Getting up and over and getting up and over again were obvious before start – that and the no turning back feature that has its own potency manifested in the positive by eliminating any creeping bail out notions.  We were riding bikes from Front Royal to RTR and if you did want to go back your gear was still in the support vehicle headed to the Barn.  Not that anyone showed hesitation.  The group was strong and solid and the stakes had already been established prior to depart.

A two day adventure.   We met for breakfast at L’Dees Pancake House in Front Royal and after some hearty grub threw our overnight packs in a jeep and mounted steeds.

The RTR tomato-chicken-vegetable post ride soup was already slow cooking at the Barn while dinner, an Asian style curry stew was in prep mode.  A big bonfire built the day before awaited ignition.  All we had to do was get there.

So, we weren’t exactly going ‘into the wild’ – we wouldn’t (or shouldn’t) need to be eating any berries or tracking any game for sustenance yet this particular route or sequence had not been done before and it was clear that once at the Barn the only way back was to pedal.

The idea was to incorporate National Forest and dirt road ridge crossings to move west.  This is the best alternative to connect the two locales besides the busy and direct State Highway 55.  I had been on all of these roads before (many on the Va side prior to RTR when the Pioneer Motel just outside Skyline Drive was my base operations), but had never run the route continuous.

I knew it would be big.  I knew it would be challenging but I didn’t know the extent of either.

Day one delivered the goods.   A ‘mere’ 75 miles that left no one wanting more after.   The climbing feet was 10,000 plus while the pitches and surfaces transacted required maximum effort and concentration.   There were three dirt climbs and ridge ascents.   The first and easiest is the well graded Woodstock Towers section coming off Fort Valley Road.

This was a good way to get our climbing legs loose because it was progressively harder from there.  Pushing west into an all day head wind we crossed route 81 toward the foothills leading to North Mountain which divides Va and WV.   After some steep gnarly dirt road up and down the infamous Crooked Run Road announced itself.

Crooked is one of the more difficult crossings around.  Pure George Washington National Forest, it is something to submit and settle into.   You can’t beat it but you can maybe exist along side it and at best find some harmony while navigating your limits.

The tricky-while-dry descent, which now had shaded ice sections, falls right into Mathias and it could be a straight paved climb to the barn except we had one more dirt road to get home.  That was the plan.   Three dirt climbs.

Helmick Rock Road is the finale.  Not especially long but long enough with a one kilometer section that is easily 20 percent plus and has forced many a rider to dismount.  Helmick and Crooked show up on assorted Barn loops but usually not together.   To do     them both on a big ride day kicked the Double A into a serious notion.

Later that evening, with tired legs tasty beers a full stomach of food and the galvanizing (and at times shape shifting glow of the bonfire) I noticed the ONE car out front.  I have been here before.  Celebrating.  Enjoying.  Reflecting.   On the mountain wherever a mood takes you, but usually there are a bunch of cars out front.  Seeing the one car made the dark sky darker and bright stars brighter.  Quieter.  Everything was sharper.  It reinforced the reality.  A small detail but a reminder of how we arrived and how we would return.  As a unit, on bikes, rolling, drafting, collaborating and motivating to get there smoothly.

Day two was designed as a respite after the big outbound, but still tallied 72 miles and 6,300 feet.  There is one less ridge to climb since we dropped off the Barn ridge.   The National Forest crossing into Va is on Judge Rye Road, which is a parallel dirt road seven miles north of Crooked.

We dropped into Columbia Furnace and after a support vehicle stop of turkey jerky, nutella croissants and turkey feta pita pockets proceeded toward Edinburgh Gap a nice long meandering paved road crossing back into Fort Valley and the relaxing return to our departure point.

Coming near Edinburgh Joe D announced we were on the outskirts of his Marshall based training perimeter.   He knew the roads.  I knew them too but from a long time ago.  He knows them better so he took over and I got to enjoy the last third of the ride with a ‘professional’ ride leader.

Coming in on Fort Valley road we had a lockstep double paceline.  Pastoral scenery and the tired but energized feeling of long rewarding trek.   Even if it was only two days.

