Year-Rounder 2011 Review

2011 was another good year for the Year-Rounder program, and a rewarding one for the participants!  A few figures:

119	participants
33	new participants
64	Larry Schwartz Year-Rounders (12 rides in at least 10 months)
29	Gold (3000 miles or more)
19	Platinum (5000 miles or more)
384,285	Total Miles
2,719	Total Rides

The Year-Rounder means different things to different riders – from the Larry Schwartz awardees, who may ride as few as 1080 miles but must span all seasons in often harsh conditions, to the Gold and Platinum awardees who have the time and tenacity to accumulate more miles.

Distance Distribution – It’s interesting to see how many riders rode at which distance levels.  This chart shows that 31 riders had 1,000 miles or fewer, 31 had 1001-2000 miles, and so on.

It takes 90 x 12 or 1080 miles minimum to earn the Larry Schwartz Year-Rounder award, so almost 90 riders rode enough miles, but only 64 of those rode enough months to be Year-Rounders.  That’s again the choice of goals.  Many riders have mileage goals but perhaps a climate that doesn’t sustain riding throughout the year.

Interesting, too, the number of riders (9) getting in range of Platinum.  Beyond the 5,000 mile mark, a lot of the Platinum riders clearly have far loftier mileage goals (and time to match!).

The Lonely Miles? – You might picture a year of long, lonely miles for the typical Y-R participant.  In fact, most have a variety of rides – some solo, some with friends, some on big events.  A Y-R year can be a rich year indeed!

Y-R Volunteers and Platinum riders Kerin Huber and Linda Bott at Paris-Brest-Paris

Y-R Platinum riders Gary Gottlieb and Dana Pacino (tandem) and Pam Wright on a 200k with friends

Platinum rider and Texas Time Trial organizer Dan Driscoll taking a break:

Our Volunteers – A large part of the success of the Year-Rounder program is due to our volunteers.   It’s not just all the effort put into compiling submissions; it’s answering questions, giving advice to, and getting to know the participants.  Volunteers for 2011:

• Bob Barday, Steve Barnes, Bill Beck, Kerin Huber – paper submissions
• Kerin Huber with Linda Bott and Larry Ide – online submissions
• Matt Haigh – e-news editor
• Drew Clark – 2010 awards
• Mark Newsome – webmaster and database administrator

Kerin Huber is stepping down after years of service (and lots of work!).  This will give her more time to devote to organizing brevets and other randonnées in the Southern California area.  A big thanks to you, Kerin!

Website and Database Enhancements – That sounds dry and technical, but what it means is the Year-Rounder web pages have been thoroughly revamped and enhanced, thanks to the initiative and hard work of UMCA webmaster Mark Newsome.  It’s now much easier and more timely for riders to find out their standings and the status of their rides, and less work for volunteers to maintain and validate submissions.  Thanks, Mark!

In the New Year – The new year is already off to a big start, with a number of new faces and some new year’s resolutions involved, no doubt.  Thanks to volunteers and participants alike for making the Y-R a rewarding program!

- - -

Ross Muecke recovering from RAAM

Ross Muecke, Kennewick WA reporting in on a personal century:

Had an unplanned day off from work mid-week, weather was beautiful, so I climbed on the bike to ride. This marks nearly two months since my unsuccessful attempt at RAAM, and it’s great to report happiness in the saddle again.

From my front door an 1800’ climb puts you on top of the plateau above the Tri-Cities: to the West, about 200 miles out Mt. Ranier and Mt. Adams rise above the Cascade foothills. On a really clear day you can see Mt. Hood a little to the south. Which is where George Thomas and Terri Gooch start their races.

Directly south from the plateau, about 120 miles out you can just make out where the little town of Heppner in Oregon sits. If you were out on George’s little playground called Race Across Oregon you would be rolling through dinnertime, Time Station Two, and a double for the day. And be looking forward to a nice night of riding. But you’d be wrong – you would be in for a long night of trying to figure out George’s sense of humour as you pushed through tens of thousands of feet of climbing!

East of my viewpoint the thunderclouds are building high and mighty over the Blue Mountains near Walla Walla, WA and Pendleton, OR. And north of me is a slightly misleading sight. It looks flat. But I know from experience that 150 miles north is Spokane, 2500’ higher than my doorstep. 2500’ isn’t much of a climb, unless it’s 150 miles long.

