Success at "long ride"

 Is it okay to do a retrospective of a big memory?  It's been four months now since I completed my 200-mile, single day ride (Jul 3rd, 2021).  While we're at it, I just now realized that I never published this when I wrote it in Oct, 2021, so it's been way longer since the actual event.  The ride itself was pretty uneventful, but the milestone in my life was somewhat significant.  It was my fifth (or maybe sixth?) attempt to 'go a long ways', and the past three times, it's been a goal to hit 200, but lost my battle somewhere around 165-182 for each of the prior attempts.  Various reasons for the non-completion each time, but this time I was determined!

I started out by picking a flat-ish route for this trip, while the prior rides are usually done with my love of hills and being 'out in the sticks' as much as possible.  I really dislike riding on busy roads, so doing secondary, tertiary or even dirt roads has been a thing for me for some time now.  Usually those back roads are more hilly, but I do like my hills, so that's never bothered me.  On the other hand, trying to break 200 miles in a day when hitting courses that had over 10,000 feet of climbing was a recipe for extremes and maybe not as advisable when the goal was the "Double Century" ride.

My route this year involved a swing to the northwest, toward Lake Ontario and back.  The lake is big enough that it makes our Rochester weather what it is: changeable, often unpredictable and usually windy along the lake.  This particular day was hand-picked out of my week off work.  I watch the weather predictions when thinking about a ride like this, trying to spot that one day when I think I could stay dry for the day.  Of course, looking for a long daylight ride means riding near the solstice and that can be extreme heat as well.  I picked a day with highs in the mid to upper seventies, low eighties.  The winds off the lake were not the typical "in your face" from the West/Northwest that day, but had actually swung around from the North/Northeast and were only about 15MPH max.  All reasonably good, but it was a bit sad not having the wind at my back for any significant length of the ride.  On the other hand ... riding into the wind can be pretty miserable, so I'm okay with this tradeoff.

I headed out of the house just after 4AM and into a misty, pre-dawn world.  The roads were wet from an earlier light rain that night, just enough to toss water up my butt and back while I rode.  Who cares, right?  As it turns out, that's a major disadvantage when you are trying to do a long ride.  Wet shorts stick to you, dry shorts slide over you and don't chafe as much, but at first, not a problem anyway.  As I rode south along the Genesee River toward Avon, I enjoyed the sound of birds awakening.  When I got near some of the big loops in the river, there were hundreds of bugs in the air (and on my face and glasses).  I didn't enjoy that much, but did enjoy the beauty of the foggy lands along the river banks.  My legs took a while to stretch out and get going, but were working nicely when I got to Avon.  I crossed the Genesee and headed out of the valley toward Caledonia.  We had been having a Gypsy Moth outbreak around here this year and as the sun came up, I saw more and more evidence of defoliated trees.  Caledonia was almost stripped bare by the caterpillars.  Sad, but in most cases, the trees make a full recovery and grow more leaves by late summer.

Along the way out of the river valley, I could see a line of thunderstorms just to the west and, of course, I was headed west.  I knew that this portion of the trip might be dicey with respect to weather.  By the time I was west of Caledonia there was a slight mist in the air and, by Leroy it was definitely raining.  I took a brief detour into a McDonalds in Leroy to grab a cup of hot coffee and stand inside drinking for a while.  The rain was very gentle and by another 10 miles west of Leroy, it was all gone.  Still misty, but no rain.  I pedaled west to Stafford, but the combination of a pretty busy road (NY5), and the fact that the infinite wisdom of our officials had decided it's a good idea to carve rumble-strip scallops on the side of the road ended up giving me about 5" outside of the line in which to ride.  Not much fun in that.  I turned north in Stafford and headed through some quiet country farm roads on 237.  Passing over the NYS Thruway, I was again thankful for the quiet of my road.  I had to cross Rte 33, which was pretty busy, but uneventful in the end.  I had several closer calls in this portion of the trip, once when a pickup truck seemed to completely ignore me and pulled out in front of me at his stop sign.  I gestured a bit and he looked sufficiently shocked so I knew it wasn't intentional.  At another intersection in Elba, another driver decided they wouldn't need to wait for me to turn right and they rushed around me, slammed on their brakes at the stop sign, cut me off with their right turn and thought nothing of it.  You just have to assume that you are likely to be a target.

Continuing on 262, I made it to Oakfield, then headed NW on 63.  Taking that all the way to where it intersected 77.  I was to follow 77, with a turn in Alabama (yes, that's a town in NY), and continue on through the amazing Iroquois National Wildlife Refuge.  The number of birds of prey there is quite spectacular, along with lots of water birds (egrets, herons, etc.)  I enjoyed a brief stop at some roadside signage and watched the birds for a while.

