Iceland. Was it Real?

Once in a lifetime, in all the ways. 

This trip was utterly unique. My good friend, Jeff has a long bucket list. This was at the top. Jeff is possibly the most comprehensive researcher of things, and Iceland kept ringing his bell. So in 2022 Jeff finds a video of a tour of Iceland via Alter Exploration. The video lays out Chris Case's gravel journey around the island, accompanied by a friend and fellow masochist. The video was daunting. When I first watched it, I was like. Uh...no.

Time passes. Conversations continue. I get dumber. 

Jeff books a Zoom conversation with Chris Case and I. yada yada yada. I'm in. 

More time passes. Bike procured. MASSIVE OUTLAY FOR BIKE PACKING GEAR. 

One dry run to Emma Long Park. One night of camping in April.

Training begins in earnest. More Z2 than I have ridden in my cumulative bike life. 

Iceland Summary

Iceland recalibrates limits. I love the bike. Love to ride. To me, 10 hours a week is commitment. I am not a seasoned bike packer, nor a Cat1 level rider. Both my experience and my FTP made me super apprehensive about this trip. For a few reasons. Chris Case is ridiculously strong, and weighs as much as a ballerina. And the dude breathes bikepacking. Also, Jeff constantly rips my legs off. There was pause for concern, y'all. 

But I did train hard, and heeded Chris Case's packing advice. And I do in fact ride a lot. 

Jeff and I flew over together, connecting through Chicago. It's only 5.5 hours to Iceland thanks to the Great Circle. Take that flat earthers. We landed at 0830 Reykjavik time, grabbed an espresso, built our bikes and got down to business. This is an effective way to eliminate jet lag. 

Day1:

It rains in Iceland. A lot. Day 1 was rainy. Temps in the 50s, and wind can range from zero to what the actual fuck is happening. Wind was not a problem Day1. Rain was not sideways. In hindsight, it was a pretty nice Iceland day. In the moment, it felt like a rough start. Pulling 60 pounds of gear on cinder trails in the rain, we arrived bleary-eyed in the industrial outskirts of Reykjavik. Just two hours into the saga, we stopped at a nice little strip-mall bakery. Having been advised to gorge, I just wasn't hungry. So I enjoyed a chocolate croissant, while my compatriots both had pastries and odd-combo sandwiches (wtf is a pizza taco?) Chris suggested we pack a sandwich for dinner,  as the campground resto we were targeting closed relatively early. I selected a delightful turkey and white cheese sandwich, wrapped it in a paper bag and jammed it in the back middle pocket of my jersey. As we were leaving, my glasses broke. A little tape was procured (see pic below) and the adventure resumed. 

We reached the campground after 68 miles of work. It was raining lightly but consistently all day, and when we pulled into the pingvellir national park campground, I was definitely ready to get warm, get dry and eat. The camp had a laundry room, where we huddled to warm up. we draped our gear on the drying racks, and grabbed "dinner." I hadn't thought about that sandwich in five hours. 

LESSON ONE: when packing a sandwich in Iceland, secure it in a location that keeps it as dry as possible. 

LESSON TWO: when packing a sandwich in Iceland, ensure it is in a location that does not compress the contents of the sandwich.

When I reached into my pocket for dinner, I removed a carnival sideshow atrocity. My sandwich was no longer a sandwich. Bread and paper had congealed into a mayo-flavored paste, coating the protein like a fourth grade art project that was ready for the kiln. Well, shit. 

I was hungry. So i scraped off the bread/paper detritus, and ate the remaining matter. Throw in two gels, and some energy chews. Dinner complete. 

LESSON THREE: when bikepacking, do not expect your compatriots to share. It's every person for themself on the tundra. While this may seem hard. It makes sense, and I was totally ok with it. Well, my stomach was angry, but whatever. 

Camp was pretty uneventful. Some campers were cooking up paella in the common area, which was torture. Turns out, they were from Austin. Unreal. 

Day2:

Breakfast was deeply religious. Two pastries and a sandwich. and some yogurt. The decadence of eating was counterbalanced by fear crouching in the shadow of the rest of the trip. I was already off balance, and only one day on the bike. What was I thinking? There was work to do. and a lot of it. The plan for Day 2 was about 75 miles of mixed roads, most of which was through the Kaldidalur. This is a highland area, spanning about 40km from entry to exit. It was eery. A lot of climbing (see elevation profile) on the dirt, and a SCREAMING dirt descent that rattled nerves and fillings.

Clouds and sprinkles and dirt

Dirt errywhere

We had a splendid lunch 40 miles into the day. Never underestimate the  power of a burger. Up the road a bit, we stopped for a photo op at this amazing waterfall. In hindsight, this was the best one. And we saw SO MANY. The remainder of the day was both glorious and uneventful. Here is a pic of me walking the bike up a ratty ass gravel "road." This marked the only time in the ride where I had to walk it. Thank you Chris Case for making this moment eternal!

We ended Day 2 at a bed and breakfast on/in Bifrost. This was the launch point to the West Fjords. Everything about this place was good. 

Here are the elements of good:

1. Hot showers
2. Clean towels
3. Good food 
4. Beer
5. Clean, dry bed
6. Clean hot tub
7. Amazing breakfast (see Day 3)

Day 3:

Great night sleep, great breakfast. At a breakfast buffet resplendent with options, we talked about the day. Chris floated the psychological concept of "chunking," which basically means living in the moment. Break the day up into micro-challenges, in chunks, to more easily digest the mammoth challenge. I have never been great at chunking. I have always embraced the illusion of control. This experience stripped bare that illusion. Control on this trip boiled down to the pedal crank between now and a moment from now. Beyond that, only Floki knew what was coming. 