The landscape nearby is mostly wheat farms, harvested already. The section lines here are immense. They are drawn out to accommodate tractors with GPS: you can ride through a full fuel bottle before making a turn or seeing a crossroad. If you had a dog you might have to consider Onstarring him just in case he wandered. All of this suddenly reminded me of RAAM.

Ross riding RAAM

I was riding a road called St. Mary’s, and being absolutely annoyed at all the turns. Right, left, left, right, right, left. It went on and on until suddenly the parish of St. Mary’s showed itself. Church, cemetery, couple of outbuildings. And suddenly it rushed at me how this little road had held two towns and one church together. The twists and turns were driveways and section lines from long ago – they came so rapidly because they were section lines drawn out to accommodate not tractors with GPS, but horses. We were following an ancient road whilst we ourselves tried to connect the west coast to the east. Ok. So maybe I’m not completely over RAAM yet.

-Ross

Dean Furbish’s North Carolina Coastal Plain Tour

Tony Goodnight - Highpoint, NC Regional Brevet Administrator - has several remarkable “tour packages” on tap for 2010. The 400 km North Carolina Coastal Plain Tour held March 6 and 7 was one of them. The brevet covered seven southeastern North Carolina counties. A second option split the 400 km into two 200 km brevets providing riders an overnight stay in Atlantic Beach, the half-way point. I chose the 400 km option.

Paceline early in the ride with Lin on the recumbent and me on the right in orange. Jerry Phelps on the left.

The looming question was whether to ride 400 km, since I hadn’t yet ridden a 300 km this year. Riding buddy Lin Osborne and I had been trading e-mails all week leading up to the ride. Were we trying to convince each other or ourselves that we were ready and willing to tackle the 400 km?

I had logged sufficient winter training miles. The route promised to be scenic. And the forecast called for seasonable weather. Consequently, I finally jumped at the chance to ride. I had always wanted to tour this part of the state by bicycle. Why not this weekend? I didn’t know whether I would ever have another opportunity like this handed to me. Lin and Gary near Comfort, NC:

Starting in Wallace, NC, the 253-mile loop extended northeast through Jones and Craven counties passing through the tiny towns and crossroads of Chinquapin, Beaulaville, Potters Hill, and Trenton. I especially liked the sound of Comfort. The route then turned south through Pamlico County to the town of Arapahoe. At Minnesott Beach, cyclists boarded the free ferry for passage across the mouth of the Neuse River. In coastal Carteret County, riders crossed several high-rise bridges—the only “hills” on the ride—to the outer banks and Atlantic Beach. From there the route extended the length of the island before heading over another high-rise bridge to Cape Carteret on the mainland and Onslow County to the city of Jacksonville. The route then turned south, touching the coast once more at Surf City (USA) before heading northwest into Pender and Duplin counties where riders had started the previous day at 6:55 AM.

The 400 km and 2 X 200 km groups started their rides together. The majority of riders formed a paceline taking advantage of early-ride exuberance but also seizing the opportunity of tucking behind one another and hiding from a northerly headwind. The paced quickened with each new leader assuming the front. Eventually, the 400km group splintered into several smaller groups. I was one of a half-dozen or so riders who dropped off the lead pace. Now my “tour” of southeastern NC had officially begun. I could pull out my camera and snap a few pictures for my scrapbook.

Here is UMCA Year-Rounder, Paul Smith, at the Trenton, NC, control at mile 45 enjoying the ride. Because our morning route had been tacking a northeasterly direction, Paul and I kept joking about when the northerly wind—which kept harassing us, lying in wait, only to harass us again—was finally going to turn into a tailwind for good.

Agriculturally, in addition to hogs, Duplin County is noted for its vineyards and growing wine industry. I passed several vineyards early in the ride being attended to by workers.

The road sign in Jones County attests to the fact that NC has a sizeable bear population and not just in the western mountains. Two summers ago, rare pictures of a mother bear and cubs roaming a north Raleigh neighborhood appeared in the Raleigh News and Observer. I didn’t spot any bears on this particular trip, however.

Speaking of wildlife, I disturbed a blue heron when I snapped this shot of a typical marshy creek in this low-lying part of the state.

Cormorants hanging out at the mouth of the Neuse River. We passed them while being transported by the free ferry we boarded at mile 105. Cormorants are underwater fishers.

Tony is waiting for our group at the ferry entrance with food and drink, which we heartily consumed during the downtime crossing the river. Tony covered more miles than any of the riders over the weekend checking on riders’ whereabouts.