59 miles in ... not quite 9AM  Oddly, the most amusing thing about this part of this trip was counting the number of smashed turtles in the road, not to mention the numerous nesting snapping turtles laying eggs in the roadside sand/gravel along the way.  Peace and quiet is probably my strongest memory of this area.

Shortly after, I turned north on country rd 905 and headed up to Middleport, where I took a brief side trip on Rte 31 in order to find a nice, greasy slice of pizza and some additional water.  Back on the bike again, I pedaled north out of Middleport on Carmen Road, where I would remain for the next 12 miles or so.  I stopped in at our cottage on Lake Ontario and said hi to some neighbors, family and friends.  One of my fellow biker friends inquired as to my route and just shook his head when I explained it was a Double.  I was at 80 miles at this point, feeling strong, and still hitting 17-20 MPH.  When I headed back out again, I was feeling even better and began hitting a 20+MPH clip.  At 90 miles or so I started to flag a bit as the sun had come out from behind the clouds and the temps rose briefly to the high 80s or so.  I discovered that I had been ignoring my hydration for the last 10 miles or so.  Water, plus salt pills helped to revive me and I pedaled out until I saw my odometer saying 104 miles.  I figured this was a pretty good turnaround point, knowing that I'd not take the detour back past the cottage so I would need a few more miles on the outbound since my return trip would be slightly less mileage.  Worst case, I thought, I would do a few laps around our (hilly) block when I got back if I still needed the mileage.

I turned off the main road (Rte 18) in Somerset to get away from the traffic and headed south through Barker.  Stopping at a quick rip in Barker, I had my first mishap of the day.  I tried to kick my heel sideways to get out of my pedals and managed to put the heel into the bladed spokes of my rear wheel.  Let's just say I stopped rapidly, but without falling.  Unfortunately this would begin a long battle with pain in the Achilles tendon from there back to home.  I still had 75 miles left to go, so there was a lot of mind over matter at this point to keep the body going and simply ignore the pain.  More greasy food, more water and I was back on the bike again.  I continued south to Rte 104.  Interestingly, this road is, about 10 miles south of where the lake is today, but it's called Ridge Road because there's a distinct ridge that used to be the Lake Ontario shoreline.  Lots of cobblestone houses were built along here by the early settlers and many still remain today.  104 was too busy for my liking, but it had nice, wide shoulders and no rumble scallops to deal with.  I left 104 behind me when I got to Carmen Road again.  From here it was about the same route on my return, with one additional food stop to fuel me.

The next 40 miles were a gradual rise, constituting much of my 4100 feet of climbing for the day.  After the food stop in Oakfield around mile 157.  My Achilles was really painful by now and required significant focus to ignore the pain.  I managed to hold my speed in the mid-teens to lower 20s during this part of the trip and was doing pretty well until around mile 190 (Avon), when it began to fall off significantly.  Speeds were dropping to the lower teens for those last 13 miles and it was a huge effort to keep turning the pedals round and round, but there was no way I'd be quitting this close to my goal!  I took on more water and my last salt pill and slogged onward.  Just before reaching my starting point, I had a nice downhill and briefly pegged 29.8MPH before heading up the last, 11% gradient to my starting point.  My muscles threatened to cramp up with every crank, but they remained faithful to my will for them.  Whew!  Made it in.  Much food was consumed and I believe I may have gone to bed by 8:30 that night.

203 miles total.  Interestingly, my meter showed 203.5 miles after that last hill, but the final tally recorded was for 202.87.  Not arguing ... 200 was the goal.  While speed wasn't my goal, I don't feel too bad about a 15.9MPH average for the 200 miles.  More adventures may yet come in future years.  Stay tuned.

Bow Season Excitement

A very exciting hour was just had, out hunting.  I was making a bunch of noise when I went out as I worked to spray a scent trail.  Turns out there was a six pointer was standing in a field near my stand, listening to and watching me.  I got 10 yards away before he moved and I saw him; I dropped down into a crouch, below the weed tops and fitted an arrow.  Forgot, in my excitement, that I still had the "mitten" cover over my half fingered glove.  I peeked up again and he had come closer … was circling me at 5 yards when I started to draw back.  The mitten thing false-released and the arrow, barely drawn, bounced off his back.  He took off.

I finished laying scent trail, headed up to my stand and thought "well, that ruins that hunt."

After 2 mins, I thought "what do I have to lose?" … made a faun "maaah" sound, waited 2 mins and made another one.  After five mins more, I saw some brush moving way out in the field and that 6-ptr came back and worked his way back toward me, VERY cautious, but didn't seem scared.  He spent almost 10 mins within 30-35 yards from me, but with a bow, I wait for a 15-yard shot or don't take it (too much time chasing wounded deer when I was learning to bow hunt).

