Working in my favor I had what looked to be excellent weather – sunny and mild Saturday and Sunday with little wind – and intimate knowledge of most of the route.  The route would run in three loops originating and ending in Grove City: (1) a loop from Grove City to Marietta (250 miles), (2) then from Grove City to Jackson (189 miles), and (3) finally from Grove City to Hillsboro (another 189 miles).  With a return to Grove City after each loop, I could travel light and get some rest.  Think of it as three separate rides on three separate days.  Definitely an easier mental project than envisioning one ride of over 620 miles.  I’d ridden the first two loops previously (this would be my 4th trip this year to Marietta in one day, so I knew that terrain quite well) so I knew what to expect.  The third loop was unfamiliar terrain except from Chillicothe to Columbus which I knew quite well because it shows up on a lot of rides.  In fact, several of us had ridden those exact same roads returning from our one-day TOSRV earlier in the year after getting fed up with the traffic on SR 104.  The rest of that third loop couldn’t be that bad because it headed too far West – at least it couldn’t be as hilly as the first two loops which were darn right sadistic.

I’d also planned all year on riding the event (I wasn’t just diving into it on a whim) and my plan all along had been to do the ride conservatively.  The rules permit 75 hours to finish 1000K – just over three days.  With a pre-dawn start, my plan was to get decent sleep Saturday and Sunday and to finish early enough on Monday that I could get a good night’s sleep and work on Tuesday.  Technically, I could finish officially as late as 0800 Tuesday morning and still be “official,” so I only had to “make up” 12 hours on the minimum allotted time to keep with my planned ride, which seemed pretty reasonable.  I was planning on riding with Bob Waddell, our RBA, who is quite experienced and is the paragon, unlike me, of good judgment.  He had independently arrived at exactly the same plan, so having experienced company on the same page was a true blessing.

With all that rationalization firmly in place, I figured that I’d be ok even if I was short on sleep, overworked, and poorly prepared the week of the ride.  I at least had the good sense to stay at the Motel 6 that served as the ride start/finish the night before the event so I wouldn’t be scrambling around home in the wee hours of the morning.  Just roll out of bed and go.

As with all brevets, the group rolled out of the start slowly and largely stayed together.  There were 10 people riding the 1000K, including 4 folks who came in from Maryland.  Two of them were a young (younger than me!) tandem couple who looked strong and experienced.  They had a recent-vintage Santana Sovereign fully decked out with all the toys (including a GPS unit for the stoker).  This would be their longest ride, their previous long ride being a 600K.  There were also several people concurrently riding shorter events: 1 fella from New Jersey and two locals came to ride 600K and 4 local folks were riding 400K.  We’d be with the 400K riders for the whole day, but the 600K guys would turn off onto a different route just a few miles from the start. 

One of the 1000K riders, Frank, announced his intention to ride hard all day so that he could get back in time for the Ohio State/Texas game.  The game started at 7pm, so he was setting himself an ambitious project – I’d finished that same route just before 11pm earlier in the year and that was at a pretty decent pace.  No one was even remotely interested in joining Frank in that plan, so he quickly disappeared alone into the pre-dawn mist in pursuit of copious amounts of riding and football, both in the same day. 

The sun rose as we headed east toward the outskirts of Lancaster and by New Lexington (mile 63) we were ready for a snack at the first controle.  Frank was just departing as we arrived – he was only minutes ahead of us and we weren’t pushing the pace -- so his chances of seeing Ohio State football Saturday night were looking bleak unless he really torched it for the next 190 miles.  We were quick at the stop, as would be the case with all of our stops on this ride.

