Out of the Shadows

When the shadows begin to reappear on our oft cold and dank landscape, we tend to rise up, gear down and pedal our way into the light.  This year we fought a different darkness, a darkness of the mind.  It's easy to forget what matters in this world when one gets caught up in the daily diatribe incessantly spewing from the monopolized media.  Nothing clears the head like a decent day on the bike.

The smell of spring wafts softly upon the cool, moist countryside air.  The fragrant wild rose and honeysuckle along the trails and side roads of this wonderful landscape take me to a timeless, nirvana of the mind.  Never mind the death, gloom and doom to which we're exposed.  Get on your bike and ride.

The mind is a powerful tool and in the wrong line of thinking, it can become a, uh, a . . . an "evil doer".  It can work against you.  It can take you down.  Each winter it becomes a challenge to--pardon the pun--weather the season.  At our latitude, darkness comes early and stays long into the dawn.  Although we dread this time of year, especially when the days are gray, wet and cold, when the sun does rise, we marvel at its beauty.

Sunrise Memories

I've memories of sunrises on my aunt and uncle's farm in Ohio that have stayed with me throughout the years.  The cool morning moisture rising from the soil, hanging in the air among the crops of corn and soy bean alerting us that the day would become humid and sweltering.  At first it felt too cool but it didn't last very long.  And indeed, as the day wore on, the heat became stifling.  I often compare those morning sunrises with all that I've experienced since.  To this day, I sometimes rise from bed extra early just to feel that sense of sunrise, that . . . atmosphere.

At this latitude, when winter waxes and wanes, we get to experience similar sensations only we don't necessarily have to get up as early.  It just becomes part of our commute, our awakening from the darkness.  And now that the summer encroaches, we don't quite get to share our time with the morning light unless by some happenstance we're literally up at the crack of dawn AND the clouds have overslept.  I've never been much of a morning person since I like to stay up late but as you can see, I do appreciate what I've been missing.

The sun brings us northerners into a state of euphoria.  We rise, we smile, we get busy, we play.  Lately, we've been able to commute and ride and enjoy our fare share of fair weather.  However, we still must take the gray as it is part of our landscape, our atmosphere.  The moisture is what makes western Washington so green.  What offsets those moist gray days is the ever so slight rise in temperature and, of course, the light.  The difference between dark, gray, dank at 43 degrees and light, gray, humid at 48 degrees is actually quite palpable, at least to me.  My wife begs to differ.

"Ten Flat" Matt

We've had some stellar riding days of late and we recently completed a few training rides.  One was out to Blyn via a combination of a small portion of the now defunct Olympic Cycling Classic event ride and the Olympic Discovery Trail (ODT).  We rode the Waterfront Trail/ODT to the gun club across from Deer Park Road and crossed Highway 101 to Deer Park Road and rode it to Township line then down O'Brien Road to Old Olympic Highway and onto the ODT at the bridge.  We rode with our friend "Ten Flat" Matt who, astonishingly enough, didn't get a flat.  We stopped at the Longhouse in Blyn for paninis and other requisite sustenance and moseyed on back home.  Then, it happened again, within the very last few miles, Matt got a flat.

Up Deer Park Road

Now, in Matt's defense, I must confess that his recent history of flats all came upon him (and us) from a set of tires I gave him.  I had purchased some Specialized Flak Jacket tires and wasn't completely satisfied with them as they tended to get flats easier than advertised.  They were relatively new but I didn't feel right returning them so I bought a set of Armadillo's instead and just hung onto them for emergency sake.

The 2011 R.S.V.P. (flashback)

Well, it was last year right before we were scheduled to ride the increasingly frustrating Ride from Seattle to Vancouver, BC and Party (RSVP) when I noticed that our riding partner Matt had severely worn tires.  He'd never changed them since he bought the bike and they were waaay overdo for replacement.  I told him, "you're not riding the RSVP with THOSE."  He's recently divorced, bought a house and has two kids so he was a tad tight on money.  He said he didn't have the money to buy a new set of tires before riding the RSVP and that, "they'll be fine."

