Seattle-to-Portland 2009 Ride Report

This post is a break from what we usually discuss here, and is very long to boot. Many regular readers may want to skip it. As noted recently, I returned home to Seattle last month for a few days; at that time, I promised a full report on the Seattle-to-Portland (STP) ride, the event which had been the primary purpose of my trip. It's taken me this long to sit down and put that report together. I write such a report after every major cycling event; I am sharing this one on the blog for anyone out there who may be interested in my experiences and who may want to learn from my mistakes and observations. You'll note the clipped style (many sentence fragments) is also quite different from what I usually post.

A couple of quick notes up front: I was an avid cyclist when I was younger, but have been away from the sport for many years. This year's STP was a personal challenge, to see if at age 40 I could get back in shape and again hang with the pack. My first STP was the 1984 two-day ride, which I did at age 15 with a good friend. I came back the next year and did the one-day ride, and then was totally hooked on that version of the event. For me personally, it was actually easier to pull through and do 200 miles in a single day than it is to ride 100 miles, sleep who-knows-where (usually a gym floor), then get up and ride another 100 miles with full body soreness. Also, given how large the event has now grown, I'd frankly rather be sharing the roads with 2,000 people than 8,000 people (which is the rough division between one-day and two-day riders). This wasn't an issue in 1984, when there were only 1,800 riders total.

Anyhow, I did the one-day STP in 1985-1989, 1992-1994, and 1996. After that, between distance and family and work obligations, it became impossible to travel to Seattle for the event. To put the 13 year break in perspective for you STP veterans: the last time I did STP, we were not only still starting in the Kingdome parking lot...but there still was a Kingdome. Family and work obligations eventually got to the point where I couldn't even train for cycling; I did my last double century ride while living in California in 1999, and then basically hung up the bike for many years. Only in the last few years have I discovered the pure joy of tandem cycling, with my kids serving as stokers; they have allowed me to again become a good cyclist while remaining a good father. I still do plenty of training alone, on my solo bike, but riding with the kids has been essential for rediscovering the sport. I highly recommend it for anyone who's wanting to ride more, but is also concerned about spending time with growing children.

On to the ride report itself:

Overall a wonderful ride, with nearly perfect weather. I was in good shape, and felt good most of the way. I was concerned because my longest training ride was only 80 miles, but 1,360 solo miles and 440 miles with kids on tandems seems to have been enough to make up for it. The weather was a little too warm, but better than being a little too cold. The temperatures topped out in the mid-80s by afternoon, but were very comfortable up until then. Best of all: we had a tailwind pretty much the whole time we were in Oregon. Couldn’t have asked for much better conditions, or a much nicer day on the bike. Sure don't envy the two-riders, who had a chilly drizzle for Day Two.

I shipped my old Bianchi to R+E Cycles, and they assembled it and did a full midseason overhaul before I arrived in Seattle. The guys at R+E are awesome, and I highly recommend them. They did a complete drivetrain cleaning and adjustment, trued the wheels, replaced all cables, re-wrapped the handlebars, etc. Definitely needed the service.

For gearing, I was running a 52-42-30 triple in the front and a 12x19 eight speed straight block cluster in the rear. This is perfect gearing for Michigan, but was only boarderline acceptable for STP. I never had to push the bike up a hill, but there were several times I wished I had something lower than 30 x 19.

Stayed at the Travelodge in the University District, just up the street from the start line. Began at 4:45 sharp, and was in the very first group released from the start. Weather was comfortable at the start; wore shorts, STP 96 jersey, and an old long sleeve t-shirt under the jersey. Used a flashing red taillight for the first 25 miles or so, but a headlight was not necessary.

I was amazed at the size of the ride. There were literally always other riders with me. The first 24 miles were screaming fast, and I arrived at the REI food stop in Kent after just an hour and 16 minutes. Used the restroom, filled with water, and got back out on the course after just five minutes or so. I did okay on “The Hill;” I had a gear that was just low enough, and it felt good to stand on the pedals and climb.

Spanaway was an awesome stop, with outstanding service from local kids, but the restrooms were way across a wide field. Spent more time at Spanaway than I’d anticipated, but that was okay. My goal was to finish the ride feeling strong, rather than finish as fast as possible. Taking a little extra time at rest areas was part of that strategy, and I made a point of not hurrying. Called home, and the kids were excited to talk to me.

The course now includes a long stretch of bike trail from Yelm to Tenino, which was excellent. I ran out of water just as the trail ended, so the mini-stop at mile 86 was a huge relief. Filled up with water, and cruised the remaining 12 miles to the Centralia rest area at 10:20 AM.