Tony is waiting for our group at the ferry entrance with food and drink, which we heartily consumed during the downtime crossing the river. Tony covered more miles than any of the riders over the weekend checking on riders’ whereabouts.

Just before crossing the bridge into Atlantic Beach, riding buddy Lin and I stopped for an afternoon break at a local convenience store. Asking whose recumbent was parked outside, the convenience-store clerk paid Lin a compliment by telling him she thought that it was “really cool.” Not only that, our cups of coffee were her treat.

We then headed for the next control at Bogue Inlet, still on the outer banks. We were intercepted by Tony, who informed us that a group of riders had taken a supper break just five miles up the road at a Chinese restaurant.

After a plate of high-carb noodles, Lin and I put on an extra layer of clothing in anticipation of falling temperatures at sundown. When I stepped outside of the restaurant, I could see my breath. We headed over the high-rise bridge toward Cape Carteret on the mainland and then on to Jacksonville. After clearing the control we headed two blocks west for McDonald’s to make some clothing adjustments. The combination extra clothing I’d donned back at Bogue Inlet and our brisk pace to Jacksonville had caused me to perspire a little too much in spite of the near freezing temperature. I dried my base layers under the hot-air dryers in the restroom. Off came the nylon shell in favor of a dry layer of wool that I’d been holding in reserve. I had no problem staying warm and dry in spite of the fact that the temperature would dip even lower, some say to 25° F, during the long night ahead, much colder than predicted.

The last 74 miles of the ride, from Jacksonville on in, was my favorite part of the trip in spite of the cold and dark. Perhaps it was in part because of the cold and dark that made it so memorable.

The night was peaceful. There was little wind and the traffic on the rural out-and-back spur to Surf City was almost nonexistent. There was only the hum of smooth asphalt turning tires and the whir of spokes slicing the cold, dense air. An orange gibbous moon followed me for a while perched just above my right shoulder. A constellation-mottled sky reached down and touched the leafless treetops. Avian sentinels called out periodically tracking our progress at consecutive control points. We met three other riders on the short out-and-back spur to Surf City, the only souls for miles around in the early morning hours. Sharing the same cold, dark servitude, we exchanged hearty greetings if not words of encouragement. Our pace quickened.

At Surf City, the temperature was milder due to the sea breeze. We could hear the pounding surf as we approached the dunes. On the return, the temperature dropped quickly. My Perpetuem had turned into a thick milkshake. Ice crystals were forming in the siphon of my Camelbak.

At this point, we were about an hour away from the all-night convenience store where we could warm our hands and get something hot to eat and drink. We kept pedaling to the rhythm of the nocturnal sounds that followed us along under a starry, moonlit sky.

Arriving at the store, I noticed before going in that frost had covered my panniers. Once inside, Lin exclaimed that I had ice in my beard! The dimly lit convenience store would be our home for the next half hour. We sat down at a table where we spread out our belongings, draped excess clothing on the backs of chairs, and kicked off our shoes on the floor to warm our feet. Lin was somehow able to catch a few minutes of sleep sitting upright in a wooden chair. I solved the problem of cold hands and fingers by donning the latex gloves I normally use for gripping and protecting my hands when changing flats.

I ordered an egg sandwich and drank a cup of coffee. After spending a little over a half hour getting warm, Lin and I decided to push on in spite of the fact that we would be approaching the coldest part of the night. Back outside the frost had spread from my bike panniers to the bicycle frame and onto the tires. Taking leave of the warmth of the all-night convenience store at a crossroad with no name, Lin and I disappeared into the dark once again. Thirty minutes later, I noticed that the hot tap water I’d poured into my Camelbak at the all-night convenience store had frozen solid in my drinking siphon. No matter. I could easily go an hour and a half, by my calculation, the time that separated me from sunrise, a hot shower, and breakfast.

At the end, with 253 miles behind us, it was literally all in a day’s work. What a great ride and sense of accomplishment. Thanks to the riders who kept me company, especially Lin, and to Tony for being such a great host and organizer. You can find Tony Goodnight’s remaining brevet schedule here which provides for some more interesting excursions.

- Dean

Drew Clark's Tour de Tucson

The Story of a Race
November 2009

Tour de Tucson is a race, unlike some charity rides which go to great lengths to avoid being a race.
Consider:

1. Most charity rides let you start when you want; TdT starts with a Big Bang mass start precisely at 7:00 a.m. All 4,500 racers go at once, or try to.
   
