Orny's Cycling Journal

Welcome to “high season” week 1: Pittsburgh Randonneurs Meanville Greenville 200k. If weather, equipment, fitness, and motivation all hold together, I’ll log six century rides over the next eight weeks.

This first weekend featured the longest ride of the summer: a 125-mile 200k with the Pittsburgh Randonneurs. It took place just four days after I returned from a week in Denver. I wasn’t sure whether I’d suffer more after losing fitness from time off the bike; or whether I’d benefit from the extra rest and any physiological adaptations from a week spent at altitude. Prolly a little of both…

Up at stupid o’clock for a 45-minute drive up to Bill’s house in Zelienople, where I got to meet his cats before setting out with four other randonneurs. Weather was absolutely perfect, with scattered clouds and temps climbing from 61° to 84° through the day.

RBA De’Anna kept a moderate but steady pace all day. The four stops were evenly-spaced at 30 miles per, which was a bit of a stretch for someone with only one bottle cage. However, we made up for that with surprisingly long rest stops (by randonneuring standards). Not being a RUSA member (see here), I didn't even bother getting my brevet card certified at the control points.

The route was scenic, especially if you like endless farmland. By the end of the ride, everything smelled and tasted of manure. But we saw two dozen or more Amish buggies out on the roads, presumably on their way to some top-secret Amish conclave.

The course was also very rolling. With 7,700 feet of climbing, it was the third most climbing I’ve done in a single ride in ten years—surpassed only by two other 200k rides, one of them my April Sandy Lake brevet.

I was strong through 80 miles, but then spent the next 37 miles yoyo-ing off the back of the group. In the hottest part of the day, with just 6 miles left to go I finally fell off and limped to the finish at a reduced pace, utterly wiped; but justifiably so, after ten hours in the saddle.

That was a good effort tho, as it restored both my acute and chronic training loads to the level I was at before a week off the bike in Denver. It also tallied as my seventh century (plus) of 2019, my second 200k of the year, and—so far as I can tell from my records—my 80th all-time ride of 100+ miles.

And also the first of as many as six centuries in an eight-week "high season”. Now it’s time for focused recovery in preparation for ride #2...

A week at a Tuscan villa is a cyclist’s dream vacation: scenic rolling hills, sunny Mediterranean weather, and—in May—the chance to visit the Giro d’Italia, one of the three European Grand Tours at the elite level of professional cycling. When the opportunity arose, I leapt at the chance.

Although the trip was ostensibly to join Inna and her kin for a family reunion, cycling was my main motivation and goal. Since this is my cycling blog, that’s the scope of this post; you can read about the non-cycling aspects in my overall trip blogpost on my main blog.

My rental Bianchi at our villa

While the countryside was amazing, my rental bike, the weather, and my schedule all fell short of my aspirations and expectations, so I came home disappointed. Here are the details that add up to my overall underwhelming experience.

After arriving at our attractive villa late Saturday night, on Monday I drove to the Chianti Bike shop in the nearby village of Falciani. The proprietor claimed to have not received the email I’d sent requesting a week-long rental, but he spoke enough English that we communicated, and he set me up with a serviceable Bianchi Infinito.

Although Google Maps routed me along the intriguingly-named Via Ho Chi Minh in Impruneta, I drove home safely and added the various accoutrements I’d brought from home to the bike, such as my saddle bag, GPS cyclo-computer, and so forth.

The weather was cold and cloudy, with isolated rain, but between showers I set out for a quick six-mile shakedown cruise: from our villa in the village of Mezzomonte (Italian for “Half a Mountain”) down to the bottom of our ridge, then up and down another hill before climbing back up to our villa from the opposite direction I’d descended.

Having Campagnolo shifters, which work differently than my Shimano ones, the bike took a bit of getting used to. But that was nothing compared to the non-compact gearing. Whereas I’m used to riding with a lowest gear of 34x28 (32 gear-inches), the rental only went down to 39x25 (41 gear-inches). In real terms, that means its easiest gear was 28 percent harder than what I’m used to. It’s as if you took my regular bike and removed the two easiest gears.

That wouldn’t be a problem on flat terrain, but Tuscany (much like Pittsburgh) is full of short, stupidly steep hills. After a screaming, swooping descent down off our high ridge toward the town of Grassina, I made a side turn onto the little hill I wanted to climb, up to a hilltop church. With no gears sufficient for the ascent, I had to stop along the way to let my legs recover; and I never stop on climbs (thanks to the miracle of modern gearing)!

After topping that climb, flying back down to the valley, and dragging myself back up the ridge to our villa, I’d climbed over 1,000 feet in less than six miles, and was really feeling the effort, especially in the right calf I’d injured last month. Between the stupid hills and the cold, wet weather, I was already wondering who in their right mind would call Tuscany a cycling paradise!

