Comment on long distance bicycle choice

This post is specifically about Paris-Brest-Paris but applies to all long-distance paved riding, IMO.

Your BQ fantasy bicycle is imperceptibly different from their indigenous equivalent of a yellow Schwinn Collegiate. There’s tens of thousands of old bikes with Mafac RAIDs and fenders locked up all over Paris and at the bottom of canals. I explained to a whole bunch of people from every possible demographic that “oh no every single part on that guy’s bike is newly manufactured and the frameset is bespoke”

In the most charitable light, all the europeans and most of the travelers will perceive you as someone riding an odd bike as a special challenge — like the british guy who’ll ride a bread delivery bike or whatever in period dress, the perennial singlespeeders, or the five fatbike failures this year

Less charitably you look like a historical reenactor tryhard who read old books about PBP instead of doing any actual randonneuring in a first-world country

Theo and James rode really strong in the B wave, but on their 650b constructeur machines with centerpulls/cranks/fenders and the whole high-polished deal. Despite their fully modern lycra clothing and ability to ride strong in a straight line, the other fast 80h riders wanted nothing to do with them — they appeared sketchy and untrustworthy, to be ostracized

Most of the pack riders would much rather deal with the literally 1,000 fat old italian guys wobbling around and avoiding pulls, because at least they fully understand their bullshit and social dynamics.

The optimum equipment for the parcours is a modern stage race road bicycle — with 28mm road tubeless tires, totally normal gearing, minor aero tuning, and a revelate tangle+feedbag for your shit. Dynamo lighting really sweetens the situation, but there’s also so many opportunities for drop bags at controls to get fresh batteries and clothing changes.

Jan Heine’s ideal 650b low trail integrated rando situation is PERFECT for freeform adventure bike camping in mixed terrain exploring backcountry with intermittent services and developing circumstances. PBP is the polar opposite of that. Jan is still a wonderful contrast to QBP’s bikes that are contradictory for anything anyone actually does outside of hyper-specific midwest dirt day ride events, or the bikepacking bikes that are tuned for GDR & Tour Aotearoa instead of real life.

This is good too.

Planning a gravel route

A recent Facebook post prompted me to write down some of the things I’ve learned about routing gravel rides over the past couple years.

1. Maps – Georgia is great in that the DOT has excellent county and city level maps that show different road surfaces as well as a ton of other detail. They can be found here: Pick your county and there’s the map, free online. What I like to do is give the map a cursory overview and get an idea of where the gravel roads go. Go do something else and come back a few hours later or the next day and start my route planning. Much of the gravel roads wind around the terrain and making a sensical route that is fun to ride is often as much a puzzle as anything else.

Map LegendMap Example

For states with less comprehensive mapping available there are options like, which is ok but more of a high level overview than a consistent 100% correct gathering of gravel road data. Lots of the local gravel near me is over stated as it looks like the initial import include routes listed as “gravel” that are 50%+ pavement. A helpful resource nonetheless.

2. Pick the start – The most important things about the starting point are 1.) it’s a safe place to park and 2.) it’s not at the top of a big hill or over a ridgeline. I had a brutal ride that required riding over a ridgeline to get back to my car and it was terrible. Nowadays I pay close attention to the elevation as 100 feet a mile on gravel is much harder than the same on the road. For parking a good bet is that since most of the places you will start will be rural – look for city or county parks and rec areas. They can easily be seen on google maps as the little green areas. If you can’t find anything use satellite view to look for baseball fields, tennis courts or pools. These are often the public areas with safe parking. I have a post with a listing of places that I’ve found as well a few posts down. I don’t like parking at Churches as weekend days are often when landscaping and other non-service related events happen and it’s easy to end up having your car towed.

Parks RecParks Rec2

3. Know thyself – This is a concept that took me a while to understand. I love riding the mixed routes I was doing but they were so hard, it was only this year that I realized it was because I only like 3 hours max of riding alone. Once I get out into the country where it’s common to never see a car for 2-3 hours I want to see some evidence of civilization and have a store stop. I’ve done routes where I never saw another human for 9 hours and although interesting, it’s not something I like or am in a hurry to repeat. So be aware, if you’re not sure start with store stops or city visits every estimated 2 hours and then increase the time from there. Maybe you’re capable of many hours of riding alone and maybe not.

4. Have a point – The main prompt for this post was seeing a gravel route posted on Facebook that looked exactly like what I used to do. Route as much gravel as possible without any regard for the beauty of the route and the ride. Your ride should have a point, go somewhere to see something. We’re riding around interesting areas of the state with history and there are often little towns that are worth exploring – even as just a quick ride through. Don’t route yourself like you’re an RUSA organizer. Make it a beautiful route that goes somewhere. Especially in most areas of Georgia that become rural so fast you can ride into a small town or city, refill and look around and be back onto gravel or in the country in a couple miles.


