . . transient acute volume overload of the atria and right ventricle, with transient reductions in right ventricular ejection fraction and elevations of cardiac biomarkers, all of which return to normal within 1 week.

Over months to years of repetitive injury, this process, in some individuals, may lead to patchy myocardial fibrosis, particularly in the atria, interventricular septum, and right ventricle, creating a substrate for atrial and ventricular arrhythmias.

Additionally, long-term excessive sustained exercise may be associated with coronary artery calcification, diastolic dysfunction, and large-artery wall stiffening.

The phrase “patchy myocardial fibrosis, particularly in the atria” refers to tissue scarring in the heart’s two upper chambers—the atria. The heart’s electrical circuitry known as the pacemaker (SA-node) is located in the right atrium. Consequently, scarring there increases the likelihood of arrhythmias.

One type of arrhythmia known as atrial fibrillation can be particularly problematic, if not diagnosed and treated, since it can lead to sudden death. I shall say more about atrial fibrillation below.

  

It is important to note that the researchers view their thesis regarding the adverse cardiovascular effects of long-term excessive endurance exercise as tentative and that not all individuals may be susceptible to the aforementioned pathologies. In fact, the researchers note that “lifelong vigorous exercisers generally have low mortality rates and excellent functional capacity.”

It is extremely important to keep in mind that the occurrence of SCD [sudden cardiac death] during marathons, triathlons, and collegiate athletic events is rare and should not deter individuals from participating in vigorous ET [exercise training]; the benefits of regular PA [physical activity] to the individual and to society as a whole far outweigh potential risks. At the same time, long-term training for and competing in extreme endurance events may predispose to CV [cardiovascular] issues that are not seen in more moderate forms of PA.

Now the question: What does this study have to do with randonneuring? Nothing, unless randonneurs are also involved in daily, long-distance racing.  

But what about other studies? Of direct concern for randonneurs is the potential for atrial fibrillation, the chance of which increases in some individuals, who may have trained for but never competed in endurance-type races. This is the contention of Dr. Luis Mont, a Spanish physician, who 

reports that atrial fibrillation is more frequent in middle-aged individuals who formerly took part in competitive sports and continue to be active, or simply in those involved in regular endurance training without having actually participated in competitive sports.

Dr. Mont adds that

long-term endurance sport participation may well increase the incidence of cardiac arrhythmias, particularly atrial fibrillation, atrial flutter, sinus node dysfunction, and right ventricular premature beats.

Again, this pertains to a small proportion of the general population of endurance athletes. 

Here is a personal story—worth reading—of one cyclist who developed atrial fibrillation while on a bike ride and the outcome.

While many athletes use heart monitors as training aids, the usefulness of such devices extends well beyond training to include the detection of abnormal physiological states such as sudden spikes in heart rate—a possible sign of atrial fibrillation.

Should inexplicable heart-rate spikes occur in someone with whom you are riding, he or she should be strongly encouraged to get it checked out. Atrial fibrillation is something that is easily diagnosed and in many cases is treatable.

  

Be aware and be safe.

Let’s ride!

Update: Here is a link to Iron Rider, which has an important and related blogpost on atrial fibrillation in endurance athletes. 

Q&A -- Our Man Branson

Our riding buddy Branson is crushing it on fixed gear this season. On our recent flèche, Branson spun his way at 35 mph down Mount Mitchell and tackled a 3,000 foot climb from Rosman to the Blue Ridge Parkway.  Respect!

 Off the bike, Branson is a devoted dad and the creative talent behind the NC Randonneurs logo. In an e-mail Q&A, Branson said he's planning PBP on a fixed gear. Read on to find out how he trains and who inspires him.

1. Why fixed this season? What is the appeal for you?

Why fixed? Guess I fell under the same spell so many others have- it's simply a lot of fun! So quiet, so responsive, so efficient. That direct connection to the bike is a great feeling. It's like I'm part of the bike instead of being perched upon one.

 2. When did you first ride a fixed gear?

Fall of 2008. I bought a 1983 Trek IS 400 touring frame and converted it to a fixed-gear/singlespeed for commuting. Survived a few crashes around the neighborhood before tentatively taking to the streets. Pretty soon I didn't want to ride anything else. In February 2009 I rode my first fixed brevet- Tony Goodnight's Harrisburg-Laurinburg-Harrisburg 300K.