2. Most charity rides do not time the riders; TdT uses electronic timing chips on the riders’ ankles and every racer gets an official time and place.
   
3. Most charity rides discourage pacelines and pelotons (large packs of riders in close formation); TdT expects pacelines and pelotons.

Yet, TdT is a citizen race, not a pro race, although many pro riders do enter. All these considerations have immediate implications, even before the start. The biggest difference is in the sheer number of racers. The Tour de France will have less than 200 racers; TdT will have 9,000 racers with about 4,500 in the premier 109-mile division. Here is what happens in a race like this.

Among riders of similar abilities, a peloton will cover ground much more efficiently than a solo rider. So, solo stragglers will be gobbled up by a peloton. The peloton will grow as it consumes slower solo riders and will likely start to move marginally faster with more strong riders to share the lead. Then the weaker riders who are barely holding on to the pace will get spewed off the back of the peloton in ones and twos, where they become solo stragglers to be gobbled up by the next peloton coming up the road, which will be moving a bit slower than the preceding peloton. And thus the race goes, with the gap between pelotons gradually increasing as the miles roll along (at least until the river bed crossings, more on those later). So, if you want a fast time and a highly placed finish, you better get into an early peloton, because very few riders are strong enough to bridge the gap between pelotons, especially later in the race. But to get into an early peloton, you must have a good spot at the starting line since the pelotons begin forming as soon as the gun goes off. But 4,500 racers scrambling for a place at the start will stretch out over several city blocks. The racers at the back of the starting line have no chance of ever seeing the lead peloton. If you want a fast ride, you have to be at the start line very early.

All of this goes to explain why I found myself at 3:45 a.m. on Saturday, November 21, riding slowly in the pitch dark towards the start line in downtown Tucson. I rode past a storage facility I had noticed the day before, but it was hopping now. Somebody was running a night club out of their storage unit. Loud music, cars all over. I made it to the start line by 4:00 a.m. and claimed a spot. I wasn’t nearly the first one there. Several racers were sleeping on the street, even in the chilly forty degree temperatures of a desert night, and dozens more had already claimed their spot. I didn’t want to waste energy shivering for three hours at the start line, so I was wearing three layers of everything and that was barely enough. The time passed slowly as the nervous tension rose. For most riders, a thermos of coffee during the pre-dawn hours meant a full bladder and a long wait in a porta-potty line. At 6:00 a.m., the PA system came on and the last fitful sleepers on the pavement were blared from a groggy sleep to a hyper alert.

Now, one other dynamic comes into play. I was lined up in the Gold section (first-come first-served), with Silver behind me and Bronze way down the street. But ahead of even the Gold section was the Platinum section. This was reserved for very fast riders and most importantly, they do not have to rise early to claim a spot. They can show up 15 minutes before the race and roll right up to the front. But to get into the Platinum section, you have to have credentials:

The primary qualification for Platinum is overall finish time. To qualify, cyclists must meet one of the following requirements:

• Cat #1 or Cat #2 USCF cyclist (essentially a pro level racer; must provide proof)
  
• A top-ten nationally or internationally ranked cyclist, triathlete or biathlete.
  
• A Tour De France qualified starter.
  
• Finished a previous TdT in under five hours.

Since TdT is 109 miles, that means you have to ride almost 22 mph for five hours, even with the river bed crossings, which are a real slog. In my dreams, I would love to qualify Platinum, but I have only once broken five hours for 100 miles and I don’t know how I could cover nine more miles than that in the same amount of time. I didn’t want to try so hard for Platinum that I bonked and didn’t finish at all.

Ten minutes before the start, I begin to shed some, but not all, of my warm clothing. Just then, the officials allowed the Gold section to move forward and close ranks with the rear of the Platinum section. I got caught hobbled with a pair of tights half off and my front wheel not installed on my bike and in the mad scramble to move forward, I lost about a hundred places. But what’s a mere hundred places among 4,500 racers? I finished getting down to my race wear and had a bag of excess clothing. But every other rider has the same idea and the start area would look like a bombed-out homeless shelter with all the discarded clothing lying around. The officials caution us that EVERYTHING left at the starting line will be hauled away as soon as the race starts (and in fact, it does all go to a homeless shelter). I notice the race officials have left their table at the start line unmanned. I ask a bystander to put my bag of clothes under the table, hoping it will be mistaken for belongings of the officials. Maybe I can get my stuff back after the race.

