I can be a bit impulsive. I have lots of shoes and own more bikes than I can ride in a week. I said yes to London Edinburgh London on a whim and then got in. I decided to do the Stampede because it fit better into my schedule for LEL in July. But after our fleche on Easter weekend, I told Steve Haas, and Tom and Alayne Haggerty that there was no way I was going to Texas. I just wasn’t in shape for the type of long distance abuse a 1200k dishes out.

So when Dan Driscoll called me wanting to know when I’d send my flight info to him for the Stampede, I guess randonesia had set in, cuz I said I’d get right on it. I was Texas bound.

The little town of Waxahatchie is about 40 minutes south of Dallas. I am picked up by A. Ray Allen, a Texas rando-man with a penchant for fun. He has a party bus that is set up for sleeping, drinking and general fun-hogging, regularly making the trip to RAGBRAI. We make an ice run to keep the brews cold and then return to DFW to scoop up some of the Seattle boys – Chris, Andy, Gary and Hugh. We settle into the bus and get acquainted.

Once in Waxahatchie we de-bus at the La Quinta, check in, and find food. I jump into the SIR group and we cross the street to Chilis for chow. Unmemorable, of course, but I have already switched gears on food. It equals fuel and nothing more. In the AM, I build my bike and go out for a spin with Andy and Gary in search of a worthwhile cup of coffee. We actually find one and enjoy what will be our last good coffee (except for Starbux Via’s) for a few days. Back at the La Quinta, people are arriving and the energy is picking up. My roommate, Agnes, arrives and we sort our stuff for the next few days.

One great thing about the Stampede is that it’s point to point and so our drop bags are moved daily up the road. One bag, tons of stuff. I am feeling organized, which is unusual for me. We are expecting a cool day, and a couple of cold mornings, lots of wind, and possible rain. I had been giving Steve and Tom some sh*t about packing SFR wool. I had one piece of Rivet wool with me, but had also brought a wool underlayer. I needed everything in the end, except raingear, we missed the precip (thank god).

The La Quinta is conveniently located next to Walmart so a few of us made a quick trip over for last minute purchases. Batteries, Ensure, etc. We were met by a Walmart greeter who wished us well on our journey, and said he’d pray for us with his guardian angels. I wondered what aisle you could find guardian angels on, but didn’t ask.

While riding back, a big pickup truck zooms past us and a blonde headed woman leans out the window, yelling at us to get off the god damned road. I yell back at her to shut up, and she tells me to bring it to her. It is Pam Wright and Dan D. but Andy and Gary didn’t recognize them. She and I are making a scene and the SIR boys’ jaws drop to their bottom brackets. Pam and I get a good laugh later on when we are all together.

After a pre-ride meeting, the group takes pics and then convenes for a last meal over at the local Carinos. Steve, Tom and I talk about our ride plans. Mine is to suck their wheel unconditionally for 90 hours or less. Funny thing, that’s their plan as well…only to suck mine. We are in trouble.

The 2013 Stampede Herd
photo: Agnes G.

Day 1: 210 miles, Waxahatchie to Marble Falls
We depart at 6:00. Dan wants everyone to ride together at least until the first stop, then we can find our own way. It’s a civil pace and everyone settles in. There are just under 50 people on the ride, and it’s a bit intense to ride in such a large pack (aka the herd). I am catching up with some rando–friends I haven’t seen in a while, which is really nice. Bill Olsen is here with brother Mark, Lara Sullivan, who I haven’t seen since PBP in 07. Hugh is off the road and Andy has stopped with him (he has a broken pedal which will dramatically delay his ride, but he finishes). Steve and Tom are just ahead of me. Dan D. rides up and down the line, saying hello and watching riders. He looks like he’s herding cattle, minus the bullwhip and spurs.

We reach the controls and stop for the typical rando goods. All of these small towns that we pass through have marvelous courthouses. We head out into the prairie. Wild flowers, blue bonnets, lupine, buttercups dot the landscape, as does prickly pear cactus and tall grass. And there is big sky. We are heading down to Marble Falls, which is in hill country. Still traveling together as a group, we expand and contract as we go up and zoom down.

They are big on Justice in the Wild West, and there are plenty of courthouses to remind us.
Photo: Agnes G.

I have moved up towards the front, chatting with Vernon and Paul (both from CO and my old rando club, RMCC). Randy, the strongest drafthorse in the peleton (honestly, he must’ve pulled 75% of the time), and Ruth and Keith, who are a fast tandem from FL are also towards the front. They make a break on a downhill and I go with them. We leave the group behind, and as the tandem hits their booster rockets again, Paul, Vernon and I give chase. I barely hang on, and burn a few matches staying with them. Such fun!

The twin engined turbo – Keith & Ruth
Photo: Agnes G.

Big Sky, Big roads, Big Land.
photo: Agnes G.

At the next control, I take off with Gary and most of the herd, and don’t see Steve or Tom. We continue onward as a group, with a few jaunts off the front, then coming back into the group to regroup, talk to folks and move down the road. The day wears on. While the herd is moving along at a fine clip, our breaks take too long. 30+ people descending into a small town equals long lines. Gary talks to me about a plan to see where the group is heading and then to find an alternative place to stop. Dan moves us along at stops too. I figure that if I’m with the ride boss, then I will complete the ride. We end day one 210 miles completed. Gary and I shoot off in search of a beer. We locate some and drink it with dinner, and hit the hay.

Day 2: 209 miles Marble Falls to Columbus
Breakfast of champions – bloatmeal, coffee, and some kind of egg thing @ 3:30 am. The herd is departing at 4:00. There are supposed to be strong headwinds today, possible rain, and cool temps. Wool is the plan. The herd organizes and gets underway. It’s dark and we are heading up a ridge road of some kind. Gary, Kerin Huber and a few others are stretching their legs off the front. We hear a commotion and spin up to the intersection and stop.