The rubber tread was already separating from the inner liner.  I flat out refused to let him ride those tires on the two day 188 mile ride to Canada.  If he flatted along the way, there'd be no way to repair the tires to make them ride-able and/or safe.  We'd be at the mercy of some possibly non-existent bike shop having tires for him within walking/riding distance. Furthermore, they were dangerous because they could catastrophically fail on a rapid descent, of which this ride had a few.  I was forced to give him my spare, somewhat unreliable Flak Jacket tires.  Flats are one thing, catastrophic tire failure is something else entirely.

Crossing the Golden Ears Bridge

Long story short, we didn't get more than 5 miles out of Seattle when we lost him completely on a long straight descent through a residential detour that year.  He had not been feeling well the night before and we ended up assuming he had abandoned and was somewhere yakking in the bushes and waiting for the SAG wagon (support and gear vehicle).  It turns out he had simply flatted.

Party on the Hotel Patio

He eventually caught up with us at a rest stop but ended up flatting two more times during that day's ride.  The next day he only flatted twice.  We eventually made it to Vancouver but having left him in charge of the hotel reservations, we ended up not having them made on the right nights so he was scrambling to get us a room.  This loomed on us the second day with spotty cell phone reception, but we ended up in a five star hotel and . . . paid the price.  Matt insisted on covering this one.  The ride home was a pedal in the park:


Never R.S.V.P. Again

Coming Home via the Galloping Goose Trail

Now, in my own defense (and Flak Jacket's), some of Matt's flats were of his and my own doing.  His first flat he repaired but tweaked the valve so that it had a slow leak.  Then I ended up trying to patch one flat and, as usual, the patch didn't hold.  In any event, it was an epic ride that Matt swore to never doing again.  We tended to agree as the shear cost of the entire ride was prohibitively expensive and there was also the enormous hassle of entering the damn thing in the first place.

Cascade Bicycle Club had some new online sign up system that year which crashed relentlessly and one had to be a masochist to actually sign up before the ride limit was reached.  It was so infuriating that some of our usual ride partners gave up after two or three futile hours of trying. We rationalized that we could easily have a much more enjoyable ride organizing it ourselves or, at the very least, do some other ride next year.

Fast Forward (sort of)

So, that's the short version of the 2011 RSVP.  Fast forward to this year.  We didn't even try to sign up for the RSVP.  Instead, Lisa and I decided to Ride the Hurricane (RTH).  Last year this was held the same weekend in August of the RSVP.  Even though the RSVP was held on Friday and Saturday and the RTH was on a Sunday, the logistics of trying to get back by Sunday morning after having ridden 188 gruelling miles the two days before did not appeal to us.  Besides, although the Hurricane involved riding a mere 17 or so miles (34 round trip), it was 17 miles from 200-ft. to 5,200-ft.  That's no small feat at 8% grade for the first 4 miles and 6% the rest of the way to the top.  Even though the two rides fall on different weekends this year, we've decided to boycott the RSVP for a year or more.

Cascade Bicycle Club (CBC) finally came up with a lottery system but by then, it was too late for us to care.  The ride was closed and half our friends didn't make the cut.  The damage had been done.  Life's too short for these sorts of meaningless frustrations.  Lisa had been diagnosed in early June and last year's RSVP would be her last event ride of the season as she was between a recent series of two lumpectomy surgeries and just before the start of her chemo therapy sessions.  We've come along way since then and her strength and courage has been nothing short of resoundingly inspiring.

The 2011 Seattle to Portland

I rode the Seattle to Portland (STP) in July of last year while Lisa could only SAG with Reanee.  It was the first time since we'd started riding the STP in 2005 that we didn't ride together.  We'd ridden every year since.  It literally broke her heart walking into the Centralia campus where the end of the first day's ride camps.  There's a beer garden there and I was interested in watching the Tour with fellow riders.  We didn't get far when the gravity of the situation hit Lisa like a fully loaded Mack truck and trailer.  She didn't ride, therefore she felt she didn't belong.  It crushed her and she teared up and I felt like an idiot.  We did a quick 180 and headed to Shelly's Grandpa's house.



