More Pictures of Watkins Glen State Park

Hummers R Us

Ruby-throated Hummingbirds (Archilochus colubris) are on the move again!

Except for the occasional western stray, this is the only hummingbird in Alabama.

A male flashes his ruby throat.

The females seem more demure.

A friend's mother-in-law believed that hummingbirds would sting you, and could not be convinced otherwise.

Pugnacious.

Exploration Day ..

This was a day I was looking forward to since Thursday. Jennifer was sick all week and I was trying not to catch it while saving energy for Monday. The plan was to go climb ice. Steve and I had loosely coordinated on Friday and the initial goal was the North Face of Chair Peak. Temps have been silly cold. (With overnight lows in Seattle in the 20°s.) During the weekend I saw that someone had climbed it on Saturday. We were on. Until it snowed Sunday. Well that wouldn't totally deflate our plans, but being on the dark side of a mountain with the high temp at sea level around freezing sounded really cold to us. That added to the high winds and possible cornices and bombs that would await us at the top of the face. (The wind chill for Monday at Snoqualmie Pass was predicted to be -11°F.) Rather than hike out there and turn around, we decided on Sunday evening to give the South Gully of Guye Peak a try. There was less of a hiking commitment and the route is wind protected.

Heading up on the road

We had a bit of a late start, and arrived in a parking area on the Oberstrasse. The outside temp was 7°. It took a bit of effort to remove our heavy coats and start moving. At least the sun was out although we were in the woods immediately off the road. Soon we got on a forest road and heading in the general direction of the Southwest Rib. We left the road near the end and headed generally east under the rib. Going was not too difficult with bare boots as the snow pack was firm except for the fresh 5" from the previous day. (Steve and I were regretting not going out to ski instead as conditions were nice for that activity.) We finally arrived at what we believed to be the gully and did some checking to confirm this. However, the gully did not have much snow above our location and we started rethinking our plan. We hiked up to the area where there was less snow (which was in the sun.) The going was not as easy as previous with the increased slope angle we eventually donned crampons. We debated a bit, and then made the decision that climbing snowy rock and a possible loose 3rd class gully didn't sound appealing to us on this day. So we turned around.

Our high point in the gully

The hike out was uneventful, but we got a good look at Chair Peak and could see cornices and thanked ourselves for the decision not to head there. We made a plan that once we got to the car we would go take a look for ice at Alpental Falls. We made the short drive and hiked up the Snow Lake Trail to the falls. Most of the ice was there, but looked a bit fragile, or had running water behind it. While there, we heard a few icicles falling. It was midday and they were in the heat of the sun. We assumed they would look better in the morning.

Checking out the ice

We hiked northwest from that location and found a few short solid patches of ice that we would be willing to top rope from trees. (We had only brought three screws for Guye, so we didn't have the capacity to lead.) Steve then searched a gully while I hacked at the ice a bit to see how durable it was. Due to the deep cold, it wasn't as plastic as I would prefer for ice climbing, but it was solid and climbable. We poked around a little more without actually climbing anything and then headed to the parking lot. I took my watch off below the falls (which were no longer in direct sunlight) to gauge the temperature. By the time we reached the parking lot it was a mere 15°. Steve and I got in the car and headed out.

On the way home we checked out some other areas that we knew ice up and investigated their feasibility for later in the week. We will see.

While not the grand goal I had originally planned, it was a fun outing. We now know where to find the gully on Guye Peak and may return when there is better snow cover. For now, I am excited to get out and climb ice while the temps are low and there is no precip in the forecast.

A Raven Flies Through the City: The Bella Ciao Corvo Citta Donna

A couple of weeks ago I received aBella Ciaobicycle as part of a work-related trade. I have never been compensated for anything in bicycle before, but I think I could get used to this if absolutely forced to (at least for the benefit of providing test ride reports for my readers, right?). The bike was assembled with my preferences in mind, and I was invited to offer an honest critique.



