The following is a modest recounting of a recent long distance bicycling event by the Old Krank Earl Magpiong.

(Some history: The author attempted this event four years previously but had to abandon the ride after 215 miles. This year's event was his chance finish what he started.)

Words of wisdom, of course, but also words of hope. Armed with the "plan" Tom Bunker and I set out last Monday evening, July 6th, anticipating a successful completion of a 1200 Km/750 mile bike ride in 90 hours or less. Together, our stories will hopefully lead to a greater understanding of the experiences of randonneuring, or organized long-distance bicycle riding. Our primary purpose was to finish the distance regardless of the time, and together if possible. I will spare you all the details of the "plan" except to say it was reasonable, precise, and attainable.

Adrenalin, along with carbo-loading, push us along flat, flat, flat roads out of Davis, CA, leading to Oroville, some 103 miles from the start. We ride with a full moon leading our way along the Sacramento River, very little traffic, by ourselves (in the usual lanterne rouge position), noting with care each and every change of direction, all the while fueling our energy tanks with snack food. Nothing unusual except Tom being startled by the south end of a north-bound skunk! Must've been a friendly polecat because Tom did not suffer from "malodorous intent". I'm feeling strong. Stickin' to the plan. Continuing northeasterly through the darkness the climbing begins. We "banked" about two hours on our time table.

Steady climb up to Jarbo Gap, elev. 2700', along Hwy. 70; Tom begins to walk noting his heart rate higher than he'd like. We are trying to keep a steady, efficient pedaling rhythm based on a bpm heart rate. We summit while the moon continues her diligent watch over us. After a "potty break" at a closed restaurant and a long quiet descent (except for the logging trucks at 3 AM) we reach Tobin Resort (144 miles, 2000') a little after sunrise; at last we could see the Feather River and boulder-strewn cliffs through which we traveled. It is much more pleasant to descend in the daylight than in darkness. We are a little cold. Continue up 70 (Feather River Canyon) on a mild but steady grade after breakfast. We've banked another half-hour here.

(An aside: There are specific closing times at each control point; if the rider fails to come in before the closing time, that rider is considered a Did Not Finish. Consequently, the earlier one reaches a control point the more time one has off the bike to sleep, shower, rest, eat, etc.; this is called banking time).

The sun, now cleared of the canyon's peaks and ridges, is directly in our eyes as well as the eyes of on-coming drivers. While still little traffic (the logging trucks turned off at Jarbo Gap) we use a little more caution while pedaling up the canyon to Taylorsville. A few minutes after leaving Tobin, Tom begins to walk. I ride until I no longer see him behind me. I wait a few minutes at a power station site on the river while Tom, now riding, reaches me. He has been reaching his maximum bpm on this ascent more often than not. (Ethical decision: Do I stay with Tom and risk not reaching the control point on time or do I continue on my own pace without Tom and wait for him at the control point?) I choose the latter hoping he would understand (re: "Some history"). From this point on, I ride without Tom.

Warming up to the task, I continue to push the pace in order to bank more time off the bike. The day is moderately warm and the terrain has leveled off after a 36 mile climb. Taylorsville Control is the site of the first of three bag drops: Personal duffel/ditty/back-pack bags containing anything and everything the cyclist can use to guarantee a safe, efficient ride. I reached this control at 12:30 waited for Tom until 2 and decided to move on to Susanville and wait for Tom there. Banked another half-hour. Up another grade to the Boulder Creek water station. From here on the route is unknown to me. Control guys say I should be "getting on" as I only have nine hours to go 60 miles - times a wastin'. Another summit at 6300' (Top of the Janesville Grade) and a rolling to plunging descent into Susanville, the second bag drop, mile 254, elapsed time of 26 1/2 hours. Shower, eat, "sleep" for an hour and a half, check my drop bag for cold weather clothing (which I intended to wear but didn't; very bad idea!) and continued on, and up, and down, Hwy. 139 towards Adin at 11 PM with a young man, Ray Holzworth, whose father was a SAG driver and had, I later found out, picked up Tom and took him to Susanville. Ray had been bitten by a dog on the flat lands of Gridley.

Four passes over 5300' in 39 degree weather. Hallucinated at Eagle Lake; had a blanket wrapped around me at the Grasshopper CDF water station, 287 miles. My hallucination has the effect of "seeing" people crossing the road carrying knapsacks or children on their backs and disappearing into the darkness as I got closer to "them"; that's the perception. I later found out that several other riders experienced the same phenomenon: Trees along the side of the road "moving" across our line of sight; that's the reality. Kind of un-nerving dontcha know. I have some idea of the terrain up here because the moon continues her dazzling display of natural lights.

