Calvin's Challenge

Short Version
~9 hours, 158.5 miles, 0 mechanical failures, 1 biomechanical/willpower failure
Personal bests: 50 miles at average speed 20 mph, century in 5:30

Gary's Video
Pics on RecumbentJournal
John Foote's Pics
The glamorous life of a race owner

Thanks to Larry, Christine, Jeff, Julie, and all the volunteers and crew for a great event, catering to everyone from lowracers to high-wheelers.

Long Version
The first of May dawned bright and clear...no it didn't. I went to bed the night before to clear skies, but awoke to heavy clouds and thunder rumbling to the west. Got the car loaded, and headed over to the nearby Marathon station so that Annie (my long-suffering crew) and myself could indulge in a caffeine fix before I started the ride. As we emerged, the rain began...

Found our way to the starting point at Shawnee High School; chatted with Travis, Denny, and Tom for a few minutes, whilst I committed the ultimate faux pas and mounted a rear fender on my nominal race bike. Not that the fender helped much, but I like to think that at least the poor suckers trying to draft me may have benefited.

Tom and I rolled to the start just a few minutes before the whistle blew. Larry provided some words of wisdom and other profundities, at least in theory; Tom and I were far enough back that we could have been being addressed by Charlie Brown's teacher, Cajun Man, or Buckwheat for all I could tell. The whistle blew, and we were off!

The first few miles were interesting, as the riders sorted themselves out by initial pace. Wet roads, rain-covered glasses, and lots of red blinkies make for a rather hallucinatory effect; I was quite grateful to break away from the press and assume my rightful place in solo mid-pack splendour. The rain was fairly constant; rarely a deluge, but also rarely less than steady precipitation. Route finding on this first loop was particularly challenging, as many of the directional signs were located under puddles of water. Fortunately, the event workers had mostly stuck to the standard of arrow before the intersection, arrow at the intersection, and arrow after the intersection...I only overshot one turn, and that was more due to excessive speed and wet rims and brakes than anything else. Despite the rain, I finished up the first lap quite comfortably at my target pace of 20 miles per hour.

A quick change of Perpetuem bottle and hydration bladder, 30 seconds of leg stretches, and a banana later, and I was back on the road for the second circuit of the 50-mile loop. Hey, the rain stopped! Wait, what's that Invisible Force Bastard pushing against me? The wind was, uh, unfriendly, and I must confess to a good eight-to-ten miles of serious angst at that point. Fortunately, after passing the halfway checkpoint at South Solon, the wind was less of an issue. However, I had definitely burnt a bit more energy than I should have fighting it; if I'd allowed my pace to drop just a little bit further, perhaps I would A) have had more energy and B) not started my knee's downhill progression.

The third lap was quite pleasant, except for the occasional flare from the knee. I had regained my equilibrium, determined that I was going to shoot for no more than 200 miles, and dropped into my familiar brevet-style sustainable survival mode. My pace was down, but still in the 17 mph range, which was on-target to wrap up somewhere just over 200 miles. By the time I'd rolled back into the school, however, the knee had stopped muttering and was sending up warning flares.

I rolled out on the seven-mile loop anyway; figured I'd give it a shot, and see how things went. After the first mile, it was pretty clear that pushing for 200 would result in more damage than I wished to contemplate, the weekend before defending my CTC title. So, I threw in the towel at hour 9, with 158.5 miles under my belt.

I'm not at all unhappy with the event; first and foremost, it was a chance to give ultras a try without spending a lot of money on training and equipment. I enjoyed myself a great deal, so now I know that I want to pursue it further. It did sting a bit, as I've never dropped out of a major ride before; however, I'm comfortable that I made the right decision.

Geekery
Nutrition and hydration were almost entirely liquid. One three-hour bottle of Caffe Mocha Perpetuem per loop supplied most of my calories, with a 70-ounce bladder of water, doped with Camelbak Elixir for hydration and some electrolyte replenishment. I augmented the electrolyte fluid with two Endurolyte capsules every hour or so, and had a couple packs of Jelly Belly Energy Beans when my stomach requested something solid.

The P-38 was shod in old Stelvios, running 110 PSI. (I had ordered a Durano in 406, and the nifty-looking Ultremo in 700c, but, sadly, my order was sent too late to get them for the race.) Cargo and hydration bladder was carried in a ludicrously oversize RANS seat back bag, which happens to fit a Lightning seat with some gentle persuasion.

