Back on the Road

Just like that, I'm hitting the road once more. I only get to see my East Coast friends on occasion and with cities being so close it just made sense to ride from city to city. I'll be off to Boston, Hartford, the Adirondacks, Rochester, Buffalo, then finally Pittsburgh on bike tour starting tomorrow. I wish I had more time for the Southern Tier and Alleghany. There's just too many places to ride.

Adios clipless. It's been fun riding clipless and I wish I was riding clipless, but there's no point in having two pairs of shoes since there will be more hanging than riding.

With inspiration from Rail Pass I decided to get an Amtrak Rail Pass and head out to Chitown, Minneapolis for the Powderhorn 24, Glacier (on my bucket list), and finally out to Seattle (where my plans are up in the air), and then finally the long ride back to Emeryville and it's back to work.

I probably won't have time to update much here (decided against packing a netbook), but I will update some social media on Tumblr, Flickr, Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook. Expect awesome shit here in September when I'm done with tour.

Trans Am: Final Thoughts

Victory beer.

That's it. It's all said and done. It's been a week and a half since I finished the race in Yorktown. My legs have recovered, my sleep patterns are normal, and most importantly I'm starting to smell like a decent human being again. With my mind back into a semi-state of normalcy, here are some thoughts on how I could have improved my performance and/or comfort.

First of all, a better sleeping bag, or bivvy or something. That LaFuma bag was awful. It was wet, it was drafty, and it was overall just shit. This low end bag held me back the most, because when I would lay down for 5 hours, I wouldn't get 5 solid hours of sleep, I'd get 5 hours of restless sleep and that would require me to sleep longer the next night and made me ride worse. This is certainly something that I would need to remedy.

An attempt at fixing the cold problem, a $40, 5.5 oz SOL Escape Lite bivvy. It will replace my bag for East Coast summer touring and pad my bag in the West. (Crap phone pic 1)

The machine at a gas station.

The bike was great. I don't care if it was heavy, it was comfortable, it fit wide tires, and it didn't fail on me (as much as I've tried to make it fail on me, I just can't). I'd consider a lighter bike next time, but I am not a person to buy a brand new bike for a type of race I've never done before, that's a waste (and probably leads to more S-Works bikes on eBay than anything else). Some stupid things I would make better is first of all understanding how modern STI Triples work, I wouldn't try to run a mountain triple with mismatched rings, because it meant that my triple was essentially a double (d'oh!). I actually had just purchased a Tiagra road triple before I left, but didn't have the time to change it and play with it (it would have given me two less teeth on the low side and two more on the high side). My setup was janky, but I was able to use the double and having a 34 front 32 rear climbing ring was just enough (mountain rears always and forever).

My buddy Ben always asks, "how does that shift?" with bar ends "Great!" with STI "ehhhhhhhhh..." (Crap phone pic 2)

Other gear that needs upgrading is definitely my jacket, a fifty dollar jacket off Amazon is not really going to handle mountainous weather; so that's out. I would probably also just carry more cold weather gear in general. I would also up my light game. My Magnic Lights worked out great for the flats, but climbing they would flicker and descending they just weren't bright enough. I might use these lights again as a "be seen" light, but I would probably also get something brighter so I can see.

Another thing I would fix is the food. Jason Lane was attempting (I don't know how it went) the whole Trans Am on an all liquid diet (Spiz I think is the stuff he was using). To do this he shipped himself a bunch of drops along the route. I shipped myself one drop, and that Alternative Bakery cookie I shipped myself in Scott City was heavenly. If I were to race it again, I would ship myself way more feed drops in Post Offices. I would send enough that if I missed one in the night I wouldn't have to worry about it and focus on making the next one. This does unfortunately add to the expense of the vegan endurance racer.

But enough about the physical stuff. Would I do this race again? Short answer; no. Why? I just have no interest in seeing those little towns again or seeing all the same sights again, but would I recommend it to others? Absolutely. It was a total blast and a real challenge to force myself to push big miles day after day after day. Which is why I'm changing my goals onto a different race; the Tour Divide. So I've got a little bit less than a year to start planning, packing, and training for the 2015 Divide. I hope I can really compete in the Divide race next year with a better understanding of how this style of racing works and hopefully more focused equipment that can help me ride faster and longer.

