D2R2: The Mystery Ride and the Implosion of Shad: Part V: The Denouement

Just like that I was alone on East Rd; a long dirt stretch heading back down and a long dirt stretch climbing upward, and all around me hardwood forest, a shaded canopy of calm. 

I walked and pushed for about half an hour. Occasionally one or more riders would come huffing and grinding up the road and pass me at a tortoise pace, head down, suffering. Some asked if I was alright. Others didn't know if they themselves were alright and no doubt, in their own minds, thought "I can barely get up this hill, I can't possibly provide any help or assistance to this poor bastard, whatever happened to him."

I didn't begrudge them. I'd had my own evil thoughts earlier in the day during the Catamount Forest Death March when we'd hooked up with a group of riders, one of whom, Cha Hank, Wing Nut knew. The group was unsure of where they were and Cha Hank saw Nut and exclaimed "Hey! it's Wing Nut! Hey man, you know these roads!"

Just ahead was a little three foot wooden bridge over a stream bed a foot or two below. Cha Hank directed his bike onto it to cross and somehow lost control and endo'd over his handlebars and off the bridge onto the rocks of the stream bed, head face first.

Everyone froze. It looked horrible. And my immediate mental reaction was "Oh fuck, this guy just wrecked himself and we're going to have to deal with it!"

Cha Hank picked himself up, a bit dazed but remarkably steady and uninjured. His bike was okay. None of us could believe it. It had looked awful! Later, I chastised myself for having such selfish thoughts first when encountering a fellow rider's distress.

So when people passed me by and ignored me, I understood and begrudged not a one of them. I didn't want to deal with me either.

Eventually, I pushed my bike passed a guy who was taking a break on the side of the road. We chatted and I explained what had happened.

"But you're stuck in the lowest gear, maybe you can ride" he said, pointing at my mangled derailleur.

"Well, no, see, the chain doesn't turn" I said and demonstrated. Except the chain DID turn. The lowest gear could be pedaled in. Yes, my rear wheel rubbed against the brake pad every time it passed, but it did revolve. I could pedal.

"Holy crap" I said, "you're right" and I got on and, gently, pedaled off. Pedaled up. And kept pedaling. Once, when it got crazy steep and gravelly loose, I got off and pushed, but remarkably I was able to limp to the top of East Rd and hook up with Forget Rd and arrive at Side Hill Farm. It was something of a miracle.

At Side Hill Farm at last

It was also 4:30, more than 90 minutes after Team Shad parted ways. Nut must be arriving at his car anytime, I thought.

I reclined on the grass by the picnic table in front of the Side Hill Farm barn & self-serve farm shop. I did some yoga poses and various stretches in the shade, unwinding, accepting the situation. It could be worse, I told myself, I could be stuck in the forest being devoured by mosquitoes. 

But I am not someone who waits well. I see time wasted as an affront. Not to mention that I require constant mental activity. I'm the type of person who never leaves the house without a crossword puzzle or book or notebook, something to occupy my head in the event I'm called upon to WAIT - for any reason in any situation for ANY length of time. I don't do Idle.

Then I met Jade. She'd stopped at the farm stand because she was in the area, because she knew the farmer who'd sold this farm to the yogurt makers, and because her dear friend who lived near by was dying of cancer. All this I learned after she approached me and asked about all the riders that she'd seen on the road today, what was going on.

I explained the D2R2 and she nodded. Trim, compact, probably around 50 years old, Jade had once biked quite a bit herself (she had a cyclist look about her), so she understood. She was exceedingly friendly and very shortly after we began talking, she offered to take me back to Deerfield (she was driving a vintage VW rabbit - I could have gotten my bike in).

I was uncertain. Surely Nut had reached Deerfield by now and would be racing to my rescue as we spoke.

"I'll text my buddy" I said "and if replies, then yes, I'll take you up on it. But if he's already en route ..." So I texted. And got no reply. But Jade waited. 10 minutes. 15. A half an hour. She'd just gotten back from 13 days in Ireland and England. I asked leading questions to keep her talking but eventually, reluctantly, she had to go. I thanked her profusely, grateful for her kindness and, with more than a pang of regret and second-guessing, watched her drive away.

