Irena’s 2022 GCOR Bikepacking Challenge

Gravel Circumnavigation of the Olympic Range (GCOR), July 2-5, 2022

422 miles, 39,600 ft of climbing

My bike, Kona Honzo, felt sluggish and slow as I pedaled towards the start line and away from my car, which was parked in a “safe” spot where I hoped to find it in a few days. I kept pedaling while glancing down at my bike and bags to see if anything was rubbing or dragging but I couldn’t find anything that made sense. Finally, I stopped on the side of the road, and as a few cars passed me, I squeezed my back tire between my fingers only to realize that the tire was very soft. Both tires were fine yesterday afternoon, and now, less than 12 hours later, I lost almost half the air from the back tire. I turned around to get back to my car and grabbed the pressure gauge. Then, I discovered that I was down to 8 psi from my “optimum” riding psi of 22. My stress level was rising as I hastily pumped up the back tire and wondered. . .  am I going to be fighting the leak the entire 422 miles? For some reason, I slid the tire gauge into my frame bag, not sure why I packed, but I must have been thinking that I will need precise verification of a leaky tire during the race. 

Feeling rushed, I picked up the pace to the start line, the Carlsborg Old Mill Café. I didn’t intend to eat breakfast there but wanted a calm morning and time to check my bike over one more time. My emotional support Sarah, was on the other end of my frantic texts, doing her best to talk me down from whatever ledge I was desperately climbing on. There was only one other woman signed up to race and she looked fit and fast. I had just spent 10 days on a boat sailing around the San Juan Islands, which  was an incredible opportunity but it also meant that I spent almost two weeks sitting, eating, drinking and most importantly not training. So, in addition to being stressed about my bike, I had all the usual doubts about my ability to stick to my plan to ride around 100 miles per day and hopefully finish in around 4 days. Nevertheless, I made small talk with a couple other riders at the cafe as they ate their breakfast. Then all eyes were on the race organizer and route developer, Thomas Sumter, as he shared his route knowledge, reminders, and detour info.

Seventeen riders started in the GCOR grand depart and many of them took off fast once Thomas announced the end to the neutral rollout. I tried to find my pace and not get caught up in someone else’s fast clip. For hours, I leapfrogged with a group of 4 or 5 riders who were all riding together. They cycled fast but stopped often so I saw them numerous times as I maintained my consistent pace. The other woman, Kaz, was in this group. They all seemed so young compared to me, so I nicknamed them  the group of “strong youngsters.” I passed them when they stopped at THE pit toilet. This was the pit toilet where I forged a bond with Brian during the 2021 Cross-Washington Mountain Bike race when we spent the night there together during a rainstorm. 

For refueling, small towns with a roadside grocery store and the occasional gas station were nicely spread out throughout the route at around every 100 miles. Their hours were limited, some were closed on Sundays, so the timing was important and carrying a little extra food was not a bad idea. Quilcene was at around mile 36, early in the ride but after some serious climbing. Normally, in my trip preparations and my spreadsheet development, I include the length and elevation gain/loss of the “major” climbs but after analyzing the profile for this route, I decided not to do that because there were too many climbs to list. It seemed that either I would be climbing or descending and not too much in between. I wish that I would have thought about this observation more carefully prior to attaching the aero bars to my flat handlebars. I had an old pair of aero bars from my triathlon days and decided that I wanted to try them. The aero bars were unnecessary. In the end, I spent less than 5 minutes in the aero position. 

I arrived in Quilcene at around 12:30 pm. Dan, a fellow racer, was sitting on the curb in front of the small grocery store enjoying a full pint of ice cream. I admired his commitment to ice cream, since I only picked up an ice cream bar along with a sandwich and a chocolate milk. Myles, another racer, and I arrived around the same time and the group of strong youngsters showed up momentarily. We all parked our bikes in front of the store and sat on the curb eating the miscellaneous food we picked up from the store. As we sat there, about 20 Harley motorcycle riders arrived and parked in a long line across the street. They were in full leather, and some had little lap dogs on tiny leashes, looking for their mid-day snack at the store. For a small, quiet town, there were people swarming everywhere. As we looked out across the street, we wondered about them and there is no doubt they wondered about us too. We all like to take our bikes on long rides but our respective tribes are a little different.