The route for Day 3 called for some immediate attention. Less than two miles in, we hit a big climb, as you can see on the elevation profile. Looking back, this was the easiest day. At this point, I had not surpassed my typical weekly mileage, and my energy levels seemed fine. 

We encamped in a field that overlooked a small river, ate whatever we had in our pockets, and enjoyed the campground amenities. Hot showers are pretty, pretty nice. Also available was a pool and a hot tub. We hit the hot tub. Soon after we hopped in the hot tub, we were joined by three Icelandic Natives. They came from hearty stock. Definitely some shield maidens in their Ancestry.com results. One of them hopped in right in Chris' face, giving him some unique insight to the aging process of genitalia and its surrounding areas. Thanks Chris, for taking one for the team. 


Day 4:

Chris shared with us that Day 4 is typically the toughest day. Both physiologically and mentally. I felt fine and was thinking I had plenty in the tank. 

Chris was right. We had a light dinner on day 3, and no real breakfast on Day 4. Day four was nearly a hundo, plus 7k feet of climbing. By the time we got to lunch (Mile 50), I was feeling it. I had no idea how I was gonna continue. We stopped at a hotel in the middle of nowhere, at the inside edge of Vatnsfjordur. We had a buffet of mostly fish options, some bread and other sides. I went thru the line once, but still felt super puny. Sat there for forty minutes, seriously considering my life choices. And then the miracle of digestion. Energy seeped back into my body. It was truly amazing. BOOOM. I am back in business!

While we had fifty left, it went super fast. It's all about the fuel. The ride was splendid. Definitely colder than Keflavik, but it was dry. And the beauty cannot really be described. Big climb into Patreksfjordur, where after some faffing about we found a room at a B&B. Heaven on earth, y'all. Great fish dinner, albeit small portions, followed by a trip to the gas station for a bonus sleeve of McVitties and a couple of bags of chips. Fuel was again topped off. Added bonus was access to the laundry room. Washed some gear, and was able to dry it too! BONUS! 

Day 5:

I know I seem preoccupied with food. But yeah. It was top of mind. And Day 5 was the true test of Iceland. 10k feet of climb packed into 72 miles. Pedal stroke #1 was uphill. 

Who needs a warmup when you have 51 teeth in your cassette? After the second major climb we dropped into Bildudalar for lunch. Fish and Chips were legendary! And it was getting noticeably colder. 

Ahoy!

The remainder of the day was work, man. Like climbing, climbing, climbing. Mostly on dirt. Just wow. And the wind. OMG. We got to the top of our third climb, and it was BLOWING. Almost knocked Jeff off his bike. Chris was waiting for us at the top, chatting with some kids that were about to descend the hill we had just climbed. The top of that climb (Trostansfjordur) was more lunar than earthlike. We then dropped down a paved descent and then climbed more dirt. Then, WHEEEEEEEEE. a massive dirty descent into a sweet waterfall vista. Tons of tourists and a few cyclists (Wyoming and French) were enjoying the view. We invited the cyclists to join us, but they could not hold Chris' wheel. His strength is legendary amongst the natives! That is all the sheep were talking about. 

We rolled into the campground cold and hungry. We were serious popsicles at check in. Chris scolded us for acting like kids in the back seat on vacation, just letting Dad do all the work. I will own that. But damn, I was FREEZING. Windy, and it was starting to rain. A quick camp assembly, then after putting on all of my dry clothes, we were off to the gas station for some Icelandic specialties. The food was really pedestrian. But, also glorious. We ate, drank a few near beers, then headed back. Interesting fact: you can only buy shitty near beer at these roadside gas stations. It worked great in our case, because we were so under-caloried, and dehydrated, that near beer was more than enough. Post dinner. I climbed in my sleeping bag knowing that I only had 30 miles left in my saga. It went so slow and so fast.

check out our neighbor!

Day 6:

Last day in the saddle was a slog. HUGE headwind, and a little rain. AND COLD. We rolled around yet another fjord, with Other Chris doing most of the work. Finally, he turned and said "hey, isn't this your last day?" :) hiding was over, so I got in the front and did some grinding. The highlight of the ride was a massive tunnel. It was a highlight for two reasons. First, it was really cool. Very Very dark and eery. altogether safe, and we had our blinkies activated. It was generally a one lane experience, but traffic was really light. Second, it was both flat and dry. Both of these things were a major fucking blessing at this point. Loved it. 

We popped out of the tunnel and had another 5 miles of icy headwind to get to Isafjordur. We checked into our place, and promptly dug out everything to dry. Hot showers are amazing. Here is us as we rolled into town:

If you ever find yourself in Isafjordur, I highly suggest a meal at Tsorhusid ("Thor's House" in Icelandic). It's a buffet style meal, with two seatings per evening. We gorged on the best fish ever, accompanied by some Viking lager (full gas). The only downer was that they were not served in curved horns. I think they are missing an opportunity here. It was easily the best meal of the trip. A true celebration. Speaking of full gas, I think dinner caused Chris some gastric distress, mostly because he eats like a bird normally. And we chowed down. SO SO SO GOOD. 

https://www.ferdalag.is/en/service/tjoruhusid

So it was over. Next day, I rode my bike to the airport, checked it in its au naturale state with absolutely no objections, and hopped on a puddle jumper. BOOM, an hour later I was in Reykjyavik. 