This example route skips everything interesting. It’s boring and lacks a theme. A better route would be less gravel but more destinations. Hit those little towns and see what’s out there instead of staring at gravel and trees for five hours.

5. Prepare for adversity – There are essentially no current up to date gravel maps. Every single non-organized gravel ride I’ve done has had a road closed, a bridge out, a public road taken private or something else requiring a reroute. Prepare to reroute as needed, pay attention to the sun as you may not have a cellphone signal and be ready to backtrack or take unexpected turns to get where you’re going. Don’t hesitate to ask directions from anyone you see, people in rural areas are nice and often love to talk about the roads and where they go.

6. Never take “road closed” at face value – I’ve seen several variations of road closed areas that are perfectly fine on a bike. Sometimes it’s a washout that has a tiny ribbon of good road, sometimes it’s a bridge that isn’t strong enough for cars but fine for bikes and sometimes it’s no bridge but a perfectly easy water crossing. Until you see an impassible barrier be it water, or a ravine or something – keep riding.

This bridge was at the end of a “road closed 1 mile” sign – bridge intact and perfectly rideable, but impassable for cars and trucks.


7. Dogs, there’s always dogs.


Pirate 200k


It’s already humid at 7am, my hands are wet in the heavy air within a few minutes of riding. The sun is up and it’s going to be a clear, hot day.

I’m meeting Emory and Jacob Payne at the Silver Comet and then we’re going to go ride our brains out in the middle of nowhere. Jacob arrives first and we chat for a sec as our last meeting was months prior after a fast overnight to Chattanooga. Emory arrives and we ride off onto the mostly empty trail. Speed comes easy and we pedal and chat and get together mentally.

Dallas comes fast, water, food and a little rest and then we head out.

Quick stop at the water fall to show Emory, soon a road closed sign appears and having forgotten it’s Monday I ride full-speed into the worksite only to see the bridge is completely gone and there’s a full work crew.

We reconnoiter in the shade and find an alternate route that requires wet feet and a little trespassing through someone’s field. The stream has sheer sides down to the water and it’s too high to jump so I go first and have the others hand down their bikes before we all ford across. The water reaches mid-thigh and feels wonderfully cool. Onto the other bank we follow a deer trail for a short distance before it disappears into brambles and weeds. Emory’s eyes get a little big when I take out my folding knife and hack away some of the vegetation but we eventually get through the brush, over the barb wire fence and onto the road. Resplendent in scrapes and with shoes full of sand.

Back astride we feel good and head into the Wildlife Management Area, the gate is closed but I know there aren’t any bridges here so we should be fine. Closed to cars and trucks not to randonneurs. The gravel comes and it’s loose and climby but often shaded and oh so quiet away from the road. Jacob is riding 32/28 tires and I had worried he might have difficulty with the larger gravel but he floats along not a care in the world. We yell to each out across the rumble of the gravel and laugh and smile while we pedal along. It’s hard going but so much easier with friends.

Soon we are back on the road, a massive honey bee welcomes us to Braswell and we roll along the beautiful country side to Rockmart. Quick stop for water and chocolate milk and then back to pedaling through Rockmart, Aragon, Taylorsville and into the farmland south of Euharlee. We wind around fields of corn and strawberries while the massive power Plant Bowen looms in the background, appearing from time to time as we pedal through the terrain.

Shortly we’re back on gravel and we wind up and around through the woods towards civilization. We’re back on the road and there’s traffic so the really fun parts are over. A stop at Publix is heavenly. Cold chocolate milk and water is wonderful in the heat of the day. We rest for a bit and then head out, the next section I was worried about traffic but there’s not much of a better option. We deal with it fine, some cars but everyone’s nice.

As our route passes Kennesaw mountain we have no choice but to climb it. 100+ miles into a tough ride the mountain pulls us in. Emory and Jacob disappear immediately while I saunter up the road trying not to catch fire in the blazing afternoon sun. Once at the top the climb feels easier than I expected and we’re all in good spirits smiling and happy to have done it.

We sail down the mountain and head to Marietta for ice cream. It’s so delicious and gives me a little boost. But now we’re definitely back in the city, traffic is every where and Emory almost gets blasted as we ride through a signed and signaled crosswalk for the Mountain to River trail. The driver is in the wrong but wants to argue for a second and then we ride on, no one’s hurt so nothing happens. So we speed down Atlanta road and then it’s time for me to head North to home and Jacob and Emory to keep going south. We say bye and then we’re all off apart. I laugh a little at the silly feeling of riding alone now. It’s funny how quickly I get used to riding with others, we were a little team but now it’s time to go home.

