D2R2 2017: The Redemption of Shad, Part IV: The Finish

Everyone who rides the 160K consoles him or herself with the popular notion that "it's all downhill after East Rd." This isn't exactly true but it helps to believe it. 

Dubstoevsky on the 160K

The fact is that much of the last twenty five miles of the 160K is rolling terrain, some downhill, some uphill, nothing exactly worthy of fear and loathing. This is why the last stretch is perceived as benign, because there's nothing in it that promises to break you. However, after 75 miles, after personal struggles with the audacity of East Rd., you are tired and vulnerable and any incline, even something that on a normal 30 mile ride would seem insignificant, becomes something not insignificant at all, becomes a grinding impediment between you and the next downhill, between you and un-cramping legs, between you and coasting.

After lunch, I focused a lot on coasting. I seized every opportunity to not pedal. I rocketed down the occasionally paved downhill stretch tucked and tight like an arrow of Jah, grateful for every tenth of a mile ticked off without pedaling. I watched Nut continue to crank while speeding down ahead of me and I felt smug in my energy-saving-regimen. 

However, true to form with Team Shad, inevitably something rent the fabric of unity, if only slightly and if only for a half dozen miles or so.

At one point late in the ride, around mile 85, Wing Nut and I came to a trio of riders who we'd leapfrogged periodically since lunch. Wing Nut, being the Assassin, could not help himself. He rode away from me, up to their wheels, moved to their left and went swiftly passed them. I was unable to keep his wheel and follow through.

I saw Nut look back once after he passed the trio as if to ask, "Where's Dubstoevsky?" The obvious answer was "he's stuck behind the three guys you just passed and doesn't have the power to follow you" but that didn't make much impression on him. More than likely his glance back was simply to make sure I was still in sight of the trio so that I wouldn't be alone when he rode off ahead. He was Wing Nut. He had to demonstrate his remorseless power.

Wing Nut, quiet assassin, at the end of the 160K

So this small drama played out for several late ride miles, my legs churning and coming to life again like a re-kindled fire. In the stretch run down to the Big Top and the finishing line, a half dozen or more riders came up from behind, sprinting toward the finish as if this were a race. That triggered a pang of competitiveness in me, especially seeing that Nut got ahead and into the group of hard pedaling closers; I was stuck (again) behind a cadre of meanderers, until I too could launch out from behind them and rush to the finish line, as if that last minute gesture meant anything. It seemed like just something you were supposed to do to show that you still had something left in the tank, but I did it anyway. 

And yeah, amazing as it seemed to me at the time, I actually did have something left in the tank.

D2R2 2017: Part I

D2R2 2017: The Redemption of Shad, Part III

East Rd in Hawley is like a fear benchmark. Anyone doing the 160K, if asked about their biggest concern, would probably cite East Rd as paramount, particularly coming, as it does, after lunch and at mile 66 (or thereabouts). Only the most extreme look forward to it and even they treat it with respect.

I was looking forward to it. While Wing Nut does this climb a couple times a year (because he lives not far away), I, Dubstoevsky, have less opportunity to test myself on this four mile category 4 climb. I was eager to have a go at it again this year and replace the memory of last year's mechanical collapse with a more positive memory, one in which I climb like Alberto Contador straight to the top (passing numerous faltering rabbits along the way).

So how'd it go?

I felt good after lunch, not overly stuffed, almost rested. I was ready for Part II. We rolled along at a nice pace, a lot of it fast downhill as we raced toward the valley. While there were hills and descents prior to East Hill, everyone's thoughts were surely on the much-heralded "last major climb of the day."

Turning onto the East Rd climb

We hit the Valley floor and pulled over for a meditation break alongside the Deerfield River, a moment of gathering ourselves for the climb ahead. Focus seemed important. A mental reckoning. A quick look into the suitcase of courage to check for clean knickers. Then, East Rd.

There is no "I" in Team and I guess that translates as "Don't count on others when you have to count on yourself."

Naturally enough, I found myself alone on the climb. Wing Nut, ever in a zone of his own, simply rode away from me. Nothing demonstrative or aggressive, he just locked into a cranking rhythm and went forward, oblivious to what fell behind. There would be no Go Pro footage of Dubstoevksy dancing on the pedals this year.