While that deer was standing there, a 4-ptr came trotting up.  They six smelled the four up and the four drifted off with no fight (all around 32 yards).  When the six finally left, I could begin to breath again.

30 mins later, I heard a bunch of outrageous noise in the wood.  A large doe come crashing through, likely in heat.  I was drawn back, but it was just about sunset and she came by at 20 yards, a bit too fast.  She was chased by a VERY large 8-ptr.

I was thinking it was all over when coyotes began to howl close by.  I stood a while more, listening to them, then a porcupine came shuffling through the wood.  When it was really too dark to be hunting, another large doe came ambling casually past.  I decided to come in then :-)

Story & Philosophy: A long bicycle ride

On the morning of September 1st, 2020, I woke to my alarm in my cozy bed in a dark hotel room in Jamestown, NY.  The alarm was most unwelcome as it growled and buzzed at me at 3:45AM, long before sunrise.

I rolled out of bed quietly so as not to awaken my wife.  My gear was all packed and waiting by the door, except the bike clothes and some sustenance - the ignominious Cliff Bar that was to serve as my breakfast and power my muscles through the first part of a long journey by bike.  What exactly is "Long", in my book?  Well, this particular day was yet another one of my attempts at breaking the 200-mile "barrier".  Is there an actual barrier, like a physical thing, beyond which a biker must not proceed?  Nope, not really, but for me, this has been a goal for some years now.  I have tried multiple times to break this distance, with the constraint that I want to do it in a singe day.  Crazy?  Yep.  I am not afraid to set unrealistic goals and try my best to beat a goal.  I'll explain more at the tail end of this post, but before I go all philosophical on you, let me explain the plan for this day.  If you really want to skip the play-by-play, skip to the last few paragraphs to better understand my motivation.

The ride was to consist of a dip due south of Jamestown, NY into Pennsylvania and through the Allegheny National Forest, then along the northern border of PA and back north into New York State, headed through the hills most of the way, and eventually arriving back in my hometown at about 191 miles, then a quick cycle through two laps of my "block" (a 4.5 mile loop on country roads).  Plan: break 200 in a day!  Plan: somehow find most of the difficult hills along the way, while we're at it.  Why not?  Hills are fun ... they build character, right?

As you can see from the map above, this was a pretty hilly part of the States I went through.  A total altitude gain (i.e. "climbing") of 10,016 feet for the day.  I had planned a bit more hills for the day, but once I got into the route, I became more enamored with the act of finishing the 200 and finding my bed on the other end than I was with the act of climb yet another hill along the way.  Slight changes were to occur in my course as I went long, with the above map being the actual route, as recorded by my bike computer.

As I rolled down Washington St in Jamestown, I crossed over the Chadakoin River and promptly found myself lost (in the dark of the morning).  I use a Garmin Edge 820 bike computer to keep myself on track, but honestly, navigating in the dark, with the computer on "battery save" mode is quite an art and I didn't have it that morning!  I eventually figured out that I was to take some form of access road, exiting Washington St and using a cloverleaf ramp to get to a street below and adjacent to that one.  Not five minutes into my ride and already five minutes lost to the navigation.  As I worked through the seedy south side of the city, I wondered if this trip would end with a mugging or anything spectacular like that.  It's very different for me to do a route where I know nothing about the route, the terrain, the safety, the potholes, or any other aspects of nav.  It's especially difficult when the first 40 or so miles or so are to be done in the dark on unfamiliar roads and through lots of turns and road changes.  I intentionally take tracks that are off the beaten path as I really dislike having cars speeding by me with reckless disregard for my safety and life; the compromise is that I often choose very hilly and secondary or tertiary roads to ride on.  Dogs, deer, potholes, twists & turns and HILLS (did I mention those already?) are all a part of my scheming little plans.

Once I found the primary route out of Jamestown I hit a few patches of rainy drizzle; nothing heavy, but I was a bit worried since the temps were in the low fifties and I don't do well with cold riding.  The rain was really spotty though, so I didn't have to fight it too much.  I had a long slog uphill and in the dark while I worked to clear the southern edge of Jamestown.  Rollers interspersed their way into my path after that, with very little incident as I headed south.  Somewhere around the PA border, I was reveling in the glorious patches of warmer temps, and the joy of the late summer sweet smells of the fields.  Just before dawn, the birds begin to waken, but I wouldn't have seen the border of PA without my headlamp and the reminders from Garmin.  As I came up one gentle hill, I encountered a few deer in the road and had to hiss at a raccoon to try to get the little beast out of my path without it running through my wheels.  Basically smooth riding and very enjoyable!

