Ed Felker is a newspaper journalist, cyclist and dad who lives in
Arlington, Virginia. When he's not chasing stories on Capitol Hill, he's
probably out riding! Ed commutes by bike daily and heads for the Virginia and Maryland countryside for centuries and brevets when he has a free weekend, often with his partner Mary Gersema. She's a Pocket Rocket owner and fellow randonneur who introduced him to the Bike Friday world. Ed plans to ride his third Paris-Brest-Paris 1200K randonneethis fall. Read more about Ed's adventures at his blog:http://thedailyrandonneur.wordpress.com
Submitted March 2007 for the Cycle Oregon/Homecoming Story Contest.
Sept. 16-17 2006 See: http://www.seattlerandonneur.org
THE OBVIOUS benefit of a Bike Friday is the packability and ease of
travel. As if that wasn't enough of a draw, Green Gear likes to tell us
that Fridays are also as comfortable and fast as full size bikes. I
decided to put the claim to the test last fall, by taking my racing
green Pocket Rocket on a really, really long ride. I would find out if my
little buddy Friday would carry me gently over hill and dale, or run me ragged.
I told my partner and tandem stoker extraordinaire Mary Gersema, of my
desire to to ride the Seattle International Randonneurs 600K brevet in
September. Mary had purchased a bright orange Pocket Rocket to ride at the
RAGBRAI tour in Iowa and after I had a chance to ride it, I purchased
my own. I had taken it on a 200K, or 125 mile brevet, but nothing
longer.
Combine a total distance to 375 miles and a time limit of 40 hours,
including sleep, and you've got yourself a 600K brevet. The only known
strategy is to ride a bunch, eat, ride some more, eat and then turn on
headlights. Then ride some more, eat, sleep a little (or not), and
then ride some more!
For this trip the Friday was an ideal travel companion. Mary and I
rode the Seattle Club's Cascade 1200 randonnee (750 miles in 90 hours)
in June, and for that little jaunt we took a full size tandem in a
travel case. We paid oversize and overweight airline charges and had
to rent a minivan at the airport to haul it around. Oof!
This time, I checked my Friday in its Flite Case at no additional
charge and gathered it from the baggage carousel without a second
thought. It fit nicely in the trunk of my rental car.
I stayed with cycling friends the night before the ride. In about 25
minutes I had my Friday set up for a bike tour of Seattle. I added
what I consider randonneuring essentials: lights, fenders, a Carradice
saddlebag and a Gilles Berthoud seatpack converted to a handlebar bag.
In a nod to the long miles, I also put on my sprung Brooks Flyer
saddle. Everything came together nicely, and my host was pleasantly
surprised when he took a test ride. Once he stopped looking down, he
said the bike felt "normal!"
Day 1: "I'm going to ride 375 miles in two days"
The next morning I was among 27 riders at the starting line, all with
the "I'm going to ride 375 miles in two days" jitters. Lights ablaze,
we rolled out on a cool, humid late summer morning. Mine was the only
Friday. I got a couple of compliments on the bike, and comments on the
giant front ring. Most folks knew about Fridays, having seen local
randonneuring stalwart Kent Peterson ride many miles on his New World Tourist.
[Kent is also a Paris-Brest-Paris on a Friday veteran - see http://www.bikefriday.com/pbp - Ed]
This ride went south and west through some of Washington's famous
Mount St. Helens forests. We quickly encountered farm fields and
gentle rollers with the occasional steep pitch thrown in, and the
group worked hard to stay together.
I found it no harder to ride my Friday in hills than my dedicated
brevet bike, and for the first 40 miles I hung in there with the fast
guys. The Friday is a treat in that the air resistance feels
diminished somehow, maybe due to the small wheels.
Then it hit: the espresso cravings. Coffee dependence hits me harder
than usual when I get up at 3:30 am. Luckily the next town, Winlock,
had one of Washington state's ubiquitous drive-up espresso shacks.
Three customers waiting ahead of me - they all wanted those
complicated coffee drinks with whipped cream and flavors and steam … and
all I wanted was a double espresso! I stood around awhile, and a group
rolled by.
Mark Thomas, president of SIR and Randonneurs USA, commented
on how I was becoming a local, waiting for an espresso just like
everybody else in Washington.
I finally got my cup and drank it while I rode on to the first control
in Vader. I had a breakfast sandwich made up and lit out again, eating
it in the saddle. Most everyone was up the road, but I didn't mind
riding alone for awhile. A beautiful clear morning emerged from the
fog, revealing winding roads through evergreen valleys. Michael Wolfe
of Portland came along on on his sleek Bacchetta Aero recumbent and
offered a friendly "nice Friday!" as he glided past. That made my day.
Washington means never having the same weather for very long,
apparently. A nasty rain cloud blew in from the coast and started
dumping a steady shower. "We're having fun now," commented Rick
Blacker as he rode past me near Lebam.
The rain subsided and I discovered the front guys at the 111-mile
control in Raymond eating at Subway, my favorite brevet lunch stop --
fast food, not fried. I went in, got a sub and sat with Rick, who
talked about how he had come back this year from a bad bike crash and
was looking forward to getting his 600K completed. He was riding
strongly, you'd never know he was off the bike for six months.