A wave of disappointment came over me as I came out of the bathroom to discover that Dan and Myles were gone. I didn’t really expect them to wait for me but would have been happy to have the company. The climbs were relentless but to my surprise, I was able to stay on my bike and pedal, avoiding having to push my loaded bike uphill. This made me happy, feeling that I made good bike and gear choices! I worked with Ride Roslyn to dial in the Kona Honzo and this was my first bikepacking event on a hardtail bike. I figured that the massive descents might be more fun with some front squish and flat handlebars. Also, the wider gear range will make the climbing somewhat easier as well. It all worked as planned and it was FUN! I was loving the fast descents on the narrow, overgrown logging roads. 

Late in the afternoon I caught up with Dan and Myles and we spent several hours riding and chatting. We rode side by side and chatted as if we were on a first date (although I have been married for 12 years and I can barely remember what first dates were like). We got to know each other, talked about life, relationships, travels – we covered a wide range of fun topics. It made the time, and the climbs fly by. We were mostly in the forest but got a few views of the Seattle skyline and Mt. Rainier, thanks to clear cutting.

Around mile 70, the road disappeared and we had to climb down a steep bank to cross the creek. The massive culvert was washed out. I soaked my tired feet in the cold creek and poured water on my head. The creek was refreshing. As we made our way up the bank on the other side, we were met with downed trees. We must have ducked under and climbed over what seemed like hundreds of downed trees. It was slow, tedious and annoying. The long branches draped over us and our bikes as we pushed, pulled, and hoisted our way through.

Around 9 pm, we passed by an inviting pullout with good grass coverage. It was large enough that you could pitch your tent close to the trees and a car wouldn’t see you if one happened to drive by, which seemed unlikely. Dan was definite that he was staying here and John was easily swayed to stay with him. I had a lot of conviction about sticking with my plan of 100-mile days, so there was no negotiating for me. Even though I was determined to continue, I expressed to them that I’ll likely see them sometime tomorrow. So, they camped and I was on my own riding into the night. 

Ahead of me was one of the biggest climbs of the route and I was certain that I didn’t want to camp near the top.  But I also felt uncertain and uneasy about the reality of my current situation . . . ten o’clock at night, alone in the darkness, slowly turning the cranks and gaining elevation. It left me wondering, where will I sleep tonight? 

When I came to a Y-intersection, I took the slight left uphill as my Wahoo (GPS navigation device mounted to my handlebars) seemed to indicate but when I looked down at the Wahoo moments later, I noticed that the miles were not increasing and the navigation was not working. WTF! I rolled back to the Y-intersection so that I was on flat ground. I was panicking. I pressed a few buttons to try to get the Wahoo to “wake up” and reset. It wasn’t working. I had to remind myself to stay calm. I put the bike down and held the device in my hand. Finally, after a hard reset, it woke up and after some time, acquired the GPS signal. Confused, the battery life still had 35% remaining, so I connected the Wahoo to my battery cache just in case it needed some juice. In the complete darkness, I stood in the middle of the gravel road, staring at my little screen. The route finally loaded. I walked around trying to figure out which direction I should pedal and looked at my Gaia GPS maps until I convinced myself that taking a right at the Y-intersection will keep me on the route. As I pedaled, I kept close attention on the navigation to ensure that I was moving in the correct direction. It was 11 o’clock at night, and I was tired after riding 90 miles. 

“Whew, that was uncomfortable.” – I thought to myself when I picked up speed cruising downhill in the darkness of the forest, with my mind shifting to selecting a camping spot. It was slim pickings! The luscious Olympic Forest is thick with undergrowth and next to the road, this appeared as an impenetrable wall. To my surprise, the next few pull outs were occupied. The first pullout had an old, sketchy camper and it was unclear whether it was occupied. Then, I came across two motorcycles and tents in a nice flat pullout. I realized that I was not as alone as I thought I was. The dirt road flattened and widened and in my tired state, I wasn’t sure how close I was to Lake Cushman, the next town. I didn’t want to reach civilization which could potentially limit my sleeping options completely AND it was now around midnight. 

There was no hesitation when I saw a side road with a “road closed” sign attached to a metal gate blocking the entry. This appeared to be a good camping option. I rolled my bike around the gate, walked past the turn and determined that this was clearly an abandoned road and I could just sleep on the side for a few hours. I got excited when I saw a wooden signpost so that I could keep my bike upright for easier unpacking and repacking. This was now my bivy spot – my very first time sleeping in a bivy. Against my husband’s advice, I didn’t take my tent which has provided shelter on many bikepacking adventures. I wanted to travel lighter (although there is minimal difference in weight), faster and try something new. 