3. Your form this season is fantastic, with the successful completion of a mountainous flèche and strong finishes on several brevets. Describe your training regimen this year...

Maybe commuting with a little boy in a trailer is the next big thing! He loves it too so it's a win all around. Other than that, I've just really upped the intensity of my rides- fewer, shorter, harder efforts.

4. Your goal is to do an SR series and PBP on fixed?

Yes. PBP has been the goal all along but I'm still not sure I can have fun riding it fixed. Until our flèche a couple of weekends ago I had never ridden more than 300K fixed. If the NCBC 600K feels good and I stay healthy, then it's on to PBP.

5. Your gearing?

Currently I'm riding 45x14 with a 45x16 on the flip side. I'm going up to a 46 for our NCBC 600K and if it works it'll stay there for PBP.

6. Which is tougher -- up or down?

For me- down is tougher! It's just very tricky to get the keister up out of the saddle to stretch when the bike's headed downhill and legs are thrashing.

7. Who do you draw inspiration from?

My wife and son, my parents, Jerry Branson Kimball, Adrian Hands, Charly Miller, Spencer Klaassen, Emily O'Brien, Jake Kassen, Kevin Kaiser.

North Carolina Bicycle Club Randonneurs RUSA Anniversary Ride, 2009

Anniversaries mark important historical events. But they are also celebratory occasions. So, too, was the second consecutive locally celebrated RUSA Anniversary Brevet on Saturday, August 15, marking the 11th year of Randonneurs USA, or RUSA for short.

It was great seeing a number of newbies, but also the oldbies who’ve become a great support structure for NC randonneuring! Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to meet all of you. So you’ll have to come back again!

A special thanks to RBA, Alan Johnson, for organizing and hosting this NCBC event. By all accounts it was another successful anniversary brevet. Although Mike O quipped that Alan was losing his touch with the weather, since there was no rain!

Aside from the lack of rain, everything else was clicking today: the cool morning temperatures; the midmorning overcast skies; the great job done by the volunteers; the relaxing post-ride celebratory picnic at Morrisville Community Park; the upbeat enthusiastic riders . . . Just back from L-E-L, Mike D looked relaxed sporting a cool T-shirt with the L-E-L logo. RBA Tony Goodnight was there as well.

We can’t say enough about volunteerism and its importance to RUSA events. A number of volunteers pre-rode this event last Saturday on a sweltering day. Others took time out to help with the picnic and other duties. The water at the corner of Chicken Bridge and NC 87 in the white Styrofoam coolers, still cold on the return in the afternoon sun, was a nice touch, Jerry and company! Thanks to all the selfless volunteers for making this another successful anniversary ride.

Riders filing out on the 200km ride before sunrise at 6 AM.

It was nice to see a number of newbies tackling their first 200km brevet today. I’m disappointed that I didn’t have a chance to meet them all. But congratulations are in order, anyway!

Three riders at Snow Camp tackling their first 200km event, from left to right, Lynn, Scott, and John.

Although I finished with a time of 9:33, I got off to a sluggish start, probably due to the fact that I hadn’t ridden in a week. At any rate, I liked the pre-dawn start. Due to overcast morning skies, I wore reflective gear and burned my flashing taillight all the way to Snow Camp.

I teamed up with Mike O just past Snow Camp and we took turns pushing the pace to Siler City. We rode pretty much together for the remainder of the ride. His company made the miles go faster in more ways than one. Mike has ridden most of this area and can tell you where each road goes that we pass. He’s also good at spotting hawks, deer, and interesting items along the road.

Here is one interesting item we saw. Ever wished you’d had your camera when you saw that UFO no one believed you saw? Well today, I was prepared.

Here’s the picture that I’m forwarding to NASA and more importantly to Mulder and Scully.

Since I’m not an engineer or a physicist, I can’t offer an educated opinion about the technical sophistication of this contraption. But as a biologist, I’m thinking there may be the possibility that the Clampett gene pool may be “out there” somewhere.

Mike O on the return.

Watch out, Mike! My tandem riding buddy, Mt. Fuji, is about to pounce!

Note my bike listing to the left? Toting Mt. Fuji all across creation is no easy task. Maybe the reason for my slow start and struggle up Jack Bennett hill today. That’s my story, at any rate.

Congratulations to all for yet another successful anniversary ride! We hope to see you and everyone else sometime soon! Let’s ride!

