From: josh@Happy-Man.com (Joshua_Putnam)
Subject: Great ESCAPE across Washington State
Summary: Bayview to Newport via North Cascades
Reply-To: Joshua_Putnam@happy-man.com
Organization: Happy Man Corp., Vashon Island, WA 98070-7399
Date: Wed, 26 Aug 1992 20:50:19 GMT


Here, as promised earlier, is an account of my ride last week
in the Great ESCAPE, a charity ride sponsored by Associated
Grocers and other local companies to support Seattle's Children's
Hospital and Washington State Special Olympics.  It is a six-day
ride from Puget Sound to the Idaho border.  The ride is fully
supported, complete with a catering truck and shower truck
normally used to support forest fire fighters.

This was the third annual ride, and planning is already 
underway for the fourth.  We had just under 100 riders for the
full ride, and quite a few more AG employees rode the first day's
flat 75 miles.

Each rider needs to raise a minimum of $500 in pledges, but with
the proceeds going to Children's Hospital and Special Olympics
this is no problem.  Considering the controversy raised on 
rec.bicycles earlier this year when someone posted a request for 
charity-ride pledges, I'll leave out the sponsorship information here.  

Email or post if you're interested in signing up for next year -- 
I'll post the info if I get enough requests, otherwise I'll email.

I've tried to get all the facts straight, but errors propagate
like well-fed rabbits, so I'm sure something is wrong.  Hope you enjoy
it anyway.

The format may not be perfect -- I typed this at home on
my DOS machine and the conversion isn't always exactly
right. 

***

The first day began in a rush.  Getting up at 4:30 I loaded 
my bike on the car, ate a quick breakfast, and went to pick 
up the first of several riders I was taking to the starting 
point.  Boots's road bike went on the roof rack, as did Clay's 
mountain bike.  A third bike, belonging to a fellow Islander 
who would be waiting at the starting line, went on the rear 
rack since the bike's disc wheel made it difficult to use a 
standard roof rack. 

We made for the north end of the island, stopping along the 
way to pick up Breck and his Raleigh road bike. 

By the time we reached the ferry, my workhorse 1965 Ford 
station wagon was getting full, carrying five bicycles, four 
passengers, and a week's camping supplies for the four of 
us.  I turned south on I-5, towards the Associated Grocers 
parking lot, where we picked up Rob, his bike and camping 
gear, and his younger brother Joe, who would return the car 
to the AG lot for guarded storage during the ride. 

Heading onto Inerstate 5 northbound, I knew we would be 
cutting it close: registration officially ended at 9:00 
sharp, and many of us had not eaten breakfast yet.  A quick 
McDonald's run put us just over the line: the wagon bobbed 
around the corner to registration at 9:15. 

The registration table was still set up, and Merlin was 
waiting anxiously for his bike.  In a rush we offloaded the 
bikes and carried our gear into the AG semi that would 
provide baggage service for the week.  Only then did I 
notice that the local rock radio station that had promised 
to sponsor us and provide publicity had not been as patient 
-- the representative with our KISW t-shirts and other 
insignia had left without us.  No matter -- we were here to 
ride, not to wear their callsign.  Giving Joe my keys, I 
calibrated my watch's altimeter to sea level on the beach and 
turned my attention to the week ahead. 

The first day's ride was 75 miles of easy riding on 
relatively flat terrain between Bayview State Park and the 
town of Newhalem, in the foothills of the Cascades.  We 
started on a rural road with rough shoulders but almost no 
traffic.  Our own support vehicles made up the majority of
motor traffic.  About five miles later, just getting warmed up 
in the morning chill, we crossed onto State Route 20, the North
Cascades Highway that was to be our main route all week. 

SR 20 climbs gently from the shoreline to the foothills, 
with beautiful views of rich agricultural lands overshadowed 
by tree-covered mountains and foothills.  Combined with the 
cool morning air, this idyllic scenery made the miles fly by 
until, without warning, Rob's bike gave a loud twang and 
stopped moving. 

A quick look showed that a fatigued spoke on the freewheel 
side of his rear wheel had given way, flopping into the 
chain and taking a tooth off the upper jockey pulley.  Even 
36-spoke wheels with Wolber 58 rims eventually wear out 
under Rob's 210 pounds, but the timing was certainly 
unfortunate.  At least the wheel was still close to true. 

