Crusty Cassette

The sun had come out finally. I pedaled past Nisqually John Landing without pausing. I had four miles to go before I could turn around. I would be getting a second February Century after all.

My plan for a century last Saturday snapped when my derailleur cable did. The forecast of 60 percent chance of rain after 1pm dampened my expectations for this Saturday as well.

Chris said he might show up for a ride to Wawawai and back. So did Dave but he was holding out for Lapwai Loop. Chris has just gotten back on his bike and thought he might get to as many as 200 miles on the bike for the year today. On thursday he'd expressed doubts about doing Lapwai Loop so I was surprised to see his email Saturday morning saying he was riding but would prefer Lapwai because it has a lunch stop. Dave and I had already agreed that's what we'd do should Chris not ride, so we were happy.

Instead of being slow and easy, Chris set a pace up Tammany that had me working and Dave was visibly struggling, new 16 pound Madone or not.

I don't think we have to worry about Chris. He wanted to swing around Red Wolf and up to southway before heading back to the boat launch.

It was 1pm when I left Dave and Chris and headed for Taco John's. I had a little over 59 miles. What to do? Every plan I could think of left me short some miles at home. Finally, I caved. and headed toward Wawawai. Some calculations told me I'd need to turn around at 79 miles--four miles past Nisqually John.

This route has the advantage of being flat. It also has the disadvantage of swirling winds which dropped me to 14mph below Nisqually John.

Riding at one pace over flat terrain can be harder on your body than climbing hills. My right knee became painful and standing to stretch for a few strokes became an effort. I knew I could stop and walk it off, but I didn't want to. Fortunately back in town, the problem went away.

A second century, one thousand miles in February, and a finish in the sunshine (or, as Chris puts it, "without a drop of rain.) made me feel pretty good.

On the other knee, too much of the same thing can hurt. Perhaps that's why Doug headed for the hills today. Read that story and see his pictures here.

Dave's Madone and Dorky Mirror

Roy must have been puzzled.

We exchanged greetings but I scarcely looked up from my aerobars and hammred north toward Asotin.

Usually we'd have stopped to chat and discuss the another rare sunny Saturday in February. But I had a mission and didn't want to lose time...

We interrupt our regularly scheduled blog to bring you this exciting news bulletin.

One-Day Dave has come out of retirement. After a somewhat humiliating semi-retirement in 2009, One-Day Dave announced his return to cycling dramatically by showing up on a new Madone. Reader's will remember Dave as a veteran of many TRC centuries and for his Seattle to Portland ride in one day. Dave hung up his road bike several years ago in favor of a shiny new recumbent.

"I wanted to keep up on the hill's Dave said when asked about his new equipment.

Dave seems serious about coming out of retirement. "I've signed up for STP so now I've got to ride." So, we can expect to see Dave around this season, at least until he gets into shape. Then we'll see if you really can buy your way to a faster ride.

We now return you to the blog already in progress:

I confess a second century lurked in the back of my mind when I called for the Buffallo Eddy ride at 9. My plan was to have nearly 50 miles for the day at the lunch stop back at Southway. From there we would climb Lindsay creek where I could opt to do Lapwai or return on Tammany.

It was a plan that rested upon everything going right. Sunset is about 5:15 today which would have given ample time for the extra ride assuming the pace was reasonable and there were no problems.

The thermometer at my house showed 31 degrees when I left at 8:30 but when Dave and I headed toward Asotin I was already too warm. That brilliant sky exposed us to direct sunlight all the way out. We warmed up nicely. And I thought I was detecting some head wind which might mean a tailwind back. My plan was working.

"Oh, crap!" I said.

I knew immediately what was wrong. It had happened to me at Rockford on the 4th of July last year. My rear derailleur cable had broken. In shifting to an easier gear, I got no response. A tap of the high gear lever dropped me back into the smallest cog. No amount of clicking on the low-gear shifter had any impact.

"Damn."

I dropped back into the aerobar and increased my effort to match the gear I was in. Might as well be spinning and cruising as struggling at 6 or 7.

At Buffalo Eddy the frayed end of cable confirmed my diagnosis.

I knew I could ride back. I had done so from Rockford last summer with far more hills than I'd have today, but I was 10 lbs lighter and in better shape then. Oh, and did I mention, a nasty north wind had come up blowing far harder than the 2 to 3 mph Accuweather had suggested.

Doug showed up with his Salsa Fargo and a huge red bag. He hadn't known what we were doing or hadn't wanted to ride with us. Did he happen to have a derailleur cable in that bag? No.

Did everyone decide to ride to Buffalo Eddy this morning? Donna and Gary showed up resplendent in matching new orange jackets. "Don't suppose you happen to have derailleur cable," I asked innocently. No.

