SF Randonneurs Fort Bragg 600k

My humble, blurry Flickr photo set: http://www.flickr.com/photos/43278635@N02/sets/72157626687811986/with/5705693419/

I watched the rear end of my bike sink a centimeter towards the floor. I was about to go to bed, and a patch on my tube had failed. Better for it to happen now than out on the road. I quickly fixed the flat, putting in a fresh tube before going to bed early before the biggest ride of my life so far.

I had been waking up at the crippling hour of 3:50 AM to ride to the ride starts until the 600, but in the interest of maximizing sleep, my mom offered to give me a ride to the north side of theGolden Gateon the morning of the 600k. The extra sleep felt wonderful, and I was grateful for the support and the last effortless forward motion for a while.

It was the first SF Brevet I had started in the light. Rob, the RBA
(Regional Brevet Administrator), gave his usual pre-ride speech, but this time delivered it in French in celebration of this being a PBP (Paris Brest Paris) year. He also acknowledged several riders who had come from afar to do the ride, and presented me with a unique gift, a jersey from Randonneurs Portugal. Rob said SFR presents one of these every year to one of their riders under 18. (A joke, because, as far as I know, no other minors have participated in SFR brevets on a single bike). Thanks Rob! The jersey is great.

Enjoying the warmth of mynew jersey, I rolled across theGolden Gate in the company of 70-odd rando-companions, several hours before most of the weekend cyclists would embark across the bridge on their days’ outings. At 6 AM, it was just us, the breeze, and the sunrise over the bay. Though I did not too deeply contemplate the vast distance ahead, I settled into a leisurely pace, anticipating a long and epic journey ahead.

Rolling through tranquil central Marin, I mingled and chatted with other riders as we all settled into our paces. Unlike the earlier brevets when I strategically rode with groups in order to make the miles fast and easy, I was looking forward to some time alone in the saddle on this ride. Through Fairfax, I found myself alone, and I enjoyed the speed of the San Geronimo valley in solitude. I rode through the gravel of the Cross Marin Trail, and looked all around in wonder as I rode through Samuel P Taylor park. Though I have ridden on this path many times, the beauty of the surroundings always breathes life into a ride.

Climbing into Olema, I caught up with Rob and several of the Box Dog Bikes guys, and we rolled into Pt. Reyes Station together. I grabbed a chocolate milk and hit the road quick, enjoying the tranquility of the morning and the sense of forward progress. My fleche teammate Ken caught up to me on Pt. Reyes Petaluma Rd, but I let him drift ahead, as I wanted to ride at whatever pace was most comfortable. It was a beautiful morning, and I didn’t rush, enjoying the climbs and descents towards Petaluma, Heath, a randonneur recognizable by his robust beard, caught up to me. We discussed how we both intended to ride straight through the night, and that it might be wise for us to team up later on. Heath also zoomed along ahead of me, though I saw him and many other randonneurs at the Petaluma Safeway control. I hit Petaluma quickly, grabbing a Gatorade and some sort of calorie dense candy bar before hitting the road to Healdsburg solo. Many people dislike this stretch, and the Santa Rosa to Healdsburg section is not particularly scenic, but I enjoy Petaluma Hill Rd. I was savoring the mental relaxation of riding alone, and I navigated my way up to Healdsburg solo, checking out the scenery and riding swiftly enough to feel a sense of progress without pushing it.

There were many riders at the Healdsburg Safeway, and I decided it would be wise to eat a substantial meal there. I had been snacking on Clif Bars and drinking a tolerable (small) amount of Perpetuem, but the time had come for some substance. I ate some macaroni and potatoes, along with a bagel and a Gatorade while chatting with several riders about the road ahead. Not really knowing the way from Healdsburg to Cloverdale, I teamed up with Theresa (the captain of my fleche team) and Todd, former SF RBA. Together, we fought some formidable headwinds into Cloverdale. Fortunately, they were the only significant winds we would encounter on the ride,  so we made decent enough time into Cloverdale. I refilled my water bottles in Cloverdale, but I didn’t need to do much else. Heath was there, and we rode out together. We would return together to Cloverdale, around twelve hours later.