The name of the ride had not really been established but it was clear the routes and the migrations deserved a moniker.  I was stuck on Appalachian Ass Buster and that may be still what the initiated resort to but it was wisely by consensus determined that its connotations may deter riders in future versions.  So for now it is the Appalachian Assault or for short the DOUBLE A.

Most of the pieces already exist.  New ones are open to investigation and interpretation.  The sequence, an assemblence of tracks, stretches, lanes and corridors; surfaces and textures visited but not yet connected.

South Branch Mountain. Shenandoah Mountain.  Elkhorn Mountain. Spring Mountain.  Foremost Mountain. Flattop Mountain.  Wolfpen Hollow.  Reynolds Knob.  Stump Knob. Peru Gap….

Names and vague places deep in the Appalachian greenery and rock.  While a visit reveals some aspects, it also reinforces just how mysterious and remote it remains. Pedaling the back roads into history and cultures lost, or just hidden,  there is a quiet reverence that pads the athletic effort required to even get there.

This was ‘Guns, Grits and Gravel 2011 – (version 2.0) – Fire Road Throw Down.’

The previous edition, a Cyclocross Workshop  on a full blown course complete with run up, mud bog, sand pit and barriers, was fun enough, but this time we wanted to take the action further into the hills.  With cross bikes primed for the ready the idea was more expedition than workshop.

The roster included Radio Shack/Nissan Trek rider and 201O US PRO road race champion Ben King; Cannondale mountain bike professional Jeremiah Bishop, a silver medal winner in the 2011 Pan American Games; Joe Dombrowski U23 professional for Trek Livestrong, stage winner at the Val d’Oasta road race in Italy this year.  Also on hand was American Classics/Kenda mountain bike professional Chris Michaels.

In simple terms we connected a lot of the dirt roads that RTR visitors are already acquainted with into a mostly continuous route.  The cross bikes opened up single track, field traverse and stream crossings that would be ponderous on thin tires.

In addition to extra access the cross bikes made descents that are usually tricky and tentative, rambling and fun. While still rapid and bumpy there is a much greater room for error with the capacity to open things up on the ’32′s.

The three days of riding, along with grilled venison, Pad Thai, chocolate pancakes, beer, turkey jerky and bonfires in between, was highlighted by Saturday’s ‘Triple G’ loop.  The Garmin read of 57 miles and 8200 climbing feet doesn’t quite express the actual density.

Over half was dirt with three large stream crossings.  The ridge top climbs are obvious in the profile but the real hurt comes with a variety of 15 to 20 percent rollers or punch ups that pop up on the plateaus and ridge roads.

The fact that this was essentially an expedition added extra excitement to the venture.  Seeing these unconnected parts flow as one route made return to the Barn that much sweeter.

The loop isn’t something to attack.  It is something to fall into and something to be absorbed by.  There is always a chance for aggression but rhythm takes precedence.  You roll the Triple G out, firm and steady, smooth and strong, present enough that you stay on top of it but not so wild that you might miss a new road or cut off for future exploration.

Something distinct leaves an imprint.  If it’s long, vast, sprawling AND distinct it leaves a full and winding imprint.  One that returns in slow subtle ways.  A bike race, a bike ride, a sporting event, a backwoods adventure.  Anything really – it could be a long night of metropolitan clubbing strung together in sparks and stops.  The shades and colors between a beginning and an end.  The activity and then the recollections are what define us.  We piece together what has transpired.   Sometimes a vague shadow fades to a small memory but if it’s distinct the grooves are drawn sharp.  They keep coming.  They prompt and inform us.

This is one way of saying the Jeremiah Bishop Alpine Loop Gran Fondo kicked balls.  It was my first ‘Fondo’ and I had an idea of what to expect but no clue of how it would go down and what it would feel like.

Beside that the event was super top notch with seamless course signage and support stations as well as a fund raiser for Prostate Cancer, it was as fun and/or competitive as you made it.  The intensity of a race without the uncomfortable tension; 91 miles and over 10,000 climbing feet (there was also a 30 or 70 mile option).