But first...off to bike tour!

Roller Coasterin' to the Coast

Head down, sweat dripping down off my nose, body weight back, focus on cadence. It was the first hill in quite some time. The heat was worse than the last time I rode toward the sky in Colorado. I pushed forward, grinding my thighs to get over the top of that rise. I wasn't quite sure what was over that rise. It wasn't like it was a marked pass, it was just a hill. I'd fire up over that last bit of incline and crest, only to see what I had not anticipated this early, the road was a never ending undulation. I slowed over that first incline, caught my breath and rocketed down only to crawl back up.

This is what the elevation plot looked like on Ride With GPS. That line is the MO/KS border, you can tell why I thought it was flat.

Crossing the Mississippi, to me, is crossing from West to East. Back to the Old New World.

This would become the rhythm that would carry me to the coast. I knew this was coming. Every time you talk to anyone who has ridden their bike from the West Coast to the East Coast, it's never the Rockies they complain about, it's the East Coast hills. The last time I rode these hills that stretch all the way into Canada, I was in NY and I remember attacking them in exactly the wrong way, taking all my might on the downhill trying to carry momentum up over the next rise, but physics says this only works if the next hill is smaller (insert some sort of fantastic Newtonian equation here). I had to stay calm and just treat this ride like it was any other, focus on cadence, always focus on cadence.

What sucks about heading East is that you have to crook your neck to see the magnificent sunsets. This is somewhere in KY.

The end of the road in IL, before crossing into KY on the ferry.

The rig was holding on strong. This was a free rec center crash in Lookout, KY. The best part was having hot coffee right away in the AM, oh and not descending those twisty KY roads in the dark.

I stayed calm. I stayed cool. Those hills would keep me in the running for top ten (apparently, climbing is where I excel, thank you Oakland). My zen like state from Kansas carried me into several late night rides that would turn into early morning rides. The weather was always cooler these times of day which helped, but that didn't stop me from blitzing through the afternoon heat. I would eventually catch Tom on the road in Illinois, the first rider I'd seen since Oregon. We wouldn't ride together long that first night, as I felt as if he was trying to lose me and I felt like getting lost. Shortly into Kentucky, I would then meet David, who I would also cross paths with time and time again.

Tom was a fast rider. At first he seemed a little into himself and his riding, but the road would humble him for sure making the last few days on the road with him very pleasant.

David on the other hand, was completely torn apart by an extra 300 miles, making him completely come loose. I dreaded meeting him on the road because it would be a never ending laundry list of complaints.

Across Missouri, Illinois, and Kentucky, the terrain never changed. Every day would be a series of pummeling rolling hills that would tear apart my thighs. It would slow Tom greatly and I think was the beginning of David's unraveling (by the last time I saw him he looked like he was smoking crystal meth for the past three weeks, not riding a bike, he was so haggard). Not only was the terrain grueling, Mike Hall had finished and the site for following the race recorded an extra 300 miles. I figured the site was wrong, but David was not. "190 miles a day now. That's what I need to do to finish by Sunday to catch my flight home," was David's plan.

Shit. That sounded awful. I didn't want to do that, but if I let David go, that would mean eleventh place. Top ten sounded like a goal I wanted. The last three days would be a real challenge of sleeping less, making one city further than my body wanted and just firing on all cylinders. Tom would spend a few nights riding straight through the dark, yet we stayed on his heels that is until the final night.

I spent so much money at the Co-Op in Carbondale, IL and went far out of my way, but I figure, everyone else gets sit down lunches/dinners, it's time for me to splurge. This lasted til about noon the next day. Calorie loading!

Lexington, VA had another sweet co-op. I was focusing on making Whole Foods in Charlottesville, but this was a worthy stop.

