NOTE: Please send any equipment reviews, PBP insight or ride reports for the May/June newsletter to Jon Muellner! I know most of you can write so let's generate some copy folks! Thanks to everyone who contributed to this issue!

For those of you on-line, join in the SIR email list! It's a great way to share info, ride schedules, car-pooling to events and training with other SIR members. To get on go to http://www.phred.org/mailman/listinfo/sir. It's easy!

All of us wish Stan a speedy recovery from his accident (which wasn't his doing). We hope to see him out riding soon.

Date	Distance	Organizer	Route
July 10	100 km Populaire	Dave Read, Paul Johnson, Brian List
July 24	200 km	Dave Read, Paul Johnson, Brian List	Tumwater/Centralia
August 14	300 km	Robin and Amy Pieper
September 4-5	400 km	Owen Richards	Yakima and a few good passes.
September 19	100 km Populaire	Jan Heine	The ever-popular Mtn. 100k. Same course as 2003, unless more roads vanish in the 'burbs.
September 25-26	600 km	Wayne Methner

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You have all seen the Rider's Digest listing these 200, 300, 400 and even 600K rides where individuals test themselves against the rigors of long distance cycling. Many of you have even heard of the stories of Paris-Brest-Paris, where cyclists torture (I, uh, mean Challenge) themselves over 1200K (750 miles), in 4 days or less. These rides are all part of a French cycling association called Randonneurs. The purpose is for average people to ride long distance in a fairly self-supporting environment and enjoy the challenges, camaraderie and personal accomplishment of cycling.

In addition to the challenges for individuals, there is another randonneur ride you can do in a team environment called a Fleche. The origin of the word Fleche is uncertain, but it is believed to derive from the French word for 蘏rrow.' The Fleche is a 24 hour distance ride in which several teams compete, each team planning their own route of at least 360KM (225 miles) and all arriving at a preplanned common destination such as a resort. There, the participants celebrate their accomplishments and share a big meal and war stories of the road. Each team is composed of 3-5 people;I think the French originators got tired of suffering alone so wanted to invite their friends along in a setting where they HAD to finish together, so their friends COULDN'T drop them. Ha ha, just kidding - it is fun to ride 24 hours together with your friends at a leisurely pace. Of course, having been invented by the French, there are several rules to follow involving check points and support and so on.

Since I was tired of riding these long rides and past the point of getting any sympathy from my close riding companions, I pulled together a Fleche team to participate in the Seattle International Randonneur's 2004 Fleche event. This way we could all treasure this special bonding experience together. (As an aside, Seattle has an incredible club with a broad cross section of people, most in their 40's to 60's and a few in their 70's. During Portland's recent 200K in March, over half the participants trekked down from Seattle to see a change of country!)

And treasure the experience we did! John Hatfield, Gerry Ellis, Lee Shaver and Chris Lash, along with the author, and supported by Jennifer Loren and Steve Muschek, were blessed by great weather on the last weekend in April as we rode from Centralia, through Olympia, along Hood Canal, through Port Townsend, by Ferry to Whidbey Island, across Deception Pass and along scenic Chuckanut Drive through Bellingham until reaching our destination, the resort at Semiahmoo. Along the way we were greeted by John's uncle and a box of homemade chocolate chip cookies at Deception Pass and were served a homemade pasta dinner along with refreshments and more homemade cookies at my cousin's in Bellingham.

Finally arriving in Semiahmoo after 226 miles, 23h18m, we were greeted by crystal clear blue skies, views of the North Cascades, the Canadian Rockies, a sailboat race off shore in the Straights of Juan de Fuca, and 5 other teams who had accomplished similar feats. In fact we won an award for "Closest to the Pin" - ride distance closest to the minimum without being under. We were one kilometer off from winning the "Closest actual to predicted distance" award; I guess we couldn't take home all the glitter.

After an incredible all you can eat (we did) brunch looking out at the mountains and sea, we loaded up for the trip home, happy, and having accomplished another great adventure. It always amazes me how stepping outside of my normal routine for even a short time takes me worlds away and reenergizes me. That is, after I caught up on my sleep!

Preparedness is everything. Physical and mental conditioning are important, as is a properly prepared and appropriate machine. My 2003 Raleigh Competition is really a race bike and not the best for randonneuring, but I have spent a lot of time and effort since last December in an effort to make it work. Unlike a lot of the cyclists I have met since finding this sport, I have only one bike. Well, okay, so I now have a tandem, too, but that's a story for a different day. I have experimented with tires, fenders, lights and attaching mechanisms to make sure I could make everything work together.

I felt really strong on Thursday night as I was getting clothing and gear together and making sure I had everything on my checklist in order. I managed to sleep in until 8:30 Friday morning, with a 6:00 p.m. start scheduled. Mimi said to me at some point during the day when we were talking, "Let me get this straight. You are driving north 30 miles to Edmonds so you can then turn around and drive south 80 miles to Enumclaw so you can ride north 240 miles to Canada. It all seems a bit odd to me."

We all met up at Terry's house in Edmonds to get our bikes and gear stashed into our support vehicles for the drive south. The team should have started worrying, I suppose, when I asked Terry if we could stop in Auburn so I could go to the bathroom. When we got to Charlie's Restaurant, the sign said open, but they weren't, so we headed off in search of a caf� to have a pre-ride dinner. A perfect 6:00 p.m. start, delayed only a couple minutes when Linda remembered as we were crossing the highway that she had forgotten to pump up her tires. After about a half hour, I had the team's first flat. Changing it, I got to hear Matt and Shane's analysis of my Continental Ultra 2000 tires. After another mile and a half or so, I had our team's second flat. Now I REALLY got to hear the analysis of my tire choice and Shane pretty much insisted on giving me a spare he had along, something that looked like it came off a tanker truck. We got the tube installed and upon inflating, I managed to break the valve stem in my haste to get us back up and on the road. Now, very frustrated and ready to throw the entire *#@&$&!# wheel into the bushes, I was into Shane's supply of tubes, which I promptly managed to pinch between the rim and tire and explode, which sound was followed by a collective vote of general displeasure from the rest of the team. After much cussin' and fussin', I finally managed to get a tube in, air in and back on the machine. We're now 45 minutes behind schedule. I didn't bother to mention to the team that I really needed a couple more minutes to take a leak and managed to hang on until we got to Issaquah, albeit barely.

It started getting dark as we headed up East Lake Sammamish between Issaquah and Redmond and by the time we took a left into Marymoor Park, we were under full lights. We saw a group of cyclists, the formation of which looked vaguely familiar, and it turned out we were crossing paths with the Pasty White Guys, who had started out an hour after us from another location. Waving and exchanging mutual well wishes on the fly, we trekked onward. As we were going north up the trail, we calculated that we were pedaling along with a 15-20 mph tail wind. This had pretty much been following us since Enumclaw, but I felt the air getting more and more humid and knew that our night was just beginning.