A Spectator's View of the Morrisville 300km, April 25, 2009

Having volunteered to work the turnaround control at Seagrove, I’d planned on arriving well ahead of the lead group of riders. But as it turned out, I was running a little late that morning. It didn’t matter, though, since opportunity knocks when least expected.

After navigating both the detour to Alan’s home and the aisles of the Siler City Food Lion—filling my cart with randonneuring munchies, drinks, and fruit—my morning journey led me for the first time onto the brevet route just beyond Siler City.

I hadn’t planned on meeting the riders on the course. But there they were. Due to lax security, I was able to command several different vantage points and witness brightly clad randonneurs wheeling past.

Here comes Wes at the front in the stylish, yellow, Swedish P-B-P jersey.

Mike, JD, Joel, John, Lynn, Glenn, and Joe Ray rush past me a few miles after Siler City.

For the first time in my randonneuring “career,” I was able to witness the front runners at the 100km mark. Soon the small group of lead riders would tackle the hills near Coleridge, NC. I would be there, too, this time. It was exciting to watch!

Joe Ray, who had been near the back of the lead pack coming out of Siler City, was the first to scale the summit on Coleridge Rd.

One minute Joe Ray, Justin, Lynn, and Wes are in “downtown” Coleridge.

And the next minute they’re gone.

I wasn’t the only one caught up in the excitement. On his blog, Chuck reported an occasional friendly wave from a porch-sitter and farm-vehicle operator. The contagion spread as the mercury climbed. A few dogs got wind of the event and wanted to join. Even the cattle, known for elevating the nonchalant to an art form, could not completely ignore the events unfolding before them.

Since I wasn’t riding, I signed brevet cards and had the luxury of meeting each of the 22 riders reaching the Seagrove control. I’d learn some successful habits from not only the first riders to arrive at the control but the last. I’d also share in the disappointment of a few riders who abandoned on a sweltering day when temperatures were 20 degrees above normal, peaking somewhere in the low 90s. There had been little time this spring to acclimate.

I’d like to give a special mention to the handful of Virginia randonneurs visiting our state. I know the weather could have been better. Usually, it is—normally, it rains on Alan’s brevets!

How hot was it on the Morrisville 300km?

Look, Keith’s head is on fire!

Just off the collegiate race season, Justin relaxes before the return.

What do the frontrunners do? They relax, hydrate, and eat.

Mike refueling and planning a strategy for the return. You’ll not want to miss his entertaining account of the ride (blog entry below) along with his sage advice about riding your own ride.

Chuck is one of those experienced riders who rides his own ride. A great conversationalist, yet Chuck has an uncanny ability when riding alone to note and appreciate different aspects of the journey: history, nature, and scenery.

Mike is first to leave the control.

Justin and Lynn leave the control next.

New RUSA member Lynn has already amassed 700km in April!

Smiling Joe Ray off to find some more hills to climb!

Keith, another Tidewater rider and coast-to-coast PAC Tour finisher.

On her first-ever brevet, Kim from Virginia blew out a tire before Seagrove. According to Byron, she quickly fixed the flat, booted the tire, and was on her way again. By the time she reached Seagrove, the threadbare tire looked suspect. Time for a new tire.

Kim changes a tire quicker than a mongoose knots a cobra. After watching her, I wanted to find a flat tire to fix. Maybe we can coax her into putting on a clinic next time she’s in town.

Dueling cameras. Gary and Sara have done a lot for cycling with the North Carolina Bicycle Club.

Don’t be fooled by Sara’s pretty pink bicycle and innocent-looking—if not stylish—black fenders. It hasn’t rained on one of Alan’s brevets since the fenders arrived last season. On the other hand, word is—people at the Almanac have begun paying close attention to “rain maker” Alan’s brevet schedule. Something has to give! Stay tuned.

I enjoyed hearing Glenn’s account of a long-distance ride he took that ultimately inspired him to join RUSA.

JD, Joel, and Glenn. Joel’s dad, Richard, raced again in Sebring this year.

Don’t mess with recumbents. You really don’t know what they might be packing.

Monsieur Byron, le plus photogénique randonneur dans le monde.

John M, our first Super Randonneur of 2009 leaving the pits.

Tidewater randonneurs John H and Ron enjoying themselves. Look them up if you’re interested in doing the historic Nottoway Ramble Permanent in Virginia’s Tidewater Region.