Todd Entering Cloverdale

Though Cloverdale grade on Hwy 128 is a substantial climb, it was nice to be out of the windy Hwy 101 frontage roads and into the beautiful countryside. I like climbing, having grown up in Marin county, I’m not used to riding for long without a hill of some kind getting in the way. Heath and I rode at a well-matched pace, and we had soon punched out the climbs to the Mendocino County Line. (Even though city limits and county lines are arbitrary designations, I still find them exciting and encouraging.) After the turn for Mountain House Road, I was officially in Unexplored Territory. Heath and I descended into an overcast Andersen Valley, and we joined up with two other riders for a while. Highway 128 is beautiful, and I was too busy enjoying the scenery to think about whether or not I was getting tired. We reached Boonville (a town that once had its own secret language, called Boont, to keep outsiders out of the loop) and our riding companions stopped for espresso. Heath grabbed some water from the store, and we were gone. Boonville, Philo, Navarro. Rollers, oaks, redwood ridges to the south, grey skies, moving quick towards the coast. An adopt a highway sign proclaimed that this section of 128 was sponsored by the local marijuana dispensary.

Heath Climbing 128 out of Cloverdale

Small paceline into the Anderson Valley

We entered the redwood forest in Navarro, and navigated across some some mediocre pavement. We took note of the Paul Dimmick Campground, where the awesome volunteers had set up a rest stop of epic proportions. Only a wave and a bell ring from Heath and I on the way up, we planned to stop on the return. We briefly integrated into a big group of riders as we neared the junction with Hwy 1 and the coast. We were greeted with a rugged, winding climb up the coastal bluffs. I drifted off the back of the huge group, on that kind of terrain (winding climbs with no shoulder) riding in a group bigger than 3 or so sketches me out. I observed some hostility from a motorist up ahead. Yep, I’m hanging out back here and enjoying the view. I caught up to Heath, and we tackled the hilly 19-odd miles toFortBraggtogether. This section of Hwy 1 is a sight to behold.  We traversed foggy, grassy coastal bluffs, rolling climbs and descents setting a slightly awkward rhythm for our northward progress. Often, we would cross bridges of dizzying altitudes as the bluffs made way for river deltas. Occasionally, a funky little beach town perched above the sea would make a quick appearance as we breezed through it in the foggy evening.

We made Fort Bragg a little after 7 PM. We hit the Safeway to get a receipt right off the bat. I bought a 6 pack of chocolate chip cookies (the kind where the cookie itself is also chocolate) and put them in my handlebar bag. Fuel for the night. We decided it was a good idea to dine properly, we had a long night ahead of us. Two blocks south was Round Table Pizza, and an extra large cheese pizza hit the spot. The wait for the food was a nice time to rest and wash up a little in the bathroom. I brought a sawed-off toothbrush stump and a single serving of toothpaste, but never used them. Such is life on the road. Replete with pizza and coffee (my first coffee of 2011, it packed a punch in a good way) Heath and I headed off into the darkening night, southwards on the 1. One cool thing about an out-and-back leg of a brevet is that you get to see everyone going the other direction. As we progressed southwards, we waved and hooted encouragements at our northbound brethren. Something about the night was invigorating. On many other brevets, nightfall has coincided with the onset of fatigue, but it was not so this night. Maybe it was the coffee, or the rhythm of the landscape, or just luck, but it felt to me like we hammered out the southbound section of 1 in great time. Soon, we were rolling southwards again, back into the redwoods of Paul Dimmick campground.

This time we did stop. Alex and his volunteer companions seemed genuinely stoked to provide us with hot cocoa and other treats, going out of their ways to help us through the ride. The moral support of this stop was more encouraging to me than the few supplies I did collect, I can’t emphasize enough how grateful I was for the supportive atmosphere the volunteers created. I grabbed a Clif Bar and chatted briefly with some other riders, including Rob, whose ride had ended at Dimmick on the outbound leg because his saddle rail broke. What a bummer. With a few final words of encouragement from the volunteers (you guys rule!), Heath and I set off into the night once more.

