tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19017424181692404692024-03-06T21:34:03.600-06:00SuperKateBe your own hero!Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.comBlogger877125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-91522125384046585122022-05-10T15:27:00.000-05:002022-05-10T15:27:00.236-05:00M.O.R.E. or less day 8 - Hog Island State Forest to Jack Pine Lodge<p><b style="color: #050505; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">June 8, 2021</b></p><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Hog Island State Forest to Jack Pine Lodge - 72 miles</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">I slept hard, woke to the sounds of water hitting my tent, internally groaned. I'd been happy to have avoided rain so far; still, we could hardly expect our weather luck to last forever. After organizing the gear inside my tent I steeled myself to quickly pack up in the rain, only to be happily surprised. The sound I'd heard was just water dripping off the trees. The tents were no less soaked than if it had actually rained, but it was better to load up in a damp fog than a shower.</span></div><div><br /><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj5jeFWC6jg8FUoZ9kNdAWPIDJrotgJPJ2509lpLxhaInBEVktBNz9xf7o1ZLBFzJ1vDkAbpjT-mH4_95-3Pdz_QEUufIBHXg7NdA9-Z3gmAiG3B8_d29yB7kGEuSWgZg8AS8HlnL7c8bXSSb54lsqTd5Telx8wzEXTtvCEE606dpw6quFsDNhoaehd7Q=s2016" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj5jeFWC6jg8FUoZ9kNdAWPIDJrotgJPJ2509lpLxhaInBEVktBNz9xf7o1ZLBFzJ1vDkAbpjT-mH4_95-3Pdz_QEUufIBHXg7NdA9-Z3gmAiG3B8_d29yB7kGEuSWgZg8AS8HlnL7c8bXSSb54lsqTd5Telx8wzEXTtvCEE606dpw6quFsDNhoaehd7Q=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6:50 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">We would spend day 8 entirely off the MORE route. We had two goals: get to the night's accommodations before Jacob's volleyball match started and put ourselves in position to rejoin the route the following day. We rolled out of camp just after 7, hitting the highway in a cold, dense fog. All the taillights in the world wouldn't have reassured me, and mine was none too bright.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjS4WRa4bEJKI5OsdTCrlBB2mNoMF2ezPQAvAuf796HaIlZyrl2TLcGh8d0748WDLRUuwuircxglOIvMZcZzPc3FQGscjp-vFNuVQOBc2-PhwBhR606EMHNVD5VLoX5scuUIhJNBGm_YgWfVoMnauhYPa6LDOgUK1s5IQlfxNIf1ASQLpw_us4j9l1T-g=s2016" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjS4WRa4bEJKI5OsdTCrlBB2mNoMF2ezPQAvAuf796HaIlZyrl2TLcGh8d0748WDLRUuwuircxglOIvMZcZzPc3FQGscjp-vFNuVQOBc2-PhwBhR606EMHNVD5VLoX5scuUIhJNBGm_YgWfVoMnauhYPa6LDOgUK1s5IQlfxNIf1ASQLpw_us4j9l1T-g=s320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is safe. This is fine.<br />7:51 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br /></span><div dir="auto"><div style="color: black; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We stopped at a convenience store about 7 miles in for coffees and a bathroom break, then rode seemingly endless highway miles. </span></div></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEihcAyFmL0NoZ-EfVN6vqbt7J1sDukzFO9_3x1h-kY-ZYFJ4LJh0yigs_D-rnsmo0dcA0JQTjMP4yY-AQ2nZfaibrZ8qxDhuD9vP5pCJfGAeV4n9K-jVFRKYxvEwDKPdHAEAy2ULoIJ2PoCkv-jmS4wSrtWnH3b39bsPIRm8tsBq2n9uwIomIXbKX50CA=s960" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEihcAyFmL0NoZ-EfVN6vqbt7J1sDukzFO9_3x1h-kY-ZYFJ4LJh0yigs_D-rnsmo0dcA0JQTjMP4yY-AQ2nZfaibrZ8qxDhuD9vP5pCJfGAeV4n9K-jVFRKYxvEwDKPdHAEAy2ULoIJ2PoCkv-jmS4wSrtWnH3b39bsPIRm8tsBq2n9uwIomIXbKX50CA=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Had to stop and get a picture of this sign for my horror movie loving husband.<br />9:02 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br /></span><div dir="auto" style="font-size: 15px;"><div style="color: black; font-size: medium; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The largely flat route was a mixed blessing. There were no major hills, but my singlespeed was a bit of a liability with geared companions. Either they had to dial back their easy pace or I was forced to pedal like crazy. Riding in a paceline most of the day, I struggled to keep up. By that afternoon I was exhausted...and no wonder. Not only was I unaccustomed to spinning like a rabid hamster, but I'd also ridden half of my year's mileage in the past week. This trip was a definite Train by Event <sup><span style="font-size: xx-small;">TM</span></sup> type of situation.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; white-space: normal;"><br /></div><div style="color: black; font-size: medium; white-space: normal;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtej_6C7kKiapK170g0CErRe592VHt-WAtSvMwnOxM7n4U2WNkuk_RSTwZ1lXJmod0fkLIE2FvczY98qM7By25WdQsrK7pAFjkdR4P819MQh0J6yC53lNCunCEI0RtUdwe_vEG5YcPRjOp9h0wFvwNdL7kWGIzVpF_0UaMwF_yRe4xEL2MDBHlKSg58w=s828" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="484" data-original-width="828" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjtej_6C7kKiapK170g0CErRe592VHt-WAtSvMwnOxM7n4U2WNkuk_RSTwZ1lXJmod0fkLIE2FvczY98qM7By25WdQsrK7pAFjkdR4P819MQh0J6yC53lNCunCEI0RtUdwe_vEG5YcPRjOp9h0wFvwNdL7kWGIzVpF_0UaMwF_yRe4xEL2MDBHlKSg58w=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tell me you didn't train much last month without telling me you didn't train much last month. <br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: inherit;">We at lunch at Woody's Pub in Manistique, where spent a long and thoroughly enjoyable meal chatting with the owner and his cook. Woody was excited to check out our bikes and text his cyclist son about our trip. I was very thankful for the extended break. In addition to the hard work of keeping up with the guys I was beginning to feel the hand numbness and neck/shoulder pain that had been an omnipresent part of my pre-physical therapy bulging disc experience. Of course, I hadn't done any of my PT exercises since starting the trip, so while the discomfort was unsettling it was hardly surprising.</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; white-space: normal;"><br /></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; white-space: normal;"><br /></div></div><div dir="auto" style="font-size: 15px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBdoLFm3mKtFzhx5rnK-p0iXji7vQ6zmNCOTF9RXv_qPuJ84_5o31tva5mo_El9crh7lQ2kBrqZYiRWxtzr7fPCRNEgINCvoTZhl9puMwZpjz-zQvIXrMicMzNAjgtibYxCV94RxtI5qYpcO_I9bF8nWw2GG9Fv-5KRkLIpwuwoOjcGC5Z31mvaWksAQ=s828" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="621" data-original-width="828" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBdoLFm3mKtFzhx5rnK-p0iXji7vQ6zmNCOTF9RXv_qPuJ84_5o31tva5mo_El9crh7lQ2kBrqZYiRWxtzr7fPCRNEgINCvoTZhl9puMwZpjz-zQvIXrMicMzNAjgtibYxCV94RxtI5qYpcO_I9bF8nWw2GG9Fv-5KRkLIpwuwoOjcGC5Z31mvaWksAQ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">5:01 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div dir="auto"><div style="color: black; font-size: medium; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Our cabin at Jack Pine Lodge was just 20 more miles from the pub. I was doubly excited, both to watch Jacob's game and because Woody had spoken highly about the lodge restaurant. Unfortunately, we learned on arrival that the restaurant was closed on Tuesdays. Naturally this was a Tuesday. We found our cabin but no one to check us in. After wandering around, we finally saw a sign directing guests to check in at one of the campers. A nice older couple helped us out, and finally we were able to get settled for the evening. </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; white-space: normal;"><br /></div><div style="color: black; font-size: medium; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The first order of business was to hang our wet tents to dry in the warm breeze, followed by laundry and supper. My Knorr rice dish and packet of chicken was a poor substitute for the steak dinner I'd been anticipating, but I was glad to have it. </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; white-space: normal;"><br /></div><div style="color: black; font-size: medium; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Though the cabin had both wifi and a smart TV, I ended up watching Jacob's match on my phone. I was happy to be able to watch, but it was hard to follow the action on the small screen. Thankfully Jeff sent me point by point updates, and eventually Chuck took pity on me and let me watch the match on his phone while reading Jeff's updates on mine. Thanks to the guys and the wonderful family streaming the match, I was at least virtually present as Jacob and his team won their first victory of regional playoffs.</span></div></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div></span></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3o48qH3qU2xejw_J1E_Psj0sDb89RphmKmSROW5j_v4M9AdiaBXSWh5HOznUYzrvkQODjvSa55qGHk5kaMAU-jVEwZvEuTKyPz4NAOcQfN7mlZ4GJSKhfp3uC5vRvb3fXUMzXzk6ipEgn9ai44j8WVCa-f2mSor__6so0vt3aCvF4radF4Hh7yRPlmw=s829" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="622" data-original-width="829" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3o48qH3qU2xejw_J1E_Psj0sDb89RphmKmSROW5j_v4M9AdiaBXSWh5HOznUYzrvkQODjvSa55qGHk5kaMAU-jVEwZvEuTKyPz4NAOcQfN7mlZ4GJSKhfp3uC5vRvb3fXUMzXzk6ipEgn9ai44j8WVCa-f2mSor__6so0vt3aCvF4radF4Hh7yRPlmw=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Super flattering picture of me following the match on the two phones.<br />7:13 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br /></span><div dir="auto"><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="color: black; white-space: normal;"><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Once volleyball was over, we turned to the next task: route planning. We would intersect the MORE route early the next day and needed to get an idea of our day's mileage, resupply options, and eventual destination. Chuck and I pored over the maps and Matt's narrative for the upcoming section.</span></span></span></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px;"><br /></div><blockquote style="font-family: inherit;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><p class="font_8" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: black; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; pointer-events: auto; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">MILE 96.6-142.3</span> <strike>Remote section through tough terrain. Good gravel leaving Mead Creek campground until Highwater Truck Trail. Terrain gives way to rocky and sandy truck trails traversing the Seney Wildlife Refuge. During high water this area can become flooded and impassable. Stutts Truck trail and other roads are quite sandy.</strike> Small "store" in Steuben with variable hours. Very flat terrain.</span></p><p class="font_8" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: black; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; pointer-events: auto; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">MILE 142.3-156.6</span> Nice gravel roads through the Hiawatha National Forest. At mile 152 the route turns into Bruno's Run singletrack. Bruno's run is a smooth non-technical trail through very scenic terrain. Pete's Lake Campground is at mile 156.6 with bathrooms and water. Lot's of camping options in this general area. First good section of hills.</span></p><p class="font_8" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: black; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; pointer-events: auto; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">MILE 156.6-171.6</span> Continue on Bruno's Run singletrack. Forest Glen General Store just off-route at mile 157.6</span></p><p class="font_8" style="background: transparent; border: 0px; color: black; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; pointer-events: auto; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">MILE 171.6-185.5 </span>Begin riding on Valley Spur trails which are flowing and smooth. After departing trails the route enters old logging roads and can be overgrown in spots. Continue following forest roads, two-tracks and snowmobile trail until route emerges onto a paved road just outside of Wetmore. Lots of good re-supply, lodging and dining options in both Wetmore and Munising.</span></p></div></blockquote><div dir="auto"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; white-space: normal;">We would rejoin the route at about mile 140 in the above narrative. The subsequent combination of singletrack and forest roads made us uncertain how much mileage we'd accomplish, which of course made planning ahead even more of an adventure. In this We penciled in a couple of likely camping options past Munising, noted the resupply options, and called it good.</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; white-space: normal;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; white-space: normal;">In instances like these, we generally chose A and B (and sometimes C) goals for our day, and if we reached the furthest planned destination we'd then evaluate our next steps before proceeding. I can't emphasize enough what a difference it was to have a partner in this planning. Logistics had really been my Achilles heel during ARHC, and while I've grown in skills and confidence, it was such a relief to have another set of eyes looking at and suggesting options...not to mention knowing that if I ended up sleeping in a ditch on the side of some godforsaken road, at least I wouldn't be there alone. </span></div></div></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><br /></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Links</b>:</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5436892539">Day 8 Strava</a></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">(No point in linking to the RWGPS or MORE info because neither was used)</div></div></div></div></div>Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-29742713023532803492022-04-28T23:21:00.005-05:002022-04-28T23:21:24.714-05:00The Epic 150<i>Lake of the Ozarks State Park</i><div><i>April 27, 2019</i><div><i><br /></i></div><div><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">After killing it with training for mid-January through March, life in all its messiness got in the way in April. I got to watch a bunch of Jacob’s volleyball and frisbee games (good) and deal with some major stress by curling up on the couch and watching tv or sleeping (not particularly productive), so I went into The Epic 150 with a total of ~130 miles for the month. </span><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">I’ve learned, though, that my body will generally do what I ask it to, so I lined up with the expectation of a long, hard, good training day. And in the end, it was all of those things.</span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhffJ5OTUcjP0DIMXGTR7QHAbnSFVDsCaiVRmpRNwArQK87SQ2QRT2_IZCeGbJrRTN6n7U5Zb1Em--8Kjd_WA9Fmw6JmuVdmaIwFGGK9Fr6QxpQz9njRo8YszOt2RVYHBNqruLWh6jgzSlsQqAuNChQU1aHbEziZnj6RAB48f5lYXbVm208HzYUYE8tHA/s3088/image0.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhffJ5OTUcjP0DIMXGTR7QHAbnSFVDsCaiVRmpRNwArQK87SQ2QRT2_IZCeGbJrRTN6n7U5Zb1Em--8Kjd_WA9Fmw6JmuVdmaIwFGGK9Fr6QxpQz9njRo8YszOt2RVYHBNqruLWh6jgzSlsQqAuNChQU1aHbEziZnj6RAB48f5lYXbVm208HzYUYE8tHA/s320/image0.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">We started with 3 hours of on and off rain, but the temps were nice and the rain wasn’t crazy (and totally justified my decision to not clean my bike pre-race), so NBD. It was really windy, but for most of the day it wasn’t a headwind (until for about 20 miles it was </span><img alt="😫" aria-label="😫" class="an1" data-emoji="😫" loading="lazy" src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/14.0/1f62b/32.png" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; height: 1.2em; vertical-align: middle; width: 1.2em;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">) and we had one longish stretch of glorious tailwind. The hills were big and relentless. There aren’t many flat spots on this course!</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieNSTDybEC3q-vVRoSjXb69vRxHBaqCteIL4CPQrF-I2ID9EBWwDUI3bqrnLYTbFTfh0OXYgl2h32XuqdU6KAV4HeTiloNUIB_AllxZFxvGpSgYJuk2i5Kbh2QxQFZ0SYEtzf0IQQZqpmGoC_aAnbBb10RpWWRc7SAdgjvxpivXhwYnHhTMcDgnAdGKw/s2048/image1.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieNSTDybEC3q-vVRoSjXb69vRxHBaqCteIL4CPQrF-I2ID9EBWwDUI3bqrnLYTbFTfh0OXYgl2h32XuqdU6KAV4HeTiloNUIB_AllxZFxvGpSgYJuk2i5Kbh2QxQFZ0SYEtzf0IQQZqpmGoC_aAnbBb10RpWWRc7SAdgjvxpivXhwYnHhTMcDgnAdGKw/s320/image1.jpeg" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Brad Glidewell</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></div><div><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">And yet, for the first 80 miles, I thought, “I expected this to be harder.” I mean, it was SO hard and I was barely staying ahead of the 10 mph cutoff, but I’d heard how awful the hills were, and I was riding them. In the first 80 miles I only walked part of two hills. For once I did a good job of shifting and using all of my gears and taking advantage of the super easy granny gear I have. Lots of times I started riding uphill figuring, “I’ll just see how far I can go before I have to walk,” only to make it to the top.</span></div><div><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #222222; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTSkfdb4j7i16HOkrUxct7mQT1gYuenZYhffegWW-uiC_56Q1TUApgJevgcmALW8GVme4R7Hn0ODZEbItrfjX4uYbwSt20PV5LeZTL700s4hhX1zWgWHnFkYW17mU_FGtAZA6nB0wlhDWmUdp_ZlkiH_6eUBVROK6BPnVgOSn8n_lT1JVsv3-zXwWlaA/s4032/image2%20(1).jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTSkfdb4j7i16HOkrUxct7mQT1gYuenZYhffegWW-uiC_56Q1TUApgJevgcmALW8GVme4R7Hn0ODZEbItrfjX4uYbwSt20PV5LeZTL700s4hhX1zWgWHnFkYW17mU_FGtAZA6nB0wlhDWmUdp_ZlkiH_6eUBVROK6BPnVgOSn8n_lT1JVsv3-zXwWlaA/s320/image2%20(1).jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">And on the downhill side, all I could think was that my Team Virtus Adventure Racing teammates wouldn’t recognize the girl who used to be afraid to top 20 mph on a descent. My bike is so confidence-inspiring going downhill, especially with new brake pads (thanks, The Cyclery and Fitness Center).</span></div><div><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #222222; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDdrer0XElhmLuXl0lkPNJSRDFOvN8HtZu5gpLvpxShEvm_bMyEYyrP1EBCqcZdqCVF4VinsU0F-wL8Hiw7g1nWZsaZv4TBqFr2_f8nYGBjXfLUzKL_axYGEEbFlmA0_YlGhxgt7iuhDEwvTVyhLjLjgcjERu1l5KLEio0B89Oh1S58lvvj27R3rhGyw/s2048/image0%20(1).jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDdrer0XElhmLuXl0lkPNJSRDFOvN8HtZu5gpLvpxShEvm_bMyEYyrP1EBCqcZdqCVF4VinsU0F-wL8Hiw7g1nWZsaZv4TBqFr2_f8nYGBjXfLUzKL_axYGEEbFlmA0_YlGhxgt7iuhDEwvTVyhLjLjgcjERu1l5KLEio0B89Oh1S58lvvj27R3rhGyw/s320/image0%20(1).jpeg" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beginning the lollipop as another rider finishes it.<br />Photo credit: Brad Glidewell</td></tr></tbody></table></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">Of course, you can’t say something like “I thought this would be harder” (insert TWSS joke) in the first half of a race without eventually eating your words, which did for the last 70 miles. It got hot, there was a ridiculous headwind, and though I’d conquered the hills I’d heard about, there were many more for me to meet. My eyes deemed them unimpressive, but my tired legs didn’t share that assessment.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf7bpkf7zAirS-6l1ZaDmtl-1nEbphsdVVQ2LQnChjN1mxJ0IDeuf2V8-ZrQXVdKX7TMLEuMIq6R21_KNAIqBm6zBwJQlH-_bSnxR--E3PTaijIdUnfyPgtAbWWXFPdy8hsu3JFdbFtZs8MuPku700WBgRmV4uhYspxe-ZhVb6zelDay1Og8PcUMyd6A/s4032/image2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf7bpkf7zAirS-6l1ZaDmtl-1nEbphsdVVQ2LQnChjN1mxJ0IDeuf2V8-ZrQXVdKX7TMLEuMIq6R21_KNAIqBm6zBwJQlH-_bSnxR--E3PTaijIdUnfyPgtAbWWXFPdy8hsu3JFdbFtZs8MuPku700WBgRmV4uhYspxe-ZhVb6zelDay1Og8PcUMyd6A/s320/image2.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>The 40 miles between CP 3 (mile 81 - “halfway there!”) and CP4 (mile 123 - “28 miles left, it’s like a medium Trailnet ride”) were pretty bleak. Thankfully, after 123 solo miles where I occasionally rode with some really cool people but spent most of the time alone, Chuck caught me at that final CP, and I got to ride that last leg with my buddy.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">We rolled in dead last after the announcer and most riders were gone, but the finish line, the race directors, and several of our friends were still there (thanks BOR and Mickey!) The food truck was also still there, which is why I have no finish line picture. </span><img alt="🤷🏻♀️" aria-label="🤷🏻♀️" class="an1" data-emoji="🤷🏻♀️" loading="lazy" src="https://fonts.gstatic.com/s/e/notoemoji/14.0/1f937_1f3fb_200d_2640_fe0f/32.png" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; height: 1.2em; vertical-align: middle; width: 1.2em;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"> #priorities</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBYxskq4kp8JS1DPOdQHBzuCijN5QEbJO6VjsRyrDxVBeJ-7Jc9G7In08M1PYMvFb3r-EoYMy8-rUs2B2Yzd1TeCTJIZlaQF_qb3hUjUXBcvxs0FdoRxFu8YWtxXAq7-TcDTp45Vztk3ndpHwbtdxBo0SwVxwEUk0q__LNzHMW6J7-7-wU8YEv5Y4GWw/s2048/image3.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBYxskq4kp8JS1DPOdQHBzuCijN5QEbJO6VjsRyrDxVBeJ-7Jc9G7In08M1PYMvFb3r-EoYMy8-rUs2B2Yzd1TeCTJIZlaQF_qb3hUjUXBcvxs0FdoRxFu8YWtxXAq7-TcDTp45Vztk3ndpHwbtdxBo0SwVxwEUk0q__LNzHMW6J7-7-wU8YEv5Y4GWw/s320/image3.jpeg" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Surprised and delighted to run into my friend Jim...and to have survived The Epic mostly unscathed.<br />Photo credit: Brad Glidewell</td></tr></tbody></table><div><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>Overall, it was a really encouraging day. One of these days maybe I’ll train enough that I can stay strong for an entire race, but at least my weak is a stronger version of what it used to be.</span></div><div><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><br /><br /><br /></div>Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-11625714011099302142022-01-10T20:32:00.004-06:002022-01-11T14:19:00.891-06:00M.O.R.E. or less day 7 - Mackinaw City KOA to Hog Island campground<p><i>Commentary by Chuck (green) and Steve (orange)</i></p><p>Previous: <a href="https://kate-my-mind.blogspot.com/2022/01/more-or-less-day-6-sand-lake-to.html">Day 6 - Sand Lake to Mackinaw City</a></p><p><b>June 7, 2021</b></p><p>We'd planned a later start to the day, but in a one-room cabin the first person to wake up to go to the bathroom (usually Chuck) effectively operates as an alarm clock for everyone. And so it was that despite our slothful intentions we were on Shepler's Ferry by 8:30. Though logistics rarely fail to stress me out -- I aspire to an attitude of <i>it'll work itself out</i> but often fall short -- the process was largely smooth. </p><p>We'd ordered tickets online in advance and called the shuttle that morning. The driver picked us and our bikes up at the campground for the short drive to the dock, where we lined up to have our tickets scanned. Our bikes were tagged and loaded along with all the other bikes going to the cars-free island, and then we boarded. Well, Steve and I boarded. Chuck's QR code ticket somehow had gone AWOL. I was already on the ferry and thought that he might have to meet us later, but the issue was quickly resolved at the service counter and we were all able to ride over together. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/51811012358/in/album-72157719466372789/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Untitled" height="300" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51811012358_6d61d2b867_c.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On Shepler's Ferry</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Disembarking was like walking into Disneyworld; the streets were crowded with bikes and horses, and tourists packed the sidewalks. The ferry had been a time machine delivering us to lovely historic buildings and carless cobblestone streets. Steve was able to quickly get his shifting issue resolved at a bike rental place, and after breakfast in a busy cafe we set off to ride around the island. </p><p><span style="background-color: #ffa400;">Thank you for the kind and prompt service, Mackinac Wheels Bike Shop!</span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9Kof2pP8xgryf8KHG1OR-_2HBZcSsiddO_JmUmGZR2HJHFXPFmr-EJJ9fqC3FZbHKOJ0NxRWGKwG6d8gRCU0jz2t8X-W5Q6iTaY17G_ZUFNBOLNSgkEKT4TocL2EhdPSK11z5FLrMEUJ_MvfTF5SXye3rXzl2Ighxib7BWx4W02pw1Cc98m8OO35z4A=s2016" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9Kof2pP8xgryf8KHG1OR-_2HBZcSsiddO_JmUmGZR2HJHFXPFmr-EJJ9fqC3FZbHKOJ0NxRWGKwG6d8gRCU0jz2t8X-W5Q6iTaY17G_ZUFNBOLNSgkEKT4TocL2EhdPSK11z5FLrMEUJ_MvfTF5SXye3rXzl2Ighxib7BWx4W02pw1Cc98m8OO35z4A=s320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking back towards the ferry dock<br />8:56 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="background-color: #04ff00;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">I was really excited about the idea of exploring this car-free island and early on loved the sound of the horse hooves clopping through town while pulling their wagon loads. That quickly changed to disillusionment, This was just a tourist-trap gift mall with pretty surroundings. I was happy to leave the main downtown area.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">I too was glad to pedal away from the busy downtown area, and we all thoroughly enjoyed the gorgeous scenery along the ride. We circled the island on the outer road, stopping to take pictures, climb 200+ steps up to Arch Rock, and dip our toes into Lake Huron. </span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/51811738564/in/album-72157719466372789/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Untitled" height="300" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51811738564_3f5c5efe1c_c.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Setting off on the loop around the island.<br />10:37 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />While the outer loop around the island was almost dead flat, the interior land rose steeply. Still, we couldn't resist the lure of the signs for Arch Rock. Parking my bike in one of the omnipresent racks I announced my intention to run to the top. That plan lasted through the second flight.<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhN5PED5czxJswvZT0bSUoNfqh32WZ2i2PAxPDrpzomAD9_nfjgxT2bC3iTMh9XOxZIbjflK-okJ2tD3HlRzD13lHYxXbCiqMeTlDy-qD-dEty5LeEyFiteodLqB2S1yXWKl8-ERZTOwrzK9AtQu0-joXcavccBX_bOTODGEfnw8Yfl2VpD8-mgl7dTVQ=s2016" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhN5PED5czxJswvZT0bSUoNfqh32WZ2i2PAxPDrpzomAD9_nfjgxT2bC3iTMh9XOxZIbjflK-okJ2tD3HlRzD13lHYxXbCiqMeTlDy-qD-dEty5LeEyFiteodLqB2S1yXWKl8-ERZTOwrzK9AtQu0-joXcavccBX_bOTODGEfnw8Yfl2VpD8-mgl7dTVQ=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The 207 steps to the top</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>The view was well worth the hike, though!</div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_gnQyIVHcBANMA-kBaQ_jOGqO1_SaIJecSbB2Ah5vA2S8tM6KqEX4Qd5ccGD6AzKbv0WqYlaVenuCqXoygRW9B8Nu0DSdUuL2n8PlWM719pMiBuDVJrDE1jPgfpaPt6Ji1bB0vib9oBvmx0Ki6Fo0S-yr46z4AbmIsyY_yrgXRbkWULi0asUPLVZsuQ=s2016" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_gnQyIVHcBANMA-kBaQ_jOGqO1_SaIJecSbB2Ah5vA2S8tM6KqEX4Qd5ccGD6AzKbv0WqYlaVenuCqXoygRW9B8Nu0DSdUuL2n8PlWM719pMiBuDVJrDE1jPgfpaPt6Ji1bB0vib9oBvmx0Ki6Fo0S-yr46z4AbmIsyY_yrgXRbkWULi0asUPLVZsuQ=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking down at Lake Huron through Arch Rock.<br />10:46 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/51810904281/in/album-72157719466372789/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Untitled" height="400" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51810904281_b2168674df_c.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake Huron! So clear and beautiful<br />11:07 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhbPuphqiXQun-OI69wNGJ8u1-88Xx0SqQ8mBkaMMUcwZVgV603ngSvAJvR56z5nZ4clPxvoNc43cNCE81xnM4S1gbMv8wezQjWh3mgucSiJ81GW3mbCng9RrkXsYIwaLV4veeegcvUWLIC7d3UgxHw018zHnqskuvv2Rgop0dWvilyOuITc7JMRIasiQ=s2016" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhbPuphqiXQun-OI69wNGJ8u1-88Xx0SqQ8mBkaMMUcwZVgV603ngSvAJvR56z5nZ4clPxvoNc43cNCE81xnM4S1gbMv8wezQjWh3mgucSiJ81GW3mbCng9RrkXsYIwaLV4veeegcvUWLIC7d3UgxHw018zHnqskuvv2Rgop0dWvilyOuITc7JMRIasiQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">11:41 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><p>We enjoyed our circumnavigation of the island but opted not to spend extra money on tours or tourist-priced lunches. Another short ferry ride brought us to St. Ignace, our gateway to the UP. In place of fine dining on Mackinac Island we stocked up at Dollar General. It's hard to shop when nothing sounds good, so I settled for some high-calorie items I can almost always stomach. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjxWGX9hk00pcQM1nbmMPgWCCry_TOZhkSrSkhVPCGU6GiFKjEEm1S33fnQ1f1u02ZoWHJ_UpCjRmk4JKYgWbCq2lpfGPhiSw_gG-evyp1lSymQ41IrGoVaZlcreqLIQa-l-qO8NKbBn1eCZs7XpqcKaBH-x3Jqqg9Pffx5GmVoPWcnzcnzujual4Esw=s2016" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjxWGX9hk00pcQM1nbmMPgWCCry_TOZhkSrSkhVPCGU6GiFKjEEm1S33fnQ1f1u02ZoWHJ_UpCjRmk4JKYgWbCq2lpfGPhiSw_gG-evyp1lSymQ41IrGoVaZlcreqLIQa-l-qO8NKbBn1eCZs7XpqcKaBH-x3Jqqg9Pffx5GmVoPWcnzcnzujual4Esw=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Totally unintentional blue theme going on here...<br />1:17 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>...and then it was back to the MORE route because the first 16 miles sounded wonderful. I'll admit to some early doubts as we bounced out town on some sketchy gravel...</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgsjXWIKYp7kH1S5sxUJpvZx3E5_qOiB-Hw8gHhnLR2sifauMnJTen4LIUsg8IkS-onCkATg0nPw7kQvNOXbeKs2cYVY1Scto_jGSBvMx-TG7C2UIkZek5ehSZdRPAQJUwdT4sitWxgPV7aayc1lKtS32GTH2KWaHpPaVd332qYVDwmKGkSxKhkU9oGHw=s2016" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgsjXWIKYp7kH1S5sxUJpvZx3E5_qOiB-Hw8gHhnLR2sifauMnJTen4LIUsg8IkS-onCkATg0nPw7kQvNOXbeKs2cYVY1Scto_jGSBvMx-TG7C2UIkZek5ehSZdRPAQJUwdT4sitWxgPV7aayc1lKtS32GTH2KWaHpPaVd332qYVDwmKGkSxKhkU9oGHw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not the worst I've ever ridden but suboptimal<br />1:57 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>...but our faith in Matt Acker's course notes was rewarded by 13+ miles of blissful forest roads and zero traffic.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/51811636825/in/album-72157719466372789/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Untitled" height="400" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51811636825_e857e00320_c.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smooth, lovely gravel roads!<br />2:14 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><p> Unfortunately, his comments about the subsequent two miles -- "tough sand section along power lines...with some hike-a-bike" (any adventure racer knows no good thing comes from taking the powerline) -- were, in the immortal words of Mona Lisa Vito, "dead on, balls accurate".</p><p>At first we were able to stick to the grassy middle of the road. It wasn't rideable -- at least it wasn't worth whatever effort it would take me to slog through the soft surface -- but at least it was semi-walkable. Soon we lost even that small comfort.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2H4Y_8RtBvpO55tIpzSPtqCES7JIaHigqHFmQ0wA0Em5AWjiD7pBI4pRVr3-1r4DlsffhzYm-xSVgvwx-XMbBPsxZR7R3I4sA97Z4TxayU5uX32__qUHbGo7ftb61SgWkaNiM7erCzWcL-40ol_2zp8GJOvAsGJeK_uaSeuy40GezpXK7jNwK35x6RA=s2016" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2H4Y_8RtBvpO55tIpzSPtqCES7JIaHigqHFmQ0wA0Em5AWjiD7pBI4pRVr3-1r4DlsffhzYm-xSVgvwx-XMbBPsxZR7R3I4sA97Z4TxayU5uX32__qUHbGo7ftb61SgWkaNiM7erCzWcL-40ol_2zp8GJOvAsGJeK_uaSeuy40GezpXK7jNwK35x6RA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />3:16 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The grassy median abruptly ended in ankle deep dunes: all beach, no water. We trudged for two miles through this death sand, accompanied by a cloud of gnats and mosquitos. We'd enjoyed a largely bug-free trip so far, and these little assholes seemed determined to overcompensate for that lack. After a while I couldn't take it any more; I grabbed a bottle of repellant and slathered it on all of my exposed skin. This provided a little relief, but the only real solution was to power through as best we could, swatting the air around us while manhandling our bikes through drifts of sand.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDA9keAPEuGVFfbLCAhCwtiXPX1PVtAEtLqv0ujCOzqf9tEJ9fqCb4xonKzqQUONXrVyahCQXJKU7tYNsGRENjO422AL0tzvCXI0XO2aE4E9ECyy-31Krfvfur8PiRumxJXTxjiF3j8WbMrcKHliXiK1oNvgq0kdvqy31W-isnoJePk1g7iDnXNZ9BEg=s2016" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDA9keAPEuGVFfbLCAhCwtiXPX1PVtAEtLqv0ujCOzqf9tEJ9fqCb4xonKzqQUONXrVyahCQXJKU7tYNsGRENjO422AL0tzvCXI0XO2aE4E9ECyy-31Krfvfur8PiRumxJXTxjiF3j8WbMrcKHliXiK1oNvgq0kdvqy31W-isnoJePk1g7iDnXNZ9BEg=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3:23 p.m., just after the end of our grassy respite</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="background-color: #ffa400;">At the end of our death march, I sat at the edge of the road to pick the ticks off of my legs. Only then did I realize something had been gnawing on my legs, all the way around the cuffs of both socks, leaving small open wounds. I had also jabbed a sharp stick into the inner side of my left calf in my haste to finish the powerline segment. The combination of insect bites and the puncture wound made my lower legs a bloody mess. This little connector was a tough two miles.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: #01ffff;">No picture of this because it was still insanely buggy and I rode away as quickly as possible, abandoning my friends to potential exsanguination by mosquito. Steve dubbed this stretch "Blood Road".</span></p><p>We took the first opportunity to diverge from the route. Rather than resign ourselves to a desperately long sandy slog, we dropped down to the Lake Michigan Scenic Highway and sailed along the smooth pavement. After all of my work locating services along our course, this sudden departure from the plan could have been a challenge but for a lucky coincidence. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhdlFkEMN80wEErB8WEbhBFG48xgdpBE1TbJgOe9g3s3Es0Vtn-U093HMwaocklJdXthsJSZKsdn1kW-3-dqFoB1TryRIXMLkqeFDd9irg5PlyXEbqUY8GqHFUB36eXSoYKWkMo7S_jQSL5n2E87F2VnGqDjvTroppZ9ui1LUrGQbQlCznMn5QDmOzquQ=s2016" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhdlFkEMN80wEErB8WEbhBFG48xgdpBE1TbJgOe9g3s3Es0Vtn-U093HMwaocklJdXthsJSZKsdn1kW-3-dqFoB1TryRIXMLkqeFDd9irg5PlyXEbqUY8GqHFUB36eXSoYKWkMo7S_jQSL5n2E87F2VnGqDjvTroppZ9ui1LUrGQbQlCznMn5QDmOzquQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hello, Lake Michigan!<br />4:07 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>While creating the loop section we added to the MORE route, Chuck had found an Adventure Cycling Association route to get us most of the way from the Porcupine Mountains to Manitowoc and the Badger ferry. I'd bought a digital copy for their very useful Bicycle Route Navigator app but had accidentally purchased the wrong section. As it turned out, our detour took us onto the route I'd mistakenly picked, and we were able to use the information on the ACA map to find dinner and camping for the night. (Absent this, we also had a good cell signal and Google Maps, but I was happy to get some use out of my error.)</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3WvRUn7vRxFfyJAnS7wrSrSxbHDBNKfnaUp3WP_7cOKiFEaGDLSBy9LEk6tmDgczY9xBRhtMNcDqsoRpk47zUoBvoriGodthlAShkTHnadiJbUNiQ2zbOGlfVoWVLnOESwh6UAuMRcaOWqwnkahulq4RbHYEWoNgGeVKVXkYLwOmyH2eNRqyGLUGUkg=s2016" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3WvRUn7vRxFfyJAnS7wrSrSxbHDBNKfnaUp3WP_7cOKiFEaGDLSBy9LEk6tmDgczY9xBRhtMNcDqsoRpk47zUoBvoriGodthlAShkTHnadiJbUNiQ2zbOGlfVoWVLnOESwh6UAuMRcaOWqwnkahulq4RbHYEWoNgGeVKVXkYLwOmyH2eNRqyGLUGUkg=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4:29 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The highway was much busier than forest gravel, but it offered lovely lake views, a wide paved shoulder, and respectful traffic. We had our second (and last) mechanical issue of the trip when Chuck's tire picked up a big screw. He and Steve quickly plugged it while I documented their work. A passing car actually turned around to offer help, but by that time Chuck was almost finished.</p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">Passing car = cool decked out adventure Jeep!</span></p><p>We stopped for a leisurely dinner at Cut River Inn in Epoufette, charging our devices and checking the ACA and MORE maps. I made reservations for the next day, which would lead us back to the course by way of a cabin with WiFi. This was important because it would allow me to watch Jacob's first match of volleyball regionals. And I've mentioned it before but it bears repeating how lucky I felt to be traveling with people who understood and facilitated my desire to watch those matches. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/51810433692/in/album-72157719466372789/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Untitled" height="400" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51810433692_9ebe1bffa3_c.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking advantage of the nearby outlet.<br />6:53 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>After stretching out our meal in order to maximize our electrical input, we rode eight miles to the nearly deserted Hog Island State Forest campground. Our site was prime lakefront property, though there wasn't much to see. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/51811012708/in/album-72157719466372789/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Untitled" height="300" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51811012708_c2fedd746d_c.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moody Lake Michigan<br />8:20 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>A layer of fog, accompanied by a 15 degree temperature drop, made everything gray and damp. Lake Michigan had changed from calm blue to colorless and choppy. We'd made a point of wading in Lake Huron and planned a dip in each of the Great Lakes, but the chilly air and rough water suggested waiting for a more opportune time. No-see-ums filled the air and covered every surface, so we set our tents up as quickly as possible. Between the soggy air and annoying bugs, an early bedtime seemed like the best option, and I fell asleep to the lullaby of crashing waves. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBV3UN6dYw3in3S3-cUgfY864lNZt5j3esFDyxZskR-tYjYnNoYS2ntl_zqgU7hxz8ROaRY7x2wXga3qIJcUV98GL-JWgbREKdOV_cRoDRCMZ6tdcjsl0dTcOyHU4xrWjslBNorDCPEZ54elem3tSnzqKfYk6Jcrp9ea0ispYWn9MZsfLaW3e7xUvruw=s2016" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBV3UN6dYw3in3S3-cUgfY864lNZt5j3esFDyxZskR-tYjYnNoYS2ntl_zqgU7hxz8ROaRY7x2wXga3qIJcUV98GL-JWgbREKdOV_cRoDRCMZ6tdcjsl0dTcOyHU4xrWjslBNorDCPEZ54elem3tSnzqKfYk6Jcrp9ea0ispYWn9MZsfLaW3e7xUvruw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actually my campsite, not Chuck's, but picture a slightly smaller tent and you'll get the idea.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">My tent spot was flat, covered in thick pine needles, and combined with the waves and wind, I slept great on Hog Island. (Despite the crazy bugs!)</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">Next: Hog Island State Forest campground to Jack Pine Lodge and Campground</span></p><p><b>Links</b>: </p><p><a href="https://www.michiganoffroadexpedition.com/copy-of-lp-section-5">M.O.R.E. UP section 1 info</a> (we only did the first 20 miles and used </p><p><a href="https://ridewithgps.com/routes/36195160">RWGPS UP section 1 route</a> (which, again, we largely ignored)</p><p><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5432378415">Day 7 Strava file</a></p><p> </p></div></div>Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-57409677692833517082022-01-01T16:48:00.006-06:002022-01-10T20:33:39.997-06:00M.O.R.E. or less day 6: Sand Lake to Mackinaw City<p><i>Commentary by Chuck (green) and Steve (orange). Occasional replies by me in blue.