This state is unreal. I’m constantly astounded by it’s beauty.

Chris, Dylan and I spent the weekend leapfrogging fellow randonneurs in and around the Cascades for a total distance of around 375 miles. We stopped a lot, ate many sandwiches, and talked in depth about what the Japanese enjoy about tentacles (you probably shouldn’t ask if you don’t know).

Somehow I managed to wake up at 3:30 on Saturday morning and get coffee on the stove going. Jane was smart enough to make me get some croissants from Bakery Nouveau on Friday. Breakfast was pretty well taken care of.

Chris came over and we drove to our 5am roll out of Issaquah at the Tilden’s house on Lake Sammamish. There were maybe 50 riders at that start. Everything started out smoothly as we took familiar roads out to Sultan and out towards Steven’s Pass.

60K in, our group stopped along Highway 2 for a flat. It would be the first of 5 for the weekend. We weren’t in any particular hurry though. I was pretty committed to keeping the good company for the remainder of the ride. I might have had a fast (for me) time on this ride in 2008, but I was also alone a good chunk of the ride. My jokes aren’t that funny anyways, but they really suck when I tell them without anyone to hear them.

Thanks to the early flat, we were towards the back of the pack pretty quickly. Mark Thomas and Bob Brudvick were manning the control at the start of Old Cascade Highway. Bob tried to impress us with his crappy joke skills and Chris upped the ante with an even worse one.

Old Cascade Highway is a real stunner. The pavement is butter smooth, surrounded by trees along a river, and there is almost no traffic. It is especially sweet coming off the “Highway of Death” (US2). Alas, it only lasts for a few miles before pushing you back out on to the highway. The rest of the climb to the pass is stiff, but relatively quick. You top out at around 4,000 feet. High fives were had all around.

The descent to Leavenworth was the same as always, too long and filled with way too many rollers. It’s saving grace is really the view near the bottom of the stretch. The rivers were especially wild over the weekend thanks to heavy rains all week and warm temperatures melting off snow-pack.

We rolled through Leavenworth and soaked in the tourist trappy goodness. There are a lot of get things to do there, like visiting the “Old timey Starbucks” (stole that from Dylan) or “Old timey Howard Johnson”. The town has a really amazing location, I think they could be a little more creative than a fake Bavarian village. Still, sandwiches were greatly enjoyed after all the ups and downs on the bike.

Blewitt pass was up next. I find either direction of this pass to be fairly straightforward. There is no such thing as an easy climb up a mountain, but Blewitt never really gets too steep and never feels too stressful. I didn’t quite eat enough on the way up, so I was bonking a bit by the time we finally reached the top. Amy and Robin were nice enough to camp out at the top and dispense lots of salty snacks and sodas. It was greatly appreciated.

The real Blewitt was followed by a little climb going out towards Ellensburg. The rise overlooks green pastures straight out of a movie. I had fond memories of this climb and view from 2 years ago, despite being manhandled by the winds at the time. Thankfully, mother nature was a bit more kind to us this time around. We stopped at the top and took it all in. Oddly, there was a medium sized animal’s rib cage splayed out on the guard rail nearby where we stopped. We took it as a sign and kept moving.

We had our third sandwich of the day in Ellensburg at a Quiznos. It wasn’t very good, but it was hot and calorie dense. The goal was to get back on the road and in to the Yakima River Valley before the sunset. I called Jane because I knew that I would soon be without any cell phone coverage. I really missed her. I often miss home when I’m out in the middle of nowhere. It usually crops up the worst when the daylight is fading and the end of a ride isn’t in sight.

Some of that hesitation passed when we finally got into the valley and rode along the gorgeous Yakima River. We traded of spots of “lead bug catcher” along the river. There were thousands and thousands of flying bugs in the air. I was having trouble breathing properly through my nose, so I caught many in my mouth. I was spitting them out for miles. It says something about the beauty of a location if it makes you almost forget about swallowing airborne pests.

We tagged on with some others for the ride up US12. Two years ago this stretch of road was horrendous. There were hard headwinds and rumble strips constantly trying to force you out in to the road. This time around, we elected to take the slow lane as a group of about 8 or 9 strong. It made the ride quick and almost pleasant.

We rolled in to the last manned control before the overnight at some time around midnight. The amazing volunteers had sandwiches and hot coffee brewing. It was a must needed respite for the long road behind us and the darkness ahead of us.

The last stretch to the overnight at Rimrock Lake is long, but I was in good company. Chris, Dylan, Joe and Pat cradled me in their handlebar