All the participants had timing chips and there were two designated KOM climbs.  Once you roll through the ‘easy pass’-like marker you were on the clock until the crest.  The crest in these parts being some high flying, mean ass, 3500 foot West Virginia ridges west of Harrisonburg, Va in Pendelton County.  All the riders received KOM times and overall finish times.

http://www.midatlantictiming.com/resultsdetail.php?did=176

There was dirt, canyons, river valleys and meadows.   The full arsenal of ‘stuffs’.  Advertised as ‘the toughest Fondo in the U.S.’  I would like to see the challengers.  The route is the workings of Jeremiah Bishop, a long time professional mountain biker who rides for Cannondale Factory Racing.

Besides owning National Championships, Pan Am Game titles and top ten World Championship results the dude still just loves to ride.  He has managed to make it fun  and that may explain his longevity.  Being able to balance the rigors of disciplined training with the youthful wonder of the bike is something kids coming up can learn from, especially since so much of the sport is about digging deeper and getting the most from your body.  Leaving openings and chances for adventure is a way to get there without feeling like you’re on a treadmill.

This is one of his favorite training rides.  Deep in the backwoods.  Crazy exotic twisting mountain roads.  Like surfers seeking waves the cyclist wants to find the most outrageously intoxicating climbs and like those waves, at a certain degree of difficutly, they all take on their own personality.  Yeah, the sh#t is HARD but within that obviousness there are specific degrees and gradients that affect us each differently depending on the multitude of internal and external conditions.  This, you could say, makes it ‘interesting’….

That Jeremiah chose to share his favorite ride with 300 of his closest friends is both gracious and wicked in the finest sense!

I’m still processing the distinctness and the imprint.  That is the nice thing about having the experience.  You sense it.  You know it’s there and can feel the depth but the details are in some ways on reserve.  In the bank.  Laying their own tracks as we interface and refine them.  There is a calmness delivered in the transaction.  That it takes somewhat of a big difficult move to get there is the irony yet it makes total sense.

Garmin data:

Or…….., so you don’t have to, or
you have the option to, or
maybe I am a glutton for punishment and just can’t help myself. 

The reality is somewhere  between, above, below and beyond.  Recently I did a RTR recon ride.  One I’m glad I did solo.  It is not that the roads didn’t check out but the conditions and the lack of certainty made for some tense moments.   

In six years of Lost River I’ve rolled a lot of area but there are still some new tracks to uncover.  Mostly it requires going deeper beyond the initial radius.  There are also vague dirt sections which, I find through local inquiry, actually connect places.  Getting a gauge on grades and conditions is tough since folks four wheel them and have little concept of road bike action.  It is a crap shoot.  I’ve been surprised at how rideable some remote places turn out to be but I’ve also made long treks that while magnificent in their newness ultimately descended into narrow passages and locked gates. 

The only way to know is to venture out.  The latest route is one I’ve been factoring for awhile.  Twice I was going to take a group on it but opted out due to difficulty and unknown variables.  I finally had an open day to explore.  The weather forecast was good and the skies appeared clear but as I rolled  from the Barn heading west the entire valley below loomed a still and ominous charcoal black.  I pedaled on thinking maybe it will slide south or at worst be a light summer shower.   The ridges to the east were clear and enticing and I could have easily shifted my direction towards calmer seas but I didn’t want to ride the same old roads.  I was riding to explore not  riding to ride. 

By the time I got to the bottom of the descent it was pouring–hard enough to duck under the slim cover of an abandoned building.  When it shifted to drizzle I started south in the valley. 

The next ten miles is flat and calm.  Smooth quiet highway and a soft drizzle.    At mile 16 the route turns right onto Dumpling Run Road, a west bound dirt ridge crossing.  The next 20 miles is mostly dirt and, except for a very brief valley section on the other side, is all ridge.  Dumpling is one I frequent.  It had a healthy volume of new loose gravel.  The gravel is eventually pounded in to the dirt by vehicles and prevents wash out but to the cyclist it is an unpredictable hurdle – bumpy resistance training at best.  Running in sand. Sharp sand.  I try and adapt to the challenge and divert my mind towards the green, damp and vibrant scenery.