As I started to get ready for sleeping, it was apparent how much of a routine I have developed in how I set up my camp and unload my bike when traveling with my tent. After I rolled out the bivy and inserted the inflated Thermarest and sleeping bag, I automatically took my electronics and a few toiletries from the bike bags and stepped towards the bivy. Then I realized that it does not make sense to unpack the bike bags. There is really no space to put anything. I took my contact lenses out, brushed my teeth, changed out of my bike shorts and put on a dry wool shirt and scooted into the sleeping bag. Only the essentials were with me in the bivy: glasses, headlamp, knife, Wahoo plugged into one cache battery and my phone into another and the grimy, sweaty clothes which I hoped would dry out by the morning. “What to do with my shoes”, I paused and thought to myself. Then I turned them over so that they had a chance at remaining dry. No cell service meant that I couldn’t load Trackleaders on my phone to see the location of the other riders, so I didn’t waste precious time going to sleep. 

Just as I settled in and set my alarm for 4 hours of sleep, a bright light moving towards me from the main road appeared. I was so startled, I sat up and scrambled to put on my glasses. I searched for my knife as I grabbed my headlight. I couldn’t immediately tell whether it was a car, a hiker or who would possibly be here in the middle of the night. Just as quickly as my heart rate increased, it went back down when I recognized the sound of someone pushing a bicycle. It must be another rider! What a relief! A kind and tired voice asked whether he could sleep further down the road. I asked who he was. “Roger” the voice said. Roger was a fellow rider but he was attempting to complete the Hardcore (longer and hillier) version of the route while I was riding the standard route. After a brief exchange, it was dark and quiet again and I found comfort in having someone else nearby. I am not sure how long I’d been dozing when I suddenly woke up again as several new lights were moving towards me. This time, there were voices accompanying the lights and I immediately recognized the group of strong youngsters. They didn’t see me until I spoke to them. I advised them that Roger is just around the corner, but they can easily find a place to camp. I had to “shhhhh” them only once and they moved further away.

On day 1 (July 2), I cycled 105.8 miles and climbed 12,772 feet.

Bivy near Big Creek trailhead, about 13 miles outside of Lake Cushman

The morning fog draped over the forest as I started pedaling sometime before 6 am. The forest transformed into meadows and instantly it was brighter. I enjoyed the landscape and felt good on my bike even after a short sleep.

Someone called my name. I feathered my brakes and looked around. Thomas, the race director and route developer, was packing up his hammock and said that he expected to see me “any time now” and that got him out of his sleeping bag. He was able to check my location on Trackleaders because he had cell service here. We briefly chatted and I continued to the store in Lake Cushman. I learned from the sign in the window that the store won’t open until 8 am and it was only 7:15. Ugh. Do I wait, I thought? I plugged my battery into the power outlet and noticed that there was a tent and a bike in the tall grass next to the store and whoever was sleeping there was also charging their battery. I was annoyed with myself that I got the timing way off. I could have slept in. I decided to clean my chain, do a little reorganization in my frame bag, throw out my garbage, while I waited for the store to open. The next town, Lake Quinault, another potential resupply, was about 103 miles away. 

When Thomas arrived shortly after me and realized that the store was closed, he said he was going to the café just down the street. This was news to me and I hopped on my bike and followed him. The café was still closed but the drive-thru coffee stand was open. I watched Thomas order his coffee from the drive-up window, as I waited my turn behind a red sedan. I got an “atta girl” from the lady in the window when I ordered a “fatty double mocha with a lot of whipped cream”.  Thomas and I had breakfast together in the café. I didn’t have much patience for the painfully slow service as we waited for our breakfast but we chatted, ate, charged our phones and were preoccupied getting organized for the miles ahead. I appreciated connecting with Thomas. As I was packing away my breakfast burrito onto my bike outside the café, Thomas waved me goodbye and I watched him pedal away. That was the last time I saw him, and I was on my own for the rest of day 2. I expected the group of strong youngsters to catch up and pass me all morning but I didn’t see them or Dan or Myles again.  

The landscapes changed and I appreciated being out of the forest for most of the morning. In the foggy afternoon, I battled the downed trees which again made forward progress very slow. The miles were getting harder and I now had a nagging pain in my right knee that wouldn’t go away. I walked up some sections of the climbs to give my knee (and my ass) a break. I seemed to get a few bars of cell service only when the route crossed Highway 101, so I would briefly stop to check the location of other riders on Trackleaders.