Tidewater randonneur, Bob, readying for the return.

Geof at the turnaround. Check out the handle-bar tape and bags. I can’t wait to see some of Geof’s pictures of the ride, especially the long horns. Riding his bike to the 300 start, Geof had to detour along with the four-wheel vehicles!

The dapper Bee Team at the turnaround outfitted like the A-Team.

Very little afternoon shade.

Congratulations to all the participants! Although I missed a couple of spots with the sunscreen, I thoroughly enjoyed hanging out with you at the randonneuring Hoboville in Seagrove, and especially being entertained by your quips and stories. Thanks!

PBP Contrôles

A Tenderfoot's Guide to the PBP Contrôles

With the hope of being of some assistance to English speaking randonneurs attempting PBP for their first time in 2011, I am documenting the controls as I remember them—I rode PBP in 2003 and 2007, the controls were roughly the same, though the route changed. In '07, I felt that my familiarity with the layouts from '03 were helpful, and it seems fair to pass that advantage on to new riders in '11. Though it appears controls were similar in 1999, they MIGHT be entirely different in the future. Bonne Route!

Signs:

• Les étrangers — Foreigners (you and me)
• Douches — Showers (yes, guys too)
• Couchage — Sleeping (beds)
• Dortoir — Dormitory (beds)
• Sortie — Exit
• Interdite — Forbidden
• Pousser / Tirer — Push / Pull
  (You don't want to look like an idiot at the door)

---

St-Quentin-en-Yvelines at 0km & 1228km

Spelled like the prison near San Francisco, but pronounced like "Sohn Keh-Tohn in Eeve-eh-lienz" (I think), SQY is really an agglomeration of seven towns (Élancourt, Guyancourt, Magny-les-Hameaux, Montigny-le-Bretonneux, Trappes, La Verrière, Voisins-le-Bretonneux), largely contiguous they'll look like one city to you, but the locals make a distinction. Make sure you specify "en-Yvelines" as there are other St. Quentin's all over France. They say there is an ancient hamlet in Guyancourt, but mostly this is a modern "new town". Pizza Pino is underneath Hôtel Campanile. Turkish "fast food" has become common in Europe (in the U.S. too, but here they call themselves "Greek") and there are little "Gyro" joints nearby selling Donner Kebab. "Go Sport" is something like an REI or Dick's Sporting Goods. The wisdom of participating in the official but optional pre-ride supper is questionable—In '07 lots of Americans could not find the place, adding to pre-ride stress. By all means DO participate in a pre-PBP test ride to shake out your newly assembled equipment and get a feel for navigating France. Camping is at the pond (aka Tank), built in the 17th century to power the fountains at the nearby Royal Palace of Versailles.

Mortagne-au-Perche at 140km & 1084km

You'll climb up into the cobblestoned town plaza way past midnight and find an outdoor stand grilling meat, and selling sandwiches & drinks. The real stop is another kilometre down the road. Even that is not an official control, so do not try to get your control card stamped. Entering the building, the bathrooms are straight ahead, food and drink to your right, a bar first (selling beer & wine), but after that is real food—green beans (haricots verte), mashed potatos (pomme de terre), soup, yogurt and lots more. When you reclaim your bike, continue in the prior direction—do NOT go out the way you came in.
Turn left and go downhill.

Villaines-la-Juhel at 223km & 1002km

It will probably be morning when you get here—this is my favorite control. As you enter town, bike racks are straight ahead, control card processing up the steps on the right. Food, showers and beds are across the street. There is a line to buy pastries at the card processing, but the real food is across the street. Don't try to lie down in the card processing room, they'll shoo you out.

Though we pass through countless thousand-year-old French towns, most
of the controls are in larger and more modern communes. Villaines-la-Juhel is a beautiful example of the former (the only control town NOT located on a national road), and though its population barely tops three-thousand, you'd swear every single inhabitant must be volunteering or just cheering the cyclists on at the control. Villaines-la-Juhel control opens on Tuesday at 3am and doesn't close until 11pm on Thursday—that's a lot of voluntarism! They take lots of photos here and post them on their town website, so smile!

Fougères at 311km & 914km

Pronounced "Foo-zhjehers", I think. When you pull in on Tuesday afternoon, there is bike parking on your right, but ride past it and up the hill to get to the bike parking at the card processing area. There are showers up there too. Ride back down the hill and re-park your bike in the other lot, then cross the driveway for food. Don't dally, the leg to Tinteniac is short and fairly flat.