But I didn't care. Climbing East Rd is not about how well you do against others (though I confess to feeling smug and pleased with myself about the fabled "Triumph on East Rd" from 2013), but about how well you do against yourself. The whole of the D2R2 is about personal fortitude, not about measuring yourself against external forces.

No matter how much experience you have on this climb, it still surprises. I recognized several spots where I hung out last year after my mechanical, but I didn't remember many sections of the total climb; didn't remember the intensity of the grade at points (12%+); didn't recall how fucking long it takes to get to the top. This latter point is important because what it means is that on several occasions I would round a corner or achieve what appeared to be an apex, only to be presented with more of the same - a steep, winding, gravel roadway UP.

Are you steady? Can you do this?

You question yourself at points. Especially when your Garmin tracking device goes into Auto-Pause mode because you are moving so slowly it thinks you've stopped. This was marginally demoralizing, though the remedy was simply to keep going, keep turning the cogs: "and every time that wheel turns 'round, bound to cover just a little more ground."

Mantras can help. "... bound to cover just a little more ground." Indeed.

And in these moments, you look inside yourself. You check in with yourself and ask yourself - 'Are you steady? Can you do this?'

The answer for me was Yes. Alone up East Rd in quiet; not a car passed during the 30 some minutes I toiled upward, there were no riders visible behind, and Wing Nut had disappeared up ahead not long after we started up. Just me and Dubstoevsky pedaling through the sun-dappled, bird-chirpy forest on a tightly-packed dirt road. 

Unfortunately, I started to cramp. The inside thighs (both legs) and the right arm triceps. The triceps cramping had been going on for a while and I'd been conscious of trying to grasp the handlebars differently and relieve some of the strain. That had worked in the rolling terrain but here in the meat of the climb letting go of the handlebars was not an option and it was proving to be a problem. 

I mitigated the inner thigh cramping by alternately standing up and sitting down (which also helped the triceps). Doing so redistributed the demand on the various muscle groups, including the arms, wrists, and shoulders. Up and out of the saddle for as long as I could turn the pedals and keep upright on extended arms; and back into the saddle when the arms and shoulders couldn't take it anymore and the thighs seemed like they could reclaim some power, if only briefly. 

It went on like this for a long time.

Several times I thought I was rounding the last curving stretch of steepness only to reach the apex, turn the corner, and be confronted with more of the steep same. 

Finally, light ahead, a cascading of sunlight that indicated an opening in the canopy (most of East Rd is forested hillside and well-shaded). I sensed the top. And it was true. I'd made it! I'd avenged the great fail of last year and topped East Rd without having to get off the bike.

D2R2 2017: The Redemption of Shad, Part IV

D2R2 2017: The Redemption of Shad, Part II

You can be as confident as you like but you still have to ride the course. And even though in my mind the 160K is a familiar and friendly route, the truth is that it still comprises more than 9,000 ft of climbing, has nine category 4 climbs, two category 3 climbs, one category 2 climb (Beast-Forget Field aka East Rd), and covers 95 miles. This is no minor undertaking.

But confidence helps. You have to believe that you are up for the task, regardless of the length of the ride. Driving at speed across the state at 6:00 AM as daylight gradually overcame the darkness, I felt confident and ready for the day.

The D2R2 is a well-organized event and parking & registering is a breeze. Within minutes of arrival, I've located Wing Nut, checked-in, got my number and timing chip, and am gearing up. It's going to be hot, no need to don the sleeve warmers or the windbreaker vest I brought in case of a chilly morning - just slather on the sunscreen and get going.

View from So. County Rd

The 160K starts with almost 12 miles of pavement - ride up to Greenfield then meander northward on a bike path and the more pavement until So. County Rd, a short ribbon of dirt road that marks the first dirt of the day. Everyone is happy to get off the main roads and into the back country .... and back country is where we remain for much of the rest of the ride.

The day is exquisite. Again. Every D2R2 I've ridden has been pretty nice, though last year it was really hot. It's hot this year too but there's a cooling breeze and it's plenty comfortable in shade. And given the small roads and forest paths on today's ride, there'll be ample shade throughout the day.