I went with a wool base layer, poly jersey, cycling cap, and arm warmers on my upper half; shorts, wool socks, and shoes on my lower. This proved to be just about right for most of the day, although I ended up pulling off the arm warmers on the last lap.

Lessons Learned

• Aerodynamics matter (says the dude on the 'bent...). My P-38 was not the optimal steed for this event; certainly not poorly suited, but something with the seat a bit more laid back (say, by an extra 20 degrees or so) would have been a better choice. Methinks a Corsa or something similar is in my ultracycling future; use the P-38 for brevets and lumplander rides, and bust out the highracer for the fast flatties.
• Camelbak Elixir tabs seemed to work okay for electrolyte replenishment. The flavor was strong (1 tab per 24 ounces, so 3 tabs in a 70-ounce bladder), as I'm used to HEED, but not objectionable.

Endless Mountains 1240K, 2009, the uncut version

Photo by Bill Beck, morning of Day 2, Hallstead. The last time I look anywhere near this perky...

Prologue
One becomes tempted, after a ride of this magnitude, to fancy oneself some form of Icelandic bard or other crafter of epic prose. Much as I'd like to deliver my Endless Mountains 1240 ride report in saga form, I fear that my readers (yes, all three of you) would rapidly lose patience with endless variations on a theme of
Grey was the morn,
And dismal the skies,
As the winter-wulf howled from the West.
Out rode Bill, leader and scribe, garbed all in wool to his eyes.
Followed he was, by numbers dwindling, of comrades weary and vexed.
Etc., etc. So, I shall resist such temptation, and instead blather on in more modern style.

Pictures, Results, etc.
Results
Bill's Photos and Music Video(!)
Maile's Photos
George's Photos
Christine's Photos
EM1240K Blog
Rob Welsh's Ride Report

Day 1: An old familiar friend (This hill AGAIN?)
'Twas the usual drill for the morning of a long brevet; eyes popped open a few minutes before the alarm (okay, they popped open every hour or so all night long, but who's counting?), last-minute bike inspection ("Pedals? Check! Do they spin? Check!"), and down to the hotel lobby to scarf food and chat with other riders. Tom gave us the traditional pep talk, and we were off in a blaze of glory and tail-lights.

The first day's course was more-or-less identical to that of the 1000K from last year, so I had a pretty good idea what to expect: a half-dozen long, tough climbs, interspersed with plenty of shorter ones, plus a lot of rollers to keep things interesting. I figured I'd follow my now-standard protocol, wherein I'd try to ride with the fast group as far as the first controle, then fade back on the climb over Blue Mountain and find my own pace. Sadly, the testosterone poisoning kicked in, and I was foolish enough to nearly burn myself out by keeping pace all the way to the beginning of the Fox Gap climb. I did maintain enough presence of mind to slow down for the 2-mile 1200'+ climb, so was merely hurting at the top, rather than utterly blown. Surprise, surprise, there was a "secret" controle at the summit; probably the worst-kept secret in the history of secret controles, at least if one has ever ridden any of Tom's brevets before. From there, we dropped back down to a crossing of the river in Portland, then over the ridge to the next control in Blairstown, and the next major climb in the form of Milbrook Rd. I like to call this stretch "the demoralizer", as it is a seemingly endless climb, with a fairly evil false summit, followed by a drop to Old Mine Rd and an immediate granny-gear-grind up that next hill. Once past that obstacle, however, the 10 mile passage through the Delaware Water Gap is quite lovely.

I popped into the corner store at Layton to stock up before the drop to Dingman's Ferry, as I knew the Raymondskill Falls climb was imminent.I also remembered how much fun the bits immediately following Raymondskill were, so took it nice and easy all the way to the next controle at Barryville, in the great state of Gnu Yahk. A quick sandwich, and some goofing around in front of George's camera, and it was off on the next leg. This included the Dreaded Carbondale Climb (AKA Mt Salem), which took us to the highest point on the course for the day, followed by a screaming (or at least occasionally yelping), brake-pad-eating descent into downtown Carbondale and the Dunkin Donuts controle. Then, of course, we got to climb OUT of the valley, on our way to a fairly nasty set of rollers and the first sleep controle at Hallstead. I got in just before 9 PM, so enjoyed a luxurious 4.5 hours of sleep.


