Part One: The Sin
"Do you know you're sitting in the middle of the road?" came the voice.
"No. I really don't care," I replied.
It was about midnight on Monday night, June 26th, and I was at the lowest of my several low points having reached the summit of Loup Loup Pass (elev. 4020') some 565 miles into the Cascade 1200. The voice was that of Mark Olsen, younger brother of Bill, with whom I'd been riding for the past two days. In their daily, matching, orange Performance jerseys and Shimano sandals they at that moment became my saviors.
"Thank you, thank you for waiting," I bayed.
"Let me help you off the road" Bill said.
For the past three hours I had been climbing alone in the dark the seventeen-mile slope with its numerous false summits. Ascending a familiar mountain in the dark is somewhat exciting but on a foreign road along the desolate eastern front of the Cascade Mountains under a constant canopy of big fir trees in total darkness, I found the experience soul searching. Bill, Mark and I mounted our bikes and descended mostly by the light of their Schmidt Hub generated beams to our overnight; arriving in Mazama (mile 600) at 2:30 AM. At that point I felt my odds of completing this ride somewhat improved with only 165 miles remaining. But how you ask did a seemingly rational sixty year-old husband, father, grandfather and content retiree get in such a pickle? In a word: "redemption" but let me explain.
I first heard of "The Cascade 1200" when Dan Brekke asked Albert Kong why he was doing Bill Bryant's 300K. I had dropped my vest and Albert, who had hoped to ride The Cascade last year but had broken his leg, was riding with us to The Pinnacles. Albert rode into the turnaround carrying my vest and I asked, "Where are the Cascades?"
He smiled and said "Washington State". And from that innocent inquiry the story begins. I returned to Santa Cruz on the 300K feeling strong and completed Donn King's 400K on May 14th once again enjoying the camaraderie of randonneuring and thinking of successfully completing his 600K a few weeks later.
But it was not to be. Just what excuse seems most convincing? Suffice it to say that shortly into the ride I had mechanical problems (non-shifting derailleur) and in Pope Valley acquired a severely upset stomach. I rode on to Middletown but then committed the mostly unpardonable sin of "DNFing". As I sagged back to the brevet start in Windsor the weight of my "guilt" was beginning to grow. It would I predicted sadly define my cycling season, and regretfully on the following Monday I wrote Cascade organizer, Terry Zrmhal, of the Seattle International Randonneurs that I was canceling my registration. His reply (i.e. challenge) will long rattle around in my head after he inquired, "Are you canceling because you didn't finish the 600K or because you feel you're not up to the ride?"
I replied "I KNOW I can finish the Cascade 1200 but did not think I was entitled to come having not completed this year a qualifying 600K.
Now I was in real trouble. Having been in the San Juans for a few days and in Seattle over a weekend, I had no idea what their ride was really like, but ego and a genuine test of one's mettle were on the line. Terry's next email gave me hope and a chance for "redemption" but with a heavy price.
It read, "Ideally we would like everyone to do a full series (of brevets) and we know riders may have off days. You're a seasoned veteran - if you think you're ready and still want to do the ride, you sill have a spot in the ride. Cheers, Terry." His post was dated June 5th. The Cascade 1200 of which I had dreamed of completing but for which I had not properly qualified and had quickly forgotten was now ON AGAIN. The ride left in eighteen (18) days! Was I up to the task? Could I fulfill my commitment? Was a really much bigger DNF in my immediate future? Oh, the shame...my big mouth...won't I ever learn?
My only smart move had been silence. What a mistake it would have been to tell my local riding buddies, Larry, Barry, Walt, Jim, Phil, Don, as well as neighbors, kids and other DBC members. At least the shame of not finishing could be limited to my wife, Ellie, the ride organizers and a few other riders from northern California. I would have to sneak up to Seattle and do my best. Uff-da! The pressure-thrill-angst-adrenaline rush of it all!
From the SIR (Seattle International Randonneurs) website I had gathered some good, some very disturbing and some very quizzical news. It seemed that for every positive there were a couple of negatives and that the unknowns would just have to be dealt with. Having completed B-M-B in '97 and P-B-B in '99, both in about 84 hours I had solid memories of what's involved, but having ridden that far in that time period seven long years ago I now seriously questioned my physical and mental conditioning. "Buck Up" I told myself. "Don't take yourself too seriously" became my matre.
To the positive the Cascade 1200 is advertised as "group oriented style of riding which shares common overnite stops. Riders start more or less together each morning. Daily stages take advantage of the long northern equinoctial' days to provide lots of daylight riding." The 765-mile route is a large counter-clockwise circle, which has three scheduled overnight stops where your duffel is waiting, as is a shower and prepared food. Much like PAC Tour one only needs to reach the next control and soothing shower at the end of the day - "Ya, Right!"