Somehow, we managed to find Terry at the Albertson's in Woodinville and after a brief equipment and clothing modification, we were again headed north up and out of Woodinville, with our next scheduled stop in Snohomish. This was probably the hilliest section of the ride, and even though it wasn't raining, I could feel it coming and felt very fortunate that we had benefited from the good conditions so far. Somewhere along this stretch, Matt had his one and only flat, our team's 5th. It was not nearly as simple changing tires in the dark, but I managed to eat, drink and seek the relief of some nearby bushes so as not to hold the team up further.

The pace line seemed to pick up a real head of steam coming down into Snohomish and as we pulled into the parking lot of the Buzz Inn Steak House, we discovered they closed 15 minutes before our arrival. There really isn't much open at that time of night and this was discussed for weeks as our weak link in the schedule. It was ultimately agreed to hit the 7-11 where we had a choice of Cup-O-Soup noodles, stale turkey and cheese sandwiches or frozen burritos. I opted for the sandwich, a lemonade and, of course, another bottle of Ensure Plus. As we rode out of Snohomish, I began to wish I'd selected the noodles as my stomach began to feel like I'd swallowed a bunch of lead fishing weights. While I never actually lost my dinner, there were some moments when I wished I could.

Our last dry control for a long time came at Granite Falls, where we all found time to head behind the closed service station for some much needed personal relief and we were able to enjoy watching the 5 young people in a car playfully engaged in their late-night teen-age antics. Much reminiscing about what it was like to be that young. Very shortly after Granite Falls and about 7 hours into the ride, we began to get the first sprinkles and it didn't take long before Matt was suggesting we stop and change into our raingear. This proved to be a pretty good idea, since about five minutes later the heavens opened up and unleashed a full fledged rainstorm on us for the next several hours.

Somewhere between Granite Falls and Stanwood, we met up with a couple of escort dogs. First they were on the right, then the left, running along in the ditch about 20 meters or so in front of our pace line. First was just one dog, then two; they kept crossing the road and between Linda, Sue and I, we kept announcing their position to the rest of the team. Matt said later he never saw them, he just heard us screaming about them.

Going through Arlington, we made another relief stop at an all-night gas station and mini-mart. When I went in to buy a candy bar, I was trying to remain positive and upbeat and made a comment to the shopkeeper about being grateful he was open all night. His response was that he didn't have any choice. If it were up to him, he'd be home in bed and that's where we ought to be. He commented, "Why the hell don't you do this in the daytime? Are you people stupid? Don't you know that over 90% of the cars out there at this time of night are DRUNK?" He tended to ramble on a bit, so I made my purchased, feigned a smile and thanks and exited as quickly as I could.

Arriving in Stanwood a little before 4:00 a.m., we found Terry, who had managed to catch a little bit of a nap, parked outside the local QFC. I'm not sure whether he knew in advance what a providential stop this would prove to be, but his scouting out this rendezvous was much appreciated as we walked in, dripping and sloshing our way through the store. We discovered three things that became an immediate mood elevator for a group of very tired and wet cyclists. The first was a gas burning fireplace. The second was a collection of 4 overstuffed leather chairs and the third was a 24-hour espresso bar. I can only imagine what the employees must have been thinking with seven dripping bodies invading the otherwise empty store, removing booties, gloves rain coats, shoes and socks and hanging gloves and booties over the fireplace to dry, while they ran back and forth to the bathrooms, drank hot coffee and lukewarm Ensure Plus, wolfed down some much needed food and prepared for the next leg of the journey. I think leaving that location was probably the toughest moment of the ride.

As we exited Stanwood, we started to see the first evidence of dawn, and the birds began singing songs of early morning greeting to us as we turned from the parking lot back onto the highway. The rain let up a little bit for a while and then we hit Chuckanut Drive, where it was raining harder, the hills seemed to never end and we hit our first secret control. There was Danelle to give us a warm and welcome smile, a hot cup of coffee, some chocolate chip cookies and, of course, a photo opportunity for team Chaos.

After that, it was a nice descent into south Bellingham, where we made our potty stop using the port-a-potty because the store owner didn't want us dripping up his store. In my rush to get back on the bike I forgot my Camelbak and had to ride back 2 blocks while a team that I'm sure was already becoming impatient with my delays, had to sit and wait for me.

Matt encouraged us by letting us know that it was just 20 more miles to his house, our big rest stop, where we were promised a full breakfast of pancakes, eggs, oatmeal, fresh fruit and plenty of hot fresh coffee卟nd a dryer!!! A few short blocks later, Shane had our team's sixth flat. When he pulled the wheel off the rim, water cascaded out. Back on the road, a couple miles later, it was Linda's turn. Just as we stopped to execute the tube change, the heavens opened up into a downpour that made me very grateful for a tree I could stand under while the work progressed. We hadn't ridden another mile when Shane had his second and our team's 8th and final flat.

I suddenly sensed a general attitude of the team becoming a little demoralized, thinking that if this continued, we would have a pretty short rest break at Matt's and could be in real trouble with time. Despite all of our fears, though, everything went well from that point on until about 3 miles from the Dalton Hotel at which point we were faced with a hill. No, not a hill, a wall. It may have been short, but my legs simply didn't want to pedal anymore for some odd reason. Amidst some grumbling and a few more adjectival references to randonneurs in general, I made it in and we were met by a smiling and generous hostess, Alison, who instructed us to put all of our dry things into the basket and she'd get them into the dryer for us while we ate.

Everyone else attacked the food, while I found a most comfortable sofa on which I could administer a 3-minute massage of my feet and legs to get the tired blood recirculating a bit. I generally have to do this on the hard, cold ground and this felt most welcome. Then it was on to the oatmeal with honey (nobody seemed to favor my idea of spaghetti with honey for some odd reason), scrumptious scrambled eggs with maple syrup, fresh strawberries and cantaloupe and a cup of very hot, very dark and rich and very sweet black coffee. I honestly do not believe I have ever enjoyed my morning repast more than I did that day.

Then it was off to the showers. We had been told we needed to take short showers, so we wouldn't run them out of hot water. My trick? Let everyone else go first, and then I can feel a little more leisurely about it all. After about 5 minutes of water running over my back and neck, the positional headache I had started to develop was gone and I was able to lay down and rest for about 20 minutes. With my eyes closed, I kept envisioning a slot machine cylinder, only instead of bars and cherries, it was all stars in ones and twos, but the cylinders never stopped rolling. Later, I analyzed this a bit, but at the time, I just chuckled to myself and enjoyed the horizontality of it all. The later analysis? We're all stars and we're about ready to hit the jackpot. Corny or not, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

When it was time to get moving again, we came out and discovered all our bike duds were dry, folded and separated into matched pairs and sets. Alison really made everything special for us and as I was pulling on the now dry clothing, I noted that the rain had stopped and it was almost sunny, with a few filtered rays coming through the still mostly overcast sky. Much discussion was held over what to do about tubes, with the team having experienced 8 flats altogether to that point. It was decided we had enough to get us down the road and we had an extra front and back wheel in Terry's truck we could pirate at a later control if we needed to. Off we went with about 70 miles left to go.