Day 2: The gathering storm (Knees, mechanicals, and morale)
Bill, Rob, and myself departed Hallstead bright and early at 4 AM. I was feeling ok as we were rolling out, although the sporadic rain was a bit annoying. Soon, however, I noticed that both knees were starting to twinge a bit, then more than a bit. I pulled over into a gas station, took some Aleve, and put on my spare knee warmers under my tights; that seemed to help somewhat. I was more than a bit concerned, however, as knee troubles at mile 220 of 776 is generally a Bad Sign.

Shortly thereafter, I felt the rear end go all catywumpus. Called out "flat" and bid Rob and Bill a fond adieu for the duration, then pulled over to deal with the problem. A bit of forensic work, and , a-HA! A glass shard! I pulled the shard, glued down the patch, re inflated the tube, got back on the road, and ffffffffttttt in less than 5 minutes. Profanity ensued. More forensics determined that there had been two glass fragments in close proximity; the one I had removed was probably not the first culprit, but the one I hadn't seen most assuredly was. Pluck/patch/inflate/replace/back on the road. 10 minutes later, "Gee, the handling is getting sloppy back there." Off the bike, inspect tire, find mushiness of great degree. More profanity ensued, at slightly greater length and significantly higher volume. Forensics ensued, and detected no immediate leaks, so I broke down and threw in a new tube. Inflate/replace/back on the road, to the same sinking mushy feeling in less than 10 minutes. Yet more profanity, this time in a continuous low-voiced stream even before the bike had come to a complete halt. Forensics ensued...briefly. I had neglected to screw the Presta valve cap back down, and it appears to have stuck in a slow-leak open position. That, at least, was an easy fix.

Finally, I was back on the road to Sayre. The knee pain and flats, plus rain, had done a number on my morale and my performance; while this was a lovely flat stretch, and a great opportunity to make up some time, I was deeply enough in a funk that I simply couldn't bring my speed up over the high teens. Then, probably due to the rain and road dirt, the rear brake started rubbing badly, and I darn near chucked the bike off an overpass in disgust. I was NOT a happy camper by the time I limped into Sayre, so I stopped at the first convenience store I found to console myself with food. Utterly by accident, this was exactly the right thing to do, as my mood improved dramatically within 5 minutes of shoving a couple of breakfast sandwiches into my gaping maw. In hindsight, I realize that part of my mood was probably due to insufficient solid food; contrary to the experiences of many, I tend to ride much more happily with a well-lined stomach. I had successfully experimented with mostly liquid on-bike nutrition on several 150-milers over the summer, so had assumed that it would work well on longer rides. Live and learn, I suppose.

From Sayre, I maintained a steady pace through Towanda and a few climbs to the controle at Dushore. I wasn't feeling great either physically or mentally, but had gotten back to a state of equilibrium that I could maintain indefinitely with sufficient care. This was good, as the bit from Dushore to Canton was a fine test of that equilibrium; Rte 154 is a very exciting road on which to cycle, with its' 20%+ climbs and its' screaming blind-curve technical descents. Regardless, the trip to Canton was made without serious damage to my Zen-like state of serenity.

In Canton, I made sure to eat a bit more solid food, as my memories of the next stretch indicated that it was going to be about 15 miles of really rough rollers and climbs. before getting to Liberty and the long descent into Little Pine Creek. Surprisingly, I was feeling pretty strong at this point, and powered through this stretch with nary a moment's dismay. Heh...except for the dogs. I almost forgot the dogs. There was a little pack of three farm dogs hanging out by the road, obviously interested in harassing passing cyclists. Two were apparently merely bored, and looking for something to chase; the third, who appeared to be a mix of Greyhound, Rottweiler, and (in my fearful state) Brontosaurus, was a little more intent on putting teeth to lycra. I wasn't TOO concerned, as they accosted me at the top of a decent valley, and there isn't a dog alive who can keep up with a fat guy on a 'bent _starting_ a descent at 20 miles per hour. Then I hit the other side of the valley, maybe a quarter-mile away, glanced in my mirror, and realized that Rover the Bionic Dog was only 50 feet back and had achieved missile lock. When Pennsylvania's answer to the Hound of the Baskervilles had taken the first snap at my left thigh, I discovered that yes, recumbents can climb hills at speed. The only parts of my body touching the bike were hands on bars, feet on pedals, and shoulders pushed into seat, which, while not sustainable, is a lovely way to put a bit of extra grunt into climbing a 15% slope in the big ring. Finally, after a couple more snaps, Fido dropped back, or maybe his batteries ran down or something.

