What, Me Worry?

You might think that I'm really apprehensive about the Rocky Mountain ride, coming up now in only 22 short days. But I'm not. I don't know why, because I should be. But there's nothing I can do but ride, try to spend as much time as I can climbing then go and do it. It has been a while since my last update and there has been some riding since I last reported on the recovery ride after my 103 mile trek. Rides since then have been (miles / feet of climbing):

37.3 / 1,741
18.1 / 1,150
57.6 / 3,530
84.1 / 5,592
24.6 / 1,814

The last ride just completed about 2 1/2 hours ago. What an absolutely spectacular evening it was for a ride, too. Cool, but just right for riding in shorts and a short sleeve jersey (NEW shorts and jersey they would be, too) with no wind. I was on the Bianchi, because I took the Trek in to River Trails for a tune up before the big ride. Up Bliss Road, Down FO, up OA, right back down OA and up FO, back to Bliss, down to the local Subway and home. If only every day could be like this one.

Totals for the year are 1,448.0 miles (2,063.2 including the trainer miles) and 82,691 feet of climbing. That's Mt. Everest, K2 and Denali with over 5,000 feet to spare.

So, what about this Rocky Mountain ride? Details are on the the Cycle America web site ~ click here. We ride from Loveland, Colorado to Estes Park and Granby before heading to Steamboat Springs where we have a day off. I hope I make it there so I can enjoy the off day. From Steamboat Springs it is on to Walden, Saratoga, Wyoming, Laramie then back to Loveland. About 500 miles and an undocumented amount of climbing (but it will be a bunch). We've already been warned to bring cold weather / wet weather gear. Just a walk in the park.

OK, so maybe I am just a little apprehensive.

Recovery

I'm not sure of the exact definition of recovery ride. If it is something like "take an easy ride, something short and not too taxing because yesterday you did something really aggressive and now you are tired and sore," then today I set out to do a recovery ride. After a 104 mile, 6,400 foot day yesterday I:

a) wanted to do another ride today and
b) didn't want anything near 104 miles and 6,400 feet of climbing

I succeeded in both cases, too. Last Thursday as I was making great time on my way to Stoddard, two riders zipped by me with a friendly wave. Sheesh. Anyway, about a mile down the road I looked up and they were nowhere to be seen. Now they were riding a quick pace, but not that quick. I could see a good way down the highway. What had apparently happened is they turned off on Chipmunk Ridge Road, which does come down to the highway a bit past Goose Island. I thought then, "Wonder what that road is like?" Today, I found out.

Before actually riding the road, I looked at the map. I have ridden Mohawk Valley Road up from the river to the ridge. At the top, Mohawk Valley tees into Chipmunk Ridge which then takes you east, turning into Hamburg Road somewhere before ending at the top of County K. It is the section of Chipmunk Ridge from the river road to the this intersection at the top that I had not yet ridden. Now on the map, it looks as if the way up Mohawk Valley Road to the ridge top is about twice as long as the route taken by Chipmunk Coulee. They both start at river level and both meet at a point up on the ridge. You do the math. Chipmunk has to be a steeper climb. Undaunted by this realization, I set off to give it a go.

It takes all of about 10 seconds after turning off of the highway to realize that Chipmunk Coulee is steep. This was a recovery ride? As I climbed, I watched the display on my computer as it measured the grade. Seven percent turned into 10% then 14% and at one point, 18%. After a bit, the grade eased up, but only a little. Nothing like an 18% section to make 10% look like a chance to relax. But we were not done. Another steep section rose up to challenge. When I finally got to the high point, I found I was not yet at the intersection with Mohawk Valley. Riding on, I discovered in fact that I was somewhat higher than that junction~that was about a mile and short steep descent away. Yep, it was quite a climb.

Once on the upper part of Chipmunk Coulee, it was a wonderful ride across the ridge. The ever-present stiff wind was coming at me over my left shoulder. This cross wind can push you around, but doesn't demand the extra effort extracted by a headwind. Once again, the descent down County K was made a bit more exciting by the what was now a headwind. I'm guessing that my downhill velocity plus the wind speed gave me a face full of near 60 mph moving air.