I know I should eat something for the 40 minutes I have left but I don’t feel like it so I pedal slowly up every hill and coast as much as possible. I think about doing a quick gravel loop to get to a full 200 kilometers but then my feet hurt and I’m tired so I end the day at 123 miles. By the time I’m home Jacob is as well and Emory is taking a break at his shop for a beer. All ridden well I may say.

Weekend of Mayhem Fried Clay and BeltGrind

Fried Clay 200k starts with a quick conversation with my allofitp friend Craig D before I get nervous and take off to join the front group. We ride along at a fast but manageable pace. The dusty dirt roads wind us in and out of the early morning sunshine. It’s cool but warming fast. I stop to take off my pullover and catch back up to our little peloton. We roll along with around 20 riders.


Minimal conversation, excess nervous energy. Who’s ridden a 135 mile gravel race before?

Each hill puts a few more dents in another set of legs. Slowly we shed riders as the miles pass. 20 to 14 to 11 to 7 to 6 as we roll into the Peidmont NWR. We’ve all judged each other so there’s no sharing work. We move along in the little pack at the whims of the climbs and descents. Sometimes a rider or two goes off the front but as we slow for turns the pack keeps coming together. There’s a rider far off in the distance and the first time he turns and sees us he stomps on the pedals and expands his lead inch by inch until he disappears again. Creek crossings keep us together still.


Smoke drifts through the trees as we roar down loose grey descents. A change from the happy ochre of the earlier roads, not as steep, not as secluded. Easy to get lost here.

The group fights with itself on some of the shorter steeper climbs and we lose one rider and a couple voices request a nature break but the stronger riders stare ahead, stone-faced and not interested.

We pedal on, easy and manageable. Closing gaps and pushing my legs like it’s a 3 hour race. I feel great and am setting myself up to fail later. I can’t stop. I’m racing and I love it.

Shortly we come to Juliette, as does a train. The tension breaks as we have no choice but to wait. We pee, we oil our chains and I laugh at what the odds are that the lead rider off the front would get caught on one side as we are on the other.


A few minutes and the train is gone. We head into Juliette, get our pics and get out of town. The sun is now up and it’s getting warm. I’m eating and drinking and pedaling and it’s going well.

Soon we hit the first water stop at a church, water is off so we press on. Someone calls or texts or maybe just thinks about letting the organizer know about the lack of water. We are 5 now, oh well.

One rigid mountain bike, one dropbar mountain bike, three cross bikes. Nervous chatter about the horse trail from us three cross bikes. Stoicism from the mountain bikes. They came to win and they’ll go 1 and 2 for the day. It’s obvious we’re not in the same league. I’m wearing shorts and t-shirt for god’s sake.

Fast descent into the trail, slow for a couple horses and then full speed over roots and ruts. It’s not bad, like a mild version of the Sope upper loop. I watch everyone else bobble here and there as I clean everything and feel good. My silly monstercross rides have prepared me. Survive Sope on 38mm tires and you’ll be ok most anywhere else.

We stay together for the first half. Flying at the speed of light along low visibility rutted but dry trail. More horses then pedal to the metal. Hop over trees, jump down a steep rooted drop, creek crossing, water rank with the smell of livestock.

My upper body is taking a beating but we are moving so fast and smooth I can ignore it. I’m not drinking and barely eating and I know I’m sinking but staying on is better than trying to navigate and pick lines alone. Shortly the mountain bikes drop us as we two cross bikes drop the other one. Flouro yellow camelbak is not seen again. I ride with Monty for the rest of the horse trail. There’s sand and more horses and a slippery rock crossing and a river crossing that was supposed to be raging but with a week of no rain is barely a puddle.

I’ve enjoyed enough of the horse trail much sooner than we actually exit onto more gravel. We climb and climb and climb. I see stars and am seriously dehydrated. It ends up taking me almost 4 hours to recover from this point. Mountain bike 2 finds us on the climb, says he got lost – more to explain himself to himself than be social to us and then he and Monty ride away. I wave bye and pedal squares to the church.

I get there a few minutes after them and a hose is hooked up, we teamwork water and then they ride off. I say it was nice riding with you I’m not strong enough and good luck. The next 20 miles take 20 years. I pedal and I whinge and I wonder why I do this to myself. My arms are dead, my heart is dead and my brain is a raisin. The sun is so high and hot and every descent has crusher run at the bottom and every climb is twice as long and I hate everything I wish I had stayed home. I ate new gels and my stomach is acidic and my head hurts.

