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bikingandbakingArgh, I had an entire ride report here, and Safari crashed and ate it while I was trying to add the image. Let's summarize with the photo while I go take out my frustrations by starting to put the gravel bike back together, and eventually I'll rewrite it (and take out this comment).
This was the second year that the NER 200k started by heading out towards Mount Wachusett, rather than north to New Boston. Last year I was at the March for Science and didn't ride it; the weather was as miserable here as it was in DC, and I'm kind of glad I didn't. This year's edition was almost entirely a new route despite having the same two main controls (the Wachusett visitor center and the pavillion at Purgatory Chasm), but those two points do define the character of the ride; one is on top of a ridgeline and on the shoulder of a mountain; the other is halfway down a plummeting descent off the Central Mass plateau. In between the terrain on a map is the usual rumpled quilt of the Central Mass plateau -- the bumps look small compared to the climb on and off it, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
The first thirty miles (32.9, to be exact) out to Wachusett were mostly roads I'd ridden in one direction or another when I'd done Pamela Blalock's Redemption Rock permanent, and I knew they'd be tough. So tough that the first control was untimed -- randonneuring rides normally require an average of 15 kilometers per hour (~9.3mph) throughout the ride, with intermediate timed stops reflecting that. That restriction would be lifted for only the first stop on this ride, to give people more time to make the hike to the base of the actual Wachusett climb. We started as we would continue, by turning out of the new Nashoba Brooks School onto the little climb up Strawberry Hill Road, where I lost the pack nearly immediately. After the tire shenanigans I mentioned before, I was starting fresh, rather than having ridden to the start, so I felt both slower and stronger, because I hadn't tired myself out any but I also hadn't warmed up my legs. I tried to keep spinning quickly and get my speed up to make the most of the flat section to Harvard; as some late-starters passed me, I would hang on for as long as I could, but as soon as we got to Harvard I was alone again.
The route took nearly the gentlest way up and over Harvard to Lancaster that exists, and I felt pretty good. I made sure to eat, because this was just the warmup. The real climbing started as soon as we crossed Route 70 in Lancaster onto George Hill Road. This one I remembered from Pamela's permanent as the first point where I had to walk, but this time I hadn't had to climb up Wataquadock Hill and whatever hill the aptly-named Long Hill Road goes over to get there, so I was fresher. I never contemplated walking this time, and I remembered (correctly) the next section as being uphill but manageable -- a series of fairly gentle ascents. Mount Wachusett poked its head out between the trees as if to say "don't you wish you actually had to climb the mountain today?" (answer: no), and a mild headwind wasn't helping, but it wasn't too bad. I was thinking I might well beat my estimate/goal of making the first control by 10:30 by a fair bit, which would also put it a few minutes within the minimum time if it was a timed control. But it would all depend on how bad the last push was.
The last few miles I also remembered from Pamela's perm, but that one only comes down that way; I remembered them being twisty, steep, sandy, and punctuated with steep rollers the other direction as well. That was accurate. The downhills weren't the sort one could build much speed on, and the last two miles were a series of uphill walls. I almost cleared the first one, but the road was covered in sand, and I could hear another rider behind me, so rather than swerve all over it and thrash my quads, I clicked out for the first walking stretch. The rider behind me gave up at about the same point; it was Harry on his recumbent, who I'd ridden with a little on the previous weekend's 300k (another ride report I owe this blog, who knows if I'll get it done.) He and his longer legs walked faster, and we both hopped back on our bikes when the grade calmed down a bit and slowly inched our way up. I lost sight of him when I stopped to take off my jacket; the weather was well on its way to actually-nice, and I was starting to overheat. I rode as much as I could, but spent enough time walking to put my estimate right on target; I pulled into the control at 10:30. (Well, I would have beaten it by a minute if I'd waited to take my jacket off. :) ) Filled up my bottles, stuffed a handful of potato chips in my face, and was out of the control in three minutes, all set to enjoy the next section.
I came charging around the side of the mountain, ready to hop onto Route 62 with its smooth pavement, gentle downhill, and wide shoulder -- while it's a big road, it's a nice one. And it still was, but the headwind that had occasionally gusted down through the trees on the backroads was funneling around the mountain right down the road and into my face, so no effortless 20mph cruise for me. I still made up some time, and then the route turned south, onto a road that was completely new. And gorgeous. Sheltered from the wind.
I still wasn't making great time, but I was slowly inching away from the limits, and even when all good things must come to an end (i.e. all flat roads must eventually find a hill), I was feeling good. My bike not quite as much, since it started squeaking whenever I went into low gears. Which I was going to need to do a lot of. But it rode OK, just noisily, so I ignored it and squeaked my way up to the Oakham gazebo control. (It turned out to just be a dry chain, oops.)