It is still drizzling but doesn’t feel threatening.  I descend to the next valley and two miles later turn left/east onto Deep Springs Road and back into the same ridge further down.  This is the new road.   It  should run for awhile and top out at Hinkle Mountain Road, which I have used before.  Hinkle comes back to the valley below the Barn 20 miles south. 

Rising up Deep Spring reveals new unfriendly storms to the west that I hope will drift elsewhere.  Deep Spring is sweet.  Switchbacks, fields, streams, rocks.  Slowly the vistas give way and it starts carving into the mountain.  There are some splits but I think I am tracking correct.  I see a guy outside one of the few houses and ask him if this leads to Hinkle.  He immediately says ‘just continue up friend’ which gives me confidence because by now the black clouds are in sight.  I know I am gonna get slammed but hope it isn’t too big a ride to Hinkle.  He makes it sound easy.  No echo of doubt like most civilians portray as they aren’t aware of the potent athleticism before them.  Maybe he has ‘Versus’ or ‘Universal’. 

The rain picks up.  About a half mile later I come to a distinct unmarked fork in the road.  One hundred percent squared off.  No clear idea which way is the main road.  They both go up. I can’t believe the dude hadn’t noted this.  My map gives a not so obvious version.  It is raining harder now.  I consider waiting until someone drives through but it is too remote and I am already getting cold from stopping.  I choose a direction and keep going up.  There is some rural road work happening and two cabins.  A lot of mud and rock.  It’s pouring now.  I continue up looking for similarity to the Hinkle junction.  I don’t see any cabins for a long time.  The road is almost a wash now and the grades get sharper.  Lots of 18 and 20 percent reads on the Garmin.  Each effort is big and I dig figuring I may as well try and get there as fast as I can.  Not that I’m going so fast but I  don’t want to dismount and get clay in my cleats.

I get up to 2400 feet and it doesn’t look like Hinkle.   At this point continuing is as good an option as going back. Dauntingly the road starts going down.  I hope it is just ridge modulation but I can see switchbacks far below me.  Not encouraging.  It feels like it is doubling back to the valley I started from.  This would put me a long way from home but I would at least be on pavement and be able to get to a town and warm up.

After a long disheartening descent I hit some flat but I’m still in the woods.  No valley.  No pavement.  Hills on all sides.  The road splits again.  I am too cold to stop now and just pick a fork hoping I will drop into the valley.  It comes to an old deserted farm house and dead ends.  Turning back I go the other direction  and as the road goes from a sandy clearing into thicker woods there is a fallen tree with ‘wrong way’ painted on it. 

I start climbing again and the road gets rougher.  The already hard rain notches up in a loud pounding assault.  The dirt and rock has mini streams of run-off taunting me.  AND I get a rear flat.   I try and stay calm and not think about too much beyond changing the thing successfully with out pinching the new tube or missing a tire slice.  The rain and dirt make a messy read.  I take some steps over big rocks into the woods for  a little tree cover and  find a boulder to sit on and make my fix.  My S Works lies sadly in the road and I  am thankful I hadn’t dragged anyone else into this ‘adventure’. 

There have not been any cabins for miles.  I’m easily five miles into the woods in either direction and I have not seen a vehicle the entire time.  My numbing fingers have just enough strength to make the change.  It occurs to me that while it is a long way back maybe I should cut my losses but if this IS the right road I can’t be too far from Hinkle.  The flat happened on a steep section.  I put the wheel on and start back up.  Just like any routine flat. Despite the circumstances, getting into a smooth riding rhythm brings some warmth.

I put in low PSI  just in case I have a slice.  Though I have patches I’m not sure if I could fix a tube in these conditions. Knowing how much another flat would cost me I ride out of the saddle to avoid extra rear wheel impact. 
 
