One of the Oregon Randonneurs permanent routes is the Chehelam Ridge Runner. According to the cue sheet there is 4,000 feet (1220 meters) of climbing in this 62 mile (100km) route. The interesting part from a bicycling perspective is over 2,800 of those feet are climbed in the first 20 miles of the route. After that you have a scenic route with a few gentle swells through farm lands. The swells are so gentle they even seem so after the initial climbing. A cyclist interested in a lot of climbing could ride to the mid-way point and turn around and ride back to the start. This would provide approximately 6,000 feet of climbing including some stretches at 17% and 18% – at least that is what the road signs warn drivers about.
I was interested in getting out for a nice ride and Duane Wright came down from Seattle so we met in Sherwood a little after 9:00. Bert Lutz joined us for the day too. It was spitting rain with a north west wind at the start. I took the lead for the first few miles, until Bert passed around and offered to pull. Duane was right behind him. I hopped on the wheels of the other guys and marvelled, once again, at the joy of drafting. They rode side by side when there wasn’t are automobile traffic around and I was content to follow. That lasted until we got to the base of the first climb – file miles at 4%. They pulled away and I did my normal slower than the pack ride up the hill. Self evaluation indicated I was going slow even for myself. I wondered if my Thursday and Friday rides along with a pretty intense Friday Yoga session (hello Bow pose) had left a bit of fatigue in my muscles. I admired the steady grade and wished it wasn’t so foggy and cloudy, there were probably some killer great views hiding behind all the wet. Eventually the thoughts drifted away and I entered a meditative climbing frame of mind. Took off the fogged over glasses and climbed with a steady, secure pace. Bert came down the hill to see where I was call out encouraging words. We chatted for a bit, riding the final quarter mile to the summit. I said I had no expectation of him or Duane waiting on me. They did anyway.
At the top of Chehelam we figured out the answer to the control card question, did a bit of light and gear adjustment rolled downhill. The fog is very dense. I’m wiping my glasses trying to keep them clear and wondering what kept me from zipping up my jacket when stopped at the top. It was mighty chilly on the way down – even with the slower speeds for foggy safety. It was an especially slow descent after I got a surprise brake test when a hairpin turn appeared. It loomed up out up out of the fog and provided the solid reminder that slick roads deserve a lot of respect. Hooray for [http://www.koolstop.com/brakes/index.html good brakes] stopping in the wet.
There was just over a mile of descending before we started the real climb of the day over Bald Mountain. There was 1,200 feet or so of rising road to reach the summit. This just moments after the just over 1,000 feet we’d just accomplished. Yes, this route would be a fun one for hill climb fans.
I’d gotten ahead of Duane on the descent and we climbed this one together, he standing and me sitting for the most part. We talked about goals for the coming year. I described some of the views we were missing. Then I noticed Duane was missing. He’d stopped and had his bike leaned up against a roadside tree. I called back and found out he’d snapped a shift cable. It was easy to turn back and coast down to where he was working. He had a spare cable and all the tools he needed so I stuck around for moral support. Ate some of the snicker doodles and ginger snaps that Jennifer had baked for me. Wrung water out my gloves. Burt made his second descent of the day to see what was holding us up. He had a couple of cookies too. It was companiable on the side of the road – there was no shoulder here. An occasional car would go by and we speculated on how crazy the drivers must think we were out on bikes on a rainy and windy day. With the repair complete we took off again. Bert and Duane road together while I wondered where my strength had gone and wondered if walking might just be a bit faster.
At the top they were waiting for me next to the state park. We had a question to answer for the control card. The fog made it difficult to see what the answer was so we gave it our best guess. This time I remembered to zip up totally and we started the major descent of the day. I stopped pedaling briefly and my bike slowed down as if I had a brake on. Unlike wondering where my stregth had gone on the climb, this clearly wasn’t the typical tired brain figment my imagination. Picking up the bike I gave the rear wheel a spin, it looked good. The front wheel stopped after a few turns so I checked the brakes. They seemed pretty snug so I loosened them up. The wheel was still stiff. Three weeks earlier, on the Peach of a Century, a mechanic who’d installed a new wheel commented that my front hub needed work. I’d explained that generator hubs feel that way to people who don’t know what they’re like. Maybe he’d been right and now the hub was approaching failure. Ugh. Only thing to do was press on.
