Wow! 
Frogger Zeke certainly is secure in his masculinity!
Yes that he is . . . one should ask him sometime how he managed to use the bathroom in that suit.
And yes, Frogger and I shared this all-green look . . . .tho I was a separated at birth twin riding the same event, but on a more complicated jalope-monstrosity of a bike that was a beast to pedal for 100 miles.
I’d like to think that I brought the green-man bit to the next level with the cape and unusual choice of . . . . .cod-piece.
Nature Quack hasa pic or two I think.
Brycer
Too Cool
I want to see more pictures of this event…unicycles, big bikes, zombies,bastards…whatever it is. Congratulations also. It would have been nice to have the option to drive down there and participate …being a bastard for a day kinda appeals to me.
yeah, green man. nice
Straightarrow, if you click on Zeke’s link you can see a bunch of pics of the tall bike crew. I haven’t seen any pics of us unicyclists actually riding, though.
Bryce,
Yeah, I have evidence of you dressed in green with your fur “fashion accessory” and your groupies. I’ll write up a summary of the race soon. Unfortunately, I’m working 12 hour days right now, so it’ll have to wait a few more days.
Geoff
Reach The Beach Part ONE
So I make the 4 &1/2 hour drive to Portland Friday afternoon. Just in time for dinner at Cyclop’s house. Yummy food, good company and well, of course, let’s go for a ride. Gotta take the new KH 26 out for a hop along with Florian Green. We tootle around the neighborhood, go to the playground, zip around in circles and have fun. Nothing like a late night ride before the BIG ride early the next morning. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do, like sleep or nuthin. We’ve got some catching up to do, haven’t hung out together since the Crater Lake igloo trip in February, so I don’t get to bed until midnight.
By 4:30 I’m awake but stay in bed until 5 am. Then I get dressed, go down stairs, cook up three eggs, three slices of toast drenched in olive oil, cup o’ green tea. Throw everything in the truck and drive out to Beaverton about a half hour away. I should be there a little after 6:30, just in time for my intended departure of 7 am sharp. As planned, I’ll meet Brycer and the tall bike “Team Jet Stream”. Zeke, the only other active unicyclist, will be there too. We can all ride together. What fun! I’ve got my map, the address, my iPhone has the starting location mapped out and ready to go, I’m set. 104 miles to ride, ten hours. If I start at 7 and complete the ride in ten hours, then I’ll finish by 5 pm, at which point the course closes and “All remaining riders will be transported to the finish line.” says the rider registration guide book thingy. What details are they leaving out about “being transported to the finish line”? Uncooperative riders will be tased into submission? Zombies will be decapitated and burned?
6:40 am, I’m there. But nobody else is. Huh??? The parking lot is completely empty. I get out, look around. There, taped to the door, is a Reach the Beach sign saying “Sorry Bozo, fooled ya! Now you have to drive three miles back in the other direction, go this way and that and turn around in circles three times while humming Yankee Doodle, then you will find the real start.” AAAAAAACCCKKKK!!! WTF? Why didn’t they tell me this before? Did they hope they could dissuade the unicyclist this easily? AAAAACCCKKKKK! I punch in the new start location into my iPhone and start driving back down the road. There, riding up the hill is the tall biker crew with Brycer dressed in GREEN and Zeke on his purple Nimbus dressed in GREEN! I then spontaneously recite the four opening words of the movie “Four Weddings and a Funeral” as they ride by my window at 6:45. Turn around in circles, Yankee Doodle, I make it to the starting line amidst the largest sea of brightly colored spandex I have ever seen. Thousands of bicyclists participating in a preparation montage rivaling that in any movie. I get in line, register, get my number, put it on the back of my jersey right where I’ll cover it up with my camelback, so what, I tag my unicycle, get the map booklet, throw my care package, complete with flask of Balvenie 12-year-old Double Wood single malt scotch, into the truck. One last pee. Number sticker on my helmet. Knee pads, banana, cookie. The first layer of sun screen. I’m off.
I know no one, it’s 7:20. I have visions of the American Lung Association ride police pulling me over at 5 pm sharp, just 3 miles from the finish line, throwing me into the back of the truck filled with zombies. Biting, kicking screaming, no no no no! Make it stop. I don’t want to become a zombie. I’m not ready yet…… Hello! It’s a beautiful day. It’s sunny. Cool. No wind. No rain. Lot’s a friendly bicyclists being suitably amazed at the contraption I’m piloting. Aero bars on a unicycle??? Coolio! All the way to the beach? Right on dude! Yeah, it’s going to be OK.
