I have now completed my fifth Furnace Creek 508, A 508 mile cycling adventure across the desert of Southern California. There’s not a lot to say about this years Furnace Creek 508 after the word brutal.  Wind always has to be dealt with during some stretch of the 508 mile course from Santa Clarita to Twentynine palms that includes a 200 mile northern first leg followed by a 300 mile southern leg to the finish. I was not, however, prepared for a relentless pummeling by the wind for nearly 200 miles after the course turned for the southern leg.

From Santa Clarita to the beginning of Towne’s Pass was a beautiful fast ride with a tailwind that I accepted with little hesitation. I say little hesitation rather than no hesitation because I had to hope that the wind would exhaust itself by the time I turned south later that night. The first stretch of 200 miles blew by in just over 10 hours. Half way up to Towne’s Pass at 6:00 pm when lights go on the bike and the support van must directly follow me, I was still making good time with little premonition of the wreckage to follow. The 60 mph descent into Death Valley was the last fun I would have until the next afternoon as I hit the valley floor and a mighty blast from the south grabbed my wheel and didn’t let go as if to say “you’ve had your fun, now it’s my turn”.  The stretch from the bottom of Towne’s Pass through Death Valley, over Jubilee and Salisbury Passes to Shoshone and down to Baker had either a head wind or a cross wind that never quit.  After Furnace Creek the road weaves around alluvial fans that spill from the cliffs that form the walls of Death Valley. The wind meets this terrain and is redirected, channelled and funneled such that a head wind of 25 mph one second is morphed into a cross wind gust of 45 mph the next second. My front wheel was lifted off the road at one point by such a gust. A few hours of this is a pain in the ass, but all night long is demoralizing. There were times when my support team could barely see me as I rode through the blowing sand less than 10 yards ahead of them. One of the stories I later heard was when a team member asked their rider how she was doing, her response was “I want to kill myself.” Her unsympathetic team responded with “wait until the race is over.”

After Baker, which comes around mile 380, the conditions returned to what I’ve typically experienced for the remainder of the ride. Three climbs, the last of which I did as the sun was setting was made even more beautiful by a welcome tailwind. The last time I did this climb in the dark was 2004 when the winds through Death Valley were similarly evil. 2004 was the first of now five of these monsters that I have finished and that year it took me 43 hours to complete. I had since been diligent enough not to finish after dark for fear of a return of the hallucinations that I experienced during that climb six years ago. After 35 to 40 hours of fighting 40 mph head and cross winds, fatigue from the concentration it took to keep the bike from being blown off the road, and a night of watching the double shadow of myself peddling, each shadow cast by one of the two headlights of the support van, I saw dolphins swimming in the mudflats next to the road, railroad tracks running along the shoulder, and I imagined cross traffic with stop lights. I found out the next year that I had also imagined a town with shops lining the road just before the last Time Station. I saw all this in what was an empty desert.  As I climbed the mountain this time I saw the shadows in the sandy soft shoulder and could see where the railroad tracks could have come from, but I have no idea where the other visions came from. The last 25 miles is a march through hell, an uphill climb that is barely noticeable into a headwind just hard enough not to ignore over the ugliest part of the course. Too late to quit at this point the promise of taking a shower and lying down in a bed, or even in the parking lot at the end, rejuvenates the body just enough to cross the finish line and smile.

Before my first 508 I asked veteran riders for advice and without exception the first paragraph of advice included the idea that more than a physical test,  “it’s a mental thing”. Obstacles inevitably occur either of our own invention or are thrust upon us by the conditions we find ourselves in. How we handle those obstacles determines how  and whether we succeed. The phrase “metaphor for life” often creeps into conversations around this point. Sitting at home I can enjoy the intellectual entertainment  provided by the “metaphor for life” dialogue and I get the connection between success and failure with life and death. Out on the road, however, especially as one struggles to breathe, to see, to deal with saddle sores, and to keep from being blown off the road the idea of metaphor doesn’t exist, It feels like the opposite of metaphor, a real struggle, the real deal, raw and naked. I suppose it is this delusion, that it really is life and death, that attracts nuts like me to challenges like this. Last year after completing my fourth 508 I was pretty much obligated to attempt my fifth and the personal satisfaction of achieving inclusion in the Furnace Creek 508 Hall of Fame,  so when I got home I left the flashing lights mounted on the van all year in preparation. This year, the first thing I did when I got home was to take the flashers off, to make it a little more difficult when the inevitable crazy idea of entering the Furnace Creek 508 starts to sneak into my plans for next year.

