Article

Randonneur

By Dr. Larry Preble

August, 2012

“So, you are driving all the way to St Louis to ride a 600K

brevet?” my wife asked. “How many miles is that?

This 600K comes in at about 375 miles which is just a bit

over 600 Kilometers.

“Is it a race?”

“No, but I have to finish in less than 40 hours or it doesn’t

count.”

“Do they give you a tee-shirt or some kind of prize for

finishing?”

“No, but if I finish, I am allowed to buy a commemorative

pin or medallion if I want to.”

“Do you get mileage credit with our Louisville club?”

“No.”

Margaret looked at me quizzically. The unspoken “Why are

you doing this?” was written all over her expression. I

smiled and shook my head.

It’s a good question. Why does anyone get the urge to do

something difficult, and to see it to completion even though

there is no obvious reward, and there may be risks

involved? For me, long distance riding has been about

discovering that what I thought were limits, actually were

not. It began with riding my first 100 miler in 2001. It was

such a great feeling of accomplishment that it wasn’t long

before I was riding several century routes a year.

Randonneuring just goes a step or two further. A big part of

the experience is developing self-reliance. There are no

supported SAG stops and no repair crews to follow the

riders en route. Participants are expected to take care of

themselves. Riders unable to complete the course must

arrange for their own transportation home.

I began my first official brevet series early in 2012. Most

of the courses began close to home, starting from

Shelbyville, Kentucky. Steve Rice organized a beautiful,

but challenging set of brevets consisting of 200K, 300K,

400K and 600K rides. The course and the store stops were

well-planned. I completed the 200K and 300K routes

without much difficulty but found the 400K more

challenging. Of course, the challenge is what it is all about.

When May rolled around, it was time for Steve’s 600K, the

last in his series. I started out in good spirits and rode

strongly-perhaps a bit too strongly. The first 251 miles

followed the same course as Steve’s previous 400K brevet.

But I became overheated during the afternoon portion of the

ride which ended up taking a toll. Despite that, I finished

the 400K segment earlier than I had on the previous ride.

Then it was time to get some rest, a few hours of sleep

before finishing up the last 200K the next day. Ugh. No

dice.

I called Steve that morning to let him know I would not be

finishing the 600K. I was feeling exhausted and my head

was spinning. I recovered in a couple of days, but it was

quite a letdown.

I had one more chance to complete the series. John Jost

was offering a 600K brevet near St Louis, in Edwardsville,

Illinois. With just a moment’s hesitation, I signed up. I only

hoped it would not be quite as hot as it had been on my last

attempt. I saved the date on my calendar-June 30^th.

Over the next few weeks, I

spent some quality time

conversing with more

experienced brevet riders,

learning what I could from

them. As the day of the event

drew near, the Midwest

entered a heat wave. Not

good, but I had learned a few

new strategies; the ride was

on!

There were only three of us

planning to ride the 600K

No problem, I had three spares with me. I pulled one out

and installed it fairly quickly. I grabbed a CO2 cartridge

and inflated the tire.

Bam! The tube burst. In the darkness, I had failed to notice

that the tube had become pinched between the tire and the

rim. No chance of catching them now, I sighed and

restarted the process.

This time, I used my hand pump, hoping that I could

partially inflate the tire and then check to make sure the

tube was seated properly. It was. But I had 372 miles to go;

I wanted to get as much air in there as possible. What I

would have given for a floor pump! As I struggled to get

the maximum inflation, I gave one more mighty push-big

mistake. I snapped the metal threaded valve stem in half!

Have you ever had one of the moments where you feel you

could kick yourself? That was one of those moments. I had

one tube left. You would think I had never fixed a flat

before. I took a deep breath, calmed myself, and set to

work again. I checked and rechecked my work before

reinflating. This time, it held-and it had better, I thought,

because there were no spares left.

The next 50 miles went by quickly. At the next control

point, I caught up with the two shorter distance riders. One

of them was very kind to offer me one of his spare tubes in

case I needed it later in the ride. I accepted it with gratitude

and set off again down the course.

I had been cruising along at 18 to 20 mph with a moderate

heart rate of about 140, but as the heat of the afternoon

wore one, I began to feel its effects. As a precaution, I

backed off and monitored my heart rate in the 120s. By the

time I left the third control point, the official temperature

had soared to over 100° in the shade. Unfortunately, there

wasn’t much shade. My bike thermometer read 108°

degrees in direct sunlight.

Do they give prizes in physics for discovering a new

property of matter? Apparently, Markham road has a

melting point of 107.9°. The fresh asphalt had softened as it

baked in the sun. Pungent blisters in the pavement bubbled

up as I rode on. The odor of creosote wafted into my

nostrils and stung my throat.