Be extra careful around Fougères, I felt motorists there to be the worst. Maybe it was evening rush.

Tinténiac at 365km & 859km

Pronounced "Tin Tohn eeYak", rhymes with Cadillac, I think. Park your bike then walk ahead. Card processing is on your left. Farther ahead is food, indoor and outdoor. Outdoor might be sandwiches and indoor plates of hot food (upstairs?).

On the edge of Tinténiac you climb up into Bécherel then dive out of town. After that, I think its relatively flat to Loudéac. The sun will probably set long before you get to Loudéac. This leg is nearly twice as long as the last one—don't let that discourage you. Somewhere near Loudéac, expect to see the fast guys heading back already.

Loudéac at 452km & 773km

Also rhymes with Cadillac, I think. Around midnight, you'll ride in through the long maze of barricades and park, or lay your bike down at this, the most crowded of controls. To your left and up the steps is card processing and food. To your right is drop bags, showers and dormitory. Need a bed? Bonne chance! Mais, il est possible. Behind you is beer and mechanics (who likely do NOT speak English). Get ready for hills tomorrow.

Carhaix at 529km & 696km

Pronounced "Car-hay", I think. You'll get here Wednesday, mid-morning, if you slept at Loudeac. I think the Carhaix control is in a school that is closed for summer. If its cool (likely) you will be forgiven for forgetting that it is summer. Ride to the back of the parking lot, stop, dismount, turn right and WALK your bike through the hedges and onto the narrow sidewalk. Some folks try to ride through the hedges, in both directions—neither can see each other and the crashes can be ugly. Card processing and food are inside. If you need a bed or shower, grab your bike, walk back to the parking lot, turn left at the road, go down about a block (or two?) and there is another building on your left.

Head to Brest, via Monts d'Arrée National Park and Roc-Trevezel (great vistas!). Avoid the road edge, I think there are little but sharp pieces of flint in this area. Also, try to hold your line and not weave, or, at least be concious of cyclists trying to pass you.

Brest at 615km

Wednesday afternoon, you cross the Albert Louppe Bridge where the Élorn River ends at the bay. Looking inland from the Louppe you see the landmark Plougastel bridge. Continuing, you skirt the bay again, turn right and climb to the control. You never get to see the actual ocean, just the bay. Card processing, showers, food, etc. are all inside. There may be more food across the street. You ride out of Brest on a different route than coming in—no Louppe bridge. You rejoin the "allez" route somewhere after Landerneau. After Roc-Trevezal, I felt like there was loads of downhill to Carhaix—you should get there before dark.

Dreux at 1161km

Dreux was not a control in 2003—Nogent la Roi was. I did not make it this far in 2007—sorry.

Secret Controls

Expect a couple secret controls. The secret controls will likely also offer food. Bonne Courage!

Frigid Air / Feb 21 300K

Call the HVAC man. The heat ain't working.

There wasn't a bank thermometer within eyesight at the start of yesterday's 300K in Harrisburg, NC. Had there been, we might have loaded the bikes, climbed back in the car, cranked the heat and headed home to a warm bed and a hot breakfast. We knew it was cold, but we couldn't put an exact figure on it. When we passed the first bank, about 10 miles in, the big display showed 17, a fine prime number and a fair blackjack hand, but a frigid biking temperature that burned my face when we picked up speed on the downhills. This was my coldest start ever -- and I've been keeping meticulous tabs since 1936, so I'm fairly certain about this. My toes hurt. My lungs hurt. But I had legs all day, and that's what counts on the bike.

Eight of us rolled out of the parking lot at 6:05 a.m. -- me, Jerry, Branson, Joel, Glenn, James, Gary and newcomer Paul, out for his first 300K. Others had signed up for the start, but they are smarter than us, smart enough to be a no-show. Chuck got Saturday's MENSA award. He showed up for the start but forgot his shoes and could not ride. Pure genius. We'll give him partial credit.

Branson chose to ride fixed gear; he and Gary would ride as a duo, with James not far behind. Jerry, Joel, Glenn, Paul and I rode together for the majority of the trip.