A hasty truing made the wheel rideable, though one spoke 
nipple had been stripped some time earlier with an improper 
wrench and could not be turned.  A support vehicle stopped 
to let us know the mechanic was then at the next water stop, 
a few miles down the road. 

I took this opportunity to adjust my saddle a couple of 
centimeters to the rear, since I had been noticing saddle 
and lower back discomfort climbing into headwinds.  I had 
forgotten to mark the saddle position when taking the 
seatpost apart to get rid of a squeak the week before, and 
had apprently guessed wrong putting it back together. 

By the time we reached the water stop the mechanic was 
further along the route, so we spent a little more time 
making Rob's bike rideable.  We pulled the wheel a bit more 
into line, tied the broken spoke more securely, and adjusted 
his shifting to make a bit less noise.  Fortunately, his 
bar-end shifters have a non-indexed mode that made the bent 
derailleur more adjustable.  Still, he was unable to use the
two outer freewheel cogs -- not a big problem on long hill
climbs, but annoying on the flats. 

We spun on to the lunch stop and waited for the mechanic, 
Carl(?), from Seattle's R&E Cycles, an excellent shop with a 
good service reputation.  After a long wait while he fixed 
flat tires and other minor problems, he returned to the 
lunch stop and began to work on the wheel.  A replacement 
spoke was easy to find, but getting the freewheel off was 
more difficult, since Rob does not use anti-seize on his 
freewheel threads and frequently pounds up hills at a slow, 
punishing cadence.  Soon, however, the wheel was as true as 
new, and the derailleur was a bit better, though bent so 
badly that replacement was the only long-term solution. 
This would have to wait until after the ride, since Carl did 
not have a replacement and there were no good bike shops 
open along our route. 

We rode the remaining miles more slowly, idling through the 
forested valley on full stomachs from an overlong lunch 
stop. 

Our fist night's camp was on the lawn in Newhalem, an 
old-fashioned company town owned and run by Seattle City 
Light to support its hydroelectric facilities in the North
Cascades.  Thanks to our late start the shower truck was 
already operating when we arrived in Newhalem, and the 
catering truck was beginning to cook dinner.  We set up our 
tents and set about meeting some of the riders who had 
arrived before us, while riders we had passed on the road 
continued to trickle in. 

One rider whose bicycle was to gain infamy on the trip 
rolled in not long after our group.  I do not remember his 
name, but his nickname tells the story: "Dr. Pepper."  Many 
advanced riders shuddered at the thought, but this man 
seriously intended to ride across Washington State's most 
difficult passes on a Murray "Dr. Pepper" with one-piece steel 
cranks and chromed steel rims.  No aero bars, no toeclips, not
even indexed shifting... he even had a steel kickstand.  

(In the end, he made it to Newport, and though he happily 
announced the bike's retirement at dinner the last night, he 
had earned a grudging respect from riders who grew tired on 
much lighter, faster bikes.  While they sweated with 18 gear 
ratios, this man with 12 speeds, steel rims, and no toeclips 
climbed the same 20,000+ feet with no complaints.)

Showered and fed, we went to our sleeping bags dreaming (or 
worrying) about the much different course ahead of us. 

An early breakfast and brisk morning air prepared us for a 
challenging ride.  Our second day took us through the bulk 
of the North Cascades, a route that overheats many cars. 
While most of the hills do not exceed 7% grades, they are 
long and steady, with little chance to rest. 

Just out of Newhalem begins the climb up Rainy Pass, 4855', 
named for its location on the wet, coastal side of the 
Cascade range.  The moist air makes for beautiful scenery, 
with reservoirs surrounded by steep rock walls carpeted in 
Douglas Fir up to the snow line. 

Having done more hill training than my riding partners I often 
pulled ahead on the hills, stopping to take pictures with my 
indestructible millstone, a trusty Olympus OM-1.  My many photo
stops eventually put me behind as I searched for good angles of
the many peaks, lakes, and receding rows of mountain ridges.  We
usually regrouped at water stops.

The day's climbing was marred by road work, the worst of which 
was a several mile section of fresh, hot oil and asphalt.  The
pavement was so soft my tires felt sticky and left a clear 
track in the surface.  Combined with the heat of the day the 
heat of the pavement was awful.  I just sweated, but the 
rubber on my front tire cooked and started pulling apart in 
places.  Still, I count myself lucky: one unfortunate woman 
fell over along this stretch and blistered her whole forearm 
where it hit the pavement.  The heat also made my altimeter
misread the elevation through this stretch, and I watched the 
readings drop while I climbed the hill.

