meow meow meow meow cough cough meow
Was I the first unicyclist across the line? No. But I may have been the most fly.
100:10:1 plus those pesky 4+ miles at the end. 5th uni century.
Great ride. Great to meet you NatureQuake!
Cheers,
Z
Nice work! great time, and 0 UPDs? That’s impressive.
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!