It was so fun. As I think back, nothing can prepare you for it. The raw landscape. The incredibly fickle weather that explains why Loki was a thing. The dramatic landscape and elevation. And maybe most importantly, the opportunity to be in a moment. To focus. Whether climbing a mountain, descending it, making camp, or enjoying the campground hot tub. Or laughing your ass off at the sight of Chris getting muffbombed. Or enjoying a Mars bar for dinner! All of that is just a tasty slice of the whole. I will be savoring the memories for some time. Alter Exploration, thanks to Chris Case, gave me an opportunity to broaden my horizons, and that is a priceless gift. Oh, and I am not likely to do it again. 

L' Eroica, Redefining Epic

It takes a really novel experience to goad ME into documentation mode. I just had one of those.

Do you have a friend that just loves nostalgia? One that gets misty-eyed at the sight of a 1965 Porsche, or any note of any song by The Band? A guy that staunchly believes that New Old Stock (NOS) is absolutely NOT an oxymoron, but a time machine to the sweet sweet days of yesteryear? I got one of those. He is an absolute mensch of a guy. Super fun to be around, great character. Save for his NOS passion, he is also pretty normal. But hey, we all have our stuff, right?

So when my buddy says, "hey! I did this incredible vintage bike ride! It was EPIC! You gotta do it!"I thought, how bad could it be? I love to turn the pedals, and this particular ride was in Paso Robles/Cambria. Having visited a few times previously, I knew it to be incredibly beautiful, and full of some truly special wine tasting opportunities. So...count me in, I said.

This started a chain of events that culminated with ME:
1. Cursing like Lt Dan in a hurricane. Most of this cursing was directed at my NOS bike.
2. Walking my bike up a hill. shameful.
3. Being filmed by a Paparazzi-in-training (PIT) as I walked said NOS bike up hill.
4. Calling aforementioned PIT a "DICK"while on film. Color me proud.

But I get a little ahead of myself.

My good friend, (we'll call him David Hasselhoff), convinces me and some others of similar ilk/gullibility that a vintage bike ride is the portal to an era where cycling was SIMPLER. PURER.
All we needed to do was buy a

6.1 – Bicycles
Historical Bikes (also called Bici Eroiche, in Italian) are all road racing bikes built in 1987 or earlier, with or without gears, as those built in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s. These bicycles most likely have a steel frame, but also other types of rare frames are permitted, such as the aluminum frames built by Alan and Vitus, with screwed or glued joints, the Exxon Graftek frames of the late 1970’s with carbon tubes glued to aluminum lugs and Teledyne Titanium frame set made in the 1970's and some aluminum frames that were built in the 30's. 

The bicycles should be in line with the following general guidelines regarding components:
a) more recent bikes with gears and derailleurs, such as, but not limited to Simplex, Huret, Campagnolo, Zeus, Shimano, Suntour, etc. must have shift levers on the down tube of the frame; exceptions include pre-1980 non indexed bar-end gear shifters, Stem mounted friction shifters and rod/hand manual operated front derailleurs;
b) pedals should be with toe clips and straps or, for older bikes, as the original pedals; quick release, clip-less pedals are not allowed. You may ride the traditional pedals without the toe clips or straps. 
c) we prefer the traditional brake lever setup on the bicycles, brake cables pass outside and over the handlebars (cables can pass inside the top tube of main frame), however, starting in 2017, aero brake levers without built in shifters will be allowed.
d) older geared bicycles should have original shifters such as Cambio Corsa, Cambio Paris Roubaix, Cambio Vittoria Margherita, etc.;
e) wheels must have at least 32 spokes laced to a low profile rim (20 mm depth or less, except for the wood rims);  the rims must be of either steel, aluminum or wood;
f) both tubular tyres and clinchers with inner tubes are allowed;
g) we invite participants to fit saddles from the same period of the bicycles, so a model of 1987 or earlier, or a vintage model of modern production such as Brooks leather saddles, Cinelli replicas, San Marco, etc;
h) the change of the gear ratios is allowed due to the difficulty of the ride;
i) there are no particular rules on the type of brakes as long as they are in line with the construction period of the bicycle and that they are efficient for safety reasons.
Of course, older road racing bicycles of the early 1900’s with single gear or flip-flop rear hubs don’t need to comply with the above criteria as long as they have their original components.
"Vintage-Looking Bikes" with steel frames from new or recent construction with vintage look and characteristics may be used only if they are assembled using vintage components or replicated parts similar to the original as described above. In particular if the bikes are inspired by the design of road racing bicycles of the 1970’s and 1980’s, they must comply with rules a), b), and c) above, regarding shift levers, toe clips and straps, and brake cables.
Exemptions regarding the type of bicycle will be granted to participants with disabilities, as long as they make a specific request to the organization at the time of registration.
For the short route, other types of vintage bicycles will be admitted, such as postman’s bikes, military bikes, general working bicycles, leisure bicycles, etc. as long as they were built in 1987 or earlier.
Mountain bikes, cyclo cross bikes and time trial bikes are excluded from all routes.
Any registered cyclist who arrives at the start line or found on the route on the day of the ride with a bicycle/components that do not conform with the criteria set forth by the event organizers may face an immediate disqualification upon discovery.

That should be easy to find.