Lisa was between lumpectomies and it was not advisable for her to stress herself so recently after surgery so we took the conservative approach and she sat out last year's STP.  That's what's so amazing about her taking part in the RSVP in August.  This year she signed herself up for the Danskin triathlon and the STP.  So, to train, we'd ridden some distance rides, some hilly rides AND the Flying Wheels just last weekend. 

The 2012 Flying Wheels

The Flying Wheels (FW) is the CBC's tune up "Summer Century" ride that happened this year in spring.  It's a 96 mile ride into the Snoqualmie Valley(?) from Redmond to Snohomish and back:




Since January, Lisa has lost 40 pounds.  Since January, I've lost 8 pounds.  The first climb starts just 4 miles into the ride as we skirt Lake Sammamish make a left and leave one valley for the other.  It's a wall of asphalt that lasts a half mile at a constant 13% grade.  In a word, it's "BRUTAL".  I believe I've even heard grown men weeping on this hill but I can't be sure because I'm usually sucking wind so hard people automatically stay right as I pass their left.  I'll gasp something like, (inhale), (exHALE), (INhale), "ON--(INHALE)--YOUR--(INHALE)-- LEFT", (INHALE), (EXHALE).  People will say something like, "I know, I heard your breathing."  Of course, I want to say something cutesy like, "I can't help it, I'm a loud breather", but I'm usually too out of breath to manage much more than an inhale or an exhale depending on my last breath.

Notice the 13% Grade at 4.4 miles

At over 200 pounds, I'm not currently nor have I ever been, considered a climber.  Oh, I can "shift, STOMP and grind my way over a few short, steep hills here and there, but I don't look forward to it AND, I don't necessarily excel at it.  Still, with considerable effort, I can get there before a fare share of lesser riders.  Having said that, I don't mean to diminish those who I can pass on a climb.  I simply pick a moment on a given climb and hit it as hard as I can.  Why prolong the misery?

The Red Zone

But, I do have to be mindful of entering the Red Zone too early.  The Red Zone is where you go anaerobic.  That is, it's when you maximize your energy output beyond your lung's and muscle's capacity to take up oxygen.  Do that too early or too often and "pop" goes your weasel; you're done.  That's not good when you have some 92 or so miles left to go.

Lisa on the other hand, was looking to take 'er easy and just get some pre-STP miles in on the saddle.  Each year on this hill, I'm usually off the front attacking and trying to get this steep half mile over with as quickly as possible.  I usually temper myself and try to mind my heart rate and breathing and cadence and so on.  But in the heat of the moment, I just stomp the pedals.  This typically results in dropping Lisa and friends except the fitter athletes of the bunch.  Once at the top, I hold up and cheer her on as she steadily climbs past the last few hundred feet of steepness.

Lisa Locomotive Goes Cog Railway

This year, we rode alone as all our usual suspects baled on us.  This year, Lisa actually passed me on the climb.  In fact, she got about 3 to 7 bike lengths in front of me and I was hard pressed to maintain even that distance from her.  She made it to the top before me for the first time EVER!  I cannot tell you how proud I am that she had "shifted, stomped and ground" her way to the top before me.  It wasn't for a lack of effort on my part, but I knew the only way to catch her put me into the ever dangerous Red Zone.  I ground my own way up the hill and congratulated her amazing pace.  It was . . . spin-a-rific!

We pedalled our way through Duvall, Monroe, Snohomish and back catching Carnation before we headed back out of the valley.  By then, Lisa was suffering a bothersome strain in her back and left leg.  Still, she soldiered on.  When we came to the last climb out, I was ready.  Years of riding this event had taught me to goo up right before and right after the last climb.  You know, that syrupy liquid that comes in ketchup-like packets and tastes like mocha mucus or vanilla powder syrup?  That stuff.  This year, I actually did it and it worked.  I was feeling rather sassy and was in rather high spirits at the foot of the climb.  Joking and kidding my fellow riders, I was about to hit the last climb with some spunk and gusto.

