Geoff Casey (previously of Baron Bicycles) left our beautiful and sunny city for his dream job down in Santa Cruz last year. He is certainly missed by many. At the very least, I’ll always remember the smell of his coffee and bacon at our local cyclocross races.

At this last year’s Single Speed Cyclocross World Championship in San Francisco, I got a chance to meet up with Geoff again for old time’s sake.

He approached me about a design for a line of apparel and various other products. They wanted the look to be an older style union badge. It should feel like it could be stamped on the side of a wooden crate or cardboard box and not feel out of place. I think we got them there.

I’ve pushed a lot of my limits over the last couple of years, professionally and physically. I often wondered if it was out of a sense of adventure or just a sheer stubbornness and refusal to give in. It is probably a bit of both.

Bill Strickland’s latest piece sums things up pretty well.

There are always other riders who possess those qualities in greater degrees, or sometimes a rider who is all three at once. Yet, those riders don’t express any surprise when I stay with them, or force a move, or bring back a break, or even when I know a great road when we’re six counties from home. I only hear about something when I can’t do one of those things. I’ve become completely ordinary. And that’s pretty amazing.

The talented people in my life continually inspire me to ride faster, perfect technique, code cleaner and push my craft forward. I can’t thank all of the people in my life enough for this. I wouldn’t be half of what I am without you.

This cross season has been amazing. I can barely keep on top of it, but it’s dragging me right along anyways. Soft Like Kitten went from nothing to a serious stamp on Seattle’s cyclocross scene. This has been in large part due to everyone just being awesome, fun and not giving a shit.

Jane scored us some last minute sponsorship with Fremont Brewing, so we’ve had hydration covered along the way.  Dylan picked up a tent for us and Chris is in the process of getting it painted. Everyone has been really great about trading off duties to make sure we have a spot at every race. It’s a big time commitment, and I really appreciate the support.

It has brought a tear to my eye to see so much pink in almost every field.

This season I decided to move from Cat 4 to the Single Speed field. I was already racing on a single speed anyways, so it wasn’t a huge leap in logic. I’ve basically ended up in roughly the same position at the finish line as I did last season, but with a much tougher field overall. I’d like to think that if I did a Cat 4 race now, I’d do pretty well. I’ve considered doing two races on one day, but haven’t taken the plunge yet.

I came into the first couple of races with my legs already whipped from Paris Brest Paris. Distance riding had really taken it’s toll on any explosiveness I might have gained from all of the Cross Club practice. I don’t regret any of it, obviously, but I might focus a little bit more on my training for next season. I doubt I’ll get extremely serious about it, but I’d like to be mid-pack at some point in my life.

For some reason, this time last season I was a little bit glad that things were wrapping up. Racing had taken quite a toll on me mentally and physically. This year, I am really disappointed that it’s almost gone. We’ve got about 3 more weekends of racing to go, not including some of the one off ones. I’d love to get some sort of weekly races going post-season. I’m not sure what all it would take to make that happen.

What’s next? Who the heck knows. Let’s just keep on rolling.

I’m half surprised that I’ve remained committed to this blog.  It started off as a way to get art up and a reason to keep the website updated. It’s become much more personal over the years. I’m doing this for me.

After our little bicycle trip through France, we spent the next few weeks at our temporary apartment in Paris. There was a little trip to Antwerp, Iceland and a whole lot of tourist sightseeing to be done in Paris. I’ll let the pictures do most of the talking. Let’s just say that it was a trip of a lifetime.

We got back into Seattle right in the middle of an Indian summer.The first official (not including Labor Day) cyclocross race of the season was held in a giant, fast, dust-bowl of a course. I flatted out midway through my second lap. I was feeling pretty good, but it didn’t really matter. It was good to be home again.

We spent 3 days at work and then got right back on a plane to Honolulu. Jane’s wonderful father had passed away while retired in the Philippines. It was wonderful to see that side of the family again. It’s been about 4 years and all of the kids are getting so big. We are committed to getting out there more often. I mean… it is Hawaii after all. The obvious downside to that is the fact that it costs so damn much to buy the plane tickets.

After the funeral service and a ridiculous amount of delicious Phillipino food, we took a red-eye flight back to Seattle. Our flight got in at 10am and I made it out to Starcrossed to race at 1:30pm. I’ve got some problems… I raced again on Sunday.

I probably need to start catching up on my sleep soon.

There was never any question of whether or not I would finish, just what kind of shape I would be in at the end of it. I wasn’t being daft or overly cocky about the difficulty, I just knew in my heart that it was going to be completed.  This was the big show.

Every story that I’ve read about PBP has lived up to its spectacle. The families lined up on every street corner, at every hour, cheering you on with “Allez! Allez!” and “Bon Courage!”. I had a grin about it from the start that still hasn’t faded.

Day One (plus the first night)

I went out with the 90 hour starters along side Christopher Gay, Dylan Carney and Chris Johnston. There were hundreds of us lined up in Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines. The 80 hour start had left just a few hours prior. They were sending randonneurs out in waves of a few hundred at a time. Our official start time was supposed to be 6pm, so we got in at 4 to line up. We didn’t leave until 7:30. It was like a line endurance test.

After the sketchy group start (rando’s aren’t exactly pack riders), we hit the suburbs of Paris to cheering crowds complete with lines of little kids to high five. I can’t explain how awesome the feeling was. Everyone was out just to see us ride our bikes and give us some encouragement. With the way the starts were staggered, these people where probably out clapping and cheering for 5 or 6 hours at a time.

The tentative plan (and why we rode the 600k straight through) was to ride through the first 525K into Carhaix for a sleep stop. This would get us a little bit ahead of the crowd at controls that were most likely going to be staying in Loudeac (449K).