10 miles later, Donny B. had to go again. Much frustrated, the team agreed to let me stop at the Burger King in Lynden, at which point I took a good tongue lashing from Matt about how tight time was now becoming and how we really needed to keep moving forward if we were going to finish in time. A stop every 10 miles would guarantee we couldn't make the 24 hour limit. After this quick personal relief stop, we headed off again and as I rode along in silence, I began to feel like I was at risk of destroying the team's chances of finishing in the allotted time and decided two things. First, I simply wouldn't drink anything anymore. Second, if I need to relieve myself, I'll just pretend I'm a racer and I'll let fly from the saddle, come what may. I've been wet all night anyway, what difference does it make at this point? Of course, I could recognize the flawed logic of the first of these decisions, but did begin to cut back on the amount of fluids, as I was obviously well hydrated enough. But I knew I had to keep eating and drinking if I was going to finish and I still thought the team needed good output from every member of the team, including me. Fortunately, I never had to act on the second.

As we rode between Lynden and Sumas, my brain began playing real tricks on me, fluctuating between wanting to simply give up, making up excuses to take myself out of the game at the next control, and feeling a rage to finish, no matter what the cost. There was a moment as we approached the Sumas crossing that I suddenly became re-energized and again felt that, regardless of what I had to do to make it happen, Team Chaos was going to finish in time and I believed that I could make it.

From Sumas to Chilliwack was simply a matter of survival. I was beginning to suffer from exhaustion and it seemed like no food or water would make much of a difference. Linda said something about how and where we were going to stop at the 22 hour mark to note our time and distance on our control cards. For about 5 minutes before that, I had been thinking that I just wanted to go to sleep. I noticed my reaction times were failing; I almost crashed into Jim and Ann's back wheel a couple of times because I was not able to respond to changes in speed. My judgment was starting to get really poor and all I could think of was how good it would feel to lie down and take a nap. I was yawning, my eyelids felt heavy and I knew that I was about ready to fall asleep on my bike, but I was afraid to say anything to the team for fear of either getting dropped or having them make a stop that would jeopardize our chances of an on-time arrival. I remember thinking at this point that if I could just have another flat, I could let the team go on without me and at least the team would finish and I could take a short nap and ride on into Harrison, maybe not within the 24 hours, but at least I would finish without killing anybody or myself.

Finally, we arrived at a Husky station and mini-mart. I grabbed a chocolate milk (thanks to Tamara Stephas for introducing me to this wonderful recovery food), a Snicker Bar (the extra big one) and two No-Doz tablets which provided me with 400 mg of caffeine to go with the sugar, protein and carbs I got from the first two elements of the fatigue cocktail. And on we go, with 28 K to go in 2 hours. We can do this, if we just don't have any more problems.

The remainder of the ride was done on shear willpower, adrenaline and caffeine/sugar rush. There was nothing left in my legs. My brain had ceased functioning. I tried to remember things and found even the most simple tasks were next to impossible. I couldn't remember who was on the back of Linda's tandem. Then, going up a slight rise where we had to make a left turn, there was another secret control and as I accelerated to cross traffic, a loud squeal began to develop in my rear wheel. Worried that I might be losing my rear hub, I dropped into some lower gears and decided I would just need to spin better and put as little torque on the equipment as possible. There was a big bridge ahead and I knew I needed to conserve everything I had. I was also having difficulty figuring out my left from my right. Every time I was on somebody's wheel, I was afraid I was going to misjudge the distance and take both of us out. I was having visions of broken collarbones and lying in ditches while my team rode past me laughing.

The most bizarre and unrealistic images began to take over my thought process and then something happened. Matt said, "By my calculations, it's 8 miles to go and we have an hour to make it." In that simple statement came my salvation. I looked up a moment later and saw a sign that said "Harrison Hot Springs - 14" and I knew that meant kilometers, not miles. From those simple words, I managed to gain the strength needed to overcome the demons which had begun to invade my brain, and I got my final wind. Shane was somewhere behind me and I thought that Linda and Sue were, too, only it was Jim and Ann that were behind me; Linda and Sue were at the front, followed by Matt and then me. All of a sudden, Linda hollered out for me to get to the front, and Jim and Ann to get to the front. We were coming in and she wanted the rookies to lead us in.

Tears began to well up in my eyes. I had done it. My whole team had done it. There won't be and DNF's on Team Chaos. This goal I had set for myself back in January was about to come to fruition. Little had I known last December 26th when John Keyser and I were invited to join in a Cascade ride and I had been introduced to a bunch of folks by Greg Sneed as "wanting to come over to the dark side" that it would come to this. The sun was out, I was looking at snow-capped mountains and I could see this sparkling lake in front of me and I knew what I had been working for.

"TURN LEFT𦧲URN LEFT", I heard Linda say. "No, not at this one, the next one."

As we turned left into the parking lot at Harrison Hot Springs Resort, I saw a bunch of people waving and pointing. As a I approached, there was Peter Rankin there. And Bob Brudvik. And Ken Condray. All guys who I have had the joy and pleasure of riding with and getting to know a little bit this spring. And most important of all, there were Terry and Chantel, our ride support. They were all clapping for us, and pointing the way in to the control. And then, in an instant, it was over. All of the aches and pains were suddenly forgotten and it was time for hugs, back-slaps, handshakes, congratulations and something cold to drink.

It was difficult to choke down the emotion of this moment. In the last five months, I have completed more miles on a bicycle than I have ever ridden in a complete year before. I have completed rides I used to only be able to dream of. At 53 years of age, I feel in better shape than I have since I left the Marine Corps in 1972 at the age of 21. I have been surrounded with a group of people who know about what it means to be a team and work together for a common goal and they have allowed me to become a part of a club that endorses safety, endurance, good health and camaraderie. They have helped me to prepare. They have taught me new cycling skills to make me a stronger and safer rider. They have helped me when I needed it and let me stumble when I insisted on doing it my way. They then helped me to get back in step and never let me lose sight of the ring. This is the true spirit of randonneuring.

Being an American, I don't have a good feel for distances in kilometers. I know the rule-of-thumb conversion, one kilometer is 0.6 miles, but I don't think in terms of kilometers. And that's a good thing.

Craig and I drove from Portland to Arlington, Washington, on Friday evening, June 5, for the 600km North Cascades brevet organized by the great folks from Seattle International Randonneurs. We got started on our drive a bit later than we hoped, and eventually got to Arlington around 11PM. After a meal at the nearby Dennys we went to bed at the Arlington Motor Inn with alarm clocks set to wake us at 4:30 so we would be ready for the 6AM start.

We awake Saturday to a cold morning with heavy rain. Not just that lovely Northwest drizzle that can hang for days, but rather an honest, steady rain. I put the weather out of mind while I got ready for the ride. By the time we were ready and had our bikes outside, lots of others have shown up and begun to congregate around a room where the brevet organizer, Jon Mueller, was handling registration. There were two dozen of us in all. By now the rain had stopped and we had a pleasant cool gray morning for the start of our ride.