</i></p><p>Previous: <a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/preview/1901742418169240469/4688738120045572109">Day 5 - Scheck's Place State Forest Campground to Sand Lake</a></p><h4 style="text-align: left;">June 6, 2021</h4><p>After a couple consecutive days of mid-afternoon physical meltdowns, I'd asked the guys what they thought of trying to leave at 7 a.m. instead of 8. The later time had been my idea originally, but the unexpected Michigan heat was kicking my butt and I was getting tired of being the weak link once 2:30 hit (yes, Jason, you called it). I hoped an extra hour of cooler ride temperatures would help, and thankfully both Chuck and Steve were agreeable with this new plan.</p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">The heat was working on me too, I was very happy with the planned earlier time.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguR_2-aQnwKeWqWbtL0LxGnzoTGsagxo89mWEIkvR4ZrjTlrSFalhpcfp2GUv_nuEx7IZGEjv5LJq-dEQasR3MkniGuz0Mkcbhf_w1dGSRzZZHjJqpcO8Rs3UMIZBLYwKwZgj3uBbXR5zB/s2048/51339259023_6e171b607f_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguR_2-aQnwKeWqWbtL0LxGnzoTGsagxo89mWEIkvR4ZrjTlrSFalhpcfp2GUv_nuEx7IZGEjv5LJq-dEQasR3MkniGuz0Mkcbhf_w1dGSRzZZHjJqpcO8Rs3UMIZBLYwKwZgj3uBbXR5zB/w300-h400/51339259023_6e171b607f_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6:11 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Nearly a week in, the morning re-pack had become a smooth routine, so after my breakfast of Pop-Tart dust and a canned mocha I had plenty of time to (attempt to) repurpose a pair of socks that had developed a big hole. I'd spent the past two days dumping copious amounts of sand from my shoes at the end of the day (mine were much worse than the guys', probably because of the lace-up style, but they're such great shoes otherwise that I still wouldn't have traded them). </div><div><br /></div><div>I borrowed Chuck's knife to cut the bottoms out of the socks, then tried pulling them down over my shoes as makeshift gaiters. Alas, my initial design was flawed; the outer socks eventually just rolled up too far to do any good against the sand. Luckily, though we didn't know it at the time, we were mostly finished with our beach-esque hike-a-bikes, and what my attempt lacked in success it made up for in entertainment value.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZDshWTTZ6Eqpei21V8nVeJAXDZymsm0fPM0Ce5p7cSkXJH02_cR48w9dLTZ_7x9S8s2gQ1Yjr61myhvlb3foGihk3DgOW63vPuX2v7tJsGpLir9zCTvJKyPnKQlDE7WrzrAG-CE-4XiSw/s960/51339039641_d3f46b5fac_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZDshWTTZ6Eqpei21V8nVeJAXDZymsm0fPM0Ce5p7cSkXJH02_cR48w9dLTZ_7x9S8s2gQ1Yjr61myhvlb3foGihk3DgOW63vPuX2v7tJsGpLir9zCTvJKyPnKQlDE7WrzrAG-CE-4XiSw/w300-h400/51339039641_d3f46b5fac_b.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Work in progress</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Once we got going it was only 9 miles to the town of Alba, and we enjoyed the early selection of singletrack, gravel, and pavement that led us to a small but well-stocked C-store. There we picked up ride snacks and ate second breakfast. Such stops often highlighted differences in our group's travel tendencies and paces. After years of adventure race experience together, Chuck and I practically have a graduate degree in turning garbage food into miles. We tended to shop more quickly and be ready at about the same time, while Steve both eats and, after some unpleasant encounters with his dermatologist, sunscreens more conscientiously than Chuck and me.</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="background-color: #ffd966;">Three points here: 1) I've just put too much thought into my prep/ready routine. 2) My first sustained multi-day attempt at surviving "gluten free" on gas station gourmet was at times a real test. 3) After a few said encounters with my dermatologist, I realized that when we meet for our appointments, she's the only person in the room with a knife, so I learned to listen...funny but no joke. Long story short, I'm no match for Kate and Chuck in the C-store / packing transitions, and I'm OK with that.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="font_9" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-size: 14px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; pointer-events: auto; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></p></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH9IeVvcGG4NMqOnATI_MMpiGgZHKUtK1YG-nJuEQ5KQxWXL1BrMAWKu-uOm3laBqRv1PHuvp7-NRKMgn2VjNSZX3ZM5aLUQvOhdZ1442CX1L60WJ9DS9GQkdpcFs14MtSK8BWBEYbVok1/s2048/51339770804_de71aab727_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH9IeVvcGG4NMqOnATI_MMpiGgZHKUtK1YG-nJuEQ5KQxWXL1BrMAWKu-uOm3laBqRv1PHuvp7-NRKMgn2VjNSZX3ZM5aLUQvOhdZ1442CX1L60WJ9DS9GQkdpcFs14MtSK8BWBEYbVok1/w400-h300/51339770804_de71aab727_k.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking advantage of the shade outside of a C store in Alba<br />8:45 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>We took advantage of good cell service to make our plan for the day. The <a href="https://www.michiganoffroadexpedition.com/copy-of-lp-section-4">course notes</a> held some real gems:</div><div><br /></div><div><p class="font_9" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-size: 14px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; pointer-events: auto; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></span></p><blockquote><p class="font_9" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-size: 14px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; pointer-events: auto; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">MILE 453.5-479.5 </span>Route leaves Alba on a paved road which quickly turns to gravel. Huge descent into the Jordan River Valley which is very scenic. Near the end of the valley the route turns onto a <b>seasonal road</b> which turns into trail near the lake. <b>Precarious water crossing</b> [ok, that actually sounded fun] followed by the NCT. The section of NCT after the road is rugged and hilly. Remainder of the section is seasonal and gravel roads. This section is quite hilly with some<b> prolonged sand stretches near the end</b>. </p></blockquote><blockquote><p class="font_9" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-size: 14px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; pointer-events: auto; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">MILE 479.5-498.5 </span>NCT singletrack trail which is very hilly and can be rugged. <b>Trail is somewhat used but may have downed trees or logging activity. Fairly slow going terrain with sustained climbs and descents</b></p></blockquote><p class="font_9" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; font-size: 14px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; pointer-events: auto; vertical-align: baseline;"><b></b></p></div><div><br /></div><div>With the previous day's sandy hike-a-bike still fresh in our minds, the idea of "prolonged sand stretches" and terrain that even superhuman Matt Acker deemed "fairly slow going" seemed decidedly unappealing, especially in light of the fact that our families expected us home sometime before July. We opted to temporarily leave the M.O.R.E. route behind and take the highway directly to Petoskey.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrgu1c6GyXlcXJYmT2Up5UDWJr8jtyK1FX4z3XvRIxJyOct64m5E7k1FdCbjTNbhVWRMkY2VTjdm7ckHdQJs8P5ZSXnM6tjbZppT3ZZSWkhIcJh1Av6Dhde5-9VzgGW3xvn1xYrSgztXDf/s2048/51340042690_9c346b3b11_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrgu1c6GyXlcXJYmT2Up5UDWJr8jtyK1FX4z3XvRIxJyOct64m5E7k1FdCbjTNbhVWRMkY2VTjdm7ckHdQJs8P5ZSXnM6tjbZppT3ZZSWkhIcJh1Av6Dhde5-9VzgGW3xvn1xYrSgztXDf/w300-h400/51340042690_9c346b3b11_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking the less scenic but much faster route<br />9:39 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>We rode Highway 131/Mackinaw Trail 20 miles to Walloon Lake. The beginning of of our highway section was on a wide paved shoulder, but we entered Boyne Falls through lanes narrowed by road construction (Well, actually we rode on the in-progress new road since it was a Sunday and the job wasn't active). </div><div><br /></div><div>On the other side of town the shoulder turned from gravel to pavement, and the traffic was heavy enough that riding on the road felt uncomfortable. Our maps offered no efficient less-busy route, so we continued on the road, hopping onto the shoulder whenever cars approached behind us. With his roadie experience, Steve settled into the role of rear guard, calling out whenever we needed to move over. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPNLbwpPDYGIxOzzCvOUoANzSciynao3HDCiyo65P4fzrxbraZtGM3rmDW-ijueKjFtROkket3pORdK4m-piEOUNzYnt-E4NfSAAhY_TUH8jvWKBuN3A9clrg_aQZX4xtqdewOcs9SIU9E/s2048/51338313297_8ee6465350_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPNLbwpPDYGIxOzzCvOUoANzSciynao3HDCiyo65P4fzrxbraZtGM3rmDW-ijueKjFtROkket3pORdK4m-piEOUNzYnt-E4NfSAAhY_TUH8jvWKBuN3A9clrg_aQZX4xtqdewOcs9SIU9E/w300-h400/51338313297_8ee6465350_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6 days in it was a little disorienting how much faster those highway miles passed by than the trail ones.<br />10:08 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>After miles of traffic dodging we were thankful to reach Walloon Lake, where we turned onto River Road for the final 10 less trafficked miles to Petoskey. We stopped for lunch at Beard Brewery. It had a great location and name but was not particularly welcoming. For a place with a really nice bike path very nearby, they weren't very bike friendly. Or maybe they just aren't nomad-friendly. Anyway, the food was good but the reception left a bad taste in my mouth.</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">As the beard-wearing beer-drinking member of our group, I was excited to make a stop at Beard Brewery. Unfortunately it was exactly as Kate described and will not be added to my 'approved' list.</span></div><div><br /></div><div>After lunch we made our way through downtown so Steve could replace his lost sunscreen (the second bottle we had to replace as mine had disappeared earlier in the trip). The crowded streets felt oppressive, and I was happy to escape to the Little Traverse Wheelway and head out of town.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5J3EhJ2G7qWeqf4Z4MB-TlBZ4dMRgbSMBzRg3dUHixczveVedUYl4kpm0B8tI9dKILnvXS45Oio5wg1V9eVFONMDqAqh1zDHX1dVxmZldzbfloP_c07zI0HSDfxP7qdz67Sct-4vG77eG/s2048/51338313182_0a4c20a05d_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5J3EhJ2G7qWeqf4Z4MB-TlBZ4dMRgbSMBzRg3dUHixczveVedUYl4kpm0B8tI9dKILnvXS45Oio5wg1V9eVFONMDqAqh1zDHX1dVxmZldzbfloP_c07zI0HSDfxP7qdz67Sct-4vG77eG/w400-h300/51338313182_0a4c20a05d_k.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little Traverse Bay as we left Petoskey<br />1:30 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>The Wheelway led us out of town through neighborhoods. Its many street crossings made me appreciate the number of tunnels and bridges found on the MCT trails where I live. Google Maps made it look like we would again be on the highway after exiting the Wheelway, but instead we found ourselves on the crushed rock surface of the North Western State Trail. </div><div><br /></div><div>Google Maps considers a wide variety of surfaces bikeable, so we were thankful to find that this trail bore more resemblance to the Katy Trail than the loose sand of the snowmobile trails. Travel may have been slower than on the pavement, but we had fewer cross streets to interrupt our pace and a significantly lower chance of being run over by a car.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1QoW3iuzlCEFqZPnQRHvm6tzN7jRbQdAjjm_KmkxjRqqo_7tgkeZgMZW5g6tLgTgUUyjTO9ZJcbjuQ6NAn0xGQXCphwb4p_Jk4_vJT8afH4Ata9YNoTj1zJx8WTnb0AEV-Pr_1uuHXO6z/s2048/51339258898_1aa44b94bd_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1QoW3iuzlCEFqZPnQRHvm6tzN7jRbQdAjjm_KmkxjRqqo_7tgkeZgMZW5g6tLgTgUUyjTO9ZJcbjuQ6NAn0xGQXCphwb4p_Jk4_vJT8afH4Ata9YNoTj1zJx8WTnb0AEV-Pr_1uuHXO6z/w300-h400/51339258898_1aa44b94bd_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">North Western State Trail<br />2:42 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table> <div>We'd left Sand Lake and then the Alba C-store without a clear idea of how far we'd get that day, but by the time we hit the North Western State Trail it was clear that we could make it to Mackinaw City for the evening. We stopped along the trail to get a campground reservation, and after a few phone calls we ended up at the KOA, largely to avoid riding out of our way. Because of KOA's one tent per site policy it was almost the same price to get a cabin, </div><div><br /></div><div>Once there, thanks to Covid we'd have to figure out how to cross to the Upper Peninsula. The Mackinac Bridge spans the distance between Upper and Lower Peninsulas, but bikes are not permitted to cross it. During normal times cyclists can arrange for the Mackinac Bridge Authority to transport them across for a fee, but at the time of our trip (and I'm not sure whether this has changed yet or not), this service was suspended. We were hopeful that we might be able to snag a ride across the bridge from a friendly motorist or somehow hire a shuttle.</div><div><br /></div><div>The KOA'a office closed at 6, so we needed to get there sooner if we wanted to check in on the shuttle possibility. Also, as we rode I was suddenly afraid I'd made a reservation at a different KOA than the closest one. The guys had to stop for something, and I sprinted ahead to get there in time. Thankfully there was no registration SNAFU, but the clerk didn't have any helpful suggestions as to our shuttle dilemma. Instead of spending further time on securing a ride we opted for plan B, which was traveling to the UP via the Mackinac Island ferry.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjhgDBakRR9qDWxNw8fV0gdmIRlRiOQFQ42rXWJdtijrdHX-XfK0MJcPqMcWJNwnq41iJ3bOJqrye-nxejjphgFEmI5FMeZKGOK5C2DjVhbheV506es2bREPUBoiCd6pX6wwf0nMYlSVC_/s2048/51340042525_8edd148e21_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjhgDBakRR9qDWxNw8fV0gdmIRlRiOQFQ42rXWJdtijrdHX-XfK0MJcPqMcWJNwnq41iJ3bOJqrye-nxejjphgFEmI5FMeZKGOK5C2DjVhbheV506es2bREPUBoiCd6pX6wwf0nMYlSVC_/w300-h400/51340042525_8edd148e21_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">5:47 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div>That problem solved, we settled into our little cabin. The one outlet wasn't nearly enough to charge all of our devices and backup batteries, so we spread our electronics out among the nearby electric hookups. Chuck and I headed directly to the pool, which felt amazing after the hot, sweaty day. Steve did some laundry before joining us, then we rode into town to grab a pretty mediocre dinner at The Old Depot.</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">The pool felt sooo good I immediately forgave the Beard Brewery, the one-outlet KOA cabin, and the Mackinaw Bridge Authority and was ready to take on Mackinac Island the next day!</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Anticipating low mileage the next day due to the ferry situation -- if we were spending $40 a ticket to take the ferry we might as well spend some time on Mackinac Island -- we didn't worry about setting early alarms. 361 miles in, I was pretty happy about the prospect of an easy day and thrilled that we'd already reached the end of the Lower Peninsula. </div><div><br /></div><div>Next: <a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/1901742418169240469/1162571401109930214">Day 7 - Mackinaw City KOA to Hog Island Campground</a></div><div><br /></div><div>Links:</div><div><p><a href="Highway 131/Mackinaw Trail 20 miles to Walloon Lake, then off highway onto River road another 10 miles to Petoskey">M.O.R.E. LP section 5 info</a></p><p><a href="https://ridewithgps.com/routes/36194976">RWGPS LP section 5 route</a> (which we largely ignored)</p><p><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5426644940/segments/2836741880447537974">Day 6 Strava file</a></p></div></div>Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-46887381200455721092021-07-22T22:14:00.000-05:002021-07-22T22:14:06.938-05:00M.O.R.E. or Less day 5<p><i> Commentary by Chuck (green) and Steve (yellow).</i></p><p>Previous: <a href="https://kate-my-mind.blogspot.com/2021/07/more-or-less-day-4-manistee-river-lodge.html">Day 4: Manistee River Lodge to Scheck's Place State Forest Campground</a></p><p><b><span style="font-size: medium;">June 5, 2021</span></b></p><p>We woke after a good night's sleep, ate breakfast, and packed up. Our location near the road provided a front row seat to numerous bikes passing by. There was obviously an organized ride or some kind of event, and I was super curious about it, so after I was ready I waited by the side of the road in hopes that a straggler would pass by and stop to chat. No such luck, though, and we left without getting clued in on what was going on.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbJDUPzCPfWx_SSHI4N5Z8QPT8fFSKu9P-e9s3wYl5J8Y8QIn4uHe18dEWzuZtmqAEOt51OC7Arj2ygjY0dvtgqMPi6Qq8ffjyrud2pGScXTvvCH1gRdPvl-X6FbJ1U3kP1OIqvGdT672S/s2048/51313448322_7b73ea2a88_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbJDUPzCPfWx_SSHI4N5Z8QPT8fFSKu9P-e9s3wYl5J8Y8QIn4uHe18dEWzuZtmqAEOt51OC7Arj2ygjY0dvtgqMPi6Qq8ffjyrud2pGScXTvvCH1gRdPvl-X6FbJ1U3kP1OIqvGdT672S/w300-h400/51313448322_7b73ea2a88_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leaving camp on a lovely morning.<br />8:05 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>The first miles passed quickly on some nice gravel and then paved roads that brought us into the town of Kalkaska. We stopped at McDonald's for second breakfast and were momentarily thwarted by the closed dining room. No worries -- I downloaded the app and ordered for us all from there. Then, worried the workers wouldn't realize we were at the tables in front, I parked myself in one of the pick up spots until they brought our food.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4xDJKHDohAxN3lvJ85DhCYfvXDf9UQ6MdC5yY4hFu8L7oAD-V7TfYecMjZfoCGjNoDfKLhKKkMoSz6iMtDnnK54qJ9qWsynK4TW1jhq-Ew8CsOGT8mcvJNMzDVBYQKnJCzX2D8FZZio9F/s2048/51315191190_c9f9cf048b_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4xDJKHDohAxN3lvJ85DhCYfvXDf9UQ6MdC5yY4hFu8L7oAD-V7TfYecMjZfoCGjNoDfKLhKKkMoSz6iMtDnnK54qJ9qWsynK4TW1jhq-Ew8CsOGT8mcvJNMzDVBYQKnJCzX2D8FZZio9F/s320/51315191190_c9f9cf048b_k.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">9:51 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>We took a leisurely break to eat and look over the maps for this next segment. Despite the course description -- <i>"Mix of seasonal roads, gravel, and NCT singletrack. Generally the terrain is quite sandy. First singletrack section is difficult to ride and not well-used. Several sections are not well used, overgrown and slow going...</i>" -- we opted to return to the route. Maybe it was the promise of good singletrack later in the section, but I think it was mostly that we still wanted to experience the route and not skip over everything that sounded hard.</p><p>Anyway, riding into downtown Kalkaska we still needed to fill up water, so we stopped at a large pavilion with fountains and some NCT volunteers. Steve chatted up Renee, one of the volunteers, and scored us some NCT stickers and her card in case we needed help or food drops later in the ride. She also mentioned a trail angel near Petoskey who might be of assistance. We never needed to use it, but we were happy to have the safety valve of that card.</p><p>There was a giant chair, so naturally we took pictures there.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYVExalammcNcFtQiejKFWUlhz8wd7nE-0CFNf-r51UAVeqHSOmdo4ZWL9igeygxQkHlYLEWhy0c5Vf87pNTeQ0ab6UfN41NASzUR-p4gYwGNFEfc1HQ1vmESwwltihPqNWzkNmev-15QO/s2048/51314918179_b94a2adffb_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYVExalammcNcFtQiejKFWUlhz8wd7nE-0CFNf-r51UAVeqHSOmdo4ZWL9igeygxQkHlYLEWhy0c5Vf87pNTeQ0ab6UfN41NASzUR-p4gYwGNFEfc1HQ1vmESwwltihPqNWzkNmev-15QO/s320/51314918179_b94a2adffb_k.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">10:34 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Kalkaska makes a point of being a trail town, so even with the course notes' warning it was a little surprising just how unenjoyable the trail outside of town was. It was basically a narrow rut through a shadeless wasteland of scrubby vegetation. I think I spent almost as much time scootering as I did pedaling. </p><p><span style="background-color: #ffe599;">They should rename this section the "North Country Trench." In places it was nearly impossible to avoid pedal striking the edge because of the combination width and depth of said trench.</span></p><p>The only highlight was seeing a pair of sandhill cranes. I'm not really a bird person, so it would have been lost on me without the guys pointing them out.</p><p><span style="background-color: #ffe599;">The mated pair of sandhill cranes put on an amazing show of parenthood. As we were stopping to observe the birds, one ran to the left side of the trail while the other went right. I noticed the bird on the right quickly hid their colt (a baby sandhill crane) in a clump of grass. The bird then ran back across the trail to our left, where both adults put on a show, trying to distract us from their colt. They displayed as though they had a broken wing and vocalized in a way to keep our attention, attempting to draw us away from the baby. Pretty impressive tactics for a bird.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrKqJZCdpK-guN_BVhDACHP1bOgV9nHE4GMeCEeT-7Gf0BQzUeTcrLxvutZCy_NJzazmbXsbezo_d8gOfrrVZBg1H354PB9q8KAyNaK91M-kFeKlXIGC7UO1aO45F7dfWlCDWjS8hbwUbl/s2048/51315191110_a75f9f479a_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrKqJZCdpK-guN_BVhDACHP1bOgV9nHE4GMeCEeT-7Gf0BQzUeTcrLxvutZCy_NJzazmbXsbezo_d8gOfrrVZBg1H354PB9q8KAyNaK91M-kFeKlXIGC7UO1aO45F7dfWlCDWjS8hbwUbl/s320/51315191110_a75f9f479a_k.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">11:13 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>In a case of "out of the frying pan, into the fire", our relief at escaping the bleak singletrack was short-lived.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYhJL5PMhCakQYmxsvaPTLWXolWcc7OWs1sDeW0MmO46vx-P_DC_w__UuoZ8f_Uv2474JuWx1A85VPmBuBIIAr_LvdlM_pZzxUCG0O-jCCsp-oY51Ql9KrstX6o2WiUXjU_KQECScW3yqP/s2048/51314188106_c5a43994db_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYhJL5PMhCakQYmxsvaPTLWXolWcc7OWs1sDeW0MmO46vx-P_DC_w__UuoZ8f_Uv2474JuWx1A85VPmBuBIIAr_LvdlM_pZzxUCG0O-jCCsp-oY51Ql9KrstX6o2WiUXjU_KQECScW3yqP/s320/51314188106_c5a43994db_k.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">11:54 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Pushing through the deep sand seemed to take forever, and the midday heat added another level of fun on top. Finally we emerged from that section onto pavement once more. As we reached Pickerel Lake State Forest Campground, Chuck called a time-out for another lake break. True to form, he waded right into the cold, clear water.</p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">It felt soooo good!</span></p><p><span style="background-color: #ffe599;">Early in our trip, we had a few unseasonably warm days for Michigan, and this one was the hottest, reaching 92. No wonder wading out into the lake felt so good.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5E0Bjxfnl7dLg51TuQ-5_HFe6Z1mC6Ze8_GXTSOI8yIwjAmXwq5n2RMJhX-8J0uUEU66JUcAX1blYrfj4TX7NzOCDZaW4wdAwUqGh4n511opf_PETniNlJTARyKPR3kmYwa8BH87J8leo/s2048/51314918114_cb16b92be3_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5E0Bjxfnl7dLg51TuQ-5_HFe6Z1mC6Ze8_GXTSOI8yIwjAmXwq5n2RMJhX-8J0uUEU66JUcAX1blYrfj4TX7NzOCDZaW4wdAwUqGh4n511opf_PETniNlJTARyKPR3kmYwa8BH87J8leo/s320/51314918114_cb16b92be3_k.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1:30 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Also true to form, I waded carefully in to the waist, too wimpy to soak my upper body despite the heat, multitasking by enjoying the last of my McDonald's leftovers while we soaked.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR6FjAIX-kS_Iw0hNuBKuoITfPwKF3X526XI8Wa7S8zZ09KFqwBGt9SwKAiJvzsMWgq2nb255YehL9OFdRY9j3VipGAop-aVibYtnDGl_AF7hsbgKv545yGFEvYxe34fyV_CXtfQsSUyL5/s2048/51314918079_7fe5fda3b8_k.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR6FjAIX-kS_Iw0hNuBKuoITfPwKF3X526XI8Wa7S8zZ09KFqwBGt9SwKAiJvzsMWgq2nb255YehL9OFdRY9j3VipGAop-aVibYtnDGl_AF7hsbgKv545yGFEvYxe34fyV_CXtfQsSUyL5/s320/51314918079_7fe5fda3b8_k.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p>Between the beautiful, clear lake and a great campground, I was a little sad to leave Pickerel Lake, but of course it was way too early to stop for the day. After topping off our water, we headed out again, this time with the course notes promising good things: <i>"Singletrack from Sunset Trail Rd. [where we were] to Eagle Lake is pleasant to ride with some big climbs and descents. The sections that follow are not as pleasant riding. Good camping on Sand Lake."</i></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdKfg0tNNjs_GntOUXDRTtEC_HWeK4A127s4PF2gtwqoz4NjQjPVeMKxZDa7jyiGePPOp0q4SQUCXaQvwMB4vbwIuyfnyfvNprTlfyH_LyLPaED6pjU_26drODOUFhJAAiSTr2vXf7rkdY/s2048/51314187996_7fa4f7ed3d_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdKfg0tNNjs_GntOUXDRTtEC_HWeK4A127s4PF2gtwqoz4NjQjPVeMKxZDa7jyiGePPOp0q4SQUCXaQvwMB4vbwIuyfnyfvNprTlfyH_LyLPaED6pjU_26drODOUFhJAAiSTr2vXf7rkdY/s320/51314187996_7fa4f7ed3d_k.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2:31 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>The trail immediately started climbing as we turned back onto it, and I soon was pushing my bike again. Despite the break and the snack, I'd hit a slump and felt pretty lousy unless riding downhill. The guys had to do a lot of waiting on me during this section, but it was a great section of trail.</p><p><span style="background-color: #ffe599;">This was a great little section of singletrack but dang...it was HOT!</span></p><p>Around 4:00 we arrived at Eagle Lake, signaled by the notes as the end of the pleasant riding, we decided to detour onto roads rather than taint our good singletrack experience by ending it on "not as pleasant" trails. We didn't get far before we realized that our detour was going to involve sandy bullshit. Having our fill of that earlier, we returned to the trail. It had to be better than the alternative.<br /></p><p>While the trail wasn't as good as the previous section it was still rideable and scenic as we passed through pines and by lakes and ponds.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEsO7ocVDr4ibokJEFjYIT6vvtOSsTc32fBKcelpzHFzxDmdSIqD3J5hg56qqZbfv8ruF8NEkjLmSM8jfVt1S-TjqugIZn6qW-iwSUrsIb6woG1po_cgBVdIAq5vKVftHDZPIvIk9FV9kL/s2048/51314187891_cec1ca402b_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEsO7ocVDr4ibokJEFjYIT6vvtOSsTc32fBKcelpzHFzxDmdSIqD3J5hg56qqZbfv8ruF8NEkjLmSM8jfVt1S-TjqugIZn6qW-iwSUrsIb6woG1po_cgBVdIAq5vKVftHDZPIvIk9FV9kL/s320/51314187891_cec1ca402b_k.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4:29 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>By this point I'd been in the midst of my afternoon slump for two hours and was on the verge of breaking into tears, so I was thrilled to reach the turn-off for Starvation Lake General Store. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0enPLH3WwkeZQiUt9SUo0ymExUHfzjYkBFsViZ6qCdfOoOvLtQD6gJFUauirs7msNnAoL4H8i-SEHXvY20jHgzZJ-4b7tTnwyQJAqwsvMJ4N5b-_F5K_9AG3XigZDwS_H6vI8rcNOZ3Wc/s2048/51314389838_577c76ecc3_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0enPLH3WwkeZQiUt9SUo0ymExUHfzjYkBFsViZ6qCdfOoOvLtQD6gJFUauirs7msNnAoL4H8i-SEHXvY20jHgzZJ-4b7tTnwyQJAqwsvMJ4N5b-_F5K_9AG3XigZDwS_H6vI8rcNOZ3Wc/s320/51314389838_577c76ecc3_k.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4:33 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Though small, the store had a good selection of snacks, drinks, and food. I picked up some treats and, on a whim, a canned Bloody Mary, then bought an ice cream cone to eat outside. When the guys came out to join me, Steve asked Chuck what he'd bought for dinner. It was silent for a moment, then Chuck answered, "....dog food."</p><p><span style="background-color: #ffe599;">I was deeply perplexed by Chuck's response. My mind was torn -- it was out of character for Chuck to be sarcastic. At the same time, his facial expression was so serious as he just continued to stare at the can. Too funny.</span></p><p>In his defense, the can does look like it could be for people, especially if you've been riding bikes all day in the heat and don't notice the purple dog near the bottom of the can.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs9UZFSoDHxUZYdCo4xzB3zMbhtsc6_OKTBtHuwH8C7XtN35tbIpK28FgToKm-IXim82VI0-UIdgsNuLEv60RUkcXQNe5lPEbq-NmIbHcH-oZeH5GntvoZYXB-9Sh_IKysKSZ0vt3KkVvD/s960/51314363796_df437c3bc8_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs9UZFSoDHxUZYdCo4xzB3zMbhtsc6_OKTBtHuwH8C7XtN35tbIpK28FgToKm-IXim82VI0-UIdgsNuLEv60RUkcXQNe5lPEbq-NmIbHcH-oZeH5GntvoZYXB-9Sh_IKysKSZ0vt3KkVvD/s320/51314363796_df437c3bc8_b.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A meal fit for a good boy!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>We got a good laugh, then Chuck went back into the store to exchange his pet food for people food.</p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">My heat-addled brain thought the picture on the can looked like it would make a great dinner! I didn't notice the "Premium Dog Food" until I sat down outside. The store owner kindly traded me for a can of Campbells Chunky Soup. But later that night at camp I wondered if I should have kept the dog food. The soup was awful!</span></p><p> While we all sat there enjoying not riding our bikes for a moment, a man pulled up with questions about our ride. We told him a bit about our trip, then he filled us in on his history in the area and the bar his parents used to own but didn't any more. </p><p>After the store, it was back on to the trail for the last miles before Sand Lake, where we'd decided to camp for the night. We first passed through an area of active logging, a bit torn up but still rideable.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyXogWDrBXnNXK1iVacIhdlA8K4ecP6TvW6d-5-NS8mTod-AJW8GK971pYxG1mIYVVzadP_YScc7B8FnIksP8Ghz3_37Fw29MjJGvAeos8vBQHNE7TOwnPro2wL2OgYGseVL_IV3bX85Ou/s2048/51314187921_b7a407ffab_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyXogWDrBXnNXK1iVacIhdlA8K4ecP6TvW6d-5-NS8mTod-AJW8GK971pYxG1mIYVVzadP_YScc7B8FnIksP8Ghz3_37Fw29MjJGvAeos8vBQHNE7TOwnPro2wL2OgYGseVL_IV3bX85Ou/s320/51314187921_b7a407ffab_k.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6:25 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>The next trail we rode was slightly less enjoyable, I was very ready to be finished and keeping a good eye out for this lake camping the notes had mentioned. We arrived at a nice little beach area but didn't see any established sites; Chuck thought this spot would make a great dispersed camping site. <div><br /></div><div>I had really been hoping for a campground with at least an outhouse and water spigot, and despite being perfectly happy with the spot we'd already found the guys humored me and rode first a little further in search of my imaginary campground and then retracing our path to go to the other side of the lake. Of course, getting to the other side of the lake involved riding another difficult-to-pedal sandy road. Luckily, before we'd gotten too far, we ran into a local guy who confirmed there was no campground, just a spot in the grass that people used.</div><div><br /></div><div>That sounded less appealing than our beach, plus we'd have to ride right past the beach the next day. We turned around and once again returned to the spot Chuck had first suggested 45 minutes earlier. And it was perfect. One of my favorite campsites of the trip. </div><div><br /></div><div>Once we set up, we filtered water and then had a little vestibule happy hour while waiting for our food to cook. One minor bummer of bikepacking is not having chairs to sit in at camp, but the front porches of our tents sufficed, and the beachfront location really couldn't be beat.<br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcA6a4lxkFWNkI81xStDotKB-3wY3KdKL-ueiGIcB_TPZoJmOTuxywoIFz-fp7XYW3Zcd68n9HF2xDRIsTLQ5oWDWYEqIYUaBf5ez7uaAe5z5aHGhyphenhyphenbcF0hJcBj3SGtFRNz7Mu_O1ERfL2/s2048/51314187826_c9623aba23_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcA6a4lxkFWNkI81xStDotKB-3wY3KdKL-ueiGIcB_TPZoJmOTuxywoIFz-fp7XYW3Zcd68n9HF2xDRIsTLQ5oWDWYEqIYUaBf5ez7uaAe5z5aHGhyphenhyphenbcF0hJcBj3SGtFRNz7Mu_O1ERfL2/s320/51314187826_c9623aba23_k.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">7:22 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br />It had been another good, but hard, day. With all the heat and sand and singletrack (and lake and ice cream stops), we'd worked hard to put in 46 miles for the day. Even at that slow pace, my Strava rated it "massive relative effort". </p><p>A nice breeze blew off the lake, keeping the bugs away, until past 9; its cessation/their arrival was a great incentive to get into the tents. That, combined with my lack of cell service at camp (I'd had to climb a ways uphill to get enough signal to text Jeff), helped ensure the early bedtime that I desperately needed.</p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">It was one of my favorite campsites as well. One of the few where we were able to hear (and see) loons calling.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: #01ffff;">I'll say it again publicly: You were right! </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq9P6ZuCaysNvaI4oXn7vMwQ07JwUxXtcOipj4oZ7JuHoGVftibAVITi6kt9BkY0hb83ns42SK8R762apAl8Uuk_ThFF_j1RbXNtUb4lazJQgQJEDOvCY53Zc0j2twaxiqAcHjoDNSObU5/s2048/51314389843_c9d2f74163_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq9P6ZuCaysNvaI4oXn7vMwQ07JwUxXtcOipj4oZ7JuHoGVftibAVITi6kt9BkY0hb83ns42SK8R762apAl8Uuk_ThFF_j1RbXNtUb4lazJQgQJEDOvCY53Zc0j2twaxiqAcHjoDNSObU5/s320/51314389843_c9d2f74163_k.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">9:08 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Next: Day 6: Sand Lake to Mackinaw City (not live yet)</p><p>Links: <span> </span><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5420202731/overview">Day 5 Strava</a></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> <a href="https://ridewithgps.com/routes/36180853">RWGPS Lower Peninsula 4 route</a></span><br /></p><p><span><span> <a href="https://www.michiganoffroadexpedition.com/copy-of-lp-section-3">M.O.R.E. website LP 4 page</a><a href="https://www.michiganoffroadexpedition.com/copy-of-lp-section-3"><br /></a></span></span></p><div class="kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div></div></div>Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-58981886640512369452021-07-16T20:49:00.002-05:002021-07-16T22:41:51.149-05:00M.O.R.E. or Less day 4: Manistee River Lodge to Scheck's Place SF Campground<p><i>Commentary by Chuck (green) and Steve (yellow)</i></p><p><a href="https://kate-my-mind.blogspot.com/2021/07/more-or-less-day-3-nichols-lake-to.html">Previous</a>: Day 3 Nichols Lake to Manistee River Lodge</p><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>June 4, 2021</b></span></p><p><br /></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkl-ga6KeVb9wKV7xucCdrKLsthjqiYZ29ZN9MU3f3yss7UF_d1RXH1WWiWBndFwR2vRfvW-3S-o4Jvk6TFM46Qu_tuJADMukTNFEb8OvquwFG_SDRawMYZUSk2mUSKtjVlByIvO7LPBOy/s2048/51279529791_28a5b17746_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkl-ga6KeVb9wKV7xucCdrKLsthjqiYZ29ZN9MU3f3yss7UF_d1RXH1WWiWBndFwR2vRfvW-3S-o4Jvk6TFM46Qu_tuJADMukTNFEb8OvquwFG_SDRawMYZUSk2mUSKtjVlByIvO7LPBOy/w400-h300/51279529791_28a5b17746_k.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">7:45 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Our morning departure time was greatly assisted by 2/3 of our group having minimal gear to repack, though I think Chuck (the only one who'd had to use his sleeping kit) was still the first one ready. We stopped to get a picture in front of the lodge's bait shop and then set off to rejoin the route.</span><div><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">There was always a bit of tension, for lack of a better word, between our two goals of experiencing the M.O.R.E. route and riding the entire Michigan-Wisconsin loop we'd planned out. The M.O.R.E. route became the basic framework that we tailored to suit our purposes. Our overriding goal was to complete the loop, so even early on we often opted to cut mileage in order to make time, though we paid close attention to the course notes so as to hit the highlights.<br /></span><p></p><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Getting back to the route seemed like a pretty simple process. Looking at <a href="https://ridewithgps.com/routes/36166342">Ride with GPS</a>, we had two choices: one a virtual straight shot north and one that required us to head west first. The more direct option put us five miles ahead on the course, so that's what we chose. RWGPS, like Strava, has a heat map layer that shows where people ride; this is really helpful when freestyling a route...usually.</span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgylUqwHh7pfGoMvrZYsEaDNejJCr3cK-bLj-009karyiAA0vm_Kbx51Tp50RkMqRfsMOS-DXguLzynw4ZjGVIQoO664M8CziUSflYiYOlnxtQPJOmoxIld1I3H7rIXkeJiODIPkcC3HBz9/s312/mi+day+4+rwgps.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="310" data-original-width="312" height="397" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgylUqwHh7pfGoMvrZYsEaDNejJCr3cK-bLj-009karyiAA0vm_Kbx51Tp50RkMqRfsMOS-DXguLzynw4ZjGVIQoO664M8CziUSflYiYOlnxtQPJOmoxIld1I3H7rIXkeJiODIPkcC3HBz9/w400-h397/mi+day+4+rwgps.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We were at the x. You can see our route in bold red and the heat map lines in shades of purple.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">The heat map showed a light but well-defined line leading basically straight north to our route. We arrived at the river crossing only to be faced with a fenced-off dam. Clearly we weren't going to be crossing here. It was back to the maps to reroute ourselves.</span></p><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: #fcff01; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">This maze of fencing temporarily robbed the early morning joy from our upbeat temperament, but we quickly rebounded.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">This is one of my favorite parts of bikepacking and adventuring - Running into unknown obstacles and then thinking on the fly to create and execute a recovery plan to get back on track. We were lucky enough to practice this skill many times of the coming days.</span></p><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="background-color: #01ffff; color: black; white-space: normal;">So lucky,</span></span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisAGPwSpURdJrrErnUAOM_uzOazZ9Z5fQVFsKIl4bsPuAUQ-ERFJJnxuNQnoOCkF0GE4C80dJCyAKOnnP1GWp2ok5IX8AmhjXjpOyn6tx2cubQIhpi1k08OQZhE1iYiVJeA_7a7RadGnOE/s2048/51284323587_5998da0723_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisAGPwSpURdJrrErnUAOM_uzOazZ9Z5fQVFsKIl4bsPuAUQ-ERFJJnxuNQnoOCkF0GE4C80dJCyAKOnnP1GWp2ok5IX8AmhjXjpOyn6tx2cubQIhpi1k08OQZhE1iYiVJeA_7a7RadGnOE/w400-h300/51284323587_5998da0723_k.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://youtu.be/C30eJKzlDcM">8:05 a.m.</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">So much for the direct route. Had we taken our option B to return to the course we'd have ridden mostly pavement; instead, we detoured onto a road with no heat map at all and endured 3+ miles of sandy bullshit before rejoining our route.</span></p><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: #fcff01; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">We met a local guy on the roadside and asked about the shortest route to get across the river. I still laugh out loud thinking back to his nervous smile of doubt when we decided to ride the 3+ miles of sandy BS on loaded bikes.</span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4BNjsx011umEVsWCJh42_uZQ1ce0nw-66Tj-70gQ4T5BaE-1jKAHZfuWydHQEfaT1ECrJFZYj5qwDTGpUPI4xZsk1RzWZlaGhBXLfi4GmHpgKi4vtrDgPlmRUQnoSx_-HaHVt-GEHXgKD/s384/mi+day+4+strava.