So I ride. Pop it into high gear. I’m riding with the pack. Riding with the big boys. Oh yeah, looking good. Down shift for the first up hill, just like I know what I’m doing. Florian Green is in fine shape. I’ve spent the past few weeks getting new handle bars, adjusting them just right. Elbow rests for optimal weight distribution and tuck position. I squirted in a few CCs of gear oil into the hub last night. Scrubbed all of the oily residue off of the rim so that the brake doesn’t chatter. Seat height is perfect. New 150 mm cranks are just right. And my secret high tech solution to my difficulty in shifting the Schlumpf. Vaseline! Lots and lots of Vaseline covering the shift buttons and cranks. With that, my shoes slide on the buttons instead of bouncing off the cranks. The button is smoothly depressed, engaging the shifting mechanism and I transition easily into the other gear. Yes! Life is good on the open road. Just me, the sun, the trees, a hundred miles ahead of me, and two thousand of my closest bicycle-riding friends.
The pics below I brazenly stole from some Flicker file. They are:
Zeke! No description needed.
Doc, so cool.
Team Jet Stream in all their glory.
Thanks. That was a great write up. I think I got what I paid for. I sure hope the cats feel better too.
SpaceFmK,
Don’t think you’ll get off so easily. Nooo! There’s more, lots more. All of it yammering drivel interspersed with outright balderdash. And pics, mustn’t forget the pics.
Stay tuned.
Geoff
Part TWO
I fall into a rhythm. It’s early, I’m fresh. I’ve got plenty of energy from the 4 ½ hours sleep and cup of green tea, but I don’t want to push it. Yes, I’m off to a late start but I’ve got time, almost ten hours. A steady brisk pace is all that I need. This isn’t a race against riders; this is a race against the clock… and maybe some zombies. I know that if I don’t down shift for even the small hills I’ll burn out my legs before the end of the day. I try to restrain my urge to power up the gentle rises in high gear, but find it hard. It’s quicker in high gear.
About five miles down the road and we’re out of town. Gently rolling hills, farmland, on a beautiful sunny morning. Long lines of bicyclists pedaling to the beach. Then racing from behind a semi, driving too fast, passes me, goes another hundred feet and slams on his brakes just behind some bicyclists, engulfing all of us in a huge cloud of burning rubber. Then, to top it off, a loud “HOOOOONNNNNNKKKKK!!!!” Dude, slow down and take a chill pill. Cough cough. That’s enough smoking for one day. Pedal on.
The task at hand is to catch up with Zeke and Team Jet Stream. They probably left at 6:40. I left at 7:20. Forty minutes is a lot of time to make up. This aint going to be easy. High gear might make it possible. Onward I go, past fields of gorgeous crimson clover on one side of the road and Round-Up-Ready decimation on the other. On the flats I can hold my own with the bikers. I pass a few. A few pass me. On the up hills I pass more of them. On the down hills every single one of them goes whizzing by. Zip! Zing! Zoom! Yikes! Quite close sometimes. The worst is when the bicyclists pass me and immediately cut in front of me, blocking my view of the road ahead of me. Being bicyclists, they don’t realize that I need to constantly scan the pavement from 10 to 30 feet ahead of me for little bumps that would send me flying if I don’t anticipate them. I’m not sure if I’m more worried about the cars or the bikes.
The first rest stop was at the Sherwood Elks Lodge. I have absolutely no memory of this. Perhaps I missed it. Maybe it never existed except on the map. Maybe I stopped there, ate a hardboiled egg and two cookies and pedaled on. There might be witnesses but they aren’t telling.
More hills now starting at mile 15. Two big ones, each about 600’ of gain and loss. That’s OK. I come from hill country. I’m a mountain man. I laugh at piddly little 600’ hills. Where I come from, a ride in the park involves 1,000’ to 3,000’ of climbing. Oh yeah, so cool! The day is young. My butt does not yet hurt. My back is flexible. I can do anything. The cool shade of the thick trees overhead envelops us. The gurgling streams sooth our souls. Bicyclists with flat tires litter the road side every mile or so, stripping off tires and frantically pumping up freshly patched inner tubes. Meanwhile their helpful companions pee in the bushes in peoples’ front yards.