The rest of the day was uneventful; hard as blazes, but in that very familiar "ho-hum, a 5-mile steady climb followed by 12 miles of sawtooth rollers" sort of way. Rolling into the Lamar controle at just before midnight, I was tired, but still feeling good about the ride. Little did I know...

Day 3: OMFG. Hardest day on the bike I've ever had, bar none. (Fog, rain, abandon?, exhaustion, treehouse)
Lemme just say that, in hindsight, there was no one thing that made this day really tough. The combination of a lot of things led me closer to abandoning a ride than I've ever gone before; sheer stubbornness was the only thing that got me through this (27-bloody-hour) day of riding.

I departed the Lamar controle just before 5 AM, after a whopping 2.5 hours of sleep. A chilly fog had set in, making early morning navigation spectacularly difficult; fortunately, the route was not too complex at this point, so dull wits and fogged eyes were up to the task. I winced when I read the cue to turn on a Long Run Rd, however, as the combination of the words Run (usually denoting a valley with a stream cutting down through it) and Long (usually denoting, well...) bodes poorly. Boy did it ever.

After an icy-cold descent on the far side of the ridge, plus a nice game of leapfrog with John and Dan Fuoco on the way to the Loganton post office controle, we found ourselves rolling towards Boalsburg. Then the rain set in. For the first time.

Much of the day was a blur; it was chilly, and hilly, and I'd already punched out 500 miles in the last 2.5 days. I spent much of the rest of the day riding with John and Dan, who were quite congenial company; we had all pretty much hit the same state of disconnection from reality, which manifested itself mainly in slow, steady-paced riding (or "dieseling", as my friend Rob likes to call it). We made it through the next controles without incident, then added Craig Martek to our merry band, just as the REAL rain set in. For bloody hours.

After several of us started feeling hypothermia settling in, we set up camp at a Sunoco in a feeble attempt to dry off and warm up. We're talking catastrophically soaked to the bone, uncontrollable shivering, no dry garment amongst us, just about ready to throw in the towel. Actually, the prospect of abandoning was discussed very seriously; finally, we decided to ride to the next controle, a 24-hour Dennys, where we could stay as long as we needed, and where several EM1240 volunteers were waiting.

The rain had mostly slackened off when we reached Dennys, and it was *only* another 60 miles to the overnight controle, and *only* midnight or so, so pushing on seemed like the done thing. I'm glad we did, but that ride through the night was naught but a haze of fatigue for me. I ended up having to pull over twice for catnaps, as I was no longer capable of keeping the bike in a straight line. The first time, John and i found a wooden picnic table so long as to allow us both to sleep comfortably; the second time, John rode on, while I curled up in a kid's tree house structure on a lot full of Amish-built sheds and outbuildings. Less than refreshed, but at least less dangerous, I limped my slow and sorry way to the final overnight controle at Pine Grove. I arrived at 7 AM, as dawn was breaking, 27 hours after leaving Lamar. Shattered, utterly shattered.

Day 4: Homestretch
After a whopping 90 minutes of sleep, I dragged my sorry carcass out of the room and down to the lobby. Peering blearily around, I noticed vaguely food-shaped objects arrayed on a counter, and concluded that I should consume some of them. I'm pretty sure I did, but, to my dying day, I will never recall what they were. While absentmindedly shoveling food into my face, I had the chance to chat with Steve Scheetz, whom I hadn't seen since the PA 1000K last year. I think we talked about the upcoming route, although it could have just as easily been a conversation on the relative merits of death metal versus grindcore for all I recall. I think I've successfully conveyed the idea that I was less than mentally acute at this point, so will cease beating that particular drum.

Signed out with the volunteers, handed over my room key, and I was on my way. Rolled out the door and was struck full between the eyes by an unfamiliar sight, blinding sunlight. Although painful to my solar-deprived retinae(sp?), that worked better to produce awareness than a cup of coffee poured down the front of my chamois. Ah, light. Warmth. Not wearing tights, knee warmers, and base layer for the first time in days...what luxury!

Buoyed by the delightful weather, I made good time on the way to the one and only intermediate controle of the day, a Sheetz in New Holland. Pedaling through the gentle rollers of Lancaster County in the morning sun was exactly what I needed, and I maintained a reasonable pace for the next few hours.