Well, it actually was pretty easy for ME. Because my buddy David has about 30 of them in his garage. I now believe he has been concocting this plan for quite sometime. accumulating inventory that fit the most likely suspects. Working the subject into daily conversation. Normalizing the lunacy. It worked. Hasselhoff reconstituted 3 bikes, plus two of his own. Just one for ME, thank you. 1978 Viner (pronounced Vee-Nair in I-TALLY-ON). or Viner in Murrica.

All NOS Campy Nuovo Record. Cutting edge technology in its time. Of course, there was a time when a femur was a technological breakthrough, but let's not quibble.

Downtube Shifters - Monolith-worthy, no doubt

Dave did a great job restoring this bike to its 1978 glory. It truly looks spectacular.

V-Nair

I will not go into any detail the handful of mechanical issues that presented during shakeouts that lead up to the ride. They foreshadowed. Yes, they did.

So training ensued. But it was just 75 miles, amiright? How hard could that be?

Yeah, and we booked an 8 hour wine tour the day before. Hydration? HA! See above paragraph.

RIDE DAY
We awoke slightly groggy from a delightful day in Paso. I highly recommend Toast Tours, if you are looking to visit some Paso wineries.

https://toasttours.com

Ride starts as most do. Flush with expectation and adrenaline. Then BOOM. Mechanical #1.

Mechanical #1 (Mile 1) - my chain is fused. This is on ME. DH fixes and we move on.

Mechanical #2 (Mile 3) - my buddy breaks a toe clip. That was NOT on ME.

Wally knew we were screwed

Mechanical #3 (Mile 10)
Hasselhof blows a tubular. At this point, our buddy THE TICKET dives on the grenade. In a consummate team player move, he swaps his wheels out, giving up the rest of the ride so that Hasselhof can soldier on. This proved to me why he is a CEO. Delegate the suffering to those that enjoy it, and they will THANK YOU FOR IT. That CEO tip is provided  free of charge. Look for his soon-to-be-released book, titled "CEO's and the Art of Inception"

This was once hi-technology

So we wheeled on, without the Ticket. But with his wheels, so I guess he was still kind of with us.

Mechanical #4 - small ring not accessible in front. This was problematic, as there was "some" climbing on this course. And since it was a vintage ride, the organizers decided that even pavement was optional. 25 miles of gravel y'all. Thanks be to Yahweh, I found the little ring near the top of climb #1. See action photo below

Herr Dykes and Hasselhoff on climb #1

Mechanical #5-7 (thrown chain - between spokes and rear cassette). Later, after the echoes of my cursing had finally ceased, I was told that I shift too late. My response: I got this feedback too late.  Chain thrown? What fresh hell is this, 1978? Don't tell me that the year that brought us Shadow Dancing by Andy Gibb is the pinnacle of human achievement. Or how about that incredible flick: Sgt. Pepper's Lonely  Hearts Club Band? Dial that up on Netflix y'all. Nostalgia OVER. I have been spoiled by technology. And it is GLORIOUS. The bzzzzzz of my Di2. Unerring. Patch me up to the Matrix. 

Fun Exercise: Throw a chain at the bottom of a 20% grade, stop to fix it, then try to get your foot back in the toeclip. What happens next? HILARITY, at least for those around you. For ME, it resulted in smashing my toeclip to a thinness that only a supermodel would appreciate.[curses, curses and more curses] So, without your left foot in the toe clips, proceed to climb a hill, (WITH ONE LEG) that looks something like this:

  (Warning: Grade steeper than photo indicates)

To summarize, the chain leads to the toeclip leads to the cramp in my right leg leads to me CURSING leads to me walking the bike leads to me CURSING the Italian cameraman leads to me sitting atop the hill, utterly crushed. Hasselhof's response to this chain of events? EPIC!

I will not go into great detail about the descent from that hill. 20% grades, potholed dirt tracks, 41 year old bike parts, 50+ year old body. Others said it was the most scared they have ever been on a bike. No argument here.

On a related note, there was an unprecedented amount of cyclists dealing with mechanical challenges along the route. Nostalgia is costly sometimes. For instance, i witnessed a female cyclist's front brake lock up, sending her at relatively low speed into a grassy roadside berm. As we passed the incident, air acrid from smoking brake pads, we shouted obligatorily "are you ok?" her response "I hope so" was perfect. She had no idea what would happen next. We were all hoping the same thing the whole ride.

In the end, what did we learn from this? Well here are my top 5 takeaways:

1. I love the future
2. Italians are kinda mean
3. Maybe I am not heroic
4. Wet wool smells like wet dog
5. I love hanging with my friends, no matter the circumstances. It was really fun, but so brutally and unnecessarily hard.

If this writeup sounds cranky, my apologies. I am getting on in years, and my right leg is still really sore. By the time I re-assemble my bike, it will be Super Nuovo Vintage, if you know what I mean. Until next time, when i get talked into some crazy Idaho-type location ride.

How hard can it be? They grow potatoes there!!

My Own. Personal. Triple

OK y'all. It's been awhile since my last post. Briancon left a deep impression, rendering subsequent rides totally unimpressive. Until Monday.

BACKGROUND SENTENCES
About six months ago, my good buddy Todd was exhorting the sweet suffering of the Triple Bypass. He had done it a number of times, and wanted to do it again. Obviously I said no.

Then another of my buddies, Mark, said why not? Then my other buddy named Marc said, "sounds great!" The pressure was mounting.*

OK. Let me disclose to you the reasons for my initial negative response.