We roll into Newberg High School, mile 22. Swarms of bicyclists grab cookies, slather peanut butter and jam on bread, pop eggs into their mouths, power bars, goo drinks, Heed….. Time to refuel. Must keep the momentum up. Never let the energy stores run low. Hmm. Two hardboiled eggs, four cookies. Still plenty of water in the camel back. I apply another coat of sunscreen to keep my skin a ghostly white. Hey! There’s Brycer and some of Team Jet Stream, Dizzy, Ross and Jeff. Hey guys, howzit going? Where’s Zeke? I enquire. Brycer dosen’t know. He fell behind on one of the early hills. They haven’t seen him since. I didn’t pass him. That much I’m sure of. Did he have technical difficulties and bow out? Was he snatched off his uni and munched on by zombies? Probably not, he was wearing his GREEN spandex suit, a color now known to be invisible to zombies. They couldn’t have gotten him. That’s impossible. Unless… Maybe it was the purple Nimbus that caught their eyes. The thought was frightening. Oops, gotta go peeeee. Be right back guys………OK, ready to go. Brycer? Ross? Dizzy? Hey guys, where’d ya go?
Given the slip while my pants were down, I mounted my steed and hit the road. Must catch Team Jet Stream. Zeke? Who knows where he is? Having his toes nibbled in a bush most likely. Time to cut our losses. Can’t go back on a rescue mission, now. Every man for himself. 23 miles down, a mere 81 to go.
A few more miles down the road and I spot Brycer leaning on his tall bike while Dizzy and Ross make fine adjustments with the drive train from their auxiliary power source. The chain has come loose from the rear chain ring. I stop and say “Hi”, offer my condolences, quickly realize that my services are not needed here and head West.
After 10 more miles of quiet roads and hay fields, I reach Dayton High School. It’s been 18 miles since the last snack bar. I’m hungry. Two more hard boiled eggs, 8 cookies, a banana, and water for the camel back. A fresh coat of white paint on the skin will do me good. Never risk an underdose. No sign of any tall bikes or Zeke. Zeke who? He doesn’t even exist anymore. Just a painful memory, a has been. I’m sure his family will miss him.
Ten more miles until lunch. The coast range is getting closer. The mountains are more distinct. I begin to wonder which hills we’ll be riding between. This leg is downright flat. It’s all cruising in high gear stretched out on the aerobars. I maintain a low position and decrease my wind resistance. I make good time, passing almost as many bicyclists as pass me. Well, a few anyway. I want to give as many bicyclists as possible the opportunity to go home to their families that night and say, with a tear in their eye, “Forty miles into the ride and I was passed by a unicyclist.” That thought just makes my day. Heh, heh. There’s another one up ahead that I can pick off.
Pics below:
Brycer on his tall bike.
Dizzy and Ross on their pink tandem tall bike.
Nice write-up Geoff. I do think your new handlebar set-up is worthy of a couple of shots in this story too. Its pretty and well thought out.
The knees are feeling better this weekend and I now know that pedaling 80 lbs of big stupid tall tandem bike (With no stoker) 100 miles is MUCH harder than unicycling 100 miles. Been there and done it now, so I think I’m going back to unicycling.
I’ll share this bit from my own ride write-up. Sorry for the references to names for those that weren’t there:
"There were 10,005 questions about how to get down or stop on that monstrosity with four pedals and two seats. I fielded my share of these regular questions about why?, What do you do at stoplights? and . . . .why?? I dunno, maybe the crazy outfit somehow seemed to invite
discussion from others.
Some of the more unique things were more comments than questions:
• You lost your passenger.
• How high are you?
• You must be high as a kite to ride that thing.
• You lost your other green passenger
• Your cape is like a big backwards bib.
• How do you pee in that outfit?
• I bet you can see the beach yet from up there
• Go green man!
• Go green lizard!
• Go big green!
