Crusty Cassette

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It was a clubby affair. I think registration may have sold out in the first 4 hours as someone told me. My bib number was 1116 out of some 1300 riders. I know I was lazy about getting started with the registration process--maybe forty minutes late.

In addition to the early registration once should have gotten room reservations perhaps even before knowing you were in the ride. You can always cancel a room. Not staying in the designated hotels added complication to logistics especially in Vancouver. We missed both the ice cream at Days Inn in Bellingham and the "party" at the Coast Plaza in Vancouver.

The ride itself was unremarkable. What passed for long climbs were pretty easy. There were many steep rollers but they were short. One hill was called "the Wall" and it did have that appearance but it was just MacIntosh with only 10% rather than 12% gradient.

So, given this, it is a great ride for the almost fit. For me, it was dull. For one, I wanted to stay with Linda partly because I needed her to help me follow the multipage trip-tick. And partly because it was impossible to get into a nice rhythm because much of the route was on bike paths with attendant dangers most of the rest were on city streets including the last several miles riding traffic through downtown Vancouver dodging cabs and negotiaing narrow streets. Impossible to enjoy the ride when you're checking for trucks and cars on your left and cyclists on both sides. We had to keep cyclists in sight in order to navigate all the twists and turns. Often new directions occurred only 1 or 2 tenths of a mile apart.

I was almost killed in a roundabout out in the low-traffic zone. My fault really. It was a two lane roundabout and my lane position said I was taking the first exit. About the time I realized it was a) a roundabout and b) the cyclists I was following were taking the third exit, I was right hooked by a driver who presumably thought it was alright to exit from the inside lane 'cause one of those stupid cyclists was in the outside lane. Fortunately I missed the rear right fender and was fine. Just 'cause I'm stupid, should I have to die?

With Linda I found myself zipping off on the hills and then waiting at the top. Linda did a good job mostly on the flats but on the hills I wanted to spin and she couldn't keep up.

There was very little chatting with other riders on the route. Cascade emphasized over and over the importance of riding single file and in practice that is about all you could do. You didn't want to be distracted. There weren't always good shoulders and often there was much traffic.

The west siders took all this in stride. If you ride on the west side, you ride in traffic and you get good at it. My eye-sight makes it difficult for me to resolve an image quickly and react so I'm really careful in traffic. I did not see Chinatown or the Gaslight district when we rode through them. I saw the pavement, I saw taxi's cutting in front of me, I saw cyclists going by on the right at a stop sign.

All that aside, the scenery was stunning. We forget how green everything is on the coast, how buildings and parking lots appear to be struggling for air in the overgrowth. We started on the Bert Gilman trail near the Cascade Bicycle Club on Sand Point Way at Magnuson Park. The first 6 or so miles were on this trail. Yes, it had root damage. Yes, it was a mottley of light and shadow confusing my eyes. Yes, the restrooms were locked at 7 in the morning. Yes, there were intersections and cross roads and driveways. Yes, we were riding along Lake Washington. I know 'cause I could see flashes of blue but I dared not take my eyes off the trail. Not all the cyclists were doing RSVP. Lots of cyclists and runners who figured it was just another Friday morning and they happened to be swimming against the RSVP tide.

The west side is awash in bike trails. Some are in better shape than the Bert Gilman trail but have really aggressive gates that prevent motorvehicles from using the trail but also make it difficult for all but the most skillful rider to negotiate them without putting down a foot. No cyclists ran these intersections today.

Support consisted of a mechanic's SUV and one food stop each day. RSVPers were encouraged to shop at cafes and bakeries along the way and many were named on the trip-tic. And so we did along with 1300 others. I soon lost track of which little town we were in, but where ever we were, we were scarcely noticed. We were hardly the only cyclists on the road. Cars slowed and waited patiently for the most part when we clogged a narrow city street. Linda and I skipped the food stop on the first day. We'd already eaten and pottied. We didn't need or want to stop. Much of the logistics of this event were dependent upon the riders finding there own support for food and facilities. A few groups showed up with water and snacks for a donation.

The best of these may have been the girls at the top of Chuckanut Drive with their lemonade stand. It was much appreciated by the riders who had climbed the most spectacular river view of the trip. This was mid-afternoon and the temps had risen into the 80s and Chuckanut is really a hill and goes on for a couple of miles anyway. Linda remarked at the "size" of some of the riders. I remarked at one particularly heavy woman who had pulled off on one of the few side rodads on Chuckanut and appeared about ready to lose her rest stop.

