Frozen Fog

3 mornings this week we woke to find a strange world of frozen fog. We couldn't see any farther than our own yard. It was as if the world didn't exist anymore beyond our place. It gave a odd, fantasy-like feel to everything. I took some photos but they don't have the true feel that I was getting as I wondered about. Within a few hours the fog was mostly gone but it was still dark, dreary days. It made me want to hybernate instead of getting out to finish my Christmas shopping.

We have a winner.

Sorry climbers, this post suffers from missing photos. I did some deleting of online albums, turns out they were linked to here. jj






Or "Michael" as his mother prefers to spell it. Sorry Mrs. Houghton. Thanks Lee.
Have you ever seen Michael look this good?






Michael recently became a follower of jjobrienclimbing to win this sharp new Consina T-Shirt from Ubud Adventure.

Instantly transforming him from style tragic to covershot cool.

Michael already knows the superior traction and style power of Dunlop Volleys.

Fact: sign up to jjobrienclimbing.blogspot.com and you are on your way to better climbing style.















Michael climbs rocks too.

jjobrienclimbing supports Michael's choice of photo-approved brilliant yellow chalk bag.













Thanks for the support Michael.













Need more Nick? Who doesn't?









Nick absolutely tears apart the crux traverse on "Evil". I can't believe this guy. I'm still refining this sequence after 191 attempts.

Lee Cujes, Matt Cochrane, Russel Bright, Tom O'Halloran, Vinny Day, Matt Schimke, have all made the demanding ascent.

I've forgotten someone. Who?

Then he flares his lats like a cobra and dispatches "A Knee Bar Too Far" 8a











Abi and Kaylee entertained/frightened us with some Aerial Tissue work.

Hot Wire

This is called the Tumbleweed Crossing and it is tumbleweed time. The tumbleweeds are growing ----- well, their growing like weeds. Actually they are not a 'weed'. Weed means any plant that is unwanted in your patch of the woods or in my case the desert. Tumbleweeds or Russian Thistles were brought to the United States as cattle fodder. People can eat them if picked young and tinder. I would think you could cookthemin a pot of greens or stew or maybe have them added to a salad.(I've never tried them.)

Regardless the horses love them. And since they are growing well at this time of the year my mares are trying their best to get to each and every one. Tumbleweeds make a good treat for the horses if you dare to pull one. I can't understand why the horses want to eat something that has so many stickers on it after it is more than a week old.

My mare, Nita, thinks her neck will stretch out like a giraffe and she can reach the ones on the outside of her pen. She leans over the fence, pushing on the posts to reach them and gradually pushes the fence down. Star prefers to reach under the fence, and frequently has scratches on her face where she scrapes it on the wire fence.

We spent yesterday replacing a couple of broken fence posts, pulling the wire back up into place and checking out the hot wire we have run around the top of the fence that hasn't been used since last summer.

The electric wire works and now the horses are not trying to get at the tumbleweeds on the outside of their fences.



I was leery of using it with Star since she is blind, but the horses seem to be able toknow when the wire is hot and when it isn't. Don't know if they can feel it or hear it or what. Anyway I didn't see either of them touch it but now they don't get more than 3 inches from the wire.

Central California

Okay, now that I'm “caught up” with posts from before the Jamboree we'll get to the more recent stuff though now I'm even further behind because of the lack of internet access. (Rant: it's extremely frustrating when a place – any place – says they have wifi available but it doesn't work! Yeah, they have it, you just can't use it! Sigh.) Due to where I've been, I don't think that I would have had internet access even if I had an “air card” or some other techno thingy.

Anyway, back on June 15th I left the coast near Ventura and made my way north and east to central California. I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that it was cool on the coast but it was hot once you got a few miles inland. A short stop in Maricopa left me drenched in sweat and the van was hotter than an oven after just 10 minutes of it sitting with the windows closed. Dry heat or not, it was still HOT.

That night I stopped at Kern River State Park just west of Bakersfield. In addition to the river, there was a lake in the park also, whose name I don't recall and didn't write down. The campground was huge. But it was empty except for one site, which had several adults and a bunch of kids of all ages. I selected a site along the river about in the middle of the campground a little ways from the occupied site. There were several cars that drove through the campground later in the evening but none of them stopped for the night.

I thought it was a little strange that with the heat there weren't more people at the campground taking advantage of the river and the lake. However, there were several groups of “tubers” that floated by. The river was high and the current was fast. The other strange thing was that no one ever came around to collect the camping fee and there was no self-serve pay station.

