A little less than two year's ago, I found this intriguing post on a Long-Haul Trucker's user group that I had been lurking on:
the dalles mountain 60 - april 24, 2010 - the dalles, oregon
Come join us for our inaugural race out of the Dalles, Oregon. I'll
be sporting my LHT for the race - as I do for all my rides.
- Donnie
At this point, I had no idea what gravel racing nor had I ever ridden a bicycle over thirty miles. But I was getting tired of the same-old OBRA scene and I was excited for an opportunity to put my newly built-up Trucker to good use.
I've always had a hard time moderating myself on Friday nights so when I showed up in The Dalles Saturday morning I was propped awake by strong coffee and the obnoxious metal that I had blasted on the stereo all the way from Portland. I saw a couple people with bicycles in the parking lot. I figured they were likely going to be in the race. I parked next to them and started setting up my bicycle. A guy in a bright jacket sauntered over and introduced himself as Donnie. I quickly learned that the other two cyclists setting up their bikes were the entire rest of the field. Donnie was out with an injury and would be "officiating" and cheering us on.
We strung out long before we even reached the gravel. With the lady in blue dropping back and me chasing the lead guy. I finally caught him on the ascent, either because he had a single-speed or because he felt sorry for me. Either way, it was probably good that I caught him because I almost certainly would have ended up lost, cue-sheet notwithstanding.
We ended up taking a wrong turn, anyway, at the bottom of Highway 97 and, by the time we reached Biggs, the lady in blue was there. By this time, I had gotten their names. Mr. Singlespeed was Joe Partridge (I was to learn later that Joe has some serious long-distance races under his belt). And the lady in blue was Sue Marcoe, another accomplished rider, and Donnie's girlfriend at the time.
By this time we hit the final road section back to the Dalles we were battling a nasty headwind and any sense of being in a competitive race had long past. We took turns pulling into the wind and I found this to be an exhilarating experience. I've never been a roadie or, at that point, much of a cyclist in general, and this was my first time riding in a paceline. I loved the feeling of camaraderie that working together produces.
When we reached the Dalles my whole body, absolutely unaccustomed to distance cycling, was crying out in pain. But I felt awesome. I was riding a high that didn't leave me for days. I had just experienced a very cool thing.
Anyway, fast-forward two years. I am driving out to The Dalles to do this race for the third time. I am just as sleep-deprived as I was the other two times, though for different reasons this time. On this drive I have company, at least, in the form of Jason Britton who is a great guy to talk to, whether about bike-related things or not.
There is the usual pre-race panic as I try to do last-minute preparation on my bike and get food and water down and wait in line for the rest-room. Oh yeah, there are about a hundred more riders here today than there were at the inaugural Dalles Mountain. I say hello to everyone I know and, though I didn't think on it much at the time, all of these people are friends I have met in the past several years. We've bonded together over a shared love of bicycles.
On the pavement, out to Dalles Mountain Road, I realize that the gear I had chosen for my single-speed felt just about right. I am not the brightest bulb in the box but it didn't take much extrapolation to figure out that if 42x16 was comfortable on the relatively flat road, it would not be comfortable on the climb up Dalles Mountain, much less the ridiculously-graded Old Moody.
There are a few moments of dread on the climb, as people spun past my while I tried to grunt and stair-step my bicycle up the hill. I dread that, by a singly stupid decision on my part, I've ruined my day and possibly made completion of the route impossible.
I make it to the top of Dalles Mountain, though, and hit the descent and then the pavement with gusto. The day is somewhat cold but we've left the rain behind in Hood River and it is gorgeous. I realize that I may have made the ride more difficult for myself but I was going to finish and I was going to have fun.
I ride with Aaron for a little while, until we reach Biggs. I have to stop, not so much because my body needs to, but because I've promised myself this respite and it would be psychologically hurtful to not sit at the market and munch on a pizza-pocket and three large jo-jos. As mentally fortifying as this stop is, I hate to watch all the cyclists trickle past. So I shove the Corn Nuts into my jersey pocket and jump back on the my bike.
I catch up to Jens Voigt's Army on the road but it feels a little awkward trying to mix into their paceline so I soon drop off the back. Then comes Old Moody and I am off the bicycle. One thing I notice, though, is that I'm not going significantly slower than the riders hammering their steeds up the hill. And the opportunity to stretch out my back feels great.
Immediately after my first Dalles Mountain ride, I started to carry music with me, for that much-needed boost after the real pain has begun and the end is still nowhere in sight. This time is was somewhere on the gravel rollers above Fifteenmile Road. As I put new batteries into the speaker-case, another rider came by and I jumped on my bike to chase him down. He was from Team Cthulhu and we ended up pulling each other back into town, thus putting a satisfying cap on the third Dalles Mountain 60.
I take every possible opportunity to mention to other Velodirt riders that "I was there for the first Velodirt ride, ever". I'm quite proud that I have raced, and finished, every Velodirt ride. I doubt that I will always hold the same religious fervor for Velodirt. I hope that Velodirt continues for a long time, and I would be happy to assist in the production should Donnie ever begin to burn-out. But people move and evolve and find new things to keep them entertained. So, five or ten years from now, I may be doing something totally different. But, right now, the Velodirt rides are some of the most eagerly-anticipated events of my year. In no small part did Velodirt save my Bicycling Soul.
Not only Sue but Joe was out there again, too. Though nobody ever saw him. Because he was doing three laps in preparation for the Trans-Iowa.
 | |
| Maryhill Loops. Photo stolen from Ryan King. |
No comments:
Post a Comment