The weather remained cold and unsettled Tuesday, and I stayed at the villa because Inna had stayed home that day, rather than sightseeing.

Wednesday morning I woke to yet more rain. Still, having spent $200 to rent a bike, I set out between storms on what looked like a simple 20-mile route downloaded from Chianti Bike’s website.

Having driven it a couple times, the road from the villa to the nearest town of Impruneta was becoming familiar, but once there, the shape of the ride became decidedly pear-esque. At first, I missed a side turn and went off track; but after backtracking, I discovered that the official route took me the wrong way up a one-way street, before it later simply rejoined the main street I’d already wrong-turned onto! That’s dumb.

Crossing the Greve

Il Ferrone Detour

As I hit a short descent into the village of Ferrone, the rain promptly started to pour again, so I pulled off and stood forlornly underneath a strip-mall overhang for 15 minutes, waiting for it to pass.

Setting out again, things got even worse. I promptly missed another turn and had to double back. After crossing the river Greve, the side road immediately turned to gravel, which at first seemed interesting, in that I’d be experiencing the same gravel roads as the nearby “Strade Bianchi” professional bike race. But it wasn’t gravel so much as deep, wet, sucking mud.

I tried climbing the side hill next to a farm before realizing I was off course and doubling back. Then I plowed through what looked like a sodden logging road and forded a stream before realizing I was again off course and backtracking. On my third try, the correct “road” looked even less-used than my previous two mistakes. With me and the bike covered in mud, I angrily decided to abort the off-road bullshit, give up on the bike shop’s route, and just set off on my own. At least then I could stick to the pavement!

So I pulled over and tried to plan an ad hoc course that would hit the same major towns as the bike shop’s route. I decided to stick to the strada provinciali: the primary roads. They were busier, with more motor vehicles passing at higher speeds, but at least they were paved!

I followed SP3 back to Ferrone, then through Falciani—recognizing the Chianti Bike shop as I passed by. Then SP2 up to Tavarnuzze, which I also recognized from the previous evening’s grocery trip. Despite the wet conditions, I flew on these smooth primary roads, which were also much flatter, congenially following the river valley rather than billy-goating up and down over steep ridges.

By then I was feeling confident enough to consider rejoining the original bike route I’d downloaded, which cut across Tavarnuzze by taking a small street over a steep hill. But in a continuation of the day’s extemporaneous nature, I was turned away by a road closure!

Back on the provincial road out of Tavarnuzze, I endured a long (but thankfully not steep) climb up SP69 through Bagnolo back to Impruneta, which was all familiar from the previous afternoon’s drive. Then SP70 back to Mezzomonte and our villa. 22 miles, and thankfully less climbing than I’d feared (1,700 feet).

If you noticed that I haven’t talked about the Giro d’Italia yet, it wasn’t because I hadn’t thought about it. If I was going to do it, Thursday would have been the day I visited the Giro. Out of all 21 stages, Thursday’s stage 12 from Osimo to Imola was the closest to Florence.

However, Imola would have required an uncomfortable and indirect two-hour drive each way, across the Apennines, and hours of standing along the roadside, waiting. It would have been a full-day committment.

At the exact same time as the riders finished in Imola, online registration opened for a difficult-to-get-into meditation retreat that I was set on attending.

Plus, Thursday was my last chance to get a meaningful ride in. So after missing my chance to see the Tour de Langkawi in Malaysia two months ago, I chose to forego my chance to see the Giro when it passed so close.

A wet panorama in San Polo In Chianti

Because I needed to be back by 3pm to register for the retreat, I could only manage another short morning ride. I fabricated my own route into the Chianti region and set off, again defying the continued cold, wet weather.

I followed my Monday route down off the ridge and into Grassina, where it immediately started to pour. Despite my misery, I picked up SP56 and headed south through Capanuccia, San Bartolomeo a Quarate, and down into San Polo In Chianti. Then SP119 west to Strada In Chianti, north through the town on SR222 before hitting SP69 into Impruneta from the southeast, and the now comfortable SP70 back to Mezzomonte and the villa.

At just 20 miles and 1,750 feet, in wet conditions, it was a disappointing end to my riding in Tuscany.

On Friday I loaded the bike into the car and brought it back to the shop, picking up a set of red handlebar-end plugs as my only cycling souvenir to bring home from Italy.

SP70 swoops through Impruneta

From a cycling standpoint, it was a disappointing trip. I’d anticipated long, sunny days spent exploring the countryside, admiring gorgeous views, quaint villages, and quiet roads. Instead, I missed the Giro and only managed 50 miles spread out over three very short rides, all of which were cold, wet, and miserable.