After an eternity where I peek at my mileage, rage at how much longer it is to the camp, then decide to wait an hour before looking again, wait the “hour” look and rage again as I’ve only gone five miles in what felt like hours and hours.

I hit the camp and the euphoria curtain comes down. Monty is shirtless and sitting down, he’s done. No more today. I’m in third place. Typical aid station motivation – “They just left you can catch up” I laugh so hard my face hurts. I’m not catching anyone, seeing Monty quit has given me the fortitude to continue on enough to finish. I also have to keep my word to James and give him a ride. If I cut the ride short now I’ll have a wonderful time sitting around for 6-7 hours feeling like a failure. So eat some gummies, have a coke, oil my chain and then back out.

Guy in blue on an mountain bike comes up, doesn’t say much after getting his pic and takes off. He’s riding strong but I catch up. Typical of the day he doesn’t want to talk or draft or rotate. That’s fine it’s a long ride and people are nervous. Eventually he just rides off. Maybe he doesn’t like my face.

Now I’m alone again. Dusty roads, little wind, sun so high and so hot. I’m drinking and eating and it’s ok. I’m lonely like always after 7 hours so I put in my headphone and listen to Chris Delia make jokes and laugh about bullshit. I pedal and eat and look at the sky and the county. It’s nice.

Sometimes I stop and walk up a hill. I stop to pee, bright florescent yellow but what can you do. I’m too far behind on hydration to do anything other than suffer and catch up slowly. Too much water too fast is worse than the alternative. My lips are chapped from the dust and the salt and the pollen and the sun. I stop and put on some chapstick. Is there any greater luxury than having a framebag full of all the things I could need? I love you Revelate Tangle Medium Black.

So I keep going. Wander around the last church looking for water until I see the pump house, my addled mind takes a few moments to connect no water flow + light switch + electrical pump = duh. Flip the switch and ice cold water. It’s so wonderful. I feel much better for a bit. Rusty from GravelCyclist passes me and then we ride together just long enough to exchange pleasantries. I say he won some race we both did, he says ya then I say usually I ride with JOM or K-Dogg and he laughs and says ya and then I say good luck and bye and he rides off looking strong.

I get passed by another rider somewhere in there as well. Soon enough I recognize the roads, I’ve been here for Red Clay Ramble four times. Now I’m close to home and the sun is low in the sky. I’m not pedaling strong, but stronger than I was. Last turn and then I roll to the end. Imagining the different finishes I’ve had at the Ramble. Sometimes solo, sometimes sprinting. This is different, I’m not sure if it’s better but fuck it’s harder for sure.

Get my pic with the time on my GPS and then Craig D and Gike a guy named Mike I met at an alleycat appear. Craig D cut out feeling like shit and I guess Gike did too. We laugh and complain and feel good about being done.

I slowly roll the few hundred yards to camp and talk a bit with K-Dogg from GravelCyclist. He quit too, course was too hard after horse camp which was no fun so they came back. I totally relate. Probably if I hadn’t had to keep my word to James it would have been easier to quit.

I’m so happy to be done I bask in the endorphins and do everything slowly.


10 minutes to put my bike in the van. 10 minutes to change. Just sit for a few minutes. Look around for some more. After an hour or so I leave to go get a Big Mac. Get something for James as well. Oddly enough the McDonald’s has a functional shake machine and I am in heaven. Pickle at the gas station and I am restored. Drive back to the camp in the setting sun, it’s nice.

I watch James’ progress on Instagram and he’s riding strong. Stand by the sign waiting for riders as the sun sets, look at the stars, sit on the ground. It doesn’t matter time is free when you don’t have to pedal anymore. Before too long James is back at the van. Happy to be done. He wastes no time, bike in the back, Chicken sandwhich in his mouth we’re back on the road to Atlanta in no time. Talk about the ride and all sorts of stuff on the way back. Nice to have company.

I drop James, make it home and try to get ready for the BeltGrind.


Sleep is a battle but it comes fast once I commit. I wake up, eat a bit, get my bike set up a bit and then have a nap. Wake up again and slowly realize I never registered for the race. Check my email, check the website, check my blog, check my email again oh shit whoops I forgot to register. Send of a desperate message to the organizer Wyatt, then a text to James to see if he knows anyone dropping out I can buy a ticket from then I whirl into my van and drive down.


The parking lot is packed. Tents, giant off-road redbull thing blasting music, a million cyclists, costumes and all sorts of fun stuff. I spot Wyatt instantly and I guess he saw my message and gets me set up to register right away. I am intensely thankful and think fuck I really need to volunteer or do something other than just race for once.