At precisely 7:00 a.m., the gun goes off. A couple of quick turns and we head south, into a southeast wind. Riders start crashing with alarming frequency. Water bottles bounce out at each pothole, which spill more riders. I try to find a balance between riding cautiously, leaving room between me and the cyclist in front. But the convenience of catching a close draft repeatedly lures me onto a wheel ahead of me. But my mantra is:”Don’t trust anybody not to do something stupid.” So I ride in echelon; that is, offset from the rider in front of me rather than directly behind, so that I always have an escape route.

At about mile 8, the first obstacle looms, the Santa Cruz River. And it is an obstacle for two reasons, one of them physical and one of them personal.

1. Physical: The Santa Cruz is a dry river bed, which means loose sand. The entry to the crossing is narrow, the bed is loose sand, and the short climb out is steep. Any pelotons that have already formed disintegrate in the crossing. Many riders have to walk the loose sand, some take the opportunity to shed more clothing, and some grab a bite to eat. And on we go, with new pelotons forming immediately after the crossing.
   
2. Personal: Last year at TdT, I came down in a car. Unbeknownst to me, I had DVT (deep vein thrombosis; blood clots in my legs); probably from the long drive in the car. When I started crossing the Santa Cruz last year and hopped off the bike to carry my bike through the loose sand, the jolt of running dislodged my blood clots and they went straight to my lungs. Instantly, I had the use of only a fraction of my lungs. That was the end of my race last year; nearly the end of me. Long story short, my race was over, but it would still be about a week before the necrotic lung tissue killed by the clots would cause serious pain from the decaying tissue. Ultimately, I passed out from the pain. Backwards into an empty bathtub. My recovery has been excellent and I wasn’t worried about a recurrence and I rode right through the Santa Cruz River crossing with no problems, looking for a new peloton as I exited the river bed. But I was still glad to have the Santa Cruz River behind me.

We headed east, still facing a headwind. I was in a large peloton, moving slightly uphill in excess of 20 mph. I noticed the guy beside me was on a mountain bike, though he did have road tires on it. Somebody recognized him and called out his name. To respond, he immediately popped a wheelie and passed me on only one wheel, in the midst of the peloton!

The temperature rose. I pulled off my warm gloves and threw them away. I started to pull off my jacket, which I did not want to throw away. Then I remembered Gerhard Gulewicz ended his RAAM ride in a crash when his jacket got caught in a wheel. So I rode up to the front of the peloton, then swung over to the side of the road and stopped to pull off my jacket and stuff it in my pocket, and still managed to catch the rear of the same peloton. Staying hydrated is also an issue. There are 17 aid stations on the course. But I planned to ride without any stops. To do this, I had to plan my nutrition carefully. I projected that I would need five bottles of liquid with various mixtures. But I only had two bottle cages. So I carried my first bottle in my pocket and pitched it when it emptied. And I had a Camelback containing two bottles worth of fluids. Crew support is not allowed unless you come to a complete stop at an aid station and I wasn’t planning to stop at all.

We turned a corner to head north and finally had a tailwind. The peloton really started moving. More fun, but more dangerous too. I tried to stay near the front without being the lead rider. The “slinky effect” is very wearing if you are farther back in the peloton. As the peloton corners, the lead riders can take the corner without slowing down, but everybody else slows down and then has to accelerate to close the gap. Repeated slowing and accelerating is a lot harder than steady pacing. But if you ride NEAR the front, you are going to inevitably find yourself IN the front as the lead riders pull off for a rest from breaking the wind. Our peloton had grown to about a hundred when we came to the second dry river crossing at Sabino Creek. This crossing was longer, narrower, sandier, and curvier. Nobody was able to ride this one. Immediately out of the crossing were the steepest climbs of the race. The one-two punch of the river crossing and the climbs totally obliterated that peloton and I didn’t see any of those riders again. I saw a group forming ahead of me and knew it was worth a lot of immediate effort to catch them rather than waiting for a peloton to form up behind me and catch me. So I put on a surge and caught a wheel and watched from near the front as we gobbled up riders in front of us until we again had a peloton near a hundred. But everybody wanted a free ride. For a long stretch, only three of us, including me, took turns at the front, pulling a long train of riders (more about the other two in a bit). Did I say train? We approached a railroad crossing and, down the track, a train is coming. The gates aren’t down yet, but just after we cross, the gates do come down and any pursuers get a rest and a bigger gap to chase.