A fast and furious descent from Rainy pass dropped to the 
base of the day's second climb, Washington Pass, 5477' high. 
Having warmed up *very* well on Rainy Pass I found Washington 
a pleasant, steady climb.  Riders with flatland gearing 
thought otherwise.  Beautiful views provide plenty of reasons
to stop on the way up, however, so nobody complained too much.

At the top of Washington Pass, a trail leads to a lookout 
point from which the terrific drop out of the mountains is 
visible.  I waited here for Rob, Boots, and Breck.  Clay's 
mountain bike kept him back a ways in the pack, so we had 
agreed he would ride at his own pace and find someone else 
to ride with.  Breck missed the turnoff and took the 
downhill without us, then Boots met up with a racer and left 
Rob and me in the dust.  My big ring is 50 teeth, and Rob
still did not have his top freewheel cogs, so neither of us
could quite keep up with sprinters spinning 53x11 gearing. 

Dropping onto the flat land below the mountains, Rob and I 
fought a hot, dry headwind for the rest of the day's 72 
miles.  As if this were not enough, the road roughened and 
the shoulder disappeared, leaving us in the roadway with the 
flow of Winnebagos, logging trucks, and tourists.  Rob 
bonked along here and could barely maintain 7 miles per hour 
for a time.  We stopped switching leads, and I pulled the 
last ten miles to camp, with Rob grinding along on his aero 
bars behind my upright, tired body.  My mind was certainly 
elsewhere, back on the cool, beautiful passes.  (For those 
worried about such things, nobody I rode with had any trouble
using aero bars in a paceline, but this might reflect wisdom
as much as skill: people who had little paceline experience 
mostly stayed off their aero bars anyway.  Out of politeness 
I rarely used my aero bars when pulling on long rides, since
the whole point is to cast a useful wind shadow.)

That second night's camp in Winthrop was the most welcome 
rest all week.  A long, cold dip in the creek took the burn  
out of my legs, a good shower and cold beer made up for the 
slow finish to the day's route, and dinner was filling.  A 
sloppy wiffle-ball game lasted until dusk ended play.  I 
was asleep much earlier than I expected, and awoke ready for 
the shortest, but not easiest, day of the Escape. 

The third day's route is just 44 miles, from Winthrop to 
Omak, but they are very hilly miles.  The mid-day check in 
was at the summit of Loup Loup Pass, 4020', the last ridge 
of the Cascades before the central Washington flats.  After 
the day before, my easy hillclimbing rhythm was gone, and 
the pass was a hard climb.  Fortunately, the other riders in 
my group were tired, too, and we all decided on a slower 
pace for the day.  It looked like most other riders had the
same idea, though the real racers still pressed for speed.

The Eastern Washington heat came up early, with highs for 
the day in the upper 90s (Farenheit, for those no longer
saddled with king's toes and cubits).  Fortunately, for this 
first day entirely in the East the route had two water stops 
and a lunch check-in.  I carry two large water bottles, but 
Rob's older Trek frame has braze-on spacings that allow only 
smaller bottles, so he really needed to refill them. 

Unlike Rainy and Washington, Loup Loup does not feel like a 
real mountain pass.  The terrain is grassy instead of rocky, 
and it feels much more like climbing a larger than usual 
hill than like traversing mountains.  This can be deceptive, 
and some riders did not pace themselves for the thousands of 
feet of climbing.  There were fewer view-stops, too.

After the pass came 23 miles of hot, windy, but relatively 
level riding, ending in the town of Omak, home to the 
(in)famous Omak Sucicide Race, in which Native American 
riders race horses down a grade too steep for mountain 
biking, though a swift river, and up into an open air 
stadium. 

Our camp, on the city park's soccer field, was next to the 
river, providing welcome relief from the Eastern Washington 
sun.  Breck found a horse bridle in the river, possibly from
one of the horses killed preparing for this year's Suicide
Race.

We whiled away the afternoon eating pizza and sandwiches 
in town, waiting for sunset, dinner, and sleep.

The sky put on a beautiful display of thunderheads before 
sunset to mark this halfway point in our trip. 