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="324" data-original-width="384" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4BNjsx011umEVsWCJh42_uZQ1ce0nw-66Tj-70gQ4T5BaE-1jKAHZfuWydHQEfaT1ECrJFZYj5qwDTGpUPI4xZsk1RzWZlaGhBXLfi4GmHpgKi4vtrDgPlmRUQnoSx_-HaHVt-GEHXgKD/w400-h338/mi+day+4+strava.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After our failed attempt to go north we had to detour west to find a bridge over the river.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p></p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqEtVCdXFHVQJBHYQYC7iknsy0jDbEbTCr-6B8nKaanaU43am9lDmzM4HT54A_Qg5xtKuy_V_f5oyNmA1ANCgROoMMpo6LOCokscGnCAnWrIBspYnP9vdK62_l5hlaXm3zsc42byhfaUse/s2048/51284323542_38f0db46b9_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqEtVCdXFHVQJBHYQYC7iknsy0jDbEbTCr-6B8nKaanaU43am9lDmzM4HT54A_Qg5xtKuy_V_f5oyNmA1ANCgROoMMpo6LOCokscGnCAnWrIBspYnP9vdK62_l5hlaXm3zsc42byhfaUse/w300-h400/51284323542_38f0db46b9_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aforementioned sandy bullshit<br />8:35 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Once across the river we rode some mostly gravel roads. Still shaded and rideable, they made for pleasant miles. </span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlUirJGXKEYr29ZgrTWuQ1LBU6yv6EkhZZhxGKD4HAICU4JzKMDPJL78qxw4cyj12DpFkBVgBaneRf_LtLft0P9-b91NP_T1OFc0IZRjUgb-oW6fhxmT-Dw5zvBO_nA0T6TVlClFfGkD7i/s2048/51285792154_5389a6504d_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlUirJGXKEYr29ZgrTWuQ1LBU6yv6EkhZZhxGKD4HAICU4JzKMDPJL78qxw4cyj12DpFkBVgBaneRf_LtLft0P9-b91NP_T1OFc0IZRjUgb-oW6fhxmT-Dw5zvBO_nA0T6TVlClFfGkD7i/w300-h400/51285792154_5389a6504d_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">9:14 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">A little later we turned onto forested doubletrack. With the shade and mostly dirt surface, these were also a fun ride.</span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsPK259e0cEUAgef3P2ZoiMlaK_EtZZKcFmndUPehNRlrWRel0KN0sA0F7Ca1mxDPnUk8wH3Ty8F7UHAiK60NX6PKZ8QxfgFSKaMAh39XXmTJT4oJbS6b8zV0ZkdN6yueqTUmPD79cc3RX/s2048/51284323297_73374bd081_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsPK259e0cEUAgef3P2ZoiMlaK_EtZZKcFmndUPehNRlrWRel0KN0sA0F7Ca1mxDPnUk8wH3Ty8F7UHAiK60NX6PKZ8QxfgFSKaMAh39XXmTJT4oJbS6b8zV0ZkdN6yueqTUmPD79cc3RX/w300-h400/51284323297_73374bd081_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">9:26 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Well, except for the random sandy patches. I hit one wrong, and my front wheel washed out. On the way down, I managed to scrape my left arm hard on one of my aerobars. My right foot was still clipped in and pinned under my bike and body weight, so I had to wait for Chuck to finish documenting my plight before he could help extricate me from my bike.</p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">In my defense, crash photos are a well-known and absolutely expected thing to do for a fellow Virtus teammate.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: #01ffff;">I'd expect nothing less.</span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtJu5Jk8WhaAEtkq_1u8NBkJF4Vs29PYX3xYu6xQiXxF04sBt0knOBZn68D1Qn9WPrfHmu0-DuWLF98JVkXz8C-H4p63grCk_62t2joXnvk87D8yFUxJsZDUb84ErPKew8P1MU_k9LOxTm/s960/51285796954_890b0f3420_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtJu5Jk8WhaAEtkq_1u8NBkJF4Vs29PYX3xYu6xQiXxF04sBt0knOBZn68D1Qn9WPrfHmu0-DuWLF98JVkXz8C-H4p63grCk_62t2joXnvk87D8yFUxJsZDUb84ErPKew8P1MU_k9LOxTm/w400-h300/51285796954_890b0f3420_b.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Chuck "Don't get up yet!" Vohsen</td></tr></tbody></table><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Not only did it hurt in the moment, but my arm continued to bother me on any rough roads for the next several days. But I did get a good bruise and nice scar out of it.</span></p><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: #fcff01; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">This was a nice stand of forest, close to the river and fairly secluded. I was convinced that I was going to spot a black bear somewhere in this stand of hardwood, and as such had ridden a little off the front. Unfortunately I didn't see a bear and missed the whole crash scene. When Kate and Chuck rode up, the injury was already looking really painful.</span></p><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: #01ffff; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Michigan bears are apparently shy. Our failure to see any bears or moose is my one enduring disappointment from the trip.</span></p><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin4acREcFh11hEuakIQ00JE_nQYuhqKFhuMNN11XB23eA6sbjC7kcc4xCCXdoLZrzV3VIjauTyrDvfB0GS5Vl2yfjEs-9VVNYv305jPmktlgeKmj0NitmYcmpkV3jNo7Un2eonwmkEanTI/s2048/51285792044_9a0c002a70_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin4acREcFh11hEuakIQ00JE_nQYuhqKFhuMNN11XB23eA6sbjC7kcc4xCCXdoLZrzV3VIjauTyrDvfB0GS5Vl2yfjEs-9VVNYv305jPmktlgeKmj0NitmYcmpkV3jNo7Un2eonwmkEanTI/w300-h400/51285792044_9a0c002a70_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">9:31 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">We reached singletrack about 14 miles in, and the fun, flowy trails (I know I say that every day, but every day it was the truth!) were a blast. Well, except for the times I was pushing my bike uphill, but the awesome downhills made up for it. Once again there were times it made sense for me to go first on the climbs, and while often on the descents I'm the one to move over so I don't spoil the guys' downhill fun, that wasn't always the case on this day. </span></p><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Again the trail was just right for me to feel comfortable carrying speed, and more than once I reached the flats without the guys having caught me. Thankfully my time in front must have coincided with low spider activity, because I ended up with far fewer webs to the face than Chuck dealt with.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">Ugh, so many webs.</span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI1H5asX7DliAH3b5JtjI5hAa57iYRGQsF1XK2YEbLxPVQrzfu4xDRYUND9ML5b4e5p6zwchOzSrmadO-ikVIDYv0wfpue4idUUeL8pnA0wupNJlmZJb9SWANkaeOZVPXOHpz2t01ApS31/s2048/51285792149_980499952e_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI1H5asX7DliAH3b5JtjI5hAa57iYRGQsF1XK2YEbLxPVQrzfu4xDRYUND9ML5b4e5p6zwchOzSrmadO-ikVIDYv0wfpue4idUUeL8pnA0wupNJlmZJb9SWANkaeOZVPXOHpz2t01ApS31/w300-h400/51285792149_980499952e_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">10:34 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxpYOOrmF5Idh5Ft0kjIa-txSMOFmGxGbqKnJCyprZ93hcT4rzzJ_QmfIlOrLz0u-OA-zSO3gQ_GnbWwnqviqAw8j5AcVVi2K633aGou1n0BjAtxzCQrZ1ht7ckG8RL0j18ByVE-p2ZJTY/s2048/51286090650_7ef657b5f1_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxpYOOrmF5Idh5Ft0kjIa-txSMOFmGxGbqKnJCyprZ93hcT4rzzJ_QmfIlOrLz0u-OA-zSO3gQ_GnbWwnqviqAw8j5AcVVi2K633aGou1n0BjAtxzCQrZ1ht7ckG8RL0j18ByVE-p2ZJTY/w300-h400/51286090650_7ef657b5f1_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So happy on the singletrack<br />10:34 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>As the morning went on, that downhill speed was accompanied increasingly by the sensation of our rigid forks jackhammering over roots. At the bottom of one bumpy descent, Chuck realized his brake handle pivot pins were rattling loose and taped them back into place. </div><div><br /></div><div><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">I always keep a short roll of gorilla tape on my seatpost, and it saved my ride on Day 4. Taping the brake handles back together seemed a little sketchy at first, but without other options, it had to be done. Without those pivots there are no brakes. Little did I know at the time, but that simple repair would last the rest of our trip, and are actually still on my bike today. (Note to self - order some new pivot pins!)</span></div><div><br /></div><div>We decided that maybe discretion was the better part of valor and opted to take the forest road we'd arrived at to intersect with Upper River Road, which ran alongside the Manistee River. This decision was made <i>strictly </i>in the interests of our bikes and <i>not at all</i> because we were facing yet another hill and the alternate was almost dead flat. </div><div><br /></div><div>Alas, when Chuck and I coasted down to the tree blocking the road we realized our detour was a weed-choked maze of deadfall. "Never mind!" we called to Steve, and began pedaling back up. Escape thwarted, we returned to the trail and continued upwards, reaching a new and improved reroute three miles later.<br /><p><br /></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFREMcugs3npCANYbeegO3e86PvnyxMGgjENodcz-HcFPOBCULIr_CaMz_XyhuSdLTd95l7KbzBrPlTYZZ3InKZ-5Bv3UTUrcXpDmt2q96EKGj07hfjDHO5m15agylmQmyohC_mW1JJ3sy/s2048/51285241968_91f0c8bbf2_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFREMcugs3npCANYbeegO3e86PvnyxMGgjENodcz-HcFPOBCULIr_CaMz_XyhuSdLTd95l7KbzBrPlTYZZ3InKZ-5Bv3UTUrcXpDmt2q96EKGj07hfjDHO5m15agylmQmyohC_mW1JJ3sy/w400-h300/51285241968_91f0c8bbf2_k.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Upper River Road<br />12:11 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">As I've mentioned before, those road detours were always a little risky because we never knew what to expect from the surface, but this one was mostly hard packed with a relatively light sand covering. We still kept our distance from each other so that when one of the bikes randomly fishtailed into a ditch it didn't take out anyone else, but overall the travel was good.</span></p><p>So good that we initially missed our turn to the Manistee River suspension bridge. The route actually crossed this bridge on the Manistee River Trail, a pedestrian trail that the course notes cautioned to walk your bike on, but we'd already decided to take an off-route detour to hit a store outside of Mesick. In retrospect, I should have done more due diligence, because there were both a pharmacy and a Dollar General right in town. In my rushed prep, however, I missed those.</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrkZXQ9IrzN3ffLXNvmiy11JHHWvO1mufReE-LPog8BOmQhyphenhyphenvvZiDA4A-lHB8ZAKWBJBu3UpzD0arzyTnVkbX525X2yaj1VqqdsBeat2kT3qCpg2xHYm04aqWa8EbOYbUIGFtWtK2ZCqPg/s2048/51286091055_1733a2b668_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrkZXQ9IrzN3ffLXNvmiy11JHHWvO1mufReE-LPog8BOmQhyphenhyphenvvZiDA4A-lHB8ZAKWBJBu3UpzD0arzyTnVkbX525X2yaj1VqqdsBeat2kT3qCpg2xHYm04aqWa8EbOYbUIGFtWtK2ZCqPg/w300-h400/51286091055_1733a2b668_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">12:44 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Anyway, we backtracked to the bridge. Since we weren't actually crossing it, we just dropped our bikes at the top and hiked down to the river to memorialize this landmark.</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="background-color: #fcff01;">I was glad that we backtracked to the bridge. Very cool structure with an amazing view. The river was beautiful. The sun was so hot by that time that I was seriously envious of the group of paddlers hanging out in an addy.</span><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw5NfzXE5zLLFskQs5QZIAoDh8FIfjvx4peQJIqpc5FKYwmYZqjWsW2c1NPmy3z0uI4ljvvOEbFGK8wcqII8aP_SsD2tp-tW1ds6ntwt0fzbklfkEQBm3MTI3Wv10qIJXX6CUAyPqhfB5M/s2048/51285242318_800a911542_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw5NfzXE5zLLFskQs5QZIAoDh8FIfjvx4peQJIqpc5FKYwmYZqjWsW2c1NPmy3z0uI4ljvvOEbFGK8wcqII8aP_SsD2tp-tW1ds6ntwt0fzbklfkEQBm3MTI3Wv10qIJXX6CUAyPqhfB5M/s320/51285242318_800a911542_k.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The water was SO clear!</td></tr></tbody></table><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">From the bridge, we quickly made our way to the Hodenpyl Dam Store to grab some snacks. Outside of the store, Chuck asked a guy about restaurants in town. The man mentioned a couple options and then said something about a big detour because the bridge across the river was closed. "It's like 20 minutes by car," he cautioned us. Now, you have to listen cautiously any time you get travel advice from someone who's driving, because their "couple of miles" is usually twice that in reality...so who knew how many extra miles this reroute was going to take us.</span></p><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">We'd decided our reroute with the help of Google maps, which had been curiously silent about this closed bridge. I pulled up the app again, typed in Mesick, and Google again made no mention of any detours. Maybe this guy just didn't know what he was talking about. </span></p><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Unfortunately, the woman behind the counter confirmed the bad news about both the closed bridge and the detour before adding, "But you're on bikes. You could probably take the shortcut. It's closed to traffic but they wouldn't stop you." Saved! I wrote down her directions, which ended up only costing us only about three miles...and closed to thru traffic or not, we were passed by a <i>lot </i>of cars on that stretch. We weren't the only ones wanting a shortcut.</span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX8HgEBEH9_ThrfFEFj52nc-I1UCBESoaLbyZnvCjZStOQvYMRE7ZMVkBHXrqVWtc1k6Uy8n49Kxgnh0NMnmBByFY28jQezxwBMN0zB76eEHTfaXLqfnTHSGiEnwfG-Y1zenLHgwAfBe4I/s960/51285796949_eae1e2ce93_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX8HgEBEH9_ThrfFEFj52nc-I1UCBESoaLbyZnvCjZStOQvYMRE7ZMVkBHXrqVWtc1k6Uy8n49Kxgnh0NMnmBByFY28jQezxwBMN0zB76eEHTfaXLqfnTHSGiEnwfG-Y1zenLHgwAfBe4I/w400-h300/51285796949_eae1e2ce93_b.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lunch stop!<br />2:15ish</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">We stopped for lunch at the Bucksnort Bar, and I had a pulled pork sandwich that remained my favorite meal until the last night of the trip. It was great to be inside on a hot day, and we savored the cool air as much as the meal. The waitstaff was kind enough to refill our bike bottles, and then I took a cup of ice outside to dump down my shirt. Girls may not be able to pee standing up, but having a sports bra to hold ice on a hot day makes up for that in my book.</span></p><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: #04ff00;">Bucksnort Saloon was one of my favorite restaurants of the entire trip. Great burgers, beers, and super friendly service.</span></span></p><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Before leaving town we made a quick stop at the pharmacy to replace the sunscreen I'd lost the previous night. There was only one bottle with the higher SPF, so Chuck and I decided to just share it. This worked out pretty well for me because he carried it for the rest of the trip. Using fork bags gave him a lot more extra storage space than I had with my stove on one fork leg and a nalgene bottle on the other.</span></p><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Leaving Mesick we opted for another detour, this time of our own choosing. The <a href="https://www.michiganoffroadexpedition.com/copy-of-lp-section-3">course notes</a> for the upcoming section of route weren't super encouraging: "<i>Trail is not well used and slow going...Hilly section with some tough sandy climbs and descents...sections can be rugged and a bit swampy..</i>." It's true that Matt also noted things like "good remote camping [and] Good scenic over looks as well", but these perks weren't enough to outweigh the cautions. Road it was!</span></p><p>We traded 16 miles of road for 20 miles of singletrack, briefly intersecting with the course again just after Baxter Bridge State Forest Campground. We pulled over at the Old 131 SF canoe pull-out to check our route and make some decisions for the rest of the day. "We're getting in the river before we look at any maps," Chuck declared, making a beeline for the water.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2fpH359y2I3YGHB8eqPXJbyJczvn0EiBQCBKDWow6hFC6Q156xnOiSBzN4PpA5YrHBN4FQGxYxcG29zPi5exDa-iuH8W33pJKavbBv6Kd7FKwcrQ1-Z0_Ps6i3EiRdpXZl5uFsAbOB-7x/s2048/51284323567_4d62ca9ef2_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2fpH359y2I3YGHB8eqPXJbyJczvn0EiBQCBKDWow6hFC6Q156xnOiSBzN4PpA5YrHBN4FQGxYxcG29zPi5exDa-iuH8W33pJKavbBv6Kd7FKwcrQ1-Z0_Ps6i3EiRdpXZl5uFsAbOB-7x/w300-h400/51284323567_4d62ca9ef2_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4:51 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was maybe less enthusiastic about this plan initially. I can get really destination-focused, sometimes (often?) to the detriment of my enjoyment. Thankfully, I had riding partners who know how to savor life, and once I got into the cold water it felt amazing. Lake and river dips became a regular component to our days and made a huge contribution to our ride satisfaction index.</span></p><p><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">As we dried off we decided on a destination for the night. Still in the less-fun sounding trail section, we continued on roads with the help of Google's bike directions. The initial going was paved and smooth, but conditions deteriorated as we neared our campground. First there was moderate sand...</span></span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDYrrrgYtvFQnSD2Ey1cVrc6-eT_K1nFUtNQz3eeMXx0caFAEEDh0sKHxxAASBIEHFtR1E9Ic56uQA1Ju-xpRuTDgr3VAPtcEa0Q25fk0eLAfvxoE-4iBK1m-dT29P0LSrbLz3KgnKTe58/s2048/51285071331_2c6f887877_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDYrrrgYtvFQnSD2Ey1cVrc6-eT_K1nFUtNQz3eeMXx0caFAEEDh0sKHxxAASBIEHFtR1E9Ic56uQA1Ju-xpRuTDgr3VAPtcEa0Q25fk0eLAfvxoE-4iBK1m-dT29P0LSrbLz3KgnKTe58/w300-h400/51285071331_2c6f887877_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6:37 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>And then Google directed us first onto the deep sand of a motorcycle trail, which was either slow going or, for my still (I mean, always, really) skittish self, a lot of bike pushing. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb5Qj0uacrhtLE-dfZmHazodpYvR4x3xqzeoUhteJuDqPax6EtBb-HuQWt4j2ToZ6Lv9pueBv1U31ZaEbf8GD-W_QlZt85KKkPtLX9noAKgcBoXkrf-_JZ5hT66nEnmSUIrb4TYH-lYuRc/s2048/51285242183_157db8bfa6_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb5Qj0uacrhtLE-dfZmHazodpYvR4x3xqzeoUhteJuDqPax6EtBb-HuQWt4j2ToZ6Lv9pueBv1U31ZaEbf8GD-W_QlZt85KKkPtLX9noAKgcBoXkrf-_JZ5hT66nEnmSUIrb4TYH-lYuRc/w400-h300/51285242183_157db8bfa6_k.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What fresh hell is this?<br />6:45 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><p>Next Google tried sending us onto a non-existent road. Maybe it was there at one time, but there weren't any remaining signs of it. We followed a motorcycle trail spur in the correct general direction, hoping we weren't wading through the ankle deep sand for nothing. Both guys fell in this stretch, and the only reason I didn't is because I was already pushing my bike. </p><p><span style="background-color: #fcff01;">I should have been walking but you know... Anyway, at some point the front wheel went sideways, the bike discontinued forward motion, and I kept traveling. At least until I was deposited "gratefully" (not gracefully) in a deep pile of sand. I quickly stood up, worried that I may have broken something on the bike, only to spoil Kate's plan to get a photo of me on the ground in a dust cloud.</span></p><p>I resorted to the question I always asked when conditions were sub-optimal: "What would you be doing right now if you were home?" For me, the answer almost always ended up with "Wishing I was doing something like this," and it never failed to reset my attitude.</p><p>Finally we turned onto an actual rideable road, and from there it was only a mile or two to Scheck's Place State Forest Campground. We checked out both sides of the road, opting for a roomy spot on what turned out to be the noisier side of the campground. Being a Friday night, most of the sites were occupied, and being so close to the motorcycle trail there was a bit of ORV traffic, which thankfully trailed off before bedtime.</p><p>The Boardman River passed right by the campground, and once our tents were set up we all walked down to soak our tired legs in the cold water before dinner. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9rRehMC56Ohg0ll32Dm355jkWItqlYufPQSv9JhEJlC2XcuPsGXw4w-WfkW8VM9IeegszGHEbjs7T__yEWbnr_YrRejalvHGVV_o-VVIjlog7080meFhWjRwQUc9O_r7IZt1G_ggV8ob0/s960/51285796944_199a1d3fd0_b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9rRehMC56Ohg0ll32Dm355jkWItqlYufPQSv9JhEJlC2XcuPsGXw4w-WfkW8VM9IeegszGHEbjs7T__yEWbnr_YrRejalvHGVV_o-VVIjlog7080meFhWjRwQUc9O_r7IZt1G_ggV8ob0/w400-h300/51285796944_199a1d3fd0_b.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanging out in the Boardman River</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Back at camp we ate supper, successfully hung our first bear bag (and by "we", I mean Chuck), and got ready for bed. After four days of constant togetherness, being around the guys was like being around family. There's your best self, and then there's your real self; hopefully the two are pretty close to the same, because on a trip like this you don't have the energy to pretend to be something you're not. Still, I was a little surprised at the unconscious comfort level.</p><p>I wear a partial in place of two lower front teeth that I lost as an eventual result of a bed-jumping accident when I was in grade school; I'm really self-conscious about those missing teeth. Pretty much the only people who see me without them are my family, and I try to avoid even that. And still, as I stood around camp talking to Chuck and brushing my teeth, I unthinkingly popped them out and continued brushing with my partial in my hand before realizing what I'd done and breaking into laughter.</p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">It was a good laugh at the end of another great day.</span></p><p>It had been another 70 mile day, a good one despite the hilly singletrack, the heat, the long stretches of road, and the deep sand at the end...and the best part was that we got to get up the next day and do it again.</p><p>Next: Day 5 (not live yet)</p><p><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Links</span></b>:</p><p><a href="https://www.michiganoffroadexpedition.com/">Michigan Off-Road Expedition website</a></p><p><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5414382222/overview">Strava </a>for the day</p><p><a href="https://ridewithgps.com/routes/36166342">RWGPS LP3 section</a> - Wellston to Mesick</p><p><a href="https://ridewithgps.com/routes/36180853">RWGPS LP4 section</a> - Mesick to Scheck's Place (though we used almost none of this in actuality)</p></div>Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-10790305530955974582021-07-02T09:16:00.003-05:002021-07-16T20:50:34.215-05:00M.O.R.E. or less day 3: Nichols Lake to Manistee River Lodge<p><a href="https://kate-my-mind.blogspot.com/2021/06/more-or-less-day-2-wabasis-lake-to.html">Previous</a>: Day 2 Wabasi Lake to Nichols Lake</p><p>Commentary by Chuck (in green) and Steve (in yellow). My occasional responses in blue.</p><p><b><span style="font-size: medium;">June 3, 2021</span></b></p><p>It was another chilly night, and once again I didn't sleep well. It's normal for me to sleep poorly the first night out on a trip but less so on subsequent night. Still, I woke easily at 6:15 and started the morning tasks which would become routine over the next weeks: put in my contacts and sunscreen my face, pull my riding clothes out of the bottom of my sleeping bag and dress, let the air out of my sleeping pad, put my clothes and tent bags in my vestibule, then roll up and pack my sleeping pad. Once all of that was accomplished I'd leave the tent, hit the bathroom, and then pack my tent while breakfast cooked/soaked. </p><p>I took a walk around the campground after my breakfast and packing was finished, then chatted for a bit with one of the hosts. She told me how this was their first time at Nichols Lake and that in September they'd be moving on to a host position farther south. "So you live in your camper full-time?" I asked.</p><p>"Our <i>motorhome</i>," she corrected me, slightly offended by my full-time RV faux pas.</p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">Which instantly became our recurring joke for the rest of the trip whenever a huge opulent motorhome was sighted.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnjcjCAuMeHdQJdNMxzs9JyLCp3OZAFUSFssRfCNSvKA2Z8b1aO-5QUKvUZZns2vaH_6eaW4i4uSgEpYWLBjB6XZK1K6vALLZP7gxshW5u4DkIpRDiO4GL67SWXwx88G3PeMOPVNMjCIdT/s2048/51279703948_3b1b0a0be5_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnjcjCAuMeHdQJdNMxzs9JyLCp3OZAFUSFssRfCNSvKA2Z8b1aO-5QUKvUZZns2vaH_6eaW4i4uSgEpYWLBjB6XZK1K6vALLZP7gxshW5u4DkIpRDiO4GL67SWXwx88G3PeMOPVNMjCIdT/w400-h300/51279703948_3b1b0a0be5_k.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nichols Lake<br />8:51 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>We rolled down the campground road to the boat ramp, where we picked up the NCT once more and started a slight uphill. Chuck offered to pull off to the side to let me go first, and as weird as it still feels to do so, I went on ahead. I'm definitely the least skilled and least confident of the three of us on singletrack, but I was the only singlespeed of the group and struggled to maintain momentum when the guys could spin uphill. There was no weird macho guy stuff about staying in the front. When it made sense for me to go first, that's what we did.</p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">Long years of racing and adventuring together have helped strip away non-essentials. Ego and macho BS are definitely in that category.</span></p><p>We quickly warmed up and paused at the top of the hill to pull off our jackets and admire the view. The open woods, the lake below us, the trail stretching in front of us...all so beautiful. I was so happy to be exactly where I was.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibJnTK9eJR9FsdMBfgHAD8mgRySfmZQ2ktSHwfLNKcEtPiKHisZhB-F5yfy1FMzPyzGe0kS-fQvqqdVWJlUHONvmPyzfkxrrjrl1Emt3YCRdGg3-6nF9bL5HJOUwknQLCPF5-hG6wElypG/s2048/51279529696_b673df023b_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibJnTK9eJR9FsdMBfgHAD8mgRySfmZQ2ktSHwfLNKcEtPiKHisZhB-F5yfy1FMzPyzGe0kS-fQvqqdVWJlUHONvmPyzfkxrrjrl1Emt3YCRdGg3-6nF9bL5HJOUwknQLCPF5-hG6wElypG/w300-h400/51279529696_b673df023b_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">NCT above Nichols Lake<br />8:57 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Singletrack was the word of the day, as our first 41 miles were primarily the North Country Trail with a few short road connections. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCSskTeMTGfCXPQmovpCakLywbZtEsQStw26uZfW_xGTfr31vto09nBgkqKbWxrhFy5ZXFnds_tNRXshC3aRPDhU2tUpSQ0KAo1AD6EgDOQVwzwjkYl2L2JUZIssjaBMzFU5shyphenhyphenWoYhfFW/s2048/51279529596_b87c4ec686_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCSskTeMTGfCXPQmovpCakLywbZtEsQStw26uZfW_xGTfr31vto09nBgkqKbWxrhFy5ZXFnds_tNRXshC3aRPDhU2tUpSQ0KAo1AD6EgDOQVwzwjkYl2L2JUZIssjaBMzFU5shyphenhyphenWoYhfFW/w400-h300/51279529596_b87c4ec686_k.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of Chuck's trip goals was to see a porcupine. We saw several, all dead, so I guess we can consider that goal a partial success.<br />9:44 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">I collected a handful of quills too, not exactly sure what for yet, maybe blowgun darts?</span></p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh87X5euTX-3U9Izw2N4BtuWuk54IbLC4zkKk5TiqzRoo00ND0jZiyjxftxfnbb1sQPe6VRno40P-Q6oqF0YM46ckHWoyYBtpKEprEyi9IkbSynbTiGsamtqg16e_gmJQtvV8DhvxcCKh7/s2048/51278783232_5387f0a375_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh87X5euTX-3U9Izw2N4BtuWuk54IbLC4zkKk5TiqzRoo00ND0jZiyjxftxfnbb1sQPe6VRno40P-Q6oqF0YM46ckHWoyYBtpKEprEyi9IkbSynbTiGsamtqg16e_gmJQtvV8DhvxcCKh7/w300-h400/51278783232_5387f0a375_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">9:47 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>One of the road sections was about ten miles in, as we attempted to go slightly off-route to hit the only close-to-on-route resupply for nearly 30 miles. Did we <i>need </i>resupply? Probably not, but we weren't racing, we were going to be covering less distance because the majority of our day would be spent on the trail, and my general practice is to not pass on food when opportunities to restock are spread out.</p><p>As I mentioned before, I spent a lot of time in the days before we left researching the route with an eye to services. Matt Acker's website was a valuable starting point as he'd <a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/11XbHBAskoewBcsRYPWGKZYZddLnXLEHh/view?ts=5f9730ef">listed many services</a> available on the route as well as providing a <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/0/viewer?fbclid=IwAR3AWT3ecX-vw69q6B62k9y1JIEZlr45U1QqaABnph5jkRLvAjWaqCZZFJ4&mid=1l9CUDy1VuCx3zYu1jZZ-KyuzB0CZnGn0&ll=43.63550492560216%2C-85.97225397784702&z=8">google map</a> with the same information in similar form. I'd then basically zoomed in on the route mile by mile, comparing RWGPS and Google, in an effort to be even more specific and thorough, noting hours and phone numbers when they were provided. I added this information both as Points of Interest on my RWGPS routes and noted it on a spreadsheet I made for the route as well.</p><p>And yet, there's always more research to be done, as I was reminded when we passed the location of Mel's at the Lake without finding it. We stopped to check the maps. Noticing a bunch of roads coming up, Chuck suggested it might be ahead of us. One more mile down the road, there it was. Well, there was a place called Mr. Bib's, which was not what we were looking for...or was it? </p><p>Back on Google, Chuck looked at the reviews for Mel's and noticed what I'd missed: "It's now called Mr. Bib's." We've all learned by now that Google isn't infallible, and this was another reminder. I'd put the POI exactly where it had been mapped; the restaurant just wasn't there. No big deal, though. While we ate our second breakfast (pulled pork FTW!) I was able to edit my RWGPS map, moving the restaurant/store to the correct spot and renaming it, then saving the updated route. </p><p>This last move proved to be a bit of a mistake because I didn't re-download the update. Later in the day I'd switched between routes in RWGPS, and when I attempted to return to our current one it was no longer available for offline use. Though with some exceptions I had pretty consistent cell service on the trip, naturally this was a time with no signal. Like the food stop, we didn't really <i>need </i>to see the route info, but I still found it unsettling to be without it. Note to self: if you update a route in process make sure to either re-download it or save your update under a new name.</p><p><span style="background-color: #ffe599;">OK, so that's what was happening. I couldn't really follow the conversation beyond "It's not there." The rest of the conversation was a bit cryptic and I couldn't comprehend the underlying exchange going on between Kate and Chuck. My focus was to follow blindly until we reached the next food source.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: #01ffff;">Of note: I'd sent all of the routes and info to both Chuck and Steve, but I was the only one with the paid RWGPS membership that allowed you to download the routes for offline use, so in places without cell service my app was the only one where we could reference the routes. </span></p><p>This little navigational hiccup was still a couple hours away, though, and at the time my map showed a quicker way back to the route than retracing our rambling path to Mr. Bib's, so we turned onto the seasonal road at the corner, noting the "road ends" sign but continuing onwards. I found the sand base more challenging than the guys did. Thankfully it only lasted a mile, though I did punctuate the end of our detour by toppling over on a sandy corner. Anyone who mountain bikes knows that roads are generally faster (though less enjoyable) than trails, but in Michigan this was always a crapshoot. Maybe you have smooth sailing on pavement or packed gravel, and maybe you drag your bike across a wannabe beach. Meanwhile, the packed dirt/sand surface of the NCT had proved to be reliably rideable.</p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">Was this the crash where I fufilled my Team Virtus duty by snapping a picture first and checking for blood and broken bones second?</span></p><p><span style="background-color: #01ffff;">Nope, that's still ahead of us.</span></p><p>On anything remotely technical, I typically lag behind the guys, but this day's stretch of NCT was smooth and flowy, allowing me to stay close. The climbs were gentle enough to ride, and the downhills were straight enough for me to hold speed instead of riding my brakes. Well, until we reached one spot where the trail dropped down a veritable wall. Log steps were build into he hill, and even with those it was a little daunting to descend.</p><p><span style="background-color: #ffe599;">The photographs really don't convey the sudden change in gradient. When Kate and I arrived at the top of the long flight of log steps, my first words were, "You can't be serious."</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjweyXBvFAnvYnB-FAh-Gw4JT00bPf-Kvdu63-9SG52au2ULiwCc_8WTMGiyX3N0qaIkuh0jaW_O9RmewGLFG1U7cjjhIfnAG-VSwA3_B-QFkUm1o-BMb1ShueSsehmyHfBqLn6gMH-VpMm/s2048/51280257119_f40c034de5_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjweyXBvFAnvYnB-FAh-Gw4JT00bPf-Kvdu63-9SG52au2ULiwCc_8WTMGiyX3N0qaIkuh0jaW_O9RmewGLFG1U7cjjhIfnAG-VSwA3_B-QFkUm1o-BMb1ShueSsehmyHfBqLn6gMH-VpMm/w300-h400/51280257119_f40c034de5_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking down the super steep hill. <br />12:38 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Ub3mBZdn67kM3wxd76SKl6tZQm9t11ahMp0t5UkyV7WnHDF_t0n-kANW0IaxHZyTOwSg4AdYbV7r7vt6bI4OOkk0DLCd9856Yr1uTRwReRUpzXdqObnu0si_HbG9ErHwSLFQ-1t2Srls/s2048/51279704058_8c4113eb8f_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Ub3mBZdn67kM3wxd76SKl6tZQm9t11ahMp0t5UkyV7WnHDF_t0n-kANW0IaxHZyTOwSg4AdYbV7r7vt6bI4OOkk0DLCd9856Yr1uTRwReRUpzXdqObnu0si_HbG9ErHwSLFQ-1t2Srls/w300-h400/51279704058_8c4113eb8f_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And the view from the bottom!<br />12:42</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">Pictures never show how steep things are.</span></p><p>I felt great and strong until around 2:30, when the figurative wheels came off. I may have gotten behind on nutrition, or maybe it was my body's way of saying, "Hey dummy, if you want to go from 40-mile weeks to 80 mile days there's going to be a cost!" Of course, that 2:30 time frame also coincided with the end of 6 miles of pretty steady climbing, so there are a number of culprits in my meltdown lineup.</p><p>Even with the afternoon slump I was proud of how well my body was holding up under the workload of this trip. Since hurting my back last fall I'd lost a lot of fitness, slowly beginning to rebuild mileage in the spring. I'd done two short bikepacking trips and worked my way up to a long ride of 62 miles in the weeks before Michigan, but I definitely had questions about how well I'd manage as, I think, did the guys. In the days before we left, we'd settled on a Virtus motto -- "It'll work itself out", or IWIO -- and so far, it had.</p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">IWIO has never failed!</span></p><p>Around 6:00 we crossed a road, and rather than follow the route to more singletrack we detoured to Na-Tah-Ka, a nearby restaurant, for dinner. Afterwards we went next door to pick up supplies for the next day. Instead of returning to the singletrack on route, we used Google maps to take a more direct path to <a href="https://manisteeriverlodge.com/">Manistee River Lodge</a> in Wellston, where an adventure race friend had offered us a room at a special AR rate. We hadn't planned to stay inside yet, but I can't resist a bargain. When it started to sprinkle shortly after we arrived the decision felt like serendipity.</p><p><span style="background-color: #ffe599;">This place was perfect. I'd love to return someday for some guided fly fishing and paddling on the river.</span></p><p>There were two queen beds, so Chuck took the first turn on the floor. The fastest of us at packing up, his choice gave Steve and I the opening to possibly beat him ready the next morning. </p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">I don't know what it was but that floor was my best sleep since starting the trip.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLkZfAPylfT2KqsTyDE7Z_drcUHREi0NtssJqChnduvXv3gCC49jIQGa5jkG3A-m6DfpnLewPT9ybplz5gwcRlsb8C8Pdy5qtOinEsuJPS4EHtHhPo3qDyGazXdczzDNWo50SXsws2npN5/s2048/51279529666_ff5dd50725_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLkZfAPylfT2KqsTyDE7Z_drcUHREi0NtssJqChnduvXv3gCC49jIQGa5jkG3A-m6DfpnLewPT9ybplz5gwcRlsb8C8Pdy5qtOinEsuJPS4EHtHhPo3qDyGazXdczzDNWo50SXsws2npN5/w400-h300/51279529666_ff5dd50725_k.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our room at Manistee River Lodge</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>I'd been delighted to find Dr. McGillicuddy's butterscotch whiskey at the C-store, and whether is was the whiskey, the comfortable bed, or the cumulative effort of the past three days, I finally had a good night's sleep. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhewZWWGdhHxXC3yzvlRlVAWsbI_zd6SBidVBkJvQuzIRPo4PMpRCj7ITPqG6Gi6K-hYYlPOQLuuMqdAOs4F2owjV0mQPhcH4_YInnqi84tBc96sYT8hieytjJyaRuxxIx_o2ROViMMf2JQ/s2048/51278783167_52c2e896da_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhewZWWGdhHxXC3yzvlRlVAWsbI_zd6SBidVBkJvQuzIRPo4PMpRCj7ITPqG6Gi6K-hYYlPOQLuuMqdAOs4F2owjV0mQPhcH4_YInnqi84tBc96sYT8hieytjJyaRuxxIx_o2ROViMMf2JQ/w300-h400/51278783167_52c2e896da_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lots of good ride (<a href="http://kate-my-mind.blogspot.com/2012/01/if-you-plan-it-they-will-ride.html">MLK</a>) and race (<a href="https://kate-my-mind.blogspot.com/2016/02/2015-rocheport-roubaix.html">Rocheport Roubaix</a>) memories contained in these bottles.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">Fun to reminisce about old races and adventures!</span><br /><br /><p>56.4 miles for the day, most of them on singletrack.</p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Next: <a href="https://kate-my-mind.blogspot.com/2021/07/more-or-less-day-4-manistee-river-lodge.html">Day 4 Manistee River Lodge to Scheck's Place SF Campground</a></b></span></p><p><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5409357389">Strava</a></p><p><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://ridewithgps.com/routes/36166342">Ride with GPS route</a> - section LP3</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #050505;"><a href="https://www.michiganoffroadexpedition.com/copy-of-lp-section-2">Matt Acker's info page for section LP3</a></span></p>Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-22208989928716952862021-06-30T16:09:00.004-05:002021-07-02T09:17:19.062-05:00M.O.R.E. or Less day 2: Wabasis Lake to Nichols Lake<h4 style="text-align: left;"><b><a href="https://kate-my-mind.blogspot.com/2021/06/more-or-less-d">Previous: Day 1</a></b></h4><h4 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><i>Commentary by Chuck (green) and Steve (yellow). My responses in blue.</i></span></h4><h4 style="text-align: left;"><b>June 2, 2021 </b></h4><div>The overnight temperature dropped into the high 40's, so I spent a somewhat shivery night in the summer-weight bag I'd settled on because it packs slightly smaller than my warmer one. That, combined with the sound of one of the guys' tent zippers, woke me just at dawn so I didn't miss the morning show.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhouTqDxcOswiuqRdiirTMNQKtpvVIN2pK7viVdrrPKnK6zHu74uo4Bamuq4ndDbEZLzEGX7s0fK4wBJrJV66GQ7gjbof4hVxtRHQLERddb6e8gX5FrSYiCGMrC7dgZKvUqWdeIdGSYadiB/s2048/51276184039_f3873e998f_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhouTqDxcOswiuqRdiirTMNQKtpvVIN2pK7viVdrrPKnK6zHu74uo4Bamuq4ndDbEZLzEGX7s0fK4wBJrJV66GQ7gjbof4hVxtRHQLERddb6e8gX5FrSYiCGMrC7dgZKvUqWdeIdGSYadiB/w400-h300/51276184039_f3873e998f_k.