I had enough time squirrelled away that I actually stopped to drink a ginger ale and eat something, which I desperately needed; the downside of supported controls with water is that I don't stop for gatorade and thus am not getting calories/electrolytes in my drink. I left with at least ten minutes on the clock and headed south.
The next section ranged from rural to suburban and back again, passing through several small towns and the fringes of Worcester. Each of them seemed to have at least one steep climb; at this point, I was walking frequently. (And took a 4th place on strava on a hill I not only walked part of, but on which I stopped to put on sunscreen halfway up. Hah.)
They also all seemed to have their own endlessly deep blue lake; recent rain had all the lakes full to the brim, and there were some really beautiful sections on their shores. The climbs were relentless, but I wasn't feeling as bad about them now that I had a little time on the clock, and they were rollers, not an endless uphill, so there were a lot of fun descents and straightaways where I could admire the scenery.
Eventually I turned up along one more serene lake and the road started to look familiar, maybe. I was on a section I'd done only in the opposite direction, which meant I knew what was next; a steep valley, that I could generally climb without walking the other way, but had only done so on fresh legs. At least this time there wasn't any risk of ice on the descent. I probably could have made it up without walking if I'd had to, but rather than wobble in traffic I hopped off and trotted up the last little pitch, secure in the knowledge that it was all downhill from here to the Purgatory control.
When I got to Purgatory, Tsun and another rider were just heading out, although I wasn't 100% sure it was him -- he confirmed it later. (He'd taken off his jacket, so he was wearing the wrong color!) Anyway, I filled my bottles (more water, which wasn't really what I needed, but whatever), and crammed some portable food in my handlebar bag, and set out, prompting the control volunteers to point out how quickly I was leaving. Uh, yeah, because I knew the visitor's center a tenth of a mile away had real flush toilets and sinks, and that was a thing I wanted.
Now I was truly on the home stretch; I was coming home from Purgatory without having to climb up to Sutton, which made it easier. Plus it was easier than the route back from Purgatory on last year's version, which I'd ridden some of on a trip where I didn't go through Sutton.
There were, as I recalled, two upcoming hills, and then mostly downhill/flat/small rollers to the end. (Narrator voice: this recollection was only 2/3 correct.) The first hill hit, in stairsteps; the next one would have about the same climb but was shorter, yet the max grade was lower because it was a constant climb. That recollection was correct. The second one, I started squeaking my way up, through a fancy little golf-course community, and yes, it stayed an even grade, and I made it up without walking. Now to head downhill and flat and back. (....)
There were some little rollers on the next stretch, and I started getting really downcast. I wasn't making good time. I was tired, but there wasn't a headwind now. I just was creeping along. I made a deal with myself -- I'd text David and set up a ride home, because I was still making brevet speeds OK, but there was no way I was getting home before dark, and quite possibly not finishing before dark. I'd hoped for a 12-hour finish originally; this was looking like 13 was going to take pushing. The road pitched up again, I had to walk, so I sent that text. All set. Hooray. Now I just had to slog it out.
The road tilted back. Oh. There'd been a third climb of about the same height, but this one was mostly very gentle. I'd been on a false flat for several miles, which was why I felt so terrible. The hill I'd remembered on parallel roads to this on other Purgatory rides was a full ridgeline, and I'd crossed it. Whee. And now I really was on territory I knew, even if not all familiar roads. I popped onto my usual route back, and then off, avoiding a climb that was one of my usual fitness barometers. Soon enough I was on the one little odd section of this ride on a closed road, which let out onto the reverse of the season-opener 100k, roads I not only knew but were old friends. I looked at the clock, and at the mileage remaining. I could make 12:30, maybe. If I had enough in the tank. I texted David an updated ETA, though without the most optimistic (12:30, aka a 7:30pm finish) because I didn't want to admit the goal if I didn't make it. I clipped in and went for it.
I stopped once, to turn on my lights and swap my sunglasses; it wasn't going to be dark when I finished, but it wasn't going to be full light either. And then I plowed onwards, watching the time tick forward and the distance left tick downward.
12:25. My original 12-hour goal had came and gone early on, but I felt great for having made a new one and gone for it. Also, I was chafed in several places that weren't usually an issue -- I'd done too much climbing hovering over the saddle -- and desperately wanted off the bike, so I was just as glad I'd texted David. Plus, foooooooood. He'd made dinner for me and it was waiting at home.
A long story short: it was a stunningly beautiful course, with much better pavement than I expect on backroads, and also it was damn hard.