Then the waiting really set in. 5:30 came. I had texted and called Nut several times with no response. It was absurd to think that it would take him two and half hours to get to Deerfield. I began to fear that he too had had a mechanical and was stranded. Cha!

So I called the only other friend I had in the area, the Mighty HTR in Shutesbury, and laid out the whole situation. I was stranded at a yogurt farm in Hawley, Wing Nut had gone missing, and I needed help. 

Without equivocating, HTR volunteered to come and get me. Saved! How long would it take to get to me? We decided an hour. 

An hour. I'd already been there an hour. 

Then I met Amy. She drove into the farm store parking lot in a golf cart with a young mixed-breed dog running alongside. Amy, it turned out, owned and operated the yogurt farm with her husband. She couldn't have been nicer and we talked for a good 15 minutes alongside the barn looking across one of the fields. I admitted to sitting in the chair alongside the barn and she replied that they often enjoy their morning coffee there. 

The view from the chair against the barn

Amy told me that if my friends didn't show up I should come and find her and we could figure something out. She asked if I needed water but I was all set. Oddly, I didn't feel hungry or thirsty. I had entered some weird state of calm resignation that was unusual for me.

The thing about waiting without any mental distraction is that it forces you to observe where you are, to evaluate what's in your line of sight and in your immediate surroundings. Around the side of the barn, I found the aforementioned old decrepit chair with a wire cage milk crate for a side table looking out on the expanse of field stretching away north and east. I relished it! It was like a secret that no one else knew about and though I felt a little sly and guilty sitting there, I was also seriously psyched to sit there and revel in the view, the space, the sky, and quiet.

Where I chilled

In front of the chair, in the shaggy growth of the barn berm, were plants with puffy seed globes, some fresh and green and new, and some old and dried out and ready to release their seeds. Lacking other mental stimulus, I began to peel apart the seed orbs and look closely at their composition. I felt like Ernst Haeckel* and imagined his studied vision of the minutiae of biology and botany. The finite exploration of completely foreign and irrelevant-to-me life forms washed over me in a wave of soul-searching humility. The field I gazed upon, the weird tiny black insects inside the seed pods I broke open, the kindness of strangers, the failing light of an August evening in the hills of western Mass filled me with appreciation and contemplative patience. Because there was nothing to be done about the situation, I could let go of everything I wanted to manage.

A little after 7:00 Wing Nut arrived, though not in his car but in his companion's, Ms. N's, with she at the wheel and he looking sheepish in the passenger seat. Before they could get out of the car and before we could exchange relieved cameraderie, HTR arrived. Two saviors! Relief and exasperation. Nut was as relieved to see me as I was to see him, plus he and Ms. N, knowing that I'd probably be hungry, had packed water, cheese, and crackers for me.

But what had happened to Wing Nut? In the long period of waiting, I'd imagined him with a broken bike trying to get a ride back to D2R2 HQ; I'd thought of him in an ER somewhere, victim of a hit and run, or victim of some lonely downhill crash, unfound; and none of us even knowing he was missing.

It all came out.

Wing Nut had indeed ridden as fast as he could back to Deerfield and it had taken longer than expected. When he'd arrived at his car he couldn't find his car keys. He'd lost them. And he realized that he'd lost them when we'd stopped at that convenience store/gas station after lunch. They must have fallen out when we'd hung out there drinking the ginger ale and refilling our water bottles. So he couldn't access his phone (my texts! my phone calls!) nor could he come and get me. So he had to ride home, another 30 minutes or more. And then enlist Ms Nut in the rescue effort. It all took time. Four hours, actually.

And HTR? A Giant of good will. OM AH HUM

We all had to go back to the D2R2 HQ because both Nut's and my car was there so I rode back with HTR - after driving all that way, at least he deserved to hear the day's story - while Nut & Ms. N lead the way back.

DNF. Did Not Finish. It was after 8:00 when we finally got back to the big meadow. Everything was winding down. 13 hours and a DNF. A bitter pill to swallow. The 13th iteration of the D2R2. The Mystery Ride had gotten the better of Team Shad. We'd done our best. Circumstance and weird karma had coalesced to transform this year's ride into something altogether unforeseen. The thing is, you can prepare all you want for every circumstance yet something you never imagined can arise at any moment. That's basically how Life is.

