I continued my adventures in randonneuring a couple of weeks ago, on Saturday, February 2nd, with a 300km brevet hosted by the PCH Randonneurs. Like my preparation for the 200km brevet, I used the ride as an excuse to eat a lot. Unlike the 200km, I opted to go meet up with friends at the Tiki-Ti the Friday night before the ride rather than directly following it. That, along with a sushi birthday dinner full of beer and sake may not have been the wisest of decisions, but at least there was no passing out involved, and I also just wanted to hang with my peoples.

The brevet started at 6:00am at the same place in Malibu. Getting up for that was pretty rough, but I managed. Bronwyn was kind enough to lend me her car for the day and thankfully there were no issues with the bike rack this time. However, since waking up such a struggle, I did get to the start a little late and rolled out five minutes after the whole pack. I saw them leave just as I was taking the bike off the rack. Except for a couple of stragglers, that would be the last I’d see them. At least I wasn’t forty-five minutes late like last time.

Pretty much immediately, I encountered a problem that would end up handicapping the rest of the ride. Earlier in the week, one of the buttons fell off of my old bike computer. It still functioned, but I took this as an excuse to “upgrade” the computer to its wireless equivalent, which I picked up Thursday night at Hollywood Pro on my way home from work. I set it up that night and it worked fine Friday morning. However, after work as I was riding out to downtown, the computer wasn’t detecting the wheel sensor at all. Not a blip. That is, until just as I arrived at my destination. “Alright,” I figured, “whatever that’s about… should be fine now.” And it did work after that as I took the bike out to the car, then from the car to the registration booth the day of the brevet. Then it just magically stopped working as the actual riding began and continued to not work for the remainder of the day.

This was a problem for two reasons. The first was that I now had no way to pace myself. I had figured I could keep an easy 15mph pace and be done with the ride in twelve hours or so with another hour tacked on for stops. Thing is, it’s pretty hard to gauge what a 15mph average feels like, especially when varying wind, road conditions, and gradients can easily vary your exerted effort. And since I started late, I had no one off of whom I could pace myself. As a result, during most of the ride I think I was going slower than I needed to. The second issue, and this was HUGE, was that I couldn’t track mileage and I’m pretty bad at guessing distance, making following the cue sheet very difficult. I made A LOT of wrong and missed turns that day. A lot. Anticipating these problems, I spent a good deal of time during the first ten miles of the ride trying to fix the frakking thing. Stop. Adjust. Ride. Stop. Adjust. Ride. No good. Eventually I gave up and tried to enjoy ride.

Once I got over my frustrations, it wasn’t hard to take in the gorgeous day (60’s and 70’s in February – I love California) and I settled into an easy spin for the first 47 miles up to Ventura. From there, the route ventured off the coast and followed the Ventura River Trail. After a few miles on the trail, which continues to Ojai, the route jumped onto Santa Ana Road, taking me to the first control at the 57-mile mark.

I took a quick rest here (they had brownies!) before setting off on Highway 150 to round Lake Casitas. The next control was much closer, at just over 20 miles away, but it would involve heavy climbing for the majority of it. I was very thankful for my compact crank’s 34×27 gearing here as there were some looooonnnnggg pulls. At least the views were nice and hitting the peak (right about here) and seeing the mountain fall away to a clear view of the Pacific Ocean was pretty satisfying, then there was the 35+mph decent down the other side and that’s always fun.

After a couple of wrong turns and another short but rough climb, I arrived at the second control where they had sandwich wraps, soda, and more brownies which I greedily scarfed down. After a bit of lounging, I headed out. The next control was only a few miles away but I made a couple very bad wrong turns that resulted in a lot of unnecessary mileage and more climbing. The control was an “information control” where I needed to write down a bit of road sign information to prove I passed that point. It was located near an unusual mailbox of which I snapped a couple of photos.

The next manned control and turnaround point was at the 100-mile mark in Goleta. By this time it was getting late into the afternoon and I was feeling eager to finish. Before heading out, I chatted it up with the man at the control. He complimented my bike, commenting on how I had “the full randonnuer setup” with saddlebag, handlebar bag, fenders, and wool jersey. When he asked what kind of frame it was, I chuckled a bit because I knew I was fulfilling a stereotype and told him it was a Bridgestone. “Ha! So you’re a BOB.” Guilty. He told me had a Rambouillet, which I had seen and drooled over on the 200km ride. He wasn’t riding as often these days and so didn’t feel up to doing the 300km ride, opting instead to sit at the control and eat donuts all day. I was starting to think that wasn’t a bad idea.