Two dozen riders head out from the Arlington Motor Inn and almost instantly turn off the state highway onto a nice quiet road. The group stretches out over these first couple miles as we start with a comfortable pace. At one turn after a couple miles I can see across a pasture that the faster riders are heading off quickly. I won't be seeing them again.

The route meanders for 40 miles over quiet country roads before we get onto a state highway. During this time I get to ride and chat with a few different people. Everyone is nice and pleasant to talk with. I'm awful at remembering names, but appreciated the easy conversations as we ride along at a nice brisk cruising pace. As we approach Highway 2, Craig & I are riding with Stan Reynolds, who has completed Boston-Montreal-Boston, which is probably the preeminent North American 1200km brevet. A nice thing about long bike rides is that you sometimes get the opportunity to talk with folks much more than you do in other situations. Stan had some good BMB stories.

At Sultan, 40 miles into the ride, we turn onto Highway 2, which will take us over Stevens Pass. Craig & I lose contact with Stan for the time being, and begin riding harder toward the mountains. We're now riding faster and take turn riding in front. It's still cool, and we now have a misting drizzle. At least it's not the hard rain that greeted us in the morning. We ride along quickly. The pace feels good and fast. After awhile Craig points out that my rear fender doesn't have a mudflap to prevent my rear tire from showering him with the gritty spray from the wet road. I'll have to take care of that, but I regret that I'm subjecting Craig to the unpleasantness because I know exactly how it feels.

We roll into the first control at Skykomish after 67 miles. We get our cards signed, eat, and refill our water bottles. I find a small roll of duct tape and fashion a very nice mudflap on my rear fender. I even wander the parking lot to find just the right rock to weight the mudflap so it won't flap in the breeze. We get back onto the road. Craig drops back to see how well my mudflap works, and it turns out that it doesn't work at all. It's so flimsy that it just swings side-to-side - flapping in the wind. Oh well. It wasn't such a nice mudflap after all.

We soon begin 13 miles of climbing up 3000 feet to Stevens Pass. I am confident, maybe even arrogant, about this climb. It's no longer or steeper than Larch Mountain, which I rode the previous weekend and lots of times before that. Heading up the climb, Craig had pulled ahead of me a bit. Single-speed Fred caught up with me and then rode up to Craig. The two of them headed up the hill. My legs were flat. They felt like they were lead. I think I might have ridden harder than I realized in the morning so that my legs were lactic acid saturated when I started the climb. So I slogged up Stevens Pass pretty slowly. Towards the top a couple other riders caught and passed me. It was cold and wet on top. I took a quick photo of the sign at the pass with out stopping and headed down the other side to what I hoped was a long, warm, restful coast.

Within what seemed like a mile of the pass, the rain stopped. The long steady descent was fast and easy. After awhile the road lined up with the Wenatchee River and headed toward the warm east side of the Cascades. The Wenatchee River was pretty big and in places was a just boiling stew of whitewater. I marveled that someone could probably raft or kayak that maelstrom of water, but I couldn't imagine how.

The long descent took me toward steadily warmer air. The skies even cleared a bit and sunshine filled the sky. The easy spinning on the descent gave my legs the rest and recovery they needed, so when I got to the control at Leavenworth (118 miles) I was feeling better, but hungry.

Leavenworth is a funny town. It's built to replicate the feel of a Tyrolean village, but of course it's just a typical American town. So any quaintness in the Tyrolean theme was lost on me, but I did find a real restaurant with real spaghetti. So I was happy. The restaurant moved a bit slowly, even though there weren't many people eating there. If I were a serious randonneur I'd have been upset about the delay. But my legs appreciated the break, and the food was good. A sandwich would have been OK, but spaghetti and a big glass of milk sat perfectly.

Heading out of town I stopped at an espresso shack for a nice double shot of espresso. It cleared my head very well and I headed out of town toward Wenatchee. Approaching Wenatchee the brown dry eastern foothills of the Cascades began to replace the steeper forested Cascades. The road was still descending a bit, and my legs continued their recovery spin. The air was dry and warm. Looking down from the highway into one small housing developments outside Wenatchee I saw a couple quail scurrying along the road. What a far cry from the slug-strewn shoulder that I'd ridden up to Stevens Pass.

Just outside Wenatchee the route took US97A north toward Lake Chelan. I first rode through the industrial edge of Wenatchee. Not a bad stretch of road, just a bit ugly in an industrial sort of way. Here the route went along the west bank of the Columbia River, which is an odd thing to say for someone used to thinking of the Columbia being an east-to-west river. Of course, the Columbia begins in Canada, so it has to get down to Oregon somehow. The Columbia along this stretch is blocked by a series of Public Utility District (PUD) dams, which is another oddity for a lower-Columbia type like me. I'm used to thinking of the Columbia has having big Federal dams, like Bonneville and it's brethren. But up here, the PUDs of different counties each have their own dams.

Several miles outside the control at Entiat I saw rescue vehicles with their emergency lights flashing on the other side of the road. The emergency lights gave me a brief fear that a brevet rider might be involved, but I dismissed the concern quickly because the accident was on the other side of the road. As I approached I saw skid marks from my northbound side of the road go across the highway and over the embankment. I could just see the bottom of a car that was sitting on its roof. I hoped that no-one in the car was seriously injured and rode by a little subdued.

My stop at the Entiat control was pretty quick. While I was there I saw emergency vehicles head north with their lights flashing, seemingly from the accident I had just passed. I refilled my water bottles and continued on.

A few miles north of Entiat I saw the emergency vehicles ahead, this time on my side of the road. As I approached I saw 5 or 6 brevet riders sitting on the embankment, and my heart sank. The shoulder was strewn with glass. I stopped and walked over, afraid to ask what had happened. Craig was one of the riders there. He said that he & Stan had been riding together when Stan was hit from behind. Stan had already been taken to the hospital in Wenatchee.

The woman driving a minivan says she dozed off and drifted onto the 6-8 foot wide shoulder. The side mirror hit Stan and knocked him off the road. The glass came from the mirror deflecting into and shattering the side window of the van. Stan was conscious after being hit, but he was hurt. We later learned that Stan had a concussion, a dislocated shoulder, and two broken ribs. We're all incredibly thankful that Stan will be OK.

These two accidents happened in mid-afternoon on a warm sunny day on a straight stretch of highway. On the one hand this could make you think that it's too dangerous to be biking out there. On the other hand, the driver could just as well have drifted to the left, rather than the right, and killed whoever happened to be in a car approaching from the other direction. Also, it strikes you just how tiny the margin was between her inflicting painful, but non-permanent, injuries on Stan, and doing much, much worse. Driving is a dangerous activity and our society seems to have forgotten that in embracing the car as an extension of the individual.

We all soon continued on together, feeling somber and a bit safer in the company of others. We talked a bit, and were quiet a bit, and rode along mostly as a group, which seems to be uncommon in brevets. At about mile 197 we turned from US-97A onto US-97. Dusk was approaching. We stopped to put on warmer clothes, and reflective vests, and then continued on to the next control at Pateros, a little town where the Methow River (I think) enters the Columbia.