• Your thong is crooked
• A townie in one of the small towns stopped on the sidewalk and said with a smile on his face: ”Oh boy what I’d give for a broomstick to jam in your spokes right now”
• Later in the same town, a group of four boys saw us coming and started yelling “Big- bike, Big-bike!” and then two of them quickly mounted up piggyback style on the other two and ran along beside us for a bit with a non-stop dribbley yelling bit that went something like this: “That bike is so cool. Big-Bike! Can I ride that too?? Big Bike, Big- bike! Oh and I really like your pants! . . Big-bike, Big bike” . . then we rounded the corner and they faded into the background still yelling. This scene had me wondering if they still prescribed Ritalin in rural Oregon??
• Jack overheard another female rider observe me ride away from one of the rest-stops and she said to her friend: “That guy is so gross”.
• Under the mid day sunshine and riding with Bear Claw and VA, the three of us ride along in the valley after Amity and I attributed the rapid increase in cheers and honks to the fact that Bear Claw and VA had now stripped down to their red, white and blue bikini tops. Yes, this was as close to feeling like some sort of giant green-suited tall bike-pimp I have ever felt. Made my fur thong swell with pride.
• I advertised for a stoker (unsuccessfully) during the last 50 miles of the ride with a sticker on the back of my bike saying “stoker wanted”, but I couldn’t get anyone interested in the job. The closest I came to getting an actual passenger/stoker happened at one of the earlier aid stations at a high school. Three local high school girls approached me and asked if they could have their picture taken with me. “Sure”. And after the photo I jokingly asked if any of them wanted to ride with me on the tandem for the rest of the ride. . . “Sure, let me just call my mom first.” You gotta love the small-town helpful attitude.
Cheers,
Brycer"
Part THREE
Amity High School, mile 50. Hundreds of bicycles and their riders are strewn about the parking lot. I find a tree that has only one bike leaned up against it. I almost knock over a $2000 bike while I place my unicycle there. Then I get in line. I haven’t been in so many lines in one day since we took the kids to Disney Land. There are about a hundred people waiting to get lunch. I remember reading something about “gourmet food”, and “prepared by a Chef” in the online registration. So I bypass the “Grab and Go” table filled with hardboiled eggs and cookies and get in the big line. After 10 minutes I make it inside to see that I’m only halfway to the lunch buffet. Yep, just like Disney Land, the old “hide-most-of-the-line-so-that-people-can’t-see-how-long-it-is-so-that-they-get-in-the-line-anyway” trick. I fall for it every time. But what a buffet it is! So worth the wait. Turkey and ham cold cuts, square slices of orange cheese, bread and packets of mayonnaise and yellow mustard. All prepared by the illustrious Chef Boyardee. But wait there’s more. Yes! Hardboiled eggs and cookies. It’s going to be all right. I load up my plate sit down on a cafeteria bench. Yeah, my butt hurts. My back hurts. I’m tired and creaky. I need to sit on something that’s not a unicycle seat. Grab and Go wasn’t a good idea anyway. I need the rest. 50 miles in one day is a big day. I still have 54 miles to go and I’m no Sam Wakeling. I grab more cookies on the way out. I’m provisioned. I avoid the crowd of Bad Elements in the corner snorting lines of Emergen-C off of the table and instead I slap on another protective layer of SPF 50. I’ve got legs as white as a priest’s.
The crowd of bicycles hasn’t seemed to thin. I extricate my trusty wheel and roll out toward the road. Lo! There’s Brycer in his skin-tight frog suit. Apparently the pink tandem tall bike piloted by Ross and Dizzy has been a bit of a drag, for that matter, Brycer’s tandem tall bike with only one pair of feet to power it has been a bit pokey, too. As we’re talking, a small gaggle of girls comes up to Brycer “Can we take a picture with you?” Do they care about the guy who just rode this super awesome unicycle 50 miles? Do they want to get a picture with the guy who has the cool skeleton jersey? Noooo! They want a picture with the guy in head-to-toe GREEN spandex and the fur thong. Oh yeah, the fur thong. A sure fire hit with high school girls. Picture snapped, we part ways, Brycer to refuel, me to reach, reach, reach the beach. Looking back, I realize that that’s the last time I’ll see him. What happened, I’ll never know.
The wind has picked up a bit by now. While we’re riding through towns it’s not so bad, but when we hit the straight open roads heading West, it can be taxing. By now, high gear with the head wind, even on flat ground takes considerable effort, but still, it’s easier than low gear. After spending that much time smoothly cruising along in high gear, wiggling about in low gear seems somehow demeaning. I won’t stoop that low, even if it means trashing my legs.