Back in La Crosse I pulled in to Subway to pick up lunch/dinner. I do this a lot. And I always order the same thing. Exactly the same sandwich. Every time. And the young men and women who work there know this. I don't even have to tell them what I want ~ I show up and they grab the Italian Herb and Cheese bread, the roasted chicken and cheddar cheese. Toast it, add lettuce, tomato, green pepper and Chipotle sauce and you have a great recovery sandwich.

By the time the sub and I got home, 24.7 miles and 1,021 feet had been put behind me. What a great way to recover.

That's Odd

You know, there are those days when just nothing goes right. The miles and meters drag on as you suffer in the rain with the wind in your face. Today was not one of those days. It was, in fact, one of those glorious days that are made for being on a bike. The day started cool and warmed as the day went on. The stiff wind which promised to punish was only rarely coming at us head on. Skies were clear and the scenery, as always, was fantastic.

I started out climbing Bliss Road at 7 a.m., taking it easy on the way up where I would meet Bill for the ride, thinking that it was nice to be able to climb the hill AND take it easy at the same time. It wasn't always that way. We rode out through Barre Mills, up County II, picking up Antony Road at the top. From there, it was out to Highway 33 at Middle Ridge for the trip to Cashton. One of the customers at the convenience store where we refueled asked me where we were heading. I answered, "Here." Seemed obvious enough to me. He thought it was hilarious.

Leaving Cashton, we headed back towards Coon Valley on County Roads D and P. Here's where we thought the wind would take back what it had given on the ride east. However, it somehow managed to not hinder and even at times, help. I'll take it. On this stretch, we saw a number of cyclists going the other way; a tour we'd missed, I suppose. I was riding so well that I got way ahead of Bill; I stopped at HIghway 27 to wait for him. When he arrived, he said he'd stopped several times to take pictures. Sure.

Continuing on P, the wind finally met us head on. So, we decided we'd climb up County X. You're going to have to work hard no matter what, so you might as well get in some altitude. After descending on H and riding through Bohemian Valley, we pulled into the Coon Valley Kwik Trip. Here we see a gathering of several dozen motorcyclists at one of the local watering holes. We'd met and been passed by numerous groups all morning. Seems as Coon Valley was the rallying point. I had noticed that the motorcycles seemed to travel in odd-numbered groups. With the exception of a couple of rider pairs, all of the groups were 3's, 5's, 7's or 9's. Maybe they don't want ties when voting on which bar to visit at the end of the ride.

After climbing HIghway 162, I suggested that Bill, who was again waiting for me at the top, might as well just ride on in. I'd finish the ride at my pace, which is slower than his. So he took off. After climbing County M to St. Joseph, I decided to make a real ride of it. Instead of heading back towards La Crosse on Highway 33, I went down M on the other side of the highway into Barre Mills. I turned on to County YY and climbed back up to 33, which I took to OA. I dropped back down OA so I could climb FO. When I finally got home, I had travelled 103.7 miles and climbed 6,386 feet.

And even with all of that extra time to think about it, I still can't really figure out why the motorcyclists ride in odd-numbered groups.

Blissful Riding

You know, there are those days when everything just clicks. The miles and meters fly by as you enjoy the warmth of the sun with the wind at your back. Today was not one of those days. Checking in at weather.com, I see that the afternoon forecast is for mostly cloudy skies, the rain showers predicted earlier for this afternoon now not anticipated until after midnight. This is good news for someone planning to bike at 4 p.m. So, I headed out for a ride up Bliss Road, this climb to be followed by another up OA before returning up FO. I was off at 4:10 p.m., ready for a couple of hours on the Trek.

All went as planned until just past the halfway point up Bliss. Then it started to rain. Not so hard, but rain nonetheless. Up at the top, the rain picked up as I rode to the weather station. It was there that I decided I would NOT continue on away from home; instead, I headed back down Bliss. The plan now, turn around and climb again. Maybe I could get in three or four climbs, yet stay relatively close to home in case the weather turned worse. But still, the forecast had been for mostly cloudy. Surely the rain was an aberration.

This time I made it about three quarters of the way up the hill before it started to rain again. By the time I reached the Alpine Inn, it was pouring. The road and my brakes were now certifiably wet and slick. I was cold. My socks were swimming in the small lakes that had formed in my shoes. It was clearly time to head for home. This meant dropping down into the pounding rain, losing body temperature with every foot of the descent. This was about as much mostly cloudy as I could take.