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6:09 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span style="background-color: #ffe599;">Wabasis Lake presented a stunning sunrise to start the first full day of our trip and made the 9 mile off-route location worth every pedal stroke.</span></p><p>Ahead of the trip we'd agreed upon 8 a.m. as our goal departure time each morning. Having done one previous bikepacking trip with Steve, it's fair to say that I was nervous about how long it would take him to pack up. On this first morning, though, I was the slowest to be ready, my timeliness a casualty of my continuing failure to figure out where to put my extra food. </p><p><span style="background-color: #ffe599;">Kate's concern was legitimate. My ability to overthink and procrastinate, for reasons not immediately obvious to me, can't be explained. To my credit, I believe that I slowly improved my routine as we progressed, but I must be vigilant, and there's still room to do better. At least on this morning, I rose early enough to be ready to roll.</span></p><p>Normally I take enough snacks to keep me happy on the day's ride and just buy my meals (or "meals" as it often works in bikepacking) at restaurants and C-stores along the way. Knowing that the route led through some quite remote places on some very slow terrain, however, I'd opted to bring extra food along. I had two bulky Mountain House bags, several packets of oatmeal, a rice packet, a foil pack of Starkist Chicken, and a flat but heavy heat-in-bag hash brown dish. In retrospect, it was silly to lug all of this food through the first part of the ride, where resupply was, if not plentiful, certainly sufficient. Beginning to realize this, I resolved to start using up the meals and made the hash browns for my day 2 breakfast (they were delicious).</p><p>We retraced our previous day's ride, intersecting the M.O.R.E. route at the north end of Rockford, and enjoyed an easy morning of pedaling on the paved White Pine Trail, stopping for second breakfast about two hours in. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6XsF3uICIS3iwicZVya57qXa5PkI0XYlzxPWAsvFDO7QXjQDu_1bTh9UI0VON-RREFIuxRfysl6bV0CeNDs-ZdtqACq_kfueZnC7IMCKRFCKNu8HYHvdR09XDKRUCPXWt2LwBqsid-yV7/s800/51280511880_f3a09b045d_c.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="734" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6XsF3uICIS3iwicZVya57qXa5PkI0XYlzxPWAsvFDO7QXjQDu_1bTh9UI0VON-RREFIuxRfysl6bV0CeNDs-ZdtqACq_kfueZnC7IMCKRFCKNu8HYHvdR09XDKRUCPXWt2LwBqsid-yV7/s320/51280511880_f3a09b045d_c.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;"><i>Napolean Dynamite</i> made the SuperKate blog!</span></p><p><span style="background-color: #01ffff;">Chuck and Steve mentioned the movie during our trip. As with 92% of movie references, I didn't get it, so that had to be rectified when I got home.</span></p><p>Eat early, eat often is one of my favorite parts of bikepacking. Like many women, I guess, I have a complicated relationship with food, and the opportunity to use my body to the degree that I can choose my meals without regard to calorie count -- in fact, work to eat <i>enough </i>calories -- is a special kind of freedom.</p><p><span style="background-color: #ffe599;">Damn it, <strike>Napoleon </strike>Kate, make yourself a dang quesadilla! Seriously, though, eating becomes a continuous process with this length of bikepacking route, bringing with it some mixed emotions...joy and happiness!</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI3Rg0Yi_LL_sthUhPlTomawMARvSNXLmUZij1z6PDCjK24COZl2j3KBn2FigEMtkWJLko4KOXSQHMGp_lXtYY5XMXNlBYYMcL2rrpKiq8guJybY73ZsQRxVIPj8fNasWWBt6QCKsSqtTM/s2048/51274705937_6a448dbee1_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI3Rg0Yi_LL_sthUhPlTomawMARvSNXLmUZij1z6PDCjK24COZl2j3KBn2FigEMtkWJLko4KOXSQHMGp_lXtYY5XMXNlBYYMcL2rrpKiq8guJybY73ZsQRxVIPj8fNasWWBt6QCKsSqtTM/w300-h400/51274705937_6a448dbee1_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the White Pine Trail<br />10:15 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Eventually the trail surface became doubletrack.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLP_mxiOgk8K6NEBft-KZfmBkW-ZOf2VxYX4YcwfPx71v0-xY50xbUGSRArSBGTJtx8G6M-7jmn9PpIhHRh-yvCku1usrUB3ApAeKtFYSkqZUebs0Qahpz0o3nsGD8z4AuLS97Uq8WWjl9/s2048/51276486365_ced6009fda_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLP_mxiOgk8K6NEBft-KZfmBkW-ZOf2VxYX4YcwfPx71v0-xY50xbUGSRArSBGTJtx8G6M-7jmn9PpIhHRh-yvCku1usrUB3ApAeKtFYSkqZUebs0Qahpz0o3nsGD8z4AuLS97Uq8WWjl9/w300-h400/51276486365_ced6009fda_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">10:49 a..m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>At mile 27 we turned off of the bike path onto a gravel road. Each new surface felt like progress, and every turn a mystery. Having experienced the <a href="https://kate-my-mind.blogspot.com/2018/05/coast-to-coast-2018.html">Coast to Coast</a> gravel race, a solo <strike>bikepacking</strike> car camping trip last year, and various family vacations, I've learned that Michigan gravel has multiple personalities: you don't know whether to expect the rocky surface we're used to around home or anhy of multiple depths of sand. The first roads were your basic gravel, but near noon we reached some sandier surfaces.</p><p>The roads here were mostly rideable, though Chuck and Steve had easier time of it than me. Like technical terrain, sand seems to favor confidence and momentum, both of which I lack. I was trailing slightly behind when they stopped for a short break and then again almost immediately when we restarted. In my long history of riding with Chuck, this is a common occurrence; the only difference is that now I'm a little more capable of keeping up when the riding isn't tricky.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlHWjiwOzLS6XOePY1DDfzyZepRzGy52wRw2waLx6KrRLkYQdHp85wnSn9Z6_cv_QREOvRtkDfi25QWYeSMXR4UvSWNruwjkdbN3wMMEe5zrshVxu5P5_EmWpMe_I7H9mwlSULqO_e4ZrR/s2048/51276478855_c07bbdb3fe_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlHWjiwOzLS6XOePY1DDfzyZepRzGy52wRw2waLx6KrRLkYQdHp85wnSn9Z6_cv_QREOvRtkDfi25QWYeSMXR4UvSWNruwjkdbN3wMMEe5zrshVxu5P5_EmWpMe_I7H9mwlSULqO_e4ZrR/w300-h400/51276478855_c07bbdb3fe_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">11:51 a.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>We jumped just off-route at the town of Croton to swing by the Croton Bay Trading Post for water and snacks. Because most places around home are still not allowing refills, I usually ended up buying bottled water to refill my hydration bladder. Like the varied road surfaces, Michigan's Covid restrictions were a mixed bag: signs requiring masks and people actually wearing them, signs requiring masks and no one wearing them, masks unless vaccinated, no signs about masks or distancing at all. We are all fully vaccinated and so just abided by whatever each store or restaurant asked. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKtD6Iunj8uuZJj63QrQtaBcmZXTexdnX6BIuHogbU_jWaRxnF2ltqNMfdhQNqFRG_ZllXL4u3DwZN-a2CCKtw_HGQj7Ad_2ZwjBFnMbECKR6k23-os2of-NBcznIR6_t5ifl12ya11fQG/s2048/51276184084_9030255083_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKtD6Iunj8uuZJj63QrQtaBcmZXTexdnX6BIuHogbU_jWaRxnF2ltqNMfdhQNqFRG_ZllXL4u3DwZN-a2CCKtw_HGQj7Ad_2ZwjBFnMbECKR6k23-os2of-NBcznIR6_t5ifl12ya11fQG/w400-h300/51276184084_9030255083_k.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Croton Dam<br />12:54 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We continued on a mix of pavement and gravel to Twinwood Lake Recreation Area, the end of the <a href="https://www.michiganoffroadexpedition.com/copy-of-lp-section-1">Lower Peninsula 2 section</a> of the M.O.R.E. route. Even though we'd started midway in this section and hadn't ridden section 1, it still felt like a milestone.</p><p>The second and <a href="https://www.michiganoffroadexpedition.com/copy-of-lp-section-2">third </a>sections of the route had many camping options, allowing us the freedom to start the day without planning. At Twinwood Lake, Chuck and I took some time to look over the upcoming section and make some plans about where we might stop. </p><p>Logistics had been a huge weakness for me during my first go at the ARHC route. There are so many interdependent pieces, especially if you're a bit of a princess and aren't open to curling up on the side of the road. I'd really struggled to make good decision, more than once riding myself into a food desert without properly stocking up in advance and paying the price tackling the next day vastly underfueled. </p><p>This trip I had the advantage of prior experience, much better race prep (as far as logistics...we won't get into my paltry mileage), and a great teammate. Chuck and I have been racing together for years, and both of us found parallels between adventure racing and multi-day bikepacking. Instead of checkpoints we were plotting food and camping stops, but the strategy, decision-making, and trust we've developed translated well. This was Steve's first big endurance venture, and I think he was happy to manage his own effort and leave the planning to us.</p><p><span style="background-color: #ffe599;">Trust me, at this point Steve (I) was totally consumed by managing his own effort. I was pretty much oblivious to the teamwork on display between Kate and Chuck. I'll be sure to include more about their skills in a future post.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAGzB4_YYcIXmvxV5xC0kInGtSEO5apZMhBgQxjuHFf7WGAYXAi9l0lkkpgj6Gd-4_CmJPsCw-jndQGB1F3BoGBcOOxawhFdUZ6p0iA-uWMvZOL-1tZCU9yna8GH2YTnadFzUki7plzbTK/s2048/51274728532_d9f80fe9eb_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAGzB4_YYcIXmvxV5xC0kInGtSEO5apZMhBgQxjuHFf7WGAYXAi9l0lkkpgj6Gd-4_CmJPsCw-jndQGB1F3BoGBcOOxawhFdUZ6p0iA-uWMvZOL-1tZCU9yna8GH2YTnadFzUki7plzbTK/w300-h400/51274728532_d9f80fe9eb_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking over the route at Twinwood Lakes, the end of the Lower Peninsula section 2 route<br />1:50 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>We decided to continue on to White Cloud, another 8 miles away, make sure we had food and snacks to get through late morning the next day, and then ride until it made sense to stop. Just past White Cloud we would enter the <a href="https://northcountrytrail.org/the-trail/michigan/">North Country Trail</a>. I had ridden a 7-mile stretch of this last year and knew that part, at least, was flowy and rideable. It seemed like we should still be able to make good time, but there were no guarantees once we passed that familiar stretch.</p><p>It was around 4:30 by the time we reached town. Having subsisted on mostly C-store fare and snacks for the day's ride, we stopped for pizza. Chuck and I also grabbed big cinnamon rolls for the next day's breakfast (you know, because I wasn't already carrying enough extra meals). The waitress was nice enough to wrap up the extra pizza; she gave me the cinnamon roll in a paper bag, which wasn't ideal but fit into a spare baggie to eliminate potential mess. From there we rode a couple of blocks to the Wesco for snacks and water, then set off down to road to finally hit the trail.</p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">The spare baggie was a great idea. I ended up with melted cinnamon roll icing all over the inside of my bike bag.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: #ffe599;">I couldn't believe my luck when we were seated at Maike's Pizzaria, Bakery, and Cafe in White Cloud. Finding gluten-free pizza crust and an espresso maker was like winning the small town lottery.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghW3k1W_obme-UAeUJaWbAaYp7XIZfXYnJRJJNTINCUlakBSq-iKTGUZ3989HK6STy2c-sbaIsgjtEYEZLrPWxZ5RKCFbQdqA4uNjKltGjRF2r3V40ola9hkfRzkRGCKn23YorxWTZTlKK/s2048/51274705927_aa491fe709_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghW3k1W_obme-UAeUJaWbAaYp7XIZfXYnJRJJNTINCUlakBSq-iKTGUZ3989HK6STy2c-sbaIsgjtEYEZLrPWxZ5RKCFbQdqA4uNjKltGjRF2r3V40ola9hkfRzkRGCKn23YorxWTZTlKK/w300-h400/51274705927_aa491fe709_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beginning the North Country Trail singletrack outside of White Cloud<br />4:32 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>I'd been really excited both to ride the NCT again and for the guys to get to see it. I had loved the little bit I saw last year before losing my tent poles (never to be seen again), <a href="https://flic.kr/p/2kWiMj7">cowboy camping overnight</a>, and then switching my planned bikepacking trip to car camping. Thankfully, the trail didn't disappoint, though both guys gave me a skeptical look at the very sandy entrance. "It's not all like this!" I promised, hoping fervently that this was the truth.</p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">The time spent on the North Country Trail was some of my favorite of all the miles we covered. The majority was smooth, flowy, well marked, and very well maintained. The surrounding open pine forests and miles of ferns covering the floor kept us mostly in deep shade and smelled fantastic.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLFea9fIgNxGR8J3Fe2ZtoV2DlmlTkvOtlbdaoY37_mzNoiMFMR0uOMC-Go4mbVu_HBTsGVaW6fqbTHzPZNOeW_1FVlriQ0UsnB4zF0bNMOAZrwDL6KxQ6E4yKTW1zFc2Y4pFFBW65xreI/s2048/51276501375_ebcbb75a69_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLFea9fIgNxGR8J3Fe2ZtoV2DlmlTkvOtlbdaoY37_mzNoiMFMR0uOMC-Go4mbVu_HBTsGVaW6fqbTHzPZNOeW_1FVlriQ0UsnB4zF0bNMOAZrwDL6KxQ6E4yKTW1zFc2Y4pFFBW65xreI/w300-h400/51276501375_ebcbb75a69_k.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6:44 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>We rode another 18 miles of road and trail, thoroughly enjoying the singletrack but also keeping an eye on the time. We all wanted to reach camp before nightfall, so we took a little road detour to cut out a few miles of trail, in the process learning for the first of many times that trading singletrack for Michigan roads isn't always much of a timesaver. </p><p>We rejoined the trail shortly before the spot where I'd turned around after noticing my missing tent poles, and it was fun to see some new terrain. At the same time, I was wearing down a bit. At 79 miles, this was my longest ride of the year, loaded OR unloaded, and so I was happy to see the sign for <a href="https://www.fs.usda.gov/recarea/hmnf/recarea/?recid=18896">Nichols Lake Campground</a>.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_kYY4J_W7TyG-cEpq_VOnePVQCgSEMgKTAdRdTOOzpOMUhSgsxTTa0_LQOjd6p0Yb-wzQg6A5KXR6ohuzAfabR9m1AVtU-g-4J5bsTQh-Rcm0Z3SJDd34LhwG_drjFkqihO9Tr1kdvkCY/s2048/51275476116_b89ce35546_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_kYY4J_W7TyG-cEpq_VOnePVQCgSEMgKTAdRdTOOzpOMUhSgsxTTa0_LQOjd6p0Yb-wzQg6A5KXR6ohuzAfabR9m1AVtU-g-4J5bsTQh-Rcm0Z3SJDd34LhwG_drjFkqihO9Tr1kdvkCY/w400-h300/51275476116_b89ce35546_k.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At our night 2 stop!<br />7:35 p.m.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>More happiness was inspired by the sight of a bathhouse with electricity, flush toilets, and <i>showers</i>! This was a welcome surprise because in my experience few Forest Service campgrounds have these amenities. We set up and ate our leftover pizza. As we prepped for the next day Chuck fielded a wrong number phone call that became more bizarre with each passing moment. Thanks to his hearing loss the volume was high enough that I was able to hear the whole thing, and we laughed about Ginger -- "Did you kill her? She's a big ol' girl! You'd need to dig a big hole to bury her!" -- for the rest of the trip.</p><p>Camp tasks completed, eventually we all showered and climbed into bed. It had been a good day.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieeIOQ0JNbxvfeRAusFKUVdJj1majUnIUUkBWV_h7MoFJ1DbjMql0DUWlmxVAz3lB4KK6lyXBVX0zt9sENBkgLTvaL3DESUT4AH6XrWZ2Rfxk5sNegWFh7CB2aPjwv2zqZ_uUJ1Dqwxrcl/s2048/51274728642_782438a33e_k.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieeIOQ0JNbxvfeRAusFKUVdJj1majUnIUUkBWV_h7MoFJ1DbjMql0DUWlmxVAz3lB4KK6lyXBVX0zt9sENBkgLTvaL3DESUT4AH6XrWZ2Rfxk5sNegWFh7CB2aPjwv2zqZ_uUJ1Dqwxrcl/w400-h300/51274728642_782438a33e_k.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home away from home at Nichols Lake Campground</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5403662446" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Strava</a></p><p><a href="https://ridewithgps.com/routes/36142066">RWGPS route LP2</a> - first 40ish miles</p><p><a href="https://ridewithgps.com/routes/36151761">RWGPS route LP3</a> - last 40ish miles</p><p><a href="https://kate-my-mind.blogspot.com/2021/07/more-or-less-day-3-nichols-lake-to.html">Next:</a> Day 3</p><p><br /></p><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></div></div>Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-20865039578869286822021-06-28T19:40:00.001-05:002021-06-28T19:40:23.401-05:00M.O.R.E. or less day 1<p><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://kate-my-mind.blogspot.com/2021/06/more-or-less-bikepack.html">Previous</a></span></p><p><span><i>Commentary by Chuck in green and by Steve in yellow.</i></span></p><p><b style="font-size: large;"><i>June 1, 2021</i></b></p><p>My last day of school with students was May 28, and the holiday weekend was packed with our normal family Memorial Day activities. I spent every free moment in the week before our trip loading <a href="https://www.michiganoffroadexpedition.com/sections">Matt's Strava route files</a> into Ride With GPS and then searching for and marking every point of interest for services (camping, hotels, bike shops, and food) that I could find. Then I did the same for the ACA route Chuck had found to get us to the ferry, the extra 77-mile route he built to connect the M.O.R.E. and ACA routes, and, while I was at it, connecting some bike trails that looked like a good substitute to the last half of that ACA route. </p><p>All this is to say that I didn't start packing until the night before our departure and didn't finish until early the next morning. I'd like to say that's not typical, but the only aberration is how productive I was in the lead-up to the trip. As it turned out, the only dropped ball was my failure to download a new basemap of Michigan and Eastern Wisconsin for my Garmin, and when I finally went to do that sometime after midnight on June 1 the website I normally use was only providing downloads of country maps. Out of time, I loaded the original (terrible) Garmin basemap and hoped for the best. </p><p><span style="background-color: #ffd966;">In contrast, I obsessed over the details of what I was packing and where I was packing it, and yet knew little or nothing about the details of our route. In hindsight, this was quite the rookie mistake, and this would become increasingly obvious as we rode deeper into the route.</span></p><p>Despite the lack of sleep, I was ready when the guys arrived at my house. We made quick work of loading my stuff into the adventure van, including a bag of things I still had to decide about. I was torn about what sleeping bag to take and where I was going to put the food I was bringing, but I felt sure I'd figure it out on the way or when I put the bags on my bike in Grand Rapids. (Along with "what could possibly go wrong?", "I felt sure" is a phrase that should always be read in tones of ominous foreshadowing.)</p><p>Chuck drove the whole way, and we only made a couple of stops. It felt like a pretty quick trip and was exciting to note each new state (I mean, it was only two, but it was exciting). We talked a little about our goals for the trip. The only one I remember is Chuck's desire to camp for 16 straight nights, and that's because my goal was to NOT camp for 16 straight nights.</p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">I have a previous record of 15 straight nights camping, and threw the goal of 16 nights out during one of the drive conversations. It was not an actual goal, because I was sure I'd be ready for a roof when we hit the inevitable bad weather or swarming mosquitos.</span></p><p> Since I was in the back I could only hear about a third of the conversation, instead busying myself with games on my phone, facebook, and generally not figuring out where to put my bag of extra stuff. Once in Grand Rapids, we all had to prep our bikes to varying degrees. For me, that meant putting all of the bags on it. My back is still not 100%, and despite the doctor's assurance that I could return to normal activity as tolerated I'd decided that lifting a loaded bike onto Chuck's Kuat rack was asking for trouble. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/51274265442/in/album-72157719466372789/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Untitled" height="300" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51274265442_c629e527f3_c.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chuck mapping out our way to the campground.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>It should come as no surprise to hear that I ran out of room before finding a place for most of my "figure it out later" pile. Instead of pare down my load, I threw the things into a string bag I'd brought "just in case" and decided it would be easier to get these last stragglers packed the next morning when all of my bags were open.</p><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><p>Eventually we were all ready. After one last bathroom stop for us all in Steve's coworker's house -- I tried and failed to connect with his 5 year-old daughter, the only elementary-aged girl of the trip to resist my magnetic charm, while waiting for the guys -- we set off on our first leg. Chuck had found Wabasis Lake Campground, and while the 9 miles we had to ride off-route to reach it wasn't ideal, it seemed like the best option within the range we wanted to ride.</p><p>With a 7 hour drive and the loss of an hour due to daylight savings time, we knew we didn't want a long ride on our first day. Wabasis Lake, a 27-mile ride from our start, was perfectly situated. We followed surprisingly bike-friendly roads out of Grand Rapids to connect with the White Pine bike trail. I quickly realized that my base map was virtually worthless; indeed, I spent the entire trip navigating by disembodied purple line in a field of blank screen. Thankfully Chuck and Steve both had good base maps, and I did have all of the routes downloaded to my phone.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/51275014451/in/album-72157719466372789/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Untitled" height="400" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51275014451_179a5f1315_c.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leaving Grand Rapids</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We rode the bike trail until it intersected with the M.O.R.E. course in Rockford, which is a super cute town I'd have liked to see more of, sadly passing a brewery (I don't even like beer, but the food smelled good and the atmosphere was great) in order to get to our campground before dark. We stopped instead at Jimmy John's for dinner and a nearby gas station for a quick resupply (in my case this meant a mocha to have at breakfast), riding backwards on the course a bit towards the lake.<div><br /></div><div><span style="background-color: #ffe599;">Here we were riding into this hip little town, only 2 hours into a multi-day tour. The temptation to stop and relax was all too real. When Kate acknowledged that there would be no brewery stop, her facial expression caused me to laugh out loud.</span><br /><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/51275014416/in/album-72157719466372789/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Untitled" height="400" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51275014416_1b3bfa9438_c.jpg" width="300" /></a><br /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was fun to see this sign near the campground knowing that we'd be reaching Mackinac Island at some point in the trip.</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Most campground stops were a little stressful for me, and this first one was no exception. Many campground limit how many tents can be on a site, and since we each had our own small tent that limit was always a concern. Worst comes to worst we could always pay for two sites, but before long you might as well be staying in a hotel. I know Chuck probably would have been just as happy to post up in the woods, but I'm a bit of a princess about preferring flush toilets and showers when possible.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">Dispersed camping is my jam!</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/51276037810/in/album-72157719466372789/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Untitled" height="300" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/51276037810_217a8eaa8b_c.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First lakeside campsite of the trip! We were lulled to sleep by the music and laughter coming from the disc golf team next door.</td></tr></tbody></table></div><p>Wabasis Lake indeed had a two-tent limit, but since we had small tents and were only staying for one night they said it was no problem. We set up right next to the water, showered, and were tucked in our tents before long. It had been a great first day, and tomorrow we would hit the MORE route for real.</p><p><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5397882862">Strava</a></p></div></div>Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-77306340769094907202021-06-27T15:49:00.001-05:002021-06-28T19:43:39.821-05:00M.O.R.E. or Less bikepack<p><i>Commentary by Chuck in green and Steve in yellow.</i></p><p><br /></p><p>In the beginning, the plan was always Tour Divide in 2021. Ever since watching Ride the Divide during Team Virtus's 2013 <a href="https://kate-my-mind.blogspot.com/2013/02/super-century-ii.html">Super Centur</a>y I've been obsessed with the route. Early on my good friend and AR teammate Chuck signed on to join in, and then a year or so ago Steve got the bug. While my 2019 Arkansas High Country Race experience eliminated any desire to race the Divide route, it solidified my love for bikepacking. Our plans remained unchanged until 2020 changed practically everything.</p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">Tour Divide really <strike>was an eight</strike> is a nine year dream of ours. My obsession also began with the movie Ride The Divide, then was further cemented when I read Jill Homer's <span><u>B</u><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #0f1111;"><u>e Brave, Be Strong: A Journey Across the Great Divide.</u> We would talk about it now and then over the years. but in the past couple years the talks became a lot more real. We both built new bikes. Bits of new gear were being purchased and tested. I was quitting my day job. It was coming up so soon! Then COVID. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: #ffd966;">A few years ago, when I began riding and adventuring occasionally with Kate and Chuck, I began following their recurring references in conversations about "riding the Divide". Over time, I learned and read more about the Tour Divide and couldn't resist the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to join a pair of seasoned adventurers on this grand tour. Once Kate and Chuck's plan for Tour Divide 2021 solidified, I asked if they'd be open to me joining them for the first three weeks. Only having a handful of one- and two-night bikepacking trips to my credit I became engrossed with preparing myself for the adventure.</span></p><p>Of course COVID shut everything down. While our immediate families emerged unscathed, my fitness certainly didn't. Then I was diagnosed with bulging discs in January. A slow recovery put a huge question mark over my plans; I was nervous about committing to such a big ride without my normal confidence in my body. </p><p>Then there were the COVID travel concerns and more uncertainty about borders. Throughout 2020 states had different quarantine guidelines, some of the Native American reservations were closed, and of course the Canadian border was closed. </p><p>As life became more normal this year we discussed what to do about the Divide. In the end we chose to push it back a year rather than try to make plans with so many question marks. Both of us want to ride the full route, so we decided to wait until we could include Canada.</p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">This was a big decision that we went back and forth over multiple times. But in the end, the deciding factor was: We wanted to ride the full route. Anything less would just be less. </span></p><p>That decision made, we needed an alternate adventure. I of course suggested Arkansas because I love that route; another shorter idea was the ride the <a href="https://bikepacking.com/routes/north-country-traverse/">North County Traverse route</a> from bikepacking.com. I'd ridden a tiny portion of it the previous June and was eager to see more. It was Chuck who nominated Matt Acker's <a href="https://www.michiganoffroadexpedition.com/">Michigan Off-Road Expedition</a> (M.O.R.E.), "an 1050 mile off road bikepacking route through the great state of Michigan". </p><p>Matt's route is a point to point odyssey from the Michigan/Indiana border north through the lower peninsula and then across the UP to Lake of the Clouds in the Porcupine Mountains. We expected easier logistics than Tour Divide, but complications abounded. The drive to the start required a 12-hour round trip if a family member dropped us off, a train trip required at least one transfer as well as questions whether our mountain bike tires would even fit Amtrak's requirements. Renting a car big enough for us, three bikes, and gear was expensive and, as it turned out, nearly impossible with the current shortage of rentals. And then we still had to figure out how to get home at the end.</p><p>I have an acquaintance who lives near Grand Rapids and thought we might be able to leave a car at his house. Knowing the route ended not too far north of Wisconsin and remembering a ferry route across Lake Michigan, I proposed that we start our trip in Grand Rapids, ride north from there, then once we reached the end of the route we could ride south from the Porcupine Mountains to Manitowoc, WI, catch the ferry to Ludington, and then bike back to the car. This plan eliminated the first 175 miles of the route and added around 400 miles at the end, so it was both more and less than the original route.</p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">Dropping the first 175 miles from the route sounded terrible at first, but there was just no practical way to make the logistics work. Kate's suggestion of creating the loop with the <a href="https://www.ssbadger.com/" target="_blank">Badger</a> ferry was the perfect compromise. More miles, more days, ferry ride. It was a win everyway we looked at it.</span></p><p>Parking at my friend's house didn't work out, but Steve had a Grand Rapids co-worker who came through for us. We set June 1 as our start date and were happily making plans when one more wrinkle appeared on May 24. Illinois announced that boys' volleyball teams would have state playoffs after all, starting on June 8. </p><p>At the time, my son Jacob's high school volleyball team was undefeated, eventually losing only one match in the regular season. They had potential to make a strong showing in the state tournament, which would run from June 8-19. With our family schedule, there was no way to push back our bikepacking start far enough for me to be at Jacob's matches and do the trip, so I had a decision to make.</p><p><span style="background-color: #04ff00;">Kate had told me ahead of time about the volleyball schedule conflicts and a sketchy work around plan to be in Wi-Fi range for all the games. Remembering well the sports schedules of my own now-grown kids, I committed to doing everything I could to make those dates and times work.</span></p><p>Thankfully I had friends at home willing to stream the matches to me on Facetime or Facebook live, a husband who would text me point by point updates, and riding partners who were willing to try to adjust our schedule and route on game days. It meant a lot to me that they were so supportive of this, though knowing the remote nature of some of our route I privately questioned how likely it was that I'd see much.</p><p><span style="background-color: #ffd966;">I too internalized my concern for actually finding WiFi, particularly once in the Upper Peninsula. Knowing the importance of Kate being able to stream and watch Jacob's games, I was completely committed to doing whatever it took, be it extra-long or short days in the saddle, to ensure we arrived at a WiFi destination before game time.</span></p><p>In the end, I chose to go to Michigan. I <i>love </i>watching my kids compete. Going to those volleyball games is a joy. But I couldn't see trading 2+ weeks of bikepacking for 5ish hours of volleyball, even though I lived a lifetime of mom guilt each time I watched one of his matches online instead of from the stands. Chasing your dreams has a cost.</p><p><a href="https://kate-my-mind.blogspot.com/2021/06/more-or-less-d">Next: Day 1</a></p>Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-7760249748231650192021-02-17T14:44:00.004-06:002021-02-17T14:44:39.387-06:00ARHC days 1-2: Let me go<p> <a href="https://kate-my-mind.blogspot.com/2021/01/arhc-2020-day-1-and-done.html">Day 1</a></p><p>Having taken nearly 7 hours to cover the sweltering 31 miles between Leslie and Fifty-Six, I was desperate to stop by the time I limped up the the office of the Cedarwood Motel and tearfully asked the owner for a room. While it was surprisingly half the cost of last year's stay in the same place I'd have paid double just to know I didn't have to ride in the heat any further.</p><div class="separator">My hostess could not have been kinder to the tearful, disheveled girl at her doorway. She asked if I was ok, equal parts appalled and amazed at the way I'd spent my day. She crossed the yard to turn on the air in my room while I sat on her porch taking advantage of the office wifi, invited me into the office cabin / her family's home, shared the pizza they were having for dinner, and bought me some cold waters when she ran to pick up dinner. </div><div class="separator"><br /></div><div class="separator"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/50954006381/in/album-72157714720576451/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Untitled" height="400" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50954006381_78b9c9b47e_h.jpg" width="248" /></a></div><p>I sat at her dining room table savoring the cool air, my sweat-stained jersey still bedazzled with grass and tiny chunks of gravel from my many roadside rest stops. My first order of business was to secure a ride back to my car. My second, to update Facebook on my abject failure. After all, there's no point in sharing your adventures if you're only willing to reveal the fun parts.</p><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>