As we’re meandering through another patch of farmers’ fields I pass a couple of guys parked at an intersection. One guy has gotten out of his truck and walked over to the other guy’s truck to discuss the latest in farm politics. They catch sight of me and half a dozen bikers. One of them calls out his best imitation of a sheep “BAAAA-AA-AAAA!”. I’m used to the “Where’s your other wheel” and all, but “Baa-aa-aaa?” And again, a crisp piercing “BAAAA-AA-AAA!” Wait a second. That WAS a sheep, in the back of the truck.
The next stop is Sheridan High School at mile 64. Sheridan is an old rural logging and farming town, except that there’s no logging anymore. It has seen better days. Adolescent cats sit on the curbs smoking their cigarettes. I ignore them. They are too far gone already. It’s the kittens I’m trying to save today. The Sheridan rest stop is replete with water, cookies and hard boiled eggs. I’m starting to feel like Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke. 50 eggs in 100 miles? No problem, that’s only one egg every other mile. Piece of cake. While I’m at it, I’ll have one of those too.
By now I realize that I’ve got to get my average speed up a bit. I wasted too much time in line at the Amity stop. I keep the Sheridan stop as brief as possible. The temperature is rising. I need a break and I need to hydrate, but what I really need is too start making some time. Back on that wheel. Within a few miles I ride through Willamina. There’s a head wind that is bordering on hot, but not quite. It’s enough to make my forehead sweat and eyes water. My eyes start stinging. I have to slow down to wipe them a few times. My vision cleared, what do I see? It can’t be true. No way! Cheer leaders. Half a dozen of them. Not scantily clad, but high school girls waving pom poms and yelling “Yea! Woo Hooo! All Right!” Inspired, I pick up some speed. I’m going to make it in less than 10 hours! I just know it.
After some meandering through some curvy roads we meet up with the highway. Two lanes in each direction, traffic moving along at at least 55 mph. To make it worse, the shoulder is about 2 feet wide. Semi’s are passing me just off my left elbow. But no, that’s not bad enough. The head wind has picked up considerably now that the road is heading due west and the valley has widened up a bit. But wait, that’s not bad enough. No. What’s really bad is that the engineers of this road, in their infinite wisdom, decided to put in a rumble strip on the side of the road so that drunks, sleepy people and Helen Keller can know when they are driving off the road and thereby take corrective measures before they end up in the ditch. So now the entire 2 foot-wide shoulder is the consistency of a giant washboard with lateral divots an inch deep, two inches long interspersed every six inches. I think this is just about my worst unicycling nightmare. Well, at least it’s not pissing down rain. I’m relying on the “safety in numbers” factor. There are so many bicyclists that the traffic can’t help but see us.
Within a half mile the shoulder widens to about 10 feet. Pure luxury. The traffic slows to a crawl as they prepare to merge down to one lane. We start passing them now. I must have passed one or two hundred cars. I’m liking this. Another mile or two and we turn off of the highway, get on to a little winding road alongside a creek. A few more miles and we’re at the Grande Ronde Pow Wow grounds rest stop for our second lunch. After the last lunch, I’m already drooling.
Below: Brycer with the gaggle.
Fur
Pedophiles take note: It turns out . . .that rural Oregon High School girls are strangely drawn to old Unicycle Bastards in fur. Inappropriate touching, anyone?? . . . . . I have a a different sort of fantasy here . . . . .that I may have made it to at least one of these laddies Face-Book pages with a caption that ends in . . .“eeew-gross!”
Now I feel like I need to wash my new Brycer brake down with bleach.
Nice write up!
Brilliant write up! really enjoyed reading it =)
Yup, guess that comment pretty much nixes my latest idea: Free fur thong with every brake set. Thongs are so 1990’s anyway
B
The whole freaking ride I had bicyclists passing me in my greenman outfit asking where my thong was.
That’s quite the manly pose you got there Brycer! Is there something about pushing 80lbs of tall bike you’d like to share with the group?
Whew!
C’mon, Geoff. The suspense is killing us. Keep going… another instalment, please. I don’t care if the ink’s still wet.