Coming into Charlottesville, I decided that I was done seeing David. His complaining and incessant bragging on all his Colorado ultra marathon bodies was getting old. I dropped him on the Blue Ridge Parkway (stunning views, btw, if I didn't want to drop David so bad, I would have definitely stopped for photos) and never looked back. I caught Tom at night coming into Charlottesville, but that would be the last time I'd see him as he'd ride straight into the night. I would nearly second his effort, sleeping from 11 PM to 3 AM, I was up before the sun (more importantly up before David) and out on the road. That day would be one of the ugliest as we'd now entered the East Coast suburban sprawl through Richmond. My head was dizzy from the heat caused by the pavement and cars. I was trying to stay on the bike to not give David a chance to catch me, but I was paying for it mentally. The food was thankfully good, but it was a challenge to keep from getting knocked by a passing mini-van. I was so glad to push on to the Virginia Peninsula and get out of the suburbs.

The Virginia Peninsula; the homestretch. I stopped at my final dumpy gas station stop along the way to get a Pepsi, that 3 AM start was starting to get to me. My mind was once again struggling to slog those final fifty miles. I just wanted to get off the bike. I was trying to focus on that beer at the end of the road.

Then Jamestown, enter the Colonial Parkway, this was it. You could call this the final sprint (4,100 mile race, 26 mile sprint? Sounds fair right?). The cobbled roadway felt great under my 35mm tires, and I love the rough stuff anyway. I was almost there. Emotions were welling as I pushed an 18 MPH pace across the Parway. A hurried tourist look through Colonial Williamsburg and the counter was at 17 miles to go (again, skipped out on pics). That last hour would pass in a blink of an eye. I was on the outskirts. My legs were now burning as I raced along the waterfront. The finish line was the monument up the hill. I salmoned up the one way toward the monument. At the intersection at the top I see a woman facing the opposite direction hey, that looks like my mom, I thought. I look across the street and see my dad. "YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!" That was the finish line, it wasn't a lonely gallop to a tired nap, it was a celebration. I had no expectation of my parents to be there, but they were waiting with cameras and of course beer. It was over. To say I was elated would be an understatement. This was the greatest accomplishment in my life and my amazing parents were there to share it with me. What a way to end a 4,100 mile blitz across the United States, huh?

Me and my mom at the finish

22 days with no beer make Patrick something something.

A Line Through the Lonely American Heartland

Photo courtesy of Newton Bike Shop

Outside of Pueblo, CO I got my best nights sleep outside. The warm air was rejuvenated me to a 3 AM start. I would pass Tom in the early morning hours. I was feeling inspired and ready, then I hit those roads I feared would come. Those roads I faced two years back in South Dakota. Those roads that point straight and flat, only disappearing where earth meets horizon. Those roads that test your mental will. Then the winds came. At first they'd blow at my back, then my side, then worst of all my face. They would force me to a crawl. Ed Pickup near the front said that someone was going to die in that Kansas wind. I knew exactly what he meant outside of Tribune, KS.

Ed Pickup trucking through the Kansas wind. Photo courtesy of Inspired to Ride (go sign up for their list!)

I arrived in Tribune after battling a fierce headwind. I posted up at the gas station for some sustenance and watched the wind dance. At first it slowed, the flags went limp. It wasn't long before it returned with a vengeance, kicking up sand and dust. Scott City was 60 miles away and my goal for the day, with a touch of daylight and the confidence of riding these straight flat warm roads at night I pushed off eastbound. The wind was fierce, blowing southbound. A gust came and knocked my front wheel toward the double yellow. I fought back and mapped my wheel to the solid white. I felt the next one coming and tried to lean into it, only for it to let go too soon and now I was heading for the ditch. It was futile. I parked in a nearby picnic area and called it a night.

Photo courtesy of Jonathan

Jonathan and myself pointing our respective directions of travel.

Trans Am cockpit (yes that is an American Flag handkerchief, an epic replacement for my black one that flew off while riding out of Dillon, MT)

I survived the windy night, thankfully with zero tornadoes. Tom would push on through that terrifying storm on to Scott City. I was now in eleventh and felt that catching David and Tom was impossible. I was now content on just riding my own ride. My friend Jonathan would give me a morale boost along to Larned. From there I would ride incredibly overnight to Nickerson, lightning in the ever expansive Kansas sky would entertain me across the grasslands. It was a quick turnaround in the morning out of Nickerson and I was right back on David and Tom's heels. In Newton the great folks at Newton Bike Shop gave me some relaxation, a tuneup, and thankfully a shoe repair (if that happened anywhere else it could have been a catastrophe). One more night sleeping under the Kansas skies before I made Pittsburgh, KS. It seemed that the part I was dreading the most passed in an instance.