What a fantastic adventure with wonderful, talented, dedicated people. I was so happy yesterday to put my feet in the Atlantic Ocean and today as I write this I am so sad that the end has come. Lon warned us last night at our Tour Celebration Banquet that the end of each tour is like taking down the christmas tree. There may be other tours just as christmas will come again next year, but this one is over, the living experience transformed to the domain of memories. Just as we sort through ornaments and put them away,  all of us from the tour are are sorting through our memories today and putting them away.  Yesterday we woke up in the dark, ate our oatmeal, dragged our luggage to the hotel trailer, and rode into a rising sun for our last ride together. Along the way  to Tybee Island we reminisced about the wind, the heat, the rain, the flats, the trucks, the dogs, the armadillos, the crashes and broken bones, the mountains, deserts, rivers, forests, towns and people. We chatted about Portland, the Oregon Trail, the Rockies, Route 66, the civil war and the bible belt. We laughed about Idaho where I couldn’t get a baked potato, about how I drink more tea than the english, and how I don’t like any beer that comes in a green bottle.

During the past 30 days each day began with basic questions; what did the sky look like, which way did the wind blow, long sleeves or short. Pivoting on those questions the adventure of each day would unfold. The challenges we faced each day were palpable and real;  we didn’t  know who would survive the day to ride again tomorrow. 25 of us took off from Portland. Two left half way for business, one crashed and was on crutches for three days before riding into Tybee Island on the final day, three crashed and broke bones. Tom couldn’t finish a previous tour when after the first week he developed cellulitis when an a saddle sore became infected and travelled down to his knee. He was hospitalized, his wound opened up, drained, and packed. He wanted to finish this tour badly and he crashed on the next to last day, broke his femur, and had surgery while we finished the ride. That’s an attrition rate of over twenty percent.

If you can imagine being submerged in a culture day and night for a month with people passionate and committed to the same goal, that’s what the past month has been like for me. It was a an honor to ride and learn from so many talented, dedicated cyclists. Jeanene said at the banquet “the people at back at work all think I’m nuts, it was so much fun to be with a group of people who think of cycling just like I do.”

Last night was the first time I’ve been in a car in over a month and this is the first day of not riding an average of 115 miles a day since the tour began. My legs have been a little stiff when I walk  for weeks and it still feels better peddling than walking. I’m nervous about getting out of shape so  I’m off to the gym to do a little active recovery on a stationary bike…I’ve only got eight weeks to train for the Furnace Creek 508.

By the second rest stop the group I was with was down to 5 people, and from then on for the rest of the day it was just Jay and me. Six miles before lunch our dry luck was drowned by so much rain, so fast, that we were drenched before we could get our jackets out of our pockets. Of course, as soon as we got off our bikes and parked ourselves under the canopy, the rain stopped. People coming in behind us were totally dry.

We had an hour after lunch without rain though we were surrounded by black clouds. With fifteen miles to go we turned north and had a strong tailwind, and like we had days before an afternoon storm was gaining on us. As we approached the magical six miles to go the rain started coming down harder and harder. We entered the city limit of Metter with the streets flooded. Pedaling hard through water six inches deep we had to watch out for whirlpools indicating hidden drains that would trap our wheels. We laughed our way safely to the hotel just as thunder was rattling the hotel windows seconds after lightning cracked through the sky. Within half an hour the storm passed, the warm parking lot dried, and we wheeled our bikes back out from our rooms to clean them and get ready for our final day tomorrow.

We climbed about 4500 feet today and most of it was before the mile 80 lunch stop at Andersonville Prison, an (un) civil war prisoner of war prison, now a monument to all american prisoners of war. After lunch it was a flat ride to the finish through corn and cotton fields.

My room mate, Russ, is from Nottingham, England. It’s amazing how much the english language has degenerated since americans cut the cord from the mother country. One of the reasons I was excited about this trip is that the last two trips I’ve been on were to Thailand and Laos and I was looking forward to a trip where language wasn’t an issue. While it wasn’t hard to find someone who spoke english in Thailand or Laos, it took a lot of concentration to understand what they were saying. Oh well, it’s even harder to understand what the hell Russ is saying than anyone I met in southeast asia, and I have to concentrate even more. Often I have to ask him three times to repeat himself, our rule is that after that he has to re phrase the sentence. How and why did I end up with him as a room mate? What’s up with that? At least the signs along the road are in english on this trip.