It was a pretty park, well maintained and clean and I didn't have any “bad vibes” about the place. Large trees provided plenty of shade from the hot sun and there was a nice breeze. All in all it was very pleasant.

The rather idyllic view across the river from my campsite.

The next morning I was up early and on my way by eight o'clock, going northeast on California 178. And what a beautiful drive it is! Following the Kern River to Lake Isabella the highway twists and turns, winding its way through the narrow Kern Valley with the river on the left and the mountain walls hugging the highway on the right.

Beyond Lake Isabella, Mountain Road 99 takes you up into Giant Sequoia National Monument. Now, why the government did this, I don't know, but it probably has something to do with how the land is used by the different agencies. We have Giant Sequoia National Monument and Sequoia National Forest. Then you have to drive 100 miles or more west, then north, then back east to get to Sequoia National Park, Sequoia National Forest (again), Kings Canyon National Park, Giant Sequoia National Monument (again), Sequoia National Forest (a third time), and finally, to Kings Canyon National Park (again). The latter “string” of Parks, Monuments and Forests are all connected, starting and stopping seemingly at a whim. It's very confusing! But it is an amazing and beautiful area of the country.

All of the rivers and streams in that area are full to brimming, flowing swiftly. There were quite a few waterfalls as well, many with several cascades, such as this one at South Creek Falls on Mountain Road 99 in the Sequoia National Forest.

A little further down the road, in Giant Sequoia National Monument, was the Trail of 100 Giants, which was a paved trail about a mile long that wound its way up, down, and through a forest of (what else?) very large Sequoia trees. It has been 30+ years since my last encounter with these magnificent things and I was impressed all over again.

There is no way that you can capture their immensity in a photograph. Of course, that didn't stop me from taking pictures!

At one time, these were three individual trees. I found it interesting that Sequoias gain their full height in the first 300 years at which time they aren't all that big around. As the years pass, they (like most of us humans) get bigger around. And, if they are growing close to others, they could, as these have done, join together. The boy standing between the two trees on the left is about four feet tall.

One of the things that surprised me regarding these trees is that the bark (or outer layer) is spongy. It gives when pressed upon. This tree has a portion of the outer bark layer missing, but it was still alive and growing.

Dancing with the clouds

Moonrise on January 9, . Had great fun last night watching the moon dip in and out of the clouds as they passed by. The first thing I thought of was "It looks like the moon is dancing with the clouds!". Voila! Another image title :-)



Last night as the moon was rising the light on the surrounding landscape was sublime. The moonlight, clouds, stars and snowy landscape made for quite a memorable scene! I know I've said this many times before, but I can't help myself by saying it again: "I LOVE living here!"

On the Road without a Roadbike

I like fast roadbikes, clipless pedals, bicycle computers, GPS, all of it. I do not subscribe to any philosophy that maligns these things in favour of the "slow bicycle movement" or whatever is the latest catch phrase to describe plain old regular bike riding. But I do believe in plain old regular bike riding, and sometimes I prefer it to any other kind. What are those times and what determines them, I couldn't tell you. It just happens.



When I went to Ireland last month I could have arranged to borrow a roadbike there, but opted against it - instead bringing along a folding bike that would have me riding upright the entire time. I knew I'd be slower and have more difficulty in the hilly areas, but somehow it just felt right to do it this way. I did not bring any cycling clothes. I did not bring a bicycle computer or a GPS device. Every day I simply looked at the map before setting off, then wrote out directions on a piece of paper. I explored interesting backroads and allowed myself to get lost. Occasionally I stopped to ask for directions. I did not miss my GPS. And I felt finehaving no idea how fast or slow I was going. What did it matter if I stopped every 20 minutes to take pictures anyhow.



Probably at least part of the reason I chose to do things this way, was to see how I would feel after more than two weeks without a roadbike - without that rush I get from the speed, without the reassuring glare of the computer screen and without the ritual of putting on the special clothing I'd gotten accustomed to.



But moreover, I have found that I prefer to ride slower and more upright when the focus of the ride is on exploring the surrounding area and not on cycling in of itself. Having never been to Ireland before, I really wanted to experience it as a human on a bicycle, rather than as a cyclist. And yes, there is a difference. Even the wearing of regular clothing and shoes played a role in this. The way people react to me is different, and the way I feel in the environment is different.



Now that I know the place better, now that it's more familiar, next time I would love to do some fast road rides along the Antrim coast. To ride through the glens on skinny tires, bent over my handlebars and pedaling as fast as I can. Bliss. A different sort of bliss than this time.