On day 4 we set out across rolling hills towards Tonasket. 
As our five-person paceline spun along the flats, we picked 
up a bevy of less experienced riders learning for the first 
time the advantages of working together.  With so many 
novices behind me I was hesitant to drop back before they 
were well settled in, so I pulled for quite a few miles as 
they got used to keeping good spacing, not using their 
brakes in line, pulling out to catch a headwind, etc. 

I dropped back just as we neared a slight rise.  Breck, in 
front, pulled up the hill at our usual pace.  Many of our 
newfound friends had trouble with the pace, and I slowly 
moved forward through the line, pulling riders forward to 
close gaps left by those dropping out.  By the time Breck 
pulled off, the line had just 7 riders left, only six of 
whom continued after the first water stop.  One strong
high-school rider was on a mountain bike with knobby tires,
but he managed to hold our pace for quite a while. 

Outside of Tonasket we began the climb up Wauconda Summit, 
4310', a bump in the middle of the state.  Like Loup Loup, 
Wauconda feels more like a long hill than a real mountain. 
There are no towering rock faces, just huge gravelly slopes 
with sparse trees and brush.  Confusion at a water stop led 
Rob, Breck, and me to start without Boots.  When I stopped 
at a gas station for a bag of licorice and use of the 
toilet, Boots sped ahead up the pass, leaving the three of 
us to chase him down.  Since I was the one who had wanted to 
stop, I of course got to pull all the way up the hill. 

By the time we caught Boots, everyone was climbing in such 
good form that I stood up and sprinted ahead a few hundred 
yards to set up my camera and record the other three's 
passage.  In the picture they all look tired, but without 
the painful expressions they showed on Rainy pass.  I have no 
idea what I looked like, but I did notice sunburn spreading 
across my scalp under my helmet vents that evening.

We rode together the rest of the way to Republic, camping 
for the night at the Ferry County Fairgrounds just outside 
town.   

Day 5 is the hardest of the ride.  The morning begins with 
the long, slow, but beautiful climb over Sherman Pass, the 
highest highway pass in the state at 5575 feet.  Cooler 
weather had set in over night, and I was still cold a few 
miles from the summit when we stopped to view the remains of 
a forest fire that had consumed hundreds of thousands of 
acres in 1988(?).  My aching knees reminded me to bring leg
warmers next year despite Eastern Washington's hot climate.

The summit was a chance to sit and reflect on the ride so 
far.  No one wanted to waste the unparalleled treat ahead of 
us, a reward for all these days of climbing: a continuous 22 
mile descent from Sherman Pass to the river valley below.  

There are some sharp switchbacks with loose gravel 
on the descent, but the urge to speed is contagious. 
Instead of savoring the hill we were sprinting forward on 
aero bars at 45 to 50 miles per hour, struggling for lane 
position and seeking good drafts.  Then, all too soon, the 
drop became an incline again.  We still had miles to go, 
and my legs cooled down on the hill. 

From Colville to Gillette Lake the road climbs steadily over 
what the locals call Tiger Mountain.  The state doesn't 
dignify this with the title "pass," but the top of the climb 
is a few thousand feet above the bottom fo the valley.  The
locals call it a pass, and I think they may have something
there.

We camped at a higher elevation than any of our previous 
camps, which combined with the cooler weather to make a cold 
night.  Many people found it hard to sleep, knowing only one 
day was left of this experience. 

The last day of the ride was by far the easiset: we started 
downhill, then rode on the flats to Newport, at the level of 
the Pend Oreille River.  To make things even easier, the 
ride organizers encouraged a late start: 17 miles into the 
ride they wanted us to regroup for a full-pack video shoot on 
a back road, but they didn't want us there until the light was 
good. 

We slept in, ate slowly, and left camp as late as the 
latest stragglers the day before.  Everyone took the riding 
easy, savoring the last day on the road.  Rob and Breck 
broke away from me in a paceline on a grated bridge deck, 
but I decided not to react on the grating.  By the time I 
recovered the half-mile gap they opened, it was time for the 
video. 

Inevitably, having 90+ riders start on a starting line turns 
into a race.  Past the camera emplacement, two riders formed a 
breakaway while twelve of us formed a chase group.  A second
line formed to chase us, and the rest of the riders strung out
for miles.