That's also how the D2R2 is, a journey unto itself. Every year is different because every rider brings to it their own karma and circumstance, and both change all the time. We like to think that we've got it all covered, every angle, that we're set for whatever life throws at us. By and large we are.

But the D2R2, filled as it is with random circumstance and the whimsy of weather and road conditions, suggests otherwise. 

Sometimes the fucknatty happens and there's just nothing to be done about it but roll with the punches. And hope to do it with the Niceness.

* Ernest Haeckel's observation of mycetozoa

Part I

D2R2: The Mystery Ride and the Implosion of Shad: Part IV

Under way again

We stopped at a convenience store about ten miles after leaving lunch. Almost as soon as we'd set out from lunch I'd been desperate for something cold, something carbonated. It was weird. I lusted for an ice cold ginger ale, preferably in a bottle, preferably from one of those antique soda dispensers where the bottles were all laid on their sides and you opened a glass door and yanked the bottle from its metal cradle and then popped the bottle top on the opener affixed to the dispenser. I desperately wanted to chug an icy soda in a glass bottle from 1972.

Instead, I selected a Ginger Ale infused with high fructose corn syrup in a 16 oz plastic bottle from a wall of beverages in an industrial walk-in refrigerator at a gas station, and Nut and I shared it, standing with our bikes against the shaggy stand of arborvitae at the far edge of the scruffy parking lot. I also bought more water, COLD water. We refilled our water bottles, we reviewed the route ahead and promised ourselves that we were on target for a respectable finish even though we had a long way to go with several savage climbs to come and it was already getting on toward 2:00.

We arrived at East Rd in good spirits. I'd eaten the meditation and concentrated 
on my pedal stroke, concentrated on how my legs worked in tandem with instructions from my head, and everything started to seem do-able again, like this insane enterprise wasn't that insane after all and that stout lads like ourselves could rise to the occasion and, with the proper attitude, summon the requisite karma & just the right amount of energy to get the job done. 

The slopes of Berkshire East

In fact, circumstances were vaguely reminiscent of 2013 when a small group of riders, confident in their motion forward, had breezed by us en route to East Rd, and how we'd eventually caught them and dispatched them one by one. Today, when a clutch of riders had been with us and then gone ahead, I caught myself wanting to show them what Team Shad was all about, I wanted to school them in the Myth of Shad, so after climbing up the first stretch of pavement and coming to the left turn onto dirt-surfaced East Rd, I thought "Okay, Dubstoevsky, time to get it done."

Except it was different from how it was three years ago. I was different. 

Hell, everyday is a new day and any yesterday's performance, while a valid mile marker at the time, doesn't guarantee that on any other given next day you'll accomplish the same feat, or that your body will react in the same tireless manner. It's a day to day thing. A moment to moment thing.

Wing Nut solo'd off the front. I kept him in sight. We passed a rider, then another rider. We entered a long empty space devoid of other cyclists, we were alone, we were Team Shad grinding our competition down, grinding upward, always upward, forward, forever forward, the next summit was just ahead, just around the corner, we were on the cusp of triumph, despite our limitations.

On East Rd

Then I heard a loud snap, a SHOT, like a rock hitting something that pinged. And in an instant I knew I'd broken a rear wheel spoke. And just as instantly I told myself "it was just a rock" and kept on pedaling. And then the spoke jammed into the derailleur and that was that. 

"Nut!" I shouted. He wasn't far ahead. I'd almost brought myself back to him when the spoke went. Utter fucknatty. "NUT!" He looked back, turned around and rode back down to me.

We evaluated the situation. It was bad. We were far, far gone on the Mystery Ride. It was almost 3:00 in the afternoon. Forty miles from the Big Tent where the beer was. Where everything was.

Wing Nut, a chevalier of the First Order, realized what had to happen. In his mind, it must have been bitter to consider. This, his 13th CONSECUTIVE D2R2, would end with a DNF. Did Not Finish. Double fucknatty. And not by any fault or failure or weakness of his own.

We agreed. He would abandon the Mystery Ride, he would take the most direct way possible back to D2R2 HQ in Deerfield, to the big meadow where our cars were, and he would get his and come to Dubstoevsky's rescue. His phone was in his car so in the unlikely event I should finagle a ride to Deerfield, I should text him (yes, I had my phone with me), he would check for texts and voicemail as soon as he got to his car.

