My Quest for the 600k: DNF

The Willamette Headwaters 600k Brevet

Resignation...
Regret...
Re-evaluation...
Re-ignition

DNF, for the uninitiated, means Did Not Finish, and it is the designation a randonneur earns, in place of a finish time, when one quits before finishing a brevet in the allotted time.

Before I go further I want to thank all the organizers, especially Michael Wolfe, for a super scenic route, outrageous organization and a spectacular spirit. A brevet depends on all three, but the spirit counts for much. This brevet really deserves pics, so I'll post some links to others' pics so you get a sense of how beautiful this route really is. Michael, I know the logistics involved were really, really intense. Thanks so much for your contribution to our sport and to all of us who participated!

For the sake of getting all that's in my head and heart down onto this page, I'm going to organize into categories of Facts, Feelings, and Shifts.

One last prefatory remark: it's easy to quickly get drawn into the drama of long rides, the elation, the disappointment, the deep lessons learned--and I'm confident I'll go there--but really this is only about riding a bike. It's not about the real hardships that ordinary people overcome in everyday life and certainly not about the unfathomable hardships that extraordinary people overcome in their everyday lives. It's just making wheels go around.

Facts

• 
  
  This was my first attempt at a 600k, the longest distance I'd yet attempted.
• 
  
  At over 20,000 feet of climbing, this was by far the most elevation I'd ever taken on.
• 
  
  I rode fast for the first 100k and 200k--my fastest ever 200k in fact--by hanging onto better riders and to help bank time for the climbs to come when I'd surely slow.
• 
  
  As I rode with the fast pack, it became known that several of us (four?) were attempting our first 600k. One veteran rider exclaimed, "Your doing your first 600k on this route (thinking of all the elevation gain)? That's ballsy!".
• 
  
  We rode on the Row River Trail which is built on an old railroad grade which was the location for Buster Keaton's The General. If you read the Wiki description closely, there is a scene in the movie where Buster's character chases The General, which is a train, while riding a boneshaker, an early bicycle.
• 
  
  I rode with one, then two, great new pals who helped me through some tough climbs and nightness.
• 
  
  I forsook my "success plan" by having dinner with my two pals at a table outside a restaurant at a wine and beer tasting festival after an intense and long forest service road descent. My "success plan" calls for no solid food stops, just powdered Perpetuem, but I decided that having companions for the upcoming nighttime climb was worth the change of plans.
• 
  
  I arrived at a secret controle with my pals and had soup and hot chocolate and great gladness in the middle of the night--all staffed by a hardy volunteer and his pickup truck of many wonders, Michael Rasmussen.
• 
  
  I arrived at the overnight controle with about an hour and forty-five minutes left before the time limit.
• 
  
  I got about 40 minutes of sleep at the overnight. Yes, it was hard to get up.
• 
  
  The overnight volunteers were angels. No brag, just fact. I'm sorry I don't recall their names, but it was like being at a high brow bed and breakfast! Thanks, volunteers!
• 
  
  Waiting for my companions to depart by indulging in breakfast and such (Keven decided then that due to knee pain and fear of injury that he was abandoning), I spied Peg Winczewski departing. Peg is as good an anchor as one could want and had arrived at the controle with us. I watched Peg depart with her customary earnestness. Watching her depart, it occurred to me that perhaps I should be getting a move on too, but I didn't exactly.
• 
  
  I left the overnight controle about an hour and twenty minutes after the time limit (maybe an hour after Peg?) with my one remaining pal, Ted.
• 
  
  On the big climb out of that valley, Ted encouraged me to ride on ahead. I declined at first, then I reluctantly did just that.
• 
  
  Our route had been modified due to forest fire smoke.
• 
  
  I arrived at the next controle thirty minutes past the time limit.
• 
  
  When I called to convey that I was going to DNF, Michael Wolfe told me he'd wave my missing the controle deadline because he'd intended it to be only an information controle anyway because the forest fire course change had pinched his own time to fully reorganize.
• 
  
  I told him that despite his generosity, I was spent. I was going to DNF. I also learned then that Ted had already DNF'd earlier.
• 
  
  It was 455 kilometers into the ride, and most of the climbing was past with just one major ascent remaining.
• 
  
  I hitchhiked back to the start by the kindness of two strangers, each a gem in their own respect.
• 
  
  As I got back to the start I saw the faster riders finishing up their rides.
• 
  
  I got into my truck, drove to the Interstate, took a nap before getting on the Interstate, then drove back to Seattle.

 Feelings

It was a rush to hang on to the faster riders' wheels for a while. I knew I was burning my candle quickly, but this was offset by the time cushion I was building up. There really wasn't an alternative, so I rushed forward probably using up some energy stores but also making it possible to stay in the hunt. This felt right, and exhilarating.

The climbs were tough, and long. We walked up some, which I'd recently discovered has a quickly restorative effect when your legs are tired. Looking back, I may have walked a little overly much. Then again, I was tired. I didn't ingest caffeine as night wore on because I was afraid--now this seems silly--that I wouldn't be able to sleep at the overnight if I were caffeined up.



Walking is a quick restorative; don't let your pride deny your legs a helpful treat!



Hooking up with Ted was a relief. I knew I was at the back, and I don't mind the solitude, but I was glad to feel like I was in with at least one other who was still in the hunt. We talked of many things, and you really can get to know someone pretty well on a bike in the wilderness, in the dark, when you're hurting and going through your respective phases, and it's just you and him. Ted's a really good person.



Ted

 Later, we hooked up with a rider I had nicknamed "Stripey" from afar. This was because his striped stockings were distinctive, and it was a moniker that Ted recognized. Our touchstone for that other guy who was also hanging onto the back was thus: Stripey. And then as Ted and I were wrestling with a navigational decision (Ted had a day-old Garmin that he barely knew how to utilize it was so new, and I wasn't much use), along comes Stripey. Well it turned out Stripey had a name. He was Keven from Vancouver, BC, and he too was a great companion though I didn't get to know him quite as well since we didn't hang together as much. Now we fairly constituted a pack.

One thing that Ted and Keven had in common was that they were fearless descenders compared to me. I was amazed at how they'd whip around blind corners while I had to make certain nobody was coming the other way. This was despite the fact that we saw exactly one car over the hours that comprised the whole ascent and descent. I really felt compromised by my poor descending and while they waited for me when necessary, I realized I have much to learn and practice in this regard.

It was on one of these long descents that I convinced myself that when I hit a bump that my phone had popped out of my bag. I heard something, but didn't give it much notice. Later, not finding my phone, I assumed it was the casualty. Turns out all that was just my foggy brain not finding my phone and leaping to conclusions.

After the descent we rolled into the Oakridge Keg and Cask Festival. Oakridge, it seems is literally surrounded by forest service land. We were quite the spectacle for that crowd and everyone wanted to chat about our endeavor, our route, our bicycles. This is where I made that choice to stay and have dinner with Keven and Ted. It seemed to make sense to stay with them then, but now I can see that it wasn't necessarily such a good idea. It was really both a good idea for keeping company, but at the same time a great risk. Still hard to decide what I'd do in the same situation again.

