The Gold Rush 1200 has come and gone. We seem to spend an age preparing for them, and the weeks leading up to the ride drag by, but the actual event just flashes past in a blur of half remembered roads, faces and names. Here I am back in Griffin and it's all over until at least next year. I'll try to piece together a coherent account while my memories are fresh. This course naturally divides into several segments, much more so than PBP, which quickly become a jumbled sequence of roads and control stops.
The first day is all about climbing. We left Monday on a relatively cool afternoon at 6pm. Within a few miles someone had blown a tire. I was sitting at the very back with Alan Gosart and asked if the guy needed any help. He yells "a pump!". I should have just laughed but I turned around and went back to see if I could help. It quickly became apparent that the guy really hadn't bothered to pack a pump, so I told him that the sag was bound to come along any minute and excused myself. It took me a while to catch the tail enders. It was also apparent that the front pack was taking off in a hurry. They were at least a mile ahead, streaming across our view after having turned right ahead of us. I settled in with two women from Florida, out on their first 1200, having chosen Gold rush on the advice of Jim Solanick. They were to later DNF after receiving a soaking on Tuesday. It didn't take long for us to miss a turn and gain two Bundrick miles. Two of our group showed their bulldog determination by continuing off into the distance, in the wrong direction, after the group had collectively come to it's senses. It wasn't even dark yet! From there to the water stop I was entertained by a rider with a broken handlebar. It was a carbon fiber bike and the handlebar was also carbon. This was his second carbon frame, the previous one having developed a crack. And yet he retained a touching faith in the wonders of carbon, as he rode with his right hand on the stem.
A group of about 10, more or less the last on the road, arrived at the water stop as darkness was falling. This group couldn't stay together through the water stop and I ended up in a group of three with Don King from Ca and Glenn Smith from Saskatchewan (sp?) Canada as we rode in to the Oroville stop in a little over 6 hours. We learn here that the front group had set a blistering, sub 5 hour, pace to Oroville. Peter Springer and Bill Glass were in this group!
I left Oroville with Glenn Smith. We were both surprised to hear that some riders had opted for a nap at Oroville. I was feeling a little sleepy, but the challenge of the hills ahead was exciting. Glenn and I rode very sensibly up to Tobin. There was one cue sheet blooper that cost us several minutes when an advertised turn arrived a few miles sooner than it should have. A rider catching us from behind commented that there aren't any alternative roads in this area. Further North this proved to be very true. After the long haul up Jarbo Gap we had a short downhill before arriving at Tobin. Alan was at the control wondering where Bill was. He left with Glenn and I and the three of us made good time up the easy but relentless 2 to 3 percent grade of the Feather river canyon. Trains could be seen and heard passing us on the other side of the river. At 5 am, with the first dawn light we were treated to a big lightning display and it wasn't a shock ;-) to get mildly wet thirty minutes later. The air is so dry however that clothes and skin dry very quickly, even without the help of the sun. Nobody bothered with rain jackets. It turned out that Glenn has ridden a number of 1200s and held the course record for the Rocky mountain 1200, 59+ hours, until Ken Bonner showed up one year to knock a few hours off it. We worked together very well and arrived in Greenville in time for some oatmeal for breakfast. For me it was also time for a fifteen minute nap on the sunlit grassy bank by the resort cabin.
Glenn and I hooked up again, while Alan had finally found Bill and they wanted to wait around for Lee Howell. The ride around the valley, dubbed the "over the river and through the woods" section by Peter S. was a pleasant flattish section before starting the seven mile climb to Antelope lake. It was midday but luckily some clouds were keeping the temperature down and the climb was very enjoyable, ascending a picturesque canyon. Antelope lake is delightfully situated at the top of the climb and the water stop was a good place to take a breather. From there were some ups and downs, riding through scented tall pines, climbing eventually to the top of the ride at 6500 feet. Then the biggest downhill of the ride, down the Janesville grade hill. At the bottom I pulled into a gas station and took a fifteen minute nap on a concrete bench in the shade. Twelve easy miles later I was in the ugly industrial town of Susanville. The range of hills we had just crossed marked a distinct change in landscape. We were now in the high desert of Northern California, with lots of open prairie, a few trees and the occasional windswept ranch house. At the control Glenn wanted to wait for me so we took off together in the late afternoon with clouds gathering. The climb up to Antelope pass is long and continuos, a sort of super Burnt mountain without the steep upper section. I set the pace all the way up which at least saved me from having to match any higher tempo that Glenn might have felt like setting. Rain and some gusting wind set in half way up the climb and the descent on the other side was a wet one. Ahead the road stretched away across a flat open valley floor in an almost straight line for 10 miles toward some distant hills. Between the curtains of rain a lone figure could be seen a few miles ahead. Glenn tucked himself onto his aerobars against the wind and rain and the chase began. We didn't catch Karen Adelyot until about half way up the next climb (those distant hills) and the three of us worked together in what were becoming quite difficult conditions.