We turn south for the home stretch of 30 miles into the wind. Now, time and distance play through my mind. Could we possibly make it to the finish in less than 5 hours? My bike computer says “NO.” My heart says “Maybe.” But, into the wind? No way. I pass 100 miles at 4:34, by far the best century I have ever ridden. That leaves 26 minutes to do 9 miles, into the wind, to make Platinum. The pace picked up a bit; more riders came to the front to take a pull. We made the last turn, swept under the interstate into the downtown finish and rolled under the finish line just before noon with a time of 4:56. Platinum! After last year’s disaster, I was on the verge of tears at the finish.

Every rider has a story. After the finish, I found the two riders who had shared long pulls at the front with me. One was Troy Huerta. After last year’s TdT, his hips hurt very badly. He had a double hip replacement just six months ago and rode for Platinum today. The other, Dave Elsberry, is an ultramarathon rider. We first met in September at the HooDoo 500 race. Elsberry finished third solo in that race (517 miles in 40 hr 13 min). He thought TdT was a “bit of a sprint.”

I was the fourth 60+ rider (only five of us geezers made Platinum). One of those was John Howard, about whom Steve Gerbig (my RAAM teammate) had this to say: “Assuming this John Howard is the one and only, he's one of the best American cyclists ever: World Ironman Champion, 4-time US road champion, 3 time Olympian, RAAM runner up, and former land speed record holder on a bike at about 150 mph (drafting behind the Summers Brothers streamliner.) Pretty much unbeatable by other 60 year old guys.”

And I even got my bag of clothing back. Six hours later, racers were still coming in.

- Drew Clark

[Drew is UMCA Records Chair. - Ed.]

Matthew Haigh's Bangor Adventure, Part 2

For a map of the Bangor region, and a couple of photos, see Matthew's outbound post.

Coming back from Bangor a day after riding there, I was woken up by heavy hail, which turned to snow as I ate breakfast. It had cleared by the time I ready to leave (10:30am), but whilst getting ready one of the zips on my bootees failed setting the scene for another day.

I looked at various options but decided to head back via Denbigh. The route is much easier in that direction, you can stay on the main road for most of the way and only really have to come off to divert through Conwy and Colywn Bay. By the time I got to Ruthin (75km) I was averaging 29.8km/h - not bad considering that big climb out of Colwyn Bay.

I’d hoped to take the Horseshoe down to Llangollen, but that was closed due to snow. The alternative A road towards Wrexham had a surface that most farm tracks would be ashamed of, and to top it off the snow had started again.

By the time I got to Oswestry I’d pretty much decided that I’d just ride home, rather than aiming for the Travelodge. I figured with luck I’d get there before my wife and kids left for work/school. It was getting dark, and my Smart Superflash was playing up due to getting soaked, even though I’d tried improving the sealing by wrapping it in insulation tape. My rear dynamo light wasn’t working at full efficiency, there was a bad contact in the cabling that I couldn’t fix by the road. Luckily my head torch also has a very good red LED, so that got strapped to my bag.

I didn’t bother stopping at Shrewsbury or Bridgnorth, making Kidderminster my next coffee/food stop at a garage. I had to put my phone under my armpit for a few minutes to warm it up before the battery would work properly. My Ixon IQ front light was starting to be intermittent, again I think due to the cold - but my dynamo front and headtorch rear were holding up giving me plenty of visibility to the rear and letting me see the way reasonably clearly.

On the way out of Kidderminster a WVM (big high sided transit, I think) hit me with his wing mirror, knocking me off and destroying his mirror. He stopped a few hundred yards up the road, then sped off. There was no signwriting on the van and it was too far away in the dark to be able to see the number plate, let alone read it. I picked myself up, luckily the only damage was a hole in the elbow of my jacket and a small hole in the hip of my waterproof trousers. It had been a low speed impact as I’d been going up a fairly steep hill. With over 100 miles still to go, I had no alternative but to jump straight back on and start to ride.

Bridgenorth and Redditch came and went, but the 24 hour garage I’d been aiming for on the road out of Stratford was window service only and surrounded by drunks, so I pushed on. From there to Peartree there were several garages that looked to be open (illuminated pricing signs, brightly lit forecourts), but on closer inspection this turned out to be a tease and they were locked up tight.