Once again I kept slipping away form Linda and then stopping to wait. I got about as much rest as exercise on that climb. But, hey, the views were almost worth negotiating with two way traffic, rock cliffs to your right, plunging cliffs to your left. No shoulders. What fun!

We followed a handful of riders through downtown Vancouver. These were riders who had done this ride not once, but as many as 17 times. Maybe if I lived on the coast and didn't need to drive six hours two and from the event; maybe if I had reservations at the Coast Plaza and good have partied at the end of my ride, maybe I'd do it again. No, I guess, I won't. Way too much traffic even if you do know where you are going.

The end of the ride was a descent into the parking garage for the Coast Plaza where our bikes were stored securely for the night. Showers were avalable and our luggage was in a conference room upstairs. We got a coupon for either a beer or a barbecue lunch. I was interested in neither until I had found my luggage and my hotel.

A concierge told us the Best Western was just a couple of blocks away and Linda and I decided to go shower in our own rooms and then come back. turns out the concierge should have asked us which Best Western. It wasn't the Sands. Nor was it the Edge some 10 blocks away. In fact it was the Downtown. We got plenty of walking in. I had hoped to be able to ride my bike to this hotel. It was really only 1.25 miles from the Coast Plaza and I was sure there would be a bike path. There was: the sea wall along English Bay. After we'd walked about, we could see that we'd have had only a block or two of fairly easy traffic from either hotel to the bike path. Of course the Concierge didn't understand this or he might have told us we could cycle instead of scoffing. The Best Western Downown even had bike rentals for folks to use on the sea wall.

The bridge at Pit Meadows

All of this adventure would have been unnecessary if we'd had reservations at the Coast Plaza. Get 'em before you register for RSVP.

We ended up skipping the barbecue and the beer and had a good diner at the White Spot in our hotel and then walked casually down Granville to Robson street, spent some quality time in a Chapters (sort of a Borders book store) and more quality time in the Sears across the street looking for a public restroom.

This was Saturday night and on our return a block of Granville had been blocked off to traffic. The local color was putting on a show. Outside the cinema a young white guy was rapping to whomever would listen. An elegant dress shop shared space with a bar/cafe and sex-toys shop.

The sun had come out in Vancouver, apparently this is uncommon, as everybody tried to get naked. A good many nubile breasts shimmered in the sun. Across the street from the White Spot we watched people, mostly older men, leave the Yale hotel and smoke. Sometimes just one or two; sometimes five or six. Some would go to the Cecil Hotel (I pronounce it sessel) next door which was clearly closed. The smokers always headed back in to the Yale. In the morning I overhead our desk clerk remark that they "didn't know what they wanted to do, smoke or gamble."

Linda spotted a pair of girls in very short skirts. Then she noticed, They were dressed to kill." They did have great figures carefully displayed. They pranced across the street toward us in their high heals, between them a skinny short guy in a black tie and dark coat. They were headed somewhere but why they were on foot, I don't know.

In the morning we used free shuttle service to get back to the Coast Plaza hwere we picked up our bikes and waited, and waited to load the buses at 10:30. Bekins trucks took our bikes and we found them back at Magnuson Park in Seattle on the grass awaiting us.

The passenger buses had the look and feel of an airline passenger compartment with plush seats, armrests, air conditioning,overhead storage and, to my relief, a portable potty. I settled in to a nap while Linda played with her phone--no data service in Canada for us but still lots to play with. An hour later we were approaching customs. Two hours later we were just clearing customs. They were off-loading all the passengers on each bus. Apparently they were not checking the bags we had stored in the bus's cargo comparment. It didn't take long to run us all by the gruff, black, customs chief and we were on our way once more.

Once again, the west-siders took all this in stride seeming not the least perturbed. Really, what could you do? But it did make a difference to us. We still had to get over the mountains to Cle Elum where we had our final reservations.

We hadn't prepped for a customs delay by packing a sandwich. Linda wouldn't let us stop for dinner until we got to Cle Elum. I was tired and hungry and I had done little all day but sit.