One thing is certain: I relaxed. I ate at a table like a human being, with a napkin and silverware. While it felt good to rest and I'm certain that was a restorative, I now see that I also altered my sense of urgency here. As long as I was with others I reasoned, I was OK. Looking back, I'd backed myself into a fog of unexamined assuredness. Of course, we did eat at a restaurant called The Brewers Union Local 180, so I further rationalized my stopping due to the labor reference, my being a labor guy and all.

After the next big climb through several hours of nighttime, the overnight controle became our next benchmark, I began to dig in again. I wanted to get there, and two other riders who it turned out were indeed behind us, Peg and Jeff, joined our troupe and I led us in to the controle with determination.

The controle was an oasis. People cooking us spaghetti, being ushered to luxury cabins for a little sleep, a warm shower. Ahhhh. This is where I made some further poor decisions. I ate spaghetti--Yum and thanks volunteers!--and after my 40 minutes (40 winks?), I ate Raisin Bran like it was breakfast time even though it was only an hour after I ate my Spaghetti. I lingered. I soaked in the warmth. I organized my bike bag. Put on new shorts and a clean jersey. I watched Peg leave with her earnestness. I reflected, but most of all, I didn't depart like a man on a mission.

When I did leave it was well over an hour AFTER the controle officially closed putting me well over an hour in the hole timewise. And on the climb up McKenzie Pass when I finally left Ted behind, I was alone with my thoughts, my suffering, my feeling sorry for myself.




Lava Fields atop the McKenzie Pass climb.

And then it dawned me during the ensuing descent that I wasn't going to make the next, and penultimate, controle on time no matter how hard I pedaled into the wind. By the time I wheeled into that controle and the store clerk wrote my time on my brevet card, I was a full 30 minutes in the hole. Even though I thought that maybe Michael the Brevet Organizer might forgive this, I made up my mind--my hungry, overheated, unrested, kind of pissy mind--that since I was late...I was done. I have DNF'd.


 

Dead Vulture: Good omen cause it's dead, or...

 But instead of calling Michael immediately to talk it over, check out my options or eat a little, rest a little, think things through a little, I impetuously called DartreDame, my wife, and told her I was spent, I was done. We talked it over, I rationalized, and then I felt a mixture of relief and collapse settle in. I was done. Dartre, for her part, did everything as a partner ought to. She checked in and offered up what staying in meant. Didn't encourage me to quit. But it can be a tough spot, right? You don't want them to encourage you to quit but you want them to be there for you. Perhaps because she too has DNF'd (on a Permanent) and finished strong as well, she understands very well.

So then, by the time I called Michael, my soul had said "No mas", and Michael's noble attempts to re-engage me were of no use; I had shut down.

Now this was followed by a bit of a high. Suddenly, I was no longer experiencing the tension of time stress or the worry of can I make it up this "one more climb?". I hitchhiked back to the start, maybe 50 miles or more with my bike, and did so by virtue of two angels. And now I had entered into a realm of adventure I've been accustomed to for years: hitchhiking, adventuring, but without time constraints, a poor man's touring. This was familiar terrain from long ago.

The first driver that stopped was a fabulous woman driving a van. The van was for her husband whose disability confined him to a wheelchair. My bike rode next to his chair in the back as I sat in front with her, and they regaled me of some of their life's stories. Her daughter and friend followed in a car behind us. Wonderful folks, our little caravan, and oh how they admired my riding all that distance. And I relaxed and soaked it in, but with a niggling in the back of my head that said: "quitter!".

The next driver was a really unique guy who I stereotyped quickly as a redneck as I slung my bike onto the bed of his pickup. And he was. He was a cowboy for real. He tended cattle up by the coast. But he was plenty else. Former army long distance runner, now a newbie mountain biker. He was a dad. An entrepreneur. He was a character. He was a real appreciator of what I was doing, this randonneuring. He ended up taking me about 20 - 30 miles out of his way and dismissed it as easily as that. He was happy to, he said, and that was right: he was happy to. I don't know what it is but there are times you just connect with total strangers in ways that feel more real than many of the relationships you have with folks you know and have worked with for years. Kind of like striking up a conversation with a seatmate on a plane, and instantly finding common ground in a suddenly deep way as both of you know you'll never see one another again. There is that intimacy of the temporarily corralled strangers.

So, there I am then, relaxed, sleepy, starting to regret a little, but now back outside the motel where we started the morning before. I grabbed my drop bag and bumped into Ted. We shared our DNF camaraderie, a few words of "next time", and I skulked off to my truck.

When I got home at last, I drove straight to meet my family at our good friends' house; they had visiting family from India and I broke another vow: I ate several bowlsful of ice cream and several Indian sweets (no sweets better than Indian milk sweets!) whilst being congratulated and cheered for going farther and higher than ever before. For them, DNF was a mere detail lost in a tale of unimaginable proportions. So what, you rode so far and so high!

DartreDame laughingly chided me for the fact that I had one sock on/one sock off, but they gave me much love and encouragement. In my mind, I was a quitter. In their minds, I had achieved more than I ever had previously, which was true too. Obviously, I was back in the arms of my homefolk.

Shifts

Gradually, as I told folks of my latest adventure and explained why I'd quit, I couldn't quite conjure up the real reason. Was I completely physically exhausted? If I answered really and truly honestly...no. In fact, once I started hitchhiking home I felt physically pretty good.

I started to shift into regret. I could have kept going. Even if I didn't finish on time, at least I should have kept going. What was it that made it feel impossible to go back on the bike for that last big climb? I had done much more than that already. There's even a term for finishing a brevet, but past the time limits: hors delai. It is a respected status because it shows one didn't quit even though the clock had run out. I'd never even given that option a second thought. I dismissed it before it had a chance to alight onto my brain, because I'd shut down. A handy excuse was that I had an important work meeting Monday morning so as long as I had quit, why not just get home ASAP? And so I did.

Shift #1

Then I read Dr. Codfish's column in the Fall, 2010 American Randonneur, the official publication of Randonneurs USA. Dr. Codfish, or Paul Johnson, writes the blog, The Dr. Codfish Chronicles, and it is filled with sage rando advice. This particular column, titled Reaching the finish line...the endurance mind, is about finishing. He writes about the obvious: visualization, preparation, having a contingency plan. But he also writes about the not-so-obvious: feeding your head, making your own rules, the power of having experienced looking into the void. But, most of all, Dr. Codfish explicitly advises never to decide to quit until AFTER you've eaten a little, drunk a little, napped or rested a little, and made a bargain to continue on just a little longer. Then decide.

Reading those words just hours after my decision to DNF, I felt small. Why hadn't I just tried...a little?

Well, I eventually decided three things about this when to quit idea. First, being honest with myself, I quit too soon. Ouch! Second, so I did, that's good to admit, but it doesn't define me as a quitter or anything else. It was one decision among many. I wish now I hadn't done it, but it couldn't be undone. Just let it be the reality, but not my defining reality. Third, I realized that once again in this damn fool business that is our randonneuring, I had learned another lesson. Good for me!

If you haven't read Dr. Codfish's column, read it. If you have read it, reread it. If you aren't a RUSA member, you could go online, but I don't think it's up yet. So join RUSA. That article is more than worth the cost of admission.