He suggested it would take him at least 45 minutes. I assumed an hour, maybe 90 minutes, though I wasn't too clear on how far he would have to ride. He wasn't sure which way to go either. The most direct route would involve dirt roads; would a more round-about way on pavement be faster? He wasn't sure and though I knew where he was going, I didn't have a clue as to the best way to get there.

What we both knew was that at the top of the climb was Forget Rd and that to the right not a quarter mile up, just passed the well-tended 19th century graveyard, was Side Hill Farm, the makers of the maple yogurt that I eat almost daily. Nut said that he'd pick me up there.

I took the Side Hill Farm yogurt connection as a positive omen. Even though Team Shad had bottomed out, the way forward was already beginning to reveal itself. 

Still, it was a sad moment. With stoic Shadian resignation, we said little. Then off Nut went on his mission of mercy, steadily moving up the still-mile-to-go-East-Rd-climb and gradually out of sight.

Part V
Part I

D2R2: The Mystery Ride and the Implosion of Shad: Part III

Finally, the lunch stop appeared on the horizon, a dusty mirage like the outline of Hope itself hovering in watery heat shimmer just up the road.

Shangri-La

The 160K and the Mystery Ride shared the lunch stop and the scene bustled. Sort of. Actually, looking around, there were a lot of tired bodies, a lot of riders looking a bit shocked at what they'd just been through.

Regrouping on the lawn of the Amos Brown House

It had taken us more than five hours to reach the almost half way point. This was alarming. But in the moment, unnerving as that fact was, my focus was strictly on eating: a dreamed-of ham sandwich (with self-added condiments including hot pepper strips, mustard & shredded lettuce), potato chips, a cola, an Oreo cookie, special homemade cookies, pasta salad, shots of pickle brine. 

Wing Nut Refueling

I scarfed it down without saying much of anything. There were some talkative groups around but most of us just sat and sort of stared into the near distance without focusing on much of anything.

Now think for a minute about that combination of food sluiced into the engine quickly and without much consideration. Alas, even Dubstoevsky's fabled iron gullet felt the blow of this food bomb. All that sugar, and that big mass of half-chewed spongy bread sandwich lolling around in the bile amidst the Oreo crumble and the worm-like tubules of pasta. Mix that with whatever remained of the three bottles of warm water drank so far and ... disgusting! 

But there was nothing to be done about it. Then lunch was over. The steeds were called back from pasture and we climbed on. 

Wing Nut's Surly (L) and Dubstoevsky's Specialized (R)

Some of the herd

Up ahead, we'd have another choice:

Note your options for climbing through Hawley! The main course has two very rough sections, but there are road-bike workarounds.

After our morning march through the Catamount Forest (numerous times carrying or pushing the steed), we had no desire for another similar stretch. Time was already an issue and "two very rough sections" would mean more pushing and walking. We decided to take the East Rd climb instead.

East Rd! The site of perhaps Dubstoevsky's greatest ride, the 2013 D2R2 and the triumph on East Rd. I looked forward to it. I thought it would be grounding, that in being on familiar terrain, with its relentless ascent and its shading canopy, I would be able to find a rhythm and recover a little (if not reclaim some of that earlier glory).

Unfortunately, very shortly after setting out from lunch, my thighs began cramping, but a weirdly located cramping. Not the big thick top quad muscle, but the insides of each thigh; whatever sinewy band of tissue and tendon that is, both began seizing up. 

Not good, I thought.

Somehow, the boost from lunch was short-lived. Now the roads were true gravel grinders, long dusty lines along high fields and hillside forests often with sweeping views. Pretty as it was, the loose and crumbly surface made pedaling that much more difficult, and tiring.

Gravel grinder, with view

I churned after Wing Nut, shifting around constantly and paying close mental attention to how I was pedaling. What muscles, what areas of muscle was I depending on? How could I shift the torque from the part of the cramping muscle to somewhere else, some millimeter away in the same muscle? I got out of the saddle and concentrated on using the hips, piston pedaling, rocking up and down, up and down, letting the body's weight itself contribute to the momentum of the strokes.