It was weird to feel good after riding for more than 14 hours. But I did. It felt like we made better time on the return leg. Maybe it was an illusion, maybe it was the tranquility of the night. Maybe it was the Mocha gel packs I brought. Mmmm… Whatever it was, I managed to stay in the big ring on the gentler climbs, and having a riding partner kept me awake and motivated. Before long, we were back in Boonville. Quick pee break in the bushes, up the hill to Yorkville. At this point, it was lightly raining, or maybe it was heavily misting. Whatever it was, it didn’t merit putting on a rain jacket. This section of the night evokes a strange memory of transcendence. I didn’t feel fatigued or sleepy, but something about the night made speeds seem faster, and distances are remembered as shorter. I can’t believe I was really there, riding that night, but I know I was.

Heath and I talked as the climb up the ridge between Yorkville and Cloverdale steepened. It was nice to converse, and it turned out we share some interests beyond riding bikes. As a younger guy riding brevets, I always enjoy and appreciate the wisdom and company of the seasoned riders, but it was a nice change to ride with someone a little closer to my own age.  There’s the Sonoma County line. Mostly downhill to Cloverdale. A fun, technical descent with no cars, good lights, and a gas station mart growing ever closer brought fresh enthusiasm to the ride.

Into sleeping Cloverdale we rolled, probably just after 2:30 AM. We got some miscellaneous things at the mini mart and refilled water bottles. We went out onto the porch to prepare for the next leg. Some friendly young men from Cloverdale were at the gas pump in their pickup truck. Turns out their truck had an intercom system.

“Nice bikes, fags,” said the intercom with calm hostility. “Faggots,” it proclaimed, before driving off into the night. Nothing like some ignorant homophobia and failed insults to make you feel distant from mankind. I hope those guys find a way to let go of their hatred somehow.

Onward into the most challenging part of the ride, where the body decides the time for sleep is now. Cloverdale, Geyserville, Healdsburg. Conversation came in intervals, keeping me conscious. I didn’t need to slap myself to stay awake, but I was dragging a bit. The hours between 3 AM and sunrise are the hardest.

Westside road was a haze, my legs didn’t mind the rollers but my brain wanted to slooowww dowwnn. Again, the strange phenomenon occurred where the road seemed much shorter than it had in the daytime on previous rides.

We were caught by a jaunty recumbent rider as we reached River Rd. We said howdy, and he proceeded to set a high speed pace down River Rd. Heath followed for a bit, and I tried my best, but couldn’t hang. Too late for those high speed shenanigans. I rolled into the Guerneville Safeway about 30 seconds behind and got my receipt by purchasing a 26 cent banana. It wasn’t ripe yet, but I didn’t care. I ate it and slumped against a pillar for five minutes. Dawn had come, and this 5-minute slump wasn’t quite sleep, but it was nice, despite the coldness of the concrete. I saw Brian K and some of the folks he had ridden with at the Safeway, they probably rolled out around 5 minutes before Heath and I.

“Let’s go man,” said Heath. Or something like that. I struggled up from my slump and straddled my bike. Heath sped off and I trundled along behind for a while. We reached Bohemian Hwy, and Heath was hitting the rollers with a strength I felt certain I no longer had. “No need for me to hold you back, go on ahead. I’m going to take it easy for a while.”

Heath was gone, and I took in my surroundings in the emerging light of the new day. I was climbing up the Bohemian Highway towards Occidental, in a deep river canyon surrounded by a lightly populated forest of Redwoods and other trees. Soon, I thought, I’ll be back on my home turf.

Though I usually don’t listen to music while riding, preferring to hear the sound of the tires on the pavement and the ambiance of my surroundings, I had brought my ipod along for times like this. Some music combined with the descent down Bohemian highway unearthed reserves I didn’t know I had. The sunrise was making the hills golden, and I shifted into the “big” 46T chainring and grinned. It was a new day, I was riding my bike, the roads were dead quiet, and it was fun.

