Memories of RAO: from Dale to Spray and Time Station 5.

The sun was coming up when we reached the summit of Ritter Butte. The plain was golden and treeless. Its southern edge lay 10 miles in the distance, bounded by a mountain range much higher and steeper than the one we’d just come over.

The thought of riding into those mountains troubled me.

There was a wall rainclouds swallowing them up. It was so black it seemed like night was falling beneath them.  Above, the sky was blue and bright, but it offered me little solace. A mighty wind was blowing up the road right into me. The storm was moving this direction.

Memories of RAO: from Heppner to Dale and Time Station 4

Most of the climbing to this point was on was on major highways, which meant that none of the climbs exceeded six to eight percent. As I approached the foot of Battle Mountain, I could see its ridge silhouetted by the moonlight, almost 2000 feet above. The angle of the pace vans on the grade and position of them on the mountain could mean only one thing –  switchbacks.

I could see three cars on the highway. I ran the numbers in my head.  If two of the vehicles up there were the teams that passed me an hour earlier, they might have opened a 5-mile gap. There was a third set of lights, 200 feet higher and headed in the opposite direction. It had to be Eric.

Memories of RAO: from Moro to Heppner and Time Station 3

Windmill farms.

I heard the expression for the first time in May of this year, when Eric Ahlvin and I pre-rode the Oregon XTR 600K for our club, the Oregon Randonneurs.

“It will be good training for RAO,” wrote John Kramer, in an email to Eric and me.

John has ridden more miles and mapped more routes in Northeast Oregon than anybody. His 2007 brevet series, capped-off with the Big Lebowski 600K, made him notorious for designing routes so challenging that even the strongest randos in the northwest questioned whether they could finish them under the time limits.

It was here, among these windmills, in the hills west of Condon, that I came to appreciate the wisdom in John’s suggestion. This climb, though steep by most standards, was steady and sweeping. You could see the top miles in the distance if you knew where to look.

I could see a rider up ahead of me, white pace van leap-frogging slowly up the road ahead. The sun was on my back and it was cooler up here with a breeze.  The familiar landscape – these windmills – lifted my spirits. I decided to dig in and catch that rider, put another one behind me right now, right here, on this hill climb.

Memories of RAO: from Tygh Valley to Moro and Time Station 2

When a rider thinks about the crew that will support him during a 48-hour race, the most important thing to consider are the roles each member will play. Paramount among them is the crew chief. This person must have experience both as a racer and as crewman. There was never a question about who would fill those shoes on my team.

In fact, I wouldn’t have registered for RAO had it not been for Justin’s unselfish offer to take on that responsibility. I had too many reservations about this race to go it alone.

Memories of RAO: from Hood River to Tygh Valley and Time Station 1.

Though RAO was my first race, I knew that in the end, my performance would be judged by the numbers.

Some riders focus on elapsed time. Others, on how they will place in the general classification or in their divisions. I thought of those things. I may have even raised them with Justin. But he pretty much brushed them off as irrelevant.

Whether my wheels were rolling freely across the asphalt or locked-down in the trainer, the focus of Justin’s training programs (and therefore, my riding) centered around the PowerTap – a mystical hub in my rear-wheel and an oval-shaped, yellow computer fixed to my handlebars.

Power – expressed in watts – eclipsed heart rate and speed as the key indicators of my strength and endurance. Justin prescribed the duration and intensity of the workouts. He suggested a course profile and then he gave me numbers. It was my job to find the route – to map it, ride it, and fight like hell to keep a three-digit numeral constant on the display, whether climbing or descending.