Then it happened.  I ask you: "what's worse than encountering a mean dog on a bike ride?"  How about encountering two of them on a bike ride, in the dark, before dawn, with a fixed-mount light on my handlebars and no ability to shine it on my attackers?  I was not able to swivel my light to see how many dogs there really were, or how big, vicious and close they were to me, but they sure had a way of getting my blood pressure up!  I stood and sprinted hard, hearing their claws scraping on the asphalt behind me.  While fearing that I'd feel their teeth on my legs at any moment, I pushed to my max and bit by bit, they seemed to be getting quieter behind me.  I eventually cleared their danger and sat to get my heart rate back down.  Man, that was a close one and I was definitely awake by this point in time.

Making my way southward through PA, I passed the sleeping village of Lander and began to see signs of other folks waking up and getting on for their day ... surprised a few pickup trucks as they whizzed by me in the dark.  I headed along the valleys of "Mud Run" - Run appears to be a common term for a creek or stream in PA, but one thing I was to find out was that any time I was near a Run, there were significant hills to deal with.  Eventually my route met up with a fairly significant hill, gaining me over 400 feet of hills in about a mile or so.  I was headed up Creamery Road, while in the predawn dark, but I knew it was a hill as I eventually had to stand and push hard on the cranks.  It was, by my reckoning, somewhere north of 20% gradient.  Have I mentioned that I like my hills?  I routinely train on things with this type of gradient, but not normally in the dark.  A noisy, diesel dually truck blasted around me heading up the hill.  By his headlights, I could see that he'd just passed a hairpin bend in the road/hill in front of me and as I saw his glow disappearing behind the trees of the hill, I also saw and heard another vehicle approaching: heading down the hill!  This one sounded really big and loud too.  It turned out to be a dump truck and it met me right at the hairpin.  I crowded all the way to the edge of the ditch by the roadside as he came around the same bend as I.  My headlamp had been set on a flash on / flash off mode in order to save batteries, so his view must have included a "what's that thing" comment along with some expletives of his choice as he narrowly missed me.  I had prepared to ditch the bike (quite literally), but ended up okay on this one.  More climbing and I reached the top of the hill.  It was starting to get light now.

On over the top of the hill and into even deeper woods and countryside I went.  I was passed from behind by a growling school bus.  When he finally got around me on a downhill, he was laying on his brakes and the blinding lights of brakes, school bus flashers on top of his bus and other choice lights was a bit much for me.  Sensory overload and an end to any night vision I had accumulated.  At the bottom of this hill, I finally came out onto one of my anticipated nightmares for the trip: US Routes 6 and 62, with limited access as they went along the northern edge of the Allegheny River.  I crossed the river on Rte 62 (not limited access), but was stopped at a temporary stop light, along with a line of other vehicles, while we awaited our turn for a section of one-lane bridge over the river.  I let the vehicles behind me go first as there was no passing in the one-lane section but I found myself wondering if the temporary construction stoplights were timed, or if they somehow would "know" that there was a crazy biker still in the lane before they let the opposing traffic come over.  I made it without incident.  Along Rte 62, I was not happy about the lack of shoulder, the busy road and the still brewing dawn's light, but had to push through to get to my turn off.  I'd planned the route to be a very faint road that I'd turn onto, but when I'd looked at it on Google Maps, it seemed viable as a road.

Reality hit me as I missed the turn onto Elk Road - it looked as if it was barely even a driveway, heading steeply up a diagonal on a hillside.  Garmin screamed at me and began insisting that I was off course and needed to turn around.  I eventually did, and went back to Elk Road, where she again insisted that I turn.  As I headed up the diagonal hill, the roughness of the road had me a bit worried.  Some of the rocks in the gravel road were 4-6" in diameter ... barely a road at all!  I made it up the hill, but came to a very intentional barrier that someone had erected in the road - a line of dumped stone/gravel directly across the road.  There were "no trespassing" signs on the side of the road, but I reasoned that this wasn't the side of the road, right?  I proceeded over the barrier and began to feel much like an intruder in someone's back yard.  I'd not planned this very well, but didn't feel like I had much of an alternative as I couldn't stop or change the course without having a navigator to help me along the way.  I pressed on and eventually it felt more like a gravel road again, and gradually made my way out onto Grunderville Rd.  What a peaceful, quiet place this was!  I was heading up into the Allegheny National Forest now, with the beauty of the birds waking around me and starting their day in song.