Post by Newton Bike Shop.

Newton Bike Shop

Caffeination + cool drink = GOLD Photo courtesy of Newton Bike Shop

High mile days and I was through it, and all on my lonesome as well. I noticed the dots on trackleaders all seemed to be riding in pairs to some extent; Paulo and Giorgio, Adam and Juliana, Tom and Dave. Me? I was on my own. The last racer I saw was Nathan on day two and now on day 15 I was pushing those miles by myself and my mind was able to stay focused. I had defeated the mental part, but would my legs be ready for what was next?

What did you eat?
Being vegan on this bike ride was no easy task. Leaving the liberal mountainous West, where veganism is mildly accommodated with Clif Bars and well stocked grocers, and entering the American heartland, where vegan was hardly in the dictionary, meant my options became quickly limited. Kansas was tough, Missouri, Kentucky, and Illinois would be tougher. Seeing a real food market would be exciting, but when I didn't have that, this is the gas station fair I relied on.

• Keebler Vanilla Sugar Wafers
• Little Debbies Snack Pies
• Munchies Honey Roasted Peanuts (honey is arguably vegan I know)
• Munchies Peanut Butter Sandwhiches
• Nutter Butters
• Fritos Bean Dip
• Naked Fruit Smoothies
• Baked Lays Potato Chips
• Giant Bagged Pickles
• As much peanut butter as possible
• Pretzels
• Nature Valley Crunchy Peanut Butter (Dollar General carried these, of all things, these are what made me most sick)

How the West Was Lost

The start was an awkward push off as racers crossed and criss-crossed paths all day. I spent the day chatting with many racers before finally clocking in a 240 mile day, my first and only of such length in the race. I felt good, as if I kept this pace I'd most certainly finish near the top. When I woke the next morning and saw that the top racers were already blitzing ahead across the Oregon landscape, clearing the next pass, I realized that maybe I wasn't as hot shit as I thought I was. It was a lesson I'd have to tell and retell myself over and over and over. This was my race, my ride, I had to take it at my own pace, I cannot control how others ride, only myself. But that didn't sink in for a while as the next two days I'd continue finding myself chasing wheels.

The start in Astoria at 5 AM.

243. Ouch.

At first chasing racers worked well for me. Going over McKenzie Pass and out past Prineville on day two I'd pass and catch several riders finally camping out with Nathan for the end of day two.

McKenzie Pass was one of the most beautiful spots in the race and it was day two. Blue Ridge would take second on the second to last day. Fitting.

"What time is it?" I mutter to Nathan across the dark of the early morning.
"4ish" he was already sitting upright wrapped in his bag. I uncinched my head from my bag and the cold air rushed into my face. "You coming?" he asked.
"I don't know. It's cold. I think I'm going to stay here for a bit." This too would be the never ending story of the West, and probably half the reason I'd sleep in every morning. I laid their stagnant til the sun came up. I would eventually rise and refind my rhythm. I caught Nathan and would pass him that day and never look back, I was now onto the next wheel of Julianna, the women's World Cycle Race record holder and an absolute beast rider. I decided I'd fight to stay on her wheel, that meant riding late into the night to Halfway, OR and trying to wake up early again the next day, Julianna is not necessarily fast, but she is super disciplined on her sleep, which I am very much not. That next morning I actually did succeed in getting up early, but a cold night's rest had me tossing and turning in Halfway and I had to lay down shortly after in my ride to regain that much needed sleep back. She would take off down the road and I once again was playing catchup. On the other side of Lolo pass I closed in again, but the cold forced me weary once more and she went off into the night as I laid out my bag.

So many passes in the West!

The fine folks at Inspired to Ride interviewed me in Grangeville, while I stuffed my face. Photo source: Inspired to Ride

I'd always wanted to go to Montana. I saw no bears, but saw a lot of bunk weather. I was disappointed that I didn't get to stop over in Missoula. Someday...