The more experience I gain with different types of bikes and different styles of cycling, the more I feel that the main thing is just to be out there, on your own terms. We like to define things, to draw boundaries. But often those boundaries are self-imposed. The road is calling. The bike is up to you.

Assateague Island :: The Wild Ponies

For many people, the only reason for going to Assateague Island is to see the Wild Ponies. If so, it could be a little disappointing for them, especially if they only spend a few hours on the island. A 20-minute video shown at the visitor center provides a good, if somewhat romanticized view, of the little ponies that have roamed the beaches, pine forest, and salt marsh of Assateague Island since the 1600s. There are two theories regarding the stout little ponies: one is that they arrived on Assateague's shores when a Spanish galleon ship, with a cargo of horses, sank offshore. The other is that they are remnants of the herds of early colonial settlers who grazed their horses on the Island. Apparently a Spanish ship wreck was discovered recently in the waters off Assateague which gives credence to the first theory.

Both the Maryland and Virginia sides of Assateague Island have wild ponies; each has a herd of about 160 and a fence at the state line keeps the two herds separated. They roam the island in bands of 5-10 ponies so you aren't going to see a lot of them all at once. I did see a group of 10 or so one day sauntering through the main parking lot on the beach side of the island. They were there long enough to stop traffic, then moved on down the road.

Although there are 30+ miles of beautiful white-sand beach, the part that is easily accessible to visitors is only about 5 miles long. Undoubtedly, the ponies roam the beaches too but I never saw any on the beach though they were grazing along the road on the beach side of the Island. I did see quite a few ponies on the bayside - in the marsh areas and in the campgrounds. My suspicion is that there were one or two bands of ponies that roamed those areas and I kept seeing the same horses over and over ;-)

These guys followed me around for quite awhile one day. I'd back off and they'd keep coming. Eventually they tired of the game and went off looking for better pastures.

The grass must have been pretty good alongside the marsh boardwalk. On this day there was a group of six of them. Three were on the boardwalk and the other three were off in the marsh. The ponies aren't very big. Short and stout is an apt description. In the background there is a woman standing next to two ponies, she towers over them. The tallest ones that I saw were maybe 5 feet tall.


There are signs posted stating that you are not to feed, touch, or even approach the horses. I never saw anyone feed them but did see a few people touching and petting them. I didn't go searching for the ponies. If they were in the same area where I was I'd go see them but I really didn't get too close. They are considered to be wild animals but they are definitely not afraid of humans. The ponies are left on their own, to fend for themselves. They are not cared for or treated if they become sick. The only food they get is what they find for themselves: marsh and sand dune grasses, rosehips, bayberry twigs, persimmons and even poison ivy.

Out of Texas... into New Mexico... and Beyond

After departing Big Bend National Park on March 3rd, I traveled about 100 miles northwest to Fort Davis, just as I had done three years ago. Once again I stayed at the Davis Mountains State Park for nearly a week. And, once again I did pretty much the same things as then but there were no hikes or even pretty sunsets.



Leaving Fort Davis on March 10th I made it into New Mexico, traveling west through El Paso and north to Alamogordo, stopping for the night at Oliver Lee Memorial State Park. It was extremely cloudy in the north as I drove out of El Paso giving me hopes of seeing a nice sunset. There were several layers of clouds that blanketed the sky when I arrived but within an hour they were gone! It was amazing to me how quickly the clouds disappeared.






My Campsite, looking toward the east.





A fun and rather dramatic shot of Van Dora and the mountains in the background.




The think layer of clouds that blanketed the area when I arrived gave way to puffy cumulus clouds and blue skies.






By the time the sun was setting, the clouds in the west had blown away.





The mountains to the east caught the last golden rays of the setting sun.


In the intervening week, I ventured into the north and western parts of New Mexico, primarily because I had never been there before and actually ended up in Colorado briefly. I'll have more photos posted in the next few days.



When I left Indiana, I had planned on eventually spending some time in Salt Lake City again. That time has come... the last three days were primarily spent driving (and driving), and I have arrived in Salt Lake City. I've also registered for RootsTech and hope to see many of my genea-blogging friends this week.

Climbing and skiing, and advice on cell phone use

If you haven't noticed, few posts means lots of work and activity here at Mount Rainier. The weather has remained stellar over much of the past week and things have been busy. During this period, climbers and skiers have been tackling the mountain from all directions. Of particular interest are new and extensive reports for Liberty Ridge, Ptarmigan Ridge and the Fuhrer Finger (photos included).