With better weather, I would obviously feel differently. The landscape is scenic and breathtaking. The roads are narrow and swooping, providing endless variety and revealing new photo opportunities every couple hundred meters. The drivers mostly didn’t cause me any problems, and certainly were less belligerent toward cyclists than in the US.

Those were all nice things that I appreciated. I have a feeling that Tuscany would be a wonderful place to ride on a nice day, with better equipment. But the absence of sun for my entire visit literally overshadowed my enjoyment of the region.

In the end, I was glad to go back home to Pittsburgh, where—despite its shitty roads and aggressive drivers—it’s sunny and warm at least some of the time.

Follow this link for my full 2014 Pan-Mass Challenge ride report, including writeup, photos, and GPS logs.

Prelude

Epic rides deserve epic ride reports, so here’s the tale of the 2012 Mt. Washington Century…

The story begins with last July’s Climb to the Clouds ride. For at least the past three years, my Pan-Mass Challenge training culminated with that century ride up Mt. Wachusett a couple weeks before the PMC. But that ride isn’t well run, and last year my buddies and I reached the breaking point (ride report). As we sat around recovering from a brutal ride, all four of us concluded that we never wanted to do that ride again.

So this year I proposed a different ride that occupies the same spot in the New England cycling calendar: the Mt. Washington Century. It took very little convincing that a different ride would be more fun than yet another disappointing Climb to the Clouds.

The bonus is that this isn’t just another ride; it is an epic 108-mile ride over three named passes in the White Mountains. The route accumulates more than a mile of vertical by traversing the well-known Kancamagus Highway, Bear Notch, Crawford Notch, and Pinkham Notch. Billed as “New England’s most challenging century”, it circumnavigates most of the Presidential Range, including Mt. Adams and, of course, Mt. Washington, which is the highest peak in the northeastern US.

Preparation

In anticipation of the most difficult route I’d ever attempted, I spent a couple weeks doing hill repeats on the biggest hills in the area. On July 3rd I did four ascents of Great Blue Hill… and, of course, four high-speed descents, which I would also need to be ready to tackle. And on July 8th I did six trips up Eastern Ave to Arlington’s water tower… again with six screaming descents down the Route 2 on-ramp. While I wasn’t sure I was ready for 108 miles of mountains—especially after my self-destruction on my attempted Harvard century two weeks earlier (ride report)—I figured I was as ready as I was ever going to be.

I also wanted the Plastic Bullet to be ready, and it needed help. After a recent cleaning, my shifting had started skipping around. It had been more than a year since my last tune-up, so on Tuesday I brought it in and had them true the wheels and replace the chain and cassette. Seemed like a wise idea, right? Let the shop make sure everything was in good order for the big ride.

On Wednesday I biked to work, and the shifting was just as bad, if not worse. It was bad enough that after work I rode directly to the shop and asked them to fix it up properly. But as soon as the tech touched it, the shifter cable snapped at the shift lever: a problem that has happened to me two or three times in the past. When it happens, your shifter locks into the hardest gear and there’s nothing you can do about it. In short, had that happened during the Mt. Washington ride, I would have been absolutely screwed. I had really lucked out.

Getting There

The day before the ride, I left work at 4pm and met my buddy Noah drove me from my place out to Jay’s in Waltham. Rather than try to fight Friday rush hour traffic, we followed the first of several insightful suggestions I offered: get Thai from the restaurant around the corner. Everyone loved that idea… even me, who’d already eaten Thai for lunch for two days in a row. Hey, I figured it was good veggies and carbs! So that was my first good call.

Hanging at Jay’s, the sandbagging began. It was clear that each of us had some level of anxiety about the ride. Paul hadn’t ridden in a while. Noah hadn’t ridden much all year. Jay was surprised to learn that the ride’s site had lied about how much climbing was involved, proclaiming 4800 feet of vertical instead of a more realistic 6000'.

We also took a moment to acknowledge that this would be our last major ride together as a group, with Jay moving to Florida next month. We’ve had a great run together, and I think everyone’s sad to see it pass. On the other hand, doing the White Mountains would be a fitting and memorable way to go out!

The 3-hour ride up was pretty uneventful, and we arrived at the hotel Jay had booked at 10:30pm. That’s when the fun began: the woman at reception couldn’t find our reservation. Jay whipped out his laptop, but all he could come up with was some followup spam that Marriott had sent him. Apparently their central booking agent had added him to their spam list, but never bothered to make our reservation! Thankfully, by the time all was said and done, the local manager gave us a two-bedroom for a ridiculously low price; another crisis averted!

Departure & the Kanc

After grabbing some stuff from the hotel breakfast, we hit the road to the start: the Tin Mountain Conservation Center just outside Conway. We were already running later than Noah or I wanted, since it promised to be a very hot day. We signed in, got all our stuff together, and finally rolled out at 7:30am. The first mile featured a screaming descent which we all knew would be a kick in the teeth on the way back.