Along Grunderville Road, it became increasingly rough and in the half-dawn light, I could see mighty trees sticking out into the road where they'd apparently been twisted off in a recent storm.  I was surprised that I even had to veer about to avoid some of them ... must not have been a heavy-use road!  A Screech Owl played leap frog with me for a bit, flying just ahead of me and alighting in the road until I came up on it, whence he leaped ahead again.  Eventually he went off into the forest away from me.  I turned onto Grunder Run road and could hear the sound of the Run just off to the side.  Garmin screamed at me again, telling me to turn left onto what seemed another driveway.  I proceeded past and she began to scream more loudly that I was off course (again).  I eventually turned around and came back to the "driveway".  Headed up the first few feet of the driveway, I was a bit alarmed to see large signs saying "private road", "hey you, this means you: no tresspassing!"  Okay, I thought, this time I'd listen.

It was now undeniably dawn while I pulled my phone and consulted Google Maps.  I'd had the foresight to download the complete maps of the area while I had data -- there was no data out here, but I had those downloaded maps.  I determined a likely course change that would get me off the private road and eventually (I hoped), rejoin the planned route, along the Allegheny and further to the east.  Garmin continued to scream at me while I turned around and proceeded to backtrack along Grunderville Road.  I couldn't help but revel in the glorious forests.  Huge trees, possibly even virgin timber, surrounded me as I finally could enjoy the sights in daylight.  Eventually I got to my cutoff at Lenhart Road.

Proceeding along Lenhart in the early dawn, I saw lots of signs of a violent storm that had come through this area recently.  Downed trees everywhere, downed power lines and significant damage to the cottages along the way.  I didn't have too much time to contemplate that though as Lenhart Road tipped steeply uphill and I gained almost 700' of altitude over a four mile distance.  Not a bad hill, just a bit long.  Eventually I got to the end of Lenhart and turned onto a thankfully well-paved road, Rte 3005.  Many of the roads out here were basically fire roads for access to the forests around me.  I never get sick of trees - I love my trees and so appreciate the experience of riding in this National Forest.  I got to see a few trailheads and "attractions" of various sorts in the National Forest around me.

Once I got over the crest of the hills on Rte 3005, I headed down a 3-mile hill and kept the speed between 30 and 38MPH for almost the full three miles.  Fun, but a bit cold yet for this speed.  I was chilled by the time I reached the bottom.  At this point, 3005 exited the forest and I came into the town of Warren South, just south of the Allegheny River.  I was back on my course now and Garmin got all excited, beeping at me here, there and everywhere.  She of course wanted me to go back and redo the course that I'd not been on, but I politely told her to put a sock in it.  I came to my first open store!  I had been craving my coffee for hours now and was very excited to have a nice hot cup of something to warm me up.  I stashed the bike by the front windows, went into the store, and was scanning for the coffee section while the mere mortals there just stared at my strange garb and my helmet and clicky-clacky bike shoes (with cleats).  The clerk informed me gayly that the coffee section was closed for renovation, but that it would "be back tomorrow!"  "Uh, no", I'd not be back tomorrow for certain!  Disappointed, I grabbed a hot breakfast sandwich and savored the heat and calories as I stood outside with my bike.

I now headed into one of my least favorite parts of the trip: a ride along the branch & gravel strewn shoulders of a limited access portion of US-6.  The shoulders were wide enough for me to be safe, but the obstacles on the shoulders (more leftovers from the recent wind storms) were to keep me out from the shoulder quite a bit of the time.  Fortunately, it was only about a 4-mile stretch before I got to turn off on to PA rte 59, heading along the south side of the river and back into the National Forest on Kinzua Road, headed toward the famous Kinzua Dam.  The road was good, but the shoulder was interrupted with a rumble strip.  I crossed over the strip a few times and it nearly rattled my teeth out.  I couldn't really ride the shoulder as it was too narrow outside the rumbles.  I rode mostly on-road at this point, with my rear flasher light still burning brightly as a visibility thing.  I tried to get over a few times when I heard a big truck coming, but honestly, despite the beauty of the surroundings, I really didn't enjoy this part of the voyage!

Stopped for a few views of the Kinzua Dam and enjoyed a bit of my energy drink.  I fuel on Cytomax, a sugar-free, high electrolyte drink that I carry as a powder and mix into water that I can buy at any store.  The view of the dam was nice, but I was pretty chilly, so didn't stick around too long.

I was to stick with PA route 59 for quite some time, trying hard to avoid the rumble strips, the overtaking vehicles and the fallen rock on the shoulders of the road.  Again, not tremendously enjoyable, despite the views being gorgeous around there.  I eventually came out at Kinzua Point, crossing over the river at the now broad Allegheny Reservoir.  I continued along Rte 59, avoiding rumble strips and heading up hills through more National Forest.  After about five miles of gentle climbing, I had come up 700' of elevation gain and came across a high "saddle" of land that went above 2100' of altitude in a few places.  Exiting the saddle, I had a fast descent of 30-39MPH into Custer City.  I was glad to get out of the cool regions of the saddle for a while as I was pretty chilled.  Temps warmed into the low 70s for a bit now.  Turning north onto US 219, I finally found my first store with coffee!  I was pretty darned excited about that and savored my cuppa joe while I mixed two new bottles of Cytomax.  I also (didn't) enjoy another Cliff bar at this point but I needed the energy.