Shift #2

I still don't know why it took me so long to make this second shift--could it be I was too busy wallowing in my quitterdom?--but it took almost two weeks. Finally though, I just did the math. If I left the overnight controle between 75 and 90 minutes after the controle closed and I was 30 minutes late coming into that last controle, then I had actually made up between 45 and 60 minutes on what was one serious climb and a descent into a nasty headwind. I was improving my time even though I'd departed the overnight later than I should have. At that rate and with what I knew to be just one more longish but not so steep climb, I really had a pretty promising, not doomsday, trajectory. Huh.

Shift #3

Three years ago almost to the day, I set some wheels in motion, the full consequences of which I hadn't really seriously considered. It began when I read online about the just completed Paris Brest Paris event in 2007. I surfed wildly from website to website soaking in all I could absorb: camaraderie, testing one's limits, self-supported, suffering, Paris, cycling, tradition, fanfare, French food, and festival. I announced to Dartre (who acquired her nickname DartreDame on an earlier trip to Paris, the very one in which our budding romance blossomed beyond my imagination!) that I hoped to ride in the next Paris Brest Paris, and if she was supportive then I would commence my journey that I knew would take me to soaring heights as well as the accompanying lows. I had enough life experience to appreciate that there would be unforeseen lows, I just didn't have the foresight to imagine exactly how they'd manifest themselves.

Well, the wheels I'd set in motion when Dartre proclaimed her support for my quest were big wheels on a steep descent. Dartre and her sister were thinking about how to celebrate their parents' 50th wedding anniversary coming up in 2011. Since their parents live in India and celebrants live around the globe, why not France in August of 2011. Since Curio will be riding there anyway for Paris Brest Paris, let's just all meet in France and we can have one big party/PBP. Manufique!

Almost exactly after this DNF, Dartre's sister and Dartre decided it was time to seriously plan. So as I was experiencing Shifts 1 and 2, they were deciding where to go (Provence), which house with which amenities (cheaper one), when to depart Provence for Paris and PBP (later than Curio), when Dartre and I would cyclo-tour for a week (first week in August), where we'd cyclo-tour (Dordogne), etc.

Suddenly, my DNF was now also a ticket to nowhere. Without a 600k, let alone a 1000k, I was seriously risking being unable to register for Paris Brest Paris 2011. The result was that while it was now set that we were going to France, the impetus for going there in the first place--Paris Brest Paris--was slipping through my fingers.

This sent me back to surfing the Internet. I had to find an alternative 600k, hopefully flatter, so that I could improve my chances or I could see 2011 and France and family trip all adding up to one word for me: Bittersweet.

And so I shifted again. This time from pondering my bellybutton and the meaning of my DNF to the practicalities of finding a 600k and getting myself there. I had shifted into a next step. I found another 600k to try: Surf City 600k put on by the Santa Cruz Randonneurs!! DNF, what DNF? I was on a move toward a new success plan.

To find out how I did on the Surf City 600k, please go here.

Postscript

If you've read this far, there is little need to apologize for the length of this post. It's just long. But if you've read this post, you'll also know that it was pretty self-revealing. I thought more than twice before putting all this down for any and all to see, but I chose yes in the hope that it is fodder for other newbies. If you find it maudlin, please be kind. If you find it useful, then I am pleased.

For more pics and ride reports from other riders:

• Susan Otencas's report
• Gary Prince's pics
• Brad's Ride Report

 Keep it in perspective,

CurioRando

The God of Things That Ought to Be

Have we got a slacker God? By the shape of things today, it seems the little God of Things That Ought to Be has been taking time off. Never heard of Billiken? I hadn't either until I saw the play Two Wheels North.

A little while ago I posted about the Book-It Repertory Theatre's production of Two Wheels North, an adaptation of the book by the same name by Evelyn McDaniel Gibb. Two Wheels North is the tale of two high scool graduates who rode borrowed bicycles from Santa Rosa, California to Seattle in 1909 to attend the much ballyhooed Seattle Yukon Pacific Exposition. The author is the daughter of Vic, one of the two intrepid young men and she won the Pacific Northwest Writers Association Nonfiction Book Award for Two Wheels North. This Book-It production was adapted and directed by Annie Lareau and starred Damian Peterson (pictured above) as Vic McDaniel and Nik Perleros as Ray Francisco. Supporting actors included Kelly Kitchens and John Ulman.

The other character, our aforementioned Billiken, isn't depicted onstage, but he was a big deal in the U.S. in 1909. Especially at the Seattle Yukon Pacific Exposition. Billiken, the God of Things That Ought to Be, was a clay totem for the Exposition. Haven't heard of the Seattle Yukon Pacific Exposition? Neither had I until recently. But aside from a double shot of gumption, Vic and Ray carried Billiken on their journey as a good luck charm. And while he didn't reshape the world into the way it ought to be, Billiken did the boys alright.

The actors relax just before showtime at Book-It.

The actual Vic (left) and Ray in Santa Rosa as they readied to embark. Photo scanned from the book, but originally courtesy of Santa Rosa Press Democrat.

Close-up of the 1930's era Excelsior bicycle loaned by Recycled Cycles for the production.

There are many ways to take in Two Wheels North. One is as a coming-of-age story of two young men who set off as friends are wont to do, to see what the world is all about. Another is as an exploration of the world 100 years ago. Or, more specifically, as an exploration of cyclotouring a century ago. Still another is as an introduction to the Seattle Yukon Pacific Exposition, a fascinating subject itself.

Then there is Vic's and Ray's journey as an epic tale: the myth of Ulyses by bicycle. This is how I absorbed Two Wheels North. A constant tangle of heroic choices, moral minidramas, and creatures that sought their demise.

Think I'm exaggerating? How about a very large rattle snake that bites and doesn't let go until his head is shot off. Even then, it hangs on. How about a fistfight between naked bathing workmen over the treatment of a young orphan boy whom one views through the lens of homophobia while the other sees a fatherless boy making sense of a world that oughtn't be. Or the knocking of almonds out of a tree, veritably manna from the heavens. As for sacred places, this epic tale has them too. Mount Shasta is a mystical mountain, and the Exposition--if you really place yourself back in time--was as close to a world wonder as most would ever see. And if you've got young men, you've got young women and hot young love. And unfortunately for the young lovers a watchful mother not to be messed with on an epic scale!

And of course, the heroics of long distance, unsupported cycling--randonneuring the hard way--is ever present. Falling over the edge of cliffs. Crossing high train trestles at night. Meeting a train midway through a narrow tunnel.

The author, Evelyn, was there for the show and graciously posed with the actor who posed as her father.

I thoroughly enjoyed Two Wheels North, and I'm grateful that Evelyn took the time as her father aged to talk with him for an hour a day to get down the details of this amazing tale. I bought an autographed copy, and though I haven't finished it yet, I highly recommend it.

As for the production, I thought it too was well done. Good acting, creative effects, and simple staging that left me--sitting in the first row--feeling like I was aboard for the ride.