It turns out I was closing in on Hinkle.  The road  levels out and I see some familiar terrain.  This is a cool ridge with a long surprising plateau on top.  Hinkle drops off to the east. 
This is no recovery beyond the inner calm that I am no longer potentially lost, and that, though I still have some miles and climbing to go, I will get home.   It is a chilly rain on the ridge.  60 degrees maybe.  I have arm warmers.  Hinkle drops down five sharp miles of rough rock and dirt.   How ever cold I am now I am about to get colder.  My hands will become numb but if I make the valley I can bring the senses back.

Turning from Hinkle onto the smooth pavement of South Fork Road the transition is enormous. 

I can still pedal.  It takes some miles to feel the tips of my fingers.  The final leg of this recon ride was to be a short section of South Fork and then an east bound turn at Peru for a 16 mile dirt road back to the Barn.  This will wait.  The valley has a slight drizzle but the ridges are cloud covered.  It is not a tough choice.  Maybe if I had a few more tubes I could be tempted but for now I have had enough for one session.  That doesn’t mean it isn’t on a future program.  I still have to link it all together. 

I know it is for me. That is why I am trying to stay still and calm. To drive back the anticipation and preserve energy for when it’s needed. The day will come and when it happens it happens with a fury. That much we know. The small print is unwritten. Pending. Details shaped by the participants.

The Guest House at Lost River and the Inn at Lost River are again offering reductions on room rates.

Come to WV, get lost (and maybe found) – one way or another something will be determined.

See you next week!

And this is delivered neither weary nor sarcastic.  Not a grind or even close to one. Re-upping.  Stated.  Slightly enthused, mildly bewildered and firmly connected to any absurdities wanting to be claimed.

The accents to the context are 15 degree roll outs.  20 degree highs.  Winds a blowing.  Stepping out the door and embracing the mix.  Sharp and forcefully crisp with immediate response demanded.  Acclimating and defining.  Realizing that while there is still plenty of time, the time has arrived.  Also realizing that while 15 isn’t 30 given the recent winters, anything sunny and clear is fair game since next week could be full snow cover with no option.

Every year winter is ripe.  Folks jacked on anticipation and possibility.  Hitting the spots hitting the rides pushing the pace and telling the tales.  Usually by August, oddly enough it gets quieter.  Like the quiet that happens towards the end of a climb or the finale to a long event.  Selection.

Some riders going hard in February don’t even intend on racing in July.  Others are pros and have been doing it for years.  They know what they are doing.  You may or may not.  Their tempo could be your max.  Following wheel is a crap shoot if you don’t know whose wheel it is and why you are there.

Ps.   The ride was relatively short but steady,  with built into the equation terrain hill intervals.  Seventeen of the miles were dirt and included the mysterious fourth road up the mountain.   Smooth in sections and rugged in others.  Totally rideable for those who rode it Sunday.   Here are the basic stats.

INTERNET PEER PRESSURE

It is not that pressure is being directly applied and one can stay on their chosen course and ignore other doings.  There have always been many ways to get to the same place.  On the other hand comparing notes and being motivated and inspired by the exploits of others is the humanity that pushes our humanity, for better or worse, forward.  The interwebs brings it all the more closer.  This is another way of saying the damn Winter Bike League made me do it!

Similar to Joe D’s insightful blog sentiment, in the dark cold off-season I also look at  training as a cost/benefit equation and prefer to make my efforts at my tempo.  When the 8 AM reading in Lost River is TEN degrees and winds are at thirty mph it would be a good time to delay the big ride I had planned.

I drink coffee and consider the reality.  I know the Winter Bike League soldiers are already rolling.  How bad can it be?  Plus my ride will be point to point.  West to East with tail wind sections.  Concurrently I’m looking at a big move, solo, on uncharted roads in extreme conditions.  What is the wisdom of going forth?  This is my morning mode.  On the fence.  I make moves just in case.  Check bike.  Consult maps.  Time is running out.  Finally I have convinced myself.  I need adventure.  I am powerless.  Thank you WBL.

ROUTES

This will be the third junction mapped and ridden between Lost River and Unison.  Chuck’s first effort was direct but had more highway than desired.  Ride two, which we knocked out Christmas Eve day, is in the books and mega useable.

