SFR Fleche

In 1947 four French cyclists departed from Paris, France toward Provence, the traditional Easter gathering place of France. Armed with steel bicycles, handlebar bags, and dynamo lighting, they proved to ride 461km in 24 hours in honor of Paul Vivie, one of the earliest pioneers of randonneuring. This event was one of the first organized events of the Club Audaux Parisien, the worldwide organizer of randonneuring and host of the Paris-Brest-Paris.

Today it is not just in France. It is an event practiced worldwide such as Japan, Seattle, and of course right here by the San Francisco Randonneurs. While I was on my last journey with the San Francisco Randonneurs I was lucky enough to spend most of my day riding with John, Angela, and Ryan, at the end of the day, they invited me to join on this 24 hour extravaganza. It sounded like a challenge I couldn't pass up. I agreed. So the Friday before Easter we packed our bikes on top of John's car and headed East toward the mountains.

The Rules

One thing that is sort of frustrating about randonneuring are the archaic rules. The Fleche is full of whacky ones. Teams must consist of 3-5 machines (so no, one triple tandem does not count), ride for 24 hours, go at least 360 km, and try to ride as far as they can. All controls for us were open, with the exception of the 22 hour control, in which we must ride at least 25 km in the final 2 hours. No rest may be longer than two hours. If we fail to reach our destination but have ridden the allotted mileage we could stop and get a receipt to prove we finished. I hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Parting Shots of Yosemite Valley

This was my first time in Yosemite. It is some place. I wish I had more time to explore and hit some dirt tracks (there actually seemed to be some that were rideable).

You're doing it wrong.

John was adamant on getting that damn receipt; like a true randonneur.

The Ride

The ride profile was a hump and then a huge drop from the valley. That hump gave some pretty fantastic views.

Ryan enjoying those views.

Resting at the top.

Group;regroup.

Scars from the rim fire.

It's all your fault.

Covered bridge in Knight's Ferry.

The covered bridge of Knight's Ferry was built in 1862 after the original bridge was destroyed by the Great Flood. It is the longest covered bridge East of the Mississippi spanning 330 feet.

Knight's Ferry, CA was founded by Dr. William Knight in 1849, where he established a ferry crossing (hence the name).

Small town service, just the right amount of surliness from this hole in the wall.

Americana.

No matter where you are, you ain't far from home.

Goodbye sun.

The Safeway in Livermore was a godsend after 30 MPH+ headwinds out of Tracy into a tough 1600 foot Tesla Pass followed by a cold cold descent into town. We were starting to run behind though and didn't have much time to hang around.

7-11 coffee is the best coffee when it's 3 AM, especially since we were all starting to feel the cold and were now running behind schedule. Caffeine was the only thing to get me through this ride.

The inklings of morning.

Hello sun.

Back in the city.

SFR Russian River 300k

 

When I'm not riding my bike, I work as a stagehand for the IATSE 16 stagehand union. On days with a big crew call the days usually start the same, the steward gathers the troops and begins a simple safety speech. It's usually the same asking us to report injuries, work carefully, or where to meet in case of an emergency; the basic stuff. But last Thursday things were a little different, "Hey everyone, let's have a little patience working with the crew today, because...because...because Sean who helped on the load in slipped and fell on Sunday night, hit his head, had a slight concussion, went to sleep and never woke up." Just like that. That seemingly insignificant slip is what did him in, and all I could think is, life is too short to put this job before my true passion, so those rides I had planned for the weekend? I was going to ride them, if they called me or not.

Fast forward 6 AM Golden Gate Bridge Pavillion. Like every SFR ride I've ever participated in, I showed up just in time for SFR's own safety speech. I scrambled to get the bike check and my brevet card. The steady red lights started filing away on the bridge by the time I threw my leg over the bike. I started at the back of the pack.

The fog of the Bay can be truly stunning.

I raced to catch a group of 20-30 riders through Sir Francis Drake through Samuel P. Taylor (I don't like that these SFR rides always skip the Marin trail, one of my favorite bits of gravel to sprint down). Along this stretch coffee disposal was imminent, so I stopped and once again fell to the back. It was some solo riding from there on out, if that were to be my day it would be a long one, especially since my new MP3 player had inadvertently died. At about Petaluma I caught up with my friend Nat and his friends who thankfully would help distract the long stretches of riding with conversation.

John's Homer Hilsen. So many Rivs.

Or, so many bikes.

The group pulled into a paceline and zipped through the sunny flats around Santa Rosa toward the next checkpoint. It was of course around the next checkpoint that the group split up near Healdsburg. Continuing my strategy of getting lost and missing checkpoints, I went a mile down the road before I realized that I missed it. Good job me.

Lou was a true pleasure to ride with. He too had moved to the Bay by bike from the East Coast. His legs mostly get training from hauling tourists around San Francisco on a pedicab.

I love the Bay Areas consistently changing environments.

From Healdsburg to Bodega Bay was a windy tromp down the Russian River then down Highway 1. Once again we pacelined, but I pulled into the front right before a climb, when everything got split up. I don't know shit about cycling etiquette, is it okay that I went off the front? Either way, I pulled ahead. Clearly not that far as the group pulled in shortly behind me at Bodega Bay. Maybe I'll figure out how to handle riding with a group someday.

Bodega Bay

More bikes.

John. This checkpoint would have been beautiful if the sun were on the other side, damnit.

These folks were prepping up as we were landing. It was hard to gauge where we were among the other riders

It was only 20 miles between Bodega Bay and Marshall, the final checkpoint, but it felt much longer. People were starting to feel it, and so was I, especially as Highway 1 rolled up and down at the split toward Marshall. The sun was starting it's arch downwards, it had now been close to 12 hours out. By the time I reached the Marshall Store there was almost no one there. We regrouped at the Marshall store where everyone chowed down on chowder and beers. This was a rough stop as the only offerings for us pitiful vegans was a warm Coke and nothing to eat. It would be a struggle against the bonk from there on it.

Marshall store leanings.

Once we left Marshall, the lights were out. It was pure darkness. Everyone popped on their lights and we headed down the road. From Marshall it's a fun rolling descent with quick ascents to quicker descents. Riding alone at night is not fun and stressful so I made sure to try to keep together. We regrouped at turns and just chatted. Until, once again, my shittiness when it comes to riding together kicked in and I went off the front over the Nicasio climb. We regrouped at the bottom and slowly crawled in to the finish line.

French bread for a French ride. I also need to get better at dealing with flash.

195 miles was the total for me when it was all said and done. Starting at 6 AM ending at 10 PM it was one of the toughest rides I've ever done. I definitely could not have done this solo. I know that randonneuring can be a totally nerdy goofy niche in the world of cycling of riding, but there is something to be said about the "in this together mentality" as opposed to racing. I already am looking forward to the next rando event to push myself even further.