The ride down to Marietta is always pretty fast for some reason.  Maybe that it’s early in the day, the roads are exceptionally good, the scenery is fantastic, and there’s little traffic.  It’s technically down-hill to the Ohio River, but not much.  Whatever the case, we were at the controle in Marietta (mile 124) at 1:40pm, just in time for a late lunch at the Subway.  There was a festival going on in town – something celebrating the paddle-wheel river boats – but we didn’t get to see much of it.  By Marietta, our group had been winnowed down to Bob, Tim, Tom, and myself.  Tim tended to ride up the road a few minutes ahead of us but he ate with us and left the controle at the same time.  Frank was still up the road, but not by much.  As we were getting ready to leave the Subway, the tandem team and three other riders arrived – they were only 40 minutes behind us after 200K.  All the folks from Maryland remarked how hilly the ride was.  Bob took that as a compliment, and those of us in the know told them to bear up; they’d really not seen anything yet!

Just as the ride to Marietta feels easy, the ride out of it has always been very tough.  There’s no easy way to climb out of the Ohio River valley and we weren’t feeling the benefit of taking the easiest of the several ways out on State Route 550.  SR 550 is one of those “death by a thousand cuts” roads.  Once you complete the climb out of the valley (which really is quite easy), you then attain a ridge that you ride for about 20 miles, constantly dropping and then gaining back elevation in 50-foot increments.  The hills are too big and not steep enough to just power up and over, so your pace tends to yo-yo from 35 to 5 miles an hour as you drop down one hill, lose all your momentum, and then climb for a few seconds.  Repeat.  Doesn’t sound that bad, but do it for a few hours – with 125 miles in your legs – and it’ll take its toll.  I can’t recall the data, but there are many thousands of feet of climbing on this little stretch of road.  Yikes!

By Glouster (mile 169), everyone was looking forward to a break.  I’d gotten 5 minutes or so up the road from everyone else on this leg, but Bob, Tim, Tom, and I left Glouster together at about 5:45pm.  By Marietta Road (miles 188 to 200), the sun was beginning to set, which was just fantastic.  This is one of my favorite roads anywhere and riding West at sunset on a cool evening through the hills and fields of southern Ohio was just a fantastic, beautiful experience. 

At Bremen we put on our night gear (lights; reflective stuff) and prepared for the short ride to Lancaster (mile 212) where we had “dinner” at the Dairy Queen.  That it was the night of a big game was a blessing as traffic was light.  Lancaster is a bad town for riding through in general and Saturday night pretty much anywhere is a bad time to ride a bike, with all the drunken fools on the road.  Thankfully, most people were plopped in front of the tube, so we didn’t have the usual heavy traffic and drunken-driver issues that we’d experienced on previous rides.  After a burger (too chilly for ice cream), the ride back to the start at Grove City went surprisingly quickly and we were at the hotel (mile 251) in short order at 11:53pm.   

Sadly, the ride’s only casualty occurred just a few miles from the hotel: a juvenile opossum was playing in the middle of White Road.  We saw it in time to slow down and it looked to be heading off to the left.  At the last second, though, it did a 180 and appeared right in front of my wheel.  I braked but had riders to my right so I held my line, let off the brakes just before impact, and then hit the poor little guy.  Somehow I avoided going down but I doubt things turned out so well for the opossum, who got rolled pretty good and then bounced off my right foot.  Thankfully, too, we were near the controle so I only had to endure a few miles of animal cruelty accusations from my companions before we arrived.

As we all said good night, the plan was to meet at the Waffle House at 5:15am and ride at 6:00 on Sunday morning.  By the time I got something to eat, cleaned up me and the bike, and got my stuff ready for the morning it was 1:00am, which meant 4 hours of sleep.  Doesn’t sound like much, but on a long brevet it’s a lot of sleep and if all you have to do the next day is ride a bike, it’s positively luxurious. 