We all ate a bit at the Quick Mart here. The Quick Mart cuisine was typical, but Craig noticed that they also had mashed potatoes. What a find! I had already settled on a corn dog as my snack, so I missed out on the mashed potato treat. Atypically I was ready to go sooner than the others, so I left. Many of them were riding faster than me, so I figured that they'd catch me on the quiet, darkening highway up the Methow Valley. We had 40 miles to ride to the next control at Winthrop. It was 9PM or so.

The ride up the Methow was very nice. This was a much quieter highway than US-97. The road rolled over easy hills, and the ride was pleasant and quiet. After awhile a rider or two caught and passed me. Eventually Craig and Single-speed Fred came up too. We rode together for awhile until Craig & I rode ahead of Fred. We eventually passed the riders who had passed me earlier, too. It was now dark and quiet. A car would pass from one direction of the other every 5 minutes or so. I'd shield my eyes from the lights of on-coming cars to avoid being blinded after they passed.

Heading toward Twisp Craig said he'd need to pull off & switch his headlight batteries. He rode a bit ahead in town, and then I lost track of him. I thought he had gotten even further ahead, but it turns out he stopped. I didn't see him, and didn't hear when he called to me as I rode by, so I rode the rest of the way to Winthrop on my own. I felt well and was riding at a good brisk pace. It felt good

Getting into Winthrop at 232 miles I looked at the sign of each hotel to find the Virginian where the control was located. I got through what looked like the main stretch of town when I reached an all-night market without finding the hotel. Rather than risk riding past it, I stopped to ask directions. While I was at the store, Craig & another rider rode up. The Virginian Hotel was next door. At the expense of looking like a dope, I had at least made sure that I didn't ride by it. It was almost midnight on Saturday.

Trent & Melinda of the Seattle Randonneur group hosted a lavish stop at the Virginian. There were 5 cabins at our disposal. Trent & Melinda in one had cup-of-soups, sandwich fixings, bananas, hot water, and other things for us to choose from. They were cheerful, friendly, helpful hosts. Within an hour we had eaten, chatted a bit, showered, and headed off to sleep in one of the cabins until 4AM. It was wonderful to shower and climb into a warm bed.

We got up at 4AM, went over the Trent & Melinda's cabin for breakfast. I had a wonderful ham and cheese sandwich, and a Krispy Kream donut, and another ham and cheese sandwich, and another Krispy Kream donut, and some OJ and a little coffee. Craig & I hit the road by about 5:15. The main part of Winthrop had an overtly frontier look, but it seemed more real than the faux-Tyrolean look of Leavenworth, and I liked it. We rode quietly westward toward the mountains. We caught up with a rider and rode with him for awhile. It started to cool off as we slowly gained elevation. The pace was nice and steady. The rider we were with asked if anyone had caffeine, and Craig gave him a Coke he brought from the Winthrop control. After about 25 miles there was a campground with some brevet support, I think, but Craig & I rode past while the other rider stopped for a break.

We were about 6 miles from Washington Pass, the highest point of the ride. The climbing got harder and we continued up. I ride ahead a bit, feeling very good. I passed a van where climbers were gearing up to go climb something nearby. There was snow on the hills beside the road. The road swept around a broad curve to Washington Pass. It was cold, but dry. A major hurdle for the day was done.

I got out my ham and cheese sandwich and more clothes, and before I was done Craig rode up. We headed off toward Rainy Pass and, on the way there, the rain started. Rainy Pass was pretty anti-climatic compared to Washington Pass, and we rode right past it. Now we were descending off and on, but rather than one good long descending stretch, the descents were mixed with non-trivial climbs. It was a lot more work to get "down" from that pass than I expected. We hooked up with another rider for awhile, and he and Craig rode ahead a bit at one point. Awhile later I found myself having a hard time keeping my eyes awake. I struggled, as best I could, but finally decided I needed sleep. By that time there was a temporary break in the rain so I stopped, stepped over the guardrail, laid down on the gravel and slept for 5 minutes. It felt so good!

After that refreshing nap I rode "down" the rest of the way to the control at Marblemount (320 miles). At the QuickMart control I ate a couple microwaved burritos and walked over to the nearby espresso shack for a double shot espresso. Fueled up I head off for the final 60 miles. It was about 2 PM. The weather was now warm and sunny, and I felt good. "Just 60 miles," I told myself. Not even a "long" bike ride on a normal weekend. Of course, I avoided reminding myself that I had already ridden 320 miles.

After about 9 miles, sweeping through a descending curve outside Rockport, I saw a "SIR Control" sign alongside the road. It was a secret control. It was nice to see another cheerful SIR face (Amy Peiper), I grabbed a Coke to add to my stores, and continued on. The next 18 miles was a nice road along a nice river, and I tried to ride it hard and fast. I made good time on this stretch to Darrington, where I turned south for the 28 mile ride to Arlington.

28 miles. "That's just a ride from Crown Point," I told myself. So I started working away at them. The wide alternated between a cross-wind and a head-wind. Not terribly hard, but enough to notice sometimes. I whittled away at the miles. My legs were tired, my rear was not happy with my bike shorts, and the miles felt like they were creeping by, but Arlington eventually came into sight. Over the last few miles I willed away any flat tires, and soon enough the Arlington Motor Inn came back into view. I was greeted cheerfully by the nice SIR organizers. I finished the 379 miles in 35 hours, 39 minutes.

I've now completed my first brevet series with rides of 200km, 300km, 400km, and 600km. This means I qualify to ride a 1200km brevet, like Boston-Montreal-Boston, but I'm not planning on doing that this year. It also means that I'm now a "Super Randonneur," at least for this year.

There are so many ways to mess-up a nice bike ride.

I was riding my first 600 km ride* 380 miles to be completed in 40 hours. I was excited and nervous. There were only 6 of us starting the ride. Randonneuring is not yet in the cycling mainstream in Portland* or maybe anywhere.

We started out at 6:00 on a cool gray morning. We all rode together through town, from 96th & Sandy, along Marine Drive, across the St. Johns Bridge and onto Highway 30. The pace was brisk, but manageable. The cool grayness edged toward a light hint of a mist. It was one of those mists that sneekily thicken toward a shower. I finally put on my jacket, but not until I'd already gotten a wet.

A couple people dropped off the "lead" group to put on jackets or deal with flats. I call these lead groups in brevets the "alphas." They ride hard and doggedly and don't stop for anyone. In the 4 brevets that I've ridden, I've started with the alphas and then dropped off over time. This ride was no different. By about 40 miles I eased up and watched the alphas ride off.

The route took us across the Longview Bridge, which for a longtime has been one of my two least favorite stretches of road. I hated it because over it's � mile there's just a 2 foot-wide sidewalk, an 18-inch curb, and a 3 foot-tall railing "protecting" a 200-foot drop to the Columbia River. But the sidewalk is gone, and a nice normal shoulder is now in it's place. So the Longview Bridge is officially off my least favorites list.