My self-induced psychotherapy consisted on looking no farther than the next control and none was more than 65 miles. I would be riding with other like-minded folks "surrounded by the beauty of Washington State - from the Columbia Gorge in the south to the North Cascades and from the lush forests in the west to the high desert of the mid Columbia Plateau in the east." Of course I had no idea what that meant but did know we started in the foothills northeast of Seattle, headed south of Mt Rainier and began the first of several long climbs - White Pass.
Most disturbing, however, were several of the write-ups from last year's inaugural event which contained phrases such as "Expect Anything, the Cascade Mountains - a region that creates its own weather"; "Terrible Two Meets 1200K"; "Fenders Recommended - _ front and _ back," and statements like "much of the route is remote and devoid of commercial services." Almost laughable in a rather sad, sadistic, sick bike humor sort of way were several of their FAQ responses, which go as follows:
"Q. Will mechanical support be available between controls?
A. Because of the remote nature of the route, there will be very few opportunities to acquire mechanical support commercially. It is imperative that riders assure their bikes are in top condition before attempting the Cascade 1200. Riders take care of their own maintenance."
Certainly one has to rank mechanical preparedness up with physical, emotional, psychological, mental, spiritual and intellectual fitness - duh!
"Q. Will there be vehicle support along the route?
A. No, randonneurs are expected to be self-sufficient. There will be a sweep vehicle to provide emergency assistance to any riders who suffer injuries or accidents."
Picture I suppose the Lewis & Clark Party on bicycles with their rifles and Indian scouts.
"Q. If I abandon, how do I get back to Monroe (i.e. the start and finish)?
A. A bus? Hitchhiking? Ride your bike? There will be limited support vehicles so riders are expected to find their own way back to Monroe should they abandon."
Now that's what I like: "COMMITMENT." The only city I saw close to the route was Yakima and the others; really only small towns and villages (and there aren't many) certainly didn't have car rental agencies or Amtrak. One might find a weekly bus but hitch hiking might be your only way "home".
So with this depressing knowledge and more endless attacks on my great resolve to "Finish The Ride" I began to marshal my equipment; knowing that SUCCESS ALL DEPENDS ON YOU. It may be helpful to next year's P-B-P aspirants or those riding this year's B-M-B or Last Chance to cull, sift and winnow my extensive list of both necessary and nervously packed items which I categorized as follows, Bike: Lights - (2) HL-EL 500s + (2) Micro Cateyes & (2) rear Cateyes; (2) Water bottles with Hammer Gel Perpetuum; Reflective Vest & (2) Ankle Bands; Camelback; Big Red Jand Saddlebag with (2) tubes, (2) tire levers; (1) Multitool; (1) Pocketknife; (2) PowerBars; (4) AA batteries; (2) AAA batteries and (2) Zip lock bags of Perpetuum. Permanently mounted on my bike were my computer, (3) Mavic spokes and my Blackburn Tire Pump. As for my duffel which may have been those four days the largest single canvass bag moving across the state of Washington, and into which I stuffed the following (please don't laugh in my presence): (4) jerseys; (4) bike shorts; (4) pairs sox; (1) pair water-proof Seal Skin Sox; (2) pairs short-fingered gloves; (1) pair long; (2) sets arm & leg warmers; (1) vest; (1) Tyvek raincoat; (2) long sleeve polypro jerseys; (1) head gator; (4) AA batteries; (2) AAA batteries; (6) Zip lock packets of Hammer Gel Perpetuum'; (6) Power Bars; (1) new folding tire; (3) new tubes; spare road bike shoes with pedals; sunglasses; spare regular glasses; spare empty wallet; sleeping bag; travel pillow; sleeping pad; towel with soap dish and in my toiletries kit I crammed a toothbrush, shaver, shaving cream, Tylenol, medicine; deodorant, nail clippers, Chap Stick, No Ad Sun Block, ear plugs and eye shade. "Expect anything" weather wise dictated my packing regiment.
So early the morning of Thursday, June 22nd I snuck of out Davis, having taken my bike on a test ride with the regulars earlier in the week. Loaded down with big saddlebag, dual rear and front light, several that morning did comment on its unique appearance but when asked I just mumbled, "I was thinking of a long ride later in the year." If they only knew how nervous I was.
Part Two: Salvation
Eight hundred miles later I arrived at the start in Monroe, Washington, where I spent Friday meeting other riders and confirming my suspicions that I was one: too old to be doing this and two: sadly under trained and over weight. That night after bike inspection I had dinner with Gerry Goode from Tucson who at 67 is a real 1200K veteran but strikingly thin, along with his young friend, Mark, from Golden, Colorado, who further depressed me with his tales of past triathlons. It was off to bed early for our 6 AM start.