Dave and I thought we still had time to make it back to Southway for lunch and a 12:30 start as planned. "Don't wait for me," he said, knowing I'd need to maintain a faster pace and momentum before the rises.

At 10 mile bridge I stopped to call Pedal's 'n Spokes. I had decided to ride on in skipping lunch and didn't want to find Scott out-to-lunch when I got there. "I'm coming in on one speed. I'll be there about noon."

So, Roy, no offense, but I had miles to go before I'd sleep and I wasn't stopping by any snowy woods or Snake Rivers either. Hope you had a good ride.

Dave had agreed to keep our appointed 12:30 start while I re-cabled. We exchanged a couple of calls while Scott Ferguson struggled to get the cable-end out of the shifter, dealt with customers and phone calls. I walked into Pedals 'n Spokes at 12:01 and rode out at 12:30. Not bad, really.

One-Day Dave had discovered that those several years of cushy-on-the-tushy recumbent padded seats do not a callused-butt make. He spun out to meet me at the 5th street bridge but only to tell me he'd have to forgo the second lap of the day's ride.

I rode back to Southway with him, had a burrito at Taco Johns, and a discussion with my legs about what to do? Tammany? Lapwai? It was 1. I'd still have light, but did my legs really want to climb Tammany against the wind? At the Southway on ramp, my legs just took me over the bridge. I headed home around Evans and added a couple of extra miles for 65 for the day.

No century for me today, but lots of Saturday Surprisesincluding lots of riders out. Now all we have to do is get 'em to coordinate their starts. Herding cyclists is a bit like herding cats.

For the ride of it.

Corrie

Well, I wouldn't have said so.

I ride a bike but has it changed my life?

My first bike was a balloon-tired steel woman's bike my father dug out of the barn. It had been my mother's. It was vintage even in the mid-50's when it came into my life.The fact that it was a woman's bike created more embarrassment for me than that it was an adult bike several sizes too big for me. Neither kept me from daily trips to the pool, though I preferred a ride in my friend's car which saved the hot bike ride up the hill home.

Today I'm riding a several thousand dollar bike that is itself several models out of date as bike technology advances or suffers designed obsolescence. That bike has over 28,000 miles on it today and is my third adult road bike. I had a $75 dollar used 10 speed Swhinn for awhile and a Giant Innova Cross for the bike path after that. But I hadn't really begun to ride yet. I was a runner.

We lived three-quarters of a mile from the paved road where we got our mail. Those balloon tires did just fine on that sometimes muddy and rutted hardpan roadway. Dad put me on the back (it had a rack) and pedalled to the pavement for the Sunday paper. I learned my first bicycle lesson that way. Do not put your feet into the purty spinning spokes.

I don't remember any subsequent bicycle injuries until as an adult, I began to experience dogs, busy bike paths, and the like. Call me timid, but I have never broken a bone doing anything let alone riding a bike despite a couple of endos as an adult. (Blame the dogs and riding too close to the shoulder).

I never had any other bike than my Mother's as a child. The white side-wall tires were cracked like dry mud. I don't ever remember putting air in those tires and I know I never oiled the chain. Perhaps Dad did when I wasn't looking, but he didn't seem interested. Perhaps he was waiting for me to take an interest.

That bike had a kickstand. It stood next the wood-pile all the years of my youth in rain and snow. It was always there and ready to go. It gave me some freedom, but not too much--town was comparatively far away and my buddy didn't see the point in long bike rides.

I came to endurance activities late in college when I found myself both overweight and diagnosed with high-blood pressure. I began to run. In time I found a running companion and we completed seven marathons together. By the time the doctor told him he'd have to give up running we had both burned out on the running.

I had the cross by then and he bought a mountain bike. Our first rides were four miles around the Blue and Southway Bridges after school. He was recovering from surgery on a disc. Then we graduated to the big time--A long ride took us to Asotin or maybe we'd ride up the Spiral Grade. We started doing Evan's Road and thought that was something.

But we were Marathoners. We could do anything. My buddy found a bicyle route book for Spokane and proposed we ride a century. Why not? Half hte time you are coasting on a bike anyway. We picked the hottest day of the year, had only our water bottles, managed to get lost, and got back to the finish at only 95 miles. I was happy to eat a snack and let it go. But this guy was ambitious and driven by nature. He insisted we get back on the bikes and finish the century. Perhaps that's where I get my desire to ride 100 miles.

My mother's bike never exactly went away, but at 16 I started driving. At 18 I got my first car. The bike was forgotten. I never learned about road bikes until a college roomate showed up with one. He hooked it up above the back of his bunk. He didn't ride it to class. He didn't seem to ride it at all. But one day he did.