Northbound on 219 wasn't too bad until I got to Bradford, PA and had to suffer the indignities of another limited access portion, with rumble strips!  I guess PA doesn't like bikers much?  I got off 219 as I just couldn't stand it anymore.  I'd mostly given up paying attention to Garmin, but she began to beep excitedly at me again.  Turns out I was back on course again for some of this part, but she still wanted me to go back about 50 miles to do the portion of route I'd missed before.  I was sorely tempted to stop in Bradford for a big, juicy burger, but decided to just keep with the Cliffys for now.  Turning onto PA Rte 346, I headed toward Derrick, PA when I was overtaken by a Ford tractor.  I tucked in behind him after he passed me and managed to draft him for almost 4 miles, hitting speeds in the 17-20MPH realm as I headed up a gentle hill.  Nice option, when you can find it!  The tractor turned off and I continued onward and upward.  Another hill!

This was the last hill in PA and as I passed, I admired the PA sign behind me and the Welcome to New York sign ahead.  I liked the warning sign on the New York side of the view.

Soon after this, I'd pass the high point on the trip and just past noon, hit 2400' of elevation.

Somewhere around this point, I just canned the navigator as she kept screaming about some point on the map that I'd probably clicked in my route planning and hadn't taken as it was a few yards off my real course.  I got so sick of her griping that I proceeded to use her as a mere data logger for the voyage.  Good move!  The routes from here forward were not too bad and I figured I'd be able to follow them without her help.

I had my fastest time for the trip on the descent into Olean, NY, hitting just over 45MPH for the descent.  It was a nice long descent too!  Looping around the "roundabouts" in Olean, I eventually spotted a Subway.  My bike and I both visited inside the store and despite folks gawking at the bike and me, I devoured a footlong sub and even got to use a clean restroom there.  Nice.  Back on the road, my energy began to pick up and I was finally into a portion of the trip where I didn't have the hills to contend with.  With the lack of hills, I now averaged about 18MPH for the next 60 miles!  It was glorious, but the pressure of using my "big ring" on the cranks added to the pressure on my nerves and my left foot began to fall painfully asleep.  This would continue for the remainder of the trip and I had to stop every 10-15 miles and "thaw out" the nerves in that foot.  I'd stop, take off the shoe and let the prickly pain of awakening nerves seep out as the feeling came back.  I had a long stop at mile 123, across from Houghton College while I let the foot thaw.

After Houghton, there was a bit of a tail wind and, despite my foot falling asleep, I put my head down and hammered.  I had an average speed just over 20MPH for the next 17 miles, not including a brief stop at a store in Fillmore NY.  By the time I got to Portageville and crossed the Genesee River, it was time to buckle in for another period of climbing.  First, the great wall of the river just south of Letchworth State Park (often called the "Grand Canyon of the East"), then down into Nunda and now up a long, hard climb of about 9 miles, but with a saddle in the middle where I'd get a bit of a break.

Coming down NY Rte 436 into Dansville, NY was, as always, a great blast of speed.  Here I hit an average speed well in excess of 30MPH for a good portion of 4 miles.  Dansville greeted me with rough roads and bad shoulders.  I'd enjoyed the better part of the last 40 miles on near-perfect new asphalt surfaces.  The only downside is that it appears that New York is also intent on adding rumble strips to the sides of its State highways as well; Grrr!  Coming out of Dansville was a whole different thing though.  The road was horrible and jarred me nearly to pieces as I made my way northward.

Somewhere around here I felt my phone buzz and stopped to check texts.  My dear wife was offering to meet me ... with food!  I gladly accepted and we ended up meeting in a post office parking lot, right before I headed for the side roads again in Groveland, NY.  I sat on the open hatchback of the car while eagerly eating the food.  I went outside of my sugar-free norms here and actually drank a milk shake.  It was great to see Tina and despite the temptation to pack it in and call this thing done, I was beyond the point of wanting to just call this all stupid and quit the venture.  Now I really wanted the personal best!

I headed up the next hill out of Groveland, pickup up another 645 feet of climb on my poor little legs.  At the top, I had a burst of energy and absolutely flew from there down to Lakeville, averaging somewhere over 20 MPH for the next 11 miles.  Not bad for being about 170 miles into my voyage.  My body felt great and I was excited to break that record!