So I pay and then go sit in my van for bit as I’m an hour early for my usual time. Have a coffee and enjoy the breeze. Walk a bit and drink a ton of water. Nervous about my food, water intake and energy. Yesterday was hard but I rode a very low intensity for such a large portion I think I’ll be ok today. Thinking Top 5 should be doable. The announcement for the announcement starts and I change to my shorts and t-shirt, put on my hat and helmet and ride up. Everyone is standing around in helmets so it’s fine but kinda silly. Helmet becomes a hat when not riding a bike I think.

I talk to Kelly and Craig D and Angel and Opie and Jacob Cronan who were 1st and 3rd last year. There’s a lot of people. A lot of people.

The announcements happen, birth year determines direction, even for me so I pull same as last year. Racers line up here so we do. Nervous banter, nervous laughter.


Hey don’t ride so fast you know there’s two laps right. Haha I laugh; I’m going to kill myself and see what happens.

We jostle and joke and fidget and then there’s the drumroll and maybe the siren or was that yesterday and then it’s sprinting down the beltline and tunnel vision. I’m set for the hole shot, lose it to Fuji singlespeed who I learn later is named Kenny then get it back right away. I fly into the first dirt section hard, this is my max I’ve got nothing left but the first few miles can make or break the race. I lean, move forward back side-to-side as I wind through around and over the ruts and broken ground connected by flat smooth sections. I’m killing myself and it works perfectly. I come out on the westside beltline with just one rider. Jeff Hopkins, former national champion track racer Jeff Hopkins who’s also an outstanding gravel rider. Well hell this’ll be fun.

So we blast down the beltline, slow for a family here, smile and wave at a kid there it goes pretty well and reasonably pro-social. Hole shot again into the tunnel level and then we wind around. Coming into the apartments I lose the third hole shot to a kid on a BMX bike but he clears the tech section so it’s fine. Now Jeff and I blast along the railroad ballast. He’s crushing me on his cross bike fuck this MTB is great but he’s so fast.

Mud section is next, I think he pedals the whole thing, I bobble once but manage to get my pics taken upright and pedaling so that’s nice. Soon first checkpoint is here. I drop my can, get a punch and we’re off.


Jeff doesn’t have a route so it’s follow me and it’s off down the sidewalk at full speed. Can’t cross Northside against the light so up the sidewalk and then over. I yell preparation instructions to Jeff as we get the green and cross Maritta and then down the path through Georgia Tech up to Atlantaic Station over 17th street get the green for Spring but have to bobble on Peachtree then up to Ansley Park then down the hill and second checkpoint.

Playful assault and battery by dinosaurs as we fuck around jumping from leaves to leaves and crawling through hay. Get my stamp some whiskey and it’s blast down the smooth gravel to the eastside beltline. Shit there’s the leaders coming the other direction. Are we halfway? Fuck I think they’re moving fast and there’s four or five in a group. Jeff and I hit the eastside and fly down the sidepath. Few pedestrians slow here and there cross the bridge and keep going down the side trail. It’s anti-social rude riding but that’s ok it’s just for today.

Soon we hit third checkpoint and do the pony ride and get my punch. Jeff crushes me in the sand but soon we’re riding well on the gravel. It’s bumpy and large washboard but we are moving. He picks excellent lines and sees things I don’t usually see. I learn a lot he’s smart rider. Next checkpoint is just a punch. Say hi to Sarah Humphreys awkward just like last year and then ginger ale shot blok and off we go. I’m eating and drinking well and we just fly over the dirt and rocks and sand and bridges and pass the couple hundred riders coming the other way.

Soon we’re back at the start. No one here, few seconds to be confused then Jeff says ok that was fun and I was only doing one lap. I laugh outside cry inside and then the whiskey hits and I’m off. I fly up the dirt. If you ride your bike hard enough you can time each pedal stroke to the terrain and just float over everything. I am right at the edge of death as I see the chase group. 2-3 spread apart a few hundred feet. Shit I think I’m only a few minutes out. Later I learn I was 10 from my chasers and 5 from the leader going the other direction. Stomp the pedals and just fly heart singing.

So I go, stamp 2 at checkpoint 4, stamp 2 at checkpoint 3 pedal pedal pedal drink eat drink show my teeth and keep going.

Back on the beltline and more sidetrail. Lots of riders coming the other way, lots with their heads down but I flow around, someone calls my name here and then later on as well. I think it’s Jacob from the Chattanooga trip and then Eddie from the SundaytoMonday rides. Shit I don’t know the tunnel vision and race high are so intense.