TOP 5 Reasons NOT to do the Triple:
1. In the immortal words of Michelle Ferrrari, "I am too fat"
2. 11,000 feet y'all
3. Colorado altitude. Loveland Pass is like 12,000 feet. at that altitude, there ain't no air. I like to breathe. It's one of my favorite things. Top 5 for sure.
4. I don't need another kit. Seriously.
5. I likes my beer. And wine. And various cheeses. And salami. And pizza. [See #1]

So I said I was in.

What is a Triple?
The Triple Bypass Bicycle Ride is recognized as one of the premier cycling events in the nation. A one or two-day cycling event, celebrating its 29th year, the Triple Bypass takes you on a gorgeous tour through the heart of the Colorado Rocky Mountains. For those that choose the 2 day, I have equal parts scorn and respect. The one day version starts in Evergreen (a suburb of Denver) and ends in Avon (just west of swanky-ass Vail).  To get from Evergreen to Avon, you have to climb a few hills. Specifically, Juniper Pass, Loveland Pass and Vail Pass. Oh, and they threw Swan Mountain in there just for grins. The total ascent is around 11,000 feet. To do that as a round-tripper, well you gotta be one tough hombre. Plus, you probably eat like a super model.

I have done that kind of climbing before. See the write up of the Galibier/Telegraphe/Galibier. Also, did the Tour das Hugel a number of years ago. Both had 10,000 + feet of vertical, so I kinda knew the price of admission. Here's the big difference: Galibier tops out at just under 9,000 feet. Tour das Hugel, well that's tough but all in the sweet, sweet Austin atmosphere.

TIME TO TRAIN
I rode a lot. 5 months of mind-numbing intervals, assembled by my good buddy Jack Cartwright. Logged about 4,000 miles in 2017 as the event loomed.

TIME TO DIET
No so fast. I pretty much skipped this section of the training manual. Sorry, but my current mind space required chips and salsa more than a PR up Vail Pass.

RIDE APPROACHES!!
We were all flying up there the Friday before the Saturday July 8, 2017 ride. That Thursday, as I packed my smallclothes, my phone started lighting up.

RIDE CANCELLED (Excerpt from Triple Bypass website):

The Triple Bypass was cancelled because of fires in Summit County. The county had to pull all emergency resources that were contracted to lend support to our event and subsequently Summit, Clear Creek and the Colorado State Patrol canceled our permit for the ride.

We at Team Evergreen share your sadness and frustration with the cancellation of the 2017 Triple Bypass. TE is a not for profit organization and the expenses of the planning and preparation of the event are significant. Even though the ride could not occur, we still carry the expense for the food, infrastructure and material orders that were necessary to produce the Triple this year. The Board of Directors is currently reviewing options in response to the numerous requests for transfers and refunds. Please be patient while we find the best solution that will accommodate the shared losses and still ensure the production of the event in 2018.

Are you kidding me? Cancelled? Screw that. I wanted to head up and do the ride anyway. Alas my buddies weren't into it. Todd had done the ride a number of times before, so didn't have the fire. Mark has a lot of irons in the fire, and training for this one was not his A1 priority. Marc was with his lovely wife in Colorado, and they seamlessly transitioned into a couples trip. Cancelled!?!?! All that training, for what? Pain! Betrayal! Angst! Faced with a huge, disappointing Force Majeure, I stewed. Days passed. Like the line in that classic friends comedy, Brokeback Mountain, I just couldn't quit the triple. So I decided to go solo. Well, after I got approval from Joan. Who offered to SAG for me. Unreal, right? Joan is the best.

Sorry I got a little mushy there.

On to the Ride!

We checked into Evergreen on Sunday afternoon. Ate a very forgettable lunch and a solid dinner (dinner was at Tuscany Tavern). Watched Game of Thrones (spoiler - people died) and went to bed.

RIDE DETAILS
Woke up at 5am, coffee, two sports bars, yada yada yada, I'm on the road.

Here is me at the start of the ride. Atmosphere? Electric! There was a buzz in the air y'all. Turns out it was just a lot of noisy bugs. I rolled out to great fanfare. I was all by myself. Reminded me of the playgrounds of my ginger-kissed youth.  My ride plan was to economize as much as possible. I had put a 32 on the back in prep for this beast, and I intended to use it. For the pelo-ignorant, a 32 cog cassette in the back allows you to spin merrily up even the most Italian of mountains. and it's the size of your granny's apple pie. Just me y'all. Not even a volleyball to keep me company.

The first climb is a combo of Squaw Pass and Juniper Pass. It was pretty damn spectacular. As i spun up at 180 watts (thank you 32-cog granny cassette!) the silence accentuated the beauty around me. Truly incredible. In the distance, a few coyotes were howling, likely wondering how the old fat guy was staying upright at 180 watts. Did I care? NOPE. I was doing it baby!

This was a long, but even-tempered climb. I rolled over the top with all of my matches intact.

 See, look how happy I was at Echo Lake?!

I coasted like the geriatric that I am all the way down to Idaho Springs. Where I met my lovely wife and my youngest child. They stocked me back up with some H2O, and a sports bar. These ladies were super sweet to me, given that I kept them in the car pretty much the whole day. THE DAY OF CHRIS!!

All my little birds told me that Loveland Pass was the butt-kicker, soul-stealer, Friday the 13th-Jason killer of the ride. I was ready. Well, maybe not.

