The Portland Century began last week as many of my planned long rides do... me trying unsuccessfully to drum up a crew of riders to go with me. I admittedly left little time for planning, and thus ended up all by my lonesome. That said, all but the only legitimate excuse began with, "I would really like to, but, you see, my wife..." The one excuse that held water was Boris's long-planned slog to Astoria as his first century ride, his only fuel being a wager with Ben and I placed in May... well, that and a full dozen Clif bars and who knows how much Diet Coke. Still, good on ya, Borscht.
So I was going solo. Fine, I can do solo.
Most supported century rides I have been on have been on Saturdays. It just makes it easier if you have to travel or you want to rest a day before getting back to the weekday grind. The Portland Century, however, was on Sunday, which was fine with me... except my new band, The Valley Floor, had a mini show on Saturday, and there just happened to be free drinks at said mini show, and thus did I quaff. Scott also had some 'shine from his still, and I was retarded enough to have some of that too. All of this Saturday shenanigans equated to a rough Sunday morning.
5:30AM: I got up, made some coffee, read the news and checked my email, got all my gear ready, filled my bottles with Cytomax, my flask with Hammer Gel and my pockets with a multi-tool, cell phone, credit card and license... all the while trying to shake off the night before. I checked and re-checked my stuff, drank 32 oz of water with a couple Ibuprofen, and ate half a Clif bar, then headed out to the garage to clean up the bike -- I was taking the Surly as I was out of spare tubes for the Ellsworth. I did a really quick clean, lube, break check and tire check and I was on the Springwater trail heading east by 7:30 AM.
Almost immediately, I fell in with a fast-paced group of 10 or so shaved-leg hammerheads on their Ti/Carbon bikes. No one said a word to me, and their pace was fast enough that I wasn't really going to attempt to pull, so I just sat off the back out of the windstream and found a good groove. I rode with this group all the way out to City Park in Gresham, which was the first rest stop for the ride. They all turned off, but I was still full up on everything and had just gotten a good cadence going, so I kept at it.
It was pretty early in the ride still and the next 20 mins or so, I was all alone. It was shaping up to be a beautiful morning, and the sun was just starting to share some of its warmth. I was really starting to feel like this was going to be a good day. There was a bit of a crosswind, which made me worry about what the wind was going to do later in the day, but it was not a big deal at the time. The Springwater turns into gravel as it approaches Hwy 26, and the course veered off onto Telford road and out towards Estacada. There were some nice rollers and eventually a fun descent down Amisigger road, which led to the first climb of the day up Judd road. It was an easy climb, save for the fact that it was a under construction and the pavement was very rough with some loose gravel at spots, which made for a bit of a slog to the top; I also popped a spoke loose so my brake was rubbing. The heavy road lasted for a while until it finally normalized after crossing Hwy 211. At this point, there were a couple other riders out, but still no groups, and the first group I was with had not caught me yet. A quick drop down to the second rest stop, and I took a break to fill up my water bottles and do a quick true on my wheel. There was hardly anyone at the stop, but some tasty bike-blended smoothies were on hand, so I chugged one.
As I was leaving the stop, the first group I rode with was just pulling in, and I said hello and hit the trail. There was an immediate climb out of Eagle Fern that lasted for quite awhile. As I kept climbing and climbing I was glad I had brought my spoke wrench, and thankful for the smoothie. My legs felt good, but I knew there was a lot of ascent still to come. I hit the top of the big hill and was punched in the face by a stunning panorama of Mt. Hood, the Sandy River and the mouth of the Columbia River Gorge. It was totally breathtaking. At that point I was distracted by the scenery and failed to notice that the road surface took a pretty serious turn for the worse. It turned into the high-altitude sharp chip cap that is great if it's icy and you're in a car, but it beats the hell out of you on a bike. Not only is it slow and very rolling-resistant, it's hard on your bike and hands with the vibration and the mental image of the skin burger as a result of possibly taking a spill is pretty ominous. As if to add a shoe to the nuts, dark clouds rolled in and cooled everything down; there looked to be a real possibility of rain. In my growing despair, I failed to notice that I had not seen another rider since leaving the rest stop.
I chugged on, growing more and more worried about not seeing anyone else... eventually, I resolved that I had indeed taken a wrong turn, although I didn't know where, and I would just work my way to Hwy 26 and jump back on the course there. However, a check of the map when I got home revealed the flaw in that logic that I was to find out a bit later: I was on a big loop of country roads with no outlet. I discovered this by coming to a "T" in the road where everything suddenly became very familiar. Damn. Unfortunately, this meant that all of the altitude I had gained since the rest stop was for naught. Damn. I headed back down towards Eagle Fern Park and tried to make the best of a pretty fun descent, knowing that I was going to have to make all that altitude back up. My little journey had cost me 16 miles, 63 minutes and about 2,000'. The mental battle was waging in my head as to whether I should keep going or just pack it in and call it a day.
As I once again passed Eagle Fern Park, the point of my mistake became clear as I saw riders going the other direction out of the park. Feeling like an idiot and hoping that no one saw me coming from the wrong direction, I jumped back onto the now-bustling course and started the climb up Kitzmiller towards Bornstadt road.