The temperature climbed rapidly in the morning if the banks are to be believed -- but their credibility has been sharply eroded in recent weeks. From the low of 17, we saw, in rapid succession, 25 then 36 then 49. Is the stimulus package already taking hold? But I knew what this really meant. Warm air was pushing in from the south southeast. So guess which direction we were heading? We had headwind or a strong crosswind most of the way out. We all knew once we made the turnaround on this out-and-back course, we could let out the jib sails for the journey home.

This course suited my riding style. I'd call it a flat to rolling course, with smooth pavement on most roads and long stretches that allowed the day's rhythms and themes to develop. When we wound things up a few times, I felt the harmonic vibration of the chain: the song of the machine. I'd put the front Berthoud bag on my Coho and loaded it down with a light rain jacket, a camera, gels, glasses, a toothbrush, tools and tubes. I had not ridden with the front bag for a while, and I fretted that I would feel the extra weight in the hills. In fact, the Coho has never felt better beneath me. It was one more simple joy of a very pleasurable day on the bikes.

Highway 73, which Joel affectionately called our Alpine stage, was an early season test of the legs and lungs, a 12-mile stretch between Mt. Gilead and Ellerbe that crossed a series of ridges. Drop down to a river or a creek or a swamp, then settle in for a short climb. The crest of each hill provided a glimpse of the next ridge. There it was: your goal, in sharp geographic relief. All of life's goals should be so clear on the horizon. On the return trip, Glenn and I rode off the front of our small peloton, turned up the heat, put our machines through the paces in one of those perfect cycling moments of synchronization and sweat. Glenn was on his new Franklin frame, painted very much like the old silver/blue Raleigh Pros. The Franklin had just been built up and still had that new bike smell. "But I about wore it off on that road," he said.

From Feb-21-09-300k

The route took us past the Rockingham Speedway. I suspected an event was going on; a motor home passed us as we neared the track. From the sound of things the 1/4 mile drag strip was being used. That was confirmed when the wind blew the smell of rubber and alcohol fuel across our path. In years past, Saturday's route would have been dicey; NASCAR's second race of the season was typically held here on this weekend, and the roads we were on would have been clogged with thousands of cars and beer-fueled race fans. But NASCAR's premier circuit doesn't come here any more; the races have moved to modern tracks in Florida and Texas, and that's a shame.

Our little crew gave randonneuring a good name, soft pedaling when someone stopped for a nature break, regrouping at each control, all taking a fair share of pulls at the front, although we graciously let Glenn lead the way whenever he felt the urge, which was often. At the turnaround in Laurinburg, we stopped for the breakfast I'd missed that morning. The restaurant: "Breakfast Anytime!" That is, anytime before 3 p.m., when they close.

Here are a few shots I snapped.


Glenn is a natural on a bike, focused and workmanlike, and his machines are always one final polish away from the Handmade Bike Show -- hey, when you're showing up to do battle, a shiny tank works its own shock and awe.


Joel was just back from Sebring, where he'd reeled off 355 miles in 24 hours. He called this 190-mile ride his recovery day. You can count on Joel for entertainment during the ride. He thought he spotted Scarlet Johansson along the route. Actually it proved to be her lesser known cousin, Ruby Johansson.


Paul was on his first 300K, and he occasionally lost contact with us. We encouraged him to stay off the front to save his legs. Apparently that worked. At the end of the day, he took off like a horse feeling the whip, dropping a few of us on the long climb into Locust. His secret fuel: the Java from Breakfast Anytime.


Here's my good riding buddy Jerry, who provided the weekend's music, Mazda and camaraderie. Thank you, sir. A picture taking a picture.

We rolled into the finish right around 9 p.m. Too cold to swap stories, we loaded up, cranked the heat and headed out. Another fun day on the bikes. Thanks to Tony for a great event.

Postscript. Branson captured these pictures of the train coming back from Laurenburg. That's Joel on the front. Notice two of us are running our edeluxs. With no fear of burning out the bulb, we just leave em on all the time. BTW: Branson has designed a fantastic new jersey for the N.C. Rando crew. You need one.







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Keeping the Faith: Jan. 8 Salisbury 200K

Hell is the rhythm of others.
-- Paul Fornel, Need for the Bike

Randonneurs talk about "riding your own ride," about setting your own pace, cycling within your limits, feeling your own chain, finding the sweet pain in your legs that will carry you through the next 100k.

Fall into a group that is coming over the hills too slowly, or pushing too big of a gear in the flats, or accelerating at unexpected moments, and the game plan quickly goes out the window.