In my never-ending quest for a good shot of joe, I stopped again at
the espresso hut on the way out of town and ordered another double
espresso. I felt the rush of calories and caffeine, which helped me tackle a
series of long, shallow rollers under mostly clear skies. I caught up
to Rick and we then ran up to Peg Winczewski, Bob Brudvik, Mark and
Wayne Methner. I was amazed to hear Peg say she was completing her
third super randonneur series this year, in addition to working
volunteer sag for four days on the Cascade 1200. I felt lucky to be in
such accomplished company.
Our group stayed together until we rolled down to the coastal bend,
and then it was just Peg, Bob, Rick and me on a quiet Saturday spin in
the country. The road curved along the Willipa Bay National Wildlife
Refuge and we saw wonderful vistas of wetlands and evergreens.
The roads in this section were mostly flat. By now it was late
afternoon and we hit the 156-mile control at Long Beach, hungry. I ate
the second half of my sub and Mark came out with a tub of macaroni salad. Bob threw
bread bits to Roscoe, a friendly and well fed dog who
had found his spot on Earth, keeping the parking lot clean of stray food.
Eric Vigoren, our ride organizer, routed us along the mouth ofthe Columbia River, and the setting sun over the water and hills wasmagical. Traffic was nearly nonexistent.
Night began to fall and I kicked my pace into a little higher gear,
hoping to make the hotel by 11 p.m. or earlier. That was a fun little
fantasy for awhile - until the road began tipping upward into a series of
rolling hills.
I caught the main group at a night time rest stop Eric had set up along
the roadside. I had some famous SIR soup in a cup and put on booties, a skull
cap and leg warmers over my knee warmers. It felt cold when stopped
but warm when I rode, so I stayed with my nylon jacket over my wool jersey,
wool undershirt, and arm warmers.
I rode with Rick for a ways, then decided to push harder and started
catching riders one by one. On this section I felt the Friday come
into its own. I pushed the pedals hard on hill tops and flew around
turns, and it handled everything with aplomb.
I arrived at midnight to a warm welcome from volunteers Amy and Greta,
who manned a room stocked with food and drink. We all headed off to bed
with a 4 am wakeup call, tired but glad to be getting some sleep.
Day 2 Kinda Queasy …
Bob, Peg, Mark and I rode off just after 4:30 am. I was kind
of queasy, even though I ate some more sandwich for breakfast. The night
was dark and quiet.
In Toledo, at mile 276, hunger had to be addressed, and we hit the
Union 76 for whatever we could scrounge. After
getting out of the hills onto Jackson Highway, I stopped to take off
layers, Mark rolled up and did the same. The route
wound north to SR12, the fast east-west highway. I tried not to think
much about the 19.2 mile stretch on the shoulder with 55 m.p.h. traffic
whizzing past.
The terrain to the 310-mile control at Morton was generally uphill with
some light head- and crosswinds. There were no rain clouds, my body and bike
were working well, and I had a chance for a relatively fast finish. I
rolled into Morton at 11:30 and saw the Gang of Five group there at the
Subway. Espresso and subs: the randonneur diet.
"Here, I'll sign your card," said the helpful woman at the counter.
"I've done it for all your friends." I was very touched, it was so nice
to get a smile and a little friendliness after slogging away along the
busy highway.
I bought a sub and some Gatorade and ran out, hoping to ride with the
group. Alas, the route passed the Bean Tree coffee shop on the main
street and I immediately pulled over.
I ordered my double espresso and with some help from the counter lady
chose the perfect cookie: chocolate chip and pecan with white icing.
The espresso came to me steaming in a big white cup. "You don't want
anything in it?" she asked. "I can't take it that strong."
I needed it strong, strong, strong. I had a plan. I wanted to finish
without stopping if I could.
After scarfing my cookie, sub and coffee I saddled up and blew out of
town on a big high. Gorgeous leafy countryside beckoned, and I
gamboled up a bunch of ascending rollers to a high ridge. The road
ran through a continuous blanket of evergreens broken up by farm
fields and rural homes.
A slight tailwind helped me keep a motoring pace and I used my big 58
tooth chainring as much as possible. My only obstruction was an
energetic brown Labrador who squared off with me, not in the least bit
intimidated when I pointed my little front wheel directly at it and
poured on the speed. At the last second I swerved and gave Fluffy a
big squirt in the face from my bottle, and that slowed my canine
adversary just long enough for me to outrun his best effort. I looked
back and an oncoming car nearly ran it over. I was glad to have gotten
past without anything bad happening.
By Centralia I was off the ridge and pointed toward home. A lone rider
was parked at the Union 76 store, but I pedaled on, drowsy and ready
to turn in my control card. The finish appeared at 4:23 p.m., at the
Motel 6. Six riders, including Bob and Peg, had come in just 20
minutes ahead of me.
I broke down my Friday and had it packed in less than a half hour. I
was tired and took my time putting everything just so. It was so nice
to have it put away before I joined my D.C. friend, Tom Reeder, who
also came for the ride, in a ride to the our hotel near
Seatac airport in anticipation of early morning flights.
CONCLUSION
I finished my ride in about the same time as normally complete a 600K,
but without any of the hassles of lugging a full size
travel case on the flight. In that way, the Friday is superior for the
traveling randonneur, when one wants to conserve their energy for the
ride! The ride, particularly with my sprung the Brooks saddle, was
every bit as comfortable as my 700c bike, and heck, it was cool to
ride a unique machine on such a long ride. The machine performed
perfectly and I had no mechanicals to slow me down --- well done little buddy.
One of these days I'll do a 1200, the ultimate randonnee distance, on my
Friday. Until then!
Ed Felker
Arlington, VA