Within a mile, we turned left onto the Kancamagus Highway, arguably the most famous road in New Hampshire. It was a bright, beautiful morning. The road was smooth and steady. The mountains towered above us, the evergreens covering the hillsides offered fragrant shade, and the granite boulder-strewn bed of the Swift River ran along the road, keeping us company as we climbed toward its source.

My buddies stopped to stretch for a while, but I was eager to keep moving, so I went on ahead alone. The Kanc climbs gradually but steadily, but I kept a comfortable pace, knowing that I’d need lots of strength in reserve for the peaks that lay ahead. Still, I kept my buddies at bay until shortly after making the left turn onto Bear Notch Road. The Kanc had ascended about 800 feet in 12 miles.

Bear Notch

On the course’s elevation profile, Bear Notch looked like the easiest of the three ascents, with more gradual, easy climbing. And that’s pretty much how it turned out. It never seemed to get steep for any sustained period of time, and I climbed alongside my buddies, who had finally caught me. It was cool that three of us were together when we passed the event photographer, who captured us.

The climbing we’d done on the Kanc (800 feet over 12 miles) had put us more than halfway to the top, so the actual climbing on Bear Notch Road really only amounted to another 600 feet over 4 miles.

Then, without really expecting it, we were over the top and coasting at 35 mph down a winding, wooded road. Thankfully, the road surface was beautiful, and we zoomed down almost without touching our brakes, admiring the mountain and valley vistas that opened up on our left.

After a long descent (over 1000 feet in 5 miles)—but still too soon—we were dumped into a little village called Bartlett, where the first rest stop sat in a public common. We all had big grins on our faces as we recounted our experiences to one another. So far it had been a wonderful day, and the temps were still in the low 70s.

Crawford Notch

We rolled out and turned left onto Route 302, a somewhat busier road. Paul and Noah caught and passed me, but Jay hung with me as we fought an unexpected northwest headwind—the only time that happened all day.

Again, the ascent was long and gradual but very manageable (550 feet over 12 miles). As we got close to Mt. Jackson, we stopped for a photo opp at the Willey House pond, close to the source of one of my favorite rivers (the Saco).

We caught a slower paceline just as the road started kicking up at the summit. Jay and I debated passing them, but that soon sorted itself out, as some of them distanced us while others went backwards. The last two miles or so was a real struggle, gaining another 550 feet, but that made it all the sweeter when Jay and I crested Crawford Notch together, yelling weightlifter Ronnie Coleman quotes at each other (“Yeah buddy!”, “Whoooo!”, “Lightweight baby!”, and the ever-popular and slightly-modified “Everybody wanna be a cyclist; nobody wanna climb these big-ass hills… I’ll do it tho!”). It felt like a victory worthy of celebration, and thus it was nice to share that moment with Jay.

The problem with Crawford was that there wasn’t any real descent afterward. The road leveled out and angled down just a hair, but not enough to really make a big difference. The road was also barren, having emerged from the woods, and the temperatures were into the mid-80s.

Fortunately, the second water stop materialized in a convenience store parking lot. Surprisingly, the organizers had run out of sports drink, and we had to go buy our own from the convenience store. That was the organizers’ one obvious shortfall: we shouldn’t have to pay for Gatorade out of our pocket on a ride we’d paid to do!

Going Round the Mountain

Jay and I left Crawford and continued north on 302. I pulled him for a few miles as we turned east by cutting across Route 115 to Route 2. Here there was a mix of rolling climbs and a few long descents, but nothing like that off Bear Notch. Jay pulled away but Paul caught up and rode with me for a while before he too moved on.

Then, shortly before we reached Gorham, I rounded a corner to find myself facing an immense wall known as Randolph Hill. In the distance, the road looked like it took off like a jetliner, soaring into the sky (in reality it climbed 200 feet in less than a mile). By this point, temps had climbed to 90 degrees, and there was little if any shade along the route. I poured the last of my Gatorade over my head and plodded up the brutally steep climb.

Fortunately, the third water stop was at the top of the hill, where I collapsed in the heat. Thankfully, the organizers had cold drinks on ice in coolers, and I shoveled ice into my water bottle for the next segment. I also had a couple sips of Coke, which certainly went down nicely.

It was at this point that my stomach started doing flip-flops. At the rest stops, I felt bloated and queasy, full of too much liquid, which I’d been pouring down my throat; but on the bike, I felt pretty good for the most part. This would continue for the rest of the day.