Spent a half hour at Centralia. Weather was starting to get warm, so I left my T-shirt there. Food at Centralia was okay; had a couple of baloney sandwiches, filled up with water, and got back on the course.

Just past Chehalis, as we were heading back into the countryside, I got into a minor accident. Was in a pack of about 20 riders, and the course took a 90-degree turn to the right. I watched the wreck develop in slow motion. A young man cut across the path of the woman right in front of me. I could see that she’d be unable to avoid him; sure enough, he sliced right across her front wheel and she went down hard. I slammed on my brakes, but knew I’d be unable to avoid her. Braced myself, hit her bike, and tumbled to the pavement. Scraped up my right knee, but was more concerned about my bicycle. The rear wheel wouldn’t turn, and I was afraid it’d been potato-chipped (or had busted spokes). Several riders stopped, including a medic, and checked out the woman who’d been in front of me. Her arms were badly scraped, but she was okay. Her riding companion asked if I was okay, and I said I was, but showed him my rear wheel. Fortunately, it was just a matter of the rear brake being jammed from the impact. He was able to realign it, and all of us were back on the road. Big relief. I saw the two of them again at Lexington; they were leaving as I was arriving. All of us assured the others that we were doing fine, despite our scrapes. The medical support on the ride was unbelievably good; I got my knee cleaned up at a first aid station in Vader, and really appreciated the help I got.

Along the way, I called Danby, another amateur farmer (and one of the blog’s frequent commenters); he lives a few miles off the course, and we’d agreed ahead of time to try to meet. I told him I was incoming, and he met me at a mini-stop near his house. We spent about 10-15 minutes chatting. Was very glad we were able to get together.

Was getting tired, and running out of food, between Vader and Castle Rock. Stopped at Castle Rock for about 15 minutes and filled up with water and used the restroom, but the available food was mostly candy. As my stomach was begging for carbs and protein, I decided I could stretch what I had until Lexington. Spent about a half hour at the Lexington stop, enjoying the excellent wrap-style sandwiches they had. Finally climbed back on the bike at 2:40 PM; was miserable battling winds and lousy roads/traffic into Longview, but I realized that the winds seemed to be blowing from a direction that would favor us once we crossed the bridge. That lifted my spirits.

The bridge itself was worse than I remembered. Lots of traffic whizzing by on the way up, then the expansion joints on the way down could be dangerous if not handled properly. I wanted to fly down the bridge at 40 MPH, but each expansion joint was dealing a horrible THUD to my front wheel. Fearing a tire blowout, I slowed down and took my time. Some riders were "bunny hopping" over the expansion joints at full speed, but I honestly didn't trust myself to try that. Ended up reaching the bottom safely, then began the long slog down Hwy 30.

The stretch to St Helens was by far my slowest of the day; averaged just 15.5 MPH between rest stops. Was pretty much all uphill from the bridge to St Helens – I had not remembered that. I’d thought the hills rolled more. Struggled a lot here, especially since there were fairly few people to ride with. Took a much-deserved half hour or so break at St Helens. Watermelon was wonderful, and I got some excellent cookies. Ice water made a big difference, too. Was quite hot by now. The folks staffing this rest stop knew how tired we were, and went out of their way to be friendly and of service. If any of you are reading this, please know how deeply appreciative I am for what you did.

St Helens is on a plateau, and it was largely downhill to Portland from there. My spirits were high, and I made very good time to the city limits, but after entering the city the stop lights killed my average time for this section of the course.

Reached the finish line just before 7pm. That was a respectable enough time for me, and above all I felt fairly good. I knew I wasn't the strongest one out there, and this wasn't my fastest double century ride, but speed wasn't my goal; finishing strong was. The other things which contributed to the strong finish: I was fanatical about eating and drinking before I felt hungry or thirsty. Having a Camelbak hydration system helped a lot, as water was always just a turn of the head away. And the regular rest stops ensured I never ran out of food. Also, I found that taking two ibuprofen tablets at each rest stop helped ward off and control soreness in my shoulders and back.

The next morning, I picked up a rental car, packed up my bike, dropped it at a 24-hour FedEx/Kinkos (yes, it was much cheaper to FedEx my bike both ways than it was to take it on the plane as checked baggage), and started driving back to Seattle. Stopped to see some extended family in Shelton, and spent a wonderful afternoon hanging out with them. Felt quite sore all day, but tried to keep moving and stretching. Stopped at Whole Foods that evening and picked up a fresh salmon to carry home with me; this was an essential gift for the family. Caught the redeye out of Sea-Tac at 11:20, and was home Monday morning.