Hit the green light at Monroe again twice lucky unbelievable and back on the gravel. More head down dipshits but I make it to checkpoint 2 again, get my stamp stamp lady is handsy in a weird fun way and then I’m off. Slow walk up the hill and then try to conserve on the pavement. See Austin the leader for counter-clockwise and feel the pressure. Through Ansley again, hit the green at Peachtree then Spring goddamn luck just coming all over today. I know my choose your own adventure route is the best. So I dial back just a bit here and rest, pedaling hard but eat drink drink go. Slow walk up the Georgia Tech path then over Marietta down Northside and back to checkpoint 1. Tomato is as flirty as possible in the five seconds we interact which throws me for a loop but gives me a nice awkward booster out of there.

Fly by casuals at the mud section, get myself covered in mud again. Walk the rocks, run the rocks and then back onto the ballast. I see a big group ahead and downshift to pass before the tunnel level. Works great I get the hole shot ahead and then it’s pedal pedal pedal and I’m on the westside beltline again. I have my last bit of liquid and I’m right on the ragged edge of blowing up. This has been so hard but so fast and so intense I haven’t been able to pay much attention other than surviving. I’ve suffered so much and I’m so close.

I pedal as hard as I can into the wind down the pavement, soon I’m at the short dirt section, corner corner pedal jump weight back for dips and then fly out on the beltline. There’s the finish sprint sprint sprint holy shit I won. I stop show my belt and then sit down on the grass.

It feels like seconds before the 2nd place rider Austin comes in. Turns out it was 11 minutes that disappeared. I sit without moving for almost twenty minutes but it feels like only a couple. Third place comes in and we laugh and compare stories and notes and laugh and fuck it feels good to be done. Other riders trickle in. Opie comes up he dropped his chain right at the first offroad section and did one loop and was done. Other guys dropped after other shit happened. Jacob comes in somewhere top 10. Kenny somewhere too.

As more people finish and they talk to their friends I sit by myself for the first time. Jesus Christ 11 minutes to second place that’s crazy. Could have dialed it back just a bit I guess. I feel ridiculous. I’ll never be fit like this again, 200k of gravel the day before and then this today. Good thing Shey Linder didn’t show.


Then it’s say hi to other people I know and getting congratulations and I look for Kelly and Craig D but they’ve went on already. I wonder around in a daze and wait for prizes. Try to get food but I’m not really hungry. Then it’s prizes and laughing and that’s it. Go home and sit around in a daze until I finally pass out at 1am only to wake right back up the beating of my heart in my ears at 5am. Winning a race like this is intense in ways other events just aren’t. Definition of over-stimulation. Same thing happened 7 years ago when I won the Peachtree Bash. It’s almost too much. I’ll spend the rest of the day in a daze, wide-eyed and happy, snoozing here and there. Exhausted but mind still ready to ride at a million miles an hour.





It’s been a long time since I had any cycling goals. So easy to set a ceiling and once hit continually venture only as high as you’ve already been.

I’ve done that this year, so far.

I did it last year.

I mean, I plan rides in new places and have had a ton of new experiences racing my mountain bike and gravel bikes around the Southeast but it’s been a long time since I set out to work towards and complete a goal that isn’t just a spur of the moment Saturday morning ride.

In 2015 I had a few goals. I rode a 200k and was on my way to a 300k when the seasons changed and I ran out of motivation.

In 2014 I was racing at the track and it was more fun than anything else. I did a few centuries and a lot of the Dunwoody Cycling Saturday ride.

2013 I wanted to be a road racer. I raced as much as I could afford and worked very hard to race well. It didn’t pan out but it was fun and made me feel accomplished at the end of the season.

2012 my goal was to ride a fixed gear century. I failed the first time but succeeded the second. Creeping out of my mom’s house at 5am and riding along the quiet Sunday hours to the outskirts of Athens, GA. Later I wanted to win an alleycat, which I did twice. The Peachtree Bash and the Black Cat Alleycat. The former is on of my most cherished experiences.

2011 I started cycling. First I just wanted to ride more than 5 miles. Then I wanted to ride from my duplex to the restaurant I worked at – a special place where I made friends and grew so much. 24 miles round trip, felt like a huge accomplishment at the time. Later I wanted to ride 40 miles, after that a metric century but I think that didn’t happen until 2012.

Gravel and learning to love a bike

An hour in and I feel totally alone, the shimmering glow of impending sunrise off to my left creates a warm sensation as I pedal along the narrow road near Ben Hill. The far west side of Atlanta is marked by dense housing spaced by huge swaths of featureless rolling Kudzu covering empty lots.

I stop for a photo and as I get back up to speed a paceline of three roars by with a cheery “good morning” I am startled and let out a laugh as they quickly disappear into the distance. It’s so easy to forget that solitude on the road is almost always an illusion. With a smile I continue heading southwest, passing the suburban tracts with their smaller 1980s style housing stock before entering the more recent developments where the housing appears enormous on tiny lots, barely enough grass for a mower I suppose.