At the top Karen surged ahead and Glenn and I stopped to take some photos. We'll catch her on the downhill we thought. She was in fact waiting at the top of this hill but it soon became apparent that she was also quicker downhill. This has something to do with being able to touch your chest to your saddle nose, which more than cancels out a fifty pound weight difference. After one final, less severe climb we reached an overview of the huge Eagle Lake. Down the hill and around several miles of lake edge we finally arrived at the water stop to be greeted by a wonderfully welcoming Davis couple. We huddled in the back of the u-haul and ate chips and gatorade. It gradually became apparent from the conversation that there were two "bodies" asleep in the driver's cabin. The bikes had been hidden by the van and we never did discover who these riders were.
After thirty minutes we started moving again and cruised through a lovely area (national forest) before taking a longish downhill into the vast and open valley containing Adin. It was dusk when we rolled into the community center control. David was there and he was preparing to take a short nap before heading out. I was more interested in a solid 4 hours of sleep, so after wolfing down some soup, spaghetti, garlic bread, mashed potato and yoghurt with fruit I headed for the dormitory. I managed four and half hours sleep until 2am, but unfortunately was woken from very deep sleep so I was particularly slow at getting organized.
It was 3 am when I rolled out with the only rider from the UK, Chris Wilby. The second day is about riding in the vast open spaces of the high California desert, with some hills thrown in to remind you of yesterday. After a few miles the road swung upwards for a gentle seven mile ascent of the Adin Pass. Nothing hard about it, but it was worrying that even so early in the morning there were a number of logging and goods trucks passing us. The downhill took us much of the way to Camby but we missed the right turn in Camby and so added a few more bonus miles.
From Susanville onwards I'd noticed that my freehub was misbehaving and from Camby to Alturus it would sometimes take several seconds to catch after coasting. All those fixed gear miles were put to use as I tried to avoid coasting as much as possible! I had a couple of "moments" at intersections when I pushed on the pedals to pull away from the stop sign and the cranks spun around. It's quite hard to unclip when you can't push on anything and a couple of times I came close to an undignified tumble. My right knee was also starting to bother me and standing in particular was becoming too painful to tolerate. From Camby, to the control at Alturus and then out to the turnaround at Davis creek is a flattish forty miles and so I was able to spin along by myself for most of the way. Steve Rex (as in Steve Rex frames) looked at my freehub problem in Alturus and called on the cell phone network to have a wheel ferried North. As I was eating in Davis Creek, happy to be at the turnaround, a control vehicle pulled in with an eight speed wheel. The cassette was wider range than the one it replaced, and a good thing that turned out to be.
So back along the same roads to Alturus, picking up with a fast group (Karen Bonnett and lieutenants) for the last few miles, stuffing some oatmeal (with apples, raisins and brown sugar mixed in to order) and then heading out alone once more. I really started to limp along between Alturus and Camby, unable to stand up and with pains shooting through my knee every couple of minutes, pains bad enough that I had to unclip and let the leg dangle. I decided I'd get to Camby and see if there was a gas station with some ice. There was and I came out of the store with a ridiculously large bag of the stuff. Icing my knee for 20 mins seemed to help and I followed "mountain bike" Ken up the climb out of the valley. Halfway up I came across Ken with his bike lying on the ground. Bikes are like horses and cows in one respect; if they are lying down and the owner is standing over them there is a good chance they are sick. This one had a broken chain and Ken was twiddling a cool tool in front of the chain, hoping perhaps that the tool might work some magic and make the animal better without it actually having to come into contact with the chain. Ken freely admitted that he had no clue how to take the pin out of a chain. Sometimes I despair, I really do. I pulled my Park chain tool out and had the offending section spliced out in ten minutes. A sag pulled over half way though and the lady was able to help me get most of the grease off.
A bizarre misunderstanding followed. I asked the sag lady if she had any suntan cream. She couldn't find any but a few minutes later she pulled alongside and asked if I had any in my Adin drop bag. I replied that I did and she said "I have your bag!". It turned out that she was ferrying bags back from Adin. She pulled ahead as if to pull over but then continued on over the hill. I never saw either her again, or my bag, until the finish!