Will I be back to ride again next year? I'd love to, but between having an infant in the house and it being a busy year for work, it's doubtful I'll be able to leave the farm for that many days in the middle of summer. Not impossible. Just don't put money on my being out there on the course before 2011.

What is Home?

My apologies for the slow posting of late; I've returned to Michigan after several days visiting Seattle, where I grew up, for the first time in nearly two years. It was a wonderful trip; altogether too short, but when you have a farm...getting away for even a few days in the middle of summer is asking a lot. I went alone, and am grateful that Mrs Yeoman Farmer and the Yeoman Farm Children (particularly the older two) were able to carry the burden in my absence.

The purpose of my trip was to ride the Seattle to Portland Bicycle Classic on July 11th, and I will be putting up a separate post describing that adventure. It's an event I've done many times in the past, but not since 1996. Being able to get in shape again, and manage all the logistics of getting myself and my bicycle to Seattle (and then to Portland) once more, fulfilled a dream that had been simmering in my mind for several years. As I pedaled along Lake Washington Blvd on Saturday morning, with the rising sun framing the Cascade range in purple, and Mt. Rainier standing with all its immensitude in the crystal clear summer daybreak, my heart overflowed with joy. I'm really here. I'm really doing it. This is truly happening. Everything in the world is exactly right.

It occurred to me that this could be a rough working definition of "home": not simply the place where a person happens to be living at the moment, but the place in the world where everything seems right. The place where a person senses he belongs, and the place from which a person feels exiled when he is not able to be there. Circumstances and grave obligations may force a long --- even permanent --- exile. But it takes much more than relocation to change one's sense of "home."

I had several days, largely to myself, to reflect on these and other thoughts. In a sense, the trip was not unlike a retreat. I spent last Wednesday getting to Seattle and retrieving my bike from the mechanic to whom I'd shipped it. Then, apart from reconnecting with an old friend for dinner one night, and the big event on Saturday, and spending Sunday afternoon with relatives, I had few scheduled obligations for the rest of the trip. I was able to spend much of Thursday and Friday simply riding all over...and thinking, and praying, and reflecting. I rode the Burke-Gilman trail to the small town where I grew up, pedaled past our family's first house, and rolled around town.

The community swimming pool was still there. So was the football field. And the Ranch Drive-In. But there were also uncomfortable changes: the local library --- my favorite spot as a young child --- was now a cold municipal office building; the books had been relocated into a larger and more modern structure nearby. One of the grand old school administration buildings had been razed and was now a parking lot. Other buildings had disappeared. There were new buildings I didn't recognize. And so on. And so forth.

And I couldn't help asking myself: Is this where everything seems right? Because it's funny how, the longer you don't live somewhere, the more it lives in memory ... even if the reality has become quite different.

In that town, and all over Seattle, I did see plenty of other places and things that were familiar and comfortable, and were reassuring in their seeming permanence. But despite the joy of being in Seattle, it was hard to avoid a simultaneous sense of melancholy...because nothing in Seattle is truly "mine" any longer. I couldn't stay. I couldn't be attached to it. As much as I may feel a sense of belonging in that city, I don't truly belong there now. And it was these two competing senses about "belonging," pulling in opposite directions, that triggered the melancholy.

Because no matter what I might feel, the inescapable reality remains: I chose to leave and go to college in Chicago. I chose to take a job in Detroit after college. I chose to attend graduate school in California. And, above all, I chose to marry a woman who grew up in Michigan, with deep roots in that part of the country, who very much dislikes the part of the country in which I grew up. One of the better definitions of "adulthood" that I've come across goes something like this: doing the things we ought to do and need to do, and not necessarily the things we want to do. And in our family's case, there is no doubt about what we ought to be doing, and need to be doing: living in rural Michigan, near the town in which MYF grew up and has so many friends and so much family. And I have no doubt that "adulthood" was calling me to do all the other things (education, career) that took me farther and farther away from Seattle, one step at a time. Funny how easy it was to take each of those steps, without reflecting on the larger picture of how much distance each of them was putting between me and the city I loved so much. And yet even if I had seen the whole picture, with all its consequences, I wouldn't go back and change any of those steps.

I will no doubt be living in Michigan for many years, and I have few illusions that the passage of time will make it seem any more like "home" than Seattle always will. I will always be, in some sense, an exile here. But you know what? That's okay. And the more I pedaled around the region where I grew up, and the more I thought about it, the more okay with everything I became. My family is infinitely more important to me than getting to live in any particular place...and at the end of the day, I'm much happier living with my family in a place that is so completely right for them than I ever could be if they were compelled to live in a place that was "right" for me but completely wrong for everyone else. Because it's ultimately not being in any particular place that makes us happy...it's being with the people we love, and above all it's living our lives in the way God wants. And I have absolutely zero doubts that that this little farm in this little town in this Rust Belt state is exactly where God wants me --- and my family --- to be.