The All-Star breakfast at the Waffle House (2 eggs, grits, toast, bacon, a waffle, and three cups of coffee) seemed excessive but quickly disappeared and we were right on schedule, departing at exactly 6am.  Just as Bob, Tim, Tom, and I were leaving, Frank pulled up and joined us.  He’d gotten in with time to see the last half of the game (Ohio State 24, Texas 7, by the way) and would ride with us on the second day.  This was the big climbing day.  The route to South Bloomingville (mile 311) passes through Fairfield and Hocking counties and climbs several big hills including Buena Vista and Rock House.  The thick morning fog had burned off to reveal another perfect, sunny day by the time we arrived there at about 10:30am and sat down to a leisurely snack.  As we were departing, the tandem pulled in along with one of the other folks from Maryland.  The tandem team was looking exceptionally strong and remarked on the hilliness of the terrain.  Bob again took this as a compliment and we all warned them that the worst of the ride was still to come.

The route from South Bloomingville to Jackson (mile 344) was comparatively flat (although Goose Creek Rd. climbs absolutely forever) and we arrived there in the early afternoon.  After more fuel, we were soon off for a long, hard stretch.  Feeling good we picked up the pace on Limerick Road, which is a beautiful, desolate rolling stretch of road.  It was desolate in part because the sign as we turned onto it had warned that the road was closed to all but local traffic 4.5 miles ahead.  Even though in Ohio this means that a bridge is out, we ignored this ominous warning without even a pause.  About 15 minutes later we saw what someday would be a nice, new bridge.  Today, though, it was just a few I-beams across a sizeable creek about 20 feet below.  The banks were steep and muddy.  The vote was unanimous to cross.  I don’t especially care for heights and these seemed like especially skimpy I-beams.  Tim positively ran across and came back to fetch my bike from me.  He also fetched one of my shoes for me, which I’d foolishly attempted to throw across the chasm (hey, seemed like a good idea at the time) and missed by mere inches.  Frank hated heights as much as I did and we slowly picked our way across the span.  Safely on the other side we traveled on. 

Perhaps wanting to demonstrate to the others that our strength was in riding and not so much in high-wire routines, Frank and I took off in a friendly but competitive drag race.  Bob came with us for a bit but experience, good judgment, and the blistering pace – 25mph or better -- quickly prevailed and he backed off.  Frank, too, eventually quit the game but not before we'd covered better than 5 miles of good, old-fashioned cat-and-mouse with 360 miles in our legs.

When I hit the end of the road, I sat up and reconnected with everyone else.  Together again, the group rode easy for a few miles and then we turned onto Poe’s Run, which is the bad boy of the ride.  Coming at mile 369, Poe’s Run climbs steadily for 2.9 miles and then turns sharply upward for .32 miles.  A third of a mile doesn’t sound too bad, but consider that in that third of a mile, the road gains 245 feet of elevation.  That’s an average grade of 15%, and the top pitch weighs in at 23%, which if you’re on a bike looks nearly vertical.  Add to the mix that the pavement is severely uneven and the road is always strewn with gravel and leaves.  Of course, given all these considerations, Frank, Tim, and I had to race up it.  I won a decisive, but costly victory with Frank beating out Tim by about 10 yards.  Tom and Bob were far more sane and took their time, which thankfully allowed the rest of us some recovery at the top. 

There was no rest for the weary, though.  Thornsprung – the second worst climb of the ride topping out at 21% -- came just 10 miles later!  Fortunately, after that the hills got left behind for the day as we descended from the foothills of the Appalachians onto the Pickaway Plain and soon arrived in Circleville (mile 398) at about 5:30pm.  From Circleville it’s pretty much flat for the remainder of the ride, with a few hills as we dropped down into and then climbed out of the Big Darby Creek drainage.  We’d worried about this part of the ride because it can be monotonous and if the wind is blowing, unforgiving as there are no trees to block any breezes.  Fortunately, it was a calm evening and we made excellent time to Harrisburg (mile 421), where we stayed only long enough to don our night gear and then set off for the hotel.  The short ride back to Grove City took us past the state prison at Orient, and we must have been there for a shift change because the traffic was surprisingly heavy.  It’s a massive facility.  They even have their own field full of cows (I guess there’s an Ag program in addition to the usual license plate shop at the state pen).  I think it was also on this part of the ride that we saw two wild boars playing by the side of the road.  We’d seen a heron earlier in the day, too.  Fortunately, I didn’t run any of this wildlife over.