At mile 80, the climb starts off with a shorter and slightly less steep (12%) section and has a few rest spots along the way but it's no walk in the park by any means.  Once you crest this climb, it descends for a short bit and climbs sharply yet again.  It's through this section that we've seen deer and one year, Lisa saw a juvenile black bear.  On the other side of this ridge, we descend, with traffic, at about 35 miles per hour and are typically relegated to the bike lane/shoulder.

He Just Sounds Fast

I don't usually try to find a gap in the traffic and take the lane, but this time I did.  I did because earlier in the ride, Lisa and I had been swapping positions with a gray mustachioed gentleman through a particular segment.  I was commenting to Lisa that he had a nice looking bike that sounded fast.  You know that swoosh, swoosh, swoosh sound that deep carbon rims make as they pass you?  Yeah, they sound fast.  I jokingly commented that this gentleman that we'd been trading places with "sounded fast but, he's really not that fast."

We then came upon a rather curvy descent that I recognized once we turned the corner to the right into a straight away just before it curves left back uphill under an overpass of some kind.  By this time, Lisa weighing as much as she now does, dropped off the back of my wheel.  We had recently passed the gray haired gentleman.  I was hoping this gentleman didn't try to pass me on this somewhat technical descent as I usually am the fastest thing going when it comes to downhill segments and I didn't want anyone crowding me into the turn.

There were no riders in front of me and I couldn't see any vehicular traffic for the overpass but if I stayed in my lane, I could manage maximum speed through the curve so long as I took the right line and didn't touch the brakes.  I decided to hit it and crouched into my uber tuck as I accelerated into the dive.  Hitting the apex of the turn, I was flying and worried I'd over cooked it coming out of the turn up the hill at 41.8 mph.  Luckily I'd resisted touching my brakes and picked the appropriate line to complete the maneuver.

The Sickening Sound Behind Me

I didn't over cook it.  But, behind me I heard a hideous carbon fiber laden, sliding then crashing, heart stopping, sickening sound.  My worst fear flickered in my mind, that Lisa was somehow involved, as I slowed, braked and turned to see what happened.  Again, luckily, I saw Lisa rolling to a stop right behind a body on the pavement with a couple of  bikes off the side.  He was moaning, thus conscious.  I turned to survey the damage.  Our gray haired gentleman had bit it hard.   He was helmet less and on his back smack dab in the middle of the lane.

As I arrived he raised his torso and leaned upon his right elbow--of which I was within two feet of as I approached from behind.  That's when I saw the blood literally pour out of his head onto the asphalt.  Riders that were behind us began arriving at high rates of speed and my first thought was that someone needs to go back up that descent and warn the incoming riders or this situation would get worse in a heartbeat.

There were plenty of people at the scene and I turned to the lady approaching from her now stopped car in the shoulder of the on coming lane.  She had a cell phone in her hand so told her to call 911.  I also told the people standing by to get someone to stop the bleeding.  I then headed up the straight away, about midway, and began motioning and informing the down-hillers to slow down, that there was an accident ahead.

Along the ride, embedded, were several Ride Refs.  Two of them arrived at the scene and took up positions to assist in traffic control.  The gray haired gentleman had friends caring for his injuries until help arrived.  After a seemingly long time, I had convincingly slowed all incoming cyclists and one of the ride refs relieved my position.  We somberly high fived each other on passing and I rejoined my wife at the scene.  The gentleman was still sitting in the middle of the lane while a female friend was holding his head.

Hamburger Head

Lisa and I slowly rode past as the sirens sounded off in the distance.  He looked as though he hit the pavement with the right side of his face.  It looked . . . unreal, fake almost, like those rubbery gory masks Hollywood makes for those cheap horror movies they role out every year.  In fact, when I saw the blood pouring out of his head, it was so bright red it too looked, "Hollywood fake".  By now, his face was quit swollen and I could see that he had several severe gashes and cuts.  You could tell that healing was going to take a while and I worried he'd hit his head rather hard and may suffer a concussion, broken nose or worse.