Unfortunately, there was some misunderstanding and our double 
paceline never rotated, so the lead riders quickly tired and 
dropped back.  Several of us pushed forward and formed a single 
paceline that did rotate, but by then the lead pair had a 
seemingly insurmountable lead. 

Over the next dozen miles we rarely saw the leaders, but 
there was evidence of their passage.  Exhausted farm dogs 
teetered alongside the road, too tired to bark or chase us. 
Oncoming cars waved encouragement.  We kept up the pace. 

By the next water stop we caught them and were all ahead 
of schedule.  We pressed on, dropping some riders from 
exhaustion.  Rob was among them, and Boots was far behind. 
The pace picked up, and Breck dropped out. 

Nearing Newport we were down to five riders.  I had spoken 
briefly with the others but don't know them well.  One took 
long, steady pulls at the lead, while another was tired and 
took short ones.  I had trouble at this point pacing 
myself on hills -- the need for speed led me to gap the 
paceline moentarily when I started to pull, then tire myself 
too soon and pull off.  Still, we were averaging over 25 mph 
on the flats and the city was approaching. 

Since it was not yet 10:00 and we were too busy to drink much 
water, we skipped lunch and the last water stop.  A little 
after 10:00 we climbed the bridge onramp.  Just then one of 
the other bikes made a familiar twang -- Keith lost a spoke 
less than a mile from the end of the last day's route.  He
wrapped it up and rode off to the hotel room his wife had 
reserved for him.

Knowing he was OK and support was available, the remaining 
four continued on to the city park.  As we took the final 
corner I veered right, off the road and through the gravel and 
lawn to the registration table.  There's no real reason for 
it, but I beat the others by a few seconds.  It was almost 
10:30.  The ride is over: over 420 miles, more than 20,000 
feet of climbing, beautiful views of the state's best passes.

Struggling to the back of the gear truck I pulled out the 
cooler and offered my fellow finishers a cool one to 
celebrate.  Talking revealed that two of my compatriots were 
long-term riders, while one had been riding seriously for 
just six months.   

It was not quite all over yet.  We watched and cheered as riders 
of all levels rolled into the park.  Clay's was the first 
mountain bike by half an hour, and even Dr. Pepper finishes 
in good spirits. 

In early afternoon a beautiful old firetruck pulled up to 
offer rides to the pizza parlor and payphones.  Dinner that 
night was unlimited pizza on AG's tab, though we paid for our 
own beer.  Then hizzonor the mayor invited all the adult 
riders and volunteers for drinks and a live band at the 
Eagles.  Without a ride to worry about the next day, 
celebration continued into early morning. 

*** Back to reality.

A cold rain wakes us up stiff and tired Saturday morning. 
The bus to take us home has broken down outside town, but 
the Chamber of Commerce has arrnaged for an early shift of 
bakers at Safeway to bring us 250 fresh, hot doughnuts and 
unlimited coffee, so all is not lost. 

Eventually we are all on the bus. "Hill" and "pass" are 
forbidden words on board, and there are lots of snores and 
snuffles after the night before. 

By the time we reach the AG parking lot, the mood has 
brightened.  Most of us promise to be back next year for 
another Great Escape.  I'll certainly be there.

*** 

Two other observations: 
 
Spoke failures are unbelievably common, even on good, new 
bikes.  One bike of a well known, reputable make suffered 
four breaks on the ride after less than 100 pre-ride miles. 
The unbroken spokes are much too loose -- the wheel should 
never have been sold in this condition.  If you're buying a 
new bike, make sure the wheels were built properly, and have 
the shop take care of this if you don't want to do it 
yourself.  Look for well-designed wheels, and read Jobst's 
book if you have technical questions. 

Bolle prescription inserts are great in these conditions. 
They don't seem to fog up in the rain, and they do a great 
job of blocking glare on light-colored pavement.  The brow 
pad helps prevent the salt-splatter problem I often face 
with standard glasses and a headband. 

*** 

If you think this sounds like a ride you might enjoy, I 
imagine you're right.  Nobody I talked to on the ride failed 
to enjoy it, despite injuries and food poisoning. 

It's not too early to plan for next year.   

Have a good ride! 
-- 
 Joshua_Putnam@happy-man.com    Happy Man Corp.  206/463-9399 x102
 4410 SW Pt. Robinson Rd., Vashon Island, WA  98070-7399  fax x108
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