Bad news travels fast. While heading up a hill in the dark, a wild boar (yes, a boar!), comes from nowhere, bombing straight across the road bisecting the herd. It takes down a tandem. The captain, Stephen, has road rash and is scraped up, the stoker hits the deck hard. Lara ends up in the hospital with a fractured pelvis and separated shoulder. Their ride is over. Total bummer.

As the herd regroups, we shake off the early AM trauma and head into a lovely peaceful gorge that the Guadalupe River has cut over the years. It looks like a great summer spot and the river calms us all down.

the Guadalupe River Gorge.
Photo: Agnes G.

As the day progresses, so does the wind. It is overcast, cold and windy, which is a blessing because if it had been hot and sunny and windy, we all would have been looking like those dried out bones, scattered across the prairie. Dan has said, “Everyone who makes it through Day 2 finishes the ride.” Steve and Tom are not riding with the herd. They are just a bit behind us, arriving at the control just as we are departing. They are riding really strong, because the wind is really picking up and just the two of them are making up time on the larger group.

Randy, a big Oklahoma man, and when I mean big, I mean big heart, big laugh, big legs and big engine, is pulling the herd for endless miles. The crosswind is strong enough to be riding at an angle, and if you don’t make the herd you are going to be swept up and dropped in Mexico. Agnes and Jan, who are really strong but tiny women, haven’t got a chance in this crosswind. Mark Thomas reels the herd in to get Jan and Agnes back into the group, and we carry on down the road. It is exhausting.

The landscape changes. We are moving through hill country, taking smaller roads that seem to be on ridges. It is much drier, more desert-like with junipers and prickly pear cactus. Locals driving huge dualie trucks, zoom past us, sometimes passing us with very large horse or cattle trailers, other times making sure to give us a big dose of diesel exhaust, just to remind us that we are an annoyance to them and their roads. Much of the day is a blur. Greyish skies, wheels, wind. 209 miles later we pull into our evening control. There is food in our rooms and Agnes and I collapse for a 3-hour sleep.

Day 3: 190 miles Columbus to Crockett
Another departure at 4:00, and Steve and Tom have joined the herd. Dan has told us there will be tailwinds on Day 3 & 4, but we are denied. Another day of headwinds greets us. More of us are able to take some turns at the front and it’s fun to talk, banter and move along. As a group of 30, we are all getting to know each other, and the day, while still long at 190 miles, seems to move along. The sun is out, it is warmer and people are now taking more turns at pulling in front. Jan and I get a chance to pull and it feels great to have two women in front.

We leave hill country behind and are in easy rolling terrain, green pastures filled with beautiful horses that come up to the fences to say hello, and at times to run along with us. It is fantastic to see these animals. There is so much space for them to run in. Huge longhorn cattle rustle around. And of course, there are the dogs.

A few moments of shade in the Sam Houston National Forest.
photo: Agnes G.

Plenty of dogs run out to the road, barking madly, looking vicious. But most of them stop short when they get to the edge of the road as the herd rustles by. The dogs can’t quite get a handle on how to chase or penetrate our mass, so they let us know how tough they are, but keep a bit of distance. Of course, a loud whistle helps immensely.

We stop in a small town for lunch. Gary, Jan and I zip into a small lunch spot that says café and bistro. Gary is on the hunt for real coffee (which means something that would be served in Seattle, where coffee is king). We enter into the establishment and are greeted by a very large woman. We are, in fact, the smallest people in the place except for one very small Texan matriarch whose grey beehive hair is twice the size of her head. The menu doesn’t have coffee at all, but instead we sit down to the lunch special: fried shrimp and catfish, dirty rice (white rice and hamburger bits), green beans and key lime pie. While everyone else is at a convenience store, we are here eating KEY LIME PIE! Oh hell yes, life is good.

Oh yeah. Key Lime PIE!
photo: D. Banks

The herd hasn’t had many problems mechanically. Andy and Hugh on Day 1 with a broken pedal. Hugh has since joined the herd, Andy DNF’d, but later saves his ride with a 200k perm. He joins the crew of volunteers moving our stuff down the road and meeting us at checkpoints.

Life in the herd is interesting. On the one hand, it’s great to have the strength and support of the total group. On the other, some freedom is traded. Dan keeps an eye on all of us, calling the shots, checking in with many throughout the day. I wonder how much of his own ride he gets to do. Our herd boss has earned the respect of all of us. He has the strength to keep an eye out for everyone in this rolling group of 30 for 90 hours. Not an easy task. Most of us can barely keep ourselves going along let alone watch out for 30 others. Impressive.

In the late afternoon, I flat and everyone stops. That’s 30 people waiting for me to change my tire. No pressure there. Thankfully, it goes without a hitch, and we are back up and running 5 minutes later. I am relieved to have not wasted everyone’s time and Mark Thomas gives me some sh*t about not getting my white jacket dirty. I remind him of my mantra, “if ya can’t be good, ya better look good.”

As the day winds down we are into some rollers. I start going off for town limits signs. I take 4 in a row. No one is even contesting me, but I don’t care. The herd breaks up just a bit, and we trickle into Crockett, our resting place for the night.

Dinner is there and Jan’s husband has bought some beer! WooHoo! Vicki Tyer’s mom has made food for all of us and it hits the spot. The volunteers are so AWESOME. They are all smiling away and are cheerful, while we drag ourselves to the table to eat.

Texas is the land of K-hounds. To be a K-hound, you need to have ridden 10,000 RUSA K’s in a year. Well, there are a sick bunch of folks who are 100,000K K-hounds, and they assemble for a picture. I am both in awe and blown away by what it takes to ride that amount. I shake my head as I write this thinking about it.

Day 4: 150 miles Crockett to Waxahatchie
We sleep in! …to 4:30, depart at 6:00. We have 150 miles to get back to Waxahatchie and everyone has just a bit of lightness to their step, we are finishing up the ride. Good cheer through exhaustion, we will prevail. This herd is bound for glory.

