Audax Atlanta Summer Solstice 300km Brevet, June 20, 2009

From cauldron to fire, riding-buddy Lin and I slipped down from Raleigh to within a stone’s throw of steamy Hotlanta two weekends ago to join up with what proved to be a wonderful group of fun folks on a great “celebratory ride,” as local RBA, Andy Akard, termed it. He was right.

From the very first moment I saw the Summer Solstice 300km posting on the NC Randonneuring listserv, I was intrigued. The brevet would be historical: the first on a closed course utilizing the longest paved rails-to-trails route in the US. The concrete Silver Comet Trail stretches westward from Smyrna, GA (near Atlanta), to the Georgia-Alabama line where it joins the asphalt Chief Ladiga Trail, stretching southwest to its terminus in Anniston, AL. The combined length of the two trails is about a hundred miles, sufficiently long for a 300km out-and-back.

The ride began near the midway point of the combined trails in Cedartown, GA, at the historical train depot. The route first headed east toward Atlanta to the turn-around control at a trail-side bike shop before heading back to the Cedartown train depot. Riders then headed west on a second out-and-back to Anniston, AL, where they briefly left the trail for the turn-around control.

After a pre-ride briefing that included safety tips immanent to the trail, a baker’s dozen 13 riders began heading out a few minutes after 06:00. We threaded our way through town on a clearly marked trail. Once we were out of town, the trail straightened. It was still cool, if you think 70 degrees F is cool.

Enjoying the morning sunrise, we approached the steep hills just east of Cedartown, an obvious deviation from the original railroad bed. As we climbed, so did the temperature with each pedal stroke. The lazy, cool air remained in the valley. Now riding along a ridgeline, we were in full view of the morning sun.

This was the slowest part of the ride. It wasn’t that the hills were too onerous. It was hard to maintain any sort of momentum. The steep descents included sharp turns and often culminated at controlled intersections. I was hoping to average at least a modest 12 mph in order to finish the brevet before dark. After the first hour, with the hills behind me, I’d averaged less than 12 mph.

The trail is extremely well marked with small communities popping up every 8 to 10 miles. Lin and I were amused at the periodic trail sign informing users that the next 10 miles was a “Remote Area.” The signs are actually comforting to randonneurs, who think: “Only 10 miles to the next town!”

The first “next” town was Rockmart with hotels, restaurants, and coffee shops. The trail wound through the middle of town past a park along a stream.

On the next leg of the journey, Lin and I made good time as we crossed the rolling hills west of Atlanta on a former railroad bed—cut through wooded hillsides, including a tunnel—resembling a parkway. By now, my average speed had increased above 12 mph.

At mile 29, just eighteen miles to the turn-around, a group of randonneurs that started a few minutes after us caught us. Lin and I joined their paceline. Our timing was impeccable, since . . .

. . . after just a few minutes, the paceline pulls over for a rest stop, water-bottle refill, and photo-op.

Nearing Smyrna, trail use increased. Already we’d seen a number of pacelines headed toward us. The multi-use trail is intended for walkers, joggers, skaters, and the likes. Dogs on leashes were well healed so as not to interfere with other types of traffic. Even though everyone else seemed accustomed to this type of navigation, I was still learning. Several times I got pinched off from our paceline when I felt I could not safely pass a trail user in my lane with oncoming traffic.

At the control, Lin and I got our cards timed and initialed, purchased some water, hit the restroom, and chatted a few minutes with nearby cyclists. We informed our paceline partners that we would be heading back ahead of them, but “soft pedaling” so that they would catch us. When they caught us, we were accused of anything but “soft pedaling.” Subsequently, soft pedaling became one of the themes of banter for the day.

Our small group remained intact and in good spirits all the way back to Rockmart. A couple of folks, including Lin, went off the front chasing each other up the hills.

Back at Rockmart, three members of our group decided to eat lunch. Lin and I opted out, however. The hills east of Cedartown lay just ahead. We found a small café and ordered bottled water. Upon overhearing the details of our plans we shared with other cyclists in the place, the proprietor offered to fill our Camelbacks with ice, gratis! We tipped him. After a few minutes in air-conditioning and a couple of swigs of endurance drink, Lin and I headed for the hills that separated us from lunch back in Cedartown.

The hills were steeper in this direction. Lin and I witnessed an occasional cyclist, feet on the ground, escorting a bicycle uphill. No shame in that. On the contrary, judging by the diversity of people and the diverse types of cycles we saw, I’m betting the Silver Comet Trail will prove to be a significant incubator for the sport of cycling and the development of local cyclists.

After getting our cards signed and wolfing down turkey and cheese sandwiches awaiting us in the cooler, Lin and I ducked off to a local convenient store. It was there the clerk informed us that the temperature outside was a hundred. We filled our camelbacks with ice, guzzled down a cold drink, and made our way one block to the Silver Comet Trail to head toward Alabama.

When we arrived at the Georgia-Alabama state line, we agreed to the obligatory photograph as an excuse for a rest break.

An hour or so later, Lin and I found ourselves poking along at 12 mph on level terrain in the punishing afternoon heat. We found some shade alongside the trail and rested for a few minutes. After getting back on our bikes, we were overtaken by a reshuffled group of randonneurs, given that three sane riders had opted out at Cedartown.

We regrouped and rode together through the Tallegeda National Forest, which was one of my favorite parts of the ride, given the occasional clear water stream we passed over and the close-up, trail-side greenery.

Later, we found a lemonade stand and stopped for a refreshing break . . .

. . . enjoying ourselves in the shade . . .

. . . in full view of Tallegeda National Forest.