We arrived back at the hotel (mile 437) at about 8:45.  The plan was, once again, to get a good night’s sleep and meet at the Waffle House at 5:15am Monday morning.  We’d have another 300K – 186 miles – to ride until the end.  If all went well, we’d do that by the early evening hours.  It would certainly help that we’d have a pretty good night’s sleep to work with.  Everyone still looked strong and no one was suffering any ill effects of 700K of riding in 40 hours, so we were hopeful that we’d do just fine the next day.  With the luxury of extra time, we all piled into Bob’s car and made off for a Chipotle up the road.  Beans and rice were just what the doctor ordered. 

Six hours of sleep and another All-Star Wa-Ho breakfast later, we set off again at 6am sharp.  The pace was initially pretty slow and Frank, who had not joined us for breakfast, caught us and said he was going to motor on to “get the ride over with.”  I was tempted to join him, but some quick math still had us arriving back at the hotel around sunset even at the slower pace, which was fine with me so I let him go. 

The ride to Washington Courthouse (mile 481) was completely uneventful.  Much of this was new terrain for me; I’d not ridden extensively in Fayette County.  I knew Washington-CH well, though, as I have a case there.  It’s got a great old courthouse in the middle of town that had been shot up at the turn of the last century.  Apparently some locals wanted to bust a guy out of the jail and lynch him.  I can’t recall just what he’d done that riled everyone up so good.  The militia was called out and held the courthouse for some time, but the locals eventually stormed it.  The militia ended up shooting through the doors of the courthouse at the mob.  The shot – which must have been .50 caliber – easily penetrated the several-inches-thick doors and I think some folks were killed.  The original doors are still there, complete with seven bullet holes.  The foyer of the courthouse is dark, so as you stand in it and look toward the doors you see beams of sunlight filtering through the bullet holes.  It’s pretty eerie.  There’s also a fantastic diner in Washington-CH – aptly named The Courthouse Diner – which I can highly recommend.  I'm told that more justice got administered and more deals struck in that diner than in the neighboring courthouse.  I believe it.  Breakfast had happened just a few miles back, so I couldn’t interest anyone in a stop there.  Too bad.

The next leg of the ride took us to Hillsboro (mile 511), which is aptly named.  The terrain is strongly rolling but I don’t recall any big climbs.  This would be fun country for riding the tandem; with the extra power and momentum, you’d carry over most of the rollers.  This stretch of the trip and the next one to Greenfield (mile 535) had some of the most beautiful riding on the route.  We passed through two state parks on great roads that ran along ridges and beside creeks and lakes. 

Tim, it turns out, was riding an ancient Schwinn Le Tour 12-speed bike that he’d bought for $10.  His only concession to modernity was putting a compact 50/34 crank on it, which was probably worth 30 times what the rest of the bike was valued at.  All morning he’d had difficulty shifting the rear derailleur, and it turned out that the cable was badly frayed.  Afraid of breaking it, he opted to ride the rest of the ride with only two gears – 50-18 and 34-18.  Leaving Greenfield, he announced that he was likely to be slow, so he set off a few minutes ahead of us insisting that we’d catch him.

In Greenfield, we also reconnected with Frank.  He’d somehow gotten off route and ended up with some bonus miles.  Frank stopped only briefly and then departed while the rest of us enjoyed a more leisurely stop. 

About 15 minutes later, Bob, Tim, and I departed the Burger King.  The route to Chillicothe (mile 574) was rolling with the ride’s last significant climb on Potts Hill.  The rain had also started to fall during our stop, and it was in the high-60s.  When Tom and Bob soon stopped to put on their rain gear, I announced that I was pushing on.  I didn’t have rain gear and I didn’t want to stop or slow down for fear of getting chilled.  I quickly lost sight of them and began riding hard – both to stay warm and because the rolling terrain favored aggressive riding.  I was surprised when I caught Frank and we continued to push on at an aggressive pace.  When he found out that Tim was up the road and not behind me with Bob and Tom, he picked up the pace, clearing wanting to catch Tim.