The day is sunny, warm with head/cross winds that blow against us. The herd is moving along fairly slowly. While we are psyched, our legs are tired, and progress is slow. We are moving through high grasses, acres and acres of ranch land. We come upon a dirt patch, our second or third during the ride. Randy and I are currently at the front, we spin up a bit and make our way through, slowing up on the other side while others make their way. Some work through it better than others, and Kerin’s wheel goes into some soft stuff and it stops abruptly. She takes a spill, but is just fine.

I am joking about getting my Hatchie waxed in Waxahatchie, which means nothing, but we are a bit giddy. Vinnie is in front with earplugs in singing to himself in a gravelly voice. Gary and I ride and talk geo-politics mid-pack, and as the day goes on, everyone starts to get a bit woozy and sleepy. Travelling at 10-11 mph, ya end up being glued to watching the wheels in front of you and around you. Braking, pedaling, trying to keep a pace and not be off balanced. It is actually hard. I yo-yo up the group to talk to someone, and then drop back, or go off the front, to break up the monotony and stay awake.

Roomies, Agnes (aka the Pocket Rocket), and me
Photo: Agnes G.

We roll into lunch and I am in the middle of another allergy attack – I cannot see at all out of my right eye. The left feels like gravel has been ground into it. Nothing seems to help. Eye drops, anti-histamines, electrolytes, food, mtn dew. Steve and Tom are devouring a 12 pack of tacos, joking about DNF’ing because they couldn’t get them finished before Dan rustled the herd outta town. I put my head down for a few minutes and close my eyes. A 5-minute power nap helps, and the food and drugs kick in and I am revived.

We are 40 miles out of Waxahatchie. Gary and I go off the front so I can get a movie of the herd passing. We remount and get around the curve to join the group and see everyone stopped on the side of the road. As we get closer we see that someone is in the grass off the road and people are running to him. Others are looking dazed and a bit confused. I roll up to Dan who is on the road, starting to organize people to watch for cars with Mark Thomas. “It’s Charlie Fenske”, he says.

Herd Click on Herd to see the movie!

Charlie Fenske is a Texan who loves to ride his bike. He just happens to be in his 70’s, but that doesn’t stop him, he has the rando-spirit of someone half his age. He is always lighthearted and a joy to be around. I see his bike on the side of the ground, the handlebars are twisted in a way that worries me. Turns out he hit a crack in the pavement that looked like a canyon, and with nowhere to go in the herd, he went down. From what I could gather he somersaulted off his bike into the grass lining the road. There are 2 docs and 2 nurses on the ride (who knew?), and so Charlie is in capable hands. An ambulance has already been called and we rally everyone else to move onto the next town, which is only 2-3 miles away.

The crack that took down Charlie…yikes!
photo: Agnes G.

In Dawson, we gather and decide to break up the herd. Smaller groups of riders get together to make their way into Waxahatchie. We are a group of 8 – Gary, Agnes, Josh, Jeff, Dave, Keith and Ruth and me. We practice our rolling paceline, which was a new skill for some of our group, and then pace ourselves back to Waxahatchie. We pick up speed and roll into the La Quinta with fanfare just after dark, just before 9:00 PM.

From left to right: Keith, Jeff, Dave, Josh, Gary, Me, Agnes, Ruth
Photo: Brenda B.

Everyone else rolls in, and we get word that Charlie is OK. He shows up at the hotel with a neck brace on. He is sore, but has gotten away with a light case of whiplash. We eat, drink and celebrate. The Texans know how to throw a party and we celebrate everyone in the group.

from Left to Right: Agnes, me, Ruth, Jan, Dana, Kerin and Pam
photo: Brenda B.

There is no way that I can complete a 1200k without the help and support of other rando’s on the ride. The herd gave me tons and in particular some new friends that will be long-lasting I am sure. What a gift! I hope that I was able to give to the group, to the extent that I was cared for by the group. This is what made the herd special.

Texas is known to have big things: big sky, big land & open spaces, big trucks, big people, big hair, and big hospitality. I am really thankful for George Evans and Dan Driscoll’s big heart and big energy to rustle our herd throughout the big state of Texas.

Our Rando Rustlers: George Evans and Dan Driscoll
photo: Brenda B.

Yeehaw.

I’ll tell ya right now, the ride was Epic.

I am on the hunt for different rides to do this year, just wanting to do different things, keepin it fresh, and adventurous. With that in mind, Willy Nevin emailed me.

Check this out! A 600k! Vegas to LA! It follows the 508 route backwards! Phil, Tim and I jump in. I talked it up while in CO and my friend Catherine also joined. Peg and Drew were in, and then out. Willy posted about 10 emails about how to get the ride done, with detailed ways to work the logistics to get there and back, which we were sure meant he was in. But he wasn’t. Too bad.

The NorCal SFR contingent that assembled in Vegas at the Suncoast Casino was: Tim Mason, Phil Auriemma, Eric Larsen, Larry Sokolsky, Carl Anderson, Barry Schwartz and myself. Catherine came in from CO and the rest of the group comprised of SoCal riders. 22 riders in all started. It was a small group traveling through the desert.

We departed at 5:00ish on Sat AM after registering and dropping bags with Willie Hunt, who owns this perm. He was riding as well, so he was doing double duty – getting us squared away while getting his Velomobile ready to ride. He had changed the course multiple times based on sleeping availability in the thriving metropolis of Trona. We were on for Version 3.

photo by Eric Larsen

The ride basically is: depart the Summerlin suburb of Vegas, through Red Rocks State Park, to Pahrump. Go west into Death Valley at Furnace Creek, up Townes pass, into the Panamints, and over to Trona. Then, up to Johannesburg, Randsburg (all 508 area), to California City. Then head over to Mojave, then down San Francisquito Canyon to St. Clarita, and finally over to the valley, through San Fernando finishing in Burbank. In total 690 miles by my odometer and 20,000+ feet of climbing.