There was another information control about four miles away, but even that I couldn’t reach without making a wrong turn. A couple more wrong turns and I eventually reached Santa Barbara, where I stopped briefly to refill water and put on warmer clothes. More wrong turns. Evening began to set in. I was way behind schedule, having hoped to be done around this time. My morale had gone to shit and thoughts of giving up were starting to gnaw at me. I kept running into one other randonneur who was going much slower than I. He told me that there’s no way he would have been able to keep up with me if it wasn’t for all the wrong turns I had made.

Eventually I reached Carpinteria around mile 125 (which was probably more like mile 140 for me). This was a welcome sight. This part of the route I knew, as the last 60 miles here on out were rather straightforward and almost identical to the last half of the 200km ride. As I entered the 101, I tucked into the drops and pushed, making good time into Ventura. Finding an In-n-Out I decided to stop for some solid food, inhaling a cheeseburger (animal style, of course), then continued pushing all the way to the final control in Port Hueneme. I was the last one to hit this checkpoint.

One of the guys there, who was in a roving SAG car and had seen me riding, asked if I was doing alright. Physically I was fine, in fact he commented on how much faster I was going than he expected. But I told him about all the wrong turns and my morale sinking with each one. A few brownies later, and considering the “easy” 35 miles that were left, I was feeling pretty good and I headed out of that control with renewed determination. I was going to finish this. I was going to totally destroy these next 35 miles. Then not more than four miles later… Psssssssstttt. Complete blowout in the front tire in the middle of the dark. I had to laugh at how ridiculous this was. As I was switching the tube, one of the guy’s from the last control rolled up in a car behind me, asking if I needed help. He brought out a floor pump, which helped me get back into working order quickly. “Tough road luck,” he sympathized.

Not to be daunted, I remounted the wheel and rushed off. Three miles later, as I was cruising quickly down the unlit PCH, psssssssssstttttt. Now the back tire had a blowout. Cackling like a madman, I had to sit down and shake my head at how ridiculous this was. Once I got myself recomposed, I quickly switched out the tube and was on my way. Now it was Man versus Road. I was angry at it. As I reached the rolling hills of Malibu, I found myself cursing every climb. “FUCK YOU, HILL!” Up and down. Up and down. During the 200km, when I was riding with John, we went slow making stops for stretching. Not this time. I was determined to finish it as quickly as my tired legs would let me. Finally, I saw the familiar turnoff that signaled the last two miles of the ride and I settled into a calmer spin. I ran into one of the ride organizers who had been sweeping the route in a car but was now on bike to see the status of the final riders and we rode together to the end.

My final time was 17 hours, 6 minutes, four hours later than I had planned. It’s the wrong turns that killed it for me. The route was 186 miles long. I’m fairly certain I broke the double century mark. Though I’m sure the pair of flats, the slower pace up until Goleta, and the attempts to fix my goram computer didn’t help either. I was hoping I would get the honor of the “Lanterne Rouge”, aka DFL, and in fact that honor was part of what pushed me to finish. It turns out I was robbed. There was a pair of riders who were a good five miles ahead of me on the PCH. At some point just before the finish, they made a pit stop which lead to them finishing 12 minutes after me. Ah well, maybe next time (though hopefully not).

A little disappointed about being third from last rather than last, but generally in pretty good spirits about finishing, I headed home where I barely managed to get the bike inside before promptly falling asleep.

Lessons learned:
A ride like this isn’t the time to try out new equipment, even if it’s just a bike computer. Though it’s not anything mechanical, it is something I rely on for situations like these. And to hell with wireless computers altogether. Thankfully I didn’t throw the damned thing into the ocean out of frustration (I was tempted), because then I wouldn’t have been able to bring it back to Hollywood Pro and exchange it for a wired one just like the one I had before. Scott, at the shop, told me, “Stupid fucking wireless. I can’t believe I didn’t try to talk you out of it.”

The PCH Randonneurs have decided to do a few more brevets this year, including a 400km and 600km one to finish off the series. And yes, as bad as the 300km one was, I want to do them.

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