It was a great bombing descent with hairpins and signs warning of 17% downgrade, 18% downgrade and the hub didn’t bother me a bit. When the road flattened out Burt was far ahead, Duane a hundred yards or so back and I was feeling good. A flat stretch feels so easy after a bunch of climbing. A flat stretch with smooth pavement and a tailwind makes you feel like you were meant to cycle for life and you start to sing because it feels so wonderful to be out on a bicycle pedaling through the countryside. That’s the way the ride was until we reached Forest Grove and Maggie’s Buns.
I’d attempted to stop at Maggie’s Buns numerous times in the past. Those plans were either dashed when I was running too late or Maggie’s was closed on arrival. Today I was determined to stop and enjoy some baked goods. Fortunately Duane was agreeable. We arrived right at the cut off time for a timed randonneuring stop. Any time we stayed here would cut into our time for the return trip. This ride was a day to be out and get some miles and hills. I know how to stop and keep a stop brief, more or less. This was not a day that I was going to worry about time. After eyeing the display cases I forwent any notion of a timely finish. When Duane indicated he was going to have a lunch I felt some relief. Odwalla AntiOxidance and a dense, almost black brownie were my first choices. Meat loaf, water and a double cappicino followed. Num. Duane looked a little concerned as I wrapped up the last half of the meatloaf. I assured him that I had just reached a nice comfort point for food consumption and wanted to take the rest with me.
This was only half of the wonderfullness of the stop. Even better was the change in socks and gloves. Dry clothing felt so warm and nice. Taken together this was one great stop. After a self indulgant half hour or more we rolled out to finish the ride. I reminded Duane, again, that for me the ride was just a ride, for him it was a qualifier for his R5000 award. He shouldn’t hold back to ride with me and endanger his finishing time. He speculated we had enough time and we rode on together.
Just south of Forest Grove is an area of wetlands. Today the commonly sighted geese and ducks were joined by Blue Herons and a white heron like bird (snowy egret?) that glowed on the overcast day. Ah! Another joy to riding.
The morning rain had dissipated. The morning winds, from the west and north, hand changed direction and were now coming out of the south. After a jaunt east we turned south. I filled with satisfaction. This was just like riding home from work during the summer only the temperatures were more agreeable. A year ago this stretch would have had me dispirited and grumbling about the winds. Today they were just a ride feature, like the sight of the clouds scudding above, the smells of the farms we passed, the feeling of the road surface modulating between smooth and rough. Duane was hanging on my wheel and I was leaned over as far as comfort allowed. Miles tikced by. The sky grew brighter. I listed to some odd squeaky or scrapy noise from my bike. I couldn’t place where it came from. That noise was joined by another one that was very unfamiliar. Then I realized by phone was ringing.
We stopped and I answered. It was Susan France, the RBA for our area, wondering how the ride went. “We’re at mile 52.” “I’d better let you go then you guys are short on time. Bye.” Indeed while I was on the phone Duane checked his watch and finally took my advice about riding ahead to heart. He consulted the cue sheet and pedaled off while I briefly chatted. I continued on solo, the distance between us slowly grew until I was caught at a stop light and then behind a school bus and he disappeared around a bend.
It was about this time the sun actually came out and directly illuminated the area I was riding through. Japanese Maples glowed, water shimmered, everything looked fresh.
My thighs were’t fresh. Between the hills and the headwinds and my pushing the speed there were moments of muscular whimpering. Somehow the aches felt nice and I pushed on. The route meandered east and south. I was back in familiar territory and didn’t need to consult the directions. Soon I was comparing distances to go with familiar rides in the neighborhood. “I’m crossing the river, I’m at Henry’s Cafe, I’m at the video store.” Car traffic increased, stop signs and lights became frequest.
Pulling into the park and ride lot I saw Duane, his friend Karen, and Susan chatting. Susan told me I was late. I replied by exclaiming “great ride” and shaking hands with Duane. There were more cookies from Jennifer that I
shared with everyone. We chatted. I basked in the glow of a good ride.
Susan, hearing from Duane about my wheel issue, pointed out what should have been obvious: my front fender was rubbing on the wheel. Once she pointed that out I wonder how I could have missed it. Another lesson for the
experience store. Didn’t matter though, I’d just had a wonderful ride and nothing was deflating the glow of happiness.
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