At Peartree it was window service only, so no chance of a hot drink or to browse the food, but I did replenish my drinks and get a sandwich. Once past Oxford it started to hail, then snow. What would normally have been a fast final 15km into Reading turned into crawl as I had no glasses to protect my eyes against the hail impacts.

Most of the roads had a covering of snow, but it was OK for riding on. The only problem was that it was coating the bike and my feet, making them quite cold. I got in around 6am so was there before everyone in the house was due to get up around 7am.

Will I do it again next year?

Maybe!

-Matthew

Matthew Haigh's Bangor Adventure, Part 1

Every year I attend a reunion in Bangor that takes place on the final Saturday of January.

Last year I rode there and back as part of my desire to get fit for LEL and do some long sequential rides - so 370km there on the Friday, take Saturday off, then 400km home. The extra distance home is due to adding in a dog log via Stroud; as I’d be out on the beer on Saturday an early morning start wasn’t going to happen so I wanted to factor in a couple of hours in a £9 Travelodge room rather than ride from midday straight through the night.

Here is Matthew's conveyance on another snowy episode:

Last year was fine going to Bangor, but the return was the weekend when the snow hit and brought the country to a standstill. It had started snowing as I got into the mountains and was continuous until I got to the Travelodge, where I abandoned hope of finishing in time. I had a good sleep and continued home in daylight once the snow ploughs had been out.

Fast forward a year, and I decided to ride up again. I’m lighter, fitter and faster, so expected it to be much easier. Unfortunately things didn’t quite turn out that way.

I left home at 4:30am in the pouring rain. I was making pretty good time, getting to Peartree services (~70km) before the Little Chef opened at 7am. The weather cleared up a bit, though there was rain on and off and it was pretty cold when I stopped in Stratford-Upon-Avon for a quick picnic on the river bank.

Approaching Bridgnorth it started to snow, so as I’d planned a stop there anyway I ducked into a garage for a coffee and snack, somehow managing to lose one of the rubber ear pieces for my headphones in the process. When I left the snow had abated, but my back wheel had started to make an occasional clunking noise. This is a two year old wheel that is due for retirement soon anyway (probably having cover 15,000 miles), but I’d hoped to eke it out until the weather got nicer rather than subject a brand new rim to the grinding paste of winter riding.

A few miles up the road and it was sounding like Windy Miller’s windmill. I wasn’t sure how long it would last, and certainly didn’t fancy taking it over the mountains in bad weather. I crawled to Shrewsbury and found a mechanic willing to do a wheel bearing service there and then (in Halfords of all places!). I watched him, he did a rather splendid job but I ended up losing about 90 minutes, plus the delay due to riding carefully for the previous 10 miles or so.

Up the road to Oswestry - with snow and very slippery conditions. I had a full meal at the Little Chef and when I left the roads were not as icy - presumably a gritter had been through. Then things turned sour again; flashing signs at the side of the road told me that the A5 was shut just past Corwen. I had no idea if it was road works (where I might be able to get past even if it meant walking) or bad snow. The signed diversion was to go up past Wrexham and along the A55 - swapping a scenic ride through pretty towns and painfully beautiful mountains for a main road hack up horrible dual carriageways with nothing to look at and an extra 20 miles to ride.

I didn’t have a map with me as I know the route well, and the GPS really doesn’t cope well with planning alternative routes on the bike. The display is simply too small to get a big overview and if you just ask it to get you somewhere it somehow always manages to choose the most inappropriate routing. I managed to cut off a corner going via Mold, but I wasn’t in the best of moods - especially when I also somehow lost one of the clear lenses for my glasses so had to take them off.

For some reason the drivers on the A55 road were pretty nasty; it was late-ish at night, with an almost an almost empty road, yet I’ve never been honked at so many times - I wonder if they think the whole road is barred to bikes rather than just certain sections?