Lakeville was a bit of a slog as it was now fully dark again and I was running with lights.  I predicted to my wife that I'd need a "bail out" with a fresh headlamp before I got much beyond Lakeville.  She met me just north of the town and provided a fresh headlamp.  Great, I thought, this would be it!  She asked me if I had a tail light and I alarmed, said "yes, of course".  Turns out it was not on!  I turned it on and headed off into the night again, but it went out again five minutes later.  This was going to be it for me.  I had no spare tail light and while I could sit down and charge it off my USB power bank, I really didn't want to sit there by the side of the road, with muscles tightening and morale fading.  I called Tina and asked for a scoop.  She found me at mile 182.1 into the trip and I called it an end for the day.

I believe I would have made it in, had I but the foresight to carry extra light thingies, but hindsight is 20-20.  While I should have been charging the tail lamp, I was too focused on making sure I was seen.  The sad part: I had an identical tail lamp at home, but hadn't even thought to have it delivered.  Sometimes when we put our bodies through this stuff, our rational thinking begins to fade and we go into delirium.  I guess I was mostly there that day!

Afterward:

WHYYYYY, you ask, would you do this??  Okay, I'll answer and I think it's not a bad answer either.  One generally doesn't do this kind of thing just to get a personal best.  For me, this was barely even a best as my longest prior ride was 178 miles and, while this one was 182.1, and included over 10,000 feet of climb, the last one while shorter, actually had over 13,000 feet of climbing!  The simple answer about "why" is this: I want to get to a point where I can say "no problem" to most anything that is thrown at me in life.  When we can have a strong enough mind to tell our lazy body "shut up, body, we're doing this!", then our ability to accomplish much, in greater and greater measures, will thrive.  The miles are a good test and good mental training.  More regularly, I train myself by doing hills.  The steeper and longer, the better!  I typically train on stuff that's 16% or greater.  When I am clipped into my pedals, I cannot get my feet out quick enough to avoid a fall.  I generally can't even turn sideways and head back down these hills without the fall, especially when they are narrow roads and some of my hills exceed 20% gradient.  I have one hill that I ride that actually hits 24% gradient!  It's a killer.  No, I really don't like riding that hill, but I do it because it makes be stronger: body, soul and spirit, we are ONE person, not three.  Why would we think that we can strengthen our soul or spirit without training the body?  It really does work for me and if you are open to this weirdness, I'd suggest you try it yourself.  Pick a goal, a hard one, and take baby steps toward attaining that goal.  Don't give up!  Keep with it and continue to train your body.  It's ultimately your mind that needs the training though - be public with your goal, don't be afraid to fail, but don't fail for the wimpy reason that you just didn't feel like it.

So, my public proclamation: I am planning to break 200 miles next summer.  Hold me to it, okay?

Do you ever wonder where the term "Logfile" came from?

 Back in the days of the dominance of the British Navy (especially the 1600's through 1820 or so when the US Navy rose to power), the Brits were the force to be reckoned with on the seas.  Not only did they conquer the art and science of sailing, but they also invented new techniques for navigation; it's not clear whether this particular subject was a British invention, or some other country .. the Portuguese, the Spaniards, the French and the Dutch were also a formidable forces at sea.  The technique of "Dead Reckoning" was once such technique.  The normal method of navigation was to use a sextant or other navigational device to calculate latitude and plot the course on navigational charts.  The longitude was a bit more difficult and often relied on a significant investment in the Captain's "chronometer" (watch); conditions were horrendous, and seawater was known to ruin such devices regularly.  Calculating by the moons on Jupiter was a bit more common, but this technique only worked when the skies were clear enough to see Jupiter at night.  What then did they do during a protracted period of stormy weather?  How to avoid being taken "by the lee", in other words, being blown onto a lee shore with no recourse to sail off the shore?  First, we need to assure that we know where we are in the sea, and that any known shoals or islands are on our charts (which were an evolving piece of technology and not always accurate or complete!)

 

During these long periods, the answer is that the captain would plot the progress of his ship on the ship's charts.  In order to do so, he just needed to know the speed and direction that the ship had been moving.  Direction was easy: use the ship's compass, but speed?  There was no such thing as a "speedometer" on a ship!  Even if there was, it was not a digital recording device that could play back all known readings over a periodic measurement cycle.  Instead, the ship relied on a rather odd method of measuring speed: "heaving the log".  What, you say?  Yes, a log is literally a piece of wood or log, to which a line was tied.  The line ran onto a spool and the line was tied up with knots, periodically spaced at a known, accepted spacing.  To measure speed, which you guessed it, was in a measurement called Knots, the process was not simple.  Three ship's crew were required: one to hold a sand glass which contained enough grains to run the sand out for exactly 28 seconds, one to hold the spool of line that was attached to the log as well as counting the speed, and one person to throw the log into the sea (i.e. "heave the log").  The person with the log would heave the log into the running sea and cry out "Nip" when the log hit the sea.  On the cry of Nip, the sand glass was turned, and the spooling operator would count the knots on the line as they passed through his fingers while leaving the spool.  When the glass had run out, the glass bearer would cry out "tuck" and the spool operator would declare the number of knots that had passed through his fingers during the 28-second period.  That, folks, is where we got the meaning of "Knots" as a measurement of nautical speed!