Nut just barely in sight

Eventually, after about an hour, my cramping went away. I began to allow myself some optimism. Except for the noxious moil within, I wasn't feeling that bad overall. In just a spot of bother, and only a small spot at that.

Part IV
Part I

D2R2: The Mystery Ride and the Implosion of Shad: Part II

I'd imagined our entry into Catamount Forest the equivalent of the fellowship of the ring entering the mines of Moria, though perhaps not as clouded with dread and portents of doom. Though maybe I didn't pay close enough attention. This is what the cue sheet said about this option:

The 200-year history of this road is incredible, from start to finish, but you need fat tires or else will have a lot of dismounts.
First mile is a severe climb; last mile is a wicked descent with a bad S bend.
Across the top are many historical features and three brief sections of hiking trail around beaver dams.

"brief sections of hiking trail around beaver dams." 

That tacked-on phrase didn't register. Until it did. What it meant was that you'd be cruising along through The Woods and come upon swamp and marsh and come to a halt. 

Swampy Impasse

Generally, we sought the walk-around - some beaten down path off to the side that other riders and various outdoor enthusiasts had, by exploratory use, turned into the detour. Many other riders did the same.

When Nut and I happened upon these circumstances, we wisely evaluated our options and generally chose the path of least resistance. Except once, the first one actually, when a low-lying, sloppy, gooped-up trail passage had a decrepit old pallet laid across the nastiest part, a sort of loading dock bridge across the mud suck. With nails.

A group of four or five riders ahead of us crossed over it, and Nut and I did too and almost immediately I heard the unmistakable hiss of air escaping from tube. Flatted! One dude in the group ahead of us flatted too - so while I changed the tire, Nut went back and heaved the pallet off the track. Better a muddy slog than a flat tire.

The forest was relentless. Much pushing or hefting of bikes. The fat bikes ate it up, no problem. We'd scamper out of the way to let them pass. But most of us hoofed it. Which I came to realize was a good thing. It was like forced rest. Not that pushing a bike up a crazy rocky water-sluiced gullet of a road is easy, but it does give the cycling muscles rest of a kind. 

This is not Dominica

Yet a huge motivating force for getting through the forest was the promise of imminent lunch. Just a few miles beyond. Lunch! A ham sandwich! Potato chips. A cola! Sitting in a grassy shady spot with boots off, stretching!

The lunch stop was more or less around the 36 mile point ('more or less' being dependent on which option you took earlier, the Catamount Forest mountain bike option or the road bike work-around), and that was pretty close.

So onward! 

Wing Nut drove the Shad train toward Gustatory Oasis; Dubstoevsky, encouraged by the very idea of food-come-soon, stayed on Nut's wheel. A dry gravel road, rock-pocked; occasional waves of washboard ripple; loose sand of varying depth; the very definition of a BAD road surface for cycling. 

Nut suddenly slowed down, came to a stop and said, verbosely, "uh oh."

Uh oh? "I think we missed a turn." 

A pick-up truck passed us, then stopped and backed up. A whole family. They wondered if we knew where we were, which was Vermont. Macmillan Rd. 

Wing Nut asks "Cook Forest Rd"?

Back a ways. Back up the hill. About a mile. Maybe two. 

Definitely two. That's two miles AWAY from lunch. And two miles more just to get back on track. So back we go. Team Shad, ever righting the ship. 

Cook Forest Rd is the entrance to Ho Cook State Forest and just like that, we plunged back into the Deep Rough, and seemingly a long way from lunch.

Ripping it up in Ho Cook

Walking it up in Ho Cook

Part III
Part I

D2R2: The Mystery Ride and the Implosion of Shad: Part I

Let's just say that things didn't go as planned. Rather, everything went according to plans ... until everything went awry. But that's getting ahead of ourselves.

4:15 AM Saturday, August 20 Dubstoevsky awake, lading the Team car with gear and bike, then, with a high test latte and the seemingly-positive portent of a Grateful Dead concert from Springfield MA, January 15, 1979 on the radio, racing westward on empty roadways toward South Deerfield.  

Pulling into the dew-damp huge gathering field just after sunrise, quickly checking in, locating Wing Nut, eating, gearing up. The Mystery Ride at last!