Mount Washington and Pinkham Notch

Jay and Paul left the rest stop shortly after Noah showed up. Noah was pretty cooked, but I rested for a few more minutes and we left the stop together. The good news is that the road continued to descend (650 feet in 4 miles) after the rest stop, and Noah and I rode together through Gorham, where we finally turned south onto Route 16 for the climb up to the base of Mt. Washington.

Route 16 was a really long, steady climb, but a bit steeper than the easy slopes we’d taken to approach the other notches. It was grueling, but I found it manageable, so long as I kept pouring water on myself. On the other hand, Noah was still struggling and fell behind quickly, although he stayed within sight of me much of the way up.

Eventually I pulled into the gravel parking lot at the base of the infamous Mt. Washington Auto Road. Again, no shade was to be found, but with the temp peaking at 95 degrees, I loaded up on ice and headed out with Jay and Paul, who quickly gapped me as the climbing continued for another 4 miles to the top of Pinkham Notch. Overall, that climb had ascended 1200 feet over 11 miles.

Then came the final payoff: a 15-mile, 1500-foot descent down from Pinkham Notch, into the woods and down to Jackson. My legs were so beat that I didn’t push the descent, but just rolled with it. Just as I was thinking I could go wade in a mountain stream, Noah caught up with me and left me behind, so I plodded on.

I eventually reached the town of Glen, where 16 rejoins 302 and again becomes a major thoroughfare. As I looked left, I saw a moderately-sized hill that just wasn’t going to happen. So I pulled into a Dairy Queen parking lot and rested for a few minutes before finishing the final two miles to the last rest stop. That was the only unscheduled stop I made during the ride; I hadn’t gotten off on any of the hills, but I needed to gather my strength before attacking that one just before the rest stop.

The Final Countdown

The last rest stop was a grassy lawn—essentially someone’s yard. I laid on my back and just gasped due to the heat. It was only 13 miles to the finish, so I would certainly finish it, but I needed another good rest first. I downed half a can of Coke, filled up with ice, and poured ice water over my head before following my buddies, who had left five minutes earlier in hopes of finishing within eight hours.

Again, once I was back on the bike things settled into place, and I made okay time. I wasn’t strong, but made steady progress. With all the climbing behind me, it was just a question of closing it out, and surviving that final mile.

The final segment—West Side Road—was a long but nice ride, although it felt like I was still climbing a false flat. Finally I came back out onto Route 16, and half a mile later passed the point where we’d turned onto the Kancamagus. I marshaled my strength and made the turn onto Bald Hill Road that led up a punishing ascent up to the finish at Tin Mountain (officially it gains 300 feet in 1 mile). It was as steep and difficult as anything we’d done, but I finally drifted into their driveway and hung gasping over the bars for a minute before signing in and meeting up with the guys.

Final tally: 108 miles in 8:15, with 5800 feet of climbing and an average speed of 16 mph. For the mappy junkies, here’s a link to the GPS log.

The After-Party

I tried to eat a bit as we sat outside the Tin Mountain cabin, but really only managed to down a couple chocolate milks. It was still too hot to let our core body temperatures drop, and we all were feeling the effects. But this is where my second grand pre-planning idea paid off in a huge way.

I knew it was going to be hot. I knew we were going to be near lakes and streams. I knew we were going to be four stinky, grimy, sweaty guys stuck in a car for three hours. So one of my pre-ride emails suggested that everyone bring swim trunks, and they had. We briefly discussed where to go, then went back to the truck and exchanged our sweaty kit for trunks and drove to the nearest possible water: the Swift River we’d ridden by on the Kancamagus at the start of the ride.

We quickly found a swimming hole others were using, pulled off the road, and picked our way down to the torrent. As I said earlier, the whole area was just a pile of granite boulders: the smallest being the side of a dog; the largest being as big as a tractor trailer. The water was absolutely blissful: cold yes, but not blisteringly frigid. We dunked in the deeper parts, then sat in the middle of the rapids and let the cold water flow over us. Jay clambered around and found a way to swim underneath a huge monolith in the middle of the river. Everyone agreed it was the perfect way to relax and cool off.

At this point, I saved the day again. Jay jumped into the water and lost his sunglasses in the torrent, but I was able to spot them, so that was gratifying. Less gratifying was learning that Noah had stolen a towel from the hotel, when we had earnestly promised them we wouldn’t incur any incidentals. That was the one sour note of the trip.

The road home included a stop at a donut shop that featured (for me) more chocolate milk and a blissful rest in a big overstuffed armchair. Then we hit the Wolfetrap, a restaurant in Wolfeboro, Paul’s home town, so that was kinda cool, and my huge burger and cornbread were precisely what the chirurgeon prescribed. That was also where I saved the day yet again, pointing out to Paul that—despite his claiming otherwise—he really was about to leave his credit card behind with the check.