The most recent version, except for some minor sections, is different in direction and detail.  The idea is to route several variations.  These rides can be a component to Lost River training sessions.  Either capping a weekend by biking back in or starting off big on day one.  This, of course, requires support or a trusty teammate to transport your stuff when you ride but the excitement and challenge of the point to point is a good return; one I have valued since my pre- racer bike touring days.

STORE STOPS

My initial plan was to try and make one store stop in Strasburg Va. about halfway through.  Thing is I almost didn’t even make it out of Lost River.  I knew coming off the mountain from the Barn would be the coldest part with no real benefit of warm up before the descent, but it hit me harder than anticipated.  It was fifteen degrees as I braced myself shutting the red RTR door.  My gear was solid but even with jumbo gloves the hands got cold going down.  It is over ten miles before I start generating heat.  I chose a bail out option in the George Washington National Forest where if I was still excessively cold I could drop back into Lost River.  This was last resort stuff I didn’t want to employ but a nod to being sensible.  Fortunately as the road went up, and then up some more, my equilibrium returned.   It was the only time I lost the wind breaker all day.

At the top after stirring my slushy Gatorades  with a stick and zipping up I hit the snowy but rideable descent into the Virginia side and the point of no turning back.

The first half out of the forest on dirt I stayed relatively comfortable but once I hit the pavement and the speed picked up the cold set in.  It’seven miles downhill to Columbia Furnace and the Larkin Store.  I would have to re-heat before the next stretch to Strasburg.

I was numb and went for the hot chocolate machine first thing up.  It looked attractive and frothy but was over priced, over sweet and while it warmed me up it also made me feel sick until I rode it off.  I tried to unsuccessfully defrost my water bottles in the broken micro wave.  Too cold for food, I decided to pay up and keep rolling.  The lady at the register said, “You realize you’re nuts.”  I said, “Yes but thanks for reminding me.”.  With the head check complete she answered “ANYTIME” and I saddled back up.

PART B (store two)

After a fast valley push into Strasburg I pulled into a Sheetz 45 miles deep.  It had seats and a working micro wave.  I got some Pop Tarts and hot water.  This is where I planned to call my loved one and RTR partner to arrange the time for a rendezvous in Unison.  Turns out my Blackberry Curve, after a couple years activity chose this moment to fry.  I wasted ten minutes trying to revive it and then looked for the non existent pay phone to make an old fashion collect call.  Not too worried I asked the youngster behind the counter if I could make a collect call.  She said NO.   “Ok, can you make one for me?” NO! “Do you realize a collect call  doesn’t cost YOU?”  She says, “Yes but it will show up on the bill and my boss will see it.”

It goes on absurdly and I feel like I am downtown jousting with a security guard about my allen keys.  I’m losing time and I don’t want to search outside in the cold for a phone when I’m all warmed up.  I find two Eminem look-a-like kids and trade the rest of my Gatorade for a phone call.  Mission complete.  I’m back on the bike, momentarily agitated in a serene setting.

FINAL LEG

In my mind Strasburg is close to the finish but it is actually only halfway.  There are minor ridge crossings and considerable down hill.  It is three o’clock so I need to roll it.  Most of the remaining route I know but the section out of Strasburg is new turf that needs to map out.  It does.  There are some great roads that angle northeast from town going wide of Front Royal over 66, across 340, below Stephens City and ultimately and gracefully right up to the Shenandoah River before connecting back with 50 for a short climb over the mountain then back to old lanes and the General Store.

I make if off 50 with the sun dropping and have about ten miles to cover dirt and pavement as dusk turns to dark.  While relieved to be safe of cars I’m racing the elements.  It is a pitch black night and I try and memorize the final sequence on the now useless map.  There is no more warmth from the sun and the temperature has dropped sharply while the winds never really let up.  I think I’m on track but not certain.  With my cell broke I’m not really in trouble but wish I had a lighter or matches like I carry in my mountain bike saddle bag.  You know.  Just in case…..

I know I’m getting closer and headed in the right direction but I’m also running out of resolve and don’t want to risk a wrong turn.  The bumps on the dirt are navigated by feel and distant farm houses appear like light house beacons.