<p>Last year's support had buoyed and sustained me through difficult times on the route. This year's infuriated me (to all my wonderful, supportive friends: I'm sorry for what I thought when I was quitting. I love and appreciate you. Please don't stop with the encouraging posts). I wasn't just complaining about a hard day; I was quitting, and no one seemed to understand that. All the cheery encouragement in the world didn't change the fact that I could. not. ride. in this heat. </p><p>Along with the supportive chorus was good advice (take more breaks, ride at night and rest in the heat of the day) that I didn't want to hear. There was a plan. I wanted to follow the plan. I wanted the chance of at least occasionally riding with friends. I wanted to know where I was sleeping at night. Ironically, after last year's race I've said that women can have an edge over men during endurance events because when things don't go according to plan men tend to throw in the towel and women more easily adjust their expectations and move on. </p><p>I'm pretty sure I warned Dirk about this before the race, and yet here I was quitting 12 hours in, but I had the excuse trump card of my sister-in-law's June 20 wedding. If I couldn't manage more daily mileage -- and I was quite convinced I couldn't -- then I wasn't going to make it home in time. And if I couldn't do the whole thing, what was the point?</p><p>Dirk and Cliff made the same decision about calling the day early and arrived not long after I got to my room. We regrouped on the front porch, exchanging stories from the day, and while it was comforting that they'd had a similarly rough time it didn't change my mind about quitting. The motel owners offered to drive us and our bikes to the Mountain View campground where Tracy had stopped as planned, and the campground people offered to come pick up us. We opted to stay planted in the air conditioning rather than weather a night in the summer heat.</p><p>I facebooked while the guys prepped their gear for the next morning, and despite all of the uplifting posts, the only thing that even dented my resolve to quit was Tracy's remark about bonking after getting off-track with electrolytes. I'd had plenty to eat and drink, but nothing had been particularly salty; that certainly didn't help my situation, but it was too late to fix it now.</p><p>We all went to bed reasonably early since the guys had an early wake-up. I don't think Dirk slept too well on the floor, but it was that or cuddle with Cliff. Their alarms went off around 5 (maybe?), and I rolled over in bed, happy that I was going to get more sleep. Then Cliff groaned, "My legs are killing me."</p><p>I stared at the ceiling. My stupid legs didn't hurt at all. Nothing hurt except the memory of how much the previous day had sucked. But maybe I just needed more salt. Was I really going to let the guys ride away without me when I felt fine? </p><p>Damn it, no. I got out of bed, packed up, and was back on the road just before 6 a.m. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/50009764851/in/album-72157714720576451/" title="Untitled"><img alt="Untitled" height="1600" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50009764851_cc6c355325_h.jpg" width="1200" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-79672730926640106112021-01-31T13:10:00.000-06:002021-01-31T13:10:27.746-06:00ARHC 2020 day 1 (and done?) <p><i><a href="https://kate-my-mind.blogspot.com/2020/08/who-says-you-cant-go-home.html">Part 1</a></i></p><p><i>Here's a fun idea for a drinking game: pour yourself a glass and take a drink every time you read "last year" or "2019". If my wordiness doesn't put you to sleep, the alcohol poisoning certainly will. But there's no way for me to talk about this year's "race" except in the context of...last year. (Drink)</i></p><p>Four of us -- Dirk, Tracy, Cliff, and I -- were starting together. We would each ride our own ride but follow the same general plan, which called for mostly 100-mile days. While I'd only managed that distance three times during the 2019 event, I'd ended up averaging about 90 miles a day...not so far off from this new goal. </p><p>Logistics had been a huge weak spot for me last year, so I hoped that piggybacking on Tracy's vast touring knowledge would help smooth out some of the self-inflicted bumps I'd experienced. He'd shared a plan with proposed mileage, stopping points, and available resupplies for each day. Not knowing where I was going to stay each night had been particularly stressful last year; I thought that having a set destination might help me push on when I might otherwise stop sooner. Of course I was also happy at the prospect of more company than the largely solo experience 2019 had afforded.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/50894781296/in/dateposted/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="arhc prep"><img alt="arhc prep" height="300" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50894781296_b563cbc5dc_b.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thursday afternoon prep in the Witts Spring Community Center<br />Photo credit: Tracy Wilkins</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Though the official race start was in Fayetteville, our DIY version started at the Witts Spring Community Center near where Dirk lives. We all met there on Thursday evening, and Dirk's wonderful wife Chris cooked us dinner and their cousin/my friend Tammy came by to visit while we tended to last-minute packing. I'd met them on my tenth day last year as I rode into Witts Spring to a welcoming party that immediately felt like family. It was great to see my friends though our greeting was tinged with the no-hugs/social distancing weirdness of these times.</p><br /><b>Day 1: Witts Springs to Fifty-Six</b><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/50894067723/in/dateposted/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="arhc depart"><img alt="arhc depart" height="323" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50894067723_9b0689d12a_c.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cliff, Tracy, Dirk, and me just ahead of our 6 a.m. start</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>Friday began with a beautiful sunrise, which we rode into with new friend Tim, a local cyclist riding some of the first day with us. The first few hours were wonderful (and, "<i>completely </i>unrelated", largely downhill). It was fun to experience some of the same places I'd ridden last year at such a different point in the race. Last year I'd barely dragged myself out of Witts Springs on my 11th day. Leaving there on fresh legs felt much different.<div><br /><div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/50894745266/in/dateposted/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="ARHC"><img alt="ARHC" height="400" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50894745266_a326b4717f_c.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of my new favorite cycling pictures, riding into the sunrise on day 1.<br />Photo credit: Tracy Wilkins</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><div>Recent heavy rain had left the first creek crossing dangerously high, so we stuck together in a loose group through an impromptu detour. The reroute cut off a beautifully scenic section above the Buffalo River but also saved us 10 miles. I can't say I was entirely heartbroken at the trade, but after all the nerves on my drive, finally riding was a huge relief. I felt great. I felt strong. It was fun having someone new to talk to. Few things make me as happy as chatting away while riding, so Tim almost certainly set a new listening PR during our shared miles. </div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/50009947627/in/album-72157714720576451/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Untitled" height="300" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50009947627_50e7521b1c_c.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning mountain views</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script> Just outside of Marshall (mile 28), we found my friend Dana, a local photographer who took some of my favorite pictures from last year's race and was once again out on the course. There we regrouped It felt like we'd gotten there in what seemed like no time, though my red face in her photos revealed hints of woes to come.</div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/50894135923/in/album-72157714720576451/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Untitled" height="400" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50894135923_112a6f9110_c.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Dana Treat</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><div>We picked up another guest rider a few miles later. As a member of the Searcy County Chamber of Commerce, Darryl has worked hard to promote cycling opportunities like ARHC and the Ozark Grinder Trail in the area. He rode with us through town to the overlook, though his local knowledge kept him from following the same wrong turn Tracy and I made when our Garmins misdirected us to a non-existent road. </div><div><br /></div><div>Even on my singlespeed I was able to grind up the climb to the overlook without walking. So much winning, and it wasn't even 9 am. Though not unpleasant yet, the day was getting warm, so after stopping to say goodbye to Dana I made a quick stop at the coffee shop to refill my water even though it was only another 10 miles to Leslie. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/50894874361/in/dateposted/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="overlook climb"><img alt="overlook climb" height="320" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50894874361_2cc6967e98_c.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Making my way to the overlook<br />Photo credit: Dana Treat</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><div>Of course, my triumph over that initial climb was short-lived. It was followed by a longer, steeper one that I'd had to walk last year with gears, and the only difference this year was that I started my hike sooner. Dirk passed me soon afterwards and cruised his way to the top. We all briefly regrouped at the top of the hill where I excitedly spied a sign advertising "Mexican margaritas" only to be disappointed that it actually said "medical marijuana". </div><div><br />I reached Leslie still feeling strong and happy. Focused on not wasting time, I tried to be quick in the C-store, meeting Tim's wife Reneta and then exchanging goodbyes with my new friends before helping Dirk with a small Garmin issue and taking off. Only 4.5 hours for the first half of the day's ride...I was starting to feel really good about my ability to stick to Tracy's ambitious (for me) plan.<div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/50010199202/in/album-72157714720576451/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Untitled" height="400" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50010199202_5dc9e29e63_c.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">10:30 a.m. / mile ~39<br />Chocolate roll I bought at the convenience store. A Searcy County specialty.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><div>About 30 miles separated Leslie from the next opportunity for resupply, the town of Fifty-Six. I set off with high spirits and full water. While this stretch wasn't flat it lacked the bigger climbs of the first half, and if you look at the elevation it doesn't seem like it would be that bad. This next section had taken me just under 5 hours last year. I left Leslie at 10:30, expecting to make similar time to my restock at Fifty-Six and then knock off the final 20 miles to Mountain View.</div><div><br /></div><div>Things went figuratively downhill pretty much from the moment I rolled out of Leslie. The next 4 miles were a grind up a slight uphill, and now with only my own company these miles passed slowly. I made steady progress for the first 16 miles of this stretch, but it took me nearly 2.5 hours. After a spring where only one ride had surpassed 80 degrees, I was withering as the Arkansas heat hit 90 and continued to climb. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/50009980347/in/album-72157714720576451/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Untitled" height="300" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50009980347_8b4d95a021_c.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3:00 / mile ~63<br />Temporary haven from the heat</td></tr></tbody></table></div></div><div><br /></div><div>The next eight took me another two hours. I did a lot of walking up hills, gasping for breath even as I pushed my bike, then coasting down and stopping at any creek crossing to soak my hair and clothes in the cool water. Those life-saving stops came at a cost, though. Momentarily reborn, I'd then face the subsequent climb from a dead stop, mourning my lost momentum and the geographical reality that creeks are almost never at the top of a hill.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/50009176273/in/album-72157714720576451/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Untitled" height="400" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50009176273_034ea1e7f7_c.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What a "not bad" section of the Arkansas High Country Route looks like. The blue dot on the Garmin is the above creek crossing, and I guarantee I was looking at the hill in front of me saying something like, "This is some bullshit."<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><div>In the heat I'd nearly drained the 100 oz of water in my frame bag within 24 miles of Leslie. I was on the lookout for a good spot to filter water when I passed a house with people in the front yard. I asked if they had a hose outside I could use to refill my water. Instead, they brought out several bottles of water for me and asked if I needed anything else. Other than an air-conditioned ride home, there was nothing else I needed, so I thanked them and rode away. With seven miles left before Fifty-Six I still had thoughts of continuing along as planned. <i>27 miles...it's just like a medium Trailnet route. Anybody could ride that.</i> </div><div><br /></div><div>That Trailnet reference is such a common one for me that my friends will often throw it at me, but it didn't help. Even on flat sections I could barely pedal my bike, and in the two hours it took me to cover seven miles I had plenty of time to think. <i>This is stupid. It's too hot. It's not safe. If this is what it takes to finish this route I don't want to do it. I've already done this once. I don't have anything to prove to anyone. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/50009668661/in/album-72157714720576451/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Untitled" height="400" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50009668661_dc419f136f_c.jpg" width="301" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I chose this. I <i>chose </i>this?"</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><div>I turned onto the paved climb I remembered from last year, when after eleven days and nearly 900 miles I'd ridden the whole thing in the dark. This year I did my best <i>Walking Dead</i> impression under the merciless sun. I'd stagger forward, then drag my bike off the road and shelter in whatever speck of shade I could find. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kateg123/50010213147/in/album-72157714720576451/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Untitled" height="301" src="https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50010213147_8f4fdd5f83_c.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4:06 / ~68 (I wouldn't hit mile 71 for another hour.)<br />I've now abandoned my helmet, which one doesn't need for walking.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><div>My progress up the hill was dotted with these stops. Even with the final turn showing on my Garmin's screen, knowing my next goal was literally just around the corner, I couldn't keep going. Lying there on the gravelly edge of the road as car after car drove past without stopping to see if I was ok, I decided two things. First, I was stopping in Fifty-Six for the night if I could get a room, and second, I was calling Chris and asking her to pick me up the next day. This race was over.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /></div></div></div></div>Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-63895351357988520122021-01-03T09:32:00.002-06:002021-01-03T09:44:28.100-06:00Who says you can't go home?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqSEp72bC-6oPrftDAJ2suif85ubMHiQE2X-UQH0gxsFC6cIK0v8WaOh-0g5tRtcpiQL980rU9GX6OLa7PyZoZ7NL6IjMCiGGN5-Af5VPvNchj1Zx_ObC_9z7kRDEUKO8SxO4x22kLCJUS/s232/ARHC.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="232" data-original-width="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqSEp72bC-6oPrftDAJ2suif85ubMHiQE2X-UQH0gxsFC6cIK0v8WaOh-0g5tRtcpiQL980rU9GX6OLa7PyZoZ7NL6IjMCiGGN5-Af5VPvNchj1Zx_ObC_9z7kRDEUKO8SxO4x22kLCJUS/s0/ARHC.jpg" /></a></div><br />I had conflicting feelings about a return to the Arkansaw High Country Route. There were the concerns about leaving my family and spending nearly two weeks riding my bike all around another state during a pandemic. Is is it safe? Is it responsible? I would be about as socially distant as possible and wear a mask inside stores, but I still questioned whether it was the right thing to do.<br />
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There was the mix of nerves and excitement that accompanies any big challenge, compounded by the fact that this time I knew what I was getting myself into. Last year had been the hardest thing I'd ever done, and I'd come home advising other riders to take all the gears they could. A February trial ride in Jasper had proved to me that, while I <i>could </i>tackle the route singlespeed, I probably didn't want to. And yet, I never got around to converting my Fargo back to gears.<br />
<br />
Hanging over everything was the fear that this new effort might somehow taint the original experience, which had been the most meaningful self-centered accomplishment of my life. Still, that 2019 race had been so special to me that it didn't seem possible to stay home while it was happening again.<br />
<br />
When I'd initially registered, I'd hoped to coast on my fitness from my training for/attempt at April's Iowa Wind and Rock. That April date -- and any form of group rides -- were COVID casualties, and without a goal race or training partners my training was lackluster at best. I may have entered June with similar mileage numbers to those from 2019, but this year was heavy on short, flat, paved rides. And, speaking of heavy, I weighed about 10 pounds more than last summer. That said, my body has a history of doing what I ask it to regardless of readiness, and that's what I was counting on this year.<br />
<br />
The 2020 race had actually been pushed back to October 31, a time frame that emphatically doesn't work with my teacher schedule, but a small group of friends was planning an ITT of the route starting June 5. My FOMO had raged during every weekend trip they'd taken through early spring, but it took until a week before the start for me to fully commit.<br />
<br />
So, TLDR: I was overweight, undertrained, and uncommitted for a really difficult 1,000 mile race. On a singlespeed. What could possibly go wrong?<br />
<br /><br />Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-49822324519357867062020-05-31T17:54:00.000-05:002020-05-31T17:54:32.535-05:00Arkansas High Country, day 12: The long road home<b>June 19, 2019 ~ </b><b>Fifty-Six to Little Rock</b><br />
<b><i>138.6 miles ~ 14.5 hours moving time ~ 9,246 feet</i></b><br />
<br />
The nice thing about staying in a hotel is that there's no need to pack up a tent the next morning. On the other hand, it's a lot harder to leave. Still, I was excited enough about my (hopefully final day) that even with taking the time to drink multiple cups of coffee and make a morning facebook post I was on the road by 6 a.m.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>135 miles to go. I don't know if my legs have 135 miles in them, but this will be the easiest day elevation-wise since day 1. Easy being a relative term at this point.</i></blockquote>
<br />
(Spoiler alert: It was <i>not</i>, in fact, the easiest day since day 1. It actually featured the third-most climbing of the race, and though the climbing was spread over more miles, my legs emphatically did not appreciate this distinction.)<br />
<br />
The forecast once again warned of the distinct possibility of storms, so I was once again very nervous about the weather. Until it struck, though, I was happy to enjoy the cool morning air en route to the final (!!) selfie stop of the race, Blanchard Springs.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6:18 a.m.</td></tr>
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My good mood was certainly assisted by the flat-to-downhill nature of the first few miles, but even when the route directed me past a gate and onto an overgrown forest road leading steadily uphill, I just grinned. "Oh, Chuck Campbell, always a fun surprise up your sleeve!"<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6:34 a.m.</td></tr>
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I made slow but steady progress to Mountain View, where I stopped at a convenience store/Hardee's for second breakfast and resupply about 3 hours in. There, the girl behind the counter gave me the senior citizen's discount on my order. Nine days before I'd been told I looked like I was in my early 30's, and now I looked like I was retirement age? I mean, I wasn't upset enough to refuse the discount, but ouch.<br />
<br />
Speaking of ouch, I'd never given thought to how the town of Mountain View got its name. Well, the view was to the south, the way I was going, and I got to see it up close. Over the next 15 miles I gained and then gave away the same 500-600 feet of elevation five times. Have I mentioned how flat my part of Illinois is? It's really flat.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">10:11 a.m., about midway between Mountain View and Prim. I'd rounded a turn after a half hour of climbing to see this view spread out before me. It doesn't look all that exciting here, but in person it was so beautiful that I stopped on a downhill to take the picture.</td></tr>
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I hit the town of Prim (mile 35) just before 11:30. The cool temps of the morning had given way to afternoon heat; within 30 minutes it would break 90, eventually hit 100, and not drop into the 70's until nearly 8 p.m. All I knew at the moment, though, was that I wanted a break. I stopped in the small store to refill my water and get some food. I couldn't have looked more different from the lunch crowd gathered at the tables; while no one said anything as I walked past in my bike shoes and sweaty spandex bike kit, it was a definite <i>My Cousin Vinny</i> moment.<br />
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<br />
I took my pizza and soda outside and ate while packing away my purchases and talking to a little girl whose parents worked at the store. We talked bikes and first grade and summer; I think she'd have chatted all day long, but I had places to go and delusions to dispel.<br />
<br />
I'd anticipated an easy day and have never been so betrayed by my own expectations. The route was largely paved but much hillier than I'd understood from looking at the elevation profile. I'd made the mistake of thinking it would be flattish because there were no mountains to climb. Nope. And it was hot. So hot.<br />
<br />
Prim was near the beginning of a lovely downhill trend, so my pace over the next 13 miles or so might have topped 10 mph. The first 40 miles or so had featured comfortable temperatures and plentiful services at regular intervals. Then the heat set in.<br />
<br />
I stopped at the Sonic in Greer's Ferry (mile 48, about 12:30), savoring ice cream and tots with an order of pretzel sticks to go. Resting in the shade I got a text from Mikey warning me of a bridge out ahead on the route.<br />
<br />
Five miles later I passed a gas station and pulled in, unsure of when the next water would be available and unwilling to pass by an easy source. I bought a couple Paydays I didn't need so I didn't have to feel guilty about refilling my water bladder there, then was charged for my water anyway. It was annoying but ended up being a good decision. I drink a lot when it's hot and there were limited services past Greer's Ferry.<br />
<br />
While previous days' heat had been tempered by timely breezes and plentiful shade, Arkansas was all out of mercy for this weary traveler. Almost all of the day's riding was on pavement, exposed to the sun and buffeted by headwinds that somehow did nothing to ease the temperature. (In writing this nearly a year (!) later, I started wondering if I'd exaggerated how tough the day was and was reassured by <a href="https://www.wunderground.com/history/daily/us/ar/little-rock/KLIT/date/2019-6-19">Weather Underground</a> that my memory was accurate.)<br />
<br />
Facebook post, 2:17: <i>75 miles to go and suffering greatly in the heat and wind. And here I was worried about rain</i>.<br />
<br />
By mile 60 I was pulling over every 5 miles to take a break in the shade, but only when I was able to make it 5 miles. By mile 67 I'd been watching for a creek, but in contrast to earlier sections of the route the ones I crossed were infrequent and way below the road level. I was saved by a passing farmer, though it required backtracking a mile uphill to his house.<br />
<br />
He waited in his driveway so I didn't miss the turn, and I followed him into the blissful air conditioning of his house. It wasn't until I'd filled my water that I realized maybe my personal safety awareness could use a booster shot, but like the rest of my Arkansas experience this was just a reminder of how kind and good most people are.<br />
<br />
I knew there would be water again somewhere around mile 80 at Woolly Hollow State Park but rather than look at my maps I counted on seeing a sign to direct me to the just-off-route park. I never saw a sign, leaving me one more on-route (ish) place to refill my waning water supply. The store closed at 7. It was already past 5, my (admittedly sketchy) notes showed another 22 miles to go, and my average pace for the day was well under 10 mph. My chances of reaching the Enola store looked weak at best.<br />
<br />
Mercifully, the route smoothed out before throwing a road closed sign across my next turn. Though briefly confused, I didn't lose much time thanks to Mikey's earlier warning. I rode past the sign, got to the other side of the creek, and continued on my way.<br />
<br />
The nearly flat road, the fact that the temperature dropped into the high 80's, and (most of all) the fact that the store was actually only about 14 miles away combined to get me to the Enola store 20 minutes before closing. "Hot one out there," the woman at the checkout greeted me.<br />
<br />
"So hot," I replied, tearing up at the combination of kindness, relief, and exhaustion. I sat in their restaurant area eating my ice cream and wiped my eyes. Glenda, concerned, asked if I was OK, and I cried more as I told her how hot it had been, how hard it had been, and how very ready I was to be finished. Just before 7 I thanked her for her kindness and went outside, not wanting to keep them from closing up.<br />
<br />
She followed me outside, still worried about me as I couldn't stop the tears running down my face. "I live just down the way. Maybe you should come with me and rest there a little bit until it cools off."<br />
<br />
A man walked up: "Did she crash?"<br />
<br />
Another man: "Have you seen the weather forecast? They're calling for severe thunderstorms, hail, and damaging wind."<br />
<br />
The morning forecast had indeed called for storms, but the nonstop sunshine had eclipsed my weather worries. Looking south at the darkening sky, though, I realized my relief had been premature. The previously bright sky was now filled with ominous dark clouds.<br />
<br />
Glenda tried again. "Why don't you stay the night at my house? You can finish up tomorrow when it's safe."<br />
<br />
I was really afraid of getting caught in a bad storm, but after nearly 1,000 miles only 44 lay between me and the finish. I couldn't bear the thought of stopping when I was so close. That didn't mean I felt good about the decision, though, and my fear spurred an hour of hard riding before it wore off. The temperature dropped to comfortable around golden hour, and I started thinking my storm fears were once again misplaced.<br />
<br />
Darkness fell, but my lights did their job and I pedaled along in peace until lightning started streaking the sky. Gradually it became less distant and more frequent, and I began watching for somewhere to take shelter.<br />
<br />
The flashes were almost constant and the wind was howling when I spotted a store with a covered front porch. I had just enough time to stop and drag my bike up with me before the storm hit.<br />
<br />
Facebook post, 9:31 p.m. <i>This race has really over-delivered in the adventure department. Taking shelter 18 miles from the finish.</i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What was left of the storm after an hour.</td></tr>
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The weather for that time shows wind speed of 35 mph with gusts of 50 mph. In the space of 10 minutes the temperature dropped 10 degrees. After suffering with temps in the high 90's I was now shivering in a soggy 65 degrees. I dragged my emergency bivvy from my bike bag and crawled into it while hiding next to a newspaper machine from the wind.<br />
<br />
As the rain poured and the storm howled, a guy pulled into the lot and kicked his girlfriend out into the weather. "I didn't take your cigarettes!" I heard her yell. More yelling, then she climbed back in and they drove off. Shortly after that, two more cars pulled into the lot. I'd spent the day alone and ended up taking shelter in Grand Central Station.<br />
<br />
Ally messaged: "Are you ok? I'm worried about you. I have access to a car...I can come and get you." My friend Tammy drove up: "I saw your spot and wanted to make sure you were ok. Do you want to get into the car?"<br />
<br />
"I can't," I reminded her, "I have to do this unsupported." Before the race my friend Jason had advised me to think for myself and not do something dangerous just to stay on route. "It's just a race." I wasn't in danger, though the area was a little sketchier than my ideal shelter.<br />
<br />
After an hour of hiding on the porch, the storm seemed to have passed. Stiff and sore from the extended break, I dragged my bike back down to the ground and took off on the longest 18 miles in history.<br />
<br />
Approaching North Little Rock on a four-lane road, I hit a bump and my lights all shut off, leaving me with a faint headlight as my sole source of light and visibility. I was relieved to turn off that road until laying eyes on the vague suggestion of a trail I now traveled. This new challenge featured some unwarranted hike-a-bike, a downed tree to carry my bike over, and a 5-6 foot deep ditch to drag my bike through.<br />
<br />
After way too long the trail turned to pavement and I rolled back into a Little Rock area that had been hammered by the storm. Street lights were out, making it even harder to navigate the downed tree branches, flooded streets, and (the final insult) a stopped train.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">12:32 a.m.</td></tr>
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"<i>What else, Arkansas?? Nothing like a train blocking your way to the finish!"</i><br />
<br />
Looping past the end of the train, Google maps and I muddled our way to the bridge I'd crossed 12 days earlier on my way to the start. After the longest ride in a series of very long rides, I finally made my way to the Clinton Presidential Park where Chuck and Phyllis had been waiting for me. "I'd like to tell you thank you," I told him, "but I wouldn't really mean it right now."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finished!</td></tr>
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At the pre-race meeting, Chuck had displayed the race belt buckles. Three were given away: one for the male winner, one for the female winner, and one for a random finish number Chuck had selected before the race. Number ten. Out of nineteen starters, ten finished, and I was that lucky buckle recipient.<br />
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They very kindly drove me to a couple hotels until we found one with a open room, and just like that it was over. Not with a bang but a whimper, and a very, very long bath.<br />
<br />
<br />Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-608646331062462052020-03-06T20:34:00.000-06:002020-03-06T20:34:51.166-06:00Arkansas High Country, day 11: Witts Spring to Fifty-Six<i>June 18, 2019 ~ Witts Spring to Fifty-Six</i><br />
<br />
I'd convinced myself that yesterday was the last hard day, so this was the day I faced that lie. After reaching Witts Spring I'd made the mistake of looking closer at my upcoming route and realizing that the 100 miles to my intended destination would cost me another 9,000 feet of elevation gain. <i>It's just like riding day 2 of <a href="http://kate-my-mind.blogspot.com/2017/04/tour-of-hermann-grand-finale.html">Tour of Hermann</a></i>, I told myself, but the reassurance rang hollow.<br />
<br />
The story of my race was grim determination and an infinite capacity for self-deception, but even so I had a hard time leaving Witts Spring in the morning. I drank a lot of coffee, ate a lot of food, and finally stopped stalling and headed out a little after 8.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">8:22 a.m.</td></tr>
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I spotted this guy within minutes of leaving the community center. I hadn't seen a single turtle until day 10, so their frequent appearance in my last few days seemed like a thinly veiled message: <i>Remember how you wanted to finish in 10 days? </i>That had been the original goal, but after Rebecca Rusch took just over 8 days to finish the route (in far worse conditions) I realized I was probably overreaching. Extrapolating from our Dirty Kanza times, when she finished in 2/3 of my time, I figured 12-13 days was a more reasonable expectation.<br />
<br />
The morning pace had a lot in common with my turtle friend until about 8 miles in, when I hit a screaming descent to Lick Fork Creek. I remember it as being one of the sketchier downhills and one that gave lie to my belief that the race had made me a braver descender. Overall ARHC mirrored my other long races: timid in the beginning, growing confidence in the second quarter, fatalistic disconnection in the third ("<i>if I die on this downhill at least I don't have to ride my bike anymore"</i>), and then a return to conservatism at the end (<i>"I didn't ride 900 miles just to break my neck before the finish."</i>).<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was probably looking ahead at that mountain wondering if I'd be climbing it later.<br />
9:41 a.m.</td></tr>
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<br />
The race route followed part of the <a href="https://searcycountyarkansas.com/bikepacking">Ozark Grinder Trail</a>, a multi-surface 150+ mile trail that I'd first heard of when a friend suggested we bikepack it. I was open to the idea, but driving all the way to Arkansas just for a short 150-mile ride seemed well beyond my ideal drive time: ride time ratio. I quickly realized how silly that thought had been. This was no easy ride, but what it lacked in gentleness it made up for in its scenic beauty.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buffalo River Overlook<br />
10:44 a.m.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I spent some time hanging out here, appreciating the view, and avoiding riding my bike.</td></tr>
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Past the overlook was a 350-foot drop down to a creek crossing before climbing right back up.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm pretty sure this is Calf Creek. It was, fittingly, about calf-level on me, but some of the guys who'd attempted the route counter-clockwise had crossed it when it was more like chest deep. Thankfully by the time I got there the flooding had subsided.<br />
11:14 a.m.</td></tr>
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My next landmark was the town of Marshall, on the outskirts of which I stopped to say hi to Dana Treat, a local photographer who was out on course. She got some amazing pictures of me and met me in town for lunch.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/DanaTreatPhotography/">Dana Treat</a></td></tr>
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I stopped at the first gas station I saw to fill up on water and some snacks, having long ago learned my lesson about not waiting for some potential later source, then crossed the street to a Mexican restaurant. Dana had asked if I wanted company or preferred to just stay focused and eat on my own. After spending so much of the past two weeks alone, I definitely wanted company and enjoyed talking with her about the race, Rebecca Rusch's FKT experience, and their efforts to build tourism in Searcy County.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1:07 p.m.<br />
Marshall, AR</td></tr>
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We said our goodbyes after a leisurely lunch, and Dana's presence on route helped me stay on my bike for as much of the next big climb as I could manage before giving up and hiking up the rest. I'd been spoiled by Arkansas' gentle weather, but as I neared the end of the race the state stopped making things quite so easy. This was a hot day, and even if it wasn't "typical Arkansas summer" hot, I struggled.<br />
<br />
On top of that, I was chased by what felt like every dog in Arkansas. I was SO sick of sprinting away from dogs, and the term "sprint" by then was most definitely a relative term. After getting my first dog bite back in April, I'd developed a real fear of loose dogs, and every chase both exhausted me and brought me to tears.<br />
<br />
My next stop was Leslie, where I stopped at a gas station to fill up on water and buy more food. Though I'd sworn off chicken after smelling a multitude of chicken farms during the race, I couldn't resist the chicken strips there.<br />
<br />
Sitting in the air conditioning with a cold drink, I took stock of my progress. It had taken me over 7 hours to cover the 50 miles to that point. Riding another 50 miles to Mountain View seemed impossible. I readjusted my plan and made a reservation for a room in Fifty-Six; thirty more miles seemed barely achievable.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4:29 p.m.</td></tr>
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<br />
So I rode on, the route mercifully more gentle than the last half. Even though I felt like I was dying and even I was sick of my own crybaby demeanor, I tried hard to appreciate what a gift the race was. So many men I'd met during the race had told me, "I'd never let my wife do something like that", so I knew how lucky I was to have a husband who'd set aside his own reservations because he knew how much it mattered to me.<br />
<br />
That said, pre-race had been a real balancing act between telling him enough that he'd understand what I was doing and not telling him so much that he'd change his mind. Even days before I left he'd asked, "So if you have to drop out someone will come and get you, right?"<br />
<br />
"Yes. You," I'd replied, not knowing just how likely that would turn out to be.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">5:33 p.m.</td></tr>
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Even though the sun didn't set until around 9, I rode into Fifty-Six in full night. Thankfully my lights worked great as I turned onto the paved highway in the dark. I was on high alert, scared that I wouldn't see my motel when I got there, but my fears were groundless. I hauled my bike up the porch steps and into my room, where I showered myself and my kit in the shower, prepped for the upcoming day (the last one?), and ate the last of the chicken strips I'd bought thirty miles previously.<br />
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Hoping desperately to finish out the race the next day, I set my alarm for an early start, posted an update to facebook, and went to bed.<br />
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<i>I know I'm lucky to have the opportunity and ability to spend almost two weeks on my bike -- and to have friends who are willing to pitch in and make it more meaningful than one person's adventure. And I recognize that next week, the dogs will be in the trash and I'll be picking up shredded packages and diapers off the floor and people will complain about what I made for dinner and I'll wonder just what was so awful about pushing my bike up every hill in Arkansas. </i><br />
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<i>But for now, I want to go home. 80 miles today, 135 to go.</i><br />
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<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2461945051/overview">Strava data for the day</a><br />
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Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-46016869594928869532020-01-31T22:21:00.000-06:002020-01-31T22:21:42.490-06:00Arkansas High Country, day 10: Ponca to Witts Spring<br />
<a href="https://kate-my-mind.blogspot.com/2020/01/arkansas-high-country-day-9-marble-to.html">Previous: Day 9, Marble to Ponca</a><br />
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<b>Ponca to Witts Spring - June 17, 2019</b><br />
<i>74.3 miles, 9,295 feet of climbing / 10:26 moving time, 13:15 elapsed time</i><br />
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I woke with an early alarm and was out the door by sunrise. There was just enough light to make my headlight unnecessary, though I ran two taillights to increase my visibility in the mist. After a good night's sleep, my head was in a better place, and while I was intimidated by the day's elevation profile I felt calm and positive. This looked like the last really hard day.<br />
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If I could make it to Witts Springs I could make it to the end, and I was newly determined to reach the finish line. Ally had finished the previous night. At that point only three women to date had attempted the route: Ally, pro cyclist Rebecca Rusch, and me. I was most certainly not going to be the only girl to quit.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6:47 a.m.</td></tr>
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The Ponca climb reinforced my decision to stop early the night before. Much better to slowly grind up the pavement in the cool morning mist than to drag my depleted self up in the afternoon heat and Sunday traffic. The wet road was evidence of Mother Nature's kindness towards me; once again the rain had fallen once I was done for the day.<br />
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I celebrated the summit with coffee and a breakfast sandwich (and one to go) at the convenience store in Compton. An older gentleman stopped to chat as I was loaded my new food onto the bike, first curious where I'd come from and what roads I'd taken (once again I had no idea what roads I'd taken), he then asked, "Where you headed?"<br />
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I told him, indicating the direction, and he replied, "That's the wrong way!"<br />
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"It's the scenic route," I responded, riding away in happy anticipation of the downhill payoff from my morning climb. My friend Tracy, who'd previously ridden in the area, had warned me that the descent could be a little harrowing, but I wasn't worried. I've got lots of experience on shitty roads; I'd ridden Moondance Road earlier in the race without problems.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This in no way depicts how bad the road was.<br />
8:20 a.m.</td></tr>
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The trip back down could best be described as Shawnee-esque, a comparison that, as anyone who's spend much time on those national forest roads knows, is not a compliment. Imagine my dismay when I found myself at times walking my bike downhill through steep, rutted, loose rock rather than coasting easily to the bottom.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also 8:20. I think the point of this was how pretty it was or maybe just how high up I still was.</td></tr>
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Still, amid my frustration and irritation with the road, I marveled at the ways my adventure racing background and earlier bikepacking overnights had prepared me for this race. I might not be good at riding roads like these, especially ten days into a race when my mental fortitude had been strained to breaking, but I was familiar with them. Those Shawnee hike-a-bikes with Chuck hadn't been fool's errands; they were ARHC training gold.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">8:34</td></tr>