We got that straightened out and hoofed it back to Boston, where I was anxious to begin my next task: recovery! It was still Saturday night, and I had all day Sunday to shower, relax, fuel up, and rehydrate.

Das Ende

I really enjoyed the Mt. Washington Century. I think it lived up to its billing as a very challenging ride, but it was also just an awesome day all around. The scenery—the rivers, the mountains, the woods—was just breathtaking. The climbs were long and steady which made them very manageable but they still packed some challenging sections, and the descents were long and smooth. Sure, with a newer bike I could have pushed the top speed on the descents, but it was just as nice to let gravity do all the work.

The Plastic Bullet once again did its job admirably for an old bike with more than 20,000 miles on it. After the cable was swapped out, I literally didn’t once think about the shifting problems I’d had earlier that week.

This was my third complete century of the year, which puts me about on pace with my previous two years, and it certainly puts me in good shape for the PMC, which is only two weeks away (as of this posting). I’d love to do this ride again, but I’m not sure whether that will happen, with Jay moving away and the group likely to fragment.

Which brings me back to the idea that this was the last major organized ride for Jay, Paul, Noah, and I. From the ride to the post-ride swim in the Swift River, this was a perfect day and a fitting way to honor our friendship and our mutual encouragement. It was epic.

And I’m so glad I was able to convince them to go for Mt. Washington instead of the Climb to the Clouds. After last year’s CttC, we were too exhausted, overheated, and demoralized to even stay for a post-ride swim in nearby Walden Pond. The contrast between that and this year’s relaxing dip in a wild mountain stream just underscores what a truly awesome time we had on the Mt. Washington Century, making memories that we’ll take with us for years and years to come.

Chapeau, boys!

I want to report on two recent rides of note.

A week ago Saturday, Jay and I drove up to Laconia, New Hampshire and did a 65-mile ride around Lake Winnipesaukee (GPS log). Although there were no large hills, the route was constantly rolling up and down. That, combined with a strong wind and bad legs, spelled a rough day for me. However, it was late season, so my cycling form really didn’t matter, except for frustrating Jay, who is in the best form of his seventeen-years-younger-than-me life.

The route we selected stayed mostly to large main roads, which meant a lot of speeding traffic, and not many views of the lake. However, when the road did dip down by the lake, the scenery was quite nice, even if the leaves had only just begun to turn at that time.

We stopped for lunch at the Yum Yum Shop (a bakery) in Wolfeboro, and called our riding buddy Paul to make him jealous; he grew up in that town.

We were fortunate, because although the forecast had originally predicted a temperature around 70, it actually climbed above 80, which was a rare late-season treat. Near the end of the ride, Jay was warm enough to request that we stop at Ellacoya State Park for a brief swim, despite the strong wind and chilly water.

All in all, it was a mixed expedition, but it had its rewards, and it’s always good to explore new rides. If I do it again, I think I’ll look for more lakeside deviations from the main roads, especially on the northern edge of the lake.

The very next day was another first-time ride: Boston’s annual Hub on Wheels cycling festival, which includes a 50-mile ride around town. I did this one alone (GPS log), which I figured would be good, since I could take it easy and ride slowly, without having to worry about slowing my buddies down. Really, I was mostly interested in getting a little closer to my mid-October mileage goal, as well as participating in a ride I’d hoped to do for several years.

It didn’t work out that way, though. In an effort to avoid getting stuck in the mass of 4,000 riders, I lined up at the front, then set a quick pace on the first leg down the length of a car-free Storrow Drive and back. Getting off at the Bowker overpass and circling the West Fens, I surprised myself by leading for one of the front groups of hammerheads.

As we tracked down through JP toward Dedham, we gradually shed weaker riders, particularly on Peters Hill in the Arboretum and Bellvue Hill, where I took great pleasure in cracking a poseur in his little Lance Armstrong Radio Shack team kit.

While we weren’t the absolute front of the ride, I was proud to be only person who stayed in contact with one guy who went off the front of our pack. Eventually we re-formed into another small group before getting briefly hung up in the crowd of people doing one of the shorter routes.

When we got to Pope John Paul Park at the mouth of the Neponset River, the route signs directed us into a never-ending circle within the park. Knowing my way around that area, I bailed immediately, but because I happened to be at the end of our paceline at the time, none of the other riders in my pack saw me, and I rode alone the rest of the way back to the finish.

I was extremely surprised at finishing the 50-mile route in less than 3 hours clock time, averaging about 18 mph despite the strong wind, the many stops and starts in the urban street network, some extremely rough “surfaces”, and (of course) having worn out legs from the previous day’s hilly 65-mile ride. It was a very strong performance, which was very rewarding after sucking so badly the day before.

Although the ride took place almost entirely within the confines of the city of Boston, the route was actually surprisingly scenic. While I was already familiar with about 80 percent of the route, there were a few new bits, which kept things a little interesting.