The A55 is a fairly benign road hill-wise, but in their wisdom the North Wales planners have decided that bicycles are fine to take hillier roads whilst car drivers have to travel on the flat. Whilst the cars get a nice flat expressway through Colwyn Bay, cyclists are forced off onto the old road which goes over the top of a mountain. Past Conwy, you aren’t allowed through the new tunnels on a bike, so you have to take a convoluted cycle path that includes climbing up steep ramps to foot/cycle path bridges, going over the top of outcroppings where the cars go straight through, and following a lovely surfaced cycle path where the road alongside is flat but the cycle path follows the original contours and incorporates regular 10-15% hills up and down. The worst of these is at the Penmaenmawr end - you drop down a 10% hill to be presented with a pair of chicane barriers as you are supposed to dismount at that point. I wonder how many people have ridden into those if their brakes aren’t 100%. You then have to climb a long extremely steep hill into the town that I only just made it up using a triple, then another steep bridge to negotiate and a path over the top of the hill that the cars drive through. Hardly a cycle route to encourage new cyclists! [Matthew has managed by dint of adventurous rides like this one to place highly in the Year-Rounder Personal Long division. He currently lives "down south," on the Berkshire /Hampshire border, but ranges farther afield. Stay tuned next time for Part 2, the return! - jle]

Susan Reed's Maui Century

Having signed on for two UMCA challenges in 2010, my first challenge was to figure out how to get in a January century when the temps are in the teens and snow is on the ground in Chicago. (You can also see this and other reports on Susan's blog.) Our 12 January days in Hawaii held promise for "getting it done" but it was not a "slam dunk January's in the books" given. The bike I brought to HI was my Bike Friday Tikit, named Tilda, a folder with 16 x 38 wheels, 8 gears and no front derailleur; I was one month post-op for repair of a torn rotator cuff; and Kauai had only one road with virtually no shoulder. The jury was also still out whether I could even ride an upright 90-100 miles since I have ridden recumbents exclusively these last seven years, a result of multiple back surgeries and complicated physical rehabs. Actually, until I bought the Tikit this past October I had not even been on an upright bike in 20 years. Our second week would be in Maui where the roads were much more bike friendly and I would then be 5 weeks post-op. Can't even count how many times I've ridden 100+ miles, but sleep was not to come the night before my Maui century. The sun rose at 7:15; the Door Man at the Westin Kaanapali Resort Villas signed my Year Rounder Personal Ride Verification form--Miles ridden "0", time of departure 7:42 a.m. January 26th, address: 6 Kai Ala Dr.
A great tail wind carried me over the rollers on Honoapiilani Drive up to the steep climbs in Napili and Kapalua with take-your-breath-away vistas of the Pacific along the western edge of West Maui. Then came the rain that bathes these Maui cliffs with 200+ inches of rain a year, the fast descents that even Tilda took at 30 mph were followed by mile-long climbs that Tilda took at 5 and 6 mph. To get my needed mileage I needed two of these Honoapiilani loops.

I practiced Hammer's 3 hour rule of no fueling 3 hours before a hard or long workout or race, so celebrated the completion of my first loop with a bar and a bottle of Hammer Heed and Sustained Energy. A stop back at the Resort for the Door Man to sign my Ride Verification Form at mile 27.5 and I was off for the next 60+ miles.

Out of the rain forest now and into an arid coastal region protected from the fierce trade winds by the Arizona-esque mountains. I found the trade winds for real when I headed northeast from Ma'alae toward Kahului. They favored me with a 20 mph coast into Starbucks at Kahului which, upon the return, would be a 5 mph crawl. Fun to see a large cruise ship in the Kahului harbor and be free to cruise the island with my Tikit, Tilda.

The trade winds were now more cross winds than head or tail upon the return--I'm lovin that. My plan was to stop in Lahaina under the 130+ year old Banyan Tree, 6 miles from my finish, and find someone to take my picture since 27 years ago I finished the Maui Marathon, 3rd place in my age division, under that same Banyan Tree. Precisely as I dismounted my bike under the Banyan tree my phone rang, it was Kirk, my husband, wondering how I was progressing. I said, "I'm under the Banyan Tree in Lahaina looking for someone to take my picture." He said, "I'm under the Banyan Tree, too. I'll take your picture." Can't get any better than that. We recruited a willing volunteer to take our picture.

Rolled into the parking lot; the Door Man signed my form: Time--3:42 p.m., miles so far 94.6. I washed the rain, road crud, and salty air residue from Tilda out of a wastebasket filled with warm water and shampoo from my room; soaked my tired body in our in-room Jacuzzi; and enjoyed carry-in Thai on our balcony with Kirk.

Tilda was up for the task and my bod held up on the upright. Although I'm not planning on any more long rides on Tilda, or any other upright for that matter, it’s good to know I can do it, and for that I'm deeply grateful to all those both past and present who have contributed to my long-road healing process, the most recent piece being my shoulder repair.