ALMANZO 2015 - Recap Series, vol. # something between 1 and 5

[archive item dug up from email -- May 18, 2015]

I like getting up early, but only once a year do I alarm myself out of sleep before 4:00a.  Almanzo calling.  And I wake up wondering what I might have forgotten in my panicky packing the night before.  Wondering how stupid I am to be riding with a new cassette that seemed like it might have stripped the hub's threads when I put it on, and how moronic it is to take a brand new pair of mountain bike shoes on a maiden voyage of 100mi (with a water crossing).  Wondering over and over if I even packed the shoes in my bag, and what a random person would think of the several baggies of white powder that I had stuffed into larger baggies containing squeezable baby food packets.  And how the drop bag I assembled for 3 people could weigh more than my bike......more on the drop bag later.

In my cycling year, there is a simple pleasure that may or may not occur, depending on the year, and that is seeing Erick Kyllonen walking out the front door of his house before (or within 2 hours) of sunrise.  And with a smile, and a bike, a couple of bags, and a cup of coffee --- the day was already epic, even if we just drove around Lake of the Isles and returned him back to the pillow of his infatuation.  He was all in, we were all set, and to the south and east we headed.  

The Rochester Perkins (off Civic Center Drive) is one of the places to return to annually (or more) to ensure that the fantastically slow service is actually real and not some sort of restaurant theater.  It's only there that some years ago, they were out of oatmeal at 6:00a --- with no signs of horses, fire, or flooding to be seen. There is a certain comical comfort in dependably horrible service ---- service that brings a smile in the middle of all the nerves.  (BTW ---- Perkins has better photographers than cooks in case you didn't know that already.)

Rolling into Spring Valley and it starts to rain ---- the parking lot is full except where it's flooded, and we take a spot at shoreline of a new and growing inland lake.  Get outta the car and holy crap it's cold out ---- mid 50s was not in the forecast and now the gear issues start flying around in my head ---- but so does the feeling that this is the shit. This is exactly what makes this the this, the challenge that it is and the reason people show up in the first place.  With a full day on the bike less than an hour away, there's something oddly comforting about the weather misbehaving......maybe because it hits everyone at the same time, whereas the voices in one's head, and the pain in one's legs, those things happen to the one, to the individual.  The rain is a bond in the moment.  The pain and fears are the bond of the day.

This is a long effin story and we have not even registered yet.  Let's skip ahead a bit.

Lined up on Broadway St and grabbed a quick photo with Sully and Kyller before scootering up toward the front.  Bumped into the crew of Bronwyn, Josie, Carol, et al, on the way and then slipped up just behind the Batteries + Bulbs team that I drafted (okay wheel-sucked) off of for 60+ miles last year.  I was thinking I would do that again but try not to bonk myself into a state of car-napping oblivion by mile 77.

Rolled out fast, around 20mph, with maybe 100 riders breaking into three groups (that I could see.....I was in the third).  The leaders were oddly packed up, not stringing out at all, for at least 12 miles ---- we could see them and the first chase group the whole time, and they were spread across the width of the road.  Our group was big enough to hide in, and the roads were packed firm with tolerable pimples and divets, We were making fast time toward Preston, the 40mi point, where I knew we would break up as everyone's plans would diverge as they reloaded water and selected their strategy of resting the legs or pushing on to keep them from getting sticky.

I pulled ahead of the group to allow about 10 seconds extra loading time as I watched who was stopping and who was pressing on.  In about a minute or two, I chased down a couple of strong riders and we built into a crew of about 8, that I stuck with for the next 10 miles. I remember hearing a "beep" from someone's device and the owner shouting "half way done now!" ------- but I knew pretty well that the half way point of this hundred miles is somewhere around mile 70.  Within a few minutes, I was letting the group go, knowing that I needed to be 100% in my own zone, going at my own pace ----- that the benefits of drafting in the group where gone, that the slightest change in the pace was digging into my reserves too quickly and that I'd be better off facing the wind and the hills on my own terms.  That was mile 51, averaging 17+ and pretty far from half way of anything.

I had the equivalent of 3 buckets of water strapped to my bike in bottles and a bladder (conveniently located in my Banjo Brothers frame bag with the hose totally accessible for sipping --- thx for great design Mike and Eric).  More than enough, so I took my time, dialed it way back and took my nature break uphill (not into the wind, mind you) from the Forestville stop at mile 66, and then rolled straight through at a crawl, spotted those Batteries+Bulbs dudes (I didn't mention that they passed me after Preston) and then out and up Maple Road. 

The Almanzo ride is a thing of beauty.  Visually it is a panorama of green hills, shaded groves, shoddy fences, resting cows, and restive chickens.  The section after Forestville is gorgeous, and maybe gorge-us.  It can be a very dark part of the ride as the hills come in like waves as you press through toward open water.

Cherry Grove, Cheery Grove --- the Banjo Brothers tent ---- mile 76 ---- home of "Stelvis" the anti-Elvis karaoke blasphemer, who brings distortion of lyric, voice, and sound equipment to riders that roll in for food, drink, rest, whiskey or beer. Stelvis (or is it "St.Elvis") might live in the basement of the Cherry Grove community center, emerging on the sixth day after Mother's Day each year with a new, multi-hour lyrical smash-up.

At this point, it's about 25mi to go, and I was doing the math.  I wanted to arrive in under 7hrs, but needed a break.  I said I would take 10, stayed for 18, plucking things from the drop bag and sitting on Rittler's tailgate.  He's the man. I stripped the bike down to just my water and repair stuff, and headed back out.....where a gracious tailwind was shifting at just the right times.

Long effin story.

Anyway, I rolled steady and solo, made some friends but we were all doing the same thing ---- staying in our own zone, unable to be a pack.  Focused inward.  

Water crossing was a refreshing break, and the creek that flows along the road to it is a magical place.  At mile 80, things start to become more pleasant ---- looking at under two hours to go, and things start feeling good.  Oriole Road is killer hill, but it's nearly the last of them, so it's a welcome site.  The quarry finishes it off, before some flats and then pavement ---- that bumpy stuff where cars whizz by you at 60.

Rolling into the finish, chasing the one rider I can see ahead, sprinting it up past 25 with whatever was left, on the curves of the bike path, and I know he must be doing the same, because I keep thinking I made a wrong turn when I don't see him.

Finish line. Something under 7hrs.  Standing wipedown bath at the car, and then settled in to watch for Erick and Michael.

Afterward, in the pizza place called The Pizza Place, it poured from the heavens.  Not enough to clear the concrete-like crust from our bikes, but plenty of force to get our attention and let us know that we saw rain at either side of this day, and other than a mist in the middle, we were pretty darn lucky to have the day we had.

What will it be like next year?  Will Kyller return??  Will we all ride fat bikes???

So, mark you calendars gravelleros.  The Rochester Perkins wants another chance to delightfully disappoint you in May 2016.

-ng