Fortunately I see car headlights up the road and as it casts shadows I notice the outline of a man with a dog.  Even better.  I can get some definite direction to insure safe landing. As I get close I’m expecting a surprised reaction but there is none.  The road is tight and the car is stopped talking to the guy with the dog.  I pull up and they keep talking. No recognition. I listen as I get cold from idling thinking it must be some kind of emergency.  A search for a lost dog or horse.  Something…   But the tone is friendly.  Conversational.  Comparing estate notes to my ears.  I wait.  Ignored.  Finally I say, “excuse me” which as I’m saying it I’m realizing how odd it is I HAVE to say it.  Incredible!

Now I don’t even want to deal with these guys.  It.s pointless to divert my crucial remaining energies.  I actually have to squeeze to get through them on the narrow road.  The whole event is rude, strange and hard to file.

I roll on.

I should be close but my final marker isn’t appearing.  The doubt is fatiguing me more than any leg volume.  I see another car and flag it down.  The road is basically an overgrown cart path so the car doesn’t have to slow down much.  The guy seems annoyed at me.  He says Unison is half mile away and he drives off.  No, “Are you ok? Do you need help?  Where did you come from etc.”  Again.  Strange and, for my money, not too neighborly, but sorry dude I’m happy to be on the homestretch!

THE BONES

Well the main thing is the route checked out.  The move is awesome.  87 miles with 6700 climbing feet.  I spent 5 hours and 50 minutes on the bike and should have Garmin stats up Friday when I get back to WV and my port chord.

I guess what turned out noteworthy were my encounters.  More so the contrast to how they left me feeling.  Very small matters but impact filled.

I monitor this by necessity every day as a courier.  Numerous exchanges/dealings and their fall outs.  Everybody has this but what is maybe different is that as much as it is possible to be I remain (or try to remain) a blank slate.  Purely in terms of urgency and safety.   I just can’t be sidetracked and risk my concentration because as soon as I walk out the door I am back in traffic and this happens all day long every day.  If I don’t want to get hurt I need to remain calm and focused.  Perhaps similar to the air one covets in a technical crit, except there it is on until it is over.  You don’t have to stop for business.  Now of course one can remain detached in their concentration and that is effective for sure but a certain amount of contact is required for real navigation.

Because of this I attempt to be a constant within a world of whims and ways, confronted by moods passive and maybe not so passive.  How much I succeed is in itself a flux but over all I believe a close to clear and objective vantage point is approached.

My country ride reminded me of this.  Alone against the mountains.  Riding on snow in the cold using my body.  Staying paced and calm for a long hard ride.  No agenda but to finish safely.  Then, I run into some folks.

The first playful store encounter was energizing.  Affirming.  Support from a stranger as I set out for another leg of the journey, refreshed.   While the ensuing exchanges (minus the Eminem dudes) were obstacles.   Blocks.  Things to be overcome.  I can ignore and brush off which is what I did but that requires effort when I was perhaps operating with finite allotments.  All not in itself a big deal but very simple communications with vastly different results.

I wanted an adventure ride and I got one.  I can’t wait to do the thing again.

The best in 2011.

It’s not that we’re tough or gluttons for punishment even though we are.   And it’s not about having something to prove even though proof now exists.  It is more about something presenting itself and us wanting to be in it.  The word adventure maybe comes to mind.  Motivations and outcomes are peripheral.  At the heart some effort and some unknown are required to ultimately and often only vaguely get to the quote-unquote, fun, but with completion the details that are acquired and the terrain that is now embedded more that settle that tab.

This ride started at the under-development Raw Talent Ranch Annex in Unison, Va.    It is a restored circa 1800′s General Store at a crossroads village in the shadow of Mt. Weather .  The objective is point to point routes from the respective RTRs.  Store to Barn – Va to WV.  Routes to put in the ride rolodex.

There are a host of options, ranging from big to much bigger, and we wanted to start laying them out.  Chuck Hutcheson and I had planned to do it the previous week but the first of season snows knocked that down.  This week, and for pretty much all December, the winds have been blowing.  Not breezes.  Big gusts.  Wailing across plains and through gaps.  Peeling roof shingles, blasting screens and knocking stuff over.