For three miles, I slogged through patches of molten mush

which coated my tires like a chocolate glazed doughnut. To

make matters worse, there were patches of fine gravel that

promptly became attached to all the sticky parts. By the

time I arrived in Belle Rive, my tires looked like sesame

seed bagels, and my derailleurs and brakes were coated

with thick sticky gravelly goo. I spent the next 45 minutes

scraping asphalt off my bike parts and tires with a pocket

knife.

Melted asphalt and gravel

By the time I finished cleaning, the hot, humid air made me think of the steam room back home at the health club. It was time to start using my ice sock. I bought a small bag of ice and went to work. Three

Filling an ice sock

By the way, I understand the locals pronounce this like,

“Vy Anna.”

It was after sunset that I travelled the last 15 miles to the

hotel on a packed gravel bike path. The surface was mostly

hard and easily rideable, but every now and then I would

encounter a deep loose patch which was more like beach

sand than gravel. This would have been fine if I had ridden

during the daylight hours, but after nearly wiping out on one

such patch, I slowed the pace to allow for extra vigilance.

Around one curve, I crossed the path of a startled family of

raccoons. The mama and her five cubs scurried off into the

darkness. I arrived at the hotel in Vienna all bleary-eyed

and fatigued, but happy. Sleep came quickly.

Beep beep beep! Ugh. Alarms clocks can jangle the nerves,

but this one took a moment to pierce my mental fog. A

moment later, I remembered where I was and dragged

myself out of bed. It was 2:30 AM and time to get going. I

had 163 more miles to ride before the finish.

A light fog made the climb out of Vienna seem surreal.

There were no street lights, but the moon was waxing

gibbous and lit my way. Near Shawnee National Forest, a

family of deer crossed my path. Except for the deer, the

only traffic I saw was a police car which greeted me with a

momentary bleep on its siren. The officer waved and

continued on.

I made hay while the sun wasn’t shining and kept the pace

up until mid-morning. The heat was beginning to build

again. The stops became more frequent, and I found myself

using the ice sock more often. By the time I got to

Pinkneyville, I had just 92 miles to go. I began stopping

every 25 miles to fill up on ice, then 20, then 15. So long as

I had ice in my sock, I felt great. Towards the end, I began

carrying an extra bag of ice on my bike rack behind me.

This served as a backup, in case I couldn’t find an ice

vendor before the sock melted.

It worked. I felt no sense of overheating and felt strong

while the ice held out. In direct sunlight, my GPS reported

a temperature over 110°. At the second to last control

point, I walked into the store and was startled as I saw the

EMS waiting. They were attending a motorcyclist who had

overheated while riding. The store clerk looked at my bike

jersey and shook his head, “I don’t know how you are

doing this sir. That other fella is suffering and he doesn’t

even have to pedal his bike.”

“Lots of ice, patience, and a slow pace,” I replied. With the

brevet card time-stamped and in hand, I smiled and wished

the others well as I continued towards the finish.

At Lilac road, I made a turn to the left. A woman in her

Lexus passed me, stopped, backed up and rolled down her

window. The vanity tag on her license plate said

JEANNIE. I thought she was going to wave and pass on a

word of encouragement, or perhaps a word of caution. I

had been hearing comments like that all day long. Instead,

she yelled at the top of her lungs, “Are you some kind of

lunatic?!” Then she screeched her tires and sped off. I

shook my head and smiled to myself. Maybe … I had 23

miles to go.

The bike path back into Edwardsville offered a bit of shade

as I rode on. About a mile from the end, I missed a turn and

had to backtrack to find Hillsboro Rd. At last, I pulled up

to the Edwardsville Police Station, the final control point

on the route. I looked at my watch. It had been a long day.

My 600K was complete with just under two hours before

the cutoff.

I rode the last few blocks back to my parked car and smiled

as I thought of Jeannie’s comment. No Jeannie, not quite a

lunatic-I’m a randonneur.

Larry at Ride Start

course, but two more joined us for the first segment. Their

goal was for a 200K route. The 4:00 AM departure from

Edwardsville felt almost serene. We very quickly entered a

protected bike path under a heavy canopy of trees. But the

serenity was short-lived.

After three miles, the rear wheel on my bike started to feel

odd, a bit unstable. I pulled over and told the group I

would catch up later. The tube had a slow leak. When I

pulled it out, I saw that the rubber portion of the valve stem

had cracked; there was no puncture.

pounds of ice stuffed into a long tube sock tied off at the end can be wrapped around the neck with the ends stuffed under the jersey collar. The ice cools the blood flow to the brain, and as it melts, the drip water on the jersey further cools the torso-heaven! All traces of overheating disappeared. Reinvigorated, I rode on with enthusiasm. Every now and then, I would stop to buy more ice; this slowed me down but was well worth the effort. I continued on working my way towards Vienna, the evening rest stop.