The bicycle is aBella Ciao"Corvo Citta Donna". The model name translates into something like "urban raven" anddonnaindicates that it is the lady's version. The colour (chosen by me) is "verde arsenale" - a pastel army green. Half a dozen other colours are available as well. The "Corvo Citta" models can be ordered as single speeds, 3-speeds, or 7/8-speeds, with or without coaster brake. I asked for a 3-speed coasterbrake version. The accessories are either honey or black, depending on the frame colour, and mine came with the black accessories package.



Bella Ciao frames are individually hand-made (brazed and lugged) by a small family-owned manufacturer in Northern Italy that has been building frames for generations. The standard models are cro-moly steel, though there are also limited editions made of Columbus tubing.Standard features on the Corvo Citta Donna include the classic Italian frame construction, 700C wheels with alloy rims, body-coloured fenders, an enclosed chaincase with a rear opening, leather saddle and grips,rear reflector,and a brass bell.



The frame is made in size 54cm (21.5") only, measured the "standard" way. This is an important point, especially if you are trying to compare the Bella Ciao to the Abici,whose sizing is measured differently. I would say that the Bella Ciao frame isslightly larger than the bigger of the two Abici frames.



With its hardy tubing, modest lugwork, and thick powdercoating, the "Corvo Citta" is attractive, but decidedly utilitarian.



It is not a delicate bicycle by any means; the frame feels as if it can take anything that life has to offfer.



The lugged fork crown warms my heart; very nicely done. And look at the body-coloured cable guide braze-ons.



The only part of the frame that is not lugged, is the connector between the curved top tube and downtube. But if I have to choose between this and the fork crown, the latter is infinitely more important to me. (The connector on my Pashley was not lugged either.)



I like the elegant chaincase, and the interesting thing, is that despite being steel it is absolutely silent.



Somewhat disappointing though, was the choice of theShimano3-speed hub and gear shifter for such a classic bicycle. TheShimanocertainly works fine, but the excruciatingly high-tech looks of the hub and shifter disrupt the bicycle's classic charm. Personally, I feel it would have been better to use theSturmey Archerhub and shifter on these bikes - though I suspect others will disagree.



The Bella Ciao has straight fork ends, which I prefer on an internally geared hub bicycle. There are also chain tensioners installed - a detail the Co-Habitatant found especially exciting.



The bicycle arrived to me with a Brooks B17S saddle, but I immediately replaced it with a B72. I am not sure why both Bella Ciao and Abici use B17 saddles on their city bikes, but I think they need to rethink this choice - it is not an appropriate model for an upright ride, especially for women. The B72, on the other hand, feels absolutely at home here.



As long as I am doling out criticism, I will also mention my perplexity over the choice of brake lever: I believe it may be an interruptor lever, because it is very short. The Tektrofront caliper brake provides excellent stopping power and the lever is squeezable, but it's just not the right one for this type of bicycle. A normal, full-size city lever would be more suitable.



The minimal insignia on the Bella Ciao include a small headbadge on the head tube featuring the black raven logo, the "Corvo Citta" model name inscription near the bottom bracket, and a "fatto a mano in Italia" sticker on the seat tube.



And one thing I should definitely mention is the handlebars - which are proprietary Bella Ciao. They are shaped similarly to Porteur handlebars, but with just a tad more flare-out to them. The shape is super comfortable for my hands and seems perfectly matched to this bicycle's geometry.



Moving on to ride quality... The most notable sensation I got from the Bella Ciao, was that it did not feel like a new bicycle. It felt very familiar, like an old bike that I have always owned.Lovers of classic bicycles complain that "there is no such thing anymore as a simple, well-made, lugged steel 3-speed bike". Well, I think the Bella Ciao isexactlythat. It is easy. It is comfortable. It is uncomplicated. It is not as laid back as a Dutch bike, but definitely not too sporty either (more relaxed than an Abici). It is maneuverable but unaggressive. It is just a bike. A very nice bike that anybody can ride, and that is light enough for anybody to lift.