Cheers,
Eoin
Part FOUR (The conclusion)
Part FOUR
Grand Ronde Pow Wow grounds: Mile 76M. Mmm, lunch. The line was shorter and the food oh so much better. Vegetarian chili and vegan cheese. “Vegetarian chili” and “vegan cheese” have got to be oxymorons. Oh well, at least the cheese was bright orange. That’s how I knew it was cheese. A few pieces of lettuce, some cookies and let’s see, an egg? Sure, why not? I do my best to maintain my translucent blue skin by embalming myself further with another hefty dollop of white goop.
They were having some plumbing difficulties at the water table but nothing that prevented me from filling up my camelback. Now, I know what you’re wondering. There I am after 76 miles feeling the fatigue, with 28 miles to go. Did I go over to the dark side and start snorting lines of Emergen-C? No, no, no. Not me. Now, I do admit that the idea was tempting. I’ve always wanted to blend into the crowd, be one of the gang. But that is one line I was not yet ready to cross. But a little of that bright yellow sparkling powder poured into my camelback wouldn’t hurt, would it? I mean, it’s not like I’m snorting it!
No time to waste. The clock is ticking. Back on the road. The terrain is mostly flat and the wind is trying to beat me back into the coast range. Being so much taller than the bicyclists makes drafting them useless. That didn’t stop one bicyclist from drafting ME. Yikes, dude! Get off my tail. We’d both go down fast with one little nick or a hiccup on my part. I take evasive maneuvers and ride in the middle of the lane as long as there is no traffic. I slow down. Eventually he realizes that I am not a suitable wind break and he moves on.
A few more miles and the last hill of the day starts wearing me down. It’s one of those sneaker hills. Only about 300’ and mostly a very gentle rise that makes me want to stay in high gear. After 80 miles, pedaling in high gear up even a gentle hill is brutal. What do I care? My legs are already trashed. What do I have to lose? Down shifting to protect my legs at this point would be kind of like a paraplegic wearing a seatbelt. I pedal slowly, down shifting only for the last half mile of the hill when it gets steep. I do my best to pass two bicyclist on the way up. I reach the top and see a handful of bicyclists taking a break at the top. Not me, no way. Back into high gear and I ease on down the road a few more miles to the last rest stop. We’re in the thick of the lush coastal river country. Ferns, alders, Sitka spruce, Douglas fir make up most of the flora. Most of this is relatively sheltered from the wind. I can do this. Another half hour or so and I reach the last popsicle stand at mile 89. Loads and loads of cookies to be had by all. WTF? Where are the eggs? I come 89 miles and there are no eggs? How do they expect me to finish the ride? Who organized this? Off with their heads! It takes me a few moments but I regain my composure. I have a few more cookies. Deep breath. A tall biker (I mean a biker who was tall, not a biker with a tall bike.) and I are talking. He warns me of the strong head winds in this last leg. I have nightmares of riding in low gear on the flats. “No problem, you’re an Iron Man!” he says. That was almost as good as the cheer leaders in Willamina. I don’t need no stinking eggs! I don’t need no stinking low gear! I’m an IRON MAN! Out of my way bikers. I’m going to eat up that road. As I leave, I see that the tall bikers (You know, the ones with the bikes that are tall and who may or may not actually be tall themselves. Get it?) are at this rest stop waiting for one of their brethren to fix a flat. I’ve got the jump on them. I hit the road. I’m so burley I don’t even need my 19th coat of latex paint. I’m on a mission. Nothing can stop me now.
I get back on and start pedaling. Ouch my ass hurts. Almost as much as my back. The aero bars with the elbow rests really help me redistribute the wait on my seat, but being crouched over all day takes a toll on my back. That’s OK. I’m an Iron Man. I feel no pain, except for the pain associated with every little freaking bump in the road pounding on my taint and sitzbones and crimping my lumbar spine. AAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHH! I white knuckle it, grit my teeth and pedal. Pedal. Pedal. Three miles down the road and the tall bikers catch up with me. Right about then the road parallels the Little Nestucca River. The river bottom is wide with few trees. The wind seizes its opportunity. That’s OK. Now I’ve got someone tall enough to effectively draft. Yea, Team Jet Stream! A whole line of them. Woo Hoo! This increased efficiency comes at a steep cost, though. Their pace is quicker than mine. If I stay close enough to them they break the wind enough that I can just hang on. That lasts for about three miles before they leave me behind. I just couldn’t maintain that pace.