As I approached the homestretch, however, the knee pain with which I'd been struggling all ride started flaring up badly. At Morgantown, as I left Amish country behind, the left knee started grumbling; by the time I headed into the approach to Harmonyville and made the mistake of powering up a particularly steep incline just after a metal-grate bridge, it was in full-fledged revolt, with only 25 miles to go! I had a good eight hours before the time cutoff, so I popped a couple of Aleve and dialed way back on the effort.

Fortunately, the rest of the route back was fairly familiar, from previous brevets in the 2008 PA series. I had hoped to make it back before dark, but ended up slowing a great deal by the time I hit Swamp Creek Road, so it and the last few miles of back-roads navigation was done in darkness. Regardless, I pulled into the hotel lobby at 8:10 PM, the eighth finisher, less than 5 hours behind first finisher and all-around-good-guy Randy Mouri.

Lessons Learned
Happily, I can say that there were very few negative lessons on this ride. At the risk of tooting my own horn, I've done this enough now, and trained well enough over the past few months, that I really didn't do too much that was wrong.

That said, I did a poor job of sticking to my plan on the first day. I should have eased off after the Blue Mountain climb as planned, rather than trying to hang with the fast group through Fox Gap. I also should have been a bit more careful about solid food intake; until the morning of Day 2 in Sayre, I was mostly running on gels, beans, Heed, and Perpetuem, and I think my system gets unhappy and weaker than it should be with more than 150 miles or so of such a diet.

In the future, I think I want to try a more minimalist approach; I carry a lot of stuff, and it'd be nice to see if I can simplify and trim the load down by 5-10 pounds. For that matter, trimming 20-30 pounds off ME would be a fine idea for future endeavors.

Epilogue
This was a tough ride for me, but not for the obvious reasons. I expected a hard route, and I expected mechanical problems and sleep deprivation and suchlike; heck, I even expected to go through at least one long physical and/or emotional bad patch every day. I thought the weather might be poor in spots, even if I didn't quite realize how poor. But what I didn't expect, because it's never happened to me before, was that I really didn't have fun for much of the ride. For whatever reason, my heart wasn't in it, so I had to substitute sheer stubbornness (and end-goal Ben & Jerry's visualization games! Thanks, Maile!) for actual desire to be riding.

Do I feel a sense of accomplishment, and of pride? Yeah, I do, and I'm glad I didn't give up. Also, I'm willing to wager that, given a few weeks for the sharp edges of memory to be softened into nostalgia, I'll be eager to do such things again. Now, though, the thought of a multi-day brevet is less than appealing; I think I need to be done with such things for a few months. Fortunately, this aversion does not extend to fast day rides and 12-hour races and such...I'm still excited about the idea of training for and riding in Calvin's Challenge next year.

All in all, it was worthwhile. I can't thank Tom, or the Helpful Horde of volunteers, enough for their efforts; their example leads me to believe that I need to do a bit more for the sport than brevet route design and bicycle inspection duties. Anyway, thanks again to Tom and the crew...you couldn't have done more to make my first 1200 a good one.

WPW Fally Rally

Smashing success, apparently. I couldn't tell, 'cause I was too busy pushing for my first seven-hour century. Sadly, I ended up at 7:10, but a lot of that was due to encouraging/BSing with other riders and spending w-a-a-y too much time at the rest stops.

The day started with vast quantities of waffles, plus a cream-filled donut and bottle of Gatorade from the Sheetz up on 19 in Perrysville. After a leisurely pedal to North Park, I made the brilliant decision to stand around and freeze for half-an-hour, nicely negating all benefit of pre-warming the muscles before the century ride kicked off at 7.

Not the most formal of starts, nor what you'd call "Massed"; more of a dribble of departing riders. Those of us who gave a rat's patoot about time rapidly sorted ourselves into "five of us" and "everyone else", via the nice relaxing climb up Babcock, which functioned admirably as a Potter-esque Sorting Hat in that regard. We headed out to Valencia, then Mars/Evans City Rd as far as Callery, until bearing off into the hinterlands via Walters Station Rd. Eventually, the group of 5 became a group of two, a group of me, and a group of two, in that order, and in rapidly expanding anti-proximity.