Well theyearshills start coming and they don't stop coming
Fed to the rules and I hit the ground running
This was the second year that the NER 200k started by heading out towards Mount Wachusett, rather than north to New Boston. Last year I was at the March for Science and didn't ride it; the weather was as miserable here as it was in DC, and I'm kind of glad I didn't. This year's edition was almost entirely a new route despite having the same two main controls (the Wachusett visitor center and the pavillion at Purgatory Chasm), but those two points do define the character of the ride; one is on top of a ridgeline and on the shoulder of a mountain; the other is halfway down a plummeting descent off the Central Mass plateau. In between the terrain on a map is the usual rumpled quilt of the Central Mass plateau -- the bumps look small compared to the climb on and off it, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
The first thirty miles (32.9, to be exact) out to Wachusett were mostly roads I'd ridden in one direction or another when I'd done Pamela Blalock's Redemption Rock permanent, and I knew they'd be tough. So tough that the first control was untimed -- randonneuring rides normally require an average of 15 kilometers per hour (~9.3mph) throughout the ride, with intermediate timed stops reflecting that. That restriction would be lifted for only the first stop on this ride, to give people more time to make the hike to the base of the actual Wachusett climb. We started as we would continue, by turning out of the new Nashoba Brooks School onto the little climb up Strawberry Hill Road, where I lost the pack nearly immediately. After the tire shenanigans I mentioned before, I was starting fresh, rather than having ridden to the start, so I felt both slower and stronger, because I hadn't tired myself out any but I also hadn't warmed up my legs. I tried to keep spinning quickly and get my speed up to make the most of the flat section to Harvard; as some late-starters passed me, I would hang on for as long as I could, but as soon as we got to Harvard I was alone again.
The route took nearly the gentlest way up and over Harvard to Lancaster that exists, and I felt pretty good. I made sure to eat, because this was just the warmup. The real climbing started as soon as we crossed Route 70 in Lancaster onto George Hill Road. This one I remembered from Pamela's permanent as the first point where I had to walk, but this time I hadn't had to climb up Wataquadock Hill and whatever hill the aptly-named Long Hill Road goes over to get there, so I was fresher. I never contemplated walking this time, and I remembered (correctly) the next section as being uphill but manageable -- a series of fairly gentle ascents. Mount Wachusett poked its head out between the trees as if to say "don't you wish you actually had to climb the mountain today?" (answer: no), and a mild headwind wasn't helping, but it wasn't too bad. I was thinking I might well beat my estimate/goal of making the first control by 10:30 by a fair bit, which would also put it a few minutes within the minimum time if it was a timed control. But it would all depend on how bad the last push was.
The last few miles I also remembered from Pamela's perm, but that one only comes down that way; I remembered them being twisty, steep, sandy, and punctuated with steep rollers the other direction as well. That was accurate. The downhills weren't the sort one could build much speed on, and the last two miles were a series of uphill walls. I almost cleared the first one, but the road was covered in sand, and I could hear another rider behind me, so rather than swerve all over it and thrash my quads, I clicked out for the first walking stretch. The rider behind me gave up at about the same point; it was Harry on his recumbent, who I'd ridden with a little on the previous weekend's 300k (another ride report I owe this blog, who knows if I'll get it done.) He and his longer legs walked faster, and we both hopped back on our bikes when the grade calmed down a bit and slowly inched our way up. I lost sight of him when I stopped to take off my jacket; the weather was well on its way to actually-nice, and I was starting to overheat. I rode as much as I could, but spent enough time walking to put my estimate right on target; I pulled into the control at 10:30. (Well, I would have beaten it by a minute if I'd waited to take my jacket off. :) ) Filled up my bottles, stuffed a handful of potato chips in my face, and was out of the control in three minutes, all set to enjoy the next section.
Didn't make sense not to live for fun
Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb
I came charging around the side of the mountain, ready to hop onto Route 62 with its smooth pavement, gentle downhill, and wide shoulder -- while it's a big road, it's a nice one. And it still was, but the headwind that had occasionally gusted down through the trees on the backroads was funneling around the mountain right down the road and into my face, so no effortless 20mph cruise for me. I still made up some time, and then the route turned south, onto a road that was completely new. And gorgeous. Sheltered from the wind.
I still wasn't making great time, but I was slowly inching away from the limits, and even when all good things must come to an end (i.e. all flat roads must eventually find a hill), I was feeling good. My bike not quite as much, since it started squeaking whenever I went into low gears. Which I was going to need to do a lot of. But it rode OK, just noisily, so I ignored it and squeaked my way up to the Oakham gazebo control. (It turned out to just be a dry chain, oops.)