As fate would have it, Wing Nut, ever resourceful and connected, had already procured a copy of the Mystery Ride cue sheet and was not surprised to learn that most of the roads were ones he knows well. In fact, studying the route last night like a monk studying a canonical scroll, he stitched a clear picture of the whole course together in his mind. Rather than, as I'd feared, having to stop frequently to figure out where to go and where to turn and all that, Nut had it locked in his vision like a GPS brain implant. 

The force of Shad

If we averaged 10 mph over the course of the ride (a low estimate but perhaps not too low if conditions were difficult and the route too arduous), that would mean a 10 hour day to start with. Throw in having to stop and check the map, various rest stops, and lunch, and the potential was there for a LONG day out on course. With Nut knowing the route, however, a huge time suck was eliminated. That meant that our overall time would be contingent upon our legs, our stamina, and the course itself.

We were Team Shad! We'd been training for months and the season had come down to this. We were ready for whatever the day had in store. Or so we thought.

At 7:21 AM we passed through the starting gate and were underway. 

Stage 1: Deerfield to Ed Ckark Rd (31 miles)

The Mystery Ride's description had noted that the first half would have more pavement than the second half, and even though some of the pavement would involve some significant elevation gains, the intimation was that the second half was far more difficult. And so that seemed to be as we rolled along on a gorgeous morning, the sun just climbing into a cloudless sky and the sparkly dew beginning to evaporate in the fields.

I thought to myself "This is seductively easy" and "I feel good! 5 miles already, only 95 more to go." 

You sign onto the D2R2 because you want to ride on gravel roads, dirt farm roads, Revolutionary era dray tracks through the forest, but even the paved roads in these parts are spectacular and afford spectacles of visual grandeur that are hard to beat. 

Crossing the Deerfield

Bardwells Ferry Rd, for example, which crosses the Deerfield River then ascends through forest and emerges onto hill top farm land with a impeccably kept farm house estate and a postcard perfect view across the hills. 

Climbing toward the farm top

The interesting thing is that all these roads in the beginning are in close proximity to Wing Nut's home lair. These are his backyard roads, his go-to byways. Nothing mysterious about them! And so we developed a false sense of security and confidence early on. 

Eventually, things got a little more dicey. There were a few stretches of pavement, at one point we turned onto rt. 2 west and passed by the Mohawk Trail souvenir shop, a kitschy tourist shop that's been there forever. It seemed a weird, incongruous familiarity in the midst of the most challenging gravel grinding grand fondo of them all, but so it was.

Wing Nut on the Mohawk Trail

The climbing began, though initially the grade was easygoing, like a well-spoken huckster or a woebegone con artist. You thought, okay, up we go.  

Climbing toward Catamount State Forest

In short order, we came to the "mountain bike" option through Catamount State Forest, an option we didn't even consider passing up. The choice seemed logical - why would we NOT give it a go, even though we were on cross bikes with 700x33 tires? We couldn't come up with a reason to dissuade us. So into the forest we went.

What unfolded was more than an hour slog through near impossible terrain. Check that. Mountain bikes could handle much of it. Fat bikes were golden. In the command of a steely cyclist, they could deftly traverse the deeply rutted, rock-strewn, wet-boulder sluice ways that were considered a "road" through this forest. The terrain was absurd. 95% of us hoisted our rigs and hiked. Not once or twice but repeatedly. 

The entrance to Mirkwood

In fact, any rider concerned with their personal safety or the safety of their bike on these insane stretches, walked their rides. Dubstoevsky, Wing Nut, many others did. Under such conditions there was no shame in doing so. 

Actually, a sense of Oneness and Togetherness pervaded the small, ever-morphing groups of riders who, mostly strangers to each other, found themselves together on wood roads far from the strictures of social norms. Navigating beaver ponds, slick rock descents, the loose scramble of sand and gravel on relentless down hill plummets, the impossibly rocky, storm-gutted stream bed that, in wet conditions, would be a torrent - it was all moment to moment and we all embraced it.

The absurdity of our collective endeavor unified us.

What walk-around?

Like the stretch with the beaver ponds. The figuring out of how to get around them. The Little Kid in each of us wanted to wade through the inundated roadway, mud and slop and wetness being the POINT of it. But practicality (soaked shoes for the next 70 miles??) overruled bravura. More than a few dogged cyclists thought otherwise.  