The first 35-mile loop brought us back to North Park, where the plan called for a quick refuel and off onto the metric loop. The metric was the classic fall rally route, with a couple of slight detours due to construction: Franklin Rd out to Evans City, then Harmony, Zelienople, and out to Riverside High School for the first rest stop. Elwood City, River Rd, and a delightful detour on Gillen near the Fox Run golf course, then the usual climb up Bologne Valley/Foster/Glendale and down to Brush Creek Park for the second rest stop. Finally, the always-delightful hammer back to Cranberry along Brush Creek/Glen Eden/Unionville/Graham School, then meandering through Thorn Hill to the Red Belt and back to the park.

Things of note: we had about 100(!) attendees, of which 50(!) were new members. COOL. Also, there were four-count-'em-four recumbents on the ride; myself, John Strait, and Sean Monaghan, as well as a gentleman whose name perpetually eludes me, but who just picked up a nice Giro 20 at Rob's shop.

Good fun. If I hadn't spent so much time messing about at rest stops, I could easily have brought it in around 6:45; this leads me to think interesting thoughts about sub-6 hour centuries.

Eastern PA 1000K, or, A Long Weekend's Journey into Accomplishment and Incoherence

Eastern PA 1000K Photos

[Edited to add: links to ride reports]
Tom's Ride Report
Emily's Ride report
Steve's Ride Report

Tom Rosenbauer, with the help of several saintly volunteers, ran the Eastern Pa Randonneurs 1000K brevet Friday, August 1st, through Monday, August 4th. As you may have already guessed, oh insightful reader, I happened to be one of the 19 audacious randonneurs who decided to take a crack at a 621-mile ride with the confidence-inspiring subtitle of "Endless Mountains". At the risk of spoiling the ending, I'll say right off the bat that I survived with no apparent injuries, and was feeling good enough that the mere thought of getting back on the bike does not inspire nausea, or even mild discomfort.

The riders were a well-experienced bunch; almost half of the complement was from the DC Randonneurs crew, with the rest of us a mixed bag from Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, and even Emily O'Brien down from Massachusetts with her fixed gear. (As a side note, I was delighted to see that Emily brought the fixie, as it gave me competition for the title of "Person with Bike Apparently Least Suited to the Ride.") As far as I know, I was the only first-year rookie in the crowd; that, plus the fact that this was a good 400 kilometers longer than any ride I had previously attempted, was enough to produce a butterfly or three in the stomach. On the bright side, one of the true joys of this sport lies in the almost unfailing kindness and helpfulness of the participants; a constant through my entire first series has been the encouragement and example of the veterans, and I doubt I would have made it this far without that support.

Day 1...
...dawned, if not bright, at least plenty early, as we were up at 3 AM to get dressed, scarf down as much oatmeal, bagel, and pastry as we could manage, and perform any last minute adjustments to the bikes that became necessary. I knew this was going to be a rough day, as the first 120 miles contained almost every featured climb from the entire previous brevet series, and there was another monster to deal with even later in the day, so starting off nice and easily was the order of the day. For about 10 minutes, anyway, until the adrenaline/testosterone cocktail kicked in. Heh.

No surprises, as most of the route out to Barryville was old hat by this point in the year. We punched out to the first controle near Cherryville, then climbed Little Gap (which I'm happy to report is no longer the arduous climb that it used to be!) on our way out to Cherry Valley and the long climb up Fox Gap. As usual, the relatively tight-knit group shattered during the Fox Gap climb, with the mountain goats rapidly fading in the distance while the rest of us mere mortals ground our way up the hill. Shockingly enough, Tom was NOT waiting at the top of the hill with Secret Controle sign, camera, and gallons of water; it turned out that we were going too fast, and simply missed his arrival!

A quick descent down to Portland, then over to Blairstown and the Gourmet Gallery controle via Walnut (always a fun and surprising climb) Rt 616, and Rt 94. There, while my wiser companions decided to stop and have a proper meal, I decided to push on to the next controle before eating heavily. (In hindsight, this may well have contributed to a fairly bad patch a few hours down the road, but I get ahead of myself.) I hyperventilated my way up the Milbrook climb, then slapped it into high gear for the descent into the Delaware Water Gap. After grinding my way up the hill on Old Mine Rd past Old Milbrook Village, the rest of the Gap passed uneventfully (except for the trail of rando paraphernalia I ended up collecting along the way; bottles and reflective anklets were apparently disinclined to remain with their owners that day...). Tom popped in just before the turn in Layton towards Dingman's Ferry, and topped off our supplies of water and bananas.