My plan was to ride with Phil. I knew Catherine, Tim and Carl would be in a faster group, I assumed both Larry and Eric would also be in a faster group, and I didn’t know Barry, but I always assume everyone is faster than I am, so I never thought I would see anyone other than Phil after we started.

photo by Eric Larsen

I spaced organizing a good breakfast before a 5:00am start. Catherine saved me with some bloat meal. (Note to self: get it together for breakfasts with early starts). I started low on calories and Phil and I settled into our rhythm for the day. It was chilly heading through Summerlin and Red Rocks. My parents lived in Summerlin (my dad died there), and it was bittersweet to be in very familiar territory, but, thankfully, under very different circumstances.

Photo by Eric Larsen

By the time we reached Pahrump, we were starving. Larry was with us and we stopped to refuel. Back on our bikes, we crossed the NV/CA stateline, and headed for Death Valley. I wasn’t feeling the rando-love in my body or legs, but carried on. Just at the intersection heading into the park was a sag. There were to be three around us for the ride. This one was Willie’s truck, captained by Mark, who had supported numerous 508 teams. He was there to greet us with water, a big smile, and his good nature. Seeing the truck was always a welcome sight.

We pushed into DV and stopped at Furnace Creek for lunch. Although there was another control at Stovepipe Wells, the plan was to eat in FC, so you wouldn’t feel full heading up Townes Pass. And the heat was coming on full blast. It promised to be in the high 90′s.

We headed for Stovepipe Wells, and it was, well, HOT! 90+, and the black tarmac was reflecting oven like temps. By the time we reached Stovepipe wells, everyone had that salt cake look to them. And all of the tourists and motorcycle riders were amazed at where we had come from and where we were going. Drinking a beer, smoking a cigarette, they just shook their heads and said we were crazy.

On on. Townes Pass is a 14 mile grind from the DV side. On the 508, it’s climbed on the other side and it is much steeper and shorter. Willy told Phil that it’s a “piece of cake” from the DV side comparatively. Maybe so, but almost everyone took somewhere between 3-4 hours to climb up Townes in the heat. Everyone that is except Adam, who won the 508 last year.

photo by Eric Larsen

Making my way up, I hoped to get to shade. That was the first marker and it appeared at about 2000′ up. I stopped for a breather and Larry scooted by. At 3000′, I was hoping for water. There was a campground, with an outhouse and a spigot. I stopped and put my head under the water for a full dousing. Sweet joy. I carried a Camelbak for this ride, and was glad to have it.

A little farther up and there was the white truck. Willie Hunt was there, the Velomobile was filled with sweat and he was kaput. Game over. We grabbed a bit more water and carried on, remaining calm.

A bit farther up was a SoCal rider, named Mark. He was off the side of the road, and when I got to him and asked him if he was ok, he said yes, but clearly wasn’t. He said he had a touch of heat stroke. He was shivering badly and was completely wet. I rubbed his back to get some heat going and talked to him about going down to the truck, which was about 300 yards away, downhill. He thought that was too far to go. Clearly not feeling good, we stayed with him, helping him get a bit warmer, until he could get on his bike and get down to the truck, where dry clothes, food, water, and sleeping bags were stored. Townes Pass claimed two riders.

photo by Eric Larsen

I reached the top just under 5000′ just before dark and it felt good. Mark’s buddies were waiting for him, so I gave them the news that he had gone to the truck. I changed while waiting for Phil. Another sag was at the top with water, so we topped off bottles before descending off the backside en route to Trona. The road had gravel on it, so we were denied a clean free screaming descent. Ah well, no matter. The stars were out and few cars passed, so it was fine.

I descended in dark. Luckily, Eric was able to do it in twilight. photo by Eric Larsen

I think many of us thought topping out on Townes Pass was the big hurdle of the ride. Once over that, the rest was doable. But, Townes proved not to be the place where the suffering really took place. That was still to come.

Dropping into the valley below, I needed to stop and eat. Again, starved, and we’d now ridden from Furnace Creek with not much to go on. The truck stopped and told us to get a move on as time was getting tight to make the next control. We soldiered on, and then, the wind kicked up. And when I say kicked, I mean 20-30 mph kicked in the face. Brutal. We slogged. I was in a foul mood, cursing the ride, myself, this sport, you know the mindset. Phil, who is generally quiet, offered to sing me a country and western tune.

Now, I don’t really care for Country and Western anything, except Patsy Cline and some of my friends in the Lone Star Rando club, but there is no way in hell I’m gonna turn down an offer from quiet Phil Auriemma to sing a CW tune to help me get over to godforsaken Trona. This is true rando friendship, my friends. He begins to sing. I can’t hear you! I tell him. He sings louder. Well, of course I didn’t hear a word because the wind kicked his song right out of his mouth at 30 mph. Damned wind.

We arrived in Trona around 1:30, shattered. We found our drop bags, which were in a room with 4 sleeping randos, and I use that word very loosely – sleeping, that is. We had all tried to arrange rooms, but it was really sketchy, so we showed up and hoped for the best. A few riders continued down the road for extra miles to Ridgecrest for food, shower and a sleep, while others stayed on course and caught shut-eye in the Randsburg jail!

We were told that there would be food at the control, butt the logistics on this were bungled and nothing was available. I only had “on the bike” food in my dropbag (note to self: put real food in dropbag, not just on the bike food) and Mark – who had been shuttled forward and who was back amongst us, but still a bit weak from the heat stroke – graciously gave us his extra food, which consisted of some tuna, muffins and crackers. We ate and immediately fell asleep, three to the bed and were out for 2 hours.