I kept spinning at low endurance (thanks to altitude, my heart thought it was tempo), and figured it was just a matter of time before I crested and was 2/3 done with this ride. Here's my take on this climb:

Idaho Springs to Georgetown - around 800 feet of climb, mostly false flats. This suckers you into thinking you are in for another pleasant spin. Plus, there are about a thousand broken-down cars to inspect as you putter uphill. Someone more introspective may have drawn the connection between those dead beaters and the pelo of one, but I am not too into that kind of thing.

Anyhoo, Georgetown is where it all begins. 4% to Silver Plume, then onto a bike path that is truly splendid. Tree covered, with some kickers that just keep on coming. Then you pop out onto the highway. THIS IS WHERE I LEAVE YOU. Or likely you leave me. As I surveyed the switchbacks that crept up the mountain, I nearly cried. So much more work left! Instead of crying, I stopped and ate a cookie. It made me feel a little better.

Seriously y'all, the remaining climb to the top took a piece of me that I will never get back. I had to stop three more times! Just couldn't breathe. My DNA is meant to be working somewhere at sea level. I lose about 30% of my flatlander power in the mountains.

where.....is.....my......power?

Here is me at the top of Loveland (that old lady passed me on the way up)

At the top, I was well over 8,000 feet of the targeted 10k of climbing that the entire ride promised. Joan and Emma met me up there. Life savers! I was whiter than normal. This is hard to achieve, since I am about the whitest form of white person imaginable. Twenty minutes later (after some coca cola, fluid refills and some other sugary crap) I rolled on down the road. 

The rest of the ride was pretty uneventful. Swan Mtn was nothing. And the Copper/Vail climb is old hat. The 32 made me slower, but kept me on task. My garmin died on the descent from Vail Pass, so of course I got lost somewhere east of Avon. I have no idea where the Official Ride ended, but mine ended at a bus stop in Old Homestead. Close enough. After all, it was my own personal triple. 

I am so glad I did it. 

*It may not have happened exactly like this. But I am writing this history, so...

Final France Post!

At dawn of our last day in Briancon, the melancholy of a nearly elapsed vacation began to settle in to the psyche. We had hoped to cram a climb of the Izoard into the final day, but the margin for error was too slim. Bummer. No Izoard. Just typing this haunts ME.

Instead, we packed the bikes. Double bummer. The finality of disassembling the bike on a vacation induces black moods. The best cure is an ommelette!

A leisurely breakfast in Briancon revealed the only cranky French guy on our trip. The waiter at Cafe' de la Vigne* was not a fan of us Murricans. Or the English language. And particularly not of Herr Doktor. For some reason, despite numerous attempts to communicate his order, our garçon* grincheux* actively ignored the Doc. Ironically, the only thing Doc wanted was an omelette*. Instead, he got a Leffe.

For some reason, dividing the bill was a task requiring 3 people. Thankfully there were no rogue bees involved, or we may have never been able to pay. After breakfast we loped back to Alessandro's pad, and checked out of our home base. That guy is awesome. Next time we go back to France, we are staying there again. I will have you, Izoard.

Italian Hair 

Drive/Drive/Drive/Drive.Stop to Pee. Drive/Drive/Drive.

We are back in Geneva. Yay. Somehow we got booked in a different hotel than our Sleestack buddy, the Ticket. He dropped us off at the Hotel EastWest, and headed back to the N'Vy. Our concierge* was excellent, a blend of full-on German efficiency and American-style customer service. Great hotel if you are ever in Geneva, and want to drop $400 a night. That city is ridiculous.

Our last supper was in the old town of Geneva. Everyone regrouped individually, and migrated to Hôtel Les Armures for some genuine old school Geneva fare. Guess what the traditional dish is in Geneva? Fondue, of course. And some Côtes du Rhône.

The Following Description of Dinner was originally written in French, then Google Translated:

• Fine restaurant dining availability to us made happy to the crowds. Many joke laughs were made by the friends of the Alps' pig. But all were to the betterment atmosphere. Truly a night of great. Food served by the native person in professional suit made for great and real flavors. Memory greatness in the spaces of moments between forks and spoons. Below enjoy evening pictures for the happy food.

Does this rash look serious?

Old Towns are Everywhere Over There

Cougars Roam the Streets of Old Town

I shaved, like five minutes ago!

Ta-Da!

DTG! (Dessert to Go!) and The Ticket

 Action Shot

The Ullrichs!

It was a great dinner. Post-dinner, many of us stopped at the Four Seasons. I guess we really wanted to FULLY understand how expensive this town was. After some serious tourist wrangling, the Doc got us seated at the bar. Our presence went over like a turd in the fondue pot. The locals did NOT like the look of us rogue american austinites, bedecked in TShirts and flippity flops. Almost immediately, the tables around us began to empty. Hilarious!! Even funnier? A vodka tonic cost 40 Euro. WTF? Is the tonic blessed by a Hall of Fame Pope? Seriously, I am never going back to Geneva. Highlight of the 4 Seasons was watching Doc hit on the bartender. Not a match. He is not well-capitalized, and her teeth were too european. So Seinfeldian! After that gold-gilded drink, the night was over.

We woke at the CRACK o dawn to get to the airport. At the beginning of the commute, Ticket looked like this:

They Call me Captain America!

Thanks to Jehovah that we left early, because navimagating** to the airport was a Shit Show Extraordinaire. The written directions we were given were wholly inadequate. Then google dropped us in some tiny ass town right next to the airport. The whole thing was magnified by this "French Side/Swiss Side" controversy that was piping to our phones from the other car. End Result? We got there. Meanwhile, in the other van, Ullrich managed to drop off his people, but got lost on the way to the rental car return. He got a bonus trip in the French (or maybe Swiss?) countryside. Seriously French/Swiss people, how about some signage?