Back to spinning. I found through trial and error that there were a two positions that felt most comfortable. Neither will find it's way into the racing manuals. The most bizarre looking was to scoot way forward on the saddle and sit bolt upright, with maybe one finger holding the handlebar. It wasn't a very elegant position and later on I passed a guy going up the back of Antelope pass riding like this. I think he thought I was showing off.
This area, being a national forest, was the most unpopulated. Just us, a smattering of traffic, tall pines and occasional big views across open valleys. Many of these flat open valleys gave the appearance that they were once lakes. The road rolled along before dropping back down to Eagle Lake and the friendly couple at the u-haul water stop. Ken had just left in front of me so I had their undivided attention. I sat in the shade and we chatted while I ate the sandwich I'd carried since Adin. On the way out I'd managed to carry a banana and several other food items all the way to Adin.
A note on food in general. All the controls were well stocked with the usual items and most carried Hammer gel and other gels and bars. I tried some Sustained Energy drink, flavored with some chocolate Hammer gel. This stuff tastes like, to quote Roald Dahl's BFG, filthsome snozcumbers. I took a couple of sips and threw the rest out at the next control. Some controls had great food, Adin in particular and also Greenville where they were happy to cook me poached eggs on toast for breakfast. It seemed nothing was too much trouble for these people.
Back on the road around the Lake in the late afternoon sun I was in good spirits. My knee seemed to be improving and climbing away from the lake I tried a couple of experimental turns of the pedal while standing. Nope, that was still a no go, but I could sit in several creative ways that relieved my butt somewhat. Downhills were always welcome as I could contort myself enough to rest one thigh on the saddle and get some posterior relief. I started to count any coasting above 12mph as a downhill.
I followed the guy in front of me across the open flat valley road and caught him halfway up the back of Antelope Pass. I was a wearing a "Sierra Nevada Pale Ale" jersey and most of the California riders had some comments about where the brewery was (in Chico, up the valley from Oroville) and the quality of the beer. I stopped to take pictures of the view from the top of Antelope Pass. The sun was setting so I couldn't linger too long. It was almost dark by the time I arrived back in Susanville, Burger King chicken sandwich in hand. I am completely jinxed when it comes to ordering milkshakes. I shouldn't even bother to waste my breath by asking for one. This joint in Susanville, just like all the others I have visited, was waiting for their machine to be fixed.
David was about to sally out towards the Janesville grade, figuring he wanted plenty of time to walk up it. Rather surprisingly he said he'd had to walk some already that day. I headed for the showers and grabbed a bed in one of the rented rooms. About midnight Peter Springer came in grinning from ear to ear (we are starting to find it amusing that we end up together at some point, usually later, on these longer rides) We swapped tales of the road before I dressed, ate some more oatmeal (the food of choice on this ride) and took off into the third day. The third day is simply riding from the highlands to the lowlands. Before the big downhills I had to tackle the much talked about Janesville grade.
Janesville grade was too steep for me in one middle section, and after zigzagging up this section for a while I gave up and walked the last 400 yards. Not being able to stand didn't help! Other than this section the hill is nothing to be afraid of. It was just becoming light as I arrived at the water stop. My breath was clearly visible in the cold air and there was fog forming over the lake. The temps were later reported as being in the mid thirties. Stupidly I'd considered taking my thermal shirt in Susanville but had decided to leave it in the drop bag, thinking it hadn't been that cold so far. It took a thick blanket and a cup of coffee to stop my teeth chattering.
The descent down the canyon road into the valley containing the village of Greenville was strewn with rocks and gravel from the storms and I kept the speed moderate. It must have been tedious for those descending in the dark. The "over the river and through the woods" section wrapped itself in a horseshoe around the edge of the valley bottom. The far side of the valley was in full sun and I longed for the road to find it's way over there. Eventually it did and I lay on that same sunlit grassy bank in Greenville and warmed up, while the control cook rustled up some poached eggs on toast and coffee. I couldn't find anything of interest in my drop bag except sun tan cream so I took off, thinking "it's all downhill from here". Once over the hummock separating the Greenville valley from the North branch of the Feather River Canyon there are many miles of gentle downhill. However everybody forgot to mention that there are persistent daytime winds up the canyon, often strong enough to completely cancel the shallow downhill grade. But while it was annoying to have to pedal downhill it was still easy riding and I took time off to take snaps of the canyon at appropriate look overs. The traffic on this road was the real irritant, logging trucks and commercial vehicles had no qualms about passing close by on blind curves.