It seems that a few people are just itching to be rescued or call 911. We've had a number of "alarms" or "callouts" over the past few weeks, thankfully nothing has been serious! That said, one callout is in progress and involves a 2 person team pinned down in a whiteout on Liberty Ridge near 13,700 feet. We suspect that they will be fine, as they are well prepared for 2 more days on the mountain. As a reminder, if you carry a cell phone, make SURE you call 911 during an incident or emergency, not your family members.

On the other hand, two separate teams had somewhat serious accidents but self-rescued. Neither of those teams used a cell phone to alert friends. One incident involved the skier who fell 300 feet on the Emmons Glacier last weekend. A more recent event involved a 2 person team on the Kautz Glacier. One member dislocated his shoulder while descending (balled up crampons). As a reminder, we're still working on that streak of NO NEW MAJOR RESCUES since 2005. We hope to continue this trend...

First photo is by Josh Farris near 12k on Ptarmigan Ridge; the second is of a climber on Liberty Ridge by Dmitry Shapvalov.

Rock Detail - Latourell Falls

Columbia River Gorge, Oregon







I had the urge today to look through some images from the trip out west that I took in and work on a couple of waterfall images from that trip. Latourell Falls was my goal... I had remembered taking some photos of that falls that I really liked but hadn't worked on yet. Of the many waterfalls within the Columbia River Gorge, Latourell is unique among the best-known Columbia gorge waterfalls, in the way that it drops straight down from an overhanging basalt cliff. Most of the falls tumble to some degree, but not Latourell. The thing I found most amazing about this waterfall was the interesting rocks on the cliff face behind the falls.

Upskill Style.

The very stylish Upskill Climbing team landed in Hong Kong earlier this year to streettest their new range of climbing clothing in the tough urban environment.



jjobrienclimbing was there to bring back the look.



LeeCujes momentarily considers this black on yellow knit sweater.

Co-Director Sam Cujes vetoes: No.





















Brown bomber? Again: No.



After a few false starts Lee hits the gritty streets of Hong Kong in Boulders + Nuts T-Shirt from theUpskill Store. Good choice.

Get Lee's look here.

Boulders + Nuts T-Shirt protects and enhances in the dark canyons of Mong Kok

Upskill Director Lee Cujesactions an importantstyle decision in the Hong Kong officeand comes out on top in Slo PonyT-Shirt and G Star Jeans. Did you know the enigmatic Slo used to be a fashion designer?

The Upskill directors meet with principle style editors from jjobrienclimbing at Hong Kong's fabulous "Aqua"

Climbers, if yourtechnique or wardrobe need upskilling look no further.

And if you areseeking stylish traveling companions jjobrienclimbing recommends the Upskill Camp in Kalymnos this October . Travel with complete confidence that your companions won't roll out of the hotel looking shabby on you, every stylish travelers worst nightmare.

This will be the fourth in the highly successful series ofKalymnos climbing training camps for Upskill.



Have you been to Kalymnos with Upskill? Tell us about it.

Remembering...

My sister Teresa and my Mother. March 11, ...


February 15, .. - My Mother, Virginia Phend Wiseman, died less than two months after being diagnosed with colon cancer. She was 82 years old and has left a void that will never be filled.



February 15, .. – My Nephew Joseph's son, Logan Jeremiah Lynn Wiseman, was born. He lived only a few hours before departing this world. His loss is still felt.



February 18th, .. my sister, Teresa Jane Wiseman Ratcliff Plybon, passed away. She was 53 years old.



February 17th, .. my gentle-souled uncle, Robert Glen Reiff died at the age of 75.



Yeah, February is a tough month to get through.... Remembering the good times helps. A little.








Christmas 1978 with the Grandkids.







May 1978 at Knapp Lake.

Study in Lights and Darks: My 300K DNF

I know, the title rather takes the suspense out of it. Last Saturday I attempted the New England Randonneurs 300K brevet. Having done all the major climbs and passed all the controls, I abandoned the ride on the last leg - with 45 miles to go. A week later, I am still not sure how I feel about what happened. It is as if I remember two entirely different rides - one wonderful beyond words and the other to an equal degree awful. The contrast is so great, that my mind cannot process it into a unified experience. So this will be my attempt to.