We ride along separately, Wing Nut generally keeping ahead of me by 50 to 100 yards. I take to calling him "Mr. 100 Yards" in my head; for whatever reason, he seems incapable of riding together. In fact, late in the ride this becomes a little bit of a sore point for me as Nut insists on passing groups of riders we encounter, regardless of whether I'm capable of passing them too; I end up trailing far in arrears, out of sight of my teammate for long stretches of time.

But this is all par for the course. Wing Nut is a solitary assassin and perhaps he needs the solo show of power as a means of shoring up his own sense of invulnerability.

At least an editor caught it

The 160K is known for having much of the hardest climbing happen before lunch. This is a good thing psychologically. As it works out, I had misread the cue sheet and was expecting lunch to be at the 62 mile marker, deep into the day. So I am taken by surprise when, at mile 49 or so, we roll up to the Amos Brown house right on the border of Mass and Vt, and it's the lunch stop!

I remember lunch last year, also, as it happened, at this same stop. Then there were riders strewn all over the grass, prone bodies, stunned countenances, shattered psyches. They had all just endured the first half of the Mystery Ride and some were, as I was, wondering how they would get through the rest of the day.

Totally depleted and desperate to recover, I ate way too much, including way too much sugar - I had a Coke, cookies, maybe M&Ms, a sandwich, chips. After lunch, I'd felt like crap and eventually it was hard for me to keep eating or drinking anything; I was nauseous most of the post-lunch ride.

This year is a different story. I eschew all sugary drinks and food; I didn't use any sports drink powder at the rest stop earlier, never ate the M&Ms I grabbed, didn't drink soda at lunch. The result was that my stomach felt mostly fine all day. A couple times I chugged enough water to make me feel bloated and uncomfortable but those feelings quickly passed.

However, one affliction plagued me much of the ride: Fire Nipple. Sometimes known as Nipple Burn, this occurs when you sweat copiously and your jersey becomes soaked, as do the straps of your cycling bib shorts. The result is alternately chilled & heated, overly-salted nipples rubbing up against the salted, wet synthetic fabric of jersey and bib straps. Unpleasant. But better than cramping. 

Somewhere in the woods before lunch

Speaking of which, earlier in the week I re-read past Shad Rides postings about earlier D2R2s and one thing that is consistently noted are incidents of cramping. For me, it had always been WHEN I would start cramping, not IF. So I am astonished when I arrive at the lunch stop, nearly 50 miles in, having not experienced any cramping at all. The year I did the 180K (2014), I remember cramping up early on, maybe at the 40 mile mark on some horrendous gravel climb, and thinking "am I going to be able to finish?"

That was also the year I learned that you can actually ride through cramps; that you can acknowledge them, honor their pain, then incorporate them into your rhythm. Having to do so just sucks, that's all. So I was quite aware that after 50 miles of riding, after the first half of the ride was done, I hadn't cramped at all.

Of course, that wouldn't remain the case during the second half. 

Lunch is a mixed blessing, really. You're ecstatic to arrive there, are overjoyed at the prospect of a ham sandwich and a bag of chips, and eagerly plop down in the grass and relax tired muscles. It can get positively drowsy sitting there in the grassy shade, and Oreo cookies can seem like the obvious next step in the re-fueling process. But eventually, reality sets in and you realize that despite how comfortable you are, you have to get up, repack all your shit, remount your bike, and get on with it.

We don't linger at lunch. I limit myself to a sandwich and a bag of chips. Refill the water bottles. Stretch my legs a bit in the grass. Then it's back to it. 45 miles to go, only one major climb, the fabled East Rd in Hawley, site of previous triumph and previous despair.

D2R2 2017: The Redemption of Shad, Part III

D2R2 2017: The Redemption of Shad: Part I

Now the 13th edition of the D2R2 is in the books and Team Shad has redeemed itself following last year's disastrous results. 