11 states down, over 3000 miles gone. Tomorrow we enter Georgia with less than 300 miles to go. I’ve loved this ride but I’m ready to have a day off. Just one.

When we woke up it was pouring rain so we ate in the hotel lobby. By the time we rolled out of Greenville, Alabama the rain had let up and I stayed dry until about 6 miles from lunch. I had a great time stopping periodically to take pictures with my new camera. At some point I was riding with Tom and we noticed that we were being pushed by an awesome tailwind. The tall grass next to the road was bent to the ground pointing in the direction we were heading. A shadow overran us and I turned around to see a monstrous black cloud gaining fast on us. The temperature dropped about 15 degrees and the rain came down as if we’d just rode our bikes into a shower. It was warm and I didn’t bother to put on my rain jacket since I’d be soaking wet no matter what in a matter of minutes. The rain stopped as quickly as it started and by the time I arrived at lunch I was, well,  still wet. It rained off and on for the rest of the day and I was wet until I snuck into the hotel to change.  No, Lynyrd Skynyrd, the sky wasn’t so blue but that’s a good thing as it kept the temperature down.

Riding once again through the beautiful rolling hills of Alabama on rural roads with little traffic. There were more of us riding on the roads for long stretches than cars or trucks. Definitely more cranky dogs than cars or trucks. We’re getting a little irritated by the frequent sprints these dogs demand from us. Some small packs have this bike chasing thing down to a science. I was about 100 yards in back of Jason as he pedaled by a group of about 5 dogs. One chased him, he sprinted and the dog peeled off to the side. As I approached, the dog that chased Jason went to the back of the line and the dog at the front of the line chased me. We yell “go home”, other things not so nice, squirt water at them, even feed them granola bars. Apparently nothing is a satisfactory substitute for the pleasure of chasing a bike rider.

Christianity reeks in this neck of the woods, much more than a bible belt…I’d say a noose, “Jesus is King in Buford County”, “Prayer is the Fastest Wireless Connection”…there is no way one could be born and raised here and be an atheist, jew, muslim, buddhist, pagan  or any other flavor.

Some folks are more than curious about us. I was cranking hard on my own heading for the next rest stop before the deluge hit when a guy pulls over to the side of the road about a quarter mile ahead of me, jumps out of his car, and plants himself in my path with his arms in the air as if his wife was in the back seat having a baby and he needed help. “Where y’all headed? Ya got a minute?” “Uh, you mean today, or eventually…”

At the last rest stop in Pine Apple (something about an event that happened between the pine tree and the apple tree) there happened to be a small gazebo where the snacks were set up. Within 5 minutes of my arrival the sky darkened, thunder and lightning, and it dumped and dumped. A local was trapped in the gazebo with us and told us all about his friend with a metal plate in his skull who has been hit by lightning 3 times, once while driving a convertible. I think his name was Lucky (not).

Alright already, I’m over it. There are a lot of things worse than riding a bike in the rain with a sore ass. My friend Gayle is going through radiation therapy after a mastectomy. I’m sure she would gladly trade what she’s going through for a day on a bike in the rain. Jonathan is on this trip, he’s an oncologist and keeps things in perspective. In yesterdays rain he had seven flats. His comment when it was all said and done; “it could have been worse, I could have had eight.”

Resigned to the fact that I was going to get wet, today was not so bad. We rode over rolling terrain through the forests of eastern Mississippi into Alabama.  Summer rains mean giant lawns watered from the sky that wrap around houses made of brick. From simple one bedroom to multistory mansions, all made of brick. If I hadn’t drowned my camera I would have some pictures. I’m scheming for a replacement. Drue insists on a waterproof camera since this was the second one this year I have given the water bath treatment to…I, on the other hand think I will destroy any camera I touch and prefer the least expensive one I can find.

I found myself wondering why I had such a hard time yesterday. I usually enjoy riding in the rain though I don’t ride nearly so far as we did. Without boring myself with the details, to cut right to the chase, my conclusion is this; process shmocess. I tried so hard to find the joy in riding in the rain blah blah blah and what I now realize is that finding joy in some process can become a goal…one can become obsessed with the goal of enjoying the process, which kinda sorta in a catch 22 kind of way seems silly.  Yesterday, in the end, it really didn’t matter what I thought, the only thing that mattered was that I keep pedaling. I can be miserable or happy or whatever…does it really matter if the salmon heading up the stream to spawn is happy? As I write this there is thunder, lightning and it’s pouring down rain. Tomorrow I swim again across Alabama.