If you enjoy history or Seattle or World's Fairs, I also recommend poking around all the great stuff that celebrates the centennial of the Seattle Yukon Pacific Exposition. For starters, check out the hour long special that aired on the Seattle Channel. DartreDame scored me a copy she gleaned from her travels (I think from the producer), but you can view it online now at the Seattle Channel website.

Of course if you're Buddhist, you'll not highly regard this Billiken, because the world just is. Maybe it oughta be this or that, but it's not. Both Vic and Ray went on to fight in the War to End All Wars, WWI. Talk about wishful thinking!

But for me, I savored the tale of two young lads setting off to just see how the world really is. The original Curious Randonneurs perhaps?


Keep it curious,

CurioRando

Jan Heine Interview, Part 3: Future of Randonneuring and Bicycling & Advice for Newbie Randonneurs

How do you like my picture selection? Doesn't it look like Jan is gazing out into the future of randonneuring? At least I hope that is Jan. He pointed me to some photos, but it could be one of his companions gazing thoughtfully. Hmmm.

Well, that's what I've asked Jan to do in this the final part of our three-part interview. Given that he is a student of our history, what are the trends? I am also unabashedly asking for advice for us newbies. I'll be attempting my first 400k tomorrow, the Oregon Randonneurs Alsea 400k, so advice solicitation is one of my forms of stress management.

Also, since the actual interview, Jan and two others embarked on the first official Cyclos Montagnards event. You can read about that inaugural trip here.

Since this is the final of three, I want to thank Jan for taking the time. Also for his responding to where the question needs to go even if I didn't pose it so. You can find more of Jan's writing at Bicycle Quarterly. Typically, I don't send folks to for-profit endeavors, but Bicycle Quarterly is a such a unique treasure trove of really informative articles I feel compelled to do so for any of the rare few who might not know of it yet.

The only "further ado" is this: the first interview with Jan, Part 1: Personal & Social History, can be found here. Part 2: Equipment is found here.

Keep it aware of our elders,

CurioRando

Future of Randonneuring and Bicycling
& Advice for Newbie Randonneurs

CurioRando: So how about the future of bicycle design, the popularity of bicycles, the popularity of randonneuring type bicycles in particular, your sense of that?

Jan Heine: Predicting marketplace behavior is difficult. If people bought products only based on what they need and what fulfills their needs best, I would say that the classic randonneur bike has a huge future. But it’s like so many things, marketing comes into it. Unfortunately, as I see it now, performance bikes are racing bikes which can be ridden only during daytime in good weather without carrying much. The alternative is bikes that don't offer much in terms of performance. We just tested a "performance commuting bike" with upright handlebars and a carbon fork. I can tell you that the carbon fork is not going to improve the performance enough to make up for the flat handlebars. I talked to the manufacturer, and he said the flat bars are easier to sell because most people know mountain bikes. But overall, I think randonneur bicycles in some form or another are bound to grow just because more and more people are exploring beyond their horizons. It’s just encouraging to see, especially the growth of randonneuring. People really want to go beyond what they know and see what is over the next hill and in the next valley, and they need the bikes to go there.


CR: Any particular equipment or design advances you foresee? You’ve written about electric shifting.

JH: I think we’ve had a tremendous revolution that might have almost gone unnoticed. And that’s the new LED lights and generator hubs. It’s amazing that now you can go downhill almost as fast at night as you can during the day. We did our fleche on the Olympic Peninsula and I suddenly thought: “Wow, here we are going 40MPH on a twisty downhill in the middle of the night with just a bunch of generator powered headlights.” I think that is a huge advance.


CR: What I like about randonneuring is uncovering limits and moving past them. What’s your vision of a world in which the bicycle is an integrated form of transportation today? Is that something you think about?

JH: You know, I’ve been thinking about that a little bit because as we all look at our environmental impact. As cyclists we are very very lucky because we can reduce our environmental impact while improving our quality of life. People who don’t ride bikes, who don’t like riding bikes…have a hard time giving up their cars. I recently dropped off a bike in West Seattle. It was a 70-minute bike ride, but a 2-hour bus ride back. And the bike ride took me across the Ballard Locks, along the water several times, I got exercise... The bus ride was boring by comparison. The more people we can get excited about cycling, the more the bicycle will become an integrated mode of transportation.


CR: Cyclos Montagnards got a little bit of—some people I talked to were reacting a little strongly to the notion. My take on it was that if folks want to introduce a new challenge for themselves that doesn’t unfairly change things for the rest of us, for those of us who are too slow to do those things just yet, so what? Why the fuss?

JH: Challenges are how randonneuring started. You know, the challenges are not just for fast people. The Cyclos Montagnards challenges are indeed challenging, because we see it sort of as a continuation of the Charly Miller Society. The Charly Miller Society is a challenge that Bill Bryant, the former Randonneurs USA president, developed. It honors Americans who ride in PBP in the same time or faster than the last American professional racer in PBP (Charly Miller) who rode it in 1901 in 56 hours and 40 minutes. It seems awfully fast, but it is doable for many avid cyclists with training and a little luck. It’s not just for the super fast guys like Scott Dixon who came fist in PBP three or four times. This is something that is doable.

But it’s probably not doable for a beginning randonneur, so I just encourage people to challenge themselves. Just pick some destination. Maybe you can try and ride from Seattle to Windy Ridge and back in 24 hours. Or if you’re a new rider, see if you can get from here to Stevens Pass and back in the daylight before the sun sets—of course, you should bring lights anyway in case you don't make it. Explore your limits! Without a challenge, cycling can get boring. I’ve done many brevets, I know I can finish them. Just getting another medal is not that exciting. So for me, it’s a way of exploring my limits, just like you were saying.


CR: Advice to beginners like myself for randonneuring or a long brevet like PBP or generally just starting out? (Or for me on the eve of my first 400k, about which I am slightly terrified?!)

JH: There are probably a lot people being successful for a lot of reasons—but I see people being successful who really enjoy riding their bike. And yes, it’s not always easy, but in the end, you are just excited to be out there. Successful randonneurs often are people who just have a real interest to explore, who always want to see the next thing. The brevet allows them to get away from their normal routes, to see something new. And that’s why I would pick routes that, even if they are challenging, are scenic, are interesting. So that you come around the mountain and you see something new, so that you say, oh wow, I’ve never been here, it’s really exciting to do that. Because if you are just riding your bike for 20-odd hours, it can get pretty monotonous. During the brevet, pace yourself and try to ride with other people. It’s really fun that way. And don't be intimidated. Most people can complete a brevet. It’s not as hard as it might seem. At first, it’s daunting, but it’s like anything, it’s only daunting because you are not used to it.


CR: Another question occurred to me watching the Tour de France this am. If I'm recalling correctly you've ridden with about 10 - 12 gear combinations total, arguing that more cogs create overlap, etc. I ride with a similar set-up, mainly because my bicycle is over 30 years old and won't accommodate more than 5 cogs. But watching the Tour riders, it reminds me that they might find the "perfect" ratio while I must adjust my pedaling to the ratios available. Isn’t there some value to greater ratio availability?