Up n gone around 4:30ish, Eric, joined Phil and I and we moseyed up the road, warming up our bodies and mind for day 2. We hadn’t quite completed a 400k, but it was a bit more than a 300k, so we had a long way to go, but with less climbing than in day 1. Our first stop was Johannesburg, where a gas station would yield coffee, ice cream, sandwiches etc. On the way there, we took in the sunrise over the desert, and Willie and his white truck stopped by. Out pops Larry, fresh in t-shirt and shorts, (he threw in the towel at Trona) and we scarfed some food roadside that was supposed to be available to us in Trona but wasn’t.

photo by Eric Larsen

photo by: Eric Larsen

At Joburg, while sipping coffee, Tim and Barry showed up coming from a different direction. They arrived via Ridgecrest, and so we shared stories about our evening and how we all came to be here at this point in time. All agreed the wind heading to Trona was brutal. We set off just a bit apart and rode to California City, retracing the 508 route backwards. The wind started again, and on the main drag into CA City, there were sand dunes and ground sand blizzards driving across the road. It stung our legs, flags standing straight out. It was going to be a long day.

photo by Eric Larsen

We regrouped with Tim and Barry, hopscotching with a group of SoCal riders regularly departing as we came in to each checkpoint the rest of the ride. We headed to Mojave, via Rosamond, now departing off the 508 route, which was a good thing, because the wind was fierce and the 508 route has a climb back up to the windmills, which would have been a headwind for miles.

Our only tailwind of the ride blew us to Rosamond, and then a crosswind moved us to Mojave. We are all feeling light and easy on our bikes, the pain of yesterday lifted momentarily. Refueling on chocolate milk shakes, sweet potato fries and hamburgers, we are beginning to think that we could actually finish the ride, but there is still a ways to go.

We need to get to the other side of the valley, cross over the ridge, descend San Francisquito Canyon, and then make our way to Burbank to Dana’s house. Sags are not around, and we head out to make the final pushes.

But what pushes us, is the wind. Backwards. It is howling, we can hear that deep hum when the telephone poles are huge violin strings being played by the wind. We lean sideways to the right to stay upright, and every once in a while, a gust picks me up and moves me off to the left. Eric is concerned about his new Mercyx and its lovely paint job, but he is third in, on my left, and the sandblasting will happen to Tim first and then me.

photo by Eric Larsen

Phil and Barry are a bit behind, and we all scrap our way across the valley. A huge dust devil kicks up and it easily gets 40′ high, the tumbleweeds flying high into the air. At one point, we turn into the wind and are stopped dead in our tracks. We slowly regain forward momentum and are only going 5-6 mph on a dead flat road.

We talk about dogs that chase, and what types of people live out here in the middle of nowhere, in walled compound homes with gun billboards regularly spaced. There’s plenty of cheap land for sale… it’s bleak.

Finally, we cross the valley and climb out of the desert. At some point we notice the landscape turn from brown to green. Tim and I fly down the canyon, pedaling as hard as we can, taking the entire road, gleefully racing no one, squeezing energy out of who knows where to spin up our bikes, grinning from ear to ear.

photo by Eric Larsen

We all regroup at the bottom and end up in a Starbucks where the SoCal group is finishing up. Our last piece of riding routes us over an old road that takes us into the San Fernando Valley. It’s dark again, tiredness has set in, we are all done, ready to be off our bikes. Each turn seems to take forever to reach, where the heck is Dana’s house? Finally, finally, we turn down his street and we are met by Carl and Larry, who see us.

We climb off our bikes and pour ourselves into Dana’s house for food, drink, a clothing change and another recap of the day’s journey. Almost all of the riders are accounted for, and the last rider arrives by midnight, but by then I am asleep in a nearby motel.

photo by Eric Larsen

On Monday, Phil, Tim and I drive back to the Bay Area, and I am back in my house by midnight last night. And by today, the randonesia has set in. I am not in severe pain, my body feels tired, but not completely trashed, and I have already forgotten my vows to hang up all rides longer than a 400k. The Stampede in Texas is in 3 weeks and I will be there.

It helped loads knowing that friends and fellow SFR randos were traveling on the same course. It helped battle the heat, wind and isolation. The longest stretch of minimal support was from Furnace Creek to California City, especially given it was nighttime for most of the riders. Willie did a good job given that he was planning a ride for a few and then plenty more jumped in.

Today I was talking to a friend who is about to ride his bike for 5 months in the Yukon. He asked about the weekend and I said, Epic! As soon as I said that I compared myself to what he’s getting ready to do and I was stumped, “What made this ride so epic?” No mechanicals. Sags around on Day 1. Friends on the course ahead of me, and people still riding behind. It comes down to signing on for the adventure of the point to point, a rando ride across the desert in 40 hours, knowing that there were sketchy services, heat, wind (well, more than we wanted, expected, or needed), and not knowing that I could actually do it.

Nothing about this sport past a 200k is all that easy. But some rides have an extra dose of challenge built into them, and this was one of those. Glad I said yes. Glad I completed. Epic.

Thank you Catherine, Eric, Tim, Barry, Phil, Larry & Carl. And to you Willie Hunt & Dana for organizing and you Willy Nevin for sending that email that got us to sign on.

For the last month or so in between long rides on the weekend, I’ve been getting out on my cross bike to do short rides on local single-track. It’s been quite a lot of fun to do them because while I am in an urban environment, I kinda feel like I’m “away from it all”. Made me think that I could/should share a write-up or two so here’s one from a few weeks back…

The plan was to meet Reza Fasarti, who recently had back surgery and we’d go to Mt Diablo. He’d hike, I’d bike and then we’d meet back up to eat. Sounds EZ enough. Earlier in the year I saw some crazy beautiful pix from Manny Acosta on a mixed terrain ride he did on Mt Diablo on his Riv. Large clearance bike on Mt D’s fireroads and I was jonesin to try em out. I don’t yet own a Riv that can do this type of riding (notice, I said, yet), so the bike of choice was my BMC cross bike. I love this machine and have had a lot of fun on it doing singletrack dirt near Rivet WHQ.