When we arrived in Chillicothe, Tim was just departing.  We made our stop brief and then set off for the final leg home.  We quickly caught Tim on Egypt Road, which is a decent climb.  Very slowly, we started to reel Tim back in.  We were within grasp when Frank broke a rear spoke, which necessitated slowing down to about 17mph so he could open up his rear brake enough to ride without the rims hitting the braking surface.  The wheel came surprisingly out of true, but it was rideable so long as he took it easy in the corners.

We had Tim back in our sights as we hit the last climb of the ride – the short hill on SR316 coming out of Darbyville (mile 606).  I told Frank that we should really hit it and take him on the climb and Frank was more than game, giving it everything he had.  We crested and made the turn onto Matville Road only about 5 seconds behind Tim.  Employing some strategery, we stayed back until we’d fully caught our breath.  If we’d pulled up on Tim huffing and puffing, he might have attacked us, but coming up on him casually, as if catching him had been no big deal, we would hopefully deter any moves on his part and we could all ride into the finish together.  Seems silly as I write this, but at the time -- sleep deprived with nearly a 1000K under my belt -- it seemed like the height of rationality and race strategy!

This ended up working out perfectly.  I pulled the rest of the way in at a pace high enough to keep anyone from trying anything sneaky.  Coming back into Grove City at rush hour wasn’t so much fun, but riding as quickly as we were, we were soon back at the hotel and done with the ride, some 624 miles under our belts in 62 hours and 14 minutes.  We’d averaged more than 21mph during the last 50 miles, and that included urban riding in Chillicothe and Grove City.  That’s a blistering pace under any circumstances, and coming at the end of a 1000K it really blew me away that I could ride that fast.  Handshakes all around.   

Bob and Tom arrived about 45 minutes later.  Tim, Tom, and Frank took off for home and Bob and I grabbed a well-earned steak up at the Texas Roadhouse up the street before I loaded up and headed for home.  Everyone else would finish sometime that night.  The finish rate on the 400K and the 600K was an amazing 100%.  Only one rider didn’t finish the 1000K – one person abandoned at the 700K mark.  That’s an outstanding success rate, especially on such a tough course, and Bob was justly proud of the riders.  Amazingly, the route had over 28,900 feet of climbing on it – that’s nearly from sea level to the summit of Everest!  And all my friends out West insist that Ohio is flat!

As for the lessons....  What made the ride so successful was the pacing.  I’d ridden brevets very conservatively all year with the result being that I’d had a lot of fun, got to meet more people, and felt great after the ride.  I’d hammered on the 1200K last year to break 65 hours and although I was very pleased with the result, it took a solid month to recover fully from the experience.  This time I finished on Monday night and felt well enough to ride competitively with the “A” group at the local club ride Thursday night.  No weight loss.  No trashed leg muscles.  No stiffness.

Also, until this ride, I’d though it impossible to have negative splits (faster at the end than at the start) in a multi-day event.  This ride really proved that wrong.  The last 300K of the brevet was by far the fastest and the strongest and I was able to ride the last 50 miles of the 1000K in 2:20 -- a whopping 21.4mph average!  And that was without drafting.  And with a calm wind.  By comparison, on last year’s 1200K, I couldn't ride more than 12mph for the last few hours of the ride on completely flat terrain.  I’d burned up all my matches already.  Does sleep make a difference?  I imagine so, but I had only 1 hour more of sleep on the 1000K than on the 1200K.  I think the real difference was going out at a pace that I could maintain forever.  Part of that was never drafting.  I rode beside folks or behind them enough that I was out of the draft.  I’m thinking that riding my own ride completely forced me to focus on pace a lot more than when I’m contributing to a common pace that’s usually more aggressive than that which I can sustain entirely on my own.