And so it was yesterday, on Tony G's 200K, a spectacular route deep in the Piedmont that took us through a host of towns with biblical names -- Mt. Gilead and Locust, and Faith, a town where JoeRay and Wes would lose their way.

A crew of 25 lined the street outside of a Salisbury bike shop for the 7:30 start and there were lots of familiar faces -- JoeRay, Jimmy, Wes, Jerry, Dean, Brother Rob, Gary, JoAnn, Tom, Mary, Chuck, John, Vance, JD, Lin, Joel, Ron and others I'm forgetting to name. A 27-degree start required cold weather gear, but we all knew we'd be baking in high 60s and sun by the afternoon. That 40-degree swing made it a hard day to dress for.

The group dropped it into social gear for the first 10 miles or so, and for a brief moment I thought we'd all hang together for the full 125 miles. That plan got derailed when Byron missed a shift and broke a chain on the first steep rise of the day. A few of us stopped to offer moral assistance only -- nobody wanted to get their hands oily. A true mechanic, Byron had the chain repaired in five minutes flat.

Rolling again, we chased the lead group to the first control in Oakboro. I left just in front of them for a nature break and had to chase again to latch on as the pace suddenly jumped up a couple clicks. I was expecting big things from this front bunch. Jimmy was there, a superb and stylish rider, and he'd brought along a buddy, Will from Greensboro, who once logged a 5th place finish on the Assault on Mt. Mitchell. Also along was Wes, John, JoeRay, Ron and Joel.

Our group motored down Hwy 731, a rolling stretch of smooth pavement to Mt. Gilead. Four of us -- me, JoeRay, Wes and John -- snuck out of the control first. Perhaps it had dawned on all of us that our only hope was in the pit stops, not on the course.

It's an odd phenomenon. One minute you have wings, you can fly and you're gliding effortlessly through a crisp landscape. The next you're tugging on the anchor rope, dragging a sunken dinghy up from the river bottom. For me, the transition occurred on Old US 52, a nasty excuse for a paved road. Anytime you see Old in front of a highway name, rest assured that the state has abandoned this stretch of asphalt to the cruel hands of time and weather. We bounced along into a headwind for a mere 1.8 miles -- just enough distance to chisel a few letters into my tombstone. I was cooked, but it would be another five miles before the buzzards started circling. Meantime, buddies JoeRay and Wes, danced up the hills. Glancing back, they could smell the stink of collapse on me; they know me too well.

We made it to the next control just in front of Will and Jimmy and Joel and a few others. I made the pretense of leaving with them, but now it was just a matter of time before my legs folded and gave the finger to every other body part that was counting on them to do forced labor. I was off the back in five miles, left alone with a sting in my lungs. I drifted along, all focus gone. But drifting is still forward motion, and on a brevet, sometimes that's all you need. It's taken years, but I now have faith that I will indeed recover. Just keep moving and wait for the shift, a click of some mental switch and all is right with the world once more, and the legs are back in the ring for Round 2.

It was on this stretch, at Barrier Store Road, that I checked the cue sheet and saw the mileage: 100.6. Another century in the books. That made 86 months in a row. I'd just taken the mantle from Brother Rich, the guy who inspired my streak and coaxed me into randonneuring.

Joel caught me and we rolled into the control at Locust, which had a McDonalds. I had a solitary burger and fries and a Coke, gathered myself together. We were 94 miles in. I could limp along for another 30 miles.

I waited for everyone else to clear the parking lot before striking out, solo, on the 20-mile run to the next control. We had a very favorable wind on this stretch. Pedaling was optional. By the final intermediate control at Mile 115, I felt fully recovered. I finished the day with Joel and Ron and JD. Brother Rich was there to greet us at the finish, and we capped the celebration off at a downtown Salisbury restaurant staffed by one of the world's chattiest waitresses.

On the way home I got a call from Brother Rob that he'd successfully finished. A big congratulations to him on what was a demanding but rewarding course.

There was one spot on the route that really captivated me. There was something magic about it, and I made a feeble effort to capture it on film. No luck.



Another great day on the bikes. Speaking of bikes, John M asked that I take a picture of his new ebay purchase. Iowa, if you're out there, here's the proof that she is being ridden and loved.

From Feb 8 200k

P.S. Dean sent along this picture. That's Brother Rob in the red.

From Feb 8 200k

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.