The first night was tough. We had all been up throughout the day and subjected to very warm (this PNW resident might say “hot”) temperatures while waiting to start. Our initial pace was good, but the fatigue didn’t take that long to sneak up on us. Still, every time I would start to feel a bit down, we would get to a town with amazing residents either cheering us on or offering out free water that they stocked up on just for this event.

We were fueled completely on baguette sandwiches, croissants, shitty coffee and nervous energy. That’s all it takes to ride your bike through France.

The sun was finally up around 8am on Monday morning and we still had a whole bunch of riding ahead of us. I remember Day 2 being the hardest on the Cascade 1240k. You are just far enough in to hurt, but not even close to being done yet. We pushed through despite random bouts of fatigue that would hit us individually. It’s hard to explain why you might suddenly cut your speed in half for a couple of miles at 3pm. The highs and lows are always in waves. It’s all about the forward motion though. You can’t focus too much on the clock.

We were looking good at Loudeac. Huge crowds of families were lined up at the control in support for the riders and cheering us on. There was plenty of time to get to Carhaix without it being too late and all of us seemed really game to give it a run. About 5K outside of town, the clouds started seriously rolling in. Another 10K and the thunder hit. Lightening that started off in the distance ended up being very, very close. It was completely surreal. The roads were pitch black and covered in rainwater. France doesn’t lay down any reflective materials to catch our headlights, so every descent and turn were blind. It was one of the scariest experiences I’ve ever had on a bike.

There was a backup sleep stop in St. Nicholas (493K) that we planned on stopping at. It couldn’t have come soon enough. Thanks to the thunderstorm, the control was completely overwhelmed. I literally got the last cot and Chris and Dylan were directed to some sketchy air mattresses. We had an aggressive debate over the amount of time we should spend at the control. I was pretty convinced that I wanted to get 4+ hours of sleep. There was lots of confusion about when we needed to reach Brest and nobody was really thinking clearly.

Our sleeping arrangements had no blankets and no pillow but a paper towel lined across the cot (to keep it dry?).

Day Two

The timing ended up not mattering since the volunteer forgot to actually wake me up and my phone stopped working. Chris Johnston had to go back in and find me to wake up me. I grabbed my wet gear and hustled as fast as I could. A pastry was crammed down my throat and we hit the road. What a way to start a day…

There was a long and steady climb out towards Brest that was covered in a layer of heavy fog. The condensation was pooling liquid onto my arms and face. It should have been uncomfortable, getting even more wet, but I was enjoying it. The halfway point was coming up soon enough.

Brest was a bit of an anticlimax though. The run in went through an industrial zone and not too many people in town seemed very excited to see us compared to the last few stops. We spent more time here than we probably should have, but we all needed a moment to lay down again and kick the shoes off. It was a relief to get here, but there was still much ahead of us.

We stopped at a sausage stand on the side of the road for some warm food. They had run out of buns at some point and were driving out to get more. Once the girl finally came back from the store, they realized that the one thing she forgot to get was the buns. So the guy hopped in the car and peeled off. We didn’t know enough French to talk with them and they were just kind of staring awkwardly at the ground, probably embarrassed at the situation. We finally got out enough to say that we were okay with no bread. It was probably one of our longest food stops of the trip, sadly.

Service takes some getting used to here though. There is a habit of starting and finishing a complete order (payment included) before moving on to the next customer. Most of the time that isn’t a big deal, but when you batch fry an order of frites for each customer, things start to take a really long time. Being in the middle of a ‘race’, we were even more sensitive to it.

Our second sleep stop came up in Loudeac. Our pace had slowed considerably over the course of Day 2. Yet again, we were without pillows, but we at least had blankets this time around. I take the small luxuries as I can get them on these rides.

Day Three

Two and a half hours was our official sleep total for night number two. We couldn’t afford to take any more than that. We slipped back on the road under the cover of darkness. Every contact point was in pain. The stops just made it worse.

I remember little about day 3. I know that it felt like 3 or 4 different days to complete. We were covering old ground (as the ride was an out and back), but it felt kind of like a haze in each direction. We each had our moments of suffering off of the back, regrouping at times to make sure everyone stayed awake and alert enough to finish.

We eventually rolled into Villanies la Juhel (1009K) for our third and final sleep stop. We decided on another 2 and a half our stop sleep, which works out to about 3 and a half total at the control. That put us at a little less than 8 hours of sleep for the entire ride, not counting the day that we were awake leading into the start line.

Day Four

The goal was to roll across the finish line somewhere around 10am. This put the beginning of Day 4 in the pre-dawn hours again. We had to finish by 1:40, so this should give us a solid buffer in case of any mishaps along the way.

Once the sun started to rise, we found some lovely small roads passed the lush farmland around the outskirts of Paris. The only way it would have been more idyllic is if my ass hurt less. You can’t win them all though.

The final control at Mortagne was a simple in and out affair. We were smelling “home” at the finish line and were really starting to pick up our pace. Every stop light was a challenge.

Aside from the finish line, our sights were also set on somewhere to stop for a celebratory pre-finish beer. Nothing was open because a) France doesn’t seem to do anything in the morning and b) it was still morning. We eventually found a convenience store about 10K from the finish. They had a refrigerator unit that wasn’t turned on and a shelf of warm 1664′s (Kronenburgs).

We sat out on the street, drinking and heckling our fellow riders. Most of them seemed to appreciate it. A few of them gave us their icy cold Euro-stares. They were just party poopers though.

We hit the road again and the finish finally came. There was an amazing crowd there to cheer us on, a few of our wives included. It was a definite moment of choking up, but that might have been the beers talking.

Additional photos on Flickr