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I'd ride until I lost my nerve, then walk until my feet hurt, repeating the pattern until my irritation with my wimpiness finally shamed me into staying on the bike. Easing my way down a muddy, chunky downhill, I slid out on a wet rock and toppled over, my first fall in nearly 800 miles.<br />
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Sporting nothing worse than some new bruises, I reassured myself out loud, "You're ok...you're ok," I sat on the ground crying for a minute, then thought of 14 year old Kate crashing on pavement and jumping right back up. I remembered my friend David's line: "Winners cry <i>on </i>the bike." Well, I wasn't winning anything, but I could at least keep moving.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finally at the bottom. Though terminally afraid of wet low water crossings, I think this is the first one I'd walked in the race.<br />
8:45 a.m.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the crossing<br />
8:47 a.m.</td></tr>
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Things leveled out after finally reaching the bottom of the downhill, with only a few moderate climbs between me and Jasper's many services. Once there, I stopped first at a grocery store before again quickly retreating from the overwhelming options. Further down the road I found a Subway, which had become my official ARHC food stop. I devoured a pizza and and bought a sandwich and cookies for the road.<br />
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I had to climb out of Jasper on a paved highway, shrinking into myself as cars and the occasional logging truck passed me. While climbing 300 feet over a mile was only a quarter of my first climb of the day (though that one was over 4 miles), it had a much better payoff. Swooping down the paved backside, I felt a confidence I rarely experience on a bike and laughed knowing that I'd be afraid to drive those curves at the speed I was riding. No cars were passing me here.<br />
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Of course, at the bottom of the descent the road turned right back up. I quickly slowed to a crawl as I earned back all the elevation I'd just lost, and two state troopers shot past. Eventually I made it to the top and enjoyed another (less memorable) descent to the small town of Mt. Judea.<br />
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All I really needed was water, so rather than look for the restaurant that was supposed to be in town, I poked my head into a little store on the corner and asked if I could fill up my water. I did so, then bought a coke. Two state troopers were talking to the guys in the store, and while I drank my soda they all asked about the race. One of the troopers talked about driving the follow car for the lead bike in a road race and remarked on how fast those guys went. I told them, "I definitely bike downhill faster than I drive."<br />
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"Oh, we know!" he replied. "We followed you out of Jasper. We were going 45 and couldn't keep up!"<br />
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The man behind the counter joked that they should have given me a speeding ticket. "No way," said the trooper, "Any girl who'd ride that fast would probably kick my ass if I tried giving her a ticket."<br />
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That conversation buoyed my spirits over the big climb was waiting for me outside of Mt. Judea, followed by another long descent and then nearly two miles of virtually flat road.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey, look! I'm not riding uphill!<br />
3:14 p.m.</td></tr>
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An then the road began to climb again, an uphill nearly the size of the one leaving Ponca. One I reached the top of that one, though, there was a reprieve. Instead of immediately plummeting back down, the road had a more gentle downhill trend.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trail magic! Water and Red Bull meant I didn't need to worry about filtering before Witts Spring.<br />
4:50 p.m.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My spirit animal!<br />
5:05 p.m.</td></tr>
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After five miles of ridgetop rambling, the road turned into a blisteringly fun downhill -- long enough to be fast, gradual enough to feel safe -- that made up for a few of the tears I'd shed during the race to date.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">5:36</td></tr>
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I stopped for a mandatory selfie at Richland Creek, daydreamed about a return trip with my family as I passed the campground, then spent the next hour trudging up a five-mile climb. Once at the top, though, the road leveled out and I charged towards Witts Springs (well, it felt like I was riding hard and fast, but Strava tells me I was moving about 10 mph for that section), a stop I'd been looking forward to since the race started. Volunteers there have created a cyclists' haven at the community center and, since the only store in town was closed for its owner's vacation, stocked the center with food as well.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arriving in Witts Springs<br />
Photo credit: Dirk Merle</td></tr>
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Even better, after being alone since Eureka Springs two days before, I had a welcoming party awaiting me and cheering my arrival. There was a hot shower, a big pot of mostaccioli on the stove, so many snacks, and COMPANIONSHIP. Names I only knew from Facebook became friends.<br />
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The elevation profile might have looked like a roller coaster, but for once my mental game was calm and steady. It was a good day.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This day had the second-most climbing of the race for me.</td></tr>
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Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-61006478476772577132020-01-24T21:24:00.002-06:002020-01-24T21:24:39.913-06:00Arkansas High Country, day 9: Marble to Ponca<b>Marble to Ponca, </b><br />
June 16, 2019<br />
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<b>~ 53.7 miles, 4,787 feet of climbing</b><br />
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It rained overnight, accompanied by lightning and distant thunder. Bad weather always leaves me feeling scared and exposed when camping, and in full-on fragile flower mode I swore to myself that I wouldn't spend another night outside on this trip. For context on what a big baby I was being, this was only my fourth night outside and the second time it even barely rained. I was hardly roughing it.<br />
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I woke to a dry tent and my phone lying on my chest where it had dropped mid-post the previous night. It was another tearful morning. 345 miles to go, a distance that had seemed like nothing on Saturday, now felt impossibly far. Overall I'd done well staying in the moment --<i> There is no tomorrow, there's just me and this road</i> -- but that control had begun to shrink along with the mileage.<br />
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Eddy Out Outfitters<br />
7:52 a.m.<br />
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I left the campground just before 8, planning to hopscotch to Ponca (50ish miles) then Compton (another 7) and see where I ended up from there. I really wanted to get all the way to Witts Springs, but that was over 100 miles and I was focusing on one food/lodging destination at a time. Forget plan A and B...I had a whole alphabet of backup options.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A few miles down the road. If nothing else I was trying hard to appreciate the beauty surrounding me.<br />
8:21 a.m.</td></tr>
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The eleven miles to my first refueling option in Kingston took nearly two hours, and the route for that time was pretty tame. My legs felt empty and, despite eating at the campground and while riding, I was starving. As I wrote from the C-store: "<i>So far today I've had a 500-calorie honey bun, a 400-calorie Starbucks Double Shot [actually those are only 200 calories], half a bag of gummy bears, and a 200-calorie cookie. My body is ravenous. Hopefully second breakfast helps quiet the beast.</i>"<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carb heaven, plus a foil-wrapped bacon biscuit to go!<br />
9:39 a.m.</td></tr>
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I ordered breakfast at the counter and packed every nook on my bike with a new assortment of packaged junk food. After lingering over breakfast, I eventually ran out of reasons to avoid my bike, but it took me an hour to do so.<br />
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I don't really remember much from the day except that, despite a stormy forecast it was beautiful. Beautiful and warm. Luckily I was treated to nice breezes and many shady roads, but the heat definitely took its toll as did the climbing. The hills weren't long or steep, but they were relentless and demoralizing. It was all I could do to slog my way through.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">12:53 p.m.</td></tr>
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Five hours in I sailed down the first substantial descent of the day, crossed a low water bridge over the clearest water ever, and was greeted with an immediate climb. I carefully laid my bike down beside the road, sat down on the edge of the bridge, and contemplated the life choices that led to this idea of "fun".<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1) Just know that hills always look easier in photos.<br />
2) It made me feel happy to see the tire tracks ahead of me and recognize that Mikey had been through there too.<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">12:54 p.m.</span></td></tr>
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I think that hill was 2 miles of hike a bike, alternating between scornfully telling myself I shouldn't need to walk and relief that I wasn't trying to ride it. Once at the top I enjoyed 5 miles of ridgeline riding on the way to a water stop at the Headwaters School. Honestly, "enjoyed" is probably a stretch, but it's been a long time since then, and it at least looks pleasant on my Strava <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2456376962/overview">elevation graph</a>.<br />
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The road got a little busier as I neared and then passed the trailhead for the iconic <a href="https://www.buffaloriver.com/pages/whitaker-point-trail-hawksbill-crag/">Hawksbill Crag</a>. Before the race I'd thought I was the type of person who would stop along the way and check out the cool sights I passed; after all, it wasn't like I was "racing". As it turned out, though, I'm the type of person who needed every bit of energy and motivation just to get through what I had to do, and there was nothing left for extras.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was as close as I could get to a smile.<br />
3:38 p.m.</td></tr>
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As I neared Ponca, along with watching out for cars and choking on the gravel dust they threw into the air as they drove past, I was also trying to figure out where the Boxley Valley selfie spot was. I had the approximate (and, if it was like most of my notes, incorrect) mileage written down, but I didn't see anything landmark-ish. Finally, sick of guessing, I stopped and took a picture above <b><i>A </i></b>valley. Was it <b><i>THE </i></b>valley? I didn't know or care. (Also, apparently there was a big Boxley Valley sign somewhere. Never saw it.)</div>
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And then I went from dusty and demoralized to terrified as I began the descent to the Buffalo River valley.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3:47 p.m.</td></tr>
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Dropping into Ponca on that long, steep, winding gravel downhill was the most scared I've been on a bike. 100 feet per mile is a long of climbing where I live, so while I'd gained some downhill confidence on this trip, losing nearly 1,000 feet in two miles was way out of my comfort zone. </div>
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A few miles later I crawled into Ponca. I'd originally planned to ride at least to Compton (another seven miles) and camp there, but it was so hot and I was so frustrated about riding so badly that I couldn't face the big climb out of the valley. I stopped at the very first place I could and rented the cheapest cabin they had available. At $129 for the night, it was my most expensive breakdown of the trip, but it was only 200 feet away and the only thing I had to climb was the stairs.</div>
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I ate dinner on the front porch of the outdoor center, taking advantage of the wifi since I had no cell signal, then retreated to my safe haven to prepare myself for the next day. This cabin was the only one without wifi, which was a blessing because without my phone to distract me, I showered, prepped my bike, and was in bed before sunset.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6:24 p.m.</td></tr>
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<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script> I'd expected to get stronger as I went along in the race; that was definitely not my experience, though I guess hanging in there day after day took a kind of strength. Still, it was interesting to note how well my body was coping: the neck and hip aches of the first days were gone; my legs may have felt like empty twigs, but they didn't hurt; my hands were less numb, and while sitting on the saddle ranged from "no problem" to "not today", I'd been far more uncomfortable in shorter races. My only real physical problems were a bruised and blistered right pointer finger (from all the shifting) and sore feet (from all that walking in bike shoes). Mentally, as you've surely noticed, was another story.<br />
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The route info on the ACA map notes "our mountains aren't very high, but our valleys go really low", and the same could be said for my emotional state. The positive feelings -- satisfaction, pride, appreciation -- were muted and, at times, almost external, recognizing that I <i>should </i>feel them rather than actually experiencing them. Unhappiness, though, I felt deeply, swinging quickly to tears for large and small reasons.<br />
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In the same way that climbs (especially when you're walking them) take exponentially longer than descents, the negative feelings seemed to fill much of my time. Since I've historically thrived in difficult situations (bring on the muddy Dirty Kanza hike-a-bike!), it was confusing and disappointing to have my "annoying positivity" fail me, but I think that was a function of being alone. With joint suffering, there's always an element of the ridiculous -- "can you believe this shit?" -- but adversity faced alone is just another slap in the face.<br />
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Luckily I had a big, comfortable bed, soft pillows to cry into, and a full night's sleep in which to get my head right for the coming day, because unhappy or not, I certainly wasn't quitting.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home sweet home for the night.</td></tr>
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Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-54450597715576662492020-01-07T20:17:00.003-06:002020-01-13T12:13:07.551-06:00Arkansas High Country, day 8: Bentonville to Marble<b><i>Saturday, June 15</i></b><br />
<i>Bentonville to Marble, 84.9 miles</i><br />
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I hadn't bothered to set my alarm, but a good night's sleep didn't make me any more sure of my plans for the race. Part of me really liked the idea of a zero day, but the rest of me continued on autopilot, prepping my bike and gear as if there was no question about leaving. Then I wandered down to the breakfast room and ate so much that I basically <i><b>had </b></i>to get back on the bike.<br />
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But first I waited for good weather. I was about to leave when I looked out the window and saw dark clouds gathering. Though I'd surrendered to the inevitability of continuing on, I'd also promised myself a short, easy day. I laid back down and waited for the storm to pass.<br />
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<b>Facebook post:</b><i> Enough carbs to start the day? Possibly...If you’re watching my dot and wondering why it isn’t moving, don’t worry. I’m taking advantage of the hotel to recharge my cache batteries and myself, and now that a storm is rolling in I’m going to let that pass before rolling out. Planning a relatively short day to Beaver, 40ish miles. Looks like the weather is going to get a little less friendly from here on out. Nothing I haven’t ridden in before, just need to stop being such a fragile flower about it.</i><br />
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I can't even count the number of times I've ridden in bad weather, and here I was hiding from the rain in June. Forget r<a href="https://www.velominati.com/">ule #9 </a>(which I appreciate) or rule #5 (which I detest). I might have forced myself to not quit, but outside of that decision I treated myself with kid gloves. Whether I wanted to stop every 5 minutes, put in a low-mileage day, or wait out a shower, it was all good. The irony is that all the avoidance of negatives just built it up my fear of them. Getting caught in the rain would have been a good reminder that it was no big deal. After all, why else did I pack that waterproof jacket?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">9:56 a.m. Dressed for the day and waiting for sunny skies, I could definitely see how much weight I'd lost in a week on the road. This is the thinnest I've looked since my wedding. All told I lost 8 pounds over the 12 days I was gone, weight that quickly returned when my activity level no longer matched my appetite.</td></tr>
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I finally left the hotel at 10:16, returning to the Razorback Greenway with fewer navigational issues than the previous day. I took a detour once I reached downtown Bentonville, hoping to pick up new charging cords at the Wal-Mart I remembered from a February visit. My memory didn't extend to remembering how to actually get to the store, so I pulled out my phone to check. Two miles away? That seemed wrong, but I rode a half mile or so before realizing there had to be something closer.<br />
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I wheeled my bike into the downtown Wal-mart, really more of a grocery store than anything, and set off in search of my cords, finally finding them at the registers at the front of the store. A clerk grabbed one for my iphone but couldn't find any micro USB cords. I got back on route and made my second stop of the day at a Dollar General a couple miles down the road. Finally, 6 miles and 45 minutes into the day, my errands were accomplished and I was ready to move on.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">11:30 a.m.</td></tr>
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The first miles were easy, and I even intersected briefly with a group ride outside of Bentonville before turning onto the gravel. "Looks like you've been out for a while," one of the guys commented.<br />
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It was a good morning. It was warm and humid after the earlier rain, but a cool breeze and shady roads kept me comfortable. I didn't feel fast, but the riding was relatively easy. The few climbs weren't horrendous, which didn't stop me from walking at least once in Pea Ridge Military Park. Moments after I reached the top and resumed riding, a bike-laden white SUV pulled up next to me. I looked over to see the smiling faces of my <a href="https://kate-my-mind.blogspot.com/2014/06/redemption-dirty-kanza-2014.html">DK buddy Matt</a>, his wife, and their teenage daughter. They'd driven across the state to visit with friends and cheer me on.<br />
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Matt and his daughter, another Kate, unloaded their bikes and joined me for some miles. While I hadn't felt particularly lonely during all of my solo time, I was delighted to have their company. We'd barely started riding when Kate flatted at the bottom of a chunky downhill. Matt sent me ahead, saying he'd fix it and they'd catch up. I rode maybe 100 feet when I decided, this is silly. I'm taking an easy day anyway...why would I ride away from my friends? I circled back and proceeded to talk their ears off.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Salsa lineup<br />
1:19 p.m.</td></tr>
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We hadn't been riding long when another bike came towards us on the road. "We've been following the race! Which one of you is Kate?"<br />
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I gestured to the other Kate: "Both of us, actually, but I'm the one doing the race." The question made me giggle a little; I was the only one riding a loaded bike, so it seemed pretty obvious. Then again, some of the guys at the start had carried less gear than I take out for a day ride, so maybe he was right not to make any assumptions.<br />
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The man (whose name, like those of most everyone I met during the race, I promptly forgot) and his wife lived nearby and had been dot watching. She was waiting just down the road with a banana and a Gatorade, which I promptly devoured while telling them about my race so far. They asked if I was having fun.<br />
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Fun. I heard that word a lot, from people I met along the way, from my husband on the phone, and in the many, many encouraging posts from my friends. For the most part it was very much not fun. It was more like sentencing oneself to hard labor; I was the judge, guard, and inmate all in one. That's not to say that it was a bad experience, but the fun so far had been largely of the type 2 variety.<br />
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All of this, I should add, was no surprise. I'd always known that "fun" was going to come from having done the race, not so much in doing it. For the time being, the best description was challenging, rewarding, and deeply satisfying. What does it feel like to live out one of your dreams? Really fucking hard.<br />
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Well, except for this particular day, which was delightful, even with a slight navigational hiccup. My lack of base map for the northernmost section of the route made the ride into Seligman a little confusing, but I'd downloaded the route to the Ride with GPS app on my phone and was able to figure it out by pulling up that map.<br />
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While Matt and Kate dealt with another flat, I rode ahead to the grocery store, where I was immediately overwhelmed by the aisles and options. I'm used to fueling on C-store fare and hadn't put any thought into smart grocery store selections. I didn't have the mental energy to figure it out on the go, instead retreating to the comfortable familiarity of the neighboring gas station.<br />
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They caught up with me as I ate my processed garbage in front of the gas station and waited until I was ready to move on. Matt told me not to wait on them if there was another flat, so when they disappeared shortly after we turned off the main road I reluctantly continued without them. The company had been great while it lasted.<br />
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Some time later, though, they rode up again. It had been a crash that slowed them down. Wary of another flat, Matt had been riding behind Kate to check her back tire. Kate (new to gravel) took a bad line on a downhill curve and went down. She rallied, wiped off the blood, and caught me again.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3:10 p.m.</td></tr>
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We rode into Beaver, my original destination, in what seemed like no time. After grabbing the mandatory selfie and making a somewhat nerve-wracking trip across the one-lane suspension bridge, we pressed on.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Naturally a car drove onto the bridge when we were about halfway across.<br />
3:28 p.m.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Eureka Springs seems like a super cool little town, but there was way too much traffic for me to enjoy riding there. In fact, the only uncomfortably close pass of my race came on the ride into town when a motorcycle flew by me on a narrow road. On the other hand, there was a great ice cream place, so it wasn't all bad.</span> We stopped there, then said our goodbyes outside of the Subway after I stocked up for my next couple of meals.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4:03 p.m.</td></tr>
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I passed several hotels as I rode away, but I with 55 miles down I still felt good and (that same old song) it seemed too early for me to stop. I set my sights on Madison County Wildlife Management Area, which has numerous designated campsites. I'd get another 20 miles done <i>and </i>sleep for free. That sounded pretty good.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">About 70 miles in, pretty area.<br />
7:43 p.m.</td></tr>
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The next 20 miles kicked my butt, and as I rode through the WMA I started feeling nervous about camping by myself in the middle of nowhere. Though I'm probably safer in the middle of nowhere, facts have little bearing on my fear. Rather than camp alone, I called ahead to a campground outside of Marble and made a reservation. The additional ten miles seemed like a small price to pay for peace of mind.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No filter, about mile 75<br />
"Aren't you lucky to be out here? Look at this beautiful sunset you get to see."<br />
8:17 p.m.</td></tr>
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My light worked fine as night fell until it suddenly cut out on a shitty gravel downhill. No amount of wire jiggling could coax it back into business. The faint light of my headlamp did little to cut the darkness, so the last five miles was incredibly slow as I picked my way along some of the worst roads of the day, barely able to see even at a walking pace.<br />
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I finally reached the turn to the campground, following another gravel road over a low water bridge to what seemed like nothing more than a soggy parking lot. Arriving in unfamiliar places in the dark never failed to be disorienting, and that was certainly the case this evening. Eventually I saw that the road continued and made my way into the dark campground near 10 p.m.. Thankfully the owner had waited up, and he showed me to my site.<br />
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I quickly set up and then headed to the bathhouse. A hot shower has seldom felt so good, and I was able to take my time because no one else was around. I'd ridden over ten extra miles to a "real" campground so I didn't have to be alone, only to arrive in a place with only one other camping unit.<br />
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Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-23146100265555169702019-11-22T21:48:00.001-06:002019-11-22T21:48:10.901-06:00Arkansas High Country, day 7<b>Friday, June 14, 2019</b><br />
<b>White Rock Mountain to Bentonville</b><br />
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<b>Facebook post:</b> <span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><i>The plan for today is to make it to Fayetteville (57 miles), get a new rear brake pad, and hotel it. Then an easy day to Bentonville tomorrow (30+ miles of paved bike path) and spend the rest of the day there giving my body a break before tackling the last 400 miles. But plans change, so we’ll see what the day (and my legs) hold.</i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Maybe the cold night had Mikey moving slowly, or maybe he was just tired of riding by himself. Whatever the reason, despite the fact that I took <i>forever </i>to pack up, he and I left at the same time. Just as we started, it began raining. Not much, but enough to make me pull out my rain jacket for the first time. Though we never got much more than a sprinkling, it was chilly enough that I left my jacket on for quite a while.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">We rode through the campground, looking for some overlook that was supposed to be amazing. Not finding it, and not caring enough to make further effort, we rolled out. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">If he was looking for company, Mikey was quickly disappointed. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'd ridden past this sign the previous night on the road to the right without noticing it.<br />
8:16 a.m.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Two big climbs in the first four miles put a separation between us. I was slightly more aggressive on the preceding downhill, but he was a much stronger climber, pushing ahead when I got off to walk. The first 20 miles were a terrible slog. My legs felt weak, my body hurt, and I could barely keep my eyes open. The temperature barely reached 60 that morning; that's perfect riding weather on a good day, but the overcast sky, steady breeze, and my glacial pace combined to make me uncomfortably chilly.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">10:16 a.m.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">11:16 a.m.<br />
It's a mark of what good friends I have that they were <br />
so wonderful and encouraging in the face of my<br />
struggle. I was barely clawing my way through<br />
each day, but they cheered me on like I was leading.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I struggled to motivate myself, rewarding every two miles with a handful of gummy bears, every five with a caramel, and every ten with a look at my phone. I reminded myself how lucky I was to have this opportunity, what a cool experience it was, but none of my tricks put a dent in the self pity. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">At mile 20 I stopped for a snack break, hiding from the wind on the side of a rural fire station, had a little cry, and fell asleep. Ten minutes later, a hummingbird woke me. </span>Between eating, napping, and facebooking, I spent about 40 minutes on the side of the fire station. When I reluctantly climbed back onto my bike I was soon rewarded with almost 25 miles of downhill into Fayetteville.<br />
<br />
<i>But Kate, </i>I heard you thinking, <i>you said that it was 56 miles to Fayetteville, and if my math is right you've only ridden 46. </i>So true. And while I blamed race brain in my evening facebook update, I was relying on notes I made before the race. It certainly wasn't the first time my math was significantly off, and I'm not sure if the issue was just a simple addition error or the accumulation of too many vague estimates or something else entirely. Anyway, it's definitely an area for improvement before my next multi-day event.<br />
<br />
I stopped for 20 minutes at a gas station on the outskirts of Fayetteville, not so much because I needed anything as because I just wanted to not be riding my bike. Suffering the typical culture shock I felt every time I hit busy roads or city traffic, I was relieved to reach the shelter of the Razorback Greenway, the closest thing to a bike superhighway I've experienced.<br />
<br />
I took the Greenway to Highroller Cycles. The guys there replaced my rear brake pads while I considered my next move. I know it doesn't come across in these posts because they're being written so far after the race, but I was really ambivalent about staying in the race. On one hand, I really wanted to finish. I knew I <i>could </i>finish, if I just stuck it out. And, having made it through that abysmal day four crossing Poteau Mountain, how could I justify quitting? Though I knew my friends would be supportive no matter what I decided, I really didn't want to let them down.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, that day had taken an enormous emotional toll. It was as if I'd shattered a glass, then placed the pieces in a plastic grocery sack, and every time something jostled the shards they'd poke through the bag. I cried at least once a day, usually more, usually for not much of a reason. I really, really needed a break.<br />
<br />
And yet, my bike was finished before 3:00. It seemed dumb to stick with my original plan of staying in Fayetteville when only a 30-mile paved bike path separated me from Bentonville. I grudgingly pointed my bike north, stopping almost immediately for late lunch at Chipotle before continuing once more.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Between Fayetteville and Bentonville<br />
5:05 p.m.</td></tr>
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The smooth, glorious Greenway made for a quick trip. I covered the last 30 miles in 2.5 hours, which is not at all fast unless your typical pace has been more like 7 mph counting stopped time. This despite a C-store stop and some navigational challenges. Calling the Razorback Greenway a bicycle superhighway isn't total hyperbole. It has spurs and exits all over. It's confusing.<br />
<br />
Typically that wouldn't be a big deal since I was just following my Garmin track anyway, but in order to save memory on my Garmin 520 (limited memory, not expandable, and being tasked with holding two huge routes, a base map covering an entire state, and ride data from each day), I'd opted not to upload the base map for the northernmost portion of Arkansas. That little bit of the state was bundled with a big chunk of Missouri, making the file size huge.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, that also meant that, in the most confusing part of the route, all I had to follow was a purple line without the added context of other roads on the screen. So there I was, within three miles of my hotel, slowly riding back and forth in an effort to figure out where I was supposed to go.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRX0uySLdcNdhkvKTDwD5RQBypyxny83xc07kGwtyDsPGnYTvvrBfM_3o18D_0RIJUli1n4xZ0rx4JpowFaNUpPFAsRlU9nkgoBQwKthcu6kNGTRo4ccz4_Yekz_7-4u0D28wjAWltp-Ij/s1600/bentonville+confusion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="217" data-original-width="327" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRX0uySLdcNdhkvKTDwD5RQBypyxny83xc07kGwtyDsPGnYTvvrBfM_3o18D_0RIJUli1n4xZ0rx4JpowFaNUpPFAsRlU9nkgoBQwKthcu6kNGTRo4ccz4_Yekz_7-4u0D28wjAWltp-Ij/s320/bentonville+confusion.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If I wasn't outwardly crying, you can be sure I was on the inside.</td></tr>
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Between 2 and 3 on the map picture, you can see that I rode right past my turn. It was totally unclear from my Garmin where I was supposed to turn; I knew I was wrong but couldn't figure out what was right. I was so frustrated. After retracing my steps several times I gave up and just kept riding ahead. Sometimes I could see the purple line of my route way over on the edge of my screen. I followed the path until finally it intersected with the route again. Then, not having ridden the <i>actual </i>route to that point, I turned right and rode to where I'd missed the turn, then turned around and rode right back up (of course it was up), ensuring that I'd been faithful to the route.<br />
<br />
1.5 miles and one more wrong turn later, I rode up to the Holiday Inn and Suites. I was definitely the dirtiest person in the lobby as I checked in, but the front desk clerk didn't bat an eye as I wheeled my bike down to the elevator and up to my room. I plugged in all of my electronics, washed my disgusting kit in the hotel sink, and then hung it to dry while I took a long shower.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My kit hadn't been washed since day 2, and I wore it constantly except in the evenings. This was a much-needed wash.</td></tr>
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When I finally got out of the shower, my phone, which had been almost dead, was no more charged than when I'd first plugged it in. The cord I'd bought outside of Hot Springs wasn't working any more. I felt a wave of panic. That phone was my lifeline, the majority of my human contact, my backup maps.<br />
<br />
I went down to the front desk to see if there was a Wal-Mart or Walgreens or somewhere close that would sell phone cords, but there weren't. Thankfully the hotel did have an iphone cord that the front desk clerk loaned me. That emergency resolved, I ordered a pizza for delivery.<br />
<br />
While I'd been almost totally alone most of the week, I found myself not wanting to be around people. Instead, I cocooned in my room, feeling fragile and very unsure of what the next day held. Would I continue on? Would I take a zero day? Would I quit? Even I didn't know.<br />
<br />
I tipped the pizza guy 50% because I wanted <i>someone </i>to be happy. I ate half the pizza in bed and went to sleep without setting my alarm. I woke up starving at 2 a.m. and ate more. My mind was hiding from the race, but my body was preparing for battle.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>Evening Facebook post</b>: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><i>ARHC day 7. I’ve been doing this for a full week now! I’m pretty sure I’ve never ridden as many miles in a month as I have this week.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>74 miles today.</i></span></div>
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<i>I still don’t know what I’m doing tomorrow. Zero day? Short day? Who knows. Here are some pictures.</i></div>
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<br />Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-80049723918953914472019-11-17T17:07:00.004-06:002019-11-17T17:07:43.457-06:00Arkansas High Country, day 6<b>Thursday, June 14, 2019</b><br />
<b>Russellville to White Rock Mountain</b><br />
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<br />
I'd intended to get and early start and woke as soon as my alarm went off but then stalled for a long time. Chuck's warning about the upcoming challenges had scared me, and I laid in bed toying with the idea of dropping from the race. 417 miles was plenty, right?<br />
<br />
While part of me was contemplating how long it would take Jeff to drive to Russellville, another part cheerily updated Facebook and got dressed. It would be silly to stop when I wasn't even crying. Bentonville was only a few days away; I could always quit there.<br />
<br />