JH: I find that 2-teeth differences between gears work well for me in the mid-range. I used to ride a straight block (1-tooth differences), but it just led to lots of unnecessary shifting, breaking my rhythm. Then it just becomes a question of what gear range you need. When I started racing, I was amazed at how fast we went uphill and how slow we went downhill. As a racer, you don't really need that many gears... As a randonneur, there are no sprints, and on steep downhills, you are faster tucking than you are pedaling, so you can make do with even fewer gears. However, more cogs do allow some riders to get all the gears they might ever need, and that might be a good thing. For me, 10 gears are sufficient most of the time, and when I encounter really steep hills, I find that no matter how small the gear, it is hard work.


CR: Anything you’d like to add?

JH: It is sometimes hard to appreciate for the experienced riders how challenging these rides can be for a new rider. I remember when living in Texas, I visited a friend in Dallas from Austin, and a ride of 204 miles in a single day. I started at 3:30 in the morning, and when I arrived, I thought it must be the furthest anyone has ever ridden. Well, as a randonneur, 204 miles is 325 km, and you still have 75 to go during a 400 km brevet. And even the 400, it’s a challenge, but it’s quite doable. So I’m really encouraged by people who do seek out these challenges and see what they can do. And I want to encourage them. I think they deserve as much applause as anybody else.


CR: Thanks for your insights, for sharing them so deeply, with charm. I particularly appreciate your attention to the elders, pulling out our elders and elevating them to the status they deserve. We’re all here on the shoulders of other folks and I appreciate your bringing them forward.

JH: You know, that has been the most pleasant part of it all. I was in France in January and we had this lunch with Alex Csuka of the Alex Singer Club. I was sitting at the table with these old guys, one guy who had come first in the PBP in 1956; one guy who had ridden the fastest tandem that year; another guy who had been one of the newspaper carriers and a racer. And we weren’t even talking about bikes that much, but they were such a fun crowd and it is just so nice to be part of that. So often people who have achieved a mastery of something, they’re just really interesting, nice people to be around.

Jan Heine Interview, Part 2: Equipment

We randos love our equipment. And why not? It can be simple. It can be elegant. Sometimes it can be just the right curve that catches the eye, catches the heart.

But for randonneuring, it also has to be reliable, safe, comfortable, and all to its purpose. Jan Heine has spent some time unraveling the mysteries of equipment. He's also put forth some theories that mystify some. He certainly is relentless about equipment.

Anyone up for a twenty-first century version of the technical trials?

Here's Jan, editor of the Bicycle Quarterly, on equipment. If you're searching for Jan Heine Interview, Part 1: Personal & Social History, look here. For Part 3: Future of Randonneuring and Bicycling & Advice for Newbie Randonneurs go here.


Keep it simple yet elegant,

CuriRando

Equipment

CurioRando: Your interest in design. Obviously you’ve got a background and some expertise in design and materials and the science of design, as well as the aesthetics of design and utility.

Jan Heine: Well, it’s simpler than that. When I started racing, the classic racing bicycle was very clearly defined. In the late 1980s, I went to a pro shop in Germany. The guy said well, here’s the Columbus SL frame Bianchi, here’s the Campy group on close-out and you’ll be happy with that. I asked about click shifting and he said, you don’t need that. And so I was riding this classic racing bike, which was replaced after an accident by yet another classic Columbus SL frame. This material has been used by generations of racers, and it worked very well for me. I never thought much about the bike – as a racer, you worry about your body more than your bike. It was only in the last decade, when I started testing bikes, that I found some worked better than others for me. My interest in the French bikes started with the design aspect – they just look lovely – but riding them made me realize that they work as well as they look. And I so got interested in figuring out the differences between bikes, between different geometries and different tubesets.


CR: You write about the technical trials and as I read that, it occurs to me that part of what made them successful was there were a lot of bike shops in a relatively small geographic area and a relatively large group of folks doing riding…

JH: Actually it was the other way around. Technical trials came first, and the small bike shops and builders came as a result. In 1920s France (and elsewhere in the world), bicycles were very much mass-produced. There were some very nice bicycles by the standards of the day, but nice usually meant lots of features, not better performance. On some bikes, you could adjust the length of the cranks or the width of the pedals, and all kinds of stuff. But the bikes were pretty heavy and more related to what you might call the English three-speed than a modern high-performance bicycle. Even the Tour de France bicycles were pretty heavy, crude machines, and they still broke with alarming frequency. When you look at how many Tour de Frances were decided because somebody broke their frame or fork, you realized that the bikes weren’t that sturdy and not that advanced. In front of that background, a group of riders banded together and said: "This needs to change." So they organized these technical trials to showcase what could be done. They had rules which gave bonus points for light weight and for features like certain geometries with shorter rear triangles, better brakes, racks. Then the bikes were ridden over very, very punishing courses and this allowed the small builders, of which there were a few emerging, to showcase their talents against the big makers. You know, the small builders couldn’t take out advertising in the popular magazines, they couldn’t sponsor a Tour de France team, but here all they needed was a really good bicycle, a decent rider and they could show what they could do. And that’s how the famous names like Alex Singer, Rene Herse, all of those guys, got their start: in the technical trials.


CR: That’s a better segue than I had in mind to my actual question which is do you have a “secret plan” to re-initiate the technical trials in the US?

JH: We were thinking about it, but it’s a very, very difficult thing to do, because the ideal technical trial would be the one where the best bike wins. However, taking the rider out of the equation is almost impossible. So in the end, a mediocre bike with the best rider would have a very good opportunity to win. In the 1930s, they basically drew up a blueprint for the bike they wanted. They had specifications that tires need to be 35 mm or wider, chainstays can’t be longer than 470 mm, etc. Basically, whoever conformed most closely to the blueprint would win, provided their bike held up to the demanding course and didn't break or develop problems. Back then, nobody argued too much about the blueprint or if they did, they stayed home, and we don’t know what they were thinking. However, I would not be comfortable prescribing the design. I am amazed by the vision of these original organizers of these technical trials. With all we have found out since, the rules of 1934 with the addition of a front rack would still make a great randonneur bike today. You don’t have to add or subtract a lot. Nowadays there are many more differing views accepted than in 1930s France, so it would be very difficult to get people on the same page, and have them accept a similar blueprint.

One thing we are doing today is testing bicycles for Bicycle Quarterly. We are riding them on the same courses with the same riders, and compare them always to the same reference bike. It’s not the same as the technical trials, but at least the bikes are compared on equal terms. And since it’s always the same rider, the only thing people have to do is trust us that we can get the best out of every bike. When you see the bikes we have liked, including carbon bicycles and so on, it’s obvious that we’re not very biased. That may be the best we can do at this point.


CR: Your readers love your reviews. What if you organized an event where a bunch of riders were riding a bunch of bikes and they evaluated…?

JH: That’s a very interesting idea... but of course organizing events takes an enormous amount of time. If someone wants to do it, I would gladly support it.


CR: Planing. I’ve seen some online mocking, people attacking the notion of planing.

JH: For ages people have thought that stiffer frames were better. But when you look at what racers were riding, especially while steel was still reigning supreme – because with steel it was very difficult to be stiff and light so you had a choice... Most racers chose light bikes over stiff bikes even for flat stages. People have talked about "dead" bikes, which were usually the cheap bikes from heavier tubing, but these really were the stiffest of them all.

