ALMANZO - 2016 - Recap Series, vol. #6 (ridden yes, written maybe)
[archive item dug up from a bunch of emails --- this one was sent on May 15, 2016]
Gravelleras & Gravelleros (& Dan Gold)
[note: there's a link to photos at the bottom --- and given the high ramble factor, you may want to scroll down --- I'm not going to remember what mess of words I wrote, so I sure wouldn't expect you to.]
The Almanzo never disappoints -- there's always some new frontier, some new batch of challenges that it drops at your feet and stares at you, daring you to pick it up (or to stay home). This year, it was wind.
Mid-week the weather forecasts for the backroads and country hills outside Rochester started to look the same every day, every hour that I was checking. AccuWeather, National Weather Service, you name it --- they were all saying pretty much the same thing --- it was going to be cool but not cold, sunny but some clouds, and it was going to be windy. Not partly windy, not mildly or occasionally windy -- it was going to be a steady blast of cool from the northwest of about 15mph with gusts to 30mph. The forecasts were right.
It's comforting to face the unknowns of the day with something very known, something dependable and predictable, and you also don't want to screw around with pieces of the formula -- because we've haven't lost a rider yet and I can't imagine what it would feel like to skip Perkins and then have something really bad happen out on the road. It's a haunting feeling I want to avoid, so I continue to insist on our Perkins stop despite the shockingly poor service and food that would never be called a decent breakfast in any other situation. My "smasher" breakfast selection is always so bad that I feel surprised it's possible for it to be repeatedly true. In the menu picture it looks like potatoes with some veggies and an egg on top with some melted cheese. It's day-old tater tots from some half-eaten kids meal from last Tuesday, maybe a green pepper or onion, and a couple eggs with unmelted cheddar thrown on top. I ate it all and had the coffee too. Tom Ringold joined us from the Thursday morning HOP ride. It's good to have new riders jumping in. You'll have to check with him to see if his breakfast provided any psycho-spiritual effects.
We lined up for the start in downtown Spring Valley with the hundreds of other riders --- people from all points in the cycling cosmos, with their electric anticipation flowing into Main Street, flooding it. Some riders try to poker-face the weather into a duel, but mostly it's smiles. We rolled out slow to waves and hollers from locals and rider families. I didn't see Skogen and I don't think we sang Happy Birthday to his son. Our event numbers said "Penn Cycle" and "Almanzo". Things change. no point in being purist about this stuff. None of it matters once you are "on your own" as the old-school rider's rules used to say (and repeat as rule #1, #8, #15 or something like that). I will give a proper shout out to Penn Cycle for not just sponsoring, but bringing a bicycle ambulance (seriously) to each stop, providing water, coke and whiskey, bacon, chocolate, foot pumps and lubes, advice and smiles at each stop. Drop some do-re-mi at their shop and let 'em know they are cool.
Let's skip to Preston. After 40mi in the saddle with a slight tailwind in some sections, we were there and in good shape as expected. I arrived with Sully on our fat bikes around 12:00p. Three hours in. Not bad. The Gravelleras crew was there as was Rittler. Randy rolled in. We topped off waters and I ate the pack of fresh blueberries that was inside the front of my jersey before it was pulverized into jam. We rolled out together --- on the pavement for a couple of miles until the hum of the gravel returned. [Meantime, Gold was off the front somewhere unknown -- he wanted to get to the end quickly so he could revisit and reconfirm all the reasons he annually swears he will never do this ride again.]
On the fat, things are different. The advantage is the bigger hills ---- the downhills can be taken with full abandon, only an occasional tap on the brakes --- 35 or 40mph ---- where the cyclocross would have been skiing. There was one moment of "gravel planing" panic, but otherwise it was all out and tucked every time. On the really steep hills (Big Bertha, Jay Rd, Maple, Oriole, Quarry) the gearing let's you spin past the mashing xcross riders. The disadvantage? From a riding speed standpoint, it's pretty much the other 99% of the ride. We weren't in it for speed.
There's a hill at exactly mile 50. Never noticed it before it's there. It's a bit of a beast -- with no name that I know of. It was just over that hill where the darkness was lurking. Usually this period occurs much later, but the wind blew the darkness uproad and the next 10 miles were a vicious crawl into the wind. There was no way to hide in the draft -- it was blowing so hard that it wrapped up each rider like cheap candy. There was no hiding, only grinding. No talking. Occasionally grunting. There was no point in cursing the weather -- and I can't say whether we did or not ---- but the weather, it was doing exactly what it said it was going to do.
Before the Forestville stop at mile 66, you come through a valley which offers great scenes of pastures, farms, horses, goats, and cows. Clouds and sunshine and some protection from the wind. It was a little break before the break --- allowing the riders a chance to gather themselves a bit before hopping out of the saddle for a hot dog and some licorice. Our whole group met up there again and departed en masse once more.
Just a reminder, this is mile 66. Over the next 34 miles, the Gravelleras gained enough ground to finish and get to Rochester and order dinner --- all before the fat twins (Sully and me) and Utoft and Randy crossed the finish line at just under the 11 hour mark. Sure, we stopped at Cherry Grove and ate freshly cooked bacon and chocolate M&Ms and washed it down with Coke. We didn't do any whiskey shots and we didn't have any beers.
Oh shit --- I just looked up at this message and it's really effin' long and hasn't really said a whole lot of anything. You'd think that maybe I could be thinking this stuff out over the infinite hours on the bike, but that's not what's going through my head. Not much is really. Mostly just talking to my legs, I think about my cadence. There are a few schoolhouses and a fire station along the way. I look at the tracks in the road and the turns in my memory of the course. I look at all the places we have stopped before to eat or demonstrate that we are properly hydrated. I ask Utoft if he remembers this spot or that. I occasional shout at cows that are staring at us through wire fences. I look at creeks and streams and think about where they're starting from and what it'd be like to just sit down there for a while, maybe catch a fish or drop in a canoe. I'm checking out burned out stoves and trailers of small lawn equipment in yards of small farmhouses. Looking at the houses with no windows and seeing the blue sky on the other side. Checking out the rows of tilled soil, and the green shoots that are popping through the mini ridgelines going back hundreds of yards. I don't know much about types of steer, but I think I know a buffalo when I see one, so I check them out too.
Maybe somebody else is looking into their soul as they pull their pedals around. I don't think I am. Not sure. I think I'm just filling it.
PHOTOS (add yours too?) https://drive.google.com/
-ng
Comments
Post a Comment