Apparently, there were two cyclists involved in this crash and the other landed in the ditch on the outside of the curve of the road.  That explains the second bike laying just off the road.  Lisa was right behind them when it happened and she informed me that the other rider got up right away.  He suffered a gash over his eye but was in less worse shape.  Lisa told me that she saw them touch wheels ever so slightly and that it happened so quickly but there was no doubt that the one rider had touched his front wheel to the rear wheel of the other rider.

The Ill Begotten Inside Pass

At near or over 40 miles per hour on a bicycle, when things that go bad, they go bad quickly.  The only thing I can figure out in the post wreck analysis, is that our gray haired gentlemen passed Lisa gaining speed and proceeded to gain on the rider in front of them.  At near 40 mph into a tight turn, picking the right line is crucial.

Trying to pass someone at that speed in a turn is extremely dangerous.  If the rider in front of you turns tighter than you while your on the inside of them and your going faster than him, your toast.  This seems the simplest, easiest explanation and thus is most likely exactly what happened.  If either of them so much as tapped their brakes in that turn, one, the other or both of them would go down.  I suppose that could have happened too.

People who pay over two grand for a carbon fiber frame and up to more than half that much for deep rimmed carbon fiber wheels, typically ride more than the average cyclist.  That leads me to believe our gray haired gentleman should've known not to attempt an inside pass at that speed on a curve.  But, we're all human.  Luckily, he'll live to ride another day.  Hopefully he'll have learned something here (if what I think happened actually happened).  Unfortunately, he totally ruined not only his ride but the ride of the cyclists in front of him.

Back to the Beginning/End

The rest of the ride we tried to put the accident behind us.  Even earlier in the ride shortly after we crested the first climb, on the descent into the valley it was still moist and the pavement was slick.  The thick tree cover kept it that way and we were warned by Ride Refs to take it slow on our curvatious descent.  On a rather tight turn, we saw a rider in the ditch who had over cooked the turn and hopefully just missed the road sign cautioning travellers to slow to 25 mph.

For the rest of the ride after the accident we witnessed with the gray haired gentleman, we were wary of anything else going wrong.  And that's why on the descent back to Lake Sammamish, I took a tad more conservative approach.  Since we were travelling at the same speed as traffic, taking the lane is no skin off a motor vehicle driver's teeth.  A cyclist is in the lane is allowed by Washington State law.  We always have the right to the lane but if we cannot travel at speed, we are to stay as far right as is deemed safe (by us).

Zipping along at 36 mph in a 35 mph zone, I felt safer taking the lane through the curves of our descent.  The thought of over cooking a turn and ending up in the ditch or worse, touching the wheel of someone I was attempting to pass wasn't appealing to me.  I cleared my rear view mirror, signalled and took the lane.  Still, it makes me sweat just thinking about the traffic so close behind me if anything went wrong.  Thankfully, the lady driving the car behind me kept her distance.

There's No Little 100 and No One We Know at the Beer Garden

One of the best parts of the Flying Wheels of the past has been the Little 100 and, of course, the beer garden at the side of the velodrome track.  Our first ever FW we finished exhausted, hot and ready for a beer and a shower.  What we came to was the velodrome and a series of goofy relay cycling races in a velodrome where the teams dressed thematically in cookie attire.  We missed out on T-shirts as they always sell out fast but there was plenty of beer for sale and we could sit and watch some crazy ass cycling teams dressed in everything from diapers to hockey gear to lingerie to tutus.  It was some of the most entertaining racing I'd ever seen on a bike.

Beer Garden Love @ STP 2011

Sadly this year, the velodrome was otherwise booked or they just plain didn't have the Little 100.  We ended up not being able to get our requisite T-shirt as they had once again sold out and there was no one we knew in the beer garden.  We were told we could get our T-shirts online within one week of the event.  Lisa no longer drinks due to her taste issues and we had no one to meet up with or wait for so we stayed for one beer and headed back to the hotel.

The next day we cruised our bikes to University Village for lunch and back for our 50 mile recovery ride.  We stopped at the Red Hook Brewery during our return as it was just 7 miles from the our hotel.

We had appointments for Lisa in Seattle on Monday and we took it even easier the next day.  This had been my first ride on my new frame but . . . that's a whole 'nother story I'll get to later.