Earlier this Spring, I completed four RUSA-sanctioned events with the New England Randonneurs: two 100K Permanents, the official 100K Populaire, and the 200K brevet. Initially I had no plans to attempt the 300K. But in the weeks that followed a gradual change of heart began to take place. Largely this was because I found the route so attractive. It was a new route this year - a tour of Massachusetts via rural back roads, and it looked simply too good to miss. As time passed, something also changed in me physically and I began to feel - in a very literal sense - that I had it in me to do the distance. That I had the strength, the willingness, the potential at least. As the date of the 300K approached, this feeling solidified. It was in the car heading home from DROVES(a weekend retreat in Vermont that focused on dirt roads and climbing) that I made the firm decision.



After DROVES I felt well rested, and as well-trained as I was going to get. I did not ride much in the following days, saving my strength for the 300K. I also gave a lot of thought to the logistics of the event. Aside from the added milage, there were several new challenges to consider. One was the elevation gain. Everyone who knew the route warned me about the huge amount of climbing, describing it as even more difficult than the climbs on the 200K. With this in mind, I decided to take my Rawland instead of my lighter and racier Seven, because the former has considerably lower gears. In preparation, I did a couple of paved 100K+ rides on the Rawland and timed myself. Though a bit slower, I was still fast enough to get through a brevet on time. Conveniently, this bike was also equipped with dynamo lights.



But what had even experienced randonneurs concerned about the 300K this year, was the weather. We've had a cold spring, and the previous weekend in particular was downright wintry. On the day of the brevet, the forecast promised temperatures in the mid-90s. To ride all day in such heat is difficult enough, but to do so without having a chance to acclimatise is even more so. I do not do well in hot weather, so I tried to prepare. I stayed off alcohol and started drinking loads of water days before the ride. I procured an ultra-lightweight white mesh jersey with SPF protection and "sun sleeves." I stocked up on electrolyte mix to last the entire ride. And in the hot days before the 300K I went out for brief rides in the sun at high noon, so that the weather would not be a complete shock the day of.





Packing my bike the evening before, I felt calm and looked forward to the ride. Taking advantage of the handlebar bag on my Rawland, I packed: an extra water bottle, snack foods, a spare jersey (wool, in case the high-tech SPF mesh didn't agree with me), extra lights, sunscreen, chamois cream, pain medication, bandaids, and an external battery for topping up my GPS and phone charge. In my saddle wedge I packed tools and 2 spare tubes.



The actual distance of the event would be 193.4 miles. I was able to get a ride to the start from another rider, which meant I would not need to add any extra miles riding to and from home. Barring unforeseen circumstances, it all seemed manageable.



Even at 5:30 in the morning, filling out forms in the concrete parking lot of the Hanscom Airbase, it was obvious that the day would be scorchingly hot. The sun was out already, casting dramatic shadows. I applied sunscreen and wandered around. It looked like 35 or so riders with the usual variety of bicycles - from modern road race to traditional rando, to everything in between. Unlike on previous rides, everyone had a good sized handlebar or saddle bag, or both, attached to their bike this time. I was teased a little for showing up at the 300K after having said "no more" last time. Yeah yeah yeah, I grumbled.



Setting off just after 6am, there was some shuffling around for the first mile, but soon we were all strung out a comfortable distance from one another, with me somewhere in the middle.





On the cue sheet and GPS files, the ride was separated into 6 Legs, with a control at the end of each. The first three would take us west, across northern Massachusetts. The third would bring us down south a bit. And the final two would return us home. Thinking of the ride in terms of these distinct, self-contained segments made it feel very manageable. First we ride 20 miles. Now we ride 35. Now another 30 miles. And so on.





The first leg was easy, pleasant, and immediately scenic. It made for an excellent warm-up: starting out flat and rolling, building up to a 2-mile climb at the end. Briefly I rode with another Ride Studio Cafe cyclist, Henry. He is Dutch, very strong, with beautiful pedal strokes. We wished each other good luck, and soon he was off like a slingshot. Later I was caught by some other riders I knew from previous brevets. They passed me uphill, I passed them downhill, they passed me uphill again. After that I passed two riders on the side of the road, one of whom was having a mechanical issue. At the first control, I ate a hot breakfast quickly and moved on right away.




On paper,the second legwas all climbing. But in practice I did not experience it that way. Except for a short very steep stretch toward the end where I had to walk briefly, it all felt fine. I was making good time, with plenty of cushion room. The scenery was beautiful, with lots of shade to shield riders from the intensifying sun. I was going through my water at a rate of one bottle per 10-15 miles and feeling good. Part of the way, I rode with another rider and we arrived at the second control together: a country store at mile 52. Here I refilled my 3 bottles (two in the cages, one in the handlebar bag) and tried to force myself to eat. It was getting very hot now and I had no appetite. Others at the control seemed to feel the same, hanging out in the shade until they felt cooled down enough to eat. It was very comfortable at the little country store, with its picnic benches surrounded by pine trees. I tried not to stay too long and was soon on my way again.