Our hypothesis is that we perform best on bikes when we get in sync with the bikes. This allows us to put more power into the downstroke because the bike isn’t pushing back. Instead, the bike is flexing. And then as we get to the dead spots of the pedal stroke, the energy is released and helps drive the bike forward. So basically we don’t push against an unyielding wall during the downstroke. It’s sort of like jumping on a sprung gym floor. It’s like bouncing a basketball up and down. If you are hitting the ball correctly, it takes very little energy to keep it bouncing. Tuning of the bike to the rider is difficult, and maybe that’s why in the past the rider was tuned to the bike. When you look at the average European racer who raced on the average European racing bike, the Columbus SL frame on which I raced, they usually pedaled at a 110 RPM, they usually had their handlebars two inches below the saddle. There was little variety in the peloton. It’s not like one guy was pedaling at 60 RPM and the next at 140 RPM. Eddy Merckx was a little more physical, Jacques Anquetil was a little more elegant, but overall there was a very very narrow range. And I suspect that was because that was how you could get the best of the existing bikes.

I find that with some bikes that I test, I need to change my pedaling stroke. It sometimes takes me a 100 or more miles until I really can make some bikes perform. And some bikes that are really so far apart from what I’m used to and what works best for me that I just can’t make them go very well at all. It’s mostly noticeable in acceleration when I sprint. It’s also noticeable during a brevet where you’re riding into a headwind for hours. You always have to pedal, it’s not like you get a free lunch, but on some bikes, it’s easier to maintain the cadence, to make the bike go, and there are other bikes where you have to remind yourself, pedal, pedal, speed up, spin, and those are the ones that I find hard to ride for long distances.


CR: Tread, or Q-Factor, is another thing that seems to be under appreciated.

JH: There are some people who need wider cranks. These riders do well on mountain bike cranks, but lots of performance riders seem to prefer a narrower stance on the bike. Overall the cranks have gotten wider in the past few decades, and some riders aren't happy about this. I definitely prefer narrower tread. It’s interesting that the Italians, Campagnolo, keep their cranks narrower whereas Shimano keeps them wider. I wonder whether there are some differences in style and culture. Perhaps one company has more feedback from traditional racers than the other?


CR: 650B tires: enough traction, if you will, for continuing success? Are they here to stay?

JH: Oh yes. Looking at how many bikes there were with 650B tires in the US five years ago, maybe a couple dozen, old French machines and a few others—Schwinn made a mountain bike way back when—but all of this was very obscure, you couldn’t find 650B tires anywhere. But now there are new tires coming out and bikes being made. They’re certainly here to stay and it’s probably only a matter of time before some big makers realize that the logical way for a racing bike to go is to put on some bigger tires so that you can take it on all kinds of roads. More and more, the best riding is on the least maintained kinds of roads because those are the ones that don’t have any traffic. And for those roads, the wider 650B tires are ideal.

Jan Heine Interview, Part 1: Personal & Social History

Jan Heine is well known in randonneuring circles. I can absolutely say that it is largely due to his magazine, Bicycle Quarterly, that I am a randonneur, albeit a beginner, today. In addition to the Quarterly, Jan also wrote the text for The Golden Age of Handbuilt Bicycles. The beautiful photography is by Jean-Pierre Praderes. Jan's latest, The Competition Bicycle, also features the photography of Jean-Pierre Praderes. The Seattle Times recently ran a story about Jan that you can find here.

One of the best things Jan does is hold up our elders, those who built randonneuring and bicycling to what it is today. Shouldn't we also acknowledge those who continue that tradition?

In that vein, let's also take a moment (I will post on this in greater depth in the future) to acknowledge all who build our sport. Current and past officers of RUSA. Your local RBA's. The buddy you first rode alongside who pointed you in a certain direction. Controle volunteers. All deserve our appreciation. Dr. Codfish writes extensively in the RUSA Newsletter about the spirit and need for volunteers. He also posted about his experience staffing a controle. Jan is right there in that pack, in each case chronicling our adventure!

I'm grateful that Jan took the time to answer my questions from the perspective of a newbie randonneur. Old hands dive into the nuances, as well they should, but sometimes the basics need further explanation.

There will be three parts to Jan's interview: Personal & Social History; Equipment; and Future of Randonneuring and Bicycling & Advice for Newbie Randonneurs. Today we will feature Personal & Social History. Posts may not appear one after the other depending on what else pops into my posting brain of a more timely nature in the meantime.

To view Jan Heine Interview, Part 2: Equipment, go here. To view Part 3, Future of Randonnuering and Bicycling & Advide for Newbie Randonneurs, go here.

Keep it planing,

CurioRando

Personal & Social History

CurioRando: First, thanks a lot. I’ll skip a complete preamble but I just want you to know you’ve certainly inspired a lot of folks and got people on bicycles doing things they didn’t think they would do, including me, and I’m grateful for that.

Jan Heine: I like to share what I really enjoy doing.

CR: Your start in randonneuring…I know you had a racing career. I don’t know if that influences your randonneuring. How would you describe yourself to people who don’t know you?

JH: When I started riding seriously, I lived in Texas as an exchange student and racing was the obvious venue. There was no randonneuring in the US back then, at least nothing that was popular. When I moved to the Pacific Northwest, I really enjoyed races that were almost like randonneuring events. There was one called the Columbia Plateau Stage Race: You rode from town to town. In the morning, you put your luggage in a U-Haul van. Then you raced 60, 70 or even 90 miles to another tiny town. After the sprint on the main street, you went to the high school and showered in the gym. The U-Haul van was there and you pitched your tent on the baseball field and spent the rest of the day socializing with the other racers. I just had a wonderful time. To me, winning mattered less than working in a small breakaway and enjoying the teamwork on the bike. So when Randonneuring became popular, it was almost a seamless transition. In racing, I had come to a level where I either had to put in a lot more effort and time to remain competitive as a Category 2 racer, or I had to drop out. And the dropping out became so much easier when randonneuring offered similar challenges and similar camaraderie and similar beautiful rides.

CR: Why start a magazine?

JH:

That’s easy! I used to write for other magazines and one by one, they went under. There was the Bicycle Trader and the On the Wheel and so on. I had all these stories, these interviews, I had gone to Europe and talked to people and really had no outlet for it. I was writing a little for the Rivendell Reader, and I decided to start just a newsletter for a few friends, where we could share our research and stories. I was envisioning just 20-25 copies. When I announced this in the Rivendell Reader, I had 150 subscribers before I had put out the first newsletter. That’s when I realized I better do something a little more serious than a simple xeroxed newsletter, and that’s how Bicycle Quarterly was born.

CR: You talk about transport bikes just a little bit and it was enough to really intrigue me. And I have this vision of—and I’m new, so my objective in a brevet today is just to finish—a pack that is going at a clip in a group or a loose group and they arrive somewhere and want to do something together and then go back at a clip to where they started. I’m not sure if I got your concept right or not…?