Before long I have left any semblance of urbanity behind and come to the first of many gravel segments. The road is filled with chatter and I bounce around for a bit before I settle in and starting actively riding my bike. It’s so easy to sit on my bike and spin my legs around, lazy riding even if it’s fast. Once the terrain gets rough I need to ride the bike. Lean forward as I encounter a rut heading uphill, counter-steer into the loose gravel turns and raise up ever so slightly with the larger bumps to cushion the impact with my legs.

It’s spirited riding and I make good time through a sampling of the sections of the Dirty Sheets route – a seminal off-road route for Atlanta area riders. The roads here are just chunky enough to make a road rider feel accomplished while at the same time attracting mountain and cross riders with their sweeping curves and short sections of technical terrain.

The roughest section is Upper Wooten Road – a cyclist and pedestrian only section that serves as an entrance into Cochran Mill Park. The gravel gets a little larger and looser with a few steep climbs but I make good time and don’t need to adjust the pressure in my tires, still set for road riding.

Once I near Cochran Mills I see huge swarms of road cyclists, it takes a few times of seeing the pavement marked heart and arrow to recall this is the One Love Century – an event put on by the Metro Atlanta Cycling Club. I ride a fair portion of the route and note the relaxed pace and cheery attitudes of the riders. I have obviously missed the more competitive groups. A relaxing stream of greetings and encouragement flow by as I work my way through the groups here and there on the road back northeast.

Soon enough I turn off onto my own route and head back into the city. I take a short detour to investigate what appears to be a connecting bike path just north of Camp Creek Parkway but it ends after less than a mile with no connection to anything else.

Oh well I think, at least it was a change of pace. Back on track I pass through familiar areas of the far west side. The economic depression of this area is obvious but the passing traffic is courteous and I make good time. Soon enough I am close to home but I feel very good so I add a few more miles before concluding my ride. It feels nice to be on familiar roads for a change so I totter over, around and just like that I am back at the door to my apartment, smile still on my face.

Ray’s Gap

Rays Gap

Massive storms all across the north georgia tri-state area blew through late morning, pouring rain crashing lightning and high winds were forecast. I was touch and go for making this ride but after much deliberation I committed to the traffic, potential rain riding and other bumps that might have otherwise ruined my weekend plans.

The ride itself was amazing, new roads at new times are always so invigorating. The storms made for lower temperatures and heavy overcast kept the sun hidden much of the time even if the humidity was very high. Friday is an especially interesting time to ride, there is an excitement in the air as work ceases and people prepare for their short respite from the grind of sustaining their life.

There were several loose dogs, one especially committed to the chase on Towe Chapel road that worried me on the return leg. Thankfully when I did retrace my path the hour was late and the hound had retired from his duties for the evening.

This area of Georgia, maybe only on lazy summer Fridays, seems very relaxed. There was a bit of traffic but it was courteous and accommodating. As I strode north at a fast pace in a high gear, the daylight slowly diminishing I was as relaxed as I’ve ever been.

Dalton has all the potential to be a post-industrial wasteland – home to more than a hundred carpet manufacturers and associated sibling shipping and storage facilities – but still beset by the occasional empty, dilapidated buildings and homes. However an incomparable concentration of one type of industry has prevented the slow-collapse I’ve seen in so many other areas. There is neglect and turnover but it is indicative of nothing more than normal urban industrial life-cycle. Businesses come and go but there is still growth in both production and population.

Young families sit outside eating at a corner pizza place, a small crowd gathers for an outdoor concert, downtown is relaxed and active in that southern slow-motion way that can be so comforting.

Shortly I reach my climb for the day, a winding road up to Ray’s Gap. The climb is typical of this area, glimpses of the surrounding country side can barely be had through the thick trees and the summit is little more than a cul-de-sac of very expensive homes with only a small window of visibility to the west. The climb is a leg-breaker with the final section being 13-16% – my legs give up twice and I walk for a time before remounting and finishing astride my bike.  I have a chuckle before descending and starting the ride home – the gentleman walking his dogs on the lower slope had told me there was a panoramic view from the top – but he also told me he hadn’t ridden it in a long time – time for him to ride it and see how the trees have hidden the view now.

As the sun sets and darkness falls on unfamiliar country roads the sense of solitude and isolation is overwhelming. Country houses are not brightly lit like the more urban and suburban landscapes familiar to me. Dogs bark and unknown creatures rustle from the darkness as I ride by. Long sections of road where there is nothing but trees and weeds encroaching right up to the road edge. It’s dark and lonely and I miss the people I love. But I ride on, strong emotions are the flavor of life and this ride is packed with them.

