100 Miles of Solitude (Not True)

This morning, I took part in the Haleiwa Metric Century ride (that's 100 kilometers, or around 62 miles for those not into the metric thing). But that is only a small part of the story. I decided to make a weekend out of it, seizing on the opportunity for some  additional training rides.

Haleiwa (pronounce hall-ey-eeva) is on the north shore of Oahu, where all the fabled big wave surfing beaches are. By April, the winter waves have died down, so it's a perfect time of year for a big bike ride up there. From my house, it's a 64 mile drive, about as far as you can drive in any one direction on Oahu. 64 miles is two miles beyond a metric century (do the math), so I decided to ride up to Haleiwa and stay the night with my friends Derek and Yvonne so that I could get to the starting line without having to get up at some ridiculous time.

The start of the Haleiwa Metric Century, from the HBL.org website

Derek Bickerton is a linguist, novelist, prolific writer (mostly in the field of linguistics), and raconteur. His wife Yvonne is an avid dancer, and on the night in question, she was hosting an advanced group of Scottish dancers. I've got Scottish ancestry, so I was willing to give the Scottish dancing a go if I was needed, but this group were far too advanced for me. So I enjoyed the music, watched the dancing, had a potluck dinner with them, and watched the sunset on the beach. Then early in the morning, I had a quick bite of breakfast, slipped out the door, and rode the three miles to the starting line for the bike ride. I'm grateful for the hospitality, and very glad that I didn't have to get up at 4:00 am.

Somehow, from among the 1000 registered riders, Hawaii bicyclist extraordinaire, Frank Smith found me. Two days earlier, we had been sitting side by side answering telephones at a Hawaii Public Radio fundraiser, and had promised to try to hook up for a few training rides. He had recently sold the bike shop that he had owned and run for years, and was now training for a return to RAGBRAI, The Register's Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa. For the most part, I found I could keep up with Frank, but there were times when he pulled ahead and disappeared down the road, and I had to wait for chance to bring us back together at the watering stations along the way. 

Frank's years around bicycles had given him a trained eye ... in fact, he probably recognized the bike I was riding on, since he was the one who had sold it to me several years earlier. Anyway, at one point, he pulled up beside me and said, "You realize your rear wheel is not true." Meaning, of course, that the wheel was getting a wobble to it. I ignored that for awhile, and finished the ride at a good pace, catching Frank one last time right at the finish line. Not true? There was a wheel there, it still worked, and in another few weeks, I would be picking up a new bike to ride across America. I wanted to ignore him, but when I got home, I looked at the wheel. It is basically unrideable, at least until I get it trued, probably at the same bike shop that Frank used to run. Gives new meaning to "What goes around, comes around."

Anyway, I had ridden a metric century two days in a row. But our Bike Trip America route includes a couple of 100 mile days, so I wanted a real century under my belt. I purposely did not reset my bike computer, nor the Strava tracker on my cell phone. Instead, I lay against a tree and propped my legs up to get rid of some of the lactic acid, then I had a good snack, refilled my water bottles, put my overnight handlebar bag back onto the bike, and set off solo along the same route we had just ridden ... Frank and I, and thousand of our best friends. Ten miles down the road, I ran into heavy rain, and pulled out my rain jacket...or more aptly, a water repellent jacket that breathes, meaning that it lets enough of the rain in that I got thoroughly soaked. But I was determined to do a century. I kept riding, untrue wheel, poor visibility, soaking shoes, heavy wet socks, gritty legs, waterlogged hands, fogged eye glasses. I rode until the rain stopped for awhile. I called my wife and asked her to meet me where I estimated I would reach 100 miles. And I rode on.

My estimate was pretty good. I was half a mile short when I reached my estimated century mark, so I rode around the block, then headed for Windward Mall, our agreed-upon meeting place. I got the Garmin over 100, then looked at my Strava tracker. 102 miles! Don't know why two computers come up with slightly different mileage for the same route, but either way, I'd made it. And then the heavens really opened, showing the wisdom of not riding all the way home. 

Tomorrow, I was scheduled to go for a Monday morning stretch your legs sort of ride. Instead, I will be heading down to Island Triathlon and Bike shop. A "not true" rear wheel is bit too Zen for me, and I don't want to find myself riding a unicycle across America, the way my friend Hinton did several years ago. But that's another story.