submitted by Paul Rozelle

Mohican 300k Brevet  - Winter Returns

To those of you that decided to brave the elements yesterday in Ohio’s Mohican 300k Brevet – my hat goes off to you. The return of winter certainly presented the ultimate challenge. The weekend forecast became progressively worse as the week progressed. On Friday night it was raining steadily with the threat of 90% chance of rain, wind of 25-30mph and possibility of changing to snow with temperatures in the 40’s and dropping to the low thirties. After much deliberation the decision not to cancel the event was made since temperatures were to remain above freezing and road surfaces were warm from the past weeks sunny weather. Of the 34 pre-registered riders only 10 decided to participate. For those that chose not to ride, that was a very wise choice. This ride required every ounce of determination you could muster. Starting without that determination would surely have resulted in a call for the sag wagon.

Before retiring for the preparatory sleep everyone was glued to The Weather Channel radar hoping that the front would push through overnight leaving us with the possibility of some light lingering rain or snow flurries. At 5 AM we awoke to the dreaded sound of rain drops on the roof; not drizzle, but a steady pouring rain with the temperature at 42 degrees. A quick look at the radar showed that the whole state was covered by a sea of green that appeared to be fairly stationary. Yuck! As the riders assembled and checked in the faces were long. A few words of encouragement and attempts at humor were greeted with grunts and forced smiles. It’s always the RBA’s fault when the weather is bad. He should know in September that April 23^rd is going to be the worst day of the year to be riding a bike and should have avoided it like the plague. The forecast now was for 100% chance of an all day rain with 2-3 inches of possible snow developing later in the evening, but again no expected accumulation on roads since temperatures were to remain above freezing. I elected to proceed with the event with some words of advice to the participants about staying warm and the possibility of hypothermia. This was not going to be your average April brevet in Ohio. (You folks in Seattle are probably laughing at us.)

Needless to say, it was a long tough day. The cold rain along with other personal and mechanical factors convinced the first rider to bale out at the first control. The remainder of the group pushed on to Wooster and Coshocton. One rider had an unfortunate meeting with the pavement while crossing a wet, slippery RR track as approaching the Wooster control. He seemed to be OK and chose to continue on. I learned later that another rider fell on a diagonal track on the outbound side of Wooster and tore a gaping hole in his tights, but no injury. A secret control was set up by Don Hamilton at the Guggisberg Cheese Factory (142k) where he and Phyllis served hot vegetable soup to help the riders stay warm. At Coshocton (180k) the weather started to take its toll on everyone despite the fact that there had been a substantial tailwind. The road ahead promised much climbing, headwinds and rain that was transitioning to sleet and snow. The temperatures had now dropped into the 30’s.  As the non-existent sun would set near the end of the next control section, the temperatures would dip into the mid to low thirties. As I drove to meet the volunteer at Loudonville there were snow squalls that erupted in the higher elevations. One of the riders that fell in Wooster decided not to continue since pain in his bruised hip was increasing and hitched a ride back to the start with the control volunteer after the control closed. The remaining 8 riders left Coshocton in pairs except for the last 2 riders that left within 10 minutes of each other. At Loudonville (255k) the first 4 riders arrived, fueled up and reluctantly proceeded toward the Mohican State Park to retrieve the info control data and head for the end. Rider 5 decided that he was done. Cold hands and feet were causing symptoms of hypothermia and he did not want to risk getting caught in the middle of nowhere without support; a very wise decision considering the circumstances. At his point the DNF chain reaction began. Rider 6 decided to hang it up as well rather than wait for the last 2 riders to finish as a group in the cold dark precipitation which by now was mostly blowing snow. Another hour passed and the final 2 riders had not yet made it to the control. A volunteer decided to back track the route to check their progress. Rider 8 was discovered a few miles out, but rider 7 had not been seen by rider 8 or the volunteer. After a bit of worrying by the volunteer staff, he came rolling into the control. He had flatted and went to a nearby house to get out of the wind and use the farmer’s porch lights to help make the repair.  Since he would be the sole rider in the dark night and 2 hours behind the only finishers, he also decided to pack it in.

