Peninsula Century

Thirty six hours of steady rain; not hard, just non-stop until three inches had fallen. These are not ideal conditions to prepare for a century ride. Then again, after riding across the country and maybe half-a-dozen centuries in the process (so who’s counting?), I oughta be able to do it anyway.

The bike needed more prep than I did. New chain, front derailleur, water bottle cages (I’m trying the cageless bottles that came with the bike); as well as a thorough cleaning.

Don’t do this to your derailleur

In lieu of training, I went kayaking once the rain stopped. It was a beautiful late summer day, temperature in the 70s (25 C), no wind. Gliding by a pier I noticed a Great Blue Heron standing on someone’s boat hoist. It stood so still, for a moment I thought it was a superbly realistic sculpture. Then it turned its head ever so slightly to show me it was alive. I met another half-fast rider at a lakefront biergarten to taste the local Oktoberfest. He mentioned that he is doing the ride also and asked if he could share my campsite. The century forecast is for a day much like today, with a storm rolling in the next day. Packing up wet is no big deal. I did it about 50 times this summer.

The shakedown cruise went well. Everything worked for a little 15 mile spin around the lake. The car is packed and ready.

On the way to Door County, one must pass through the belly of the beast. I passed a sign reading “Trump. Do you miss him yet?” This of course brought to mind this Dan Hicks song.

As we ate dinner the night before the ride, Alfred, Lord Tennyson remarked about the aggressiveness and cunning of the lcoal raccoons. I said, “You mean like the one who is trying to get into your tent right now?” A ‘coon was just crawling under the fly into the vestibule. We convinced it to depart and soon heard yelling from a nearby site.

It was a nearly perfect day for a bike ride. Coffee and breakfast in the dark, but warm enough to do that in bike clothes. Departure at 0700, The temperature was 70 degrees (21 C). It was windy, from the south, which meant headwind early and tailwind later.

At about mile 80 there were 2 signs at the same intersection – one pointing left and one straight ahead. I pulled out a map to check. The main route headed north (straight) and was a figure 8 loop, returning south into the headwind. If I turned left, it shortened the route, meaning cutting out about half of the remaining time into the headwind. With nothing to prove, I turned left, cutting the 100 mile ride to 89 miles. Since I was parked in front of a coffee shop, I could stop in for a cortado while I cooled down, then change clothes and head to the post-ride party for food and beer. I did that, then waded in the bay to cool my feet.

Al Johnson’s restaurant in Sister Bay, with sod roofs.

We went back to the campground for a shower and a brief rain shower. Dinner was popcorn and a Spanish red wine.

The real excitement came the next morning. After packing up I noticed a flat tire on the van. I dug out the compact spare (requiring some unpacking and removing a secret panel). I removed the flat tire and installed the spare. Once there was weight on it, it became clear that there was little pressure in that tire. I called AAA for help. Meanwhile, Alfred, Lord Tennyson tried to start his car. The battery was dead. The mechanic arrived and inflated my tires and checked for leaks. He found that the valve stem was leaking on the real tire. The compact spare worked (though recommendations are to drive not more than 50 miles at not more than 50 mph). With 200+ miles to home, that didn’t make for a good plan. It being Sunday, not much was open for repair options. He started Lord Tennyson’s car and took my tire to his shop to repair.

Meanwhile, I re-pitched my tent, since it was clear I’d be staying another night. While pitching the tent I charged my power bank with the solar charger. I set them up on the picnic table at an adjacent empty campsite, since it had sun and we didn’t. Within minutes they were stolen.

Late afternoon the call came that my tire was fixed. I went to pick it up and the guy was nice enough to remount my regular tire so I wouldn’t have to do that back at camp. The price was $20 and listening to stories for a couple of hours and looking at all of his cars.

We drove to a sports bar to watch the Packer-Bear game for the evening. When we got back to camp, ALT gave a loud yell. He had forgotten that he left a couple of wrapped chocolates in his tent. A raccoon had unzipped the tent door, crawled inside, and unwrapped and ate the chocolates. There was also a bit of cocoa powder in the tent so the bandit left chocolate footprints on Tennyson’s bed on his way out the opposite door. Yeah, that raccoon was ambitious enough to open two zippers.

Monday morning I was up and out early, stopping for breakfast on the road. While away the 2022 coast-to-coast jersey arrived at home. Here it is:

Update: since I scheduled this for the wrong day, I can add that ALT found a soft tire on the day he was leaving, limped into town for air, and found a screw in his tire. He then had to stop for tire repair before the driver home. I guess we should stick to bikes.

It takes all kinds

There are all sorts of riders on this trip. There are those who look like they can barely walk when they get up in the morning, yet they mount their bikes and ride 60+ miles. Some are riding EFI (“every fucking inch”). Others ride part of each day and take the sag wagon for the other part. Still others pick and choose their days to ride. There are those riding on one or two artificial knees, and one riding on his second heart. There are the “big kids” who ride at breakneck speed and are the first ones in every day, and the one who looks like the little brother yelling, “Hey, wait up!”