Leg 3 took us to the westernmost point of the route and over beautiful stretches such as Tully Lake and Mt. Grace. I was feeling so good and elated at this point, that I did not realise I was climbing over an actual mountain until I saw it on the map later. At the 65 mile point I checked my time and saw I was just over 6 hours into the ride.I passed a few riders somewhere along the way, which I took as a sign I was doing okay.If I kept going at this rate, I would finish in 18 hours - with 2 hours to spare before the 20 hour cutoff. By the time I arrived at the next control at mile 85 I lost some of that cushion on the final climb, but was still doing well. I was also feeling hungry now, which was timely as this was the food stop: a BBQ place with outdoor seating.


At the food stop, there were many other riders, and some of them did not look good - suffering from the heat. Some sat in front of their food staring at it absently. Others were lying down on the grass with their eyes closed. I heard one rider making a phone call to announce he was abandoning. And I learned that at least two others had abandoned already as well.



But the biggest surprise was seeing Emily at this control. Emily is a much, much stronger rider than me, and at timed events I would not normally see her for the entire ride. To catch up to her on a control meant something was wrong. And it was: She couldn't eat; she didn't feel well in the heat. Leaving most of her food behind, she finally left shortly before I did. Even her dill pickle remained half-eaten.



As I set off to leave, I asked where the bathroom was and learned it was out of order. The owner tried to give me directions to the bathrooms in the town center, but I did not want to waste time on a detour and continued without a pee break.





The 4th Leg should have been comparatively easy, without much climbing. But it was made difficult by the almost complete lack of shade. For a stretch we cycled along an open country highway, with nowhere to hide from the 95F heat and the blazing sun. Later it was farmlands, with an equal lack of tree shade. It was mid-afternoon by now, but the sun and temperature were not waning. Wearing all-white and guzzling water, I did not get sick from the heat as some of the others did. But I could feel it slowing me down, sapping my energy as I neared mile 100.



Shortly after we passed Deerfield - the home of the famous D2R2 event - something uncanny happened. I remembered that Richard Sachs lived somewhere in the area. And no sooner did this thought cross my mind, that I saw a lone dark figure on a bicycle on the opposite side of the country highway. "No way," I thought. "No way." But as we neared each other, I could clearly make out the red bike and the all-black kit, and finally the face - across which a look of what seemed like surprised recognition flashed just as we crossed paths for that split second. The "was it or wasn't it?!" question plagued me for the rest of the ride. WhenMr. Sachs himselfconfirmed it later that weekend,I was immensely relieved it was not a heatstroke-induced hallucination.





All throughout this leg I tried to ride faster, but the sun and heat felt like a harness holding me back. By the time I reached the next control, my cushion time had dwindled to 45 minutes. I ran to use the bathroom, then went to fill my water bottles at the rest stop. To my surprise some riders were hanging out here - in a seemingly leisurely fashion, some with their shoes off.Maybe I was needlessly worried about the time?I had some watermelon and stretched my upper body as we chatted briefly. One of the riders - an NEBC racer - had just passed me an hour earlier. She had started late, having cracked a chainstay on her main bike and switching to another at the last moment. Emily was also there, still not feeling great. When I set off she stayed behind, telling me she'd catch up and we could ride together the rest of the way.



The rest of the way was "only" 80 miles at this point. I felt in my legs and in my gut that I could do it. I just needed to be mindful of the time and make it to the next control with some cushion. After that, it would be just the final leg home.



Leg 5 was the last one with any major climbing. To be precise: an 11-mile climb, followed by a descent and a flat stretch, followed by a 5-mile climb. I knew it would be difficult, but on paper it did not look any worse than the stretches we'd done earlier. In practice, it felt much worse. The sun was waning already, but the heat of the day had done its work and I felt "cooked." With over 100 miles in my legs, I was slow climbing. I spun and ground and pushed myself and played songs in my head with a fast rhythm, and even tried to stand (successfully), but nothing helped. No matter how I tackled the 11-mile climb, I was slow. Slow-slow-slow. Some miles in, Emily caught up. She attempted to ride with me, but I was sincerely worried about my speed and did not want to drag her down with me - so I told her to go on without. Reluctantly she agreed and disappeared around the next bend. I tried standing and pedaling in a higher gear again. The fact that I could do it was not bringing me any joy now. It didn't seem to help. I sat back down and spun/ground as fast as I could. It was endless.I could feel the time slipping away.