When a bicycle is this easy, comfortable and undemanding, you end up riding it all the time... which, ironically, ushers in my next complaint: Where are the lights? And more importantly, where is the rack? I would love to ride the Bella Ciao regularly for transportation, but there is nowhere to attach my bag and all the other stuff I take along, which is frustrating. The design of the bicycle will accommodate the VO Constructeur rear rack, and when I have the money I might get one. But I think that a rack in the style you see on some of these bicycles would be more appropriate. Anybody know where I could source one?



The Bella Ciao"Corvo Citta Donna" might just be the closest I have tried to an "all around, normal" bike out there today among classic lugged bicycles. And that was rather unexpected, given the quirkiness of the manufacturer's self-presentation. Free-association collages, stories of resistance against fascism - it is enough to raise the eyebrows of some and to make others wonder whether Bella Ciao is in reality a contemporary art project rather than a real bicycle company. Well, I suppose there is no reason it can't be both...



Though currently only sold in the EU, Bella Ciao is considering North American distributors and the bicycles may be available for sale in the US sometime in . The Corvo Citta Donna would certainlybe welcomed by women looking for more options in classic city bicycles.

Alenax: the Ultimate Vintage Freak Bike?

Looking for the perfect bike for that End of the World themed ride? I think I found it. Having seen so many crazy two-wheeled contraptions in the basements and garages of collectors over the years, I sometimes think that I've seen it all and that no bike can really surprise me anymore. And that's usually when I'll stumble upon something like this. Notice anything out of the ordinary?





How about now?






Meet theAlenax TRB 2400, the original Transbar Power bicycle. It was designed to be pedaled using up-and-down motions instead of circular motions. Presumably this was done to approximate the feel of walking, thereby making cycling feel more "natural." Here is a video of this in action.






In leu of a crankset, the Alenax sports two pivoted "transbars." I won't pretend to understand how exactly the system works, but seethis articleby Jobst Brandt andthe Alenax blogfor additional descriptions.






A stem-mounted shifter controls the gears






- on Alenax's own internally geared hub.





Abundance of cables and chains along the drivetrain.







But aside from the pedaling system, the Alenax looks disconcertingly normal. Lugs, skinny tubes, shimmery paint, tan wall tires. It's basically just a typical '80s roadbike, retrofitted to accommodate the Transbar Power system. It is also a good 5lb heavier that a standard roadbike from that era.






When Alenax came out with these bikes in 1983, they marketed aggressively, intending to revolutionise bicycle design. They attended all the bike shows, made promotional videos, courted distributors. But amazingly, the concept failed to catch on. By 1993 they threw in the towel, and all that's left today are the (apparently highly collectible) traces of their efforts. At some point more recently, it looks like there was an attempt to modernise and rebrand, but that too does not seem to have worked out.








I am doing some freelance work for Harris Cyclery, and one of the perks is getting to see things like this. Jon Harris dragged the Alenax out of the shop's basement one day, then proceeded to ride it jauntily up and down the block. "It feels a little strange until you get it up to speed," he explained, "but after that it's fine!" The bike is too big for me to ride, so I cannot confirm that. But they do have a partially assembled step-through version in the basement...

DIY Waterbottle Mounts on the Pashley Roadster

For a while now, the Co-Habitant has been wanting water bottle cages on his Pashley Roadster. I thought the idea was ridiculous, until I received a few comments from male Pashley owners expressing the same desire. I guess men like bottle cages on their bikes, even on a roadster? Fair enough! For those interested, here is the Co-Habitant's DIY solution:



Yes, you are seeing what you think you are seeing: Not one, but two bottle cages mounted on the inside of the handlebars, with twined, flat-cappedKleen Kanteen bottles inside them. The bottle cages are generic bolt-ons that can be found in many bike shops for around $7 (same bottle cages as here). For the Pashley, the Co-Habitant first took them apart, shortened them so that they would not stick out too far past the handlebars (I believe the drill and superglue were used), and bolted them to the handlebars, with the bottles facing inward. Now he has direct access to water, while remaining upright.



