The flickering lights of the little towns and villages that dot the route act as enticements to the rider, encouraging them onward.  As seems typical in true farming areas, dogs have no interest in me. Their concerns are the stock of the farm and not some wandering cyclist, out in the predawn darkness.  Only upon entering the villages and communities of the area, where the dogs are kept more as guards, do they stir when I wheel past their domains.

The darkness, especially in the autumn months, brings out different characters. Three of us arrived at an oasis of light, a pub, in an otherwise dark canyon. It was open until midnight and serving food. We headed inside and quickly ordered bowls of soup, mugs of hot coffee and chips to fortify us for more riding in the dark and cold. The locals (where they lived in this valley of darkness, we did not know) looked upon us with amusement and bewilderment, as if Halloween had come a month early. Soon, other riders arrived and the locals were outnumbered by lycra wearing cyclists, all keen on food and coffee.

Climbing to the top of the range on the night of day 2 in the dark, with 3 other bikes, was like the perpetual treadmill. All our eyes strained to see a respite; a sign that would indicate that this climb would be over and that we would be able to enjoy a free wheel into the valley below. There an overnight stop awaited us, where we could rest our bodies in anticipation of another day in the saddle tomorrow. Arrival at several false summits finally gave way to a true summit and a moon lit descent into the fog of the river valley below.

The equality of night and day meant that even the faster riders, who might get away with little or no night riding in the summer months, now had the same handicap as slower riders. Add in the rain that fell on days 2 and 3 and it further slowed riders. Peering through rain coated glasses to read cue sheets, road signs and road markings, fatigue came sooner then it might have in warm summer evenings.

As night fell for the 4^th day, we rode through a heavily forested section, one where no ambient light entered. We sped over rolling terrain, roads seemingly engineered by a roller coaster designer. All we could see was the area illuminated by our headlights, everything else pitch black, as if in a tunnel. With no idea of speed and scared to look down from the road to the computer to confirm our speed, we pressed on, trying to maximize speed, while maintaining contact with the road surface.

As we entered the last 30 km of the ride, the ravines and ridges of south east Pennsylvania in the dark became a puzzle of lefts and rights. Our bodies ached as we tried to climbs these steep roads. Unable to see the summits through the forest, the roads and turns all became similar in the darkness that enveloped us. Only the changing street names reminded us that we had not come through here earlier.

Up ahead we spied the taillights of a fellow rider, his red taillight standing out in a sea of black. The only mistake in the route sheet happened with 3 km to go in the ride. Once the three of us, standing in the ambient orange sodium light of a rural farm house, decided on the correct course of action, we head out. We ride alongside a highway of cars, towards the finish line’s welcoming lights and the warm congratulations of the volunteers and fellow riders, sure now that the darkness of the ride will be over soon.

We got our Zipcar in Rockville and headed east, doing pretty well with the navigation to Annapolis and ending up parking right down on the city dock, 500 feet from the finish line.

We got there on Saturday in time to see a couple of the 4 person teams finish, including one German team of 4 that had a 4 person support crew! That was pretty impressive and inspiring to me. Usually teams have at least a 2-1 ratio of crew members to riders, so this one to one ratio seemed pretty cool. A pity my German wasn’t better/existant, ’cause I would have loved to talk to the crew about their experiences.

Daniella from Brazil ( first women to finish) got in just before 9am on Sunday, and we were there to experience all the excitement of that event. She had a huge crew and they were great at the end, throwing her into the air in excitement.

All in all, a great event to see and hopefully we’ll see more next year

“Are y’all with those bike riders I saw on the road tonight?”

Thus began a conversation that I thought might never end.  Jeff Mudrakoff and I were at Km 650 on the Shenandoah 1200, heading south into the night towards Mt. Airy NC, and boyhood home of Andy Griffiths. A bed awaited us. We were standing outside a burger joint in Floyd VA, dressed up in our night riding-finest reflective vests, ankle bands and headlamps.

“Yes”, I replied, “we were with the riders she had seen earlier”.

“Well, y’all should be more careful. I came upon some riders earlier and they didn’t get off the road.”

“Sorry, ma’am (always best in the south to refer to people older then yourself as sir or ma’am), when you say get off the road, what do you mean?”  The ‘shoulder’ along this section of road consisted of the fog line and 4 inches of pavement before becoming dirt and grass.

“Well, I came up behind some bike riders earlier and when I did, they didn’t pull over and stop when I got behind them.”

“Ma’am, we are not obliged to get off our bikes when you come up behind. According to Virginia state law, I have as much right to the road as you do.”

“But that’s not right! Y’all should get off the road when a car approaches. After all, what am I to do?” Hit the brake pedal in the middle of the floor enters my mind, but I refuse to add this to the conversation.