Now, talk about stress. Ticket had to park the equivalent of a Sprinter van in a subterranean, Euro-sized parking spot designed for a Smart Car. He did a fracking phenomenal job getting lined up and backed in. As he scooted the thing back, a grinding noise filled the air. while still 1/4 of the van was out of the parking space, there was a huge air vent about five feet off the ground, against the wall. Air Vent 1, Back Window 0. This put a huge pall on the rest of the morning. But, that guy is bigger than his problems. Oh, and that van is bigger than that parking space.

I'm Bigger Than My Problems...

We made the flight. enjoyed the fun of Heathrow AND JFK all in one trip. Made it home, though the bike arrived the following day. It's been a month since we returned, and I still miss it. I guess it was a pretty damn good vacation.

*French Words!
**George W Bush Word!

Post #8 Galibier! Télégraphe! Oh Yeah, This IS a bike vacation!!

This was such a spectacular day. Words cannot capture the absolute grandeur of this ride. Oh Hell, let's give it a try.The ride plan for the day:

• Drive the White Paddy Wagon up to the Lautaret. 
• Warm up a bit. 
• Then Climb the South Face of the Galibier. 
• Celebrate. 
• Descend in joyous anticipation to Valloire. 
• Climb the South Face of the Télégraphe (which is a little hind-tit of a Col). 
• Celebrate. 
• Descend to St. Michel de Maurienne in somewhat joyous/anxious anticipation. 
• Commemorate our presence there for a second consecutive day. 
• Then turn around and start W.O.R.K.

Our Crew comprised Ticket, Whip Gingerhammer, Ullrich and Herr Doktor.

FUN FACTS ABOUT OUR ROUTE (Wikipedia is pretty neat!)
Col du Galibier (el. 2,645 metres (8,678 ft)) is a mountain pass in the southern region of the French Dauphiné Alps near Grenoble (unless the tunnel is out). It is the ninth highest paved road in the Alps and the sixth highest mountain pass. It is often the highest point of the Tour de France.

It connects Saint-Michel-de-Maurienne and Briançon via the col du Télégraphe and the Col du Lautaret. The pass is closed during the winter. It is located between the massif d'Arvan-Villards and the massif des Cerces, taking its name from the secondary chain of mountains known as the Galibier.

From the south, the climb starts from the Col du Lautaret (el. 2,058 metres (6,752 ft)) and is 8.5 kilometres (5.3 mi) long at an average gradient of 6.9% (height gain: 585 metres (1,919 ft)) with a maximum of 12.1% at the summit.

Let's Get it Started!

We started right where the graph above gets Nantucket Red. And no I am not gay. Note that Yeti and Wife covered this route from Briancon on this same day, which covers the entire graph listed above. They slept late, as Yetis do, and rolled from the house. SuperK stopped at the Lautaret, and the Brazilianed Hairy Monster climbed the whole thing. This is all I know about their Ride. And here are a few pics. They look like they had fun, right?

Yay Us! 

Todd's Bike Makes a Great Background!

My Kit is Older than that Glacier!

OK - back to the vertical saga. We kept a pretty controlled pace up the first climb. Everyone finished in less than 50 minutes.Wattage varied by the mass of carcass each pulled up the Hill.

Here is the Ticket at the top:

Sorry Dude, You Still Can't Fly

Here is Ullrich:

That...Was...Easy...

And here is Dr and ME:

When you write the blog, your pictures are naturally bigger.

After photo ops, we began the bombing process. I am kind of a Puss when it comes to many things, including going fast down European switchbacks with no guard rails. So, as my brakes were put to max use, everyone, but particularly the Dr, gained max time. He stopped in Valloire, ordered an espresso and a Nutella Crêpe and commenced to defiling the bathroom of the establishment. The rest of us caught up eventually. Crêpes and espresso all around! So Euro!

At this point in the ride, the Ticket decided both sides of the Galibier were enough for one day. Fully understandable, given his Grenoble accident,** and his Dwayne Schintzius body mass. we bid the big fella au revior,* rolled out of Valloire and started the climb up the South side of the Télégraphe. Before we knew it, we were in celebration mode again!

South Side of Télégraphe Smiley Face

As you can see behind ME, the road was pretty busy with our two-wheeled brethren. Truly amazing how many cyclists were on the Mountain. As we bombed down to the valley, we passed tons of Italians, Australians, French, English. Not too many Americans.

He's got a big mouth!

We bombed to the bottom, back to the town where we watched LeTour.

Once in St. Michel, we could descend no more. At this point, we were fully pregnant. I felt it inspiring to share some insight that Jack (cycling coach and a veteran of Alps Cols) gave me regarding our day's ride plan. When asked about the feasibility of a Galibier/Télégraphe out and back, the question triggered a thoughtful pause. After reflection, Jack said "That....would be a long day in the Alps." Given that we had just descended for about an hour, this was kind of a "no-shit" moment for Doc and Ullrich. Still, when a powerhouse like Jack (all 135lbs of him) judges an effort difficult, it makes one pucker up appropriately.


More Galibier/Télégraphe Climb Facts-
From the north, starting at Saint-Michel-de-Maurienne (including the Col du Télégraphe), the entire climb is 34.8 kilometres (21.6 mi) long, gaining 2,120 metres (6,960 ft) in height (an average of 6.1%). The actual climb to the summit starts at Valloire and is 18.1 kilometres (11.2 mi) long at an average of 6.9% (height gain: 1,245 metres (4,085 ft)). The maximum gradient is 10.1% at the summit.