So who gets much sleep the night before a big ride? Tossing and turning, knowing the alarm and phone were set to ring at 4:30, I played over and over in my mind the ride facts: 762 miles in ninety (90) hours which means that if one never dismounts from one's bike one has to ride a constant 8 (eight) miles per hour, and that the next four days had the following distances: Day One to Cowiche - (220) miles; Day Two to Quincy - (213) miles; Day Three to Mazama - (167) miles and day four back to Monroe - (165) miles. Six big passes lay ahead and we had been informed at check-in that we were on an altered route due to snow blocking a twenty-mile section of last year's course. What else lies up the road? At least I could make a complete fool of myself in somewhat obscurity. However, the weight of "Terry's Challenge" (i.e. "If you feel you can do the ride.") and a somewhat passing familiarity with other northern California randonneurs (Paul Vlasveld, Reid Walden and Jack Holmgren) caused me to take depth breaths when reviewing the many ways to "fail". I awoke before my two alarms. Scooped my Frosted Flakes and banana from my lucky bowl. Threw down a large orange juice and coated all my exposed body parts with sun block before dressing and rolling my bike into the elevator for the start.
Outside the motel in early sunshine were (72) mostly hard, young bodies including one mixed couple tandem and (4) solo females who shortly were led by B-M-B Chief, Jennifer Wise, in a pre-ride pledge which goes as follows: "I pledge allegiance to the ride of the Seattle International Randonneurs and Randonneurs USA, of which it is part, one pedal stroke, after another, unrelenting with exhaustion and achievement for all." I was very glad to be underway and rolling towards my only goal - the next (first) control, some fifty miles to the south.
And that was my complete ride strategy! Namely, to set my sights on, concentrate no farther down the road than, the next control, which was always fifty to sixty miles. I always keep my Camelback and stomach full. Seldom did I ride alone. And NEVER did I think of QUITTING.
For the next four days (87 hours and 57 minutes, exactly) the days became nights, which quickly became days again. On Saturday (Day One) we headed south through lush green rolling hills, skirting the towns of Renton and Tacoma before reaching our first control in Eatonville. Continuing south the traffic slackened as we passed through Morton and headed east to Randle; our second control. The day's featured climb was White Pass (elev. 4500'), which was a three-hour slug late in the afternoon, which when I reached the summit in the setting sun, greeted me with bone rattling chills.
(Early into the ride it became strikingly evident that the volunteer corps of the SIR group was simply FIRST-RATE! And to them I am very grateful!)
A sandwich, hot cup of soup and heavy sleeping bag surrounding my salt-caked body really improved my physical and mental condition before I donned all my clothes for the long descent. Our overnight at a Catholic retreat (mile 220) was achieved at 11:34PM after climbing the last four miles. So Day One went well. I was in my top bunk about 12:30 and feeling good about my prospects. Remembering one write-up from last year's ride I braced myself for Day Two recalling the consensus view that "It's the toughest day and very few do not finish if they can complete Day Two." I think this year's Cascade riders would have a different opinion.
Day Two started innocently enough with a pleasant control stop in Selah and my introduction to the Olsen brothers, Mark from Rochester, Minnesota, and older brother, Bill, who lives in New Jersey. To compensate for the snow detour we rode a very scenic out and back to Ellensburg along the Yakima River. It was during this sixty mile out and back that I became acutely aware of the prevailing theme for the next two days, poignantly characterized as SERIOUS HEAT. Paralleling Interstate 82 we passed through Zillah before heading north at our next control in Sunnyside. Now for those of you who picture "Washington' as cool, green and frequently wet I suggest you experience some summer what is referred to as the Mid Columbia Plateau; which I'd call high dessert. Pedaling to our control in Mattawa we saw signs for the Hanford nuclear works before crossing the Columbia at sunset and heading for our overnight in Quincy. Darkness brought cooler temperatures but also a real scare! We three had joined a pace line on the town's outskirts and with only a few miles to go we saw in the distance the many bright lights of several emergency vehicles. Coming upon the scene we saw a rider lying in the ditch, his bike mangled and instantly we knew he was one of us. At the control we learned that a driver had intentionally clipped Patrick Grey but left his riding mate, Thai Nguyen, untouched. His femur was broken and they did eventually catch the kid in a stolen car but all of us took a deep breath. There but for the Grace...we arrived at 2:30 AM having finished what we thought would be "the toughest day".