JH: That’s exactly it…Back in the early days of cycling, bicycles offered a mode of transportation that just didn’t exist otherwise. A train would only take you to the city center so you never got to see the countryside. The first cars were so unreliable, you didn’t take them touring. You were lucky if you got 20 miles out of them. So you could rent horses, but the range of horses is limited. Suddenly, you had the bicycle, which allowed you to go anywhere you wanted. Any road, any path was open to you. Tourism really started with bicycles. The French touring club was called the Touring Club de France. It had hundreds of thousands of members, who were all cyclists. Once you’ve sort of explored around your neck of the woods a bit, you want to go further. And that’s where the transport stages came in. Riders from St. Etienne loved going down to the Mediterranean coast, so they rode really hard and fast, often through the night, sort of like a randonneur brevet, until they got to their destination, and then they spent the whole day or two days just looking around, visiting the sites, looking at churches, and then they headed back. The bikes became almost like the train, taking you there and back. And those were the transport stages.


CR: And do you know, do people organize brevets in a similar fashion today?

JH: Well, basically the brevet is a transport stage because you’re not going to dilly-dally while the clock is ticking. What actually happened…the brevets sort of started with these challenges where someone said, how far can you go in 24 hours and someone wrote in and said: “I went 420 km”, and someone else: “Well, I went 422”, and so on. Randonneurs weren’t really competitive, there weren’t really winners doing the transport stages. They were more just a group of friends enjoying riding together and riding fast, for sure, but not trying to beat the next guy. These riders were challenging themselves to see how far and fast they could go. And that is how randonneuring started.


CR: You also mention the Popular Front and the impact on the French working class and leisure time. And I’m just getting involved in a movement called the National Vacation Summit that is taking place in Seattle August 10 - 12 that is working toward federal legislation to create a minimum two-week holiday for all workers in the U.S. There’s a lot of interesting connections, and I just wanted to have you expand a little more on the popular front.

JH: It was basically France’s answer to the (Great) Depression. The Depression wasn’t as hard in France as in the U.S. for a variety of reasons, but there were still a lot of people out of work, and the inequalities between rich and poor were seen as excessive. So there was an uprising, general strikes, workers taking over factories and so on. A Socialist government, the Popular Front, which united the center-left parties, was elected in 1936. The result of that was that a 40-hour work week and 2-week vacation became mandated in France, so every worker had the right to have weekends off and paid vacations. But people still didn’t have much money because wages were low. You have to imagine that people didn’t have cars. People may have lived only 30 miles from the ocean, but had never seen the sea. If you’re working every day, there is no time to explore even the closest surroundings. Once they got leisure time, people were really eager to explore—the 1930s in Europe also saw a back-to-nature movement, in Germany and everywhere. And so in France, a lot of people took up bicycle touring. They bought bikes, the kid was put in a trailer, some couples bought tandems... They set out to explore, often camping because they couldn’t afford to stay in hotels. That’s how bicycle touring got a huge boost. There were tens of thousands of French couples who took to the roads during the summers of the 1930s.


CR: You’re talked a lot about the social history of cycling, particularly from the 30s to the 50s as you just described. There’s a time before that has really intrigued me, I don’t know what it is, but I’ve just got this hankering. And that’s the time of the high wheelers. Do you know much about the social history of that period?

JH: A little. High wheelers were very expensive because they were all handmade, no mass production. Riding a high-wheeler was very much an aristocratic pursuit for young, well-to-do men who rode the highwheelers similar to horses. A similar stature. You sat very upright on them, very high, you looked down on the other folk, you could impress the young ladies as you rode around the park. It’s interesting because early on, the horse and the bike were seen in parallel. There was a discussion among the cyclotourists whether it was appropriate for gentlemen to lean over the handlebars. When the safety bikes came out, people realized that if you want to go fast, you need to lean over to put out more power, but the question was: is that proper? I think that is just fascinating. In the end, the aristocracy lost interest in the bicycle when the safety bike came out, because suddenly, as a cyclist, you were no taller than a pedestrian. The bikes became more affordable, and the middle classes could buy them, when they were mass-produced. So the aristocracy looked toward cars and even airplanes as their play things, and the bicycle became a much more utilitarian tool.


CR: What do your readers not know about you that they would be surprised to learn?

JH: That is a tough question! There was once a person in the early days who walked into a bike shop, saw my bike leaning against the counter and said, “You must be Jan Heine. I had no idea you were that young!” This was about ten years ago, so yes, I was a little younger. I was 31, which tells you how old I am now. He had thought that since I was writing about old bicycles from the 1950s and things like that, that I must have had a long grey beard. On the other hand, I’m probably right in the middle of where my readership is. There are a lot of young people who are excited not just about history, but about technology, rediscovering old things, learning new things and integrating the bicycle into their lives.

That is why so many people are fascinated by the French cyclotourists from the 1930s to 1950s, because cycling for them was a way of life. It wasn’t like the racers who were only competing. These riders might have a time trial one weekend, perhaps even involving tandems. The next weekend, they went out for a picnic at some beautiful site. During the holidays, they took the train somewhere, then rode across the Alps. Their bike was basically their life. And to me, it was talking to these people, who are now in their 70s, 80s, even 90s—they are such joyful people even today, and their memories sparkle so much, it’s so lovely to see that. And that’s what I enjoy about cycling, the friendships we make. I don’t have much time to spend with my friends except on bike rides. So most of the time when we’re riding, we actually talk. Some people meet in coffeehouses, we meet on our bikes.

Riding around the world...on a highwheeler!

• If you haven't noticed by now, I'm a sucker for high wheelers (and no, it isn't the Bunnies). That's why when I heard about Around the World on a Bicycle, by Thomas Stevens and first published in 1887, I couldn't resist.
  
  Really, around the world?
  
  Yep.
  
  Around the World on a Bicycle was republished by Stackpole Books in 2001 with an introduction by Thomas Pauly, and everything about it is daunting:
  
  
  
• Going around the world



• Riding a high wheeler



• Through undeveloped land over the roughest of trails



• Amongst people who had never seen a bicycle



• With essentially no supplies other than a slicker



• Eating whatever came his way



• Sleeping outdoors, in mangers, wherever



• Writing over 1000 pages



• No Control Stops



• No Perpetuem!

How to begin describing such a journey? Let's have Stevens speak for himself after a brief setup.

Stevens writes of his Hungarian companion, Igali, whom he fell in with for a spell. Igali had his own bicycle, and was considered the ultimate sporting cyclist of all Hungary at the time. Stevens adjusts to Igali's slower pace by riding ahead and waiting in a comfortable spot for him. There is a little tension around tempo, but it resolves as they ride along and encounter adventures together and learn to appreciate one another more deeply.

My companion is what in England or America would be considered a "character"; he dresses in the thinnest of racing costumes, through which the broiling sun readily penetrates, wears racing-shoes, and a small jockey-cap with an enormous poke, beneath which glints a pair of "specs"; he has rat-trap pedals to his wheel, and winds a long blue girdle several times around his waist, consumes raw eggs, wine, milk, a certain Hungarian mineral water, and otherwise excites the awe and admiration of his sport-admiring countrymen.