I had enough time squirrelled away that I actually stopped to drink a ginger ale and eat something, which I desperately needed; the downside of supported controls with water is that I don't stop for gatorade and thus am not getting calories/electrolytes in my drink. I left with at least ten minutes on the clock and headed south.
So much to do, so much to see
So what's wrong with taking the back streets?
The next section ranged from rural to suburban and back again, passing through several small towns and the fringes of Worcester. Each of them seemed to have at least one steep climb; at this point, I was walking frequently. (And took a 4th place on strava on a hill I not only walked part of, but on which I stopped to put on sunscreen halfway up. Hah.)
They also all seemed to have their own endlessly deep blue lake; recent rain had all the lakes full to the brim, and there were some really beautiful sections on their shores. The climbs were relentless, but I wasn't feeling as bad about them now that I had a little time on the clock, and they were rollers, not an endless uphill, so there were a lot of fun descents and straightaways where I could admire the scenery.
Eventually I turned up along one more serene lake and the road started to look familiar, maybe. I was on a section I'd done only in the opposite direction, which meant I knew what was next; a steep valley, that I could generally climb without walking the other way, but had only done so on fresh legs. At least this time there wasn't any risk of ice on the descent. I probably could have made it up without walking if I'd had to, but rather than wobble in traffic I hopped off and trotted up the last little pitch, secure in the knowledge that it was all downhill from here to the Purgatory control.
You'll never know if you don't go
You'll never shine if you don't glow
When I got to Purgatory, Tsun and another rider were just heading out, although I wasn't 100% sure it was him -- he confirmed it later. (He'd taken off his jacket, so he was wearing the wrong color!) Anyway, I filled my bottles (more water, which wasn't really what I needed, but whatever), and crammed some portable food in my handlebar bag, and set out, prompting the control volunteers to point out how quickly I was leaving. Uh, yeah, because I knew the visitor's center a tenth of a mile away had real flush toilets and sinks, and that was a thing I wanted.
Now I was truly on the home stretch; I was coming home from Purgatory without having to climb up to Sutton, which made it easier. Plus it was easier than the route back from Purgatory on last year's version, which I'd ridden some of on a trip where I didn't go through Sutton.
There were, as I recalled, two upcoming hills, and then mostly downhill/flat/small rollers to the end. (Narrator voice: this recollection was only 2/3 correct.) The first hill hit, in stairsteps; the next one would have about the same climb but was shorter, yet the max grade was lower because it was a constant climb. That recollection was correct. The second one, I started squeaking my way up, through a fancy little golf-course community, and yes, it stayed an even grade, and I made it up without walking. Now to head downhill and flat and back. (....)
There were some little rollers on the next stretch, and I started getting really downcast. I wasn't making good time. I was tired, but there wasn't a headwind now. I just was creeping along. I made a deal with myself -- I'd text David and set up a ride home, because I was still making brevet speeds OK, but there was no way I was getting home before dark, and quite possibly not finishing before dark. I'd hoped for a 12-hour finish originally; this was looking like 13 was going to take pushing. The road pitched up again, I had to walk, so I sent that text. All set. Hooray. Now I just had to slog it out.
The road tilted back. Oh. There'd been a third climb of about the same height, but this one was mostly very gentle. I'd been on a false flat for several miles, which was why I felt so terrible. The hill I'd remembered on parallel roads to this on other Purgatory rides was a full ridgeline, and I'd crossed it. Whee. And now I really was on territory I knew, even if not all familiar roads. I popped onto my usual route back, and then off, avoiding a climb that was one of my usual fitness barometers. Soon enough I was on the one little odd section of this ride on a closed road, which let out onto the reverse of the season-opener 100k, roads I not only knew but were old friends. I looked at the clock, and at the mileage remaining. I could make 12:30, maybe. If I had enough in the tank. I texted David an updated ETA, though without the most optimistic (12:30, aka a 7:30pm finish) because I didn't want to admit the goal if I didn't make it. I clipped in and went for it.
I stopped once, to turn on my lights and swap my sunglasses; it wasn't going to be dark when I finished, but it wasn't going to be full light either. And then I plowed onwards, watching the time tick forward and the distance left tick downward.
12:25. My original 12-hour goal had came and gone early on, but I felt great for having made a new one and gone for it. Also, I was chafed in several places that weren't usually an issue -- I'd done too much climbing hovering over the saddle -- and desperately wanted off the bike, so I was just as glad I'd texted David. Plus, foooooooood. He'd made dinner for me and it was waiting at home.
A long story short: it was a stunningly beautiful course, with much better pavement than I expect on backroads, and also it was damn hard.