Met Reza and he thought we should go to an area called Castle Rock. It’s a lower trail that meets up to the South Gate Road, where a couple of possible loops are available from there. He mentioned some stream crossings, but that was it. It would be sort of flat and then a steeper pitch for a few miles would get me to the road. Fine by me. Started off EZ enough, and I was off and swinging through the canyon. The BMC was feeling good and I was havin fun. Stopped to take a pic or two of the environs.

Starting gate at Castle Rock on the lower slopes of Mt. D

The stream crossings were manageable at first and I’d splash through them, trying to not get my feet wet. The trail soon became soggier and I came upon a couple of horseback riders who cautioned me that the trail was pretty goopy up ahead. OK. It’s a cross bike and even though the trail is short, the challenge is in dealing with the obstacles as they show themself. Goopy is good. Off I go.

The stream crossings are many and as my bike gets wetter the mud begins to build up on my brakes. cool! I’m living the mixed terrain dream! Marin Mtns 200k here I come! Carlos – you will be proud of me! It’s a pretty day, I’m warm, my bike is looking like it’s done some work and I am kickin it!

Goopfest = slogfest

I’m now up the trail about 4-5 miles and have done tons of stream crossings. Not all of them have been done in the saddle – the trail has steep enter and exit ramps to the stream x’ings, so I jump off, push or carry it across and remount on the other side. I hit a particularly goopy patch of muck and my bike stops. I can feel the tires (Kenda small block 8′s – which are great tires BTW), slip and of course, before I know it, I am toppling over – mud in cleat doesn’t let me get my foot out of the pedal. I’m over and have fallen into brambles. Stickers are all over my ass. I jump up and laugh as I take them out – more concerned about my Rapha bib-knicks then anything else. No harm, no foul. I press on. Still feelin good, I make it up to the sun and to the south road. I clean the muck out of my brakes for the descent after hanging out a bit and enjoying the scenery. It is lovely there.

Lovely day in mid-January

I check out a few of the other trails, but they require more time and I don’t want to keep Reza waiting. It’s turnaround time. Of course, the descent is faster than the ascent and I am back into the goopy patches which seem muckier than before. My feet will barely clip into my cleats and so I clean fewer of the stream crossings. I manage a particularly mucky patch and my brakes are again completely filled. I figure I’ll blow through the next stream crossing and it will help to clear them, and then I’ll stop and clear them for the final leg back to the car.

I pick up a bit of speed to enter the stream and immediately hit a fairly large rock that is underwater that stops my bike cold, twists my front handlebars sideways and throws me down hard. I am in the stream still completely connected to my bike. Pain is shooting through my shoulder, and my hip and left wrist are killing me. I get up and out of the stream and my teeth are chattering. Shit! I am now completely wet, i am in the shade, the sun is setting and I still need to get out of here.

Screw the Marin Mtns 200k. Carlos be damned! My bike says, “Swiss Precision Machine” on it, and I don’t think this is what they meant. Swiss Precision my ass. I get back on bike. My left side is really smarting, but there is no weakness in limbs and so I pedal cautiously. More stream crossings (turns out – there were 28), and while my body is sore, all parts are moving, so I continue on. I am getting close to the end – just a small rocky hill to get over so I stand on my pedals to get a leg-up and once again, my bike comes to a dead stop and I am on the ground.

WTF? I scramble back up and take a look. Chain suck. My relatively new D-Ace derailleur is stuck in the bladed spokes of my rear wheel. Sheared off and upwards into chaos. I am done. It takes a few minutes to yank the RD off the wheel and disengage the chain, so I can get the rear wheel to spin. Defeated, I coast my way back to the car. Reza is there and watches while I dig muck off my bike with a twig so I can put it into my car. It takes about a half hour. I strip in the parking lot and put on my dry clothes, crank up the heat and we depart for a bottle of wine.

Time for a new RD. Took a bit to unhitch the lower pulley from the spoke blade.

All this in a mere 15 mile bike ride, not 10 miles from suburbia, which actually I think is pretty cool. The body count includes a contusion on my hip, and my left wrist was sprained – swollen – black n blue. My neck and shoulder are sore, but all of this will pass. Now, I’ll go and clean my bike. That should take the remainder of the day, I need to find another RD to replace the one I destroyed. And of course, I want to go back to Mt. Diablo, when it’s drier and a bit warmer… This time around the devil got me.

Since I’ve gotten into this business I look at people’s bottoms quite a bit while seated on their saddle. Some might say I’m voyeuristic in this regard, but I prefer to say I’m doing research. I notice their posture, where they sit on their saddle, or do their hips sway left and right. I even notice where the wear is on their bike shorts (inner thigh or perhaps the thinning of material across the rear, leaving too much to be seen, especially in a pace line, if ya follow). And so too, when they dismount I take in the condition of their saddle, especially leather ones.

Rando bikes lined up at the 600k rest stop. photo: Metin Uz

More often than not, when people choose a leather saddle, they take the time to dial it in, and once there, leave it alone. As I have been fond of saying, Rivet saddles are “firm but forgiving”, which means they will take more time to break-in than some leather manufacturers, but once they are broken-in, they’ll stay the course for you over the long haul.

Visualize the basic geometry of a leather saddle. Leather is suspended between two main points; the frame and nose. When you sit on the saddle, your body weight puts downward force on the leather, both causing it to stretch and for the end points (rear and nose) to flex upward. If your saddle has titanium rails and frame, your downward force is partially adsorbed by the frame material. Titanium is both strong and lightweight, yet flexible, so more force is absorbed by the frame and rail material.

Cromoly frames are stiffer, and do not have the same absorbing prowess that titanium does, hence the leather, which is pliable ends up taking more the force. In both frame materials, the leather will stretch, and should be re-tensioned. But how much re-tensioning is the right amount?

Comfort is an individual thing. I like my saddle to be firm, so I test its tension regularly, making adjustments as needed. I don’t like my saddle super taut (as in not being able to turn the bolt without exerting quite a bit of leverage) but taut enough so that I feel the tension in the bolt, and when pushing down on the saddle, it jumps back up to me.