Lunchtime and the Tobin control arrived at the same time and cold chicken pasta salad seemed perfect. I had spent the morning becoming progressively hotter and two of the control folk (both firefighters) suggested a swim. On checking the time and remembering my promise to myself not to ride in the valley in the afternoon heat, I scrambled after them down the steep bank to the river. They both stripped off into their skinnies and jumped in, I followed in my cycling shorts. Did I forgot to mention that one of the firefighters was a woman? Well she didn't have any qualms about mixed bathing, and I heard later that her main job at the control seemed to be luring riders into the river. She also had proposed to her fiancee the previous evening with a lit up sign on Jarbo Gap as he rode by. I gather the answer was yes. The water was not so cold to induce shivering. It felt decadent to soak in the deep pools and then warm up lying flat out on the smooth boulders in the middle of the river. Bike ride, what bike ride?
Not too far after Tobin the Jarbo Gap began. This was an easy mini-gap and I rode up in the company of Karen Adelyot and four others.After responding to an "attack" by two riders, I stood up and took off up the last two miles. Maybe the prolonged soaking in the river had helped but my knee had momentarily stopped bothering me and I felt as strong as I had at any point. I was sitting in the shade eating a PBJ when the group caught me and we followed an Oroville rider in the group the last few miles into the Oroville control. We were back in the valley and it was about 5pm when we arrived at a very hot motel parking lot. The sun seemed incredibly strong for so late in the afternoon. With no room reserved in Davis and no inclination to battle the heat I sat on one of the motel room beds and watched riders come and go. Peter Dusel rolled in on the front of a tandem looking very over-heated. He needed cold showers and air conditioning to bring his core temperature down. I have never seen anyone shivering from heat exhaustion, but this is apparently a common reaction. While he rested his partner, a younger woman from North Carolina, moaned about how he wasn't looking after himself on the bike, and how much heavier he was than her. Seven hundred and fifty miles must seem a VERY long way on a discontented tandem.
It was while I was dozing in one of the sleeping rooms that Peter S. hobbled in. Things had been going from bad to worse with his boil and he was relieved to simply lie on a bed for half an hour. Outside the Tennessee gang had pulled in and Bill was already holding court with the friendly group of sag drivers and control stop workers. After prolonged discussion we managed to come up with a plan to leave in thirty minutes or so. Getting five tired riders to the starting gate at the same time takes some doing and it took some prodding before we rolled out together. Within a few miles there was confusion as we came across a stop sign with no road markings and no clue from the cue sheet. Unfortunately my head lamp wire had broken and I could only get light by holding the wire at a certain angle with one hand. I was therefore essentially out of the navigation game. We ended up with Alan reading the cues and Bill zeroing his computer at every turn. I just hoped we didn't end up riding down any reservoir boat ramps. We did have one fifteen minute period of riding in circles as a cue sheet advertised a turn at 0.7 miles when it was a mile further up the road. Otherwise we made it to the secret control in good shape. Peter opted for an extended stay on a camp bed at the control so the four of us made our way along the very bumpy road levy road (just what a sore butt needs) until we crossed the metal bridge. Twenty miles to go! Everyone started to smell the barn and I think we rode the last section in not much over an hour, arriving at the rather smelly boy scout log cabin at dawn. I had been feeling a little nauseous since the last control and I figured I just needed to eat something. Rather stupidly (Bill reckons every 10 miles on the road knocks your IQ down one point so maybe I should say moronically) I reached for a boiled potato, from a bag of potatoes that I knew I'd seen at another control days ago. The three Ts kindly let me crash on the floor of their suite and we slept until midday. But my stomach had started to do flips and I declined sharing a taxi ride to the post ride banquet. Fifteen minutes later I was emptying the contents of my stomach into the bathroom toilet. I slept most of the next 24 hours, with an interlude to pack my bike in the box and hand it over to the wonderful folks at B+L cycles for shipping home. Luckily the Econolodge was less than 100 yards from the bike store so I didn't have to drag the bike box
any distance.
In summary my preparation for the ride was not perfect, but I'd laid a base of miles over the preceding months, and so even with a very extended taper while I fought off anemia, I had no difficulty reaching the finish. The ride was great and only my knee, still stiff and sore as I sit in the office five days later, is reminding me of the many hours on the bike. I have no numbness and my butt is recovering nicely. I didn't get a chance to put away any calories immediately after the ride, not counting that poisonous potato, but I've been making up for any deficits nicely ever since. Pound cake anyone?