Triumph of Shad after completing the 160K

The thing is, no one wins or loses the D2R2 - you either finish or you don't. Last year, we did not finish. This year, after 7 hours 43 minutes and 23 seconds in the saddle (Dubstoevsky's saddle, that is, based on Strava calculations), Team Shad rolled back through the starting gate at the D2R2 Big Top off Mill Village Rd. 

So what happened? How did Team Shad manage to claw back respectability after last year's failure and after an off-season marked by existential angst, motivational concerns, and the possible dissolution of the team?

The answer is actually pretty simple - we climbed on our bikes at the appointed hour and went for it.

Let's be clear on one point. Wing Nut is a D2R2 veteran, one of a handful of people who have started all thirteen editions of this event (including this year). That he didn't finish last year (his first DNF) has nothing to do with his ability and everything to do with his loyalty. Last year, Dubstoevsky's mechanical mandated that Wing Nut sacrifice glory for the rescue of a teammate (even if that rescue effort went comically awry). He would have finished had he not be duty-bound to Dubstoevsky.

It seemed monumentally unlikely that Wing Nut, never mind Team Shad, would experience a second consecutive year of failure. Last year had to be an anomaly, an unanticipated and unforeseen catastrophe of a singular kind. A flat tire, long un-rideable sections of the Mystery course, and a final ride-ending mechanical on East Rd formed the basis of last year's slog. 

Dubstoevsky, even at his most cynical and pessimistic point, couldn't muster any dread for this year's edition. All bad karma had been left behind in the wastes of Ho Cook Forest and on the dusty, loose-gravel crawl up East Rd a year ago - surely, the team's well of negativity had run dry.

And that's how I approached this year. Positively. I accepted that this year would be different, that the odds were in our favor, that we would return to the event triumphantly, that we would finish. Besides, we would be on familiar ground, the 160K, a ride we did in 2015 and that seems just the right tortuous distance. I'm glad I did the 180K on the 10th anniversary run, but those extra 20K down the stretch are hugely demanding and I don't feel compelled to do that ride again.

Team Shad setting out on the 160K

The 160K seems like Team Shad's ideal. Anything less seems like D2R2 Lite; after all, on any given day, knocking off 60 miles on dirt roads is clearly do-able, albeit challenging. Anything more, like the 180K or last year's relentlessly brutal Mystery Ride, seems like overkill. Hey, I can suffer as well as the next cyclist but after a point it becomes imperative to ask yourself, why should I bother? 

So even though we got a late start (7:35 vs the recommended 7:00), we set out in good spirits and with confidence. We were ready to put last year behind us.

D2R2 2017: The Redemption of Shad: Part II

Seizing Opportunities

January is always hit or miss. It can roar or whimper, pee or squall. The roads can be wet or icy, sandy, sloppy, or bone dry and stained white with salt. Or all of them in a single ride. As they were today.

While Wing Nut is banging out 50 mile rides in the hills of western Mass, Dubstoevsky is pecking away at crumbs and possibilities. 11 miles here. 40 miles there. 18 miles today in the absolute gloaming. Seizing every opportunity, foolhardy though some might be. 

January 19, 2017

Tuesday is a perfect example. Fully-suited up and ready to pedal, I noticed the a pattern of droplets on the pavement. The imminence of rain. I asked myself "What would Wing Nut do?" 

The answer was obvious - set out and hope for the best - so that's what I did. The best proved to be ice pellets instead of rain. At least I was not wet or uncomfortable. The pellets hit my outer layer and bounced off. They stung my face like little biting ants. Though the roads were completely soaked by the time I got back, for most of the ride they were just in the "dampening" stage. I got lucky, perhaps I conjured the beneficence of WingNutKarma.

Today it was overcast and ashy when I left after 3:00 and it got steadily darker as I went on. By the end of the ride, all the cars' headlights were on and I was grateful for my strobic-blinking headlamp and the schizophrenic blinking red taillight. I got back at 4:50. It's still January, for fuck's sake. Stupidly dark. Both Tuesday's and today's rides were in the "foolhardy" category. 

Also in the "hard man of the peloton" category. 

Ah well. After today, I've got 6 rides in 2017, 117 miles over full-on winter roads. 

Every January ride is a pint paid for by a stranger. 