<i><b>Morning facebook post:</b> <span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Checking in before starting day 6. This one is for Sarah, Yvonne, and Carolyn</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">. There are a couple stores on route, but you have to time it right. Water shouldn’t be a problem since I have a filter and there are sources at least every 20ish miles. People always ask, “Doesn’t your butt hurt when you ride so long?” Yes, it does. My hands are still a little numb but not much worse than on day 1, so I guess that’s good. There’s one muscle in my neck/shoulder and one in my leg that constantly bother me on the bike. I’m a little nervous about the next two days since it’s back to climbing and remote areas, but I’m trying to take heart that Phyllis (the race director’s wife) told us that before the race he said that section I already did (the train wreck day) was the hardest.</span></i><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">Just before leaving I noticed a spot in my bike light's wiring where bag rub had scraped through the casing. </span><span style="background-color: white;">That explained its malfunction on day 3. </span><span style="background-color: white;">Phyllis helped me hunt down electrical tape in Chuck's shed to at least cover the spot. With all of the stalling and Facebooking and last minute repairs it was 6:52 before I finally started. Mikey, always an early riser, was long gone.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">The morning was lovely and just a little cool, and I felt like I was flying along the paved roads. "Flying", at this point, was a very relative term which Strava now indicates was about 10 mph. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cool spot, about 15 miles in.<br />
8:13 a.m.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">The trip up to Pilot Knob started around mile 20. I passed an opportunity to filter water since I had plenty, but I accepted a bottle from a passing motorcyclist just a bit later. It seemed silly to turn down an effortless drink. The climb was difficult but not demoralizing. I did some walking but managed a decent amount of riding as well, crossing paths with Derek, the only remaining counerclockwise racer, as he sped downhill.</span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Facebook post: </b><i>"31 miles in, highest point of my day. So far, so good."</i><br />
It was so much prettier than my picture shows.<br />
11:30 a.m.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">The climb took 2.5 hours, and I celebrated at the top with a photo, a short break, and one of Phyllis's bacon biscuits. After all my worries, it hadn't been a big deal. I mean, it was hard, but <i>everything </i>was hard. It was just a big hill, certainly not worthy of the anxiety it had caused me that morning.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">That long climb paid off with 9 miles of downhill, sweeping ever lower along the ridgeline while I admired the views around me. I had another water source noted at about mile 40, but not having referred back to my notes I expected to cross over it along my way. Finding the creek actually required a short detour off route, a detail I didn't catch until I was past the turn.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">Despite being 6 hours into a warming day I didn't want to backtrack to find the dirt road I needed; instead I be cautious with my remaining water. I had 18 miles to the next noted reliable water source; I'd just take a sip of water each mile. Surely I had enough water left for 18 sips of water. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">I turned from a short stretch of pavement onto gravel, began climbing, and almost immediately saw my sixth bear of the trip. OK, that was pretty cool, but the gradual climb over the next 10 miles wasn't. My perceived water shortage left me feeling parched, and the allotted sip of water was never enough to wash away the mild panic hovering around me. A few times I chugged long drinks in defiance of my self-rationing, guilt flavoring the fear.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">By mile 48 the panic had upgraded to medium. I stopped at a cemetery in the hopes of finding a spigot: no luck. At mile 52, though, I encountered a farmer crossing the road on his tractor. I gestured across the road: "Is that your house?" </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">He let me fill up at the outdoor spigot and asked me about the race, having seen other cyclists passing by over the past days. "Do you ride at night?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">"Well, some people do," I told him.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">"Pretty brave," he answered, "with all those bears." With his accent "bears" sounded like "BAYers". I thanked him for the water and rode off.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">My notes indicate Oark was at mile 80 of the route. As my water shortage would indicate, I hadn't actually used the notes much, referring instead to the <a href="https://apps.apple.com/us/app/bicycle-route-navigator/id1320473922">ACA Bicycle Route Navigator app</a>, once function being the ability to (accurately -- as opposed to whatever method I used to make my notes) measure the distance between points on the route. This told me that the <a href="http://www.oarkgeneralstore.com/">Oark General Store</a> was at mile 67. The store closed at 4, and it was just past 2:30. Could I cover 15 miles in less than an hour an a half? The past 5 days of data said no, but it was close enough to try.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">I hadn't planned to stop in Oark, believing that there was no way I could get there by in time, and so I had enough food to get me through the next day. The sudden possibility of success made me frantic to get there; I rode harder than at any other point in the race. Thankfully, the next 15 miles was entirely downhill, and I arrived at the store 20 minutes before closing. I ripped off my helmet, grabbed my money, and practically ran in, bursting into tears of relief in the doorway. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First course, maybe the best pie I've ever tasted.<br />
3:54 p.m.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you have the chance, eat here. The food is amazing, the atmosphere is cool, the people are wonderful.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><b>Facebook post: </b><i>If you ever see my dot hauling ass on the tracker, you can be sure I'm trying to beat a store closing time. Rode the hardest I ever have in my life and made it to the Oark Cafe 20 min before closing! 67 miles so far today. #eatallthefood</i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">I did my best to fulfill that hashtag, starting with pie and ice cream, eating a burger and fries, and buying a BLT to go. I lingered over my meal as long as I could, checking in with home and Facebook via the wifi. The employees began cleaning up. I felt guilty about being in the way despite their kind offer to stay as long as I wanted, so I went outside and began packing up. One of the waitresses followed me out. "My boss just called and asked if 'the girl in the race' was still there. She saw your post on Facebook! She said you're like the most cheered for person in the race."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">It certainly felt that way. In addition to a huge, encouraging group of friends following my progress on Facebook and Trackleaders, every day I'd see posts from strangers cheering me on. The combination of my positive experiences with the people of Arkansas, my enjoyment of the scenery, and my openness about how very hard it was </span><span style="background-color: white;">made me relatable and, for some, inspirational.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">But even inspirational figures need somewhere to stay the night. 5:00 seemed too early to stop, and it was too hot to sit around in a tent anyway. There was camping 16 miles away in Cass, or 35 more miles would take me to campground at the top of White Rock Mountain. My waitress friend looked at me dubiously as I told her my plan, then wished me luck as I rode away.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roadside overlook between Oark and Cass. It was so much prettier than it looks here.<br />
6:09 p.m.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;">Ten miles in I passed Byrd's Adventure Center and its campsites: only 6:00, still too soon to call it a night. Another few miles, another campground, another decision to continue forward. All told I had twenty miles of beautiful, paved, scenic shaded downhill in which to pat myself on the back for not stopping early. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">At about 6:35/mile 85 I turned onto County Rd. 1003 and began the climb up White Rock Mountain. I was able to ride just a little part of it before I began pushing my bike. The first two miles took me an hour. As the road leveled off, I saw Grays Spring Recreation Area, which I'd seen on the map and considered as a possible campsite. As the sun sank lower it looked muddy and gray and lonely and like the kind of place a hapless character becomes a horror movie victim. No thanks. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But the view was nice.<br />
7:27 p.m.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">The next three miles had some climbing but a mostly downhill trend, after which the road pointed straight downward, losing 500 feet of elevation in less than two miles. Ummm...I'm supposed to be riding UP a mountain. What's this downhill doing here?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">Well, it was leading into another 500 ft climb over the next 1.5 miles. For context, 100 feet per mile is a pretty hilly ride around here. So more walking. Followed by another 500 ft descent and perhaps a large amount of cursing because if I wasn't at the campground -- which I wasn't -- I still had more climbing ahead of me. And so I did...</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">8:52 p.m.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">This time it was 700 feet of climbing in less than two miles. While just arriving at the Oark Cafe (so many hours ago) had brought me to tears, I faced the mountain with grim calm. <i>Keep moving, you'll get there eventually. </i>It got darker. I heard music from...somewhere. I hadn't seen anyone in hours. Who else was up here and where were they? Feeling nervous, I turned on my music for the first time of the trip before deciding that I was better off paying attention to the sounds around me.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">It got darker. My bike light flickered weakly as I pushed uphill, barely illuminating the road and the brush closing in from both sides. The farmer's words echoed as I listened for movement in the trees: "Pretty brave, with all those BAYers."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">It was full dark when I got a brief respite from the climbing, but the road surface had changed from mostly rideable gravel to chunky rock. One mile flat enough to ride, and then another 600 feet of climbing in less than two miles. I finally staggered into the campground around 11 p.m., the final 15 miles having taken me over four hours.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">Of course, the campground was totally dark, no host in sight at that late hour, and I had no idea where to go. I turned off my bike light so as not to disturb other campers and wandered through by the light of my headlamp, just looking for an unoccupied spot to set up my tent. One of the most stressful things of the trip was to arrive somewhere new in the dark. Thankfully Mikey woke and called out to me as I passed by him, and after all that time alone I finally had a friend nearby.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">It was cold that night, but the combination of sleeping pad, bag liner, and emergency bivvy kept me comfortable. I fell asleep almost immediately. 100 miles and nearly 10,000 feet of climbing will wear a girl out, especially when most of that climbing happens over just 23 miles.</span><br />
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Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-21615865582169636302019-11-13T17:07:00.003-06:002019-11-13T17:07:43.909-06:00Arkansas High Country, day 5Wednesday, June 12<br />
Waveland to Russellville<br />
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Morning Facebook post: "<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">If you’re going to have a complete emotional breakdown, apparently Facebook and Waveland, AR, are the place to do it. Thank you SO MUCH for all the support and love. I can’t even tell you what it meant to me last night and this morning with all the understanding, encouraging, and uplifting comments constantly rolling in...</span><br />
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Today is a new day with services every 20 miles or so. I’m aiming for Dardanelle or Russellville, and then I’ll see how I feel at the end of the day. Thanks again for all the love."</div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">From the campground I once again rode back towards the Waveland convenience store where I'd had my little breakdown the day before. I didn't need anything since the campground hosts had fed me breakfast, but I made a quick stop to tell Chris I was continuing on. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning views<br />
8:52 a.m.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Starting the climb<br />
9:11 a.m.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">After not quite 9 miles of cool, shady, flatness, I started climbing the paved road to Mt. Magazine, the highest point in Arkansas. And it was OK. 2,000 feet of climbing over 7 miles is a lot for this girl, but there were enough switchbacks to make it manageable. I never got off the bike, just kept ticking away the pedal strokes, and two hours later I was at the top. There was no celebration, just deep relief and gratitude. <i>I made it, I'm still here.</i></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Made it!<br />
10:44 a.m.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">I sat for awhile against the stone wall of the overlook, talked a bit to some motorcyclists from Iowa, snacked on a bag of Chex Mix. I'd lost any sense of urgency I might have had, still not committed to finishing the race and just taking things as they came. </span><br />
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Facebook post: "One more mountain down. Monday I felt exhilarated at getting to the top, today I just feel thankful. This is the highest point in AR, so I guess it’s all downhill from here, right? <span class="_5mfr" style="margin: 0px 1px;"><span class="_6qdm" style="background-image: url("https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/td0/1/16/1f602.png"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; color: transparent; display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; height: 16px; text-shadow: none; vertical-align: text-bottom; width: 16px;">😂</span></span><span class="_5mfr" style="margin: 0px 1px;"><span class="_6qdm" style="background-image: url("https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/td0/1/16/1f602.png"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; color: transparent; display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; height: 16px; text-shadow: none; vertical-align: text-bottom; width: 16px;">😂</span></span><span class="_5mfr" style="margin: 0px 1px;"><span class="_6qdm" style="background-image: url("https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/td0/1/16/1f602.png"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; color: transparent; display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; height: 16px; text-shadow: none; vertical-align: text-bottom; width: 16px;">😂</span></span><span class="_5mfr" style="margin: 0px 1px;"><span class="_6qdm" style="background-image: url("https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/td0/1/16/1f602.png"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; color: transparent; display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; height: 16px; text-shadow: none; vertical-align: text-bottom; width: 16px;">😂</span></span><span class="_5mfr" style="margin: 0px 1px;"><span class="_6qdm" style="background-image: url("https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/td0/1/16/1f602.png"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; color: transparent; display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; height: 16px; text-shadow: none; vertical-align: text-bottom; width: 16px;">😂</span></span><span class="_5mfr" style="margin: 0px 1px;"><span class="_6qdm" style="background-image: url("https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/td0/1/16/1f602.png"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; color: transparent; display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; height: 16px; text-shadow: none; vertical-align: text-bottom; width: 16px;">😂</span></span><span class="_5mfr" style="margin: 0px 1px;"><span class="_6qdm" style="background-image: url("https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/td0/1/16/1f602.png"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; color: transparent; display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; height: 16px; text-shadow: none; vertical-align: text-bottom; width: 16px;">😂</span></span><span class="_5mfr" style="margin: 0px 1px;"><span class="_6qdm" style="background-image: url("https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/td0/1/16/1f602.png"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; color: transparent; display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; height: 16px; text-shadow: none; vertical-align: text-bottom; width: 16px;">😂</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The overlook</td></tr>
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Eventually I got back on my bike, bypassing the visitor's center and giving back all that hard-won elevation with a screaming descent off the mountain. In fact, the next 25 miles was nearly all downhill. Once you made it to the top of the mountain, this definitely wasn't the day to quit.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So good.<br />
12:07</td></tr>
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I stopped at mile 22 at a great restaurant on the outskirts of Corley and had a leisurely lunch. Big meals and being gentle with myself were the order of the day. You know how you maybe tiptoe around a friend or family worker who's recently just lost their shit? Now imagine you're both the crazy person and the calm one.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So many beautiful rivers and streams in Arkansas.<br />
"You want to stop and take pictures all day? No problem at all. Just please don't cry anymore."<br />
1:19 p.m.</td></tr>
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So there I was, just pedaling along this beautiful road, when I crested a small rise and saw a car parked near an old church. There, waiting for me, was the race photographer. Now, I've brought up the back of many a long race and am all to familiar with the lack of attention given to the slowest riders. It makes sense, I guess. People are most interested in winners, and photographers can't be everywhere.<br />
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And yet, on a thousand mile course with me not quite at mile 400 and the eventual winner only a day from the finish line, Michael and his cameras were waiting. That meant a lot to me.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Historic Liberty church<br />
Photo credit: Michael Roys<br />
1:50 p.m.</td></tr>
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I started to tell him about my disastrous previous day, and he grabbed his video camera, so for my mild mortification and your viewing pleasure, here I am in all my awkward, filthy glory talking about the wonderful people whose kindness had kept me in the race.<br />
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Once I left Michael, it was only about 12 miles to the next stop of my food tour. I have no memory of what I ate in New Blaine, but 20 minutes later I was on my way. I reached the Dardanelle/Russellville area around 5 p.m., and after days alone on roads with few to no cars, the Russellville rush hour was moderately terrifying.<br />
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A passing driver called out to me. Familiar with the race, he asked if I was going to Carr's Chain Reaction bike shop (yes) and if I'd called to let them know I was coming (oops). He called ahead for me, and I bumbled my way to the shop. I'd been living in fear of my brakes going out. Despite not carrying the SRAM brake pads I needed (before the race I'd intended to order a set and carry them with me, but I hadn't gotten around to it), the guys there were able to McGuyver me a new front set from Shimano parts while I rested on the floor. They'd offered me a chair, but 400 miles in I had no desire to do any extra sitting.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">5:30 p.m.<br />Those socks could just about stand on their own by the end of the race.</td></tr>
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I'm pretty sure those guys stayed after closing to work on my bike, and then they barely charged me anything. Bike fixed, bill paid, and mechanics thanked profusely, I just had another 7 or so miles to Chuck's house, where he and his lovely wife offered free cyclists' camping. "Camping", in this instance, meant sleeping in their daughter's old bedroom and combing my hair for the first time since Saturday morning.<br />
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There at the farm I reunited with Mikey, who'd been there for a few hours. Phyllis provided all you can eat meals for $10/meal, feeding us an amazing supper, dishing up the most gigantic bowls of ice cream ever, and then making breakfast sandwiches for the next day.<br />
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It felt wonderful to relax a little and let somebody else take care of me. One of the things I hadn't really understood about bikepacking is how much work it is. You ride your bike all day, then you have to figure out where you're going to find food, where you're going to sleep. There's setting up your tent and sleeping pad and repacking them the next day. If you're not somewhere with a faucet, there's water to filter. A bike to prep for tomorrow.<br />
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Of course, the less you take, the less there is to do, but I wasn't in the less is more camp. That said, I did send home a box of things from Chuck and Phyllis's house: an extra kit, a thin long-sleeved shirt, the bottle cage that kept dropping bottles, deoderant, the Garmin etrex I hadn't quite figured out... My friend Jason had told me before the race to pack light and I'd tried to do so, but it took carrying some of that dead weight 400 miles before I could accept I really didn't need it.<br />
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While we were eating his ice cream, Chuck called home and warned us not to underestimate the upcoming climbs of Pilot Knob and White Rock Mountain. Great. I'd just relaxed a little and now I had another scary day in front of me.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Evening facebook post: "</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">71.2 miles today. One long climb up Mt. Magazine (highest point in AR) that took 2 hours, but after that there was lots of downhill and regular intervals for food. Today was more buffet line than race. My kind of day!</span><br />
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Today also marked the end of the south route, so I’ve officially ridden 417 miles of the race route (plus some extras to get to off-route food or campsites). Tomorrow I’m back to very limited services and challenging terrain, so don’t be surprised or worried if<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"> you don’t hear from me. The local bike shop sponsoring the race has people watching the trackers all the time and has already once sent someone out looking for a guy (who was perfectly fine, as it turned out). That’s reassuring.</span></div>
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For tonight, I’ve been fed an amazing supper at the race director’s house, eaten a ridiculous-sized bowl of ice cream, and am going to bed. Hoping to be in Fayetteville by Saturday if not before! <span class="_5mfr" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0px 1px;"><span class="_6qdm" style="background-image: url("https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/te5/1/16/1f91e.png"); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: contain; color: transparent; display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; height: 16px; text-shadow: none; vertical-align: text-bottom; width: 16px;">🤞</span></span></div>
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Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-33424771914521664662019-09-22T12:34:00.003-05:002019-09-22T12:34:45.418-05:00Arkansas High Country, days 4 and 5: the kindness of strangers<i>When we last left our hapless heroine, she was quietly crying in the aisle of a small-town convenience store, having resolved, after a long and difficult day, to quit the race and go home.</i><br />
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I'd had some basic goals before starting ARHC: A) finish; B) get in at least 3-4 days (my longest previous bikepacking trip being two nights); C) learn something from the experience. With the latter two thoroughly achieved, I figured I could assign myself a solid B and go home with my head held up regardless of what anyone else thought.<br />
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Looking around in an effort to find something that looked like what I wanted, whatever that was, I noticed a deli counter on one side. A sign listed the hours as closing at 6, and the meats were all covered. "Is it too late to get a sandwich?" I asked the owner. It was, of course, but he looked at me for a moment and then replied, "I'll make you a sandwich."<br />
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I carried a random mix of food and a chocolate milk to the counter. The woman at the register took note of the tears streaming down my face and asked, "Are you ok?"<br />
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"It's just been a really hard day," I sniffled.<br />
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I ate in the small seating area and looked over my maps. There was no hotel until Mt. Magazine State Park. I googled the distance between Waveland and Edwardsville: 7.5 hours. I pictured calling my husband and asking him to make a 15-hour round trip because my race was too hard.<br />
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That option off the table, I thought of my DK buddy Matt, who lives in Arkansas: 3 hours for him, plus another 2 back to my car in Little Rock. How would <i>that </i>tearful conversation go? "Hi, remember me? We've met a total of three times. Would you mind spending the rest of your day in the car because I'm tired of riding my bike?"<br />
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I'd have been on my way home if I'd been at a convenient place to quit, but no way was I going to ask someone to drive that much because a race I knew would be extremely challenging was turning out to be just that. (And it should be said that both of these guys, as well as several other people, would have rescued me from myself.)<br />
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Chris, the store owner, came over as I was reaching this sad realization. We talked for a while about a touring cyclist his family had hosted years ago, about the race, about Rebecca Rusch's May ARHC trip, about what roads I'd taken (men were always asking this, and I was always disappointing them with my lack of route knowledge: "I just followed my GPS."). His kindness couldn't make me feel better about the race, but I did feel less alone.<br />
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Eventually I had to leave. With my hopes of a quick escape from the race dashed by logistics, I now had a 13-mile uphill ride to the campground at Mt. Magazine State Park. I'd have to summit the highest point in Arkansas before getting off my bike. I'd have been unhappy about this even if my lights been working, but their failure the previous night had left little hope I'd be able to see (or be seen) in the dark.<br />
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Chris came outside and watched me sobbing as I shoving my remaining food into my bags. "Miss, are you <i>sure </i>you're ok?"<br />
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I choked out how ready I was to be done and my fears about riding uphill without lights, and he gently suggested a campground around 2 miles back. I'd overlooked the it on my maps but now, recognizing a good plan when I heard one, thanked Chris again and turned back the way I'd come.<br />
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A short, flat, paved ride brought me to the campground entrance, where I still had a cell signal, and called home. Almost all of our conversations during the race had been via text, so I imagine it was a bit jarring that the first Jeff heard of my voice in nearly a week was through sobs. He listened while I cried about my terrible day, then filled me in on life at home ("Only the good stuff...I don't want to hear anything bad.") .<br />
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I then rode the rest of the way into the campground and tracked down the host (this was actually a consistent problem for me, showing up at a campground after the main gatehouse attendant left) to ask if they had any tent sites. "I'm not sure about here," he began, "but over at the other campground..."<br />
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The look on my face at the words "the other campground" must have spoken volumes, because he interrupted himself and said, "Let's just go back to the office and check." When he went into the camper to get keys, his wife reminded him they had an empty site just across the road. I gratefully took it, and before I did anything else, sat down at the picnic table to update Facebook:<br />
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<i>"Not very many pictures today. I’m sure it was beautiful, but all I really saw was the ground in front of me as I mostly shoved my bike up hills I couldn’t ride. That was pretty much all of them. My legs were totally fried.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><i>Saturday I rode big miles and ate Fritos for supper, Sunday morning was awful until I got a big breakfast at Subway AND finished the day off with pulled pork. Monday had my second biggest mileage of the trip and was amazing until that big push into the mountains, then I had pork jerky for supper. Today was awful. The best way I can describe it is despair. So many hills, and I pushed my bike up 95% of them. I averaged like 4 mph for like 11 straight hours and I only achieved that speed bc of the downhills. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><i>I spent A LOT of time crying. A lot. Then I continued to be a sobbing mess at the convenience store where I got my supper (ham and cheese, that means tomorrow will be better, right?). The couple there was super sweet and directed me to this nearby campground since I was clearly in no shape to ride another 20 miles to the next one. </i><br />
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<i>I was 100% committed to quitting when I got to Waveland, then I googled the distance and realized Jeff would have to drive 7.5 hours to pick me up bc my dumb ass got in over my head. I’m not doing that to him when I’m not injured, so for tomorrow at least I’m moving on. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><i> It’s pretty clear to me, though, that the 90 miles thing isn’t going to happen and I need to start giving more respect to my limits and to where and when I can get quality (and quantity) food instead of arbitrary distance, so that kind of screws up the Noah challenge. I’m sorry to all the people who’ve signed up for the next days. If you’d like to donate to Team Noah Foundation you could always make up your own system... $.25/mile, $.50/mile, etc. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><i> The thing about doing big things so publicly is then when you fall on your face you do so publicly. And I know most people won’t judge me that this is turning out to be so very hard for me (I mean, I knew it would be, but it’s SO HARD). So thanks for all of your support. I actually had signal and checked in several times and all of the posts picked me up. Oh, and 63.2 miles today. Hard won miles, to be sure."</i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Waveland Park, 8:38 p.m.</td></tr>
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Important social media duties completed, I began setting up my tent, and the magic began. The host and his wife came over to help me set up. Then the park ranger drove by, asked if I needed anything, and drove back to town to buy me some soda. A neighboring camper walked up to see if I'd like some food. Yes, the answer to food was always yes.<br />
<br />
By the time I finished showering, my phone was flooded with messages of support from people following my race updates. Family and friends from every stage of my life chimed in to lift me up and encourage me. One of the people I most admire in the world messaged to say, in essence, it's ok to quit if this isn't making you happy. Others, who've pushed through their own demanding and difficult bike tours, took a more tough love stance: "Suck it up, sister. This is what you want to do." There were private messages offering help getting back home and a new route planned for me in case I still wanted to quit but get back under my own power. The support was overwhelming in the best possible way. It freed me to realize that whatever decision I made would be ok.<br />
<br />
My campground neighbor returned with a plate of chicken, baked beans, and corn on the cob. Her husband and dad brought bottles of water and granola bars. They all were so curious about the route, especially my experiences as a woman alone ("I'd never let my wife do that."). Before they left, they asked if they could pray for me, and Ada's prayer was perfect. My next visitor was the ranger, who plied me with route questions while I ate, and even on a bad day the race was still my very favorite topic.<br />
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It took me a long time to go to bed, reading through the messages that continued to flood my phone, and I didn't get in any big hurry the next morning. As I moseyed through my morning packing, the campground host came over with a cup of coffee for me and later returned with a breakfast sandwich his wife had made me and another coffee with milk and sugar. I finally rolled out of camp around 8, still fragile and teary. I didn't know if I'd finish the race or just find a better place to quit, but buoyed by the kindness of friends and strangers, I was at least ready to see what the day held.Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-54535684681438630452019-08-16T22:06:00.001-05:002019-08-17T18:36:58.983-05:00Arkansas High Country, day 4: emotional quicksand<b>Somewhere in the Petit Jean mountains to Waveland</b><br />
63.2 miles - 5,911 ft elevation gain - 9:05 moving time/12:28 elapsed time<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My whole day takes place between "~291 inf. CG and ~350 CS Waveland". I'd zoomed in on the Ride with GPS file to find the mileage for different towns and other points of interest, some of these being pretty approximate. Take my somewhat vague generalities and then add to that the fact that my trip mileage started over each day, requiring that I remember where on my notes I started and then spend the day adding and subtracting to figure out how far -- approximately -- I was from my next point of interest. For this particular day, I hadn't been exactly sure where my starting location put me in my notes. Obviously, this is an area for improvement all-around.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Partially packed up, about 6:30 a.m.</td></tr>
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My setup was relatively light, and I slept warmly and comfortably in it, but I watched enviously as Mikey packed up his hammock and was ready in no time. Eventually he got tired of waiting on me and rolled. I didn't leave camp until around 7 a.m.<br />
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Morning facebook post: <i>"Day 4 is for Cheri Becker, Lisa Anne, and birthday girl Sherri Stout. I have another 60 miles to go without services and at least one monster climb. Once I get to Mt. Magazine State Park (~mile 60) I’ll figure out my plan for the rest of the day. Supper last night was Korean BBQ pork jerky, which the very nice and very talkative man at the store below Queen Wilhelmina SP gave me, and I believe breakfast is going to be pecan pie. Time to pack up and head out!"</i><br />
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Looking back at that morning post now is like rereading my diaries. So optimistic, so innocent...so totally unaware of the anvil about to land on your head. OK, that's more Wil-E-Coyote than teenage Kate, but still...First off, it was actually 75 miles to Mt. Magazine. Second, I very quickly realized that pork jerky and pecan pie aren't sufficient race fuel.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>I had plenty of food. I'd actually bought extra when I rode back to the store the previous day because I knew Alex had missed the store. I could have eaten more; I just didn't. </b>It makes me want to shake race Kate. Why didn't I eat more??<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just starting to ride<br />
7:05 a.m.</td></tr>
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The morning started off with four miles of climbing with totally empty legs. Very quickly I found myself walking my bike. My early hopes that this was just a need-to-warm-up situation soon dissipated to reveal the sad reality that this was all I had for the day. I'd roll downhill, pedal slowly along flats, and be off the bike as soon as the road tilted up. It seemed to do that a lot.<br />
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Now, looking back at the elevation profile with a full stomach and rested legs, I can only shake my head and wonder what was so bad. But in the moment, bonking and overwhelmed, it felt impossible. Would I have done better if my inner voice was more drill sergeant than reassuring mother? It wasn't. <i>"You just do the best you can and keep moving forward, dear."</i><br />
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That's what I did, one slow step after another, and the first 4 miles took me an hour. That led to some ugly mental math. <i>At this pace it's going to take 15 hours to go 60 miles! </i>A more pressing concern was that the first water source I had listed was still 26 miles away, and I hadn't been able to refill since beginning the climb into the mountains the previous evening.<br />
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By the end of the second hour, I was only 9 miles in. Hour three brought me to mile 13 with a dwindling water supply. Though the situation wasn't dire, running out of water is one of my big fears, and I was watching nervously for creeks. At one point I saw a pond, but a closer look revealed a thick cover of green scum. Ew, no thanks.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mile 18, 10:56 a.m.</td></tr>
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Eventually I ran dry, and when I passed a wet ditch I was no longer so picky. Wincing at the sight of tadpoles swimming in the brown water, I filled my bottle, used the Steri-Pen, and then threw in some iodine tablets for good measure. Since I was stopped anyway, I finally took the time to eat and readjust the items in my cockpit, removing the dog spray holder that was making my top tube bag keep falling over to scrape my knee every. single. pedal. stroke. (Another thing I should have tried out prior to starting the race so I could have figured out an arrangement that worked.)<br />