The four finishers made it to the finish at 16:23 hours and 17:18 hours with flourishes of gratitude that they made it to the end. For these 10 riders it was a very challenging day of perseverance and lessons learned. Congratulations to all of you. There is no shame in a DNF in these conditions. It is better to recognize that you have reached your limitations, learn form the experience and live to ride another day.

Finishing riders in alpha order are Jeff Godwin, Matt Godwin, David Miller and Stuart Muir. DNF participants were Gilbert Jensen, Troy Martin, Toshiyuki Nemoto, Scott Ohlwiler, Rich Osborn and Ronda Wilson. All of you are true Randonneurs. Congratulations All!

Special thanks go out to the volunteers that helped the riders make it safely through the day. Your help was greatly appreciated by the riders and the RBA.

Volunteers: Roy Burnham, Rhonda Wilson, Peter Hoffman, Don Hamilton and Phyllis Hamilton.

Other riders may be interested in hearing how you coped with the cold, wet conditions during this ride. If you would like to share your experience, send it to me and I will include it on the Ohio Randonneurs website.

The next brevet in the series is the Lake Erie 400k ACP Brevet, May 21, 2005 5:00 AM, Ashland, OH. It is a beautiful route that will be over the same roads as the 300k and also visits the south shore of Lake Erie. I can assure you that weather conditions will be better then. There will also be a near full moon that evening. Visit http://ohiorand.org for more info. The volunteer pre-ride is scheduled for Sat. May 14. The pre-ride is open only to volunteers working controls during the actual event. If you would like to help during the event and also earn credit for the brevet, let me know.

Ohio Flèchetones Florida Easter Ride - 2005 by Dave Buzzee

 “Don’t you feel self-conscious wearing those tight Lycra shorts?” came the question as we slumbered through our scheduled stop at 3:30 Easter morning.  We gazed at the questioner, with his oversize black pants, black extra baggy shirt, swirling tattoos, body piercings, and an incredibly bright red Mohawk haircut.  Somehow through our sleep-deprived senses that seemed like an unusual question coming from that person.  We were 215 miles and 20 hours into our 2005 flèche and had stopped for a rest when the question came.  We muttered something about preferring Lycra to body hardware and returned to our blessed half-hour nap.

Two anciennes, Dave Buzzee and Bill McMurray, with one novocienne (Dave Miller) comprised the Ohio Flèchetones Team. Our plan was to ride 250 miles from Madison in Northwest Florida to Clermont, near the central part of the state, during our Easter flèche.  For the event Bill had composed a special "Ohio Flèche Ditty" with which he entertained us during the ride. We suggested that he not sing at the end-of-ride breakfast. It turned out that he thought Flèchetones was our singing group, while Dave Miller had suggested the name referring to our winter-white skin color. Hmmm.