So, yes, I did get to cycle 190 miles this weekend, but I can't say I enjoyed most of it. I've done STP, Rhapsody, Ramrod and now RSVP on the west-side and I don't expect to go back to any of them. All were beautiful--Rhapsody perhaps more than any other--but all put me to close to too much traffic for far too long. Of the set, RSVP was the worst offender on that score.

Corrie

Eight Lakes; Leg Aches sponsored by a Lutheran Church in Spokane wss one of the first organized rides I ever did.

We started in Brown's addition, rode down into Hangman Valley, crossed 195 and climbed out again. I remember Nicki broke a chain that year on the climb.

It's been several years since I've done this ride. but I wanted to see Dave again. I haven't talked to him since before STP and our IBR trip. So I got up at 4:30 and made the 112 mile drive to the new start position: Group Health at the top of sunset Highway.

Dave and I have been pushing one another all season so I expected we might try to ride this one fast as we had the year following the year we'd arrived too late for pizza.

It was fun whipping over the rollers and maintaining a good pace on what appeared to be long climbs but which were really only 1 to 2 percent. And we got pizza, too. And I got leg cramps sitting in the shade eating it.

"Corrie,"

I heard my name called as I walked through Group Health's parking lot. Someone knew me?

It turned out to be the Crosses from Moscow. They had been at the spaghetti feed and had ridden half-Chafe and STP in two days. They plan to do Joseph with us though the hills have them a bit worried.

And I'm glad to say Katherine and Randy Cross are our newest TRC club members.

"Corrie," came another call.

The fellow in the white jersey sporting a red beard and mustache was Dwight. "Eisenhower" he said to help me remember.

I knew him now from Chafe. We had ridden together for most of two legs and I had enjoyed his company.

I was surprised that he recognized me. Was I wearing the same jersey? My eyes certainly weren't good enough for me to pick up this kind of detail. As I think back, though, I must be pretty recognizable. Short, bent forward chronically, puffy cheeks. I guess I'm readily identifiable at that.

We immediately made a threesome, Dave, Dwight and I. And we stayed togther for most of the day or at least until Dave decided it was more iinteresting to change his flats than to ride. So here was a mix of new and old.

Most of the route was the same as in the past. I enjoyed recognizing turns and climbs and knowing in advance how best to handle them--shift to a lower gear and stand; shift and stay seated but upright spinning furiously; skip the shift and just stand.

I remembered some hills as being steeper. I remember the ride out to fishlake as being longer; the ride back being hotter.

I haven't been riding all that long but there's lots of miles in these legs and lots of memories. Sometimes it's nice just to retrace a familiar route.

This was Dwight's first 8 Lakes and he'd have dropped us for sure had he been using aerobars. He plans to get them right away. So I don't know if I'm looking forward to his showing up sometime down here.

We made good time taking turns into the wind going out. My flat front tire just out from a rest stop slowed us a bit. Then Dave couldn't resist. A front tire flat wasn't good enough for Dave though. He had to flat the rear and then fiddle endlessly mounting and remounting the tire and fighting with the derailleur and finally adding more air.

This was Dave's day for flats. As Dwight picked up the pace and I gave chase, Dave fell back. Wait for him at the rest stop, I thought not wanting Dwight to out run me.

But at the rest stop, Dave didn't show. Had he skipped it? We waited longer than we could reasonably expect it would take for Dave to catch us and headed on.

We rolled in shortly afte4 1 pm in time to rack our bikes and still get pizza. But no Dave!

And then there he was, sweaty, a bit used looking. "I had another flat," he deadpanned.

Why not? Beating Corrie's flat with a rear flat was just a call. Dave wanted to raise.

You win again, Dave.

Dwight says he's riding Michelin tires. Dave and I are on Bontragger Hardcase? I wonder? . . .

Becky Phillips hasn't ridden with us for years but her facebook posts say she rode 8 Lakes and used First Aid to help an 8laker hit by a mountain biker enroute.

8 lakes was a mix of old and new for me this year.

For the ride of it! Corrie

I've struggled learning how to post photos to Crusty, and when I couldn't do it after the Moab trip, I decided to start my own blog on Blogger which easily accepts photos from Picasa although I like the concept of TRC blogs in one place. I learned enough from my first blog that I can now add photos here and have added photos to some of the old blogs- just to prove that posting the photos wasn't a fluke. I'll try to use the new blogger account for Boise rides of little interest to the other TRC members. Following is the story of the 1 week's ride between Durango, CO and Moab, UT.

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