In the reality of the moment, though, Team Shad concentrated on moving forward, always moving forward. And upward. Everything seemed upward.  Long & sustained grinding inclines, rolling technical attention-demanding runs through the forest, always upward, even when on pavement it was pedal-churning-hard, and up.

After maybe the first two hours or so, much of it on pavement, I noticed with some alarm that our average mph was only 10.6. Uh oh! If we were barely eeking out 10 mph on PAVEMENT, what would happen when we hit the serious challenges ahead?

This concerned me as we rode. Particularly while deep in the Catamount State Forest where the conditions were, well, yes, better suited for mountain bikes. It took forever getting through that stretch.

Catamount Forest

Dubstoevsky's Handlebars

Detour

Beaver pond!

Part II

D2R2 2016: On the Eve of the Mystery Ride

Almost dusk at Team Shad HQ in Woo City on the eve of the Mystery Ride. All systems are go. The weather should be next to perfect, if a little hot. Almost no chance of rain, a lot of sun, hopefully some puffy clouds.

From the organizers:

First, about the spirit of the ride. We are trying to recapture some of the excitement of the first year, when, despite all the route descriptions, people still didn't know what to expect. This year's ride is very much an experiment, and we hope all of you will answer our survey afterward so we can develop the concept better for next year.

So the main course is 95 miles. The first third has the most pavement of any D2R2, though it also includes a very rough stretch and one mountain bike option. If you're on a cross bike and like gnarly stuff, you will also like that segment despite the dismounts, and certainly the history of that road is incredible; the cue sheet references a secret monument for you to read should you find it. After the mountain bike option, there is one super hard climb and then some relatively easy hills to lunch. The key is that, at the end of Stage 1, you should check your watch. If you get there before 10:30, then there is an optional loop to lunch so that you don't arrive before the food is ready.

After lunch you have a few easy miles before a hard climb. The main course has a lot of jeep track uphill, including a washed-out bridge, but there is, again, a road-bike shortcut for those so inclined. You find your way to a rest stop with watermelon and such, then a few miles mostly downhill to another water stop.

The last 12 miles, to me, are probably our finest finish ever. If you are on street tires, this section will push the limits of what you can do. However, most of the section is quite smooth and I highly recommend it because almost all of it is lined with Revolutionary-era stone walls. It's a mind-blowing trip back in time. You then make a final big descent to Deerfield on another unmaintained road, and have a brief flat stretch home to absorb what you just experienced.

And there you have it. That's what's on tap for Dubstoevsky and Wing Nut, the coalescing of months of training for one massive effort in the hills of western Mass and southern Vermont.

Tonight, a filet and pasta, lots of water, a hot shower and an early bedtime in a cool bedroom. Tomorrow, the fun starts in the car at 5:00, hurtling across the quiet, empty roadways, the Dead setting the vibe for the off beat (and off road) adventure to come. Allez!

C'mon boys, let's get it done!
Wing Nut and Dubstoevsky training for the Mystery Ride
August 7, 2016

A note on gearing. I took the Cruz Elite out for a spin today with the new 34 tooth rear gear (am running a 36 x 34) and was amazed. An enormous difference! My climbing gear now is super low and easy to turn over and I'm no longer cowed by the thought of the climbing to come (10,000+ feet).

I also bought a pair of light weight cycling glasses, the kind that change tint depending on shade or sun; unfortunately, they're not prescription so I will be losing a little sharpness of vision and will need to be extra careful on the swift downhills. But they are ventilated and should be better than the heavier, enclosed Nike sunglasses I've been using for years.

Finally, I bought a new pair of super padded cycling gloves. I'm more concerned about my hands and feet than I am my overall fitness. After 100 miles, much of it on gravel roads and worse, the feet and hands take an enormous amount of punishment.

The D2R2 as Infinite Jest

It occurred to me today, as I rode through a major summer afternoon downpour in Rutland, that the D2R2 is the gravel grinder equivalent of David Foster Wallace's sprawling epic masterpiece, Infinite Jest. The D2R2IJ.

The ride, like the novel, is LONG and difficult. It is sprawling, fascinating, relentlessly brilliant and absurd. In the middle of it, you wonder how you got there, and why.