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

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

The George Street Challenge: Team Shad Ascendant

Celebrate Major Taylor, the Worcester Whirlwind

Team Shad represented BIG at the George Street Bike Challenge for Major Taylor. Though neither Dubstoevsky nor Wing Nut bagged a top ten overall, Dubstoevsky came in #7 in his age bracket. For a superstitious rider whose lucky number is 33, the day was a giant success as he climbed the 18%, 500 ft hill in 33.38 seconds and ended up 33rd overall. Some powerful juju in those numbers.

Wing Nut, more of a Long Grind kind of rider than a Short Uphill Sprinter, still acquitted himself well with a time of 37 secs for 47th overall (out of 98 riders).

See the results here.

Regardless of our performance, what a great event! A bright sunny Sunday morning on the mostly quiet streets of the Woo. Bright jerseys, smiles all around, a festive air.

Wing Nut at the Apex

But Team Shad's day didn't end at the top of George St. Indeed, with Wing Nut in the Woo, we seized the opportunity to put some big miles under our tires and so set off for the summit of Mt. Wachusett, a ride that took us along myriad empty back roads, under underpasses, past reservoirs and trickling rivers, up and down relentless hills, all under a booming sun in a bright blue sky.

As we rode, we evaluated the season to date. Rasputitsa? Check. Tour de Heifer? Washed out. George Street Challenge? Check. One more huge event looms, the creme de la creme - the D2R2. Less than a month away. We feel ready. Wing Nut continues training savagely in the hills of western Mass, knocking off 50 milers day in and day out. Dubstoevsky, while not getting in near the mileage or elevation as Senor Nut, nevertheless continues to average 3+ rides a week, including a few competitive group rides with the likes of Georgie Pie and Diego dela Sangre Toro. It's mid-season and we're both in mid-season form, just where we want to be.

***

DESIGN SUBMISSIONS WANTED: Team Shad is seeking design suggestions for new team uniforms. The winning design will earn the artist(s) a private dinner with the Shad Men, with unlimited supplies of Be Hoppy, ox heart hash, and shad roe. Not to mention scintillating conversation rich with hyperbole, self-deprecation, and ribald humor.

The Day in Pictures: July 24, 2016

The venerable Armsby Abbey

The determined competition

George Street

Wing Nut poised for action

Shad at work

Don't Hate, Appreciate

The numerology of spin

Weekend with the Leonator I

A big Team Shad welcome to the Leonator, a Brooklyn-based cyclist possessed of a wolverine relentlessness and unflagging spirit.  Longtime friend of both Wing Nut and Dubstoevsky, the Leonator doesn't make it to the Bay State that often so having him along for a team ride this weekend was a special treat. And what a weekend - more booming sun and clear blue skies, no humidity, slight breeze, perfect weather for the long haul.

The Leonator in the final sprint for the summit of Mt. Wachusett

Setting out from Team Shad HQ in downtown Woo, the 55 mile round trip to the mountaintop promised everything - empty country roads, farmland, sinuous descents, vistas, several cat 4 climbs, a cat 3 climb, wretched connector stretches on busy main road, neighborhoods, kamikaze downhills, twists & turns, long slogging pedal-cranking ascents, flat straightaways under canopied green foliage along reservoirs.

The fact is, you can plot out a mega ride in central Massholia. Though getting to the the huge swathes of forest and farmland requires traversing various town 'centers,' these are often just intersections of roads at town commons, and they are quickly and easily navigated. Mostly, you can be 'out there' on small, sparsely-traveled roads for very long periods of time.

The fact is that this was Wing Nut's first training ride from Team Shad HQ. Centered as he is in western Mass with a surfeit of long empty roads and fabulous climbing, he was, until Saturday the 25th, uninitiated into the glories of Woo-centric cycling, especially the Vonchusett Summit loop. Now it's a done deal, and having the Leonator along rounded out the triumvirate shadosterone.

As team leader I was responsible for the route. Small worry there. On a dry sunny Saturday with temps in the mid 80s, conditions were utterly perfect; it was so nice, we could have done laps around Holden Reservoir and it would have been excellent. But we didn't do laps - we hammered into the hills, we paced ourselves on the long rollers, we pulled each other along like a team time trial.