It was a fun ride, and one I’d recommend. But if you’re a regular rider, make every effort to get there early, so that you can line up at the head of the pack, which is probably 60 percent recreational riders. Oh, and I don’t suggest pre-registering, since the Hub on Wheels ride has historically had pretty foul weather. 2010 had the best conditions in years, and it was only partly sunny and struggled to break 70 degrees.

Over the past few months, I’ve been re-reading my back catalog of cycling magazines, pulling out points that I thought were worth remembering and/or sharing. This final post contains all the stuff that didn’t fit the other categories, like travel, humor, and so forth.

• The French-speaking Caribbean island of Guadeloupe is a great spring training cycling destination.
• Elite pros often say that New Hampshire’s Mt. Washington is tougher than the Alpe d’Huez. It’s 7.6 miles with 2.6 miles being dirt, and an average incline of 12 percent. Long stretches are 18 percent, and it maxes out at 22 percent. Average wind speed is 35 MPH, and for decades it was also the site of the highest wind speed ever recorded on Earth. The course record is a blistering 9.6 MPH. The road is only open to cyclists on two days each year, and many makes of cars are not allowed on the mountain at all because of known weaknesses (mostly insufficient brakes).
• Due to physiological differences, women tend to have an advantage on hill climbs, due to their leg strength and lower weight. They also excel at ultra endurance events due to their larger fat stores to power long aerobic efforts. Their lower center of gravity also helps with bike handling. Men, due to their overall strength and fast-twitch muscle fibers, typically outperform women in sprints, on the flats, in time trials and sprints.
• When buying a new helmet or sunglasses, always test the combination, to ensure that the helmet and sunglasses fit well together and don’t interfere with one another.
• Foam plumbing insulation, which comes pre-sliced lengthwise, is the perfect material for protecting frame tubes when packing your bike.
• If you commute often, don’t lug your bike locks back and forth with you. Just leave them conveniently attached to the bike rack at work.
• It’s really, really bad form to wear pro or team kit if you’re not being paid to wear it. If you are stupid enough to wear team kit, you’d damned well better be able to put the hammer down, or people will look at you as a complete poser.
• On any ride where time matters, be sure to keep your rest breaks as short as possible. Remember this adage: “Going is faster than stopping.”
• The cyclist’s idea of a love triangle: me, my significant other, and my bike.
• Remember not to violate DuPont’s Law: the cool factor of Lycra is inversely proportional to the wearer’s distance from the bike.
• Those of you who use compressed CO2 cartridges to fill your tires should remember that carbon dioxide is 52 percent heavier than air. And that’s rotating weight, which is going to slow you down.

Check here for descriptions of my two rides during last week's trip to Victoria.

Two items to report…

Last Saturday morning my coworker Jay drove me down to Dartmouth (Massachusetts) to take me on the ride he used to do when he lived down there. We wound up doing 62 miles in 85 degree heat.

The route traversed several peninsulae sticking out into the Atlantic. We started out tooling through South Dartmouth and waited for an open swing bridge to cross Apponagansett Bay before turning south and skirting the water down to a place known as “Cow Yard”. Back up the peninsula to cross Slocums River at Russells Mills, then down the next peninsula from Slades Corner to Horseneck Beach.

While the whole route had been hot and sunny, when you got to within 200 yards of the beach, it suddenly clouded over and the temperature dropped a good 15 degrees, as the southerly wind was blowing the seasonal sea fog onshore, and you couldn’t see more than twenty feet offshore.

Took another bridge to the next peninsula, crossing over the Rhode Island border as we went up to Adamsville, then down to Little Compton and Sakonet Point, where we took a good breather. We’d pushed ourselves a little hard, and were averaging about 16.7 mph.

Discovering it was later than we thought (my cyclocomputer was still set to Standard Time), and feeling it in our legs, we decided to take a more direct route home, back through Little Compton and Adamsville (where we hit a very run-down general store), then Westport (Massachusetts) and Dartmouth.

Overall, it was a pretty cool ride. Nice rural and coastal New England, with not very much traffic at all, and very scenic in places. Very flat, with only a few minor hills. Despite being on the coast, the breeze wasn’t too bad, and we seemed to make pretty good time until we started limping, around the 45-mile mark. A good workout, and an interesting ride. Wish I’d taken some pictures for you…

In more recent news, last Monday the bike went into the shop for the annual tune-up, but also to replace the wheelset, because of the dings I reported in this entry. After destroying two Ultegra rear wheels, I was looking for something a little more durable, and hopefully I’ve found it.