When the descent came,I switched into the big ring and did not touch the brakes. Any cornering problems I had in the past did not even enter my mind; I just needed to make up all the time I'd lost. It worked, and on the flat I could finally take a breath of relief.



Until the dirt road. When I first saw what awaited me, I could not believe it. First came a section where the road wasunder construction, "Caution, turn back" signs, completely dug up and unridable, and finallyblocked from traffic with tall piles of sand and debris. I had to carry my bike across this for what must have been just a short time but seemed eternal at this stage in the game. Then came the 2-mile stretch of "dirt," which was, frankly, loose sand all the way, strewn with alarmingly sharp rocks. Fishtailing slightly even with my 42mm tires, I could only imagine what this felt like on skinny road tires. It did not seem right to be on this godforsaken road, but both my GPS and cue sheet directions indicated I was riding where I was supposed to be. This was confirmed when a car passed me... a car belonging to one of the ride volunteers, with a bike hoisted upon the roof-rack and a dispirited-looking rider in the passenger's seat. Another abandon.





With the dirt finally over, I picked up the pace as much as I could, but soon came the final 5 mile climb. I gritted my teeth and pedaled with all my might, feeling no sensation what so ever. The sun was setting. The sky glowed gold, then pink over an endless stretch of creepy bog. The final control cutoff was fast approaching and my entire being filled with intense disbelief and feel of impeding tragedy. No-no-no-no-no. This can't be happening. No. Please no. I stopped checking the time and just pedaled, focusing on nothing but making the final control until the road dumped me at the grassy knoll.



Volunteer staff were waiting in a wooden pavilion.When I got off the bike, I was so out of breath that I could not speak. I attempted to ask whether I made it on time, but instead started hyperventilating and making wailing sounds. People stared with undisguised concern. I tried to shut my mouth and sit down, but it only got worse, until I finally let out all the wailing that was pent up inside. What that was, I still have no idea.



And then, just like that, I was fine. I checked the time and learned I'd arrived 10 minutes before the cutoff. I drank a cup of chocolate milk and ate a hard boiled egg. I put on a reflective vest, spare lights, and helmet light, preparing to set off again.





I should mention that the final control was a sight of a mass unraveling. Quite a few riders were there, in various states of not feeling well. A handful had abandoned and were waiting for rescue rides. One man was lying down, trying to recover sufficiently to continue. The racer who had passed me earlier was resting in a recliner: done. Emily was there, telling me she would catch up again if I set off before her. I hoped so, as this way we could ride together in the dark. But I could not risk waiting any longer, in case she decided not to continue. I had calculated there were maybe 5 riders still behind me. None of them would finish atthis point.



I set off on thelast legat 8:45pm. This was a long one - 55 miles, but it would soon have us on familiar territory. I had over 5 hours to cover the remaining distance, with not much climbing to speak of except in the very beginning. It was growing cool. I was not in any pain. I was tired, but not so tired I could not crank out the miles without stopping.This was doable, very doable.I just had to keep going.




It was dark, but not pitch black yet when I set off. I started at a good pace and was looking forward to Emily catching up, then us finishing together. I would be sure to hang on to her for dear life this time. I imagined us arriving at the finish dramatically, 5 - or maybe 3 - minutes before the cutoff, collapsing from exhaustion, but making it. This image kept me going as the sky turned from gray to navy to black.



And then, I began to notice with growing alarm, that I could not see where I was going. This was so unexpected that it took some time to even sink in. I consider(ed) myself to be an experienced night rider, and, based on previous experiences, genuinely thought that I was prepared for the night stretch of the route. I had a powerful dynamo headlight on my front rack,anda battery powered headlight on my handlebars,anda helmet mounted headlight. But even all this was not sufficient for the area I found myself in, especially riding alone. The sky was black - moonless and starless; there was no illumination of any kind. There was not even a yellow lane divider or a white fog line to focus on. With my 3 headlights I could see the potholes at various distances in front of me illuminated brilliantly, but I could not see the curvature of the road further ahead. And this meant I could not safely pick up speed, especially on descents, without the risk of going off the side of the road. Several times I stopped and tried to adjust my lights to point further out. This did not help much - they were not diffuse enough to do what I wanted them to do. I kept riding at the maximum speed I felt was safe, which was pitiful considering the twists and turns of the back road. My last hope was Emily catching up with me, and us combining our light power.