At mile 97ish there was a rest stop. I sloshed beneath the awning to refill my water bottle and wait for the rain to let up just a little bit. It rained harder and harder. I was about 35 miles from the hotel for the night, so I got on the bike and pushed on. For some reason I started feeling better. We were now in country that was rolling up and down, which I prefer to flat, maybe that had something to do with it, Maybe it was the thought of a warm bath. I have no idea, but for the final twenty miles we had practically no rain, of course that helped. I would be happy with half a day of sun. Really, just half a day. Tomorrow we head into Alabama and I’ve thought about how tough we’ll all be if it rains every day between now our finish next Monday. If we don’t drown.

Lest we get too comfy with hundred mile days, today was a flat 134, a day for the time trialers. The morning pace line I was in had 11 people sharing the load and we pretty much hammered until lunch. At mile 105 we crossed the Mississippi, ending our descent from Independence Pass in Colorado, however long ago that was.

When we arrive at a hotel there is a message board that lets us know what restaurants are nearby for dinner, what time breakfast will be the next morning, and what time we leave. Tomorrow, for example, we have breakfast at the food trailer at 6:00 am which means we leave at 6:30 after loading our luggage. Oatmeal is the main dish every morning and the cover is taken off exactly at 6:00. Every one of us could be standing around with bowls ready and intestines gurgling, the cover doesn’t come off till 6:00. That means that our bikes are brought down to the bike rack, our water bottles filled just before 6, then we eat, go back to the room to finish getting ready, then bring our luggage down to the hotel trailer which will be loaded exactly at 6:30. It took me about 10 days to get the rhythm down so that I wouldn’t be the last one to load onto the trailer. This morning, I was so early that I put my luggage down next to my bike, then took off with the first riders, forgetting to load my luggage. Not good. Luckily, Lon put it on the trailer for me. The point of this babble is that I’ve finally got the rhythm down as we wind down the trip. It will be nice to see family and friends after the long trip, yet at the same time I’ll miss the road life that I’m just getting the hang of.

Oregon, Idaho, Utah, Wyoming, Colorado, New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas and now Mississippi. Only Alabama and Georgia to go.

Today had the potential  to be a day without comment; a short ride through flat but beautiful forests from Arkedelphia to Pine Bluff, Arkansas. However, att 7:00 am as we mounted our steeds, thunder roared and the rain came down for the first time on the trip. We collectively streaked for the lunch trailer to provision ourselves with the one item that was essential for riding in the rain; a zip lock bag for our cameras.

Luckily I had grown gills yesterday while enjoying the sweltering, I mean sultry, Arkansas summer so I was physiologically prepared for any weather. The cloud cover kept the temperature low and we sauntered en mass in the direction of the darkest sky.

The slow pace and light banter between us led to some horseplay and the second event worthy of comment for the day. Some of us are faster on the flat or descent, while others of us are best at climbing. We rolled down a slight descent then started up a gentle climb. As one of the fast descenders slowed down, Doug came up from behind and gave him a gentle push on the butt. Some idiot then accelerated up behind Doug to give him the nudge, however, Doug was the heavier of the two and for our purposes could be considered an immovable force. The idiot, by now you must suspect that I’m the idiot, bounced off of Doug’s butt, lost control, and skidded to a stop on the pavement; road rash on the left hip, shoulder and arm. Usually I crash on the right, but who’s counting. This was additionally noteworthy because this is the first time on the tour that a crash hasn’t resulted in a broken bone. Embarrassed, a little stiff, hopefully not too stiff tomorrow. Ice and ibuprofen are my friends.  I’m thinking that the fall knocked some sense into my head.

We loved the sign “Ass with Hare”. I had to explain that I had moleskin covering the hair on my butt to get out of posing. While Pine Bluff is technically not a dry county, I’d call it slightly moist, since today is Sunday, no alcohol sales, and the secret beer cooler must wait another day for feeding.

Tomorrow we finish our descent through the Mississippi watershed by crossing the big muddy and leaving Arkansas, land of friendly people and cranky dogs.