At home it was the dryer for the wet clothes, newspaper in the shoes and a warm shower for me. There are those days when everything just clicks. And then there was today.

My ride today was a mere 13.4 miles with just over 1600 feet of climbing. My total for the year is 1,032.8 miles (1,648.0 counting the miles on the trainer). Climbing has gone past the 58,000 foot mark. Progress. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go to weather.com ~ we have some issues to discuss.

Free Range

A new route today. Same ride to Stoddard, taking the scenic highway along the Mississippi. Same quick stop at Kwik Trip for chocolate milk and a small cake donut. Then, instead of the usual loop around to Chaseburg on Highway 162, I took Dennis and Gordy's recommendation to climb up Proksch Coulee Road. And a wonderful suggestion it was.

It does not take long to get through Stoddard and out into the rural countryside. The road winds through a valley, past farms and homes. I ride along, enjoying the scenery and the fact that the substantial "breeze" that I pushed against on the ride to Stoddard was now at my back, more or less. After a mile or so, I come to the chicken farm that Dennis had told me about. They (the chickens) take the free range thing literally, the range including the roadway. I weave my way through the rust red roosters ranging the road and ride onward. Later on there is the farm with the herd of Scottish Highland cattle. How is it that the cattle you see in the fields, those cattle that you think maybe aren't so bright, are always able to give you this look that says, "What in the world are you doing here, on that thing?" Well, that's what I think they are thinking.

It is just past this farm that the road finally climbs up to the ridge above. A very pleasant ride up through a narrow, tree lined valley before popping up (figuratively - I do not ride up hills THAT quickly) into open fields. Now the wind is a little less accommodating as I make my way through the farmland to the church at the top of County K. And the drop down K towards Chaseburg was really dicey with the wind coming up the hill with almost the same velocity as I was going down. But, I made it and was soon on Wrobel Road going back up the hill and on to home.

Chickens, cattle and bicycle riders. Out enjoying a late afternoon in southwestern Wisconsin, each moving about in their own range, wondering what the other is thinking.

YY, Oh YY?

What was I thinking yesterday? That I'd get in a 30 mile ride before the storms rolled into town. Just a few clouds overhead when I left, but the situation changed quickly. By the time I'd reached the top of FO skies to the south and west were dark and rainy. Do I turn around? Well, noooo... I'll just drop down FO to OA, turn around, climb the beast and head home. Worked like a charm; I didn't get rained on until I was about half way up the steep end of FO. COLD rain and wind. For about 10 minutes. I had to stop to put my phone and wallet in plastic bags. I'd have put on the light jacket, too, if I'd had it with me. Starting back up again, my chain came off the small ring. Why did I even think I could squeeze in a ride?

Tonight, however, was so much different. If there was a problem it was that it was a bit too cool for riding without the jacket and a bit too warm to ride with it. Oh well. It was up Bliss then down FO into a wind strong enough to keep me under 50 mph. After riding past Hayfield, I put the wind to my back as I rode along, then up, County YY. At the top, I headed west on Highway 33 then turned onto the southbound section of YY that dropped down to Highway 14/61. This was the first time I'd been on this part of YY and it was a wonderful ride. The road was in good shape and wound through more of the cool, green rural landscape that lies east of La Crosse.

Why do I ride? The challenge of cold rain and steep hills. And the reward of County YY and the roads like it.

Them Barre Hills

I thought I'd follow up yesterday's 67 mile long, 4,291 foot tall ride with another day of climbing. This one was closer to home, not like Saturday's that took us to Coon Valley and eventually into La Crosse from the south. Instead, I went up Bliss Road and down into the valley where the unincorporated community of Barre Mills is situated. There are a number of climbs from county roads OA and M back up to Highway 33. A good place to get in some vertical riding.

On this day, I climbed Bliss then dropped down on FO, reaching, by the way, 53.3 mph, only 0.3 mph short of my quickest descent. At the bottom, I went right back up OA to the highway, down OA again and around to County O then M. Just past the Hayfield cafe / pizza shop / convenience store / used to be gas station, I turned and went up County YY. Back down to M to follow it around until it rose to Highway 33 at St. Joseph. Then, you guessed it, back down M, past Hayfield to OA and eventually up FO. Whew.