Our conversation with this southerly matriarch continued for a few more minutes. She informed us that she had told her son to call the police to “do something about this” before she got back into her car and continued along home, hopefully without encountering any more disturbances/cyclists.  Jeff and I got back on our bikes after this, shaking our heads at the southern “hospitality”. We got no more then 200m up the road when, at the next stop light, a sheriff car, going in the opposite direction stopped, turned on his lights and rolled down his window:

“Y’all with the bike rider’s folks been seeing tonight?”

“Yes sir.”

“Where y’all coming from?”

“From Leesburg VA, sir.” Second note about the south: always talk to law officers with yes sir/no sir.

“Where are you heading?”

“To Mt. Airy NC, sir.”

“In one day, son???”

“No sir.” It was day 2.

“Where are you sleeping tonight?”

“Mt. Airy, sir.”

“Do you know how far that is?”

“Yes, sir.” God, I hope he doesn’t ask how far, ‘cause my route sheet is in kilometers.

“Y’all be careful out there. I’ve been getting calls all night about bikes on the road [it’s around 9pm by now]. It’s not that the folks here are trying to hit you, it’s just that accidents can happen.”

Wow, thanks for the thought that even if I’m dressed like a Christmas tree, in Southern Virginia, one can’t expect the drivers to slow down. 

Jeff and I had noted that the further south we traveled, the more things changed. At the start of the ride in Leesburg in Northern Virginia and as we traveled north to Gettysburg PA, the drivers were all very polite when passing us, the roads had nice shoulders and all seemed very good for driver/cyclist relations. After turning around and riding southward through Virginia, things changed. Roads got narrower and drivers got closer.  The good news as we traveled south was that as day turned into dusk, the number of cars on the road got less. The bad news was that as we started to use the little back roads south of Floyd, it became apparent that leash laws were below cyclists rights on the local sheriff’s list of things to be aware of. We became more attuned to the noise of paws and claws striking pavement in the dark as we worked our way through the howling back roads of Southern Virginia heading towards Mt. Airy.

Shenandoah 1200 Vital Stats: The ride goes the complete length of Virginia, starting in Leesburg in the northern part of the state, heading north to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, then south to Mt. Airy, North Carolina, before returning to Leesburg for the finish. While the individual hills are nothing tremendous, they are repetitive and frequently steep, which added up to approximately 40,000 cumulative feet of climbing. Toss in June’s normal high humidity and heat and the ride is a challenge for those from the coast. Jeff and I didn’t hit our stride until Day 4, when the temperatures and humidity dropped to ‘our normal’. We finished in 88 hours or so, getting by with about 2 hours of sleep each night plus a mid day nap of about 30 minutes in the shade each day as well. Evening temperatures dropped to the mid teens.  Except for the thundershower, we didn’t need arm or leg warmers at all.

Other notes about riding in the south (area defined as south of the Mason Dixon line

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mason_dixon_line) from someone who has now lived there for a month:

The further south one rides, the less Prius’s you see. Percentage of pickup trucks goes up. Never saw a Smart car.

Tea is a cold drink, served unsweetened (except at McDonald’s). Despite the title of the Commonwealth of Virginia, tea drinkers go without or bring their own.

Drivers in the south are the same as drivers in the north–when asked for directions to a specific place/street name; no one knows where it is. They all work off of landmarks.

Afternoon/evening thundershowers are more common the further south you go. Jeff and I experienced one such storm that left us racing downhill in the drops to get away from nearby lightening strikes.

Pork products are the most popular meat in the south. Pulled pork sandwiches were on all the menus and all the controls that had food seemed to have bacon or pork on the menu.

Expect hot and humid, especially compared to the BC coast. Jeff got here four days before the event and I was here a week and a half prior; we both got hammered by the first day’s 95% humidity and temperature in the high 20’s.

Note to self—a wool jersey is nice, but in 95% humidity it adds 2 pounds to the weight of the bike by holding onto all my sweat.

And finally, you never know how much you miss Canada until you ride along, begging for a Tim Horton’s so you can get a cup of tea, a doughnut and nap for a little bit. No such equivalent exists in the south and it is poorer for it.

A fair number of BC rando’s coming out to VA for the ride. It should be five of us in total from or associated with BC. A little nervous about the ride, the write ups about the inagural ride talked a lot about the heat and the hills and I haven’t done a lot of hills since the 600 at the beginning of the month, but I went out the other day for a ride over the Berkeley hills and while it was tough, my legs did fine.

I’ve been reading Christopher McDougall’s book “born to run” the last while. An interesting read about ultra running/physiology and how the simpler ways might be best. There was an interesting comment about how east coast runners and west coast ultra runners don’t mix as much. Each group had their own races and there isn’t much overlap except at some of the big races.
Sort of similar for rando types. We all have our local rides/series and except for the big rides, we tend to stick close to home. The travel M and I have done over the past few years has really opened our eyes to new rides, new people, and new places.