So I ride in the dark and pedal and eat and think. My legs feel weary and I am restless, I do not trust the convenience store I see coming into Resaca. Leaving my bike outside in the poorly lit storefront bordered by impenetrable darkness on either side does not seem like a good idea. I crave the frigid burn of a soda, I stop at a vending machine that intially accepts my dollar bill and then after consideration (during which I press the button for Dr. Pepper) the machine rejects the note and refuses to engage anymore. “Too late for me”, it seems to say, “I’m closed.”

So I pedal on, my lights bright and my heart singing. Shortly I see another vending machine I had passed earlier. I stop, once again paranoid in the dark unfamiliar country and slide a dollar into the machine. I press the button for Dr. Pepper and am rewarded with a cold can, I open it and drink it as quickly as I can. The cold carbonated sweetness burns my throat and nose and fills me with joy.

Fortified once more I pedal like mad through the dark back to my car. This last leg is almost an hour and a half but it feels like no time at all. Shortly I am in the parking lot of the Sosebee Cyling park, removing my damp clothes and fighting the veil of sleepiness that accompanies the end of a long ride late at night in an unfamiliar place.


Fort Mountain

Fort Mtn

Fort Mountain is a typical Georgia mountain. I climb and climb and climb and once I reach the summit there’s no visibility through the trees. I laugh, such a majestic mountain from afar but up here it seems like I went nowhere. Same tall green trees, the climbing just in my imagination.

The best part of this ride was the two hours I spent on 411 heading south. The road is wide open, nothing but speed and sun. My mind burned to a crisp, it’s been years since I’ve ridden in full sun for so long. The frigid blast of air conditioning as I stumble around the Family Dollar to purchase a root beer. It’s so cold it burns my throat and creates a frozen diamond in my stomach. I speed through the desolate small town countryside that has all but been destroyed by the service economy. Industry and residential are old, tired and sagging in the summer sun.

Later I stand outside a gas station for almost 20 minutes eating, drinking and covering myself in an entire 10 pound bag of ice. It takes so long to cool down, I try not to drink too much but the cold water feels so good. Countryfolk come and go with a few friendly comments and quite a bit of raised eyebrows but it’s nice to stop and rest.

It’s supposed to be hard

Chillhowee 1

That’s how you know it’s good.

Always lurking in the wings self doubt has risen up on this foggy morning and is hitting my with everything it has as I pedal along in the thick tepid air. Visibility is low and a sense of suffocating doubt is created. I struggle to embrace the next 7 hours.

“It’s going to be hard”
“What happens if you get lost”
“What if you get stuck”
“Are you really enjoying yourself”
“Isn’t this all just a waste of time”

A herd of cattle watches as I pass, unimpressed by my efforts. As I move through the country side passing farms, barking dogs and ominous grey skies my mood improves. By the time I cross into Tennessee I feel next to normal. The miles are passing and I am enjoying myself. The forests are green and lush from the heavy rain of the past month, sun still hiding in the clouds and the air is cool. My GPS beeps happily as it guides me along my course.

A soft rear tire signals a flat so I pull onto a side road and set about changing it. The process goes smoothly and is comforting, further reinforcing my good mood. I note the road sign “Sloan Gap” and decide to meander off course to see where it leads. This road winds through the chain just north of Sand Mountain and ends at a Oconee river outfitters. Noting the restrooms I stop to wash my hands and get my bearings before heading back to my route.

Once again I am heading North to Chilhowee. The mountain is enormous and visible from several miles away. I note parts are shrouded in angry livid grey-blue and wonder if I’ll hit some interesting weather. But where I am now is sunny and calm, the day is warming as I pedal towards the climb.

Chilhowee is a monster and destroys my legs. The climb is gravel, wash-boarded and very steep. I slide and struggle up the mountain and have to stop repeatedly. Walking is a chore and my face and lungs are afire.

Soon enough the climb is over, never feeling as bad as I expected but simultaneously the hardest thing ever. The road along the top of Chilhowee is paved and smooth. I ride for a bit before hitting more gravel and decide to turn around early as I have little water and a second climb that I expect to be as hard as the first. I will have to return to redeem myself.

The mountain contains wonderful views and I take copious pictures. The descent is almost as taxing as the climb, the wash-boarding bucks the bike too and fro and I struggle to maintain control.

My hands, shoulders and neck are sore and exhausted by the time I hit the paved section. The ride back is marked by thunderstorms, sunshine and heat, blown legs from the climb and a feeling of euphoria. I struggle mightily to get back to my car but I have conquered the earlier slings and arrows of self-doubt and succeeded in my ride. Contented I pack and return home, feeling good and motivated for future rides.