The route headed north into rural Washington. The control in Vader was a shuttered store in Vader. This was a problem. In brevets, controls are required stops where your brevet card is signed and your arrival time written in. A closed store means no signed card. A nice old guy happened to meander by at that point, which was amazing because Vader shows almost no activity off the highway passing alongside the town. By that time, another randonneur rode up, and our local resident pal told us about the two other stores in town. We stopped by the now main store/gas station, where our cards were graciously signed, and we rode off together.

Ken & I rode together for awhile. He lives in Victoria, BC, and has been randonneuring since the 80's. I would guess that he's 15-20 years older than I am. After riding and chatting for awhile, I realized that the pace was a bit too brisk for me and told him I was going to slow down a bit. I was amazed to watch as he just pulled away. These old randonneurs are tough!

The route went through Centralia and right past the doorstep of McMenamin's Olympic Hotel, so what better place to stop for the lunch? Jane and the girls happened to have stopped to shop in Centralia on their way to the cabin, so we met for lunch. It was a very nice brevet break/lunch.

North of Centralia and just south of Olympia the route branched westward toward Highway 101. Highway 101 in this area is a 4-lane freeway. The shoulder is nice and wide, so the fast traffic wasn't too much of a nuisance. The next control was at the Texaco gas station/food mart at the exit for Steamboat Island. As I got off the highway I saw three cyclists standing and talking to each other. I happily thought I had caught the alphas, but no, they were just three local riders. Well, at least that made sense, it would have been odd for me to catch the alphas.

Again, the Texaco control was shuttered and this time fenced, for good measure, so I had to improvise another control. Luckily, there was a market next door, and they graciously signed my card entered my arrival time. It was getting late in the day, so I put on my reflective vest/sash, put tights on over my shorts & knee warmers, and headed back out onto the road.

The route split off of Highway 101 at Shelton, a small lumber mill town at the crook in Hammersley Inlet, one of five main fingers at the south end of Puget Sound. It was nice to ride along the inlet for a bit since Jane and the girls and I had kayaked there last year, except I was riding past the crook up toward the head of the inlet, and our kayak trip had gone from Shelton toward the mouth.

This was a nice pleasant part of the ride, heading towards Bremerton. Rolling hills, pleasant pavement, water and marshes every once in awhile. Arriving at the edge of Bremerton I was looking for a Cash & Dash store as my next control. I turned onto the road toward Tacoma, but soon realized that wasn't right. I then back-tracked toward Bremerton itself, but realized that was wrong, too. Finally I realized that the Cash & Dash was the mini-mart next to the Texaco where I made that first turn. You could see the Cash & Dash sign if you looked very, very closely. So I finally got to my control. It was a nice store because it was WARM. Stops are where I tend to get coldest, so a warm store was very nice.

Another randonneur arrived while I was still snacking. John Kramer hasn't been doing these for years and years like lots of the others, but he's been doing this longer than I have. Anyway, we rode off together into the darkening evening toward Tacoma.

This being a Portland brevet, we were routed on the largest possible highway connecting Bremerton & Tacoma. John & I rode together well. A State Police car had pulled someone over, and we had to go around them. The only problem was the rumble strip along the fog line. I liked the rumble strip as a barrier from cars approaching from behind, but having to cross it on a descent in the dark was unpleasant. After slowing to a reasonable speed, it was fine.

Passing through Gig Harbor I noticed a small sign off the road in the dark*"Cyclists must exit highway." I asked John if he saw the sign, but he hadn't. We got off the highway and noticed a detour sign and a sign on the on-ramp ahead saying "No Bicycles." I guess they meant it.

So we followed the first detour sign and soon realized that there were no more detour signs. I had noticed off to the side a bike path with a detour sign coming from the other direction, so we decided to try that route. The path took us back toward the highway and, at its end, there were detour signs for our direction. The signs routed us around and eventually through a construction site and onto the Narrows Bridge. The bridge has a marginally-rideable sidewalk, except at the bridge towers where there are steps. It was fascinating to look down from the bridge into the lighted caissons 300 feet below being built for the new bridge. Just 5-7 miles south of the bridge, and in sight during daylight hours, is Anderson Island where Jane & the girls were staying at the cabin. I gave a wave as I passed by.

After the bridge we headed into Tacoma. It was almost 11PM and we decided to stop for some warm food while we could. We stopped at a Subway shop just before they closed. The two women there were gracious and nice, and we ate our fill past closing time.

We rode off through the quiet Tacoma streets, moving quite well. There were lots of turns, and I realized afterwards that the route zig-zagged us through Tacoma. It was fine to do at that hour, but it seems funny to be making up brevet distance in the middle of a good-sized city.

As we were getting toward the edge of Tacoma, I had this idea that I had not closed the pocket on the saddlebag where I keep my wallet. I stopped and checked. The pocket was open, and my wallet was not there. My heart sank.

What to do? I thought I had put the wallet in the pocket. John had been riding behind me and thought for sure he would have seen it fall. He has a Schmidt hub and lights, which give great illumination. But there were a couple dark descents where we would have separated a bit. Hmmmm* Do I ride on and abandon my wallet with its cash, credit cards, drivers license, office card key, etc. to the streets of Tacoma, or do I go back and look for it. Our Subway stop was 10 miles back. The backtrack distance was manageable. The added 20 miles would make my 380 mile/600km ride an even 400 miles, but I could do that. I was pretty certain I had put the wallet away. Also, I couldn't ride back on the wrong side of the road because it would be just insanely dangerous. So I reluctantly decided to go back. John lent me some money so I wouldn't be penniless out on the road, we exchanged cell phone numbers, and parted ways.

Riding backwards on a brevet cue sheet is not easy. Instructions to turn right & left on certain roads are backwards, and I was looking at the shoulder on the other side of the road as much as I could. And street names change so the street you turn onto in one direction is not the same coming from the other way. So I drifted off the return route a bit, but recognized a street name at one point and got back to the Subway shop without any excess mileage.

Once there I turned around and retraced our original route. I slowed on the fast, dark descents, and scanned the road as best I could. Tacoma uses lots of drip tar to patch roads, so looking for a black wallet in the dark was not easy. I felt certain that it would be along one of those descents, but when I finally got back to where John & I split I realized that the wallet was gone.

Dang. Now it's 2:30AM, I have the $40 John lent me and I continue on to the next control a couple miles away. I get there, get my card signed, and chat with the 7-11 worker as I take stock.

The next section of road heads into a very dark quiet area behind Fort Lewis. I'm discouraged after not finding my wallet. After the orange juice at 7-11, I have less than $40. If I get chilled or sleepy I can't pay for a motel room. My safety margin has dwindled down to my Mylar emergency blanket because I'm already wearing all the clothes that I have. And I'm chilled like I usually am at a stop. I ask the clerk where I am (my route sheet doesn't include a full Tacoma city map), and realize that I'm just 10 miles or so from the ferry landing for Anderson Island, where Jane & the girls are staying at the cabin.

