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Despite a 35°F temperature spread, Sunday’s Daffodil Classic century offered gorgeous weather. I could see that large, white pointy thing called “Mt. Rainier.” It looks a lot like the one on Washington State license plates, only bigger.
The map was a vast improvement over the ones they had for 2004. Unfortunately, the road markings were… not so good. White markings are a bad color because they blend in with the fog line. Their infrequence only exacerbated the likelihood I would miss a key intersection… like on the Buckley/Lake Tapps loop. The cue sheet had an “S” on it. “S” normally means “straight.” (Or “stop.”) Not “turn left,” as would have been correct. I stopped, then went straight. After a screaming descent, I was at a T-intersection of East Valley Road. The shoulderless, busy road with impatient, honking drivers in large vehicles gave me flashbacks to riding in Houston, except no one threw stuff at me. It was a long several miles.
After a long-ish ride like this, I would have been off the bike for about a week. As an experiment, I continued bike commuting yesterday (and today), occasionally popping an ibuprofin to reduce the usual aches and swelling. Paradoxically, I feel much better than I would have expected. An unfortunate side effect, which I haven’t worked around, is my memory becomes swiss cheesed when dealing with names of people I meet on rides. (Yes, I should have written them down.) One gentleman was doing Northwest Crank. Another had a homebuilt RV4 (airplane). 
Congrats on completing both loops! I was ushering my spousal unit through her first 50 miler. She completed it, but her knees still have access to her speech centers for complaint filing, as of this morning.
I have some friends that complained of the rough chip-seal roads on the Kapowsin loop. My response is that the roads weren’t bad, they were a “vibration-rich bike handling opportunity”.
The morning was COLD, but the views and the sunshine in the afternoon were a nice payoff.
Nice to see you, even if it was brief, Jim.
My fingers hurt for the first ten miles of cold. It was kind of funny how at each rest stop I took off another piece of clothing.
I could have sworn I saw you at the first stop on the Buckley loop. I think you were just leaving, while I was looking for a toilet.
You worried me a bit with the start of your post. It sounded like it was going to be a whine! It was a sunny, near windless day and we were out riding our bikes! Keep that in mind next time you start writing.
It has been about 5 years since I rode the Daffy. I can recall some grim, ‘rain-coming-sideways-up-on-the-Enumclaw- plateau’ stretches that make you think about ducking into a smoky bar in Buckley to avoid that cold wind.
This time, my wife talked me into tackling it on our (newish) tandem. We were leisure riders, we only planned to do one loop so showed up at the start about 10:00, avoided the big start crowds and the cold morning air. It was a glorious ride, short sleeves and shorts! No soggy long finger gloves! Wow, I forgot how nice this can be.
The biggest shock was all the new housing! where are all the black and white cows? Where are all the rusty barbwire fences, ovegrown with blackberry canes? I guess I should not have been so suprsied. But in the end, it was a sunny day and we were out riding our bikes …. remember that next time you start writing.
I rode the Daffodil Classic last year, and LOVEd those volcano evacuation signs. They’re delightfully ominous, and make you spend at least part of the ride wondering how fast you can pedal.
Way to go!
My ex moved to Orting many moons ago, and thus I watched the Orting sprawl with twice-weekly drives and every-other weekend pickups and dropoffs. I imagine that a freeway is somewhere in their future, as there are now so many new homes that you can easily see it taking you the better part of an hour to get from Orting to Hwy 410 at rush hour. It won’t be long until the rest of that valley is paved over.
I agree 100% about the poorly marked route. I took my husband David ten miles off course — he depends on me for navigation. He got very mad at me, and we had what might politely be called, “some words”. I then got the silent treatment from him for the next 45 miles — just enough communication from him to effectively operate the tandem together. Since we’re grown-ups, we were able to patch it up at least in the car on the way home. But still, the beautiful weather and otherwise splendid ride was for me blighted by this incident.
We blew past Jim I think about 10 miles outside of Orting on the return. David needed a rest about 5 miles later. When he takes a rest, he sprawls on the ground. I had to reassure every cyclist that passed that my husband collapsed by the ditch was just fine, just taking a break. I think Jim was among those who passed him, concerned.
Volcano evacuation route? We only have to worry about a little shaking down here in SF bay area. Not sure I want lava chasing me out of town!
Good job on your century. And easy riding after a hard event is a great form of recovery. But it should be easy riding. No using the big ring, standing, or chasing that other commuter that just passed you… :’)
I personally believe that triumphant post-ride whining is the privilege of ride completers, and is to be enjoyed simultaneously with the “sunny day, out riding” sentiment.
I agree with Deena.
There’s a definite correlation between when one writes and the tone. For example, I was actively recording RSVP 2004, so its tone was whiny. However, like most rides, now that I’m dry, clean and warm, I’m looking forward to the next time. (Which is likely to be 2007 since I’m already pressing my luck doing RAW
Deanna said: I had to reassure every cyclist that passed that my husband collapsed by the ditch was just fine, just taking a break.
Ha! I’ve had this very same problem. Once, while The Boy was lying on the grass and I was inside a fast food joint buying us a pop, someone came in declaring that a man had fainted outside and was quite possibly dead. No one in the place seemed to care, and when he repeated himself, I offered, “He ain’t dead, he’s my husband!”
This made the crown turn on me, wondering why I’d just leave my fainted / departed husband outside while I sipped a 7-Up. It’s a sad, cruel world for the thirsty.
You were refering to my comment, not Deannas, but I still feel compelled to close with:
O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.