Weather, Whether You Like It or Not

Bicycling, as you know, is an outdoor sport. I'm sure you also know the old adage about the weather ... everyone complains about it, but nobody does anything about it. Today is Earth Day, so maybe it's time to do something about it.

This past Wednesday, I cycled up Tantalus, the high point in the hills above Honolulu. It was looking a bit rainy, and half way up the mountain, the clouds were closing in and the roads were wet. A light rain was falling. I paused, intending to turn around and go back down, but then I saw a break in the clouds further up the road, so decided to go for it. I reached the summit in glorious sunshine, and had a fast and dry descent.

Thursday, it was a day for gusty winds and the threat of more showers. We rode from Kahala through Hawaii Kai, through Waimanalo, then on to an early lunch in Kailua. Not much rain, reasonable winds, so I tacked on an extra trip to finish in Kahala, do a bit of shopping, then return to home in Hawaii Kai to bring my mileage above a metric century for the day.

Saturday, it was really windy. Strong gusts nearly picked me up coming around the Ka Iwi shoreline between Hanauma Bay and Sandy Beach. Fortunately, there was a five foot shoulder at the exact point where a sudden gust moved me three feet sideways. I had to return home quickly after lunch in Kailua, because we were supposed to be at a friend's house for a barbeque. The winds favored me, and I got back in time for a quick shower and off the the barbeque.

The point of all this? Exactly two months from yesterday, we will be dipping our tires in the Pacific Ocean near Astoria, Oregon, then rolling eastward on our 59-day journey. The first couple hundred miles, we are likely to see a bit of rain (the Oregon coast), a good bit of windy weather (the Columbia River gorge), a climb into the mountains (Montana) where there is always the chance that we could catch a few flakes of snow (admittedly rare in lat June), then across the plains where we could potentially see head winds, summer storms, or 100 degree temperatures, through places like Wisconsin where the mosquitoes dwell, and into the high humidity of the east coast. There's no way to predict in advance exactly what kind of weather we will encounter, but the weather always has an impact on bicycle rides.

Got to be ready for every eventuality, but at least we have a van that will carry the bulk of our equipment. For a specific day, we might need to carry along sunscreen, rain gear, bug repellent, extra fluid, a warm layer, a cool layer, and always, some chamois butter and chain lubricant.

To all my fellow cyclists, in all sorts of weather, the traditional bicyclist's toast:  May the wind be always at your back.

Whew! The Problem with Detours

Okay, it's not really a problem, and not really a detour. My friends Patricia and Nora have both recommended a particular ride to me, so I took a scenic route home today after a doctor's appointment. The scenic route is just referred to as Tantalus.

Tantalus is a hill climb. I think every serious biking community must have a hill that everyone tries out their teeth on. In Honolulu, that hill is Tantalus. When I lived near Santa Barbara, the hill was Gibraltar, and I never did manage to ride to the top of that one. In Aspen, the hill was Independence Pass, which I have done on skis but not on a bicycle.

The hardest part of Tantalus, for me, was just finding the bottom of hill. I went back and forth three times before I figure out that I was approaching from the wrong cross street. MapMyRide got me straightened out. You have to start by climbing the hill towards Punchbowl Cemetery, then across a small bridge. As soon as you cross the bridge, the hill starts climbing immediately ... never too steep, just enough to remind you to stay in a low gear.

Up past the older ramshackle houses at the bottom, then into the forests of monkeypod trees, banyans, bamboo, and a gazillion other trees and plants that flourish in a sub-tropical rainforest. The hill climbs, twists and turns, hair-pinning its way towards the skyline, past increasingly fancier houses, and increasingly dense rainforest. Roadside pullouts give a gorgeous view of downtown Honolulu, Waikiki, Diamond Head, the Pacific Ocean, the sky and clouds ... but who has time to stop? Got to keep the cranks turning.

I was passed five times by the same guy on a red motorcycle, going up and down practicing leaning into turns. I was easy prey ... I was still going up hill, still in low gear. I came to a long stretch that was slightly more level, and decided to do the "selfie" thing without breaking my pedaling rhythm. Here's the results, plus a bonus pic of a small part of the road ahead.