"How far did you go?" I asked.

"About 20-25 miles."

I was impressed.

My adult running buddy became my adult biking buddy. But his career was changing. He didn't have as much time to train. Still I was the reluctant one. When he decided to ride STP, I tried a 30 mile ride which took me all of 2 hours and reported back that I had no interest in STP. I had discovered good sense.

Still, I did most of his training rides and joined him for the metric century version of the White Pine Classic. We decided to do Tour de Lacs--the 40 mile and back version. that was in 1999. He was still on his mountain bike and I on my cross or maybe the cheap Raliegh mt bike I had bought for my son. That weekend I bought my first adult bike--a Bianchi Eros. It would be shipped to me from Vertical Earth in Couer d'Alene. He bought a road bike the next morning in Spokane on our way home.

In 2000, he talked me into riding STP for the first time. I was in better shape. He still hadn't been able to train as much as he'd have liked. I found myself riding up the hills passing people and waiting as the re-passed me. At 90 miles on day two, I still felt good and could only wonder at those I saw lying on their backs alongside the road. It's only 10 more miles I thought.

And suddenly there was Largent and his notorious guidebook to North Idaho Cycling--short version: find a hill and climb it.

My riding buddy was a building administrator, a principal. His schedule got so busy he scarcely had time to ride. I'd often start at his place and have a beer or several with him after the ride. It wasn't as good as having a riding partner, but hey, he provided the beer!

I was in my forties. I needed to find companions or do endurance on my own. So I went looking for riding companions and found Twin Rivers Cyclists. First it was Debbie and Nicki. Those two seemed to be at everything and rode at my pace. I decided to try Bite the Bullet. It's only 16 miles--32 if you count the return. I asked Debbie if anyone was going to extend the ride.

Debbie pointed out Steve and I approached him. "I hear you're extending your ride today."

"Yeah, out to Nez Perce for lunch About 20 miles one way..

I didn't know that this would became a regular ride for me after Bite the Bullet. That day was 85 miles. I drove home in heaven. I had done 85 miles! Oh, I had already done STP and that one century with my first biking buddy. But those were planned for. I had trained for them. Today I had wanted more than 32 miles but 85 was ridiculous.

I had fallen into bad company. It wouldn't end.

Steve seemed to be the bike club from my perspective. It was Steve who called for those long rides on weekends. I was good for one day, but not both. I didn't want to see a bike after a Saturday Century. Joseph with it's back to back centuries, scared me a little.

Steve took me on several long rides that summer including my first Winchester Century--my favorite local ride. We did White Bird with the Mt. Idaho extension. We did Cottonwood and followed it the next day with a Huckleberry ride. We did Hubbard Gulch and the Troy Grade. He took me up Wawawai Canyon and Albion Loop.

And just like that, he was gone, off to ride across the country. Would I keep cycling? Or would I just quit? I couldn't keep up with Chris who was pretty much the only other guy who'd show up for Steve's long rides regularly.

With Steve gone, who'd call for rides? I would. I put in nearly 11,000 miles that year most of it spent Chasing Cruel--my blog name for Chris.

And now I was the cyclist. A long way from the boy who never oiled his chain or pumped up his tires. I was cleaning my chain after every ride. I give away the cross, the Bianchi goes to my youngest son, and I buy a Lemond and Gary Fisher, and finally the Pilot 5.2 I'm riding now.. I joined the board of the club, became the treasurer, the webmaster.

I retired from teaching but began to get interested in advocacy. I find myself reading blogs and websites about cycling rights. I post daily pieces I've seen elsewhere in my reading. I plan my days and my weeks around "getting in my miles." I watch the weather forecast with apprehension and delight.And January finds us already signed up for IBR and RSVP. (if you don't recognize the alphabet soup, you're not riding enough.)

I fall into more bad company and end up touring in Death Valley, Owhyee, the Wallowa's. Linda's only way to satiate her travel bug is to get me to go on supported tours in Idaho, Oregon, Canada.Oh, and she did one in Greece. Bicycling may have changed our lives.

I begin to represent cyclists on Community Action Committees for the pedestrian bike way in Clarkston and the Southway/129 interchange and for the Port of Clarkston and nascent efforts to create a "Breakheart Trail." I join the Bicycle Alliance of Washington, The League of American Cyclists. Rails-to-Trails. The Cascade Bicycle Club. I become a league certified cycling instructor.

"And how are you spending your retirement?"

"I ride my bike."

No. Bicycling hasn't changed me.

For the ride of it.

Corrie