The Col du Galibier was first used in the Tour de France in 1911; the first rider over the summit was Emile Georget, who, with Paul Duboc and Gustave Garrigou were the only riders not to walk. None of us walked, by the way. Of course, back in 1911, they rode single speeds, carried their own spare tyres, and smoked cigarettes/drank whiskey to recover.

The climb up the Télégraphe was awesome. I followed Doc relatively closely, and we regrouped with Ullrich at least once. The grades on the climb were a very consistent 7%, and shaded by trees nearly the entire climb. Switchbacks aplenty, and tons of cyclists in front of us to focus on.

Doc and I summited the Télégraphe in 1:04, Ullrich rolled in at 1:17, with the smile you see above.

One of the things that made this trip spectacular was the stops. We stopped in Valloire (at the same place we had nutella Crêpes) for lunch. Pizza, salad, fries, and a Coke. It was an awesome break in the coolest French hamlet atmosphere. Midway through lunch we made friends with some wine drinking French vacationers at the next table. Well, I think we made friends. They spoke no English, and we are French-disabled.

Here is my translation of the conversation:
(Please read this with a French Accent)

We as French people celebrate lunch with wine and desert every day. You as cyclists will earn the right to celebrate once you get to the top of the Galibier. We as French people think climbing the Galibier is pretty awesome. We have no idea where Texas is located, nor do we care. We are French! And we pretty much hate Lance Armstrong. But you guys seem pretty cool.

We rolled out of Valloire about five pounds heavier, smiling, fat and happy. After five minutes of climbing, we were just fat. The first 45 minutes post-lunch was tough. The stomach was not interested in more climbing.It voted for system shutdown! It eventually relented, unlike the mountain. The Galibier was a crucible. After the previous efforts, it tested both fitness and resolve, burning off ego and braggadocio with only true fitness, power/weight reality, and desire remaining.

Interesting Note: On both sides of the Col du Galibier mountain pass, cycling milestones are placed every km. They indicate the distance to the summit, the current altitude, and the average slope in the upcoming km. These tombstones, I mean milestones, are alternatively helpful and psychologically damaging. Knowing the excruciating upcoming details can be potent NEGATIVE psychological fuel,Those damned km markers taunted ME repeatedly. It seemed like they popped up every half mile.

Translation: "GET OFF THE BIKE"

On the way up, our French lunchmates actually stopped and cheered us on at three different spots on the climb! "Allez! Allez! Allez! Would they do that in New York? Advantage France!

We regrouped once on the way up, at a stinky cheese co-op. Doc, who had dropped me immediately after lunch, was chatting with a French couple. They were semi-impressed with our effort, in truly French fashion. After this stop, I saw the Doc get progressively smaller until the summit.

In the last km, there was a photographer earning some cash for documenting our suffering. I later found out that all of us reacted to the camera guy thusly:

1. We noticed he was there.
2. We slowed down a bit, zipped up the kits, adjusted the glasses.
3. We cranked it up as we got into the picture taking zone.
4. We smiled like it was a total walk in the park.
5. We got past the picture guy.
6. We stopped and got off the bike.
7. We acted like we were taking a selfie.
8. We were actually trying to breathe.

 For the Camera...

For the record...

The original Galibier summit was at 2,556 meters, with the pass going through a tunnel. I was wishing it was bike accessible. At the south portal of the tunnel, at the edge of the road, there is apparently a monument to Henri Desgrange, founder of the Tour de France. The memorial was inaugurated when the tour passed through in 1949. Whenever the tour crosses the Galibier, a wreath is laid on the memorial. The "Souvenir Henri Desgrange" is awarded to the first rider across the summit of the highest mountain in each year's tour. They were passing out no wreaths when I rolled through.

Since 1947, the Galibier has been crossed 31 times by the Tour de France. It would have been 32 this year. Damn tunnel. Can you imagine the stress this route, PLUS d"Huez would have put on Froome? Perhaps the tunnel collapse was a SKY job? Let the conspiracy theories begin!!

The summit was as much relief as accomplishment. The last three kms were super tough. Around three hours of climbing in all. Positive Note: The roads were pristine. French Butter. But steep at the top, with some grades around 10%. All in, Strava had ME at 14,300 feet for the day, in 70 miles. That included coasting down the Laturaret for about 20 miles at the end. Pretty sweet to get over 14k of climb out of a 50 mile out and back. Can't find that many places. At the top, the French couple from the cheese shop were there. They bid us a congratulations on our accomplishment. I love the French.

We bombed down to Lautaret after a short break. Later, Ullrich told me that our French lunch friends were waiting for him at the top as well. Vive le France!!  French bike culture is truly phenomenal.

Ladies Day
I wasn't there, but I hear the ladies had some good times in Briancon that day. They chilled, shopped and chilled some more. They tackled some math problems (like what is 34 divided by 3?) and battled some alcoholic bees. It was a landmark day all around! Here are some pics:

 Coffee, Croissants & Culture

 Shopping in the Old Town is Hard Work!

 Bungee Time - Well Not For Us...

Gargoyle's Foot, One Day Later

NEXT UP: Post #9 - Last Night in Briancon/Last Night in Geneva




Footnotes
* French for "I wish I was joining you"

**Accident is a French word. I suspect it is pronounced "Oxidahnt" but have no formal training in this regard.