Can You Really Go Home Again?

I’m back from a brief trip to Seattle; it was my 20th year high school reunion last night. I flew out there Thursday afternoon, enjoyed a couple of days of seeing the city and some friends and family, and then spent yesterday evening at a big bash getting caught up with folks from high school. And then it was a mad dash to Sea-Tac Airport to hop the redeye back to O’Hare. I got just enough sleep to make the drive home and to do the morning chores at the farm, but I’m going to need a nap this afternoon.

Some initial thoughts:

1) I was shocked to discover things I now had in common with people I barely knew 20 years ago. One person, for instance, had moved his family to a ten acre cherry orchard in central Washington State ─ for many of the same reasons we moved to the country ourselves. I didn’t even know this person in high school, and yet we spent quite a bit of time last night comparing notes about rural life. Another person has made business trips to Gibson City to visit his company’s suppliers ─ that town is just 15 minutes from our house, and where we buy all our livestock feed. When I heard the words “Gibson City” come out of his mouth, I had to pause to pick my jaw up off the floor. Simply astounding.

2) The Seattle area has grown so much in recent years, the outlying communities are unrecognizable. Woodinville, for example, is now a solid patch of pavement and chain stores. When I was in grade school in the late 1970s, a good friend lived on a heavily wooded lot on what was then the edge of Woodinville. It was so private, we would shoot rifles in those woods. Now, that entire hillside is covered with tract homes. And our grade school has basically doubled in size. They ought to rename the place “Pavementville.”

3) Everywhere you look, driving around Seattle, there are signs signs advertising “green” this and “environmentally friendly” that. And yet, the “green” was disappearing everywhere. And the massive developments going in sure didn’t look like they were trying to minimize any kind of footprint. As my thoughts drifted back to the very green organic farm that Mrs. Yeoman Farmer and I have sweated to build up these past six years, I couldn’t help wondering how many of the people who put up these signs or buy those products would tolerate a neighbor who wanted to pasture a goat and a few laying hens in their residential area ─ as was common in all big cities as recently as the 1940s? Or is “green” becoming just another consumer product that people can purchase at a natural food store?

4) Particularly dismaying was visiting the neighborhood where I’d grown up and where my family lived for over 25 years. The neighborhood had basically been carved out of a thick cedar forest, more than 40 years ago. The roads and lots followed and respected the natural contours of the land, and many original old-growth cedars had been left near the homes themselves. Even as new houses had been added over the years, the heavily-wooded perimeter (and remaining old-growth trees in people's yards) ensured that the neighborhood maintained a quiet and private feel. But in just the last year or two, one of the major bordering landowners sold out to developers. An enormous swath of trees has been completely ripped out and bulldozed, and a road has been put in to establish a new subdivision of tightly-packed popup houses. No respect for land contours, or any existing trees --- just blow it all down, re-shape it to maximize the number of building lots, and put those houses up. My neighborhood no longer has the sense of being carved out of the forest. It now looks like one big piece of pavement.

5) About a mile or two away from our neighborhood was a huge horse farm and pasture; it took up literally hundreds of acres. Somehow, as shopping centers went up all around it, this farm always managed to preserve itself. Even when I was out to visit last summer, it was a relief seeing that piece of pasture holding out. I nearly cried when I saw what has happened since: the farmhouse where we used to buy fresh eggs has vanished, along with all the barns and outbuildings. Bulldozers have swept the whole thing clean, and are beginning to chew up the pasture.

Apparently, I’m not the only person dismayed by what’s going on out there. Just a half mile from the ruined horse farm, yet another stand of trees had been bulldozed and was being prepared for yet another subdivision. But look what someone spray painted on the developer’s sign:



I don’t usually approve of vandalism, but sometimes the truth is the truth.

Made it all the more poignant when I went to Mass yesterday evening and heard a booming homily about “stewardship.” God made the earth so beautiful, with all its complexity, because (as Aquinas explains), that way it is a more perfect revelation of God’s goodness and love than if he had only created a few simple things. And while the earth is here for us humans to use and have dominion over, when we simply exploit that creation for our own naked ambitions and profit (the priest didn’t use the same word the spray paint vandal did, but it fits) we diminish and cloud the revelation of God’s perfection. I’m paraphrasing, but you get the idea.

God have mercy on these developers. And on all of us who, directly or indirectly, have fueled the out-of-control demand that keeps the trees falling and these developments coming.