Leaving with Mark and Bill at six we stopped for "fuel" at Ephrata's Safeway where I chatted with a lovely female octogenarian who invited us to lunch. I thanked her in a somewhat convincing fashion of how we constantly heard the clock ticking and so hated to burn daylight. And burn we did! The next control was at a corner called "Farmer" which resided in a converted church, meeting house, or former Grange Hall whose battered wooden floor was littered with hot, exhausted, de-hydrated, famished, salt caked cyclists. I drank, ate, stretched and soaked my feet in a kiddie pool of ice water. There was no shade outside and upon leaving I made the mistake of touching a knee to my top tube. How hot can titanium get, anyway? For the next four hours I wanted to stop for a breather but did not see any shade - not a tree, shrub, telephone pole, farmhouse or other object to block the sun's rays. We rode on until we once again reached the Columbia River where if you think things are bad,...well, they can always get worse. It was outside the town of Brewster, having traversed the Moses Coule, seen signs for Lake Chelan and descended a very difficult rough hill I encountered my one and only flat. It was special, however, because the flag lady who was controlling traffic on Route 97 for the road crew, which was laying chip seal, said, "It's 109 on the bank thermometer and you really shouldn't be riding your bikes today." Bill, Mark and I huddled at the Subway Shop where we fueled up and I changed my flat...my second lowest point of the ride. After reaching our control in Mallot I actually looked forward to the sun setting; cooler temperatures and getting this "Loup Loup Climb" behind us. After borrowing a quickly offered new tire from SIR volunteer, Dan Turner, which became my good luck charm, we were off. After the lonely climb, the dark descent and my aforementioned rescue by the Brothers Olsen we arrived at our overnight in Mazama at 2:34AM on Tuesday morning! Simply stated we had less than twenty hours to eat, shower, sleep, eat and ride the remaining 165 miles to Monroe.
But...it was only after my aforementioned rescue at the top of Loup Loup Pass and after arriving at the river resort in Mazama did I think I MIGHT finish the ride. The last day...let me repeat that...THE LAST DAY...had the best scenery: Washington (elev. 5488') and Rainy (4800') Passes; alpine lakes; glaciers, tree shaded, quiet roads and the great company of seasoned randonneur, Gerry Goode. Contending with some headwind was a small price to pay for imagining the prize within our grasp as we captured the control in Marblemount and set our sights on the last control in Granite Falls. The sun was now low as we left knowing that we would finish in time; save some major mechanical disaster. We picked up others along the way and Mark, Bill, Gerry, Paul and I snaked up the remaining hills and negotiated the numerous turns before arriving at the Holiday Inn Express finish three minutes before ten pm.
A motel never looked better. Pizza and beer never tasted better. A padded banquet room chair never felt better. And the applause of the family, friends and volunteers never sounded better. I had tossed a heavy burden of guilt and finished my toughest bike ride.
What a priceless 60th birthday gift!
Seventy-two riders had left this address on Saturday morning and fifty arrived prior to the midnight (90 hour) deadline. Urs Koenig of Seattle had ridden it non-stop in 53 hours and 42 minutes but he probably is less pleased with his ride than I am with mine. Often I'm asked by friends, neighbors, my wife, sometimes by kids and other cyclists, "Why ride those things?" And I could offer any number of several shallow reasons such as "the camaraderie" - you do get to meet lots of young, handsome folks from all over the country; "the travel" - everyone's an expert if he's/she's at least 500 miles from home; "the bragging rights" - think of your name on a website or listed in the RUSA magazine; or maybe it's the "loss of youth" - who likes giving up anything to old age. But for me it's "THE GOAL". There is such a sense of accomplishment in taking what seems to be an impossible height and reaching it. So often we fear failure to the extent that we don't try or we're severely handicapped in our several attempts to succeed. It's interesting to me that these rides are as much mental as physical. And that this mental toughness seems to come with age. (Seldom do you see riders in their 20's or early 30's.) Just as the Davis Double is roughly ten 20 mile rides, a 1200K randonnee is fifteen 50 milers - and you get almost four days to ride them. So I say if you're new to cycling set a goal; maybe it's only to Winters where you'll meet a friend for a car ride home. If you're comfortable with a round-trip then add Lake Solano to your next ride. After that there's Cardiac, Mt. George, Trinity, Vetter, Oakville, the Geysers, Skaggs-Springs and beyond. You'll surprise yourself and probably become a century rider, a double century rider and certainly, a randonneur or randonneuse. Club brevets are coming this fall. And next year is the biggest 1200 randonnee of the all: Paris-Brest-Paris. Take that first step, and then another, and another, and...From a famous book in the 60's by Robert Persig "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" came the lines "It's better to travel than arrive...and "the journey's the thing." My corollary to those is "challenge yourself because failure is so much better than not suiting up."
About 10:30 that Tuesday night as I was washing down a third piece of pizza with a third or fourth cold beer, a young SIR volunteer who must have heard something of "Big Ring Bob" approached me. He asked, "Are you really eighty years old?"
Looking to him no doubt "old" but of an indeterminate age I managed to smile broadly and said, "No but I hope to be some day."
Certainly the Cascade 1200 "aged" me but in the very best way. Ride a little farther tomorrow. You'll be glad you did!
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