The road seemed to only grow darker and more twisty. This was truly in the middle of nowhere. I could barely make out the shapes of trees, and I seemed to be riding through some dense forested area. I heard disconcerting sounds all around me - howling, rustling in the woods, and at some point what sounded like a chainsaw. I am not generally scared of the dark, but I was by now so exhausted and frustrated that my mind must have started to mess with me. Around this time, I really began to worry where Emily was, and at length became convinced that she must have been murdered - what other explanation was there for her still not catching up to me? Surely that was related to the sound of the chainsaw I'd heard. After 15 hours on the bike, this made a great deal of sense, and I started to sob. I should have waited for her. I should have waited! Shaking, I had to stop to regain my composure.Eventually I snapped out of it, ate some food and kept going.



But increasingly, I was losing time on the climbs and unable to make it up on the descents, since I could not see where I was going.With a sense of dread I checked the time: It was approaching 10pm and I had barely advanced 10 miles. With 45 miles left to go and 4 hours to do it in, I was not going to finish if I kept riding at this pace. My mind went into emergency-analytical mode, putting aside all emotion to determine the logical course of action.



Fact:I would not make the cutoff, unless I started to ride drastically faster. Fact: The pitch black road conditions were unlikely to change, which meant I was unlikely to ride faster. Fact: Since Emily has not caught up to me by now, she had most likely abandoned herself, which meant I was the last rider remaining on the course. Fact: If I continued riding anyway, I would not only be putting myself at risk in the dark for nothing, but inconveniencing the organisers - who would wait for me as long as I was still out there. The logical course of action was to abandon.





According to the map, I would soon pass a gas station. I could end my ride there and arrange for a pick-up. After weighing my options, I made the decision. Makingthe call felt like tearing off a bandaid - if I was going to do it, I needed to do it quickly.



At the gas station parking lot ten minutes later, I saw two sets of headlights. It was Emily, along with another rider - the one who'd been lying down at the last control. I expected them to keep going, but they pulled in to the gas station. Emily wanted to buy a coke, and there was something off, I thought, about how important this seemed to her, with so little time left. The clerk who was closing up got her one and she sat down with it on the pavement. The other rider lied down on the porch. They seemed quite settled in. I tell them they need to keep going immediately, if they want to make the cutoff. I am not sure they understand or even hear me. I offer my bananas, water, Shot Blocks. "Look, you shouldn't sit here, you need to get going. I am only here because I'm done." Emily looks at her coke long and hard. "Well... maybe I'm done too." She looks at her watch. "Yeah..."



I know that Emily has been randonneuring for over 10 years and she has never DNFed an event.Damn it, I think. She was not planning to quit until she saw me sitting here. I contemplate continuing with them, but it makes no sense. I try to encourage them, waving my banana and extra water fetchingly. But they really are done now, sprawled on the porch, talking politics and sci-fi books. Now that more time has passed and the decision is irreversible, they relax and become more animated. Each has made the call and they are waiting for a ride.



I feel too numb to joint the conversation. I put myself on autopilot and start disassembling my bike. My husband arrives in a tiny ZipCar and we wrangle the pieces inside. He will never trust me to be "okay on my own" again, is all I can think of as wedrive home. Well, maybe he never did.



At home, I went straight to sleep and didn't dream about anything. The next day I felt strange, weepy. After that I thought I was fine, but I ran into Emily in town two days later and had an almost PTSD-type experience when we started talking about the ride. She did not seem too happy either.





Many riders abandoned this particular brevet. It was a tough one. But somehow that fails to console me. It wasn't the miles or the climbing or the heat that broke me in the end, but inadequate preparation for the dark. An overconfidence in myself over a factor that turned out to be critical. A mistake.



All through the following week I would recall fragments of the brevet, sending my emotions into wild extremes of highs and lows. I would remember pedaling over Mt. Grace, elated, hot breeze in my face, smelling pine trees in the sun and looking down at miles of farmlands. What ecstasy, to have made it out this far on my own, and to feel as if I could keep on going forever.



Then later I would recall riding through that damned forest in the dark, alone, nearly going off the side of the road, ominous rustlings behind the trees. That feeling of doom seeping in, like a cold thick liquid against my skin. The decision to abandon after nearly 150 miles, after all that climbing, after having ridden clear across the state and back...



Well, what else is there to say. So much drama about a little brevet. Better luck next time and all that. It is good for the character to fail on occasion. I will try to learn what I can from it. And I will always remember the many beautiful moments of this ride, the kindness of the volunteers, the support of the other riders. Thank you to all who were there, and congratulations to the finishers. Happy trails to all for future brevets and other adventures.