Ray opts to nap in his dad's SAG car and I carry on alone. Two more "bumps" out of Grasshopper and I'm plunging down the 14 mile descent into Adin. I'm freezing: I'm wearing thermal underwear, bike shorts, jersey, short fingered gloves, and a wind-breaker along with an over-the-ear ski bandanna. That's it. To my dying day, I will never forget the sight of my BR mask, arm warmers, and fleece long-fingered gloves lying in my drop bag in Susanville, just lying there waiting for me to pick them up and put them on. Bad on me, I say. Ne pense pas! Very happy to be here at 6:30 Wednesday AM, 321 miles. Closing time is 07:28; I gotta be outta here by then. What happened to the "plan"? Where did the hours go that I had "banked"? Ca se passe ("stuff" happens!). What lessons have been learned up to this point? Believe every word of warning in the ride packet handed to each rider; plans have to be modified as conditions warrant; do not project into the future, but deal with the here and now; and, most importantly, continue to maintain a positive, cheerful (or at least a less dour) attitude in the face of adversity. It's nobody else's attitude but yours and for which you are responsible; and, besides, cursing is sinful.

Up to Adin Pass, 5170', at 8 AM. Still cold but I've warmed up with something to eat and a very short "rest". We are in a part of northeastern CA I've never been: Modoc Co.; Lassen Co.; lava beds. Mostly cattle and grain growing ranches at approximately 4000' in elevation; slightly rolling flat lands with dune-like hills and a dry climate. Great for riding bikes. On the way to Alturas, I am passed by the bulk of the riders on their way back to Adin from the Turn-around. Each and every one gets a wave and a cheer from yours truly and I am rewarded by their enthusiastic waves, shouts, and smiles in return. It's great to be a randonneur. How am I feeling?: Warmer, looser, still pedaling easily and strongly (especially with the tail wind to the Turn-around); so maybe I have a good chance of catching up to some lost banked hours. It almost happens.

I am next to last in Alturas, the Turn-around (385 miles), and back to Alturas. I've picked up a couple of hours and am now riding with four or five or six others back to Adin. How did this happen? Open windows, leafy vegetables, and trick lighting, that's how. Re-climb Adin Pass from the Alturas side (a recumbent passes my kick-stand standing bike at the top of the pass: "Nice kick stand".), and a long descent brings me back to Adin (450 miles), a place I left 12 hours earlier; I am in dire need of an attitude adjustment but do not have (make) enough time for that. I have to get back to Susanville by 09:30, Thursday AM. Decision time: Do I leave Adin after a short rest at 8:30 PM or "sleep" for a couple of hours and leave at closing time, 10 minutes after midnight? Do I try to avoid the cold by leaving earlier in the evening or opt for sleep and hope it 'snot too cold after midnight? I leave at 8:30 PM.

In the dark the long climb up to Joe Goldrush Summit (5600') is made more miserable by my being alone for all but the last couple of miles. Sometimes, during the day, it is uplifting to see the grade in front of you and estimate how far the summit is. But during the night, all that disappears and your whole world is 25 feet in front of you and there are no visible clues as to gradient, distance, or even direction. This situation is made more difficult by lack of sleep and time in the saddle. I cannot see my odometer so I do not know how far I've gone, what time it is, or how "fast" I'm going; all pedaling effort is judged by my breathing which irritates my throat because I'm breathing through my mouth. Ray Holzworth has joined me for the last two miles of the ascent; it is good to have company. His father continues to SAG along this lonely stretch of road. Over another pass with more hallucinations as previously mentioned and now descend to the Grasshopper water station. Several riders are sleeping here, some in the back seat of vehicles, others, like me sitting on a folding canvas chair wrapped in a blanket (with which I cover my head and body). I have the best Cup/o Noodles I've ever had in my life and a cup of hot chocolate. Did I mention my lack of proper hydration/fuel intake? No? With good reason: It was minimal at best.

I am no warmer tonight than last night. Off to Susanville, alone. The climbs to the next two passes out of Eagle Lake are long and arduous. Halfway down a long descent of coasting (no pedaling) on a smooth moon-lit road at approximately 25 mph and 3:15 AM the squealing of metal against metal wakes me out of my stupor. It sounds like a banshee in heat. What the hell is that? I brake as carefully as I can and at a much slower speed the noise stops. When the bike stops I have no light; luckily I have a small "pen light" available and I check out everything. Nothing is missing; everything is tight, so I dunno. I resume coasting downhill and the sound recurs. Is the chain ring cage out of adjustment and rubbing against the rim? Is the chain breaking apart? Are the brakes chattering because they are loose? Is something hitting the spokes which may cause the bike to come to a sudden stop? What is it? I am alone, it is dark, cold, and remote. A SAG comes by asks me if I want to DNF where he'll take me down to Susanville; no thanks. I'll just keep going and hope for the best. A combination of braking when the noise returns and shifting gears at the same time gets me down to a level spot in the road where the noise disappears. I continue to ride with the added burden of not knowing what the noise is all about. I ascend to Antelope Pass and can look down on the town of Susanville. It took a long time to get down to Susanville. The day is dawning, I can finally see the bike but still do not know what is causing the noise. So near and yet so far. After many stops and starts I reach a level place and ride noiselessly into Susanville, 517 miles, at 5:30 Thursday AM. I am tired, frustrated, hungry, dirty, and, much worse, filled with doubt. Take a shower and lie down for some hour and a half of shut-eye, change clothes, get something to eat and pull out of Susanville at 8:30 AM to take on the dreaded Janesville Grade on my way back to Taylorsville, Tobin, Oroville (where Tom is waiting for me) and into the finish at Davis. Tom left a message: See you in Oroville; we'll ride in together.