On the Slavonian national dance:

Livelier and faster twang the tamboricas, and more and more animated becomes the scene as the dancing, shuffling ring envdeavors to keep pace with it. As the fun progresses into the fast and furious stages the youths' hats have a knack of getting into a jaunty position on the side of their heads, and the wearers' faces assume a reckless, flushed appearance, like men half-intoxicated, while the maidens' bright eyes and beaming faces betoken unutterable happiness; finally the music and the shuffling of feet terminate with a rapid flourish, everybody kisses everybody--save, of course, mere luckless onlookers like Igali and myself--and the Slovian national dance is ended.

On the popularity of the wheel:

Many readers will doubtless be as surprised as I was to learn that at Belgrade, the capital of the little Kingdom of Servia, independent only since the Treaty of Berlin, a bicycle club was organized in January, 1885, and that now, in June of the same year, they have a promising club of thirty members, twelve of whom are riders owning their own wheels.

In addition to cultural misunderstandings, mechanical breakdowns, sickness, attacks, headers, and severe weather, Stevens had to walk much of his journey as he had just one gear. Despite this, it took him 104 days to travel from San Fransisco to Boston, the first cross country cyclist. Eight months later in May of 1885 he left for England returning back to San Fransisco in January of 1887 via France, Germany, Austria, Hungary, Serbia, Slovinia, Bulgaria, Turkey, Azarbaijan, Georgia, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan, India, Singapore, China and Japan. Some 13, 500 miles "wheeled" he says.



Stevens can be compelling at times, but also repetitive. I'm probably one fifth of the way through its 1000+ pages, and I start and stop because there is no real drama apart from his various escapades. He's thorough, and I'm learning a great deal, but it ain't a great read.

I can't seem to find attribution for the line drawings, but as you can see they are fabulous.



His feat is remarkable in so many ways, but the detail that gave me heart as I contemplate the Paris Brest Paris in 2011 is that he decided to ride cross country just two years before he embarked. At the point of that decision he hadn't yet ridden a bicycle!

And, the one he rode, a Columbia Bicycle by Pope Bicycle Factory, cost him $110. Consider that a tea set then was $4.75, a sewing machine $13.50, and set of parlor furniture was $17.50 according to the Introduction. Even a 425-pound buggy cost only $44.50, so my custom bicycle isn't looking too bad in comparison.

All together, I'm enjoying my long distance journey with Around the World on a Bicycle, but like his journey: it isn't for the faint of heart.

Keep it high,

CurioRando

Prolonged sex, lightning bugs, crick fishing, and...oh yeah, randonneuring

Now that I've got your attention (as you'll soon learn, for males it mostly pays to be bold), I want you to adjust your eyes to the darkness, and imagine a soft, moonless and still summer evening. The come-on is expected, so you wait for it. Nobody moves. You hold your breath an instant...and there it is at last. A male lightning bug flashes his unique-to-his-species light that roughly translates to: "Calling all lightning chicks, I've got your nuptial gift right here! Calling all lightning chicks."

If you hail from a lightning bug part of the country (firefly to some), you know what I mean. Mixed with other pre-pubescent hot summer memories is the distinctive smell of the dank and musty lightning bug you've captured and put in a jar with a knife-pierced lid. It is an unmistakable odor. Every kid from a lightning bug homeplace knows what I'm talking about.

I loved that smell, and I loved our lightning bugs. The best place to find them was down by the crick, underneath the willow tree and amongst the forsythia bush branches. Our crick was, and still is, called Dirty Camp Run.

I know what you're thinking: it's not "crick", it's "creek". Well, I have it on great authority, Patrick McManus, that a "crick" is not only different from a "creek ", it is not a "creek" pronounced differently. Patrick is a fishing writer-humorist, and he knows all about workingclass cricks and how to fish them. Even if you're not a fisher, his post is hilarious.

Now, thanks to the New York Times story yesterday I understand why all those lightning bugs were hanging around the crick flashing every summer eve: to prove their nuptial gifts worthy to the lightning chicks. Science Reporter Carl Zimmer covers the research of Tufts researcher, Dr. Sara Lewis, that is all about the mating of lightning bugs.

Basic lightning bug mating lore:

• They remain coupled for HOURS. HOURS.
• They part at dawn; not sure about the whole cigarette thing.
• The males flash to attract females who lie in the grass waiting for The One.
• Males' flashes vary according to species.
• Males deliver a "nuptial gift", a coiled up nourishment package if you will, to the females in addition to sperm.
• The quality and size of the "nuptial gift" may determine the success of reproduction.
• Females judge the size and quality of the "nuptial gift" based on the boldness of the flashing.
• In one of Nature's cruel ironies, one species of lightning bugs predates on the others and favors those with the boldest flashings.
• Females insist in Cosmo surveys: the bigger the gift, the better.

Enlarge this graph from Lewis' research to see the call & response of lightning bugs. Lovely.

And here is a picture of modern day Dirty Camp Run, our crick, from Bridges and Tunnels of Allegheny County, Pa. It was so named by the Native Americans of our neck of Penn's Woods (Pennsylvania) in great honor of His Majesty's soldiers and the dirty camp the soldiers kept. To the Indians, it was simply the crick that ran by that dirty old, smelly camp the British soldiers lived in: Dirty Camp Run.

Today, it is so channeled up that it floods routinely, hence its relative fame. Pitcairn residents (downstream) blame Monroeville (where I grew up) land use practices, according to the Times Express. I feel for poor old dumped upon Dirty Camp Run and those unlucky residents affected by the flooding.
So how does this all relate to randonneuring? Well, if you go back to my earlier post of June 14, 2009 I talk about transport stages (where randonneurs rush in relative unison) and interest stops (places of interest where randonneurs "tour off their bicycles" to learn about the point of interest) during brevets.
I'm imagining a brevet where randonneurs start about 5pm and cycle a transport stage to a certain lowland area along a crick that is known for its lightning bug habitat. After cycling at high speed for hours, the randonneurs pause for a sex patrol control. One objective could be to count how many different species each randonneur confirms (by the males' distinctive mating flashings, of course). Cycling speed could play a role in that slower randonneurs might have less time to count the species (though lightning bugs do couple for HOURS). Or, the randonneur who finds the male with the shall-we-say "healthiest nuptial gift" could win a Lady's Choice award.
But seriously, I can imagine an enchanting evening brevet where the break or midpoint control could be a special lightning bug infested habitat. Why not?
One reason why not, unfortunately, is the decline of lightning bug habitat. Now Public reports that urban development, pollution, and artificial lights are culprits in the decline. I loved our polluted crick, Dirty Camp Run (though with intense mixed feelings as it was perhaps also responsible for my sister's polio), but the continuing destruction of its habitat is emblematic of our current path.
For the sake of our sexed up lightning bugs, we've got to turn this planet/ship around.
That's another reason I dig randonneuring. As it did when it was conceived, randonneuring pushes the presupposed limits of what one can do on a non-polluting bicycle.
Keep those "nuptial gifts" coming,

CurioRando
Post Script: DatreDame (aka Pramila, my wife) insists that I failed to point out the salient data point from the research, that there is a 20:1 ratio of male lightning bugs to female lightning bugs? What is she trying to tell me?