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Throughout this pitiful slog, I could look down from my ridgeline road and see houses and cars in the valley below. It was strange to feel so isolated while people were going about normal lives not far from where I rode, filling glasses from faucets as I gingerly sipped my nasty ditch water. I knew that if I was at home I'd be obsessively following the race and wishing I was part of the adventure, but this knowledge did nothing to stop my tears.<br />
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A three-mile descent brought little relief. Unlike the previous day, when I'd felt invincible on downhills, day four featured a return of my normal timid self, braking away the advantage of the free speed. At the bottom, I turned on to pavement and then onto a new stretch of gravel, where I saw my first car of the day.<br />
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I stopped there to call Mickey to troubleshoot my unreliable bike light, trying not to cry in front of him, but my cell signal didn't last anyway. Five miles later I crossed a creek -- a lovely, clear creek! -- and was able to finally dump the ditch sludge. Sitting on the edge of a low water bridge, I took my time filling bottles and purifying the new water, savoring the feeling of salvation that accompanied a full supply of fresh water.<br />
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If I'd expected my woes to wash away I was mistaken as the course followed a primarily uphill path and my legs continued their work stoppage. My feet hurt from walking. My eyes were raw from crying. On one level I could appreciate how beautiful the scenery was, how cool this adventure was, but only in an abstract way. I knew I <i>should </i>be enjoying it, but I very much was not.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seeing the top after 10 miles of pretty consistent climbing<br />
Mile 30, 1:14 p.m.</td></tr>
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When I signed on for this race I had no expectations of it being anything less than brutally hard, but I was also confident that I could finish it. I'm slow, but I'm gritty. Sticking out hard races is basically my only real strength.<br />
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I knew I'd want to quit at points and had promised myself that I'd never quit the day I wanted to; I'd always at least wait until the morning to make the decision. All that went out the window on day 4. Pushing my bike up hill after hill all I could think was <i>This is stupid. Do I even care about finishing if it means pushing my bike up every hill in Arkansas?</i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'd been posting regular updates on Facebook and felt like it was important to document the hard parts as well as the beautiful scenery. I was literally sobbing as I took the picture.<br />
1:14 p.m.</td></tr>
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The miles passed slowly, as I guess they do when you're having an emotional breakdown and walking anything resembling a hill. The route continued to be striking in its isolation. I only saw two more cars during this stretch, one the same truck that had passed me hours earlier. The clock moved much more quickly than my odometer, and I started to consider the possibility that I might spend another night out there.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mile 54, 5:36 p.m.</td></tr>
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Finally, after plummeting 1500+ feet in less than five miles, I had a relatively easy ten miles into Waveland. Here, the downhill trend (and my low-grade panic that I wouldn't make it to the store before it closed) helped my legs finally find another gear. I caught and passed Mikey near Waveland, the first I'd seen of him since he left camp that morning. I pushed hard into town, reaching the store with the kind of relief that's normally reserved for people being rescued from a fire.<br />
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I parked my bike and rushed in. Silent tears streamed down my face as I stared blankly at the half-empty shelves inside. What was I even going to buy?<br />
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Now, I think I made it there around 6:30, well before the 8:00 closing time, so there was no need for all of the internal drama, but the hour it took me to ride the last ten miles was literally half of any of my other previous ten-mile segments, so I'd definitely have been cutting it closer if I'd continued with the day's pace trend. And the store, while certainly not overstocked, had plenty of food. I just didn't have a plan and was in no mental state to make good decisions. Or any decisions.<br />
<br />
Looking back now, of course, I can recognize how much I was overreacting to what was just a hard day. At the time, unfortunately, I had no perspective. I didn't even get mood swings, which would at least allow for brief highs. Instead, I floundered in emotional quicksand, sinking into despair and self-pity.<br />
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I like to think of myself as being resilient and, as my 15 year old describes it, "annoyingly positive", but here I was, determined to quit the race in Waveland. I'd get some food, call my husband, and wait for the ride home. I'd come to Arkansas for lessons to help me in future races, and mostly I was learning that I wasn't nearly as strong as I'd thought.<br />
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Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-90687467458994091652019-07-25T16:29:00.000-05:002019-08-08T14:00:55.450-05:00Arkansas High Country, day 3: back to school<b>June 10, 2019 Shady Rest cabins to informal campsite in the Petit Jean Mountains</b><br />
91.1 miles - 7,315 ft elevation gain - 10:43 moving time/15:05 elapsed time<br />
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Day three was uncharted territory for me. Unless you count the supported Katy Trail rides I did in 2009 and 2010, I've only done back to back long rides two days in a row.<br />
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Since my Team Noah kit was still damp from its trip through the washing machine I decided to switch to the other kit I'd brought, but as soon as I started stuffing things into the jersey pockets I realized it wasn't going to work for me. The pockets were much smaller and harder to access, so I switched back to my original kit and repacked the dead weight extra one I'd brought. That was another preparation fail; I'd worn it on a day ride to make sure it was comfortable for all-day riding but failed to think through the storage capacity issue.<br />
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I left the cabin the next morning at 6:25 a.m., a couple hours after Mikey, a consistently early riser, and a little bit before Alex. Within 4 minutes I'd missed my first turn, but my Garmin alerted me and I made a quick about-face. A mile later I passed the other informal campsite on the map, this one right off the road, easily visible, and a great camping alternative. That said, it certainly didn't have any pulled pork sandwiches, so my $20 share of the cabin was money well spent.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6:45 a.m.</td></tr>
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I felt completely different than the previous morning, strong and happy. The temps were great, the scenery was beautiful, and thanks to my terrible start to day 2 I was able to really appreciate how good I felt.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">7:36 a.m.</td></tr>
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<i>Morning facebook post: "Day 3: you’re up,David Beattie and Robert A. Johnson! You guys, I feel 100% better today. Ride satisfaction is off the charts. What a gorgeous place to ride. This is my favorite day so far. Definitely my favorite morning."</i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">8:01 a.m.<br />
I assumed the tire track was Mikey's, and it felt a little like riding with someone else.</td></tr>
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Of course, the road conditions varied, but once again I recognized the similarity to Shawnee and Mark Twain roads and smiled in recognition. The "miles to end" (of the South loop) readout on my Garmin dropped to 199, and that felt like another reason to celebrate. The number had been 417 when I started.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also 8:01. <br />
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My proximity to Hatfield (and second breakfast) was signaled by a turn onto paved roads. Reaching towns was always a mixed blessing. On one hand, there were services or, if not, at least houses where you could beg for water if it came to that; often, there was the sweet relief of pavement. On learning the race was 50% pavement, Mickey had winced at the idea of riding 500 miles of paved roads, but I felt differently. While I prefer gravel or singletrack, I've never hit a paved section during a long race and felt anything but thankfulness. </div>
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But towns also meant dogs, and rural dogs rarely are constrained by leashes or fences. Wearing a scar from an April dog bite, I came to ARHC more worried about dogs than getting lost or camping alone, and they proved to be my biggest stressor of the race. I'd had to jump off my bike on day 1 to keep it between myself and a particularly unfriendly dog in Thornburg, and as I neared Hatfield I found myself sprinting away from two chasers. Luckily they'd appeared on a slightly downhill section, so I had no trouble escaping.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">8:57 a.m.<br />
About to leave <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/category/Local-Business/My-Kitchen-Table-Cafe-And-Bakery-1916768835080599/" style="font-size: 12.8px;">My Kitchen Table Cafe and Bakery</a><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> in Hatfield.</span></td></tr>
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I made a beeline for the cafe on the corner and ordered what felt like half the menu for what ended up being a surprisingly low cost, catching up on the world during the short wait for my food. Alex arrived just as I was wrapping up the sausage patty and biscuit I'd been able to finish.<br />
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Before leaving town, I refilled my water at the nearby convenience store. With the benefit of hindsight, I now realize that this was the best of very limited on-route store options through the 130 miles to Waveland, but at the time I was planning 25 miles to the restaurant at Queen Wilhelmina and then restocking again at the Rich Mountain convenience store a mile later. If you're thinking <i>Kate, it seems like that's a lot of time wasted with multiple stops...and what about <a href="http://kate-my-mind.blogspot.com/2019/07/arkansas-high-country-day-1-lots-to.html">Lesson 2</a></i>, you're right, but at the time I was still learning and only picked up a couple of small items in the store (which, for future reference on days when My Kitchen Table is closed, also had a well-stocked little lunch counter).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">10 a.m.</td></tr>
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I didn't feel amazing the next 20 miles -- instead of rejuvenating me like the previous day's breakfast did, this one had me dragging a little -- but moved steadily along the road enjoying the scenery I passed. Around mile 33 for the day I turned onto CR-8, gasped in delight, and breathed "No way!" as a mama black bear and her cub crossed the pavement maybe 200 feet in front of me. I fumbled for my camera, but they were enclosed in brush on the other side before I got it out. I knew there were black bears in Arkansas, having read it during my pre-race research and sending a slightly panicked message to my friend Matt, who'd reassured me: "They're more afraid of you than you are of them," but I hadn't really expected to see them. I mean, there are supposed to be bears in Missouri, too, but despite all my time in the Mark Twain National Forest I've never spotted one.<br />
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Knowing that we were headed into a state park I'd expected to be riding pavement, probably with lots of traffic to watch me have to walk my bike uphill, but I was in for a doubly happy surprise. The climb was gravel, and -- even better! -- I could ride it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">11:24 a.m.<br />
I think this was the first time I (accidentally) discovered I could see the upcoming elevation profile on my Garmin. During bad times I spent a LOT of time looking ahead, sometimes in dismay and sometimes happy to finally see the top.</td></tr>
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Thankfully for my low, low granny gear, I happily chugged along, catching up with Mikey, who was struggling with Achilles pain. There were a couple spots where the grade was steep enough that I had to walk a little bit, but I was thrilled to be able to ride as much as I did. Some rustling in the trees to my right caught my attention, and I looked up to see another mama bear, this time with two cubs, scrambling along the ridgeline above me.</div>
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Alex caught up with me while I was stopped, having again failed to get my phone out in time for a bear picture, and we watched as another bear ran across the road ahead of us. Not sure if it was the mama bear again we waited briefly to see if the cubs would follow, but after none emerged we proceeded cautiously ahead.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">12:17 p.m.<br />
Alex (in white) after our quick bear break.</td></tr>
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Mikey caught up with me again during a walk break and we rode together having the kind of conversation you do during a bike ride. Where you're from, what you do, your family, when you started riding bikes. I think that was the longest stretch of the whole race where I had company, but eventually he faded back a little and I continued on. 8 miles and 1600 feet after beginning the climb, I turned onto a blessedly flat ridgeline road with expansive views.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1:02 p.m.<br />
Finally at the top after two hours of climbing!</td></tr>
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This was another mandatory selfie stop, so I took a quick picture of my bike and headed off in search of the park restaurant.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1:10 p.m.<br />
Queen Wilhelmina SP mandatory selfie</td></tr>
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Mikey pulled up as I was standing in dismay in front of a building with a "closed due to the weather" sign. Why would you close a restaurant due to weather? And what weather? It was beautiful out.<br />
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He gestured to the left, where the park lodge was. I was standing in front of the train ride building, maybe 10 feet from a big "Restaurant" sign with an arrow pointing to the lodge. Clearly my typical long ride brain fog was in full effect.<br />
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We met up with Alex for a leisurely meal in the lodge restaurant, all trying to figure out who the other loaded bike on the porch belonged to. It turned out that Jesse, one of the faster guys, had decided to drop there after experiencing some weird leg numbness the previous day. He was waiting at the lodge for his ride, came down to join us for a bit, and took our group picture at the overlook.</div>
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<i>Facebook post: "You guys!! I saw five bears today! And two coyotes. And totally rode my bike up a mountain."</i><br />
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We all left at different times, and I ended up being the first one on the road, which treated me to a fantastic paved downhill, a little bit twisty but just straight enough to let me stay off my brakes and go fast enough to catch the Corvettes that had started down as I left the restaurant. Thinking there was a convenience store here, I looked to the left and didn't see it. I paused at the turn at the bottom to check my maps but when Alex rode past without stopping, I assumed the store was further along.<br />
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We continued effortlessly cruising the gentle downhill for another two miles. It wasn't until we reached our next turn at the sign for Eagleton that I stopped to look at my map. The store I'd remembered was, indeed, back at the bottom of Queen Wilhelmina, and I'd been counting on it to fill my water and restock my supplies. By this time Alex was too far ahead to hear me call, so I turned around and retraced my route, now a gentle uphill back to the store. Riding extra miles was the last thing I wanted to do, but the store was the last on-route opportunity for resupply for the next 100 miles.<br />
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I arrived back where I'd originally paused, and there it was. I'd actually seen the building but, expecting a convenience store in the vein of a Casey's or a Quik Trip, hadn't recognized the old wooden building as my destination. Once inside, my incorrect expectations continued. For all of my training rides, I used food that can be (or has been) bought at gas stations. I've gotten pretty good at fueling long efforts on that type of fare, but C-store choices around home are pretty varied. This particular store had a lot of stuff, but very little of it was packaged food. They also had a lunch counter/restaurant, but having just eaten at the lodge I wasn't interested in (or maybe just didn't think about) having anything prepared for me. Not only had I failed to heed lesson 2, but I was adding more to the curriculum:<br />
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<span style="background-color: yellow;"><i>Lesson 8: Check your map when you first have a question, not two or more miles down the road.</i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: yellow;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="background-color: yellow;"><i>Lesson 9: Don't assume that because someone else rides ahead without stopping that you should, too.</i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: yellow;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="background-color: yellow;"><i>Lesson 10: Rural Arkansas convenience stores don't necessarily look like what you're expecting.</i></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: yellow;"><i>Lesson 11: If the food you're expecting isn't there, take advantage of the options you DO have. </i></span><br />
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"Are you doing the long route or the short route?" the man behind the counter asked me.<br />
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"What's the long route?"<br />
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"70 miles," he answered.<br />
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"I'm doing the 1,000 mile route."<br />
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While they weren't familiar with ARHC, the owner told me that they have a lot of cyclists come by on training rides. He had a lot to tell me about that and was super welcoming, mentioning outdoor showers and water available. He had me sign his guest book, and then when I went outside to load up my few purchases, he followed me out with a bag of Korean BBQ pork jerky and handed it to me.<br />
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Waving goodbye to my new friends, I rerode the now familiar road back to Eagleton and finally made the turn onto a fresh section of the course. I'd made more dumb mistakes, but at least this time I'd made the good decision to ride back to the store I'd missed. If only I'd taken better advantage of it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4:15 p.m., around mile 61</td></tr>
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The route continued with a downhill trend for the next 30 miles, passing through lots of beautiful forest and a few small towns with no services. At some point I caught up with Mikey, who'd passed me while I was stopped at the store. We rode together for a bit, but his Achilles woes were making it hard for him and eventually I was on my own again. </div>
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I wasn't sure how far ahead Alex was. There were some boys shooting at fish from a bridge in Bates and I asked if they'd seen another rider. They hadn't, but they'd only been there for a few minutes. When I got a cell signal, I checked Trackleaders. He was way further ahead of me than just the four extra miles I'd ridden to and from the store. We'd all talked a little about where we planned to camp for the night, but unless he stopped soon it was clear that our little group of three wasn't going to be sticking together this evening.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">7:35 p.m.<br />
Strip Pit Rd, mile 85, elevation 707 feet<br />
I ended up camping at the top of the mountains in that picture</td></tr>
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All good things come to an end, and the downhill trend did so abruptly as I approached the Petit Jean mountains. The grade rose gently for a mile before becoming more of a wall, rising 900 feet in less than two miles. I quickly had to get off my bike and push, and even that was a struggle at times. I'd walk 100 steps then take a break. Walk...well, 50 steps that time, and take a break. Every so often I'd peek at the elevation screen, only to see a steep diagonal line continuing off the screen. After 45 minutes of climbing I could finally see the end of the steepest part on my screen.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">8:35 p.m., mile 88</td></tr>
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Looking back, I saw Mikey's orange shirt moving in my direction. Eventually he caught me, faster on foot uphill just like he usually was on the bike.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">8:37 p.m., looking into Oklahoma, though I hadn't realized that I'd been there at a couple of short points earlier in the day.</td></tr>
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The sky was nearly dark when we finally reached a rideable point and I made the unsettling discovery that my dyno light wasn't working. It had worked great during paved points when I was using it to power my taillight, and it had flawlessly charged my external battery during the day, but now neither the headlight nor taillight were working. I tried pushing the cables further onto the connectors in case they'd jiggled loose...nothing.</div>
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I'd brought a headlamp, but since I had such a good bike light I had only packed my small headlamp for use around camp. It definitely didn't do the trick lighting up the road, leaving me crawling along at a snail's pace. Though I'd hoped to ride further that evening I figured that my time would be better spent getting some sleep and then making better time when I could see.</div>
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I told Mikey as much. He pointed out a dispersed campsite nearby, but we hadn't yet hit my 90 mile goal for the day, so I wanted to continue on at least until I passed that. At mile 91.1 we found another site and called it a night. Mickey's hammock was set up in about a third of the time it took me to set up my tent. My need for comfort definitely cost me in weight and time, but given the number of spiders I could see around camp I was ok with that.</div>
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Camp chores finished, I ate the entire (delicious) bag of pork jerkey on my tent's front porch (not very bear aware), hung my sweat-soaked kit to dry, updated Facebook, and went to bed. My sleeping bag liner was comfortable at first, but I woke up chilly in the night and climbed into the emergency bivvy. Instantly cozy, I fell back asleep.<br />
<br />
<i>Evening facebook post: "Well,David Beattie and Robert A. Johnson each owe Team Noah Foundation $1.10. I’d planned to push on a bit further, but I’m having problems with my light this evening and wasn’t up to tackling these downhills in the dark.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Speaking of downhills, it’s crazy how fast a loaded bike will go downhill, especially when its rider is too tired to be scared. Speaking of uphills, on the other hand, it’s crazy how hard it was to push my bike up the last climb. All my morning mountain-ride glow was eclipsed by the struggle to get to the top tonight: 100 steps, then a break, 100 — nope — 50 steps, then a break. But now I’m in my tent partway up the next big hill and all in all it’s been a beautiful day. 91 miles down, just shy of 300 for the race (almost 1/3 of the way done!)"
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy_vhLv2V_ELZecNI2Q5nNeATsJ4DSFml31Q-UKuAC5Pxjfl4N0MBthLLOtPrsMC7vmkNOwT-FDqElf1UZzTL0eDSQ5QexH3L3D2yLzT0Me8oy_8PgA_27Fc-ZdHbgyZfPnlXEmcGntVH_/s1600/ARHC+day+3+strava+elev.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="125" data-original-width="928" height="84" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy_vhLv2V_ELZecNI2Q5nNeATsJ4DSFml31Q-UKuAC5Pxjfl4N0MBthLLOtPrsMC7vmkNOwT-FDqElf1UZzTL0eDSQ5QexH3L3D2yLzT0Me8oy_8PgA_27Fc-ZdHbgyZfPnlXEmcGntVH_/s640/ARHC+day+3+strava+elev.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's an illustration of how deceiving an elevation profile can be. That climb in the middle is significantly higher, but it was a much easier grade and almost all rideable for me. The one at the end was much steeper. I doubt I could have ridden it all even if it hadn't come at the end of three long days of riding.</td></tr>
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<i><br /></i>
<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2440569572">Day 3 Strava file</a></div>
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Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1901742418169240469.post-13424758050434824812019-07-22T13:31:00.000-05:002019-08-08T14:16:21.009-05:00Arkansas High Country, day 2: immediate feedback<b>Sunday, June 9, 2019: Crystal Springs to Shady Rest Cabins</b><br />
84.6 miles - 6,399 ft. elevation gain - 13:57 elapsed time/9:57 moving time<br />
<br />
I woke to my 5:00 alarm, happy to discover I hadn't been murdered in my sleep, and began the slow process of packing up the few things I had out of my bags: sleeping clothes, hygiene items, charging cords. I ate the other half of my Parkside PBJ and an apple then reluctantly put on my still-damp kit and rolled my bike into the cool morning air, finally beginning the day's ride at 6:21.<br />
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<i>Morning Facebook post: "Day 2: this one’s for Claire and Stacey, but it’s probably going to be considerably shorter than yesterday because of limited sleeping options. Overall I feel pretty good except for my hands, which are already losing some dexterity. A little surprising given the amount of pavement yesterday and the large amount of walking I did on hills and (by the last 10 miles) anything resembling a hill."</i><br />
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As anyone who's my online friend knows, I'd decided to use my race as a fundraiser for the Team Noah Foundation. I shared that my hope was to ride 90+ miles a day and finish in about ten days. Friends (or strangers, I wasn't picky) could pick a day to pledge $1/mile for any miles I rode above the 90, and I in turn would donate $1/mile for any mileage under my target. I'd expected a couple of people to sign on, which was totally fine. It would give me some added motivation on pledged days and bring in a few dollars for the foundation but not be too much pressure.<br />
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Instead, within 24 hours all ten days were sponsored, most by multiple people. I'd been excited to pass mile 90 on the first day, securing around $100 in donations by the time I stopped, but the evening food and lodging challenges had made me realize that randomly riding as far as I could without putting a little more thought into where I was going to eat and sleep was a little further into the deep end than I was willing to swim just yet.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6:36 a.m.<br />
Flat and paved and still soooo slow</td></tr>
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The beginning miles were largely flat and paved and shady. Early on, descending a smooth downhill, a Gatorade bottle flew out of the bottle cage on my fork. I retrieved the bottle and put in in a jersey pocked. You only got two strikes in this game, and the cage was out. My legs, on the other hand, had apparently benched themselves. In addition, my left shoulder and hip were bothering me and my hands were already numb enough that I was struggling to shift or do anything that required much dexterity.<br />
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I've done a lot of long rides and races to the point where a 150-mile day no longer sounds outrageous, but I have limited experience with back-to-back long rides and hadn't really understood their unforgiving nature. You can screw up your nutrition for a one-day race with limited consequences, but following a big day with another one will give you immediate feedback on your nutrition and recovery. My body was giving me an emphatic thumbs down.<br />
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Despite the easy surface and grade, I was painfully slow. Initial hopes that I just needed an extended warm-up after the previous day receded to eventual acceptance that this glacial pace was all my empty legs had to give. Rather than get upset, I focused on steady progress and kept moving forward.<br />
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Alex caught up with me about 90 minutes into the morning and we rode together for a while. I told him how my hands were getting numb, and he mentioned that he made an effort to keep his hands light on the handlebars. I'd been making an effort to change my hand position frequently and to not grip the bars tightly, but the idea of keeping my weight off of my hands finally clicked. The company was nice, but his easy pace still had me pushing harder than I wanted to, so eventually on a hill I dropped back. I wouldn't spend much more time with Alex during the race, but his advice continued to stick with me and help me.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">8:29 a.m.</td></tr>
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The above picture was taken right around the top of a 400 ft climb, which I almost certainly walked at least part of. I made a brief wrong turn onto a driveway, then turned onto Moondance Road. The sign didn't initially jog my memory, but a short climb led me to a rowdy, rocky downhill stretch that had me breathing prayers of thanks that I'd opted for mountain bike tires. I quickly realized I'd been warned about this stretch.<br />
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This new-to-me road felt strangely familiar. My mileage may have been lacking -- day one had been only my second century of the year -- but in this area, at least, my previous experiences had prepared me. All those Shawnee National Forest roads turned out to be great training, and this descent was nothing compared to Bushwhack Rd, which Chuck and I had tackled in the dark during one of the No Sleep ARs.<br />
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I reached Mt. Ida around 10 a.m. and, still not having learned my lesson about taking advantage of services when I see them, bypassed a grocery store and gas station in search of a breakfast cafe which, when I finally reached it, was closed. Thankfully, a nearby Subway was open. I bought a sandwich to eat right away and a ham and cheese to have later. After lingering over my belated breakfast for way too long, I backtracked half a mile to the closest convenience store, loaded up on expensive junk, and set off again.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">11:42 a.m.</td></tr>
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From Mt. Ida, the route climbed gradually for the next 25 miles, but I felt much less terrible after eating. I was still slow, but less painfully so, and I stayed patient and tried to savor the beautiful scenery of the Ouachita National Forest. While there were almost no services in the 70 miles between Mt. Ida and Hatfield, the route offered numerous opportunities to filter water from nearby creeks.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2:04 p.m., around mile 56<br />
Time to get some fresh water!</td></tr>
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Though it took several minutes to prefilter and then treat creek water with my Steripen, I was never sad to be forced to take a break. Sometimes, like this one, I paired my water stop with a little roadside picnic.<br />
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Miles 52-62 followed a generally downhill trend along the absolutely gorgeous Little Missouri River. I passed waterfalls and swimming holes, thinking what a fun spot this would be to stop and hang out. It seemed like half the population of Texas agreed with me as car after car with out of state plates passed me on the gravel. Sometimes it was good motivation not to walk a hill in front of "civilians", sometimes it was super annoying to choke on the road dust their big wheels kicked up, and sometimes it was great fun to ride downhill faster than the cars were willing to drive -- that is, until I'd get caught up in their dust clouds again.<br />
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The route took me through the now closed Albert Pike Recreation Area, which was scenic but a little spooky even in the daylight. I stopped to use an actual bathroom at a busy little day use area, then started up a steep climb. I didn't make it far before I was pushing my bike.<br />
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That shorter climb and subsequent downhill were followed by ten miles of climbing on Buckeye Mountain. Some of it I could ride, some of it I walked. OK, a lot of it I walked, but a figurative high point was when I <i>was </i>riding. A woman and little girl on an ATV came up behind me and were all impressed, which was a good feeling.<br />
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Their group passed me a few times and were really nice and friendly. One of the guys checked if I needed anything, then mentioned they'd seen other riders too. "They're way ahead of you. Like, they were at the overlook a couple hours ago."<br />
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I was thrilled to reach the top of the climb and looked eagerly for the overlook that was our spot for selfie #2. Instead, the road dropped 400 ft in a mile, which is awesome unless you know that you have to ride to a spot high enough to warrant an overlook, in which case a big descent is heartbreaking.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6:20 p.m., around mile 75<br />
Dick's Gap selfie spot</td></tr>
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Thankfully the subsequent climb was only half as big, and finally I made it to the Dick's Gap overlook. At least, I assumed it was the correct spot. I didn't see any signs for confirmation, so I crossed my fingers, took a couple pictures, and headed downhill.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thrilled to finally be at the top.</td></tr>
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After enjoying three miles of downhill (at least, I assume I enjoyed it. It was certainly easier than pushing my bike up another mountain), I filtered water from Mine Creek and began looking for a place to sleep.<br />
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It wasn't late and Hatfield and its convenience store were less than 30 miles away, but reaching the next camping option after Hatfield would have required 50 more miles for the day, more than I wanted. Plus that was an informal campsite, which weren't always easy to find, especially in the dark. Instead I decided to look for the closest informal campsite on my map. If I couldn't find that, I still had one more camping option. </div>
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I initially missed the turn and had to use the ACA app (which would show your location on the map) to find the correct road. Then, in the words of my evening Facebook update, "<i>I spent probably 45 minutes walking down a stupid forest road looking for a stupid dispersed campsite, finding nothing better than a big weedy field. 'C’mon, suck it up,' I told myself. 'This is where you’re staying.' A moment later myself replied, 'nope' and we were off in search of the one (hopefully better) other dispersed site in the next 10 miles.</i>"</div>
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This was a real low point for me. Wandering up and down that shitty road, torn between "I should just turn around" and "maybe the site is just further up", unable to find a site, nervous about sleeping alone (and I hadn't even seen any bears yet!)...it all just combined into a general feeling of <i>what made me think I could do this?</i></div>
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I gave up on the site, if it was there at all (which, by the way, is a good lesson: just because there's a site marked on your map doesn't mean you can find it or that you'll want to stay there) and began following the route towards the remaining mapped site. As I was about to make my next turn, a couple in a golf cart drove up. “There you are! Your friends were worried about you! They thought you’d crashed.” </div>
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I looked at them blankly, but they continued. "You're staying in a cabin just up the road. We'll go tell them you're coming."</div>
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Alex and Mikey already had a 4-bunk cabin rented, and Alex had picked me up a pulled pork sandwich before the restaurant there closed. </div>
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I'd been alone all day, and overall I'd been fine with it. I spend a lot of time by myself on rides because my main training partner is WAY faster than me -- which it turns out was great training for this race -- and I'd been so slow all day that I'd been glad no one was stuck waiting on me or frustrated with me. But now hearing that people I barely knew were looking out for me made me tear up. It was the first time I cried during the race and certainly not the last.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home sweet home for the night.</td></tr>
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The cabin was air conditioned, and there was a showerhouse and laundry facility. We didn't have any detergent but were at least able to rinse our filthy kits in the washing machine. Before bed we took a short hike to the closed restaurant to take advantage of its wi-fi, where I was able to text Jacob an update: "Let your dad know I'm staying in a cabin with two guys I met in the race." My point was that I was saving on lodging costs, but it's a testament to my husband's faith in me that this kind of message is neither rare nor troubling. </div>
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<i>Evening facebook post: "Well, I almost made it to 90 after all. Got in 84ish sloooooow miles. So slow. It took me 3.5 hours to go the first 27 easy miles. It was frustrating and embarrassing, but I stayed patient with myself and kept pushing on, walking when I needed to, stopping when I wanted to. It’s not like this is a race — oh wait, it is. But whatever, I can only do what I can do and admire the faster people... About 200 miles down, and now I owe Team Noah Foundation $6 for falling a little short of today’s goal. We’ll see what tomorrow brings...lots of climbing, that’s a given." </i>
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Kate Geisenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11854561265520868538noreply@blogger.com0