I know of riders who like a lot of sway in their saddle. Whenever I see these saddles I am reminded of a camel saddle, with a big dip in the seat and the front and rear of the saddle are high, just like the saddle on a mountain pass. This is fine if that’s your comfort spot, just be aware that you are putting more downward pressure on the frame and nose, which can lead to over-stretching.

It’s easy to see the evolution of saddles for riding animals to leather bicycle saddles.

Your Rivet is either equipped with a bolt that fits a 4mm hex, or a torx screw head (found on the earlier titanium saddles) and a bolt that fits into the nose piece. Using the #4, turn the bolt one or two revolutions to re-tension the saddle. If you have a titanium saddle, use the spanner wrench to accomplish the same thing (the torx screw is worthless and won’t be spec’d on future Rivet saddles).

Use the wrench to turn the bolt a full 1-2 turns. Do not over tighten.

It’s not unusual for riders to stop me and ask me to look at their saddle. They tell me that it felt great at first and now they are getting hot spots, or pressure points in their crotch area. The first thing I do is take a mini-tool and re-tension the saddle, and voila! The majority of issues disappear.

Finally, a few people have let me know that the bolt can unscrew letting out the tension in the saddle once it’s had a bunch of miles on it. The fix was an easy one – unscrew the bolt, letting all the tension out of your saddle. Apply a small amount of Gorilla glue to the bolt. Re-tension it by screwing the bolt back in. It will keep the bolt from flexing loose, but still allow you to tighten it if needed.

Keeping an eye on your Rivet is as important as keeping your drive train clean. If your Rivet is happy, so will be your bum, and that is a good thing. A very good thing.

The first ride of the calendar for the San Francisco Randonneurs (SFR) is the Point Reyes/Lighthouse (PRLH) 200k brevet. To me, it’s iconic. It signals the true beginning of the season, even though I have already completed two other brevets. It strikes a bit of fear into my heart and while some shy away from this ride, others lean into it. Saturday was the second time I had committed to it, and so I was up at 4:15 and out the door before 5:00AM to get to the Golden Gate Bridge before the 7:00AM start. The 100 mile drive was by far the easiest point in the day.

The PRLH 200k takes you through federal land that’s managed by historic dairy ranches out to the Lighthouse at the end of the road. It’s a beautiful ride of rolling green hills with stunning views of the ocean. The road has a number of cattle guards along the way, culminating with some steep climbs towards the Lighthouse, which is the turn around. Once back on Highway 1, you proceed up to Marshall for chowdah or your seafood of choice and then backtrack to the Nicasio Reservoir. Once at Nicasio, you climb over the last hills to the Bridge, which is how the majority of SFR rides end: up n out of Nicasio, over Camino Alto and then crawl up the final climb out of Sausalito back to the GGB. All told, it’s about 126 miles and 7500 ft. of climbing.

“I…will not do stupid stuff” photo: Eric N.

The ride departs from the Golden Gate Bridge at 7:00 AM promptly after our leader gets us to swear that we “won’t do any stupid stuff.” Just after dawn a hundred plus riders swarm over the bridge with headlights flickering, which seizes me with a sense of joy for the day’s unknown adventure. Yesterday, the clouds were low and I wasn’t sure if I had indeed brought the right layering system. Will it rain or not? Will I be too cold, or too hot? Did I have enough empty space in my Moots bag to carry whatever it is I’m going to take off, or will I be wrestling with gear? These thoughts dissipate after successfully riding over the bridge and down through Sausalito, and once the group expands, I relax and earnestly enjoy my day.

Outbound over GGB. photo: Toshi T.

I’m riding with a rando-pal, Thrill Bill Larson, who is recovering from a cold and isn’t at 100%. The idea of the brevet is not to race, but to enjoy the day, the scenery and the riders you spend time with along the route, while tracking time and distance around a set course. We make our way through Samuel P. Taylor Park where the pavement is “craptastic”, hoping to not hit a pothole and get either a pinch flat or a broken spoke. Two years ago I did pinch flat here, and we stopped in the sun to fix it. It was 27 degrees and we were freezing. This time it was a clean passage, and the road led us out to Hiway 1 and north to Pt. Reyes Station where we turned to ride the last 19 miles out to the Lighthouse.

The clouds have disappeared, the sun is out, and it is shaping up to be a stunning day. I am moving a bit faster than Bill, but in my mind there is a rubber band attached to us that stretches and contracts as we move towards each control, where we will regroup throughout the day. Eric Norris (aka campyonlyguy) catches up to me and we chat about the day, the scenery and our ride plans for this season. He is faster than I, but he waits patiently for me to catch up to him at the top of each hill we crest on our way to the Lighthouse. We cross cattleguards, bad road surfaces and sand, but it is the view that amazes. We reach the Lighthouse together and take it in.

Heading out to Pt Reyes.  Photo: Mannie A.

Sandtrap! photo: Eric N.

Eric at the Lighthouse turnaround. Photo: Mojo C. using Eric’s camera

Thrill Bill Larson, his lovely Rex (& Rivet!), with 17 mile beach. Photo: Eric N.

The Point Reyes Lighthouse.  photo: Masa K.

On the return we pass folks who are still on the outbound and everyone waves and smiles in passing. This is one of the great things about the sport – the camaraderie found in riding with folks – saying hello, catching up, and or sending out some witty smack talk, all the while travelling a good distance on two wheels. I am starving and so I pull over for a quick stop at the Inverness market. Eric and Mojo are there, Bill stops too and we sit in the sun for a snack. I am readying myself for the headwind to come. Two years ago when we headed north on Hiway 1 the wind was brutal. Today promises to be the same. The four of us head out together, but I know that once we reach the rollers going north, Mojo and Eric will pull away and they do. Bill is on my wheel and we make our way. The rollers are such that you work to pick up speed going down, swoosh through the curve at the bottom and then do what you can to keep the momentum going, because the wind finds you near the top and you work like hell to get over the hillcrest, fighting the wind so you can pick up momentum for the next downward swoosh.