From Dingman's Ferry, the climb up Raymondskill Falls. Ouch. OUCHouchouCHOUch. It's not that Raymondskill Falls itself was so terrible, although it certainly wasn't good; it was the continued climbing and vicious rollers on Kessel and Sawkill that followed which REALLY hurt. Once I got to Twin Lakes, things calmed a bit, and I even slowed my heart down enough to enjoy a rather humorous hand-made cautionary roadside sign, to wit: "Warning! Slow Down! Dangerous Armed Rednecks ahead!" On the down side, my usual state of razor-sharp mental acuity had degraded to a tendency to stare at clouds and freewheel at 7 MPH; this is not accepted practice in the Manual of Style for randonneurs on a 1000K ride who haven't even hit 250K yet. Fortunately, the controle at Barryville was nigh, and a few thousand calories in both solid and liquid form did wonders for my powers of concentration.

I had a bit of a rough patch after Barryville; well, to be honest, I had about 25 miles of rough patch, possibly due to skipping solid food a few hours back at Blairstown. I had enough energy to be amused by possibly the worst name for a hair styling salon I'd ever seen: "Hairway to Heaven", as well as spend a few minutes communing with a mud-encrusted old turtle making his leisurely way across the Lackawaxen Scenic Drive; however, I couldn't really keep the speed over about 14-16 mph, which is fairly poor performance given that it was dead flat and even had a slight tailwind. Fortunately for me, I encountered Bill Beck before the last big climb of the day on the way to the Dunkin Donuts controle in Carbondale, so had his presence from which to derive some much-needed gumption.

From Carbondale (AKA The City at the Foot Of The Brake-Pad-Eating Cliff), we rode the final segment to the first sleep controle in Halstead. This was a fairly brutal section, due to our fatigue and a preponderance of fairly nasty sawtoothed rollers. On the bright side, the sunset was absolutely fantastic, we encountered a herd of bison in a nearby field, and I actually got use from my arm warmers (albeit by giving them to Crista, but still...). Once we reached the Colonial Brick Inn and Suites, a quick shower, pounds of Tom's fantastic lasagna, and a 3 AM wakeup call were in order.

Day 2...
...began far too early, as I choked down a banana and some oatmeal at 3:30 before wincingly pedaling out of the parking lot at 4. On the bright side, the day's elevation profile was fairly forgiving for the first hundred miles or so today, so we could expect to bank a bit of time this morning.
Another high point was when Denny, a friend from 'BentriderOnline and the RBR rally, rode out on his Giro 26 recumbent to meet me on the way to Sayre. It was nice to have a conversation with someone more-or-less at eye level, and to see a friendly face that I HADN'T already spent 250 miles or so riding with. We checked in at the controle in Sayre, the Dandy Mini Mart, then continued onward. Denny rode with me as far as the confluence of the Susquehanna and Sheshequin rivers, then took a couple of pictures and bid me adieu.

The rest of the journey to the next controle was uneventful; steeply rolling farm roads, primarily, with the odd farm dog and (quite odd) herd of longhorn cattle. The Acorn Exxon market in Canton was everything one could wish, including hot sandwiches made to order and enough tables to seat plenty of fatigued randonneurs.

[NOTE: it is at this point that my note-taking became even more sporadic, and my mental faculties to decline further, so I hope the reader will forgive a certain degree of potential inaccuracy in my recollections. You have been warned.]

From Canton, we began the longest stage of the route; 71 miles to the next controle in Mill Hall. I might also add that the relatively merciful nature of the day's terrain thus far was to undergo a fairly shockingly, almost Jekyll-and-Hyde-esque transformation to some of the most brutal terrain on the ride. Rt 414 beat the snot out of me, and pretty much everyone else as well, due to the unrelenting nature of the wall-curve-precipice-wall-curve-precipice pattern it took. By the time things leveled out (in Liberty, on Blockhouse Rd down to Pine Creek park), I was utterly knackered. Fortunately, Pine Creek was gorgeous, and mostly flat and downhill for the next few miles to Waterville.

In Waterville, we stopped for refreshments at a restaurant in the park, which contained an honest-to-goshen ice cream bar. This was to prove a problem, as I could not resist a refueling choice of vast quantities of ice cream, tamped down with a grilled cheese/bacon/tomato sandwich. I would like to note that this was to prove a poor choice in the immediate future.

From Waterville, the terrain took a rather alarming turn for the "up"; several miles of steady climb up to Haneyville at the top of the ridge. This wasn't so bad, except for the grilled-cheese-and-ice-cream combo trying desperately to claw its way up my throat; the subsequent 15 miles of ridgetop rollers was evil, and resulted in profanity, blasphemy, and detailed fantasies of vengeance being directed towards Tom. And that was just on my part...