After all of this, it was down Bliss Road to find I was short of another day of 4,000 feet of climbing. Can't get that close and not go for it, so, back up Bliss Road and back down again. I had my 4,000 feet now, but just for good measure, I climbed the 263 steep feet of Old Vineyard Road. Whew^2

The final tally? 54.7 miles and 4,341 feet of climbing. No land speed records, but a 121 mile, 8,600 foot weekend on the bike, thanks in large part to the hills of Barre Mills.

29035

So what's the big deal? People spend years preparing; the treks are followed closely in the press. And when successful, which isn't all that often, there is all of this excitement ~ flag waving, high fives, maybe even a parade back home. All of this for traveling a mere 5.49905 miles. Straight up miles, to be sure, but seriously, all of that hoopla? For all of the attention the feat attracts, climbing Mt. Everest simply means navigating 29,035 feet of climbing, just a medium sized yak* shy of 5.5 miles.

Sure, we've made it out to be a big deal, but I can tell you that I've made that same climb. In shorts. Dragging along a bike. Looking at my ride log, I noticed that, on April 23, I went past the 29,035 foot mark in total climbing. A Mt. Everest's worth of verticality. And I didn't even get an inch in the local paper. Go figure.

OK, so maybe climbing our local 500 foot hills 60 times isn't the same as summiting a mountain in the Himalayas. But I'll take it. My total climbing has now reached 37,693 feet. This means that I'm already 9,442 feet up K2. Only 18,809 feet to go. Piece of cake!

* it's well-known that medium yaks are 0.00095 miles (or 5.016 feet) tall.

Alphabet Soup

Following up on yesterday's theme - the sudden return of winter - I broke out the long sleeved base layer, tights, jacket, glove liners, under-the-helmet cap and toe liners for a 36 mile ride. It was a wonderful early winter evening, with the beauty that abounds around here accentuated by the afternoon light.

My route reads like some secret code: after climbing Bliss Road, I rode along county roads F, FA, FO, OA, O, M, and YY to Highway 33 (don't know how that one slipped in). Then it was back to OA, FO, F, FA and finally down Bliss Road and home. There were climbs on Bliss, OA, YY and FO with descents on FO, OA (twice) and Bliss. It was chilly the entire ride, even on the climbs, which totaled 2,826 feet tonight.

I'm not sure what the weather report is for tomorrow, but I'm not putting away the cold weather gear just yet.

Really Long Nap

Spring arrived last week and with it came 188 miles ridden in the stylish warm weather outfits preferred by us bikers. Dressed to the 9's, we are. Sunblock was in order and tan line development was well underway. It was, in fact, a very pleasant spring season. While it lasted. Summer apparently came and went while I was napping after the last long ride. Friday, I had to wear a jacket against wind and cold rain. Saturday was washed out. Sunday I bailed out. Monday it snowed. Snow, on April 28. I am not making this up.

So, since there is little riding to write about, I suppose I should unveil the plans for [the next big ride]. Drum roll, please...

June 21 through June 28, Bill and I ride through northwestern Colorado and southern Wyoming on the 500 mile Rocky Mountain National Park tour. Not as long as last year's Seattle to Missoula Northwest Sampler. It will be, however, quite a bit taller. I've taken to trying to spend more time climbing so my training rides have been, so far, a bit shorter than last year. So far, so good.

There, wasn't that exciting?

To the 9's

The other day as I was pulling the long grind up County OA, I looked down at my computer. Progress is recorded there in terms of miles traveled and feet climbed. As I glanced at the screen, I saw that I was 9.99 miles from the start of the ride and had climbed a total of 999 feet. Now, isn't that amazing!?

Longing...

How I long for

...being able to get out on the Trek with only shorts, a jersey and low cut socks, leaving the wool socks, high-topped winter riding boots, chemical foot warmers, tights (2 pair at times), glove liners, base layers, full fingered gloves, jacket, cap (replacement for the natural cover that I used to have on my head), and ear warmers in the closet;

...spring rains to wash away the sand from the hills so I can come down without doing the biking equivalent of tiptoeing;

...sunny days where the helmet cover is off and sunblock is on;

...days where I don't expend more energy getting dressed than I do riding up Bliss Road.