There's nuance and pathos and humor. Belly laughs and tears. Ridiculously hard ascents. Dangerous descents. The satisfaction of making it through gut-wrenching passages. The what-the-fuck?! moment ... after moment ... after moment. The very real bewilderment of why you've chosen this particularly sadistic and ecstatic narrative over all the other story lines out there. You could do any ride. But you chose the D2R2IJ.

When was the last time you read a 1,000+ page avant-garde novel and were elated? When was the last time you rode an excruciatingly arduous but jaw-droppingly gorgeous century? These are rare pleasures, rare amazements exploding out of nowhere, wild divergences from the day-to-day.

Rare exquisite tortures for Dubstoevsky's betterment.

Ah, Shad. It's time to get serious now.  Dubstoevsky has been off the bike since Monday, August 8th for reasons that cannot be divulged (CLASSIFIED).

Post-downpour style

Today's Downpour Ramble is likely the final training ride before the D2R2IJ on Saturday.

A long puddle shy of 30 miles. I felt strong. I imagined my quads as Shrek-sized root beer barrels. I envisioned my engine devouring the fuel I overstoked it with this past week, churning and grinding and hurtling forward like Smaug's wrath. *

I devoured the slick black licorice line of tarmac alongside deluged Holden Reservoir, and raced in haste toward Tatnuck.

Dubstoevsky kicked it with the Niceness and the exuberance of Myth.

And wither Wing Nut the Stalwart? Tuning up in the raw hills above Conway, steadfast, laconic, a veteran. He'll be ready. Like a landing craft on D-Day. Like Teddy Roosevelt. Or Eddie Merckx. A honed beast. Indiscriminate. Certain. Marauding. The perfect teammate.

* Smaug the dragon from J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit.

D2R2 Mini-Camp: With Wing Nut in the Western Mass Hills

Under two weeks to go until the crescendo of the summer season arrives, the D2R2.

Today, Team Shad came together in the hills of western Mass for a mini training camp to gauge our form and the state of our machines. We did 50 miles and exceeded 5,000 feet of climbing, a little less of what we'll face on Saturday, August 20th.

I learned something crucial - my gearing is wrong. I've ridden the Rasputitsa and two or three short training rides on my current set-up but until today I never thought to myself "Why is climbing so hard? WTF?"

We'd hit a climb and I'd be on my easiest gear out of the saddle hammering and Wing Nut would be in the saddle casually turning over his peddles with ease, not even on his lowest. It didn't make sense, Except it did because I've got a 36x28 set-up. D'oh! Wing Nut's riding a 34x32, a much more appropriate climbing ensemble.

This is important because Team Shad is doing the "mystery ride," described in one of the latest D2R2 emails as follows.

6) Mystery Riders. Wow. You guys are in for some crazy s***. Sometimes we send you down paved roads that are too cool to pass up, and other times we send you down, by far, our gnarliest stuff ever. Don't stress it, however: the roughest sections will have workarounds depending on your tire size. Overall, do not attempt this ride on less than 32c's, and those of you on hardtail mountain bikes will have a complete blast with some of the 200-year-old jeep tracks. You will have lunch at the 160K lunch site. The difficulty of the last 25 miles is sensational, but, as always, the aesthetic and historical qualities of the roads will be equally mind-blowing. Literally, the Mystery finishes with three Patten-caliber climbs and five gnarly sections. Yeah, gang, holy s***.  In a couple weeks, we will give more route description and some pictures of a couple spots so you know what this is like. Overall, though, the message is: fat tires and save up for the last 25.

"The difficulty of the last 25 miles is sensational." Um, this alone mandates a gearing reconfiguration. But having hammered my way through today's 50 miles with my current set-up, I'm buoyed at least to know that late in the D2R2, I'll have a gear so low that I'll be able to lock into a slow steady grind rather than a quad-cramping pump hammer. I've got the fitness - I just need the right number of teeth.

And how'd the camp go today? Given the statewide drought, the roads are bone dry, many with loose gravel, sand, relentless washboards. Climbing the steepest slopes requires total concentration and attention to line. When you're out of the saddle and digging hard, you don't want your rear tire to pass through a sand patch or spin out on a bed of gravel.

At one point, maybe in Ashfield, we visit the giant old stone kiln.

The kiln of champions

Dubstoevsky and the portal of Shad

Wing Nut, guardian of the portal