There are those who leave at the crack of dawn (skipping breakfast) and those who get in at sunset (barely in time for dinner, much less changing and showering).

There are those who ride as though oblivious to the traffic around them, roaming across the lanes while shooting video, and those who ride in rigid pacelines. There are those who stop to take pictures of everything. There are those who ride with the same person every day, never leaving each other’s side, those who ride alone, and those who wander among groups.

Some sleep in their tents no matter what. Others stay in a hotel every chance they get. Some sleep on elaborate beds (one inflatable bed is about 2 feet thick) while others sleep on the thinnest of pads.

A group joined late and ride together every day in matching clothes. Multiple pairs and small groups have formed and become inseparable.

There are couples, a father and son, mother and daughter, mother and son, pairs or groups of friends, people who met on prior cross-country rides and wanted to meet up again, people who knew no one when we started. Some are probably already plotting when they will see each other again, seeming to be lifelong friends by the end of the ride despite never having met before.

There are those who ride all over the world, spending more time on their bikes than at home; those who have done this multiple times; those who completed their crossing in smaller chunks over a series of years; those who returned to repeat a favorite week; those who came just for the last week to say goodbye to the Trail Boss upon his retirement.

We ranged in age from early 20s to late 70s. There were a couple of bike racers, a couple who lead tours of their own, some using up all of their vacation time, some enjoying one last fling before embarking on a new career.

Who rides a bike across the continent? Years ago, it was mostly young people who were “between jobs” or taking a break between school and work, before entering the “real world”. Now it is often retirees and school teachers. The ones who worked in high tech jobs tend to be younger. They could afford to retire years before those of us in service jobs.

Cycle America has a weekly awards night, in which riders give each other awards. They used to be light-hearted and mostly inside jokes. This year they were almost entirely heartfelt thank yous for services provided, like helping to fix a flat tire.

As a result, most of my awards were not given out, but will be today.

• The Dread Pirate Roberts Award: given to a rider who could do it all – ride fast up hills, on flats, through headwinds, and shoot video while riding. He was also an all-around good guy, helping others under tough conditions. [The award was a black mask.]
• The Beast Mode Award: given to a rider who, after an electronic shifter failure, rode through the Black Hills on a single speed bike. Folks rode high-end racing bikes, touring bikes, e-bikes, gravel bikes, cross bikes, mountain bikes, commuter bikes – but she was the only one to ride a single speed through mountains for a day. [The award was a hat in the form of a bison head.]
• The Hammerhead Award: given to a rider who rode hard. At the beginning she followed a stronger rider. By the end she was among the strongest in the group. At first she just rode as fast as possible. Later she was stopping to see the sights. Rumor has it she was the fastest up Whiteface Mountain, leaving her former mentor in the dust. On a windy day, she rode back several miles in order to help several other riders cut through a nasty headwind. [The award was to be a child’s toy hammer.]
• The Eeyore Award: given to a rider who has crossed North America multiple times but still finds something to complain about almost daily – the course was too hilly, too boring, too long; there was too much lasagne. He took shortcuts, often deleting the most scenic part of a ride in order to reduce the mileage. Yet he was lovable in his own way and frequently stopped to help others. [The award was to be a stuffed donkey.]
• The Nancy Sinatra Award: given to a rider who made it up every hill, but often by walking. I was worried about the state of her cleats so wanted to give her some boots that are made for walking. [The award was to be a pair of white go-go boots.]
• The “Yes I Do Own the Whole Damn Road” award: given to a rider who tended to be oblivious to his surroundings. He often wandered into the other lane, or stayed out in the traffic lane when cars approached from behind. [The award was to be a title deed to “The Whole Damn Road”.]
• The Stop and Smell the Roses Award: given to a pair of riders who were among the first out in the morning, always the first in at the end of the day (which was often before noon for them). I wanted to remind them that the east coast would still be there even if they didn’t get there first, and that there was scenery worth looking at, rather than just looking at each other’s back for 4000+ miles. [The award was to be a plastic flower for each – I carried them for a couple thousand miles but never actually presented them.]

Cranes waiting for clinic to open

My new riding partner

If it came any closer, I could have touched it

Parts of this post were written while on the road but never published. Other parts were written after getting home from the trip. Last week I went to get a post-ride massage. Waiting at the clinic entrance were a pair of sandhill cranes. I rode a few laps around the parking lot to give them time to move, time for me to cool down, and to wait for the clinic to open. After parking my bike, the cranes wandered back to check it out. While I was sitting on a bench reading email, I heard a sound close by and looked up to see one of the cranes (last picture) about three feet away from me.

Back from the trip, I am often sleeping in until sunrise. Hanging laundry this morning, there is a distinct feel of fall in the air.