Our go day/yesterday they were, according to all the worried weather forecasters, going to be ‘diminished’ but that was untrue.  Chuck had done a ride the day before from Lost River to Unison with tail winds.  Beside the prevailing westerly winds there is significantly more climbing heading back to Lost River as the ridges plateau and step up.  Chuck had started on Dec 23rd as part of the Rapha 500 contest, which is a call for holiday miles.

So, this was to be our day and that is why we had ‘chosen’ to ride into a head wind for 95 miles.  Not ideal but in the, ‘if not now when category’.  Sometimes you choose direction but more often than not direction chooses you.  I guess it is like that with much.  You can plot and plan scenarios but the variables inevitably come fast and furious and at that point all you have is your experience and your ability to shift and rebound.  To call audibles and maintain composure while still keeping emphasis on your initial course; something like that…..

I was reminded of this early on.  We were riding side-by-side on a very flat, very scenic, rock wall lined, dirt road.  We already know we have head winds and there is no point dwelling on or calling attention to the obvious.  It is not denial for the awareness is inescapable.  It is practical.  Just two heavy hitters riding into a day long head wind conversing about anything but wind.

Going into the wind you try and get over the top of a big gear.  Create some momentum.  This was working for a while but the road stretched out and the wind kept increasing.  Eventually we both dropped into the small ring and kept bearing down.  The wind got louder and more violent.  We were getting moved around.  In and out of the saddle trying to stay on the lane and keep moving.  My heart rate was at 190 in the small ring on a flat!   We finally came to a turn with some tree shelter and stopped to shed outer layers.  The effort had kick started the body heat.  It was all so ridiculous we were laughing, especially when I told Chuck we had only gone five miles.  Only ninety more to go and we weren’t even near any of our impending four ridge crossings.

This was one of the biggest gust or sheers and the conditions were in flux all day.  If we were headed dead west it felt like uphill even on flats while angling south was at best a steady crosswind that by contrast felt easy.

The terrain was incredible.  We found a route that was mostly backroads except for brief pulls on Routes 50 and 55.  Approximately a fifth of the ride was on dirt.  It may be more.  We didn’t keep track.  Rolling horse lands.  Cattle country.  Lanes lined with evergreens.  A section alongside the Shenandoah River .  Rollers through apple orchards and of course the ridge crossings that come with the turf and finally the dirt climb finish to the barn.

We rode steady but the wind kept our speed down and we lost some time to flat tires so when, like a beacon, the Helmick Rock sign appeared, which is seven miles to the barn, darkness was almost full.

This is the steepest hardest climb of the day.  There really aren’t any cars to worry about but the dirt road has snow patches and because of the steepness it is important to read the lines and surfaces even in full daylight.  In the darkness this would not be possible.  Yet despite the dark, the cold and the impact of being over six hours deep a strange calm hit us as we went up.  I say we but I don’t know if Chuck felt it or not.  It seemed that way.   The thing was going to get done.  We just had to keep pedaling.  Breathing.  We were in the woods and completely out of the wind.  All of the sudden very warm.

A dog appeared.  Then another.  Hounds.  No barking.  Trotting along with us.  They were bear hounds with radio collars.  At work.   Noses to the ground tracking a scent.  If they were off course or lost they would have followed us to the barn but they had other matters at hand and just as quick and quietly as they had joined us they were off into the woods, in pursuit.  We kept pedaling.  Closing in.

When Helmick Rock connects ridge top onto the pavement and Howards Lick Road it still goes up for a mile then down one to the barn.  Now the wind is back in effect.  Maybe finally diminished but we are at 3000 feet.  The stars are bright and the lights of Moorefield in the valley to the west look festive and alive.

When we get to the barn it is 18 degrees.  My dogs are at the front driveway and Audrey is inside with a soup a fire AND home made pizza.  Pretty incredible podium.  One route in the books.

Check post of Chuck Hutch

Real Earth Productions.

Music courtesy of the Rambling Shadows.