About 16 miles past Lake Cushman, I crossed Highway 101 again and turned off to start a 22-mile-long climb, the second biggest climb of the route. There were several smaller ascents and descents in this 80-mile stretch before the route crossed Hwy 101 again and I had brief cell service. I made a quick check-in call to my husband, Justin, as I was getting ready for night riding. There was an identified Hike A Bike (HAB) around a removed bridge which I suspected would be challenging and I had hoped to tackle it in the daylight. As I wrapped up my phone call, I was slowly accepting that the darkness would need to be my friend and I would just take my time completing this section.

I was overall spooked on this segment of the trail and on high alert anticipating the hike-a-bike (HAB). After the race, I came across a photo that another rider took looking down the HAB embankment to the other side. The photo makes it look like something you could just ride through but, it was about 25 feet down to the creek and the embankment was too steep to walk straight up or down. After I scouted the HAB section using the light velcroed to my helmet while holding onto the light normally mounted on my handlebars, I dragged my bike down to the marshy creek, took off my shoes and socks and hoped that I wouldn't step into any surprises. I had to work extra hard to prevent my mind from playing scary tricks on me as I calmly, slowly and carefully stepped through the marshy creek. After I pushed my bike up the other side, reassembled and started riding again. I thought to myself “that wasn’t too bad”. 

Less than 10 miles along Hwy 101 was the next town, Lake Quinault. Although I should have felt good about this milestone, about half way in this journey, I had the usual nerves over my sleeping accommodations, especially near a town. I needed to buy food at the Mercantile which opened at 6 am so I needed to stay nearby. I biked past the store. There were houses along the highway, I saw a fire station, expansive play fields around a school and a church. The church was my first choice since it looked like there was a discreet lawn and a parking lot in front that protected the view from the highway. I pushed my bike along the church wall, over the flat and soggy lawn next to a retaining wall separating the house next door. It was hard to find a spot that was not illuminated by the streetlight. I convinced myself that nobody could see me from the road and that I am safe here. Plus, would the police kick me off church grounds? Well, I barely slept. There were several trucks next door that arrived and left again during the night. The shadows made me feel like there was someone looking over the fence, and the garden lights next door came on and off several times. I couldn’t relax and reviewed the dozen possible scenarios of what could happen to me and how I would handle each one. I thought a church was supposed to feel peaceful! 

In the morning, as I sat on the bench in front of the Mercantile, eating my breakfast (I’ll spare you the details, the “breakfast food” was gross), Daniel showed up. He was another rider on the “Hardcore” route. I am not sure how many more miles and ascending feet he completed compared to me, but we were both visibly tired and mostly quiet. I was happy that I had managed to pull off another 100-mile day, in fact, I covered 115 miles on day 2 with “only” 8,800 ft of elevation gain. I felt good about achieving my goals so far.  

Day 3 was another cool and foggy morning, pretty and calm. As I was pedaling on yet another forest road surrounded by tall trees in every direction, I was startled by branches breaking and bushes shuffling as if something large was moving through the forest. Over my left shoulder, I saw a black bear climbing up maybe a hundred-foot tall tree. I quickly got out my phone to snap a picture. How cool! I was rewarded with a bear sighting! I smiled to myself at the thought that this bear was scared of me and found safety up in the tree.

At some point during the day, I met up with Paulious who was racing the “lite” route. We filtered water together and shared stories of our last night’s adventures. Cops “found” him in Lake Quinault in the morning to let him know that sleeping on school grounds is not allowed. I guess a church lawn was a good idea after all. After Paulious and I parted ways, I didn’t see him again. 

I felt slow and sluggish but tried to find joy in the western section of the route. Finally heading north towards my car, the virtual finish line was getting closer. However, there were several issues that I was battling to resolve. My knee was still giving me trouble and there was something wrong with my left cleat. I tightened it several times, but it kept loosening. I also had a hard time clipping in and out of my pedals and sometimes just rode without clipping in. Every night, I had to do a hard reboot on my Wahoo because it would just stop navigating and effectively freeze around 80 and 90 miles of riding and 11 or 12 hours of run time. It bummed me out a bit that I never got the satisfaction of seeing my total mileage for the day. I had to split each day into 2 or 3 segments but at least I had the necessary navigation and tried not to think about what I would do if my tricks for the Wahoo didn’t work. So, navigation with my GPS was not working properly, and my cleats were giving me trouble for miles. My knee was painful, but at least my back tire was holding air. I didn’t have to inflate it even once in the last 245 miles! 