This was a brutal headwind. That is a laugh of delirium not joy. Photo source: Inspired to Ride

By this point I was really sick of the cold, but things were about to get much much worse. I splurged for a hotel in Dillon, MT to keep out of the cold for one night but more was to come. Rain, hail, lightning, and headwinds slowed me to a crawl into West Yellowstone. When I finally arrived in West Yellowstone I had a decision to make. The sun was nearing the horizon, which meant temperatures were about to drop. Weather.com told me an expected low of 32 degree. My bag rated 55 degrees. I had to make a plan. I pushed down hot McDonald's coffee and thought it over and devised a plan; My goal; get the fuck over Yellowstone and sleep in the hopefully less chilly Tetons that night. I enter the park with the sun behind the trees. Traffic was backed up for miles. I pull around it and finally reach the cause of the traffic; bison. These terrifying beasts were just trotting along the road. I had to hop off and walk, trying to keep cars between me and them so I didn't get gored. That cost me not only time in the race, but more importantly time of warm air. I was finally able to get around them and I started racing toward Craig's Pass. Going up was not so terrible, but once I hit the pass I donned every article of clothing I had and it was nowhere near enough. I even got smart and stuffed my jacket with my Tyvek ground sheet; not enough. I survived to West Thumb, where I remember pockets of warm air from the springs a few years back, but they weren't there now, the air was just too cold. Instead I laid out with my mylar blanket and all my clothing. It was a tough nights sleep. I was definitely cold, but the mylar blanket kept me alive for sure, especially at about 5 AM when snow started falling. I tried to wait out the warm sun, but the sun never warmed anything, by about 7 I finally forced myself out of bed and on the bike. I hit the lodge, which was open an hour before and where I should have gone straight to, this was one of my biggest regrets thus far, I screwed the pooch on this one, I could have salvaged that morning but I didn't. The lodge had a vegan breakfast burrito (not very tasty) and hot coffee (taste didn't matter). I stayed in that lodge for damn near an hour and a half. Juliana was up the road and most certainly out of striking distance. I didn't care. I needed to recover. The doubts swirled. Why was I doing this? Why was I punishing my body so? Was it worth it? The thought of last failure swirled up and I just couldn't face that level of defeat, especially knowing that this would be the worst of the cold and that it would get better. I saddled up and pushed off toward the Tetons.

A typical Yellowstone traffic jam

As the day proceeded the weather never let up. It snowed on and off until I was well past the Tetons. At first it felt reminiscent of commuting in the Buffalo snow, but unlike Buffalo, there are downhills here and they were freezing. I had to stop at every lodge or gas station to recover my heat. It took everything I had left mentally to pass on through that cold and get to Lander that night. I nestled up in the school yard for another cold miserable night and dreading the next days 120 miles of serviceless Wyoming desert.

Serious lifesavers, seriously. Next time though, I will be carrying a SOL Bivy at the least.

That desert would be extremely kind to me to start, starting with a blessed tailwind only to be turned into the most brutal headwind ever encountered, on a heavily trafficked hot roadway to boot. I looked off into the flat distance to see the final climb, but it never felt like it was getting closer and when it finally did, I was toast, and it's not even like the hill covered the wind, no, instead I had to climb while sucking down those winds. I skinny geared it to the top, not even concerned about speed, but rather just making it, with no other option, I did. It started to seem that every obstacle would be thrown in my way before I finally finished these damned mountains, as once again a cold night would lead to windier riding the following day. All this brutality, wind, cold, rain, hail, snow, led me to get a second motel the day before the 12,000 ft pass, which intimidated me, why? I'm not sure, because the next day would be one of the better ones.

Hotel exhaustion selfie. Trying to put on every article of clothing I had. Need to cover those shins and get a better jacket for sure.

The climb to Hoosier Pass would be full of services along beautiful resort towns and lavishly green lawns spreading along rivers. The good food and good views and anticipation of clearing my final gap over the Continental Divide had my legs buzzing and before I knew it I went from 7,000 ft to 12,000 ft and found myself dropping down toward the flats of Colorado but before then I'd be hit with a terrible surprise; CO 9. This road that I, for whatever reason, assumed was flat would be a roller coaster of steep climbs. Stunning scenery this time wasn't enough as the aspen trees, ranches, and gravel roads that meandered off to the visible distance were just images that passed, I couldn't process them as my legs were now toast. By the time I finally hit the descent I was ready to quit, but I knew that Canon City on the other side would have services to pull me back up, so with some slow rolling I finally made it. That was it. I was out of it. The climbing was done. The elevation plot was a flatline across the heartlands of  Colorado and Kansas. The best part was that I was still somewhat in the race, hovering about 30 miles behind Tom and 50 behind David sitting pretty in eleventh place.