I picked up a pair of Mavic Ksyrium SL hoops. Looking around the group I ride with, just about everyone who is serious about riding has Ksyriums, whether they’re the primo SLs or the more wallet-friendly Elites. At $875/pair, they’re pretty pricey, but they also seem pretty rugged, and I added on their special warrantee program, which will hopefully cover me if I manage to destroy these wheels, as well.

I rode them 75 miles on yesterday’s Quad Cycles group ride, and I’m pretty happy with them. They’re really light, spin up really fast, and the bearings feel nice and smooth. Although I’d expected a lot more ratchet noise from the hub when coasting, it was significantly less than I’d feared. And of course with bladed spokes and anodized bits they’re pretty sexay. So I’m really pleased and looking forward to putting some more miles onto them.

2007 has been a slow year already. Last year by this time I already had 1200 miles under my belt, but this year I’m only at 580. Of course, last year I rode 4,600 miles, and decided I deserved a good, complete break from riding during the off-season.

And I just haven’t found the motivation to get out there yet this year. Part of it’s lingering fatigue from last year, part is the cold weather, or the idiot joggers who always flood the roads and paths before next weekend’s Boston Marathon. Or maybe it’s just that I fear how much condition I’ve lost in the past six months of comparative inactivity.

The one bright spot has been my one-day ride out in Las Vegas, prior to the 2007 DargonZine Writers’ Summit. Having read this report about a ride out to the loop road in Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area, I decided I’d do the same ride.

The bottom line is that it was a great ride, and I really enjoyed the bright sunshine and 75 degree weather in March, having left Boston when it was 20 degrees out.

I can’t say it’s an exhaustive writeup, but you can find a bit more detail about that ride in my Summit Travelogue post in my regular journal. Look at the writeup for Thursday, where you see the same picture as appears at right.

This past weekend was Labor Day, the official end of summer in Maine, and I took the opportunity to undertake an adventure that I’ve dreamed about for several years: I biked to Augusta and back.

Now, Augusta is 180 miles from Boston, and that’s just a little too much for a one-day ride, so really I had two options. I could get a hotel room in southern Maine and try to ride the entire 360-mile round trip, which is significantly more than I’ve ever done in one three-day stretch. Of course, that would also entail using a vacation day to make it a four-day weekend. Or I could take my bike on the train to Portland and ride up from there, which is what I did.

When I was in grammar school and high school in Augusta, the distance to Portland was always our yardstick. Being the biggest city in Maine, and one we’d lived in previously, it was often a destination, and its 60-mile distance made for a handy measurement of an hour’s drive. If you were going to Lewiston, Brunswick, or Waterville, you’d get there in half the time it took to drive to Portland; Bangor was one and a half times as long.

The route I took from Portland to Augusta, which I’d already scouted out a couple times, is 70 miles each way, which is still a very respectable ride, especially considering the hills. So that’s what I did, following Maine Route 9 most of the way, then cutting across the Litchfield Road before entering Augusta on the Whitten Road.

Although it was only 70 miles each way, it was definitely a challenge. Unlike Boston, where you have to seek out hilly terrain, Maine is constant hills. Most of them weren’t large (rarely more and 100-200 feet), but a constant, unending stream of rollers with a few spikers thrown in. Of particular note were the ridges around Bradbury Mountain in Pownal, climbing out of the deep valley of Lisbon Falls, and the Litchfield Road, but the real difficulty was that there just wasn’t any flat.

The wind, too, was a big factor, at least on Saturday, when it was blowing steadily either into my face or across my route. Still, I made the northbound trip in 5 hours, and the southbound, which was with a lighter wind mostly at my back, was about half an hour quicker. All tolled, I rode 140 miles and averaged 16.5 MPH, which is my normal fast pace, with no mechanicals.

There weren’t too many particular items to note along the way, but I’ll relate a couple. The first thing I did after getting off the train was actually to ride around my old neighborhood. We lived in Portland until 1973, which comprised my childhood up to about age nine. The old house is still very much there, complete with the garage that we used to play (the *real* form of) dodgeball against. Seeley Pond has been filled in and built upon, and Patches candy store is now a coffee shop. But it seemed a quiet, pleasant little neighborhood of stately, turreted old New England homes.

At one point I was riding through Cumberland or Yarmouth when I flushed something big out of the margins of the road. It was a huge bird that leapt into flight right in front of me. My guess is that it was some sort of turkey vulture or something, because it had a wingspan of about five feet and that characteristic ugly, misshapen head. Kinda startled me a bit!

But other than that, the trip was pretty uneventful. The rolling Maine farmland was scenic, although it left the wind with more fetch than I’d’ve liked. Sabbatus Pond, the Tacoma Lakes, the Androscoggin River at Lisbon Falls, and Cobbossee Stream all provided nice scenery. But above all, I accomplished a long-held dream of riding home, which was definitely an adventure, and a fun and memorable one, at that.