I decide to abandon and head toward the ferry landing. The 7-11 clerk shows me how to get there on a store map. By this time, I know the streets of Tacoma pretty well, so I ride straight there. It's 3:30 when I get to the ferry terminal. It's a small county ferry, not a big Washington state ferry, so the terminal is a small building the size of a little caf�. The next ferry is at 7AM. I lock my bike, wrap myself in my Mylar blanket, and settle onto a bench for some warmth and rest, so to speak.

I wake at 6:30. The county ferry shares the dock with the ferry to nearby McNeill Island State Penitentiary. A shift change of guards is milling around as I peek out from my soggy (on the inside), crinkly Mylar shell. Mylar blankets do their job, but just barely. I called Jane to tell her I'm coming across, and she met me at the ferry.

So, I abandoned my 600km brevet. I had ridden a total of 260 miles, about 400km, by the time I got to the ferry. 40 of those miles had been criss-crossing Tacoma. I felt good and strong, so it was frustrating to stop. It turns out that I had left my wallet at the Subway shop. When we eventually got home, the nice folks at the shop had left a phone message that they found the wallet shortly after we left.

I could have resumed the ride, but I was now on the island, with family, and had lost my focus for the ride. Dang. My wallet will now be deep in my saddlebag in a pouch tied to the bag. I'll keep a little cash separate and accessible. It's amazing how such a little thing can mess-up a nice bike ride.

But on the bright side, there's another 600km brevet in 3 weeks being organized by the Seattle rando group. The ride is in a beautiful region of Washington State. I'm planning to do that ride so I can complete my first brevet series, and because it's fun to do these long, long rides, in a perverse sort of way.

What follows is "the inevitable write up", so please pardon any stream of consciousness. Because the ride was so long and I ran the entire range of emotions, it is really hard to get it all down, but I wanted to get a little something out there.

The SIR 600k was held this past June 5th & 6th out of Arlington WA. Having missed the Portland 600k, I was looking for redemption and a way to earn my Super Randonneur title. I need all the help I can get with the ladies and was sure this would do me some good. My Brevet Buddy Mark, who from now on I will refer to as Vanilla Mark or VM, started the Portland 600k, but did not finish, so he was also a man on a mission. I was quite scared, but still excited to find out how I would fare over such a long distance. I was not sure if I was physically or mentally ready to accept the challenge. Unfortunately a serious accident along the route put a big hamper on my enjoyment and made for completing the ride even more difficult. Fortunately, all the great people involved with SIR at the controls and the riders I rode with along the way helped keep my head on as best as it could so a big thanks to them.

Vanilla Mark and I arrived the night before since we were driving up from Portland. We checked in to the Motel Arlington and ate dinner at the Denny's just next door. I could comment on Denny's but I won't. Suffice to say, a 'great' way to start a weekend of riding!

The ride started Saturday at 6 a.m. It was raining when I woke up. By the time I unpacked everything and figured out the best way to conquer the weather, it stopped. The roads were still wet and it was overcast. A bit more humid than I would have liked. I was happy to see so many other riders there as the long Portland brevets have much smaller turnouts.

We stayed on some backroads initially to make our way out to US 2. Nothing of note on these roads. I met some nice guys from the Seattle Randonneurs club. The usual types of conversations were exchanged. The roads were pretty good. Just some small rollers. A good way to start as a warm up for the challenges to be faced later in the day. Vanilla Mark and I cruised along US 2 up to our first control of the day in Skykomish at mile 67. The weather was cool and rainy. Not heavy rain which was good, but the roads were wet and fenders and courtesy flaps were the order of the day. I had a minor freak out moment when I looked down at my cranks and noticed that I could see a small part of the spindle taper. This was the second ride on my bike and it was something I had not noticed before. I started having visions of my pedal/crank combination still attached to my shoe, but not attached to the bike! I asked VM if he had a 8mm Allen wrench so I could check things out. He did and it turns out that things were nice and tight so I guess this is just how things are supposed to be. Phew.

We left Skykomish and made our way towards 4061' Stevens Pass. Fred the Single Speed Davidson rider came up on Vanilla Mark and I as we were heading towards the pass. Always nice to have more company than less on these riders. The climb was nice because traffic was pretty light. The overcast sky made for a comfortable climb. Got up to the top and saw another rider who I saw glimpses of on US 2. Pulled over and got some food out of the Carradice and began the descent. Put my rain cape on for added wind protection. It was a nice descent. I topped out my 44x12 pretty soon so I just coasted the rest of the way. My legs needed a bit of a rest so there. Next stop Leavenworth.

The sun started to come out. The wind was favorable and I was cranking along by myself on US 2 heading towards Leavenworth. I had a weird lapse of concentration and rode right off the road into the soft shoulder. Thankfully my adept cyclocross skills were not dulled by nearly 100 miles of riding and everything was fine. Stayed upright, remounted this time on pavement, and kept going. Saw a rest stop on the left and the rider I had caught at the top of Stevens Pass, so I turned to make a quick rest stop and get some water. Plus I just wanted to verify that Leavenworth was just up the road. My computer stopped working about 20 miles into the ride so I was just going by the cue sheet. There were cookies being given away for a small donation to a local church at this rest stop as well. I talked with the folks running it. They were super nice and were pretty floored when they asked about the trip. Thanks for the cookies and off to Leavenworth.

Apparently Leavenworth is a Bavarian town. Most of the buildings are designed around German architecture. Neat idea I guess. Stopped at the control and had lunch at a local Subway. Always good to have familiar food on these rides. This was about mile 120. My stomach did not feel too bad nor did the legs so I was happy about that. Somebody there noticed the HFV vest and said something about seeing my teammate at the crit in Wenatchee scheduled for later that day. Baby blue and orange representin'.

Vanilla Mark and I had separated at this point and I was riding with a guy named Stan and the two single speeders. Out of Leavenworth, we headed towards US 97A towards Okanogan. Our next control was in Entiat at mile 154. There was a group of about 6 of us cruising along. Stopped in Entiat and did our thing and headed out. There was concern about using US 97A on the route because it was undergoing considerable reconstruction. The signs urging motorcycles to use extreme caution were still up but the pavement had been re done. The debris and grooves that was there was now gone.

Stan and I left Entiat together a little after the group had left. They were never that far ahead of us and we were slowly getting our way back up to them. It was getting windy and it would have been better for us to all ride together. We were making pretty good time at this point and I was pleased at how my body was responding to the distance.