Of course, just as I was snapping my selfie, another cyclist pulled past me. The entire climb, I saw only two other cyclists, and perhaps five cars.

The only milepost I saw indicated that I had ridden 4 1/2 miles, and my Strava training log indicated that I had climbed nearly 1600 feet during that time. That's a bigger hill than anything we'll see next summer, so glad to have it under my belt.

I was waiting for a summit, but if there was one, it disappeared into the rainforest somewhere near the milepost. Almost imperceptibly at first, the road leveled, then I suddenly found myself hanging onto the brakes as I plummeted down the other side on Roundtop Drive. Hairpin after hairpin, left and right, sometimes dropping at nearly 45 degrees if you took an inside corner too sharply. Then a long straight stretch where I reached speeds approaching 40 mph even though I was feathering the brakes. Next time, maybe I'll be a bit faster, but hey! That pavement is flying by, and I don't want to suddenly find myself dodging a pothole at that sort of speed.

Going up, my legs were fine. Coming down, my hands started to ache from gripping the brake levers so constantly. And I had no idea where I would emerge once I got back into town. But soon, there was Makiki Park, and a couple of turns later, I found Punahou School (President Barak Obama's old stomping grounds), and from there, it was a familiar ride the rest of the way home.

At the end of the day, my log says that I rode 53.1 miles. You have to look at the small print to discover that I went from sea level to sea level, with 3000 feet of climbing in between, counting the hill over Tantalus, the hill over the shoulder of Diamond Head, and the hill up to Tripler Medical Center. And need I mention the gusty wind? Okay, I won't mention that.

The Problem with Training

The problem with training for a huge enterprise is ... that you are in training. You are not yet prepared. Between being out of shape two months ago, and being on the road just over two months from now, I have to get to the start line in good physical condition. One good reason ... half the riders will be less than 1/3 my age.

You learn a lot during training. How best to hydrate. Which muscles are inherently weak. How to monitor a group of riders while on the road. How to eat properly so that you can maintain a good level of calories for the journey, and so that you can recover quickly after a hard day of riding. And, how to keep injuries from slowing you down.

One day, when I first started riding with clip-in pedals (a few months back), I had to come to a quick stop, and before I could unclip, I found my bike and myself on the way to the ground. A bruised ego and a small scrape on the back of my leg where I came into contact with my chain ring. Now I know, if there is a hint of having to stop ahead, I prepare to unclip. Plus, I loosened my clips so that I don't have to tear my foot out of my shoe to get unclipped.

Still, there are small injuries. We stopped for coffee one day, and I noticed blood on my cycling glove. No idea where it came from, until I noticed a gouge on the outside of my wrist.  I must have scraped it on something, but my best guess ... we had, ten minutes earlier, passed the outdoor shooting range near Hanauma Bay and Sandy Beach. Had a ricochet grazed my arm? I certainly hope not. More likely, a car kicked up some loose road debris, or I had swiped my arm against a wall while parking my bike. Occam's Razor says it was the last option, the simplest, but I will never know.

More worrying, the fit of the bicycle. Right now, I'm riding a vintage Bianche Volpe that is showing a bit of rust. Everyone who sees it quotes the old adage, "Steel is real." Maybe so, but before I set out on my cross-country trek, I will be buying a new Trek, one that is lighter than the Bianche, and one that hopefully has a perfect fit for my size and strengths. My Bianche is great, but after two months of training, I've started noticing a good bout of sciatica. I can't keep up with dog when I take her for a walk, and occasionally, I'll get a leg spasm. As long as I'm in the saddle, I'm fine, but I want to be able to walk around the block with my soon-to-arrive grandson when I finish the ride across the USA. A good fit on the new bike should solve the problem, hopefully. I plan to arrive three weeks early so I can pick up the bike at Bikes and Beyond in Astoria, one of our generous sponsors. A good fitting bike is essential, especially when I'll be sitting on it and turning the cranks for 3500 miles or so.

By the way, if you want to be one of our sponsors, either as an individual or as a business entity, you can make a donation to Operation Comfort Warrior online. Tell them I sent you.