Another climb and another descent. Descending felt so rewarding after crawling up each climb for hours and hours . .  until it wasn’t. I was ripping downhill starting to feather my brakes since I anticipated that I would cross a road soon. Then I saw the stop sign at the edge of the paved road. That’s when I realized that I couldn’t unclip from the left pedal. My left foot just spun around and around. No matter how hard I pulled, I couldn’t detach the shoe from the pedal. Stay calm I thought. I unclipped my right foot, in preparation for a full stop at the stop sign. I rolled up to the stop sign and promptly fell over on my left side. I hit the pavement hard and was trapped under the bike. I was furious. Ugh! I couldn’t get my foot detached and as a result couldn’t move my bike. I was like a fish out of water and growing more and more annoyed. Finally, I slid my foot out of the shoe and escaped from the trap. I sat there on my ass fighting with my shoe, pedal, and bike. It’s as if my bike just didn’t want to let go. With all my strength, I removed the shoe. One of the bolts was missing. I pulled out my allen key set from my frame bag and removed the remaining bolt and placed the cleat and bolt in the safest spot I could think of, my wallet. My plan was to ride as if I had flat pedals. Problem solved. 

The blood on my scraped left knee was running down my leg and soaking my leg warmers. The landing was hard and I was surprised by the amount of blood. I found my first aid ziploc bag and pulled out a large band-aid to cover up my wound. My bike, shoes, tools, clothes were scattered around my bike and I was sitting on my ass in my socks. I was putting on a ridiculous show, but no one was there to witness it. I had to collect myself and my thoughts and find some calmness before I climbed back on the bike to continue the ride. 

A few miles later, I came across a pitched tent next to the road and an upside down bike close to the intersection with Hwy 101 (again) at about mile 262.

At mile 262. Thanks to Chad for this photo.

Chad’s race was over due to a bike mechanical, and he was waiting for his parents to give him a ride home. He was following my progress on Trackleaders and was surprised that it had taken me so long to get to him. I was happy to see him and complained about my fumble, which explained why it took me so long to reach him. He immediately took off his shoes and offered up the bolts from his cleats. We sat on the side of the road next to each other and I completed my repairs. We found brief solace in each other’s company. I heard about his ride and learned that Thomas was not that too far ahead of me. I was grateful for the bolt, and once I put my cleats together again, I felt a tad more in control. I called Justin for a brief check-in before I departed from Chad’s hangout. Cell service was very limited which meant that I wasn’t getting Andrea or Sarah’s texts and was left mostly with my own thoughts (and frustrations) but it also meant that I wasn’t obsessing over the locations of other riders. 

I focused on the miles ahead. More climbing and descending. Changing landscapes. A dense forest. Shenanigans through some sketchy, abandoned industrial facility. Two more bear sightings when I startled them and they ran off across the road. It was still a long way, 70 miles, to the town of Forks. Today was the 4th of July, my birthday which for the last few years I have spent on a bikepacking adventure. At some point, after it got dark, I walked through a barely passable trail. I was picking my way through the bushes hoping that I was still correctly navigating and staying on the route. It was  some time before I reached Forks and luckily, I didn’t run into any vampires.  

The cars that passed me in the 7-miles along Highway 101 turned off their high beams which I took to mean that my blinking lights and the reflective triangle attached to my backpack made me visible. July 4th celebrations were in full swing at around 11 pm. Fireworks were still illuminating the night sky and the big booms from the firecrackers were startling. All I wanted was an open gas station to get a few things and get out of town as fast I could. The first gas station that I came across was closed! I considered banging on the door and begging to be let in by the clerk who was still cleaning up. I evaluated my food quantity and whether I could reach Port Angeles in 90 miles without going completely hungry or bonking. The food I had with me was not appealing anymore but at least I had calories to consume. After the internal debate, I decided that I would continue mostly because I felt that getting away from this sketchy town should be my first priority. To my surprise, I biked by another gas station at the end of town and it was open (but even more sketchy). Big old trucks idled outside. A few young people milled around. I didn’t want to leave my bike unattended outside even for a minute but the clerk was adamant that no bikes were allowed inside. So I grabbed a chocolate milk, a Gatorade, M&Ms, snickers bar, chips – all the things that I could easily pick up while watching my bike through the window. I paid and hovered outside with the other misfits drinking my chocolate milk and Gatorade. Once I left, I was so happy and relieved to be alone in the darkness of the forest again! 