Wing Nut on Mason Rd

We also chilled and soaked up the general awesomeness of Being.

A hawk jumps out of the canopy'ing oak trees and flaps silently into other-side-of-the-road wisdom. A great blue heron, surprised by our passing, leaps into unnecessary flight from the silent pond face over which it stared. Occasionally, massive trees rear into consciousness, giant old veterans that have been growing for centuries and that have escaped the farmer's ax. Whispers of generations passed. The cycle of growth and regression. It's all there, visible across the landscape. Etched with stone walls. Dissected by road and field.

Dinner for Hungry Shad

Pompano and Red Snapper

Shad Week: Heat of the Dub

It was all good from the start. 

May 28, 2016
En route to Amherst, MA

The plan was ambitious and my anxiety was elevated: Leave Team Shad HQ in Woo City by 7:30 AM Saturday morning and arrive in Amherst by 9:00 when the Amherst College Mead Art Museum opened; see the Shakespeare First Folio; then meet with Wing Nut in Sunderland at 10:00 with the intention of satisfying two goals:

First, the Strava Gran Fondo challenge that both Wing Nut and Dubstoevsky were on the books for: a single day 115k ride (approximately 71 miles) during the month of May.

First Folio! 1623
To be! or fucking not to be!

Second, the small matter of the Tour de Heifer, ride number 2 of Team Shad's Big Three events for the team's 2016 season. The Tour de Heifer (or, as we like to think of it as, the Tour de Filet Mignon), is next week, Sunday, June 5th. That's 60+ dirt road miles in hilly southern Vermont (key word "hilly"). While we've both been training separately and are both in viable mid-season form, it seemed prudent to get together in advance of Big Number Two and do a ride together, one longer than the Tour de Flank Steak itself.

These were serious undertakings.

And we took them as such.

I was standing before the Shakespeare First Folio by 9:05 AM, no one else in the gallery except the guard who cautioned me about leaning too close lest I set off the alarm. 1623. The first folio was published seven years after Shakespeare's death and collected many of his plays and poems. If not for the first folio, perhaps no Shakespeare! That's the gravity of this book.

Then off I went to Sunderland, which sounds like a bucolic land of candy and mashed potatoes with butter but was really just a point of convenient rendezvous. Though it be hereby noted that Sunderland has one of the largest sycamore trees in the country, a tree that predates the revolution of 1776. And we rode past it and inhaled its karma and honored its longevity and hoped that, as we passed, we would be imbued with its stalwart certainty.

Wing Nut and the Big Sycamore in Sunderland

Stalwart certainty. A desperately needed trait in the maw of Hades' fire.

Because the day was WICKED HOT (New England inflection intended).

We left Sunderland around 10:30 AM when the day's baby Chernobyl heat pulses were reasonably contained, a wee bit of heat leaking through the concrete tomb. But that would not last.

Across the river into Whately, into the rolling shaded hills of Conway and Ashfield we rode and the temperature rose as the day unfolded.

Climbing out of forested hillsides into open farm road hillsides, the sun boomed down like Jah's Breath of Judgment, a furnace-like blast of torturous purity and frustrating fuck-nattiness. Like all moral reckoning, the heat could not be ignored.

But we didn't care! We are Team Shad and we ride in all conditions and under all circumstances and when pressed to produce, we do so. To wit:

Through shaded forest:

Reservoir Style

And the watery reminder of the ever possible:

Deerfield River, May 28, 2016

To the Bridge of Team and the maw forward, the sweaty heat pulse cracked-tarmac way forward, the raw sun slap and mockery, grit and pebble way forward, the inevitable shad splash fin surge forward:

Wing Nut and Dubstoevsky, Shad Style

Until finally we come around full circle to Sunderland and it's only 63 miles and we still need 10 more miles so there's nothing to be done but to ride north along River Rd to Montague and loop back around and notch the requisite mileage. and we do! 73+ miles, the May Gran Fondo.

Scenes from the Road

Somewhere above Bardwells Ferry

Riding into one's own destiny

Ka-ching!