Now the bad part. US 97A is basically flat and straight with a 60 mile per hour speed limit. There was a 6' shoulder and good visibility. I could see the group ahead a little ways and figured we would be up there shortly. Stan and I were riding single file in the middle of the shoulder. I was riding in front when I heard a very terrible sound followed by glass flying past me along the ground. Stan was hit from behind by a side view mirror which caused the passenger side window to completely shatter. He was sent into the gravel ditch along the side of the road. The driver pulled over a little ways down the road. I thought they were going to drive away. There was no skid marks from her hitting the brakes after the impact since she never hit the brakes. I saw her pull into the shoulder and I turned back to attend to Stan. He was not moving or making any noise. He and the bike had turned 180 degrees. I was very scared at this point. I flagged down a passing motorist who saw me waving my arms and Stan in the ditch. She called 911. The elderly driver of the van said 'I fell asleep...but just for a second'. I never thought I would see the day where I would actually want to physically harm an elderly woman. Today was that day. Stan began to groan and shake which was a major relief to me for obvious reasons. Another motorist who saw the scene went ahead and told the riders up the road who turned around to come back and help. This was a good thing because I did not know how to contact the ride organizer and I certainly was not thinking clearly. The emergency crews came and took Stan to a hospital in Wenatchee. The latest update I got was he has a few broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a concussion. I thought he was hit in the back of the head by the mirror but I think he was hit in the back instead.

A few other riders who were behind us on the road came upon what must have been a creepy image. Half dozen of us milling about on the side of the road with glass everywhere, a state patrol car, and other emergency vehicles. We decided to ride to the next control as a group. I was very quite as were the rest of the riders. Our next control was in Pateros at about 191 miles. There was a very stiff tail wind which made things a bit easier. At the control, I had a wonderful mashed potato dinner. It was around 9:15 or so at this point. Our next stop was the Virginian Hotel in Winthrop at mile 233.

We had our lights on and headed south west on SR 153. It was a little windy for the first few miles. Vanilla Mark left Pateros earlier so that we could catch up to him later. Davidson Fred, Heron Andy, Single Speed Kent, and I headed out. Kent went up the road pretty soon so it was the three of us for a bit. A bunch of the guys were talking about stopping briefly in Winthrop and then heading on. I was definitely going to sleep for a few hours. Davidson Fred tucked in behind HA and I for a bit to conserve energy since he was one of the riders planning on continuing into the night. We picked up VM and had a good little group. Mark and I dropped off the pace for a bit and Heron Andy, Kent, and DF went up the road. Riding at night is still weird. I commute at night a lot but somehow it is just different. I was 'done' at mile marker 22 on SR 153 which left another 13 miles or so to get to the cabins in Winthrop.

I finally made it to the control at about midnight. I asked about news on Stan and heard he was doing okay. I was expecting something totally different from what we actually got in Winthrop. The SIR volunteers manning the control were so nice! They had lots of food and drink and were great about getting us sandwiches and listening to our ramblings about the ride up to this point. A few of the guys who talked about continuing on decided to sleep a few hours and head out at daybreak. There was lots of concern about the following day's weather since the freezing level was apparently 5000' and were heading up to 5477' Washington Pass. I was excited as I had never gone that high on a bike before, but oh so tired. Mark, Davidson Fred, and I shared the 'wake us at 4 am' cabin and got a few hours of shut eye. The hot shower before bed and the real food was awesome!

Woke up had some breakfast and stocked up on supplies since there was basically nothing until Newhalem 75+ miles away and after going up Washington Pass and Rainy Pass. Got on the road by 5:15. Winthrop was very rustic and the views were great. My legs felt like absolute garbage for the first hour or so. I had lost most of my cycling motion and had to relearn it. My butt was in bad shape too, but that's a private matter :). Stopped because my right bar end shifter had become loose. Saw a deer and a wood pecker. It was pretty windy until we got to the North Cascade Highway route. The three of us climbed for a bit. It was cold but the weather was good. Saw another rider here and there but it was pretty quite. There was a campground along the route that had some water, but I completely forgot about it. Duh. Mark had a good climb and passed me. I was in bad shaped, but just told myself to keep turning the pedals. Just needed to warm up. The sun as out though and not much cloud cover made for really great views. VM took a picture of himself and bike at the elevation sign. The descent was pretty easy and fast. That climb took a long freakin' time. At the top, I had some Pringles which I forgot I had. Salt!!

Rainy Pass was somewhat anticlimactic because it was 'only' 4855' and we didn't start so low this time. It was raining, but not hard. The descent started out okay, but then it got windy and then I saw a sign saying 'Warning. Severe cross winds next 27 miles'. So here I am going downhill but having to stand up on the pedals to go anywhere. Ugh. A little hard on the morale. Trying to keep what happened to Stan out of my head but not so easy.

Finally made it off the Rock and out of the wind. I was riding by myself at this point. I think we covered around 275 miles. US 20 was the road we were on. A pretty nice road with a good surface. I made it to Newhalem where the wind became a nice tailwind so I cranked it over to the next control in Marblemount in pretty good time. I did not really know quite where Arlington was in relation to where I was so I did not feel 'out of the woods' just yet.

The next turn was onto SR 530 in Rockport. There was a secret control here. A secret control is exactly what it sounds like. It is not on the cue sheet, but it there it was. They had some Krispy Kremes and more nice volunteers. We talked about the usual stuff one talks about after riding 330 miles. Finally I began to feel like I was going to pull this ride off. I had about 110k to go and needed to be done by 10 pm. It was around 12:30 or so. I felt pretty good too; both physically and mentally. I was hoping to bust out a 'quick' 66 miles and do a little dance of joy when I got done. Not the case.

Staying on SR 530 was all I had to do and I would be home. Unfortunately, the tail wind I was enjoying to Marblemount/Rockport became a headwind as I changed directions. Riding towards Darrington was very frustrating because there was one stretch where the road just went dead straight disappearing into the horizon and even down a few percent but I was just dragging along. Mentally I was becoming quite frazzled and trying to stave that off . I think my body was saying 'hey, what happened to the 500k you promised us'? My last ride was 400k and each time I added 100k, I learned something new. Here I am doing 200k more and I had no idea what to expect.

The road back was not so good with some sections having no shoulder and some paved with walnut sized rocks. Ouch. The wind was still against me. The other frustrating thing was there was no signs giving reassurance that yes, Arlington was at the end of the road. A few times I started to wonder if I was going the right way or how much farther it was. I tried to use the mile markers as guides, but had no idea what the mile markers were in reference to. I tried to calculate based on the worst case scenario so I would only be pleasantly surprised. I just buckled down and tried to make it the last 50 miles or so and not lose it. My feet were killing me as was the rest of me. That is when I remembered I thought ahead and made an appointment with Magic Fingers Molly for Monday and that made me feel somewhat better.

I finally saw a little green sign that said 'Arlington' with a little arrow pointing in the right direction. Relief. I let out a big smile when I made the final right hand turn on the cue sheet. It said it was only 3.7 miles to the final stop. It was then I finally allowed myself to think 'No flats!!'

I finished the ride in 34 hours 47 minutes. The organizer thinks there is a provision for riders who stop to assist in a emergency situation which might knock an hour off my official time, but he had to look into it (There isn't such a thing, but kudos to all the riders who assisted Stan during the brevet -Ed). Does not really matter to me all that much, but I might be credited with a time of 33 hours 47 minutes instead. Not bad for nearly 380 miles and 15,000'-16,000' of elevation changes.

Thanks for reading...

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