...sunlight into the evening hours for long rides after work;

...the cool tan lines;

Yes, I long for summer rides. Perhaps I won't have to wait much longer, but it is 28 degrees as I write this.

Oh, and I long for rides without a 25 mph wind in my face. But THAT may really be too much to hope for.

Short

"Only a short while before the rain" was the Sunday morning forecast. With numerous errands to run after church, I was sure I'd be rained out. But not so. Upon arriving home, the sky was cloudy, but not threatening, so I took off for a short ride. Up Bliss road around to and down FO and then back again; 18 miles with 1400 feet of climbing. A good afternoon workout. Shortly after I got back home, it started to rain. Good timing.

Oh, another thing. It was approaching something you might be tempted to call "warm" on this Sunday afternoon. So I wore shorts without tights for the first time. This is getting to be more like it!

Long Winded

I wrote so much about the wind last year that I finally decided I wouldn't mention it again. That was last year. That was a different blog. Good grief! How does the wind manage to stay in my face for so much of a ride? It was a longer one today, too; 69.5 miles and almost 4,200 feet of climbing. Just what I needed in this early phase of preparation for [the next big ride].

There's a great song about the wind from Lerner and Lowe's 1951 musical Paint Your Wagon ~ They Call the Wind Mariah. I called it #@!$%!$# a couple of times today. But, back to the musical theme - One line of the song goes "Mariah makes the mountain sound like folks was up there dyin'." That would've been me.

I suppose I should be thankful for the wind as it provided for an even more intense workout. That works. I guess. I'll see if I can sound more convincing after I finish watching golf on TV (a post-ride activity I learned from Bill). ZZzzzz...

I wrote so much about the wind last year that I finally decided I wouldn't mention it again. That was last year. That was a different blog. Good grief! How does the wind manage to stay in my face for so much of a ride? It was a longer one today, 69.5 miles and almost 4,200 feet of climbing. Just what I needed in this early phase of preparation for [the next big ride].

There's a great song about the wind from Lerner and Lowe's 1951 musical Paint Your Wagon ~ They Call the Wind Mariah. I called it #@!$%!$# a couple of times today. Back to the musical theme - One line of the song goes "Mariah makes the mountain sound like folks was up there dyin'." That would be me.

I suppose I should be thankful for the wind as it provided for an even more intense workout. That works. I guess. I'll see if I can sound more convincing after I finish watching golf on TV. ZZzzzz...

Talents

Coming down Bliss Road today, I had my first flat of the season. Got that out of the way in hurry. Tonight I changed out the offending tire and tube on the rear wheel of my Trek. Took about five minutes. It's nice to be able to so something well. But the shine is off a little, given that my talent in this area has come from way too much practice. C'est la vie.

Untethered

It has been a long winter here in Wisconsin. I thought I’d get in a fair amount of cold weather riding, but alas… Snowfall here threatened to break the all time record. And while we fell a bit short of that, we had way too much for riding. So, it was fake rides on the trainer for the most part. But that’s pretty much behind me now. Not that the weather is sure to cooperate, but I did unhitch the Trek from it’s tether in the basement and let it run free this weekend. Saturday was a 57 mile ride with Bill. The Trek (my Trek) was still in the basement, but Bill was on his. I no longer had the equipment advantage that I enjoyed when he was riding his mountain bike. It showed.

On Sunday I decided I’d let the Trek warm up for the season on Bliss Road. On the way to the climb at County YY, I stopped at the Hayfield Café. Here is a business searching hard for an identity. The gas pumps are now gone (for good, it seems) and the convenience store side has morphed into a pizza place. The café still occupies the south end of the building though. Meat loaf and mashed potatoes still a draw around these parts. And yes, they do still have chocolate milk, too.

I have been able to put away 825.2 miles so far this year, but only 210.0 outdoors. Just 5,674.8 miles to go to my 6,500 mile target.

Rethinking Things

Saturday’s 45 mile trip through Stoddard, Chaseburg, Coon Valley and St. Joseph was only the third outdoor ride of the season. But that’s not what made it remarkable. No, it was something else. Something I saw on the ride. Something so unexpected that it changed the way I think about a number of things. Sure, I’d heard the rumors, but I wrote them off as simply urban legends. Here's what happened yesterday...