 

So, what about logfiles??  Well, that precious value of Knots was brought to a special book, the Logbook, where it was carefully recorded, along with the time that the measurement was taken and the direction that the ship's compass currently read.  These readings would then constitute speed and direction that would be plotted on the ship's charts as part of the exercise of "dead reckoning"!  Logbooks became synonymous with our more common term Logfiles as the books became simply a set of papers in a file drawer.  So you see, logfiles are a descendent of the historical approach from naval days, on down to our modern, computer world; they are often shortened to the more common term "Logs", but you will find few folks that ever think about where we got that term or why we are so comfortable with such jargon!  My personal reflection as I think about this whole process is that I'm often amazed that any explorer ever went sea, and even more so that they ever returned from their voyages!

 

Of Riggers and Roadies

I recall a fun story about interactions of the road crew when DeGarmo & Key were out for sixty cities, opening for Petra.  The show was big enough that we carried our own union rigger to help with getting the 26 rigging motors attached to the coliseum superstructure.  

A quick tutorial on rigging follows: a rigging motor is a type of motorized hoist, that hangs from the bottom of a long, high-strength chain.  Our rigging motors could lift up to 2 tons of weight per motor.  Lights, speakers, rigging and other implements were 'flown' with these motors.  Each rigging motor came with its own seventy-foot chain, which had to be attached to the steel infrastructure of the ceiling of a venue.  A rigger would make his way up to the high steel structure of the auditorium and might even proceed to use trigonometry so as to triangulate and position the motor over a point marked on the stage  The challenge was to use one, two or even three cables of varying lengths and loop them over the steel I-beams, attaching them to a shackle at top of the rigging chain such that the motor would hang directly above its prescribed location on the stage.  The large, heavy motor would then be cabled to power (from the stage side), and when turned on with a remote, would climb the chain toward the roof.  A large hook on the bottom of the motor was attached to the equipment to be hauled up.  With a large lighting show, it’s even possible to build the lighting trusses in a manner such that they were articulating and could be manipulated during the show by raising or lowering the rigging motors (the astute reader might note this effect at the beginning my lightshow during "Rock Solid" in the D&K Rockumentary).

In good jest, our rigger was one of the most hated members of our crew!  Despite the dangerous job he had to perform, he had one of the easiest and best-paying positions on the road; although he was one of the first on the stage, he was already done by the time we were still in the morning of setup.  Our rigger was also the first off the stage and into his bunk at night.  It was nice to have him along on the tour, but we harbored a fair amount of resentment toward him for his “easy” job.  One day, the Petra stage manager decided to take out his hidden aggression on the poor rigger.  Grabbing onto a large curtain clamp (normally used to keep rolled-up stage curtains in the air and thus prevent damage to them), he began his diabolical plot.  It so happened that the joyful rigger was on his way offstage to a day of leisure when the rest of us were just getting started on our day’s work.  As he passed by the stage manager, the curtain clamp, which so happened to be right in hand, was quickly attached to the back side of the rigger.  Although outraged, the good rigger just threw the clamp on the stage and left.  We all looked at each other and marveled at his non-vindictive self-control.

By the end of the day, we had all forgotten about the incident.  The rigger did the disconnect and headed off to the bus, early to bed, as usual.  When we walked onto the bus at 1AM, we discovered him cheerfully sitting up in the lounge, still watching a movie.  Once we were on the road again, the stage manager headed off to his bunk to retire for the night.  The rigger waited a few minutes, then arose, and grabbed a case of the best gaffer’s tape available from a storage compartment.  He grinned ear-to-ear and headed back to the bunk area.  After discerning no movement from the stage manager, he began to basket-weave the tape across the opening to the bunk, effectively taping the poor man into his bunk like a coffin.  The velvet curtain over the bunk was securely held in between the tape and the stage manager.  Our fearless rigger then walked up to the thermostat and cranked it up to high.  We all stood watching and laughing, while the stage manager woke up and began to pound on the drapes to open them.  As we roared in laughter, the point of a knife stuck through the curtain and tape and sawed a hole.  Out popped a hand.  As the hand grabbed furtively at the tape, it was greeted by … a friendly curtain clamp!  The stage manager howled, shaking off the clamp and a large body burst through both curtain and tape, tumbling out onto the floor.  When the fireworks died down, we ended another fine day on the road; business as usual.