The ride started auspiciously.  We spied a pig scooting toward us just ½ mile after the start.  I cried out, “Warthog Up!”  I knew that it wasn’t really a warthog, but how often does a cyclist have the opportunity to make a call like that?  To me the pig was a good omen, one that foretold a ride favored by luck.   That would have been 800 yards before the sand started. Yes, our crack flèche team leader and route planner sent us on four miles of wet sand road right at the start. Things had to get better. They did - within an hour the rain began and washed most of the sand off our bikes. Then it really rained.  And then it REALLY rained. At one point the rain was so heavy that I couldn't see Dave M. just five feet ahead of me, and he couldn't see the road ten feet ahead of himself. The headwind was 20 mph with gusts from the side stronger than that.  Dave M. swears that he was bruised by the rain - I suspect it was nothing so dramatic, just a little hail.  Things had to get better. They did. The rains stopped as we entered our second control in Watermelon Glade, 84 miles into the ride.  The rain resumed shortly after the next control, at the Alachua "Smokesalot-R-Us Truck Stop and Mustard Greens Emporium".  However by the Bronson control at 139 miles, the rain had petered out and the head wind nearly stopped.  A snack there consisted of an egg salad sandwich from the cooler, only three days past the expiration date.  Oh, well, let’s just live on the edge.  Down it went.  By 9 PM and 173 miles we were in Dunellon, not a control but a perfect place for a sit-down dinner.  Mexican it was, a fine and fiery meal washed down by some cerveza and followed by a nap at the table.  We lingered as the wait staff cleaned around us, then left when the lights went out.  Too late we discovered the detached restroom.  It included an anteroom equipped with a foosball game table and wall-to-wall industrial carpet which would have been perfect for napping.  A real sleep began to sound very appealing.  However one doesn’t find many suitable places in rural Florida on Saturday night, even on Easter weekend.  The full moon rose, we rode on and entered the Withlacoochee rail-trail.  The trail provided heavenly riding, with moonlight filtering through the leaves onto the surface.  Of course no traffic, no potholes, and to riders from Ohio, noticeably no frost heaves in the pavement.  At Inverness (191 miles) we left the trail to search out our fifth control at an all-night drug store.  We entered at 11:50 PM to find one clerk and two customers.  However, a dozen or more locals followed us into the store (is nothing else open in Inverness on Easter eve?) and kept the buoyant clerk very busy while we waited for a store stamp.  Following the sleepy randonneur’s creed, we grabbed another brief nap while squatting on a display base, then awakened to note that other randonneurs are shameless in public places (Dave M. sprawled against an Easter card display, legs spread out into the aisle, Bill lounged and tried to doze on the bottled water display.).  Then back to the trail, moonlight filtering through the canopy, dappling the trail and leaving it beautiful to see but treacherous to ride near the pavement’s edge.  The big excitement came when we very unexpectedly rode upon a small group of locals enjoying the night air - in lounge chairs in the middle of the trail.  We left the trail after 29.5 miles of wonderful night riding. 

Again not an official control, but in Bushnell (215 miles) we found an all-night shop, sipped half of a soda, and took a sleep break in the bright yellow lunch booth under the gaze of the black-wearing punkers with incredible red Mohawk haircuts.  As we left, per prearrangement we called the regional police dispatcher to request that an officer meet us in Mascotte for the 22-hour control.  This dispatcher had not gotten the message and told us to call after we got there (!).  What happened to the arrangement we had made earlier in the week?  What if the officer had another call, or was in the wrong part of the county when we needed a witness? Ah well, we rode on.

The next stretch was not so pleasant.  We nearly missed a turn - our vision was becoming cloudy, and our legs rued their lack of conditioning and the rolling hills.  Twenty hours of riding in wet clothes was becoming tedious.  However, Dave M. continued to drive the train at a very constant pace and cadence.  I marveled at his consistency.  Even when he stood to relieve the pressure from his saddle he kept driving us on.  Early in the ride, in the worst of the rain, I had thanked him for his generous draft and lead-dog willingness to pull through the storm.  Now I thanked him for his steady pace and tenacity.  This was his first-ever ride of more than 200 miles but he rode like a veteran.

Mascotte was the sixth and final on-course control at 232 miles and 4:10 AM.  We didn’t call the police but found an all-night shop to serve as the control.  This was a very quick stop by our standards, only 20 minutes.  Mascotte, on the periphery of major Florida tourist and retirement centers, has much new road construction, housing developments, and road diversions.  Dawn broke as we threaded our way out of town, leaving us to discover that Cherry Lake Road wasn’t called that at our end.  Poor Dave M. rode an extra mile up hill to confirm that there was not another turn in sight so we took the CR 766.  This did prove to be Cherry Lake Road.  Lesson learned: with three riders, at least one must take an occasional look at the mileage on the cyclocomputer.