I started up the fairly steep grade (the ride guide referred to this section as "Extreme Climbing!") and was passing some folks when, like someone jabbing a screwdriver into my inner-thigh, a cramp overtook my left leg, and I supressed a yelp and I stood out of the saddle and tried to make my girations look like a climbing technique. The right leg went to, and my pedal strokes locked as I tried to stand on my tippie toes on my pedals and keep some semblance of dignity while trying to will the cramps to release. I stayed standing and slowly began to pedal with as little effort as possible as the cramps began to loosen and subside... first the left leg, then eventually the right. I took a deep breath, knowing I was going to be fighting cramps from here on out, and picked up the pace. The next 10 miles or so were nice country roads with some fun rollers, eventually crossing Hwy 26 near Sandy and making our way out to Rosalyn Lake, which was the site of the next rest stop. The cramps had come and gone a bit, but nowhere near as severe as the initial ones. I hit the rest stop, stretched out and ate some peanut butter and ham hoping the salt would help my cramps subside.
I left Rosalyn Lake with full water bottles and a hope that my cramps would not be bothering me, as the real climbing for the day was about to start. First, there was a solid 7 mile climb up from the lake. It wasn't too steep, but it was the kind of windy, long climb that has you wishing for the top around each bend, and it just never seems to come; this was the second and final section on the ride guide that was labelled "Extreme Climbing!" Still, I felt pretty strong, my legs were good, albeit on the edge of cramping, and my head was clear. THe biggest problem of this climb was some older guy that kept telling all of his friends to look at my tattoos. Ass. I knew there was only this stiff bit of climbing left and the rest was all gravy. The most wicked-awesome descent of the day down Gordon Creek was facking unreal and I hit 57 miles per hour! My previous fastest being a scant 47 MPH. This descent, however, would come at a very steep price.
Cycling, as with all other things in the known Universe, follows the laws of physics and gravity. Namely the old addage of, "what goes up, must come down." However, in some instances (such as this one) cycling switches its fealty to this law's symmetrical analog, "what goes down, must come up." Immediately after the high of the amazing descent was a steep, long and straight climb. Those of us with double chainrings were chugging in and out of the saddle as the triplers were churning up the slope. I found a couple of guys that were chewing up the grade and I fell in with them and cranked up the slope. At the top were a bunch of people catching their breath, some puking and a couple of poor gals that appeared to be quietly sobbing. It was a tough climb, and not listed on the ride guide as anything out of the norm, so I think it threw some people for a loop, thinking they had finished the major climbs for the day. The route quickly hooked up with the old Columbia Gorge Hwy and I was in familiar territory as we descended down towards the Sandy River Bridge at Stark St., up to Mt. Hood Community College and out to Marine Drive and the penultimate rest stop at Blue Lake Park.
At Blue Lake Park, I had to re-true my rear wheel again, as I popped a spoke out on the big climb. It sucks to have to do this so often, but I have gotten pretty adept at getting it straight fairly quickly. They also had pizza from Hot Lips, which was great, because I needed the salt. I filled up the bottles and hit the road again. My mileage was at 84 and the last rest stop of the day was at Smith and Bybee lakes at 16 miles away, which meant I would hit 100 just as I got there.
Back on Marine Drive there was a shite headwind keeping my pace down to 17-18MPH from my preferred 20 on the flat. It was tough with big rigs and trucks passing on a thin shoulder and the constant push of the wind in my face, I was very quickly losing gas. Just where the course veers off the road and onto the path, I was passed by a group of 6 riders in tight formation, all shaved legs except one guy, and I decided to jump on the back and see how long I could hold up. They had one big guy pulling at the front and he was HAMMERING at 20-21 MPH. I was super stoked to have got on with these lads, and was dualy impressed with the guy that was pulling, because we were flying. Eventually, the one guy with hairy legs jumped on the front and kept the pace up, but the rest of the crew, including the lead guy dropped off, I think to wait for a buddy who had been dropped earlier. So that left just me and the other unshaven guy, and we slowed significantly. I was careful to only pace him, not draft since it would be unfair, and I didn't want be "that guy."
We stayed together all the way to the end of the Marine Drive path and turned onto 13th street where we were safe from the wind and we struck up a conversation. His name is Matthew, and we both alluded to the fact that we were both out of gas and just hanging on until the end. We rapped out for a while, which was nice to have something to do other than count pedal strokes. He's a transplanted New Zelander and an all around nice guy. Turns out, he is also going to Cycle Oregon by himself so it looks like I'll have someone to ride with after all. Sweet.
We hit the last rest stop just as my odometer hit 100 and we filled up our bottles quick and rolled out for the ~10 mile leg back into Portland proper. The path back into Portland had the wind at our backs and we picked up the pace as the finish line and free beer grew closer and closer. We rolled into downtown PDX right around 2:30 and victoriously quaffed the free beer with a veracious appreciation for both beer and finish lines. We sat on the lawn, drank beer and called our wives to come get us, but Mandy was at the coast and I would have to ride home. Matthew and I exchanged numbers and made a plan to hook up at Cycle Oregon, and I headed home.
The ride home sucked balls. My legs were done and it was all I could do to push home after a cold pint of Drop Top had already satiated my interior. I got home and checked my odometer... 119.78 miles. Happy to have an empty house, I stumbled into the shower and soaked; I let my muscles absorb the soothing heat from the warm water as I scrubed the road grime, salt, sweat and bugs off of my skin. The shower after a bike ride like that is absolutely sublime. Wanting to nap, but feeling the hunger of the gods coming, I cooked up some chicken that I had wisely had marinating since the previous day, and proceeded to make the most awesome chicken Boboli pizza of all time. I ate 3/4 of it, drank a beer and about 2 gallons of water and fell into bed for dreamless nap. Kick ass.