It was, so it seemed, a perfectly normal day. Cold, to be sure, but no snow, sleet or rain. And after turning at Stoddard, the wind was kind. Chocolate milk and a doughnut at the Coon Valley Kwik Trip provided fuel for the last and, as it would turn out, most eventful leg of the ride. Little did I know what was coming.

It happened pedaling up the hill on highway 162 out of Coon Valley. I was comfortable enough to be able to enjoy the winterscape, bare trees starkly outlined by the deep snow that has been visited upon our region this year. This under a gray, but not too threatening, winter sky. It was at about the halfway point of the climb that I spied it. At first I thought, “this cannot be,” but, looking again, I saw that it was, in fact, a raccoon. That's not so unusual, I can hear you say. But this was a LIVE raccoon. Never in a million years…

I guess now I’ll have to re-think my views on Bigfoot, Yeti and the Roswell aliens. If you follow the long white line long enough, you'll see amazing things!

In addition to this most unexpected sighting, I spied a young deer, two bald eagles right on the side of the road, a large turkey in flight ~ right over my head ~ and a pair of quail. Tells you what kind of winter we are having that all of us decided to get out on this day that was cold and windy, yet springlike in comparison to our so far harsh winter.

Dreadful

"We've just heard news from the States; apparently something dreadful has happened." And indeed it had.


We walked across the little park with the gazebo, an oasis in front of the engineering building at City University London. It was, and still is, all the campus there is at this university that is more scattered than sprawling, buildings hither and yon in this area on the east side of London. I was here to participate in the biannual International Conference on Compressors and Their Systems; Shirley, as she had been at previous conferences, was with me. As we mounted the stairs in front of the classroom building to greet the conference chairman and his wife, we were met with the pronouncement of dreadful goings on back home.

A tour and dinner were on the agenda for this evening, starting with a boat trip on the Thames and a visit to the London Eye before gathering at the headquarters building of the Institution of Mechanical Engineers (IMechE) at One Birdcage Walk. The architect for the London Eye project was to give an informal accounting of his experiences during its design and construction before we gathered for a light meal.

We did in fact take the boat tour; a few of our British hosts were making calls on their cell phones, but details of what had happened across the Atlantic were hard to come by. The London Eye had closed out of security concerns. The skies over downtown London, normally busy with planes approaching Heathrow from the east, were quiet. Our guest speaker sent his regrets, but informed us he had friends in New York City and was trying desperately to reach them.

It was only when we retired to the reception area of the IMechE offices that we saw in the horrific detail made possible by modern video technology the terror that was visited upon the people of New York and Washington; the tragic story of heroism aboard United Airlines flight 93 would unfold later.

Later, Shirley and I got in touch with our daughters to discover that they had thought we were planning to be flying home on this day. We were mutually relieved to be able to confirm that all were well.

I called American Airlines about our September 13th flight. Not surprisingly, there was little information to be had. The next day I was told it would probably be Tuesday, Sept. 18, before we would be able to return home. The agents I talked to were noticeably and understandably upset. The agent I spoke to on Thursday broke down in tears. I talked to her a bit, told her I honestly could not fully appreciate the pressure under which she was working, and thanked her for just being there for those of us trying to get back home. It was this call that convinced me to accept the Tuesday departure. I did not call again. It just seemed unfair to the agents who were struggling so mightily with the task of getting everyone back while trying to deal with their loss as well. Also, I knew from the news that many of the stranded were far worse off than we were, having as we did a hotel to sleep in and no shortage of places to eat.

The people of London treated us kindly. Our hotel offered us the reduced rate arranged for conference guests for the duration of our stay. The Turkish family who ran the tiny café across the street where we had most of our breakfasts provided coffee at no extra charge. A more upscale fish restaurant offered free appetizers. One young man stopped us on the street and said, “Hey Yank. We’re behind you all the way. Hope you get the b------s that did it!”

We discovered a small restaurant in Embankment Park, a short walk from the tube stop through a flower-bedecked green space. Sitting outside under a glorious tree that sheltered the entire patio area, one could escape, briefly, the unthinkable awfulness of Tuesday, September 11, 2001. And, at the same time, reflect on the fact that you know you would never forget it.

Wouldn't it be nice if no one ever had to the hear the words, "Something dreadful has happened in..." again?