We then pushed on to the turn-around at Anniston, where we decided to escape the heat inside Zaxby’s and enjoy a quick meal before tackling the remaining 47 miles.

Before reentering the Tallegeda Forest, we stopped in Piedmont, AL, to catch the sunset and don reflective gear. Lin noted that the town had come to life, judging from the number of people now enjoying the trail that had been hiding from the heat when we passed earlier in the day.

What a day, seeing the sun both rise and set while on the bike! I enjoyed this stretch of the ride with Tom, here.

Aspects of the last 90 minutes of the ride seemed surreal, if not alien, riding through Tallegeda National Forest and, later, in Georgia, passing ponds each inhabited by a different species of frog. The almost-deafening frog choruses were nothing I’d heard before. Lin noted another spectacle: fireflies congregating in pine tops, their glow illuminating the needles.

By now, you’ve realized that I didn’t manage 12 mph and therefore didn’t make it back to Cedartown by dark.

It is a mistake to overestimate the “easiness” of a closed course. Our hosts reminded us that there is no such thing as an easy 187-mile brevet. If you add a little headwind, raise the temperature to 100 degrees, simmer at high humidity, then you have yourself a nice challenge! This was in fact my slowest 300km.

But I was anything but disappointed. I was excited to learn that there are plans for another Summer Solstice 300km brevet next year!

Congratulations to RBA Andy Akard, pictured here, Richard Beck, Audax Atlanta Randonneurs, and all the riders for a successful and unique Summer Solstice brevet! Thank you for hosting this truly fun, celebratory event. We enjoyed your company.

Andy’s bike agrees. It still has that post-brevet glow.

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.

Stopping to Smell Flowers, Eat Berries, and Watch Dinosaur Birds, by D. Furbish

The first week of August, I had the opportunity of cycling over 300 miles of rails-to-trails in Wisconsin. Wisconsin has an extensive rails-to-trails system with several trails near Madison, alone. My brother and I chose to ride two trails we had not yet ridden: Badger State Trail and Glacial Drumlin State Trail.

While portions of the trails are sometimes paved, most miles consist of firmly packed crushed limestone wide enough for four-wheel patrol vehicles. The surfaces were suitable not only for my 700 x 32 tires but for the even skinnier tires of two tri-athletes who passed us one day headed in the opposite direction.

Trail passes are required in Wisconsin and can be purchased at trail heads and at businesses in the towns along the route. I purchased a $20 annual pass, in part, a donation to a worthy cause. (Daily passes are $4.) Park rangers stopped me on two separate occasions to check my pass. The trails are well utilized by cyclists, walkers, and joggers, but definitely not crowded. There were cyclists on the trails even on week days.

We couldn't have asked for better weather. The sunny days were cool with lows in the mid-50s and highs in the low to mid-80s. Did I mention low humidity? Although it never rained, the usual threat of afternoon showers provided protection against the sun. Below are wildflowers in the foreground and one of many glacial drumlins of southern Wisconsin in the distance.

The Badger State Trail begins at the outskirts of Madison and extends south to the Wisconsin border where it joins the Jane Addams trail. The latter is part of the 500-mile Grand Illinois Trail. Bill and I rode a 90-mile out-and-back chunk that started just south of Madison extending into Illinois. We passed through several scenic towns: Belleville, Monroe, Orangeville. Along the way, we compiled a mental list of eateries that might provide a suitable lunch stop on the return leg.

I switched on my helmet light when we came to an old railroad tunnel that required lighting. The temperature inside the tunnel was easily ten degrees cooler than outside. There was a misty shroud inside the tunnel adding to the make-believe eeriness. A real troll pretending to be a "cyclist" guards the entrance.

The railroad bed cuts through limestone embankments, crosses numerous creeks, and is generally sheltered by a cool, green canopy of poplars, maples, oaks, ashes. The trail was festooned with wildflowers: pink and yellow coneflowers, pink bee balm, milkweed, and Queen Anne's Lace. Now we were riding through a wooded valley alongside a stream, now we were riding a ridgeline with a panoramic view of checkerboard fields of dairy farms below.

Bill spotted a mulberry tree whose limbs full of ripe berries extended to the trail's edge. It was time to stop. We helped ourselves to the sweet treats. Fortified with antioxidants, we continued our quest. I'd learned long ago that when I saw acorns on the ground, I expected to see an oak tree above. Similarly, little dark spots on the trail meant mulberries hanging overhead!

Chipmunks (ground squirrels) were out in force. We saw hundreds of these storybook creatures on and alongside the trails, engaging us in a game of cat-and-mouse, scurrying away at the very last second.

Our second long ride of the week was another out-and-back, this time on the Glacial Drumlin State Trail, which extends eastward from Cottage Grove (near Madison) to Waukesha (near Milwaukee). We included a brief side excursion to Aztalan State Park, an important archeological site inhabited 700-1000 years ago.

My brother is a true randonneur: he looks upon the opportunity of riding as one and the same as an opportunity for eating. We had made good time. So we were justified in our relaxed, late-afternoon lunch in Sullivan, WI, at Jamie's where we'd been told was the best best food in town and the Milwaukee Brewers were on TV.

The glacial drumlin trail is relatively flat. It is protected for the most part by a canopy of trees. There are exposed portions through marshlands that serve as bird sanctuaries. I saw ducks, geese, herons, and Sandhill cranes. The latter are interesting birds. The first time I saw one of these magnificent birds, I had no idea what it was. It looked like a brown ostrich or a mythical giant, long-legged kiwi. The Sandhill crane is unique. In fact, according to experts, it is the oldest known bird species still living! A dinosaur bird? Not quite. But this is as close as it comes. Time once again to stop and look.