No thanks to my Wahoo, I was fairly confident that I managed to bike more than 100 miles that day, so I was ready to find a safe place to sleep. I needed to be able to use my phone to make a phone call first thing in the morning, so I needed to stay close to Forks for cell service. Once I turned on the Sitcom-Sol Duc road, the trees, shrubs, and forest undergrowth once again created a wet wall next to the road. There were a few pullouts and gated dirt roads that I stopped to check out but either they were too close to the road or full of garbage. Finally, I walked past a gate and felt that it would be unlikely for anyone to find me here. The road was not flat, but I planned to stuff some clothes under my sleeping pad to make a level sleeping spot. 

My alarm woke me at 5 am and I dialed the passport office number to make an appointment. I became a US citizen in May and have been trying (unsuccessfully) to get a passport in time for my upcoming trip to Canada. This process was completely backed up and deadlocked, but this morning was the earliest that I could call the passport office to make an appointment. I was on hold in the queue informing me that the expected wait time was 25 minutes. That’s not so bad, I thought. I’ll just pack up and hopefully by then I’ll be able to speak to someone to get my appointment scheduled. I packed up my bivy/sleeping bag/thermarest, ate some food, rolled my bike down the hill to the main road and I was still on hold. So I put the earbuds in and started biking while still on hold. I went too far and the phone call dropped! I turned around and retraced my steps until I was back in cell range. Frustrated, I called the passport office again while standing on the side of the road. I was back on hold for 25 minutes. I waited. Half an hour later, my appointment was scheduled and I was relieved to be able to focus on the bike ride again. Another issue resolved!

The sun came out to play and I was FINALLY rewarded with beautiful views. The last massive climb was familiar to me because I rode the XWA in 2021 and the two routes overlap in this section before Port Angeles, from about mile 350 to mile 420. The climb was in my rear view and the trail around Lake Crescent was annoyingly long but presented stunning views of the lake and fast miles on the mostly paved path.

My confidence apparently needed a smack down which I promptly received from the Olympic Adventure Trail (OAT). I didn’t remember it being so technical, challenging and slow. I have bikepacked the OAT several times but this was my least enjoyable effort. I took a picture of the switchback with a picnic table where I camped the first night of XWA, my very first bikepacking grand depart. This was the very last picture that I took from this race.

I had cell service now and figured out that Roger was about an hour behind me. My ride had become so completely sluggish that I was expecting him to pass me any time. We weren’t racing each other since Roger was doing the “Hardcore” route but knowing that another rider was close behind me motivated me. 

I pumped my fist a few times as if I was biking by some cycling fans along the waterfront path in Port Angeles. I had some pent-up joy rushing through my veins that I needed to get out. I was less than 20 miles from the “finish line” and the remaining route was flat. I had a REASON to be joyous. I still wanted to finish ahead of Roger. The sun set and illuminated the paved bike path to Carlsborg. I expected to make a turn towards the Old Mill Café but behind a large industrial building, the route ended. I guess I crossed the “finish line”???  It’s funny how these events end. Here I was alone, in some industrial park in some small town, at night again. It was just past 9:30 pm. I pulled out my phone to make sure that my finish registered with Trackleaders and my pink dot started bouncing. I estimated that Roger was about 45 minutes behind me so I decided to wait for him to cheer him into the finish. I put on my jacket, talked to Justin, received a congratulatory message from Thomas and did my best to stay warm.

After hooting and hollering Roger into the finish line, and brief congratulatory words, I oriented myself to the location of my car and biked the 2 miles there. I could barely hold it together to change clothes and load my bike into the car. I called Justin again and asked him to make a motel reservation somewhere close. I couldn’t find enough brain function to do that. I only had to drive a few miles but stopped at a gas station and bought a large bag of Cheetos so that the crunch with every bite would keep me awake. My body was shutting down. It needed food and sleep. I checked myself into the motel just before midnight and had a refreshing shower but a hard and confusing night of sleep. I set the alarm to make sure that I wouldn’t sleep past the check-out time because I definitely would have. In the morning, I had many congratulatory messages from my friends and from Thomas who invited me to join him, Roger, and Daniel for breakfast. Unfortunately, I was too late, so I took myself out for breakfast instead and reflected on the race over eggs, pancakes, and coffee. 

This ride was full of frustrations. I had to resolve several annoyances along the way. In the end, I learned that I am able to string together 100-mile days on the bike, figure things out, tighten it, fix it, put a band-aid on it and keep going.

Summary of my GCOR riding data.