Pedal pedal pedal, swoosh, pedal pedal pedal, grit your teeth over the top into the wind, and swoosh. Repeat.

There are miles of these rollers, and while fun at first, they take a toll on my legs. Once past them, the road evens out leaving me in full-on headwind until reaching the Marshall store. My head is down, I’m gritting my teeth, scratching my way north to Marshall, and everyone heading south is upright, and happy, big smiles on their faces…tailwinds are so much more fun.

The Marshall store is slammed with bike riders and folks who want a bowl of chowdah or oysters. Bill and I chow down, hang with more rando-buddies, tell war stories of fighting the wind and then depart for the last leg home. The tailwinds do not disappoint.

Pedal pedal pedal SWOOSH! Pedal pedal pedal. Smile and repeat.

No teeth gritting. No grimacing. You can feel the hand of the wind on your back pushing you forward. We make great time heading back and before we know it, we are in Nicasio. I stop to pee, Bill is behind, but either he will pass and I will catch him, or he’ll see my bike. The rubber band contracts and then stretches.

I’m in a porta-potty, disrobing, because I have on bibs and I have yet to figure out how to pee without taking off my jersey, then lowering the shoulder straps so I can sit or squat down. While doing this I hear a voice, slightly western, slightly twangy…

“Mighty nice bike ya got there, I like those pink hubs.”
Thanks.

“I think it would easily fit in my truck right here.”
Really? You’d steal someone’s bike from them while they’re in a porta-potty and tell them? That’s harsh. In a nano second, I have thought that if there really was someone out there about to steal my bike, they must really want it. It’s not all that new, but it does have killer pink Chris King hubs. I am almost dressed again, and when I open the door I see Bill. Laughing.

Ha ha. We press on over those last 4 hills, through the chi-chi towns of Ross, San Anselmo, Fairfax and Sausalito. Horses to the barn as they say, and I put a bit of distance between myself and Thrill Bill and John G. who we’ve scooped up, who, it turns out has broken his crank pedaling. John G. is one strong guy, and when he throws his weight around, his SRAM gear crumbles.

I get to the Golden Gate Bridge and it looks empty! Typically, it is swarming with riders, and walkers and tourists who more often than not, don’t speak English. It looks to be clear sailing and I am psyched! I now know I have it “in the bag” and as I enter onto the bridge proper, I am thrilled. We are so lucky to cross the GGB on the out and in-bound for our brevets. It is magnificent. The big Pacific Ocean is off to our right and the views of San Francisco are spectacular.

And the wind. Here, it is at it’s fiercest as it funnels into the bay. The stanchions of the bridge require riders to navigate carefully around them. Slowing down to go around them in this direction turns your wheel directly into the wind in a very narrow area. The first goes by, no problem, and the second one lifts me up and picks me and my bike up and moves me a couple of inches to the right. Below me a tugboat is crossing underneath, heading out into the Pacific for who knows where. The wind on the third stanchion stops me dead in my tracks. I almost don’t get my foot unclipped and am sure I’m going down. I manage to stay upright, and complete crossing.

At the finish, SFR rando’s who are already done, are cheering us in, eating and telling stories. It is a great feeling to be a part of this community of riders. Bill and John arrive, Mojo and Eric a few minutes later. We hang, cheer others in, and hear stories, while snarfing chips and Oreos. As the sun goes down, it’s time to warm up and drive that 100 miles home. 2013 is going to be a great year.

The Straus statue and GGB. Always a welcome site. photo: Toshi T.

Photos are a mix from Eric N., Toshi T., Masa and Mannie Acosta. Thanks all for the brilliant shots.

I just got off the phone with AT & T. I broke down and got a new Iphone plan for Rivet and wanted it to be ready to go for blogging while on this upcoming adventure. It’s harsh to have a contract, but I digress, this Sunday I depart for 2.5 weeks of cycling from Kashgar, China to Dushanbe, Tajikistan. The woman at AT & T couldn’t spell Tajikistan (it’s spelled the way it sounds!) but no matter, there is no service where I am going.

I am headed to Kashgar to access the Pamir Highway, one of the longest continuous roads above 10,000′ in the world. I am meeting a friend and together we will be in the capable hands of the Tour d’Afrique organizers. Of course, I am taking a new Rivet saddle with me, but will also be test-riding a new Allegro T-1. Allegro custom bicycles are designed in Australia by Richard Ayling (who made his fame as a track rider and coach of a much younger, Cadel Evans, and as an elite archer). My T-1 is equipped with SRAM Apex, new Handspun wheels (Ultegra hubs on Velocity A23 hoops) with Schwalbe Marathon Plus tires (38′s!) and loaded with an Arkel rack and bag. A Timbuk2 food and camera “bento box” are on the handlebars. Richard said, “Take the T-1 and really put it to test. Give it a good go and if you need to leave it in Eastern Asia, then do it.” Sounds good to me, but I also know that when I get attached to a bike – either from doing the build, or through our wild adventures together – it’s hard to leave it on the side of the road. Hey, I’m like that guy who just rode across Asia followed by a dog and he ended up taking the pooch home!

We will be camping most nights punctuated by a few nights in a hotel. That’s where warm(er) showers may prevail. Our personal stuff will be moved along in a larger vehicle, we need only our daily gear to cover the 50-60 miles of mixed terrain roads and dirt at elevation. My hope is to ride, enjoy all that the environs have to offer (sans stomach issues), take pictures and for the first time, keep a running blog of the adventure. I will also be carrying a Spot connector, which I think enables others to watch my progress across the terrain. It’s also good as a SOS if I need one (hoping not).

Rivet will remain open, but with very limited email. So, if you are ready to buy one – DO IT NOW! Will be filling orders through July 6, and then will continue to do so catch as catch can until August 1.