Here is the "cockpit view". And yes, that is a cycling computer you see mounted on the stem, in between the bottle cages. On a Pashley. What can I say, the man has his quirks.



My opinion on this project? I think that if he mounted just one bottle and stopped there, it would have been successful.



With two bottles, I think he went overboard with the eccentricity factor and the bottles look like a pair of missiles. What do you think?



And if you are wondering why he did not just use one of those coffee-cup mounts that are designed for the handlebars, he did not think they were sturdy enough, or accommodating enough of different containers. I agree: These bottle cages are super-stable and the bottles do not budge or vibrate at all inside them. It is a very secure set-up, and the flasks can be filled with coffee as well as water.



While I do not agree with the choice to mount two bottles, I think that otherwise this is an innovative and practical solution. I am now considering installing a similar set-up (with just one bottle though!) on myPashley Princess.

If It's Thanksgiving It's At Mom and Dad's

Thanksgiving >
The word instantly puts a chill down the spine of my side of the family. Yes, there will be turkey, great food, and a swell party - especially for the blissfully unaware fifteen kids running amok in my parents' basement, but with the joy comes the quiet dread of getting ready. It starts in August when my mother pulls her notes from last year, and starts worrying. It ends about five minutes before five, when the first guest arrives and my Dad is harnessed to his leaf blower diligently chasing that last leaf off the premises. When car lights sweep up the driveway, the leaves will NOT be seen. (Never mind that the house is sitting on almost three wooded acres, and it'’s pitch dark by party time.)

You will find my mother sighing in the Kitchen- she has been up since dawn cooking, completely dressed and ready since mid afternoon, but there is always something- like Dad killing himself outside, buzzing around the patio, or the little incident last year when there was no hot water at zero hour because Dad forgot to over ride the timer. (He keeps Mom on a very strict schedule water wise.) My mother, the model of self control, grits her teeth and accepts that she has done all that she can do. She and my sister set the tables the Sunday before, strategizing over the one in the family room which could block the football game, and how many kids will actually sit in a chair. She started cooking in September and finishes just before six- dinner time.

Thanksgiving is one of three major family gatherings. My poor mother is down to one rather distant first cousin on her side, but my father's side is up to about thirty, not even counting our branch which is almost thirty by itself. Back in the dawn of time, like the early sixties, my grandparents had the whole family over to their house on Upton Street. When they got older, their three children took over. My Aunt Catherine got Greek Easter, my Uncle Nick took Christmas and my dad ended up with Thanksgiving. Back then the clan topped out at around twenty five; now we are approaching sixty. New babies and people keep coming. Last year we had twins, and this year my niece is getting married.

At this point, my mother would give her eyeteeth, her turkey collection and all her VCRS NOT to do this. (OK- maybe not the VCRS) But my Dad has laid down the law- if he's still breathing, we're still doing it. My cousin, John brings the cheesecake that his mother used to bring. My cousin, Anne, who is from Louisiana, brings a pecan pie. My brother, Peter arrives from Michigan and bartends. Uncle Nick brings the rum cake. My sister and I mash the potatoes. My brother, Roger started making Greek chicken soup one year, and now he can't stop. That's only a few of the many hands that get it done. It's over when my sister corrals her sons to take all the chairs and tables back downstairs until next year. It's usually around 8:00, but it feels like midnight.

So we go on, and despite all the holiday angst, I know we have a lot to be thankful for: our ever expanding family and my parents who keep us glued together-a basement full of children-all excited that they are cousins, turkey on the table, and hopefully -plenty of hot water. I know we are lucky, and at least this year, it's raining...no leaf blower.

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.