Recorded lows of every place I slept (red indicates slept inside)*

6/7 - Eugene, OR - 50°

6/8 - Mitchell, OR - 43°

6/9 - Halfway, OR - 52°

6/10 - White Bird, OR - 45°

6/11 - Victor, MT - 55°

6/12 - Dillon, MT - 44°

6/13 - Yellowstone, WY - 35°

6/14 - Lander, WY - 38°

6/15 - Saratoga, WY - 43°

6/16 - Kremmling, CO - 37°

6/17 - Wetmore, CO - 56°

6/18 - Tribune, KS - 55° (SUPER WINDS!)

6/19 - Nickerson, KS - 69°

6/20 - Toronto, KS - 72°

6/21 - Fair Grove, MO - 69°

6/22 - Johnsons Shutin State Park, MO - 66°

6/23 - Eddyville, IL - 70°

6/24 - Rough River, KY - 67°

6/25 - Kirksville, KY - 69°

6/26 - Lookout, KY - 67°

6/27 - Radford, VA - 68°

6/28 - Charllottesville, VA - 70°

*Temperatures pulled from weather.com of the recorded low of the following day, since the recorded low is usually earlier in the AM.

Trans Am 2014: Preface

Source: www.transambikerace.com

In 2012 I rode from my parents house in Medford, NY to my new home in the Bay Area. I finished this 5,000 mile journey in 80 days. People were impressed by this number, they said I went fast, especially considering I had no idea what I was doing and I was carrying far too much stuff. Once I had settled into the Bay Area I noticed there was this huge gap between the ocean that my parents live on and the one that I lived on and I thought to myself I wonder how quick I can cross this country if I did it smarter and gave it more effort.

Fast forward 2014; somewhere clicking around the internets I found the Trans Am Bike Race, basically the same concept as the Great Divide Mountain Bike Race only instead following the 1976 Trans Am Bike Route also promoted by the Adventure Cycling Association. It seemed like an interesting challenge, there was no cost to put my name on the list, so I did, not really sure if I wanted to do it, the doubts would swirl and swirl and swirl.

"Hey, you're Patrick Dowd right?" a bearded bike Oakland native, Morgan approached me after the FWOD alleycute.
"Yeah, whatsup?"
"You're doing the Trans Am right?" he must have seen my name with Oakland under it on the website.
"Uh...Maybe? I haven't really decided, seems like it might be too much."
"You should do it, I'm signed up for it, do it." I still wasn't sure, but I kept running into Morgan and he kept prodding and pushing. Finally, one day when it was me him and Joey (an Oakland native who would start the), I made the decision right there, "I'm doing it". Shortly after I found out Morgan wasn't doing it, which I couldn't help but laugh at. I know he really wanted to do it and it just wasn't feasible for him, but he still pressured me into it with a sense of "I'm doing it, you should do it" and now he was out. Nevertheless I was in.

Now I'm on the other side. 22 days, a mysterious mile count somewhere between 4100 and 4400 (I'll get to that later on in these transmissions), a whole hell of a lot of pain, and not a lot of sleep I'm now in NY gently resting my legs at my parents house. I made it. It was touch and go at times, but isn't it always? Nothing is ever a sure bet is it? But here I am and in the coming days my story will make its way to the print of these webpages. Hope you enjoy it, but I already am afraid that these words will never come close to the levels of emotion, struggle, and sheer joy that came from the last three weeks and a day. But what the hell it's worth giving a try.

DISCLAIMER: Do no expect a lot of pictures on these posts. I was actually racing this thing, not taking up racing spots to promote one of the most reprehensible bike companies, so I didn't stop to take out the phone to take many pictures. Which is a shame since the best blogging has pictures, but racing matters too! I may or may not "steal" (ALWAYS give credit, even if they don't ask to be credited!) photos, especially from Inspired to Ride, who are making a documentary on the race (they did the Ride the Divide movie) and took a lot of pictures.