Hazy, blurry self portrait in the morning

Blurry view from Bohemian Hwy

Bohemian Highway: farms, grasslands, pastures, glowing hillsides, the woods that surround the Russian River and its tributaries fading into memory. It was coming up on 7 AM. Bodega Hwy,Freestone-Valley Ford Rd, Hwy 1, back in familiar territory. Valley Ford, the turnaround point on the 200k, seemed like it was close to home today. Now the day was bright, and I was alone in the countryside, methodically, determinedly putting the hills to Tomales behind me. I took this stretch of road one roller at a time, standing on the climbs but climbing gently and assuredly.  The rollers of highway 1 weren’t as exciting as they are on days when they are proceeded by sleep instead of 300 miles, but the Tomales Bay was refreshing and familiar, and the road was wonderfully deserted at this early Sunday hour. The haze of predawn was gone, and I moved south, enjoying the solitude.

I rolled into Point Reyes Station just before nine, where a group of bedraggled randonneurs laid on the porch of the Bovine Bakery. I greeted Brian K, and we chatted lethargically about the impending finish. I bought a bottle of water at the market, drank my last oily chocolate Safeway Nutritional Drink thing, and rolled away. San Francisco beckoned.

In Nicasio, an invigorating magnetism took hold of me. I was less than thirty miles from the finish, and I could smell the barn. In order to prevent lethargic slogging, I set a goal to finish before noon. I trundled up the final climbs of West Marin, and descended into Fairfax, waving at the fresh and chipper sport cyclists headed the other direction.

The familiar central Marin commute route breezed by in a hazy flash. Camino Alto, which I have ridden hundreds of times, also disappeared beneath me. I talked to a friendly road rider at a light in Sausalito who had heard the 600k was going on and offered some encouragement. That gave me the push I needed to get up the hill and across the hectic Golden Gate, almost 30 hours after I had crossed it last. High fives from John P and Carlos sealed the deal, and I sat down on the round planter box near the Strauss Statue and hung out for a while, happy about not having to move. I just barely made it in before noon, finishing in 29 hours 50 minutes or thereabouts. There was no way I would ever do a ride like this again. I came home, ate, showered, and slept for more than 14 hours.

Several days later, I knew I would do this again. Or maybe even a longer one. It was inevitable.

Things that worked:

Food:

-Clif Mocha gel

-Hammer Perpeteum in small amounts

-Weird Safeway Nutritional Drink Plus drinks (4 total consumed)

-Lots of hearty solid food as well (deliberate mixture of sweet and savory, never eating too much at one time)

Equipment:

Shimano Alfine Dynamo Hub wired to B&M Lumotec IQ CYO Plus with a taillight wired in. Hit the switch when it got dark, hit it again when it got light. This lighting system is about as cheap (not very) as a high performance generator light setup can get, and it has been awesome all season.

-All the other stuff on my bike is generic and/or really old and worked fine but doesn’t really merit special recognition.

Technique:

-Not sleeping. Worked well on this distance, but I was pretty burnt at the end. If I were riding a longer event, I would sleep earlier to avoid draining my reserves. On the 600, I felt like sleep would make me less enthusiastic about riding after waking up, and I think this was right. I got tired, but never felt dangerously sleepy.

-Being efficient without rushing at stops and taking one long luxurious dinner break. Worked excellent.

-Pushing the pace at the end. I was lucky to still have it in me, but trying to make a self-imposed time cutoff in the last 30 miles helped me to avoid bumbling my way slowly and tiredly to the finish.

-Preemptive caffeine abstinence: I didn’t drink coffee for 5 months so I could drink it on 24+ hour rides and get boosted by the caffeine. This worked great, I highly recommend the preemptive caffeine abstinence (purge-binge) strategy.

Wow. What a long report. If you made it this far, don’t worry, now it’s over. And the original goal of my Senior Project, to complete a Super Randonneur Series, is accomplished.