Start the Janesville Grade at 9:50; summit (6340') at 12:50. Pedaled the first part for twenty-five minutes with 2 stops and walked the two miles to the "level out". Thank you Keith and Ann Cook for your most timely assistance (HOH-melon, ice); Jonathan, you might want to think about a kick stand for your 'bent. The ride is "basically" downhill all the way into Tobin. I am offered, and take, a legal drug (Ibuprofen) at Boulder Creek, continue down a mostly traffic free road in the bright sunshine of a California day to, once again, come into Taylorsville (576 miles) an hour from closing. A forty-five minute lap later finds me on the road (Hwy. 70) to Tobin (613 miles). This road is truly downhill and has very few cars/trucks and is wide and well-paved and scenic: A tired cyclist's version of "The Best Road I've Ever Ridden!" Tobin's menu: Home-made chicken pasta w/veggies (two helpings), apple juice, milk, etc. I cannot eat enough. To date, I have made all the cut-off times; I'm still in the game.

Continue on the Feather River Canyon road up to Jarbo Gap; the moon continues to be full and bright but the road is too narrow and tree-lined to allow for better visibility. The ride up is in pleasant temperatures, the grade is quite do-able and I'm full of food and motivation because when I get down Oroville (mile 654), I can ride with Tom. Down from the summit the "noise" appears periodically; I'm still keeping the bike at minimum downhill speed and shifting and braking and praying and cursing (at the same time) until the road levels out into the outskirts of Oroville. Arrive at 2:30, "sleep" on the sofa next to Tom until a woman wakes us up at 3:45 so we can leave in time to make the cut-offs down the road.

Yahoo and huzzah! Back with my partner again; we regale each other with our stories, calculate how fast we have to go to the next control point, receive instructions from the SAG driver who will protect us from the dog that has been biting riders, and head out on flat, flat, flat roads bordered by rice paddies, wheat/alfalfa/fruit orchard ranches, into the dawn. A surge of adrenalin allows me to ride at a pace, early on, that will get me to Sutter, mile 691, in time. We come to the SAG wagon which will escort us past the "Bad dog"; this ploy works and even though the dog tried to get us, he did not; thanks Mike. Tom is pacing me, encouraging me, talking to me, and continually checking up on me. This is good but unfortunately I am well into the process of succumbing to the accumulation of factors which, over a long period of time, catches up to me resulting in fatigue, soreness, body break-down, frustration, and angst. We do reach Sutter but a few minutes after the cut-off time. After a few more minutes of rest and calculating we decide to carry on and try in 4 1/2 hours to get to Davis. The spirit is willing but the flesh is definitely weak.

I find I cannot pedal slow enough to remain upright, pedal forward, and not become quickly fatigued. A minimum pace of 7.5 mph is just about my limit; however, that will certainly not get us back to Davis in time. I have to stop many times in the next three hours to rest, stretch, anything to keep me going. My focus is only thirty feet in front of the bike; anything less results in my chin almost touching the right side of the handlebar because I've lost strength in my right arm (about 150 miles ago; I was basically staying upright with my left arm/hand only).

Our SAG appears on the side of the road on which we've been riding for what seems like hours; I come to a stop, he asks if I'm okay, I reply, "Take me home". (Tom had said, "Don't do anything stupid".) Mike says, "Good job". 715 miles from the start, 88 1/2 hours later I am satisfied enough to let go of my stubborness (ego) and enjoy the apple pie and ride back to Davis.

Some may ask if I was disappointed in not finishing the distance. My short answer, of course, is "Yes". The truer question is "How do you feel about what you did?" There is just enough space left in this already lengthy and idyllic tale to reply:

I feel a deep sense of pride and satisfaction in my achievement, ego-humbling embarassment for making bad decisions, empathy for the travails of fellow riders (including Tom), jet-lagged "blahs" from lack of sleep, achiness/soreness like the third day of football practice, "watched over" by my family and friends, and inspired by the examples of determination, discipline, and "character" of all my fellow riders.

Thanks again to all the control station volunteers, sag drivers, organizers, and officials connected with this most successful 2009 GRR.