Finally, the punishment eased up, and we made it to the Sheetz controle in Mill Hall. At this point, the ride was definitely taking its toll; while no-one seemed too dispirited, everyone was looking more than a little haggard, and there was quite a bit of concern over the last stage before the next overnight controle. At least two more big climbs were in store, plus an additional 15 miles of "traditional Pennsylvania terrain".

I was paused at the top of the big climb, donning my reflective "please don't hit me" apparel, when I was joined by Kelly and Mary on tandem, Andrea, and Greg. We formed an impromptu band, complete with twanging tendons for the strings, groans for percussion, and a bit of sucking air for the wind section, and picked up the pace. After punching through the last series of climbs, we found that Tom had redeemed himself; the approach to the sleepover controle in Lewisburg was via Rt 192, which turned out to be about 20 miles of fast downhill. It was amazing how much we perked up at that point, as we spent much of our time in the high teens and low twenties for the rest of the leg.

The Country Inn and Suites in Lewisburg was a palace, BTW. At that point, it could have been a hog pen for all I cared, but this was a truly nice little hotel.

Day 3...
...began with an utter lack of appetite, and a whopping 3 hours of sleep, so I was pretty much an animate corpse for the first hour or so. The legs to the next two controles, in Millersburg and Pine Grove, were fairly forgettable; I can say this because, well, I've forgotten everything about them. From Pine Grove, we had one more climb and crossing of the Appalachian Trail, then a vigorous ride through Lancaster farmland to the penultimate controle, the post office at Blue Ball. We (Chuck and Crista, Joe, Bill, and myself) stopped midway in the town of Reinholds at a fantastic Victorian railway depot that was converted to a restaurant; although the service was dreadfully slow, the staff was friendly and the food was good, so the lost time was considered well spent. A quick crossing on foot of a bridge under construction (allowing us to avoid a detour with 4 bonus miles!), and we were back on our way to Blue Ball.

In Blue Ball, we dropped our post cards in the mail box, then retraced our steps briefly on the way to Morgantown. One last stop at the Turkey Hill there for supplies, and we embarked on the final leg back to the hostel. Traffic picked up a good bit as darkness fell; lowlights included a set of fools on crotch rockets (AKA street motorcycles) who thought it would be fun to see how closely they could buzz us at some obscene speed. We persevered, however, and fought our way over to Rt 563. A mere 15 miles and one real climb later, and we were turning into the driveway of the hostel, worn down but happy.

At 9:35 PM on Sunday August 3rd, myself, Bill, Chuck, Crista, and Joe finished as a group. Pictures, handshakes, and pizza were distributed indiscriminately, followed by a shower and collapsing into immobile carrion on a bunk upstairs for 8 hours.

Good fun...I'd do it again, and feel pretty confident that I could pull off a 1200K without too much difficulty.

I highly recommend that interested parties take a look at Bill Beck's photos; he takes great pictures, and got quite a few in the course of this ride.

Lessons Learned
There are three opportunities for improvement that I should address.

• First, climbing; although I'm not a bad climber at this point, it's still one of the most obvious areas on which to work to improve my overall speed.
• Climbing leads naturally to my next point, which is descending; I'm fine dropping like a stone on a straightaway with good visibility, but I turn into a brake-riding weenie at the first hint of a curve or limited sight line.
• Finally, I still have a lot of room for improvement at the controles; I spent way too much time dawdling at many of them, and could probably have shaved at least a couple of hours off my overall time (or gotten two more hours of sleep!) with no real difficulty.

I'm quite pleased with how well I held up with regards to overall performance, and I had very little aftereffects beyond tiredness and a bit of soreness/stiffness in the legs. Oh, yeah, and a hint of numbness in the feet, but nothing serious. I think a lot of that well-being is due both to youth and to the recumbent; I recover well, and the bike simply doesn't beat me up when I ride.

Random bragging

Small potatoes to many, but I had another personal best on Tuesday with the Unfriendly Bastards. 19.1 mph average for 35 miles of "typical southwestern PA terrain"... I gotta keep riding with these guys, 'cause they're pushing me to improve far faster than I would on my own.

That's it. I'm just pleased, given that I couldn't have maintained a 13 mph average over that route a year ago.

:-)