Shortly thereafter I see somebody up ahead wiggling in an odd way. Really odd. I gain some distance. Weird posture too. A unicyclist??? I come up alongside of him and say “hi”. He’s a bit startled to see me, another unicyclist there riding next to him. He says “hi” but the shoulder is non-existent and there’s a car coming up behind us. I pull up in front of him and look back. He’s riding a brand new KH 29 with a brake. I have no idea who this guy is. I don’t see a number on his uni or his back. I don’t even know if he’s in the ride. Some random unicyclist on his way to the beach? Weirdo. I’ve got no time to stop and chit chat. I’m going to the beach. I leave him behind, not finding out who this guy is.
There are about 10 miles left. Had this been a 100 mile course, I’d be only 6 miles from the finish, but a few years back they rerouted the course and added 4 miles. Fortunately they added the 4 miles on to the beginning of the course, back when we were fresh and riding four miles was a piece of cake. Thank god they didn’t add the extra miles on to the end of the course when each mile is worth about 5. Besides, had they added the four miles to the end of the course, we’d have to be riding amphibious contraptions. Whole nuther story that would be.
A bike passes me. “Did you start in Portland?” “Yep.” “Dude! You’re a man among boys.” Oh yeah, that makes my back feel just a tiny bit better. It makes my legs feel just a tiny bit stronger. I WILL reach the beach.
A couple more miles down the road and the river straightens out and widens into flat river delta terrain. Up ahead I see another wiggler. Not just a regular wiggler, but a bright green and purple wiggler. Within a few minutes I catch up to Zeke. “Where have you been?” The story went something like this: he fell behind at a hill early on and so decided to make up some time by skipping every other snack break. While Team Jet Stream were eating cookies and eggs, Zeke kept riding and passed everyone. Zeke can RUN a hundred miles, so riding a hundred miles is as easy as pie. Need to make up time? No problem. Just stop every 25 miles instead of every 12. In his tree frog suit, he didn’t even have pockets to stuff cookies into. Talk about “a man among boys”.
Mystery solved, we part ways and I move on. I can smell the salt air. The sky has taken on that hazy coastal hue. A few more miles and we reach highway 101. The local sheriff has stopped traffic to allow the bicyclists to cross. I quicken my pace as much as I can in order to catch up to a few bicyclists. I’m the last one to cross before the sheriff stops the bicyclists and lets the traffic resume. Then it’s on to the left side of the road that has been coned off. Only one way traffic is allowed on this road. For once, we don’t have to compete with traffic; we have the entire lane to ourselves. We follow it into Pacific City. Residents are lining the road cheering us on, celebrating every dollar that the 2000+ bicyclists and two+ unicyclists spend here. They’ve got a lot to celebrate. I revel in their cheers. I don’t care if they’re cheering me on for all the wrong reasons. Who am I to criticize?
A turn and a final few blocks through town, a left turn and I’m through the finish line. I’ve REACHED THE BEACH! WOOOO HOOOO!!!
I get some celebratory pictures taken on the beach. The pain began to fade as I bask in the glory. I felt awesome. Until I tried to bend down and loosen my shoes, an act that required me to bend my back and both of my knees. All at the same time. OUCH! Yeah, that was 104 miles all right. Twenty minutes later and Zeke arrives. I retrieve my care package, unwrap my flask and we have multiple swigs of Scottish mother’s milk. Single malt scotch has always been my drink of choice but for my next century I’ll be sure to splurge on some double malt scotch. Twice as good. Then it’s off to dinner. I pile on the sautéed veggies and chicken, and some more yummy food and then some more food that was pretty good. I have no idea what it was, I just gobbled it. This is where they’ve been hiding that gourmet chef all day. And then there were the brownies. Not bite sized brownies, but giant brownies. And right next to the brownies…yes! cans of whipped cream. Mmmm, big beautiful brownies piled high with leaning towers of whipped cream. And to top it off a Belgian ale made by Pelicans in Oregon. I think they import the Belgians straight from Belgium. That’s why they called it a Belgian ale. Oh yeah, and a stout too. Something dark and gooey. It was made by Pelicans too.
And not a zombie in sight. The sunscreen must have worked.
Pics:
Drafting Team Jet Stream through the coast range.
The Beach be REACHED!
Proud papa Zeke getting the best reward.
Somebody else’s more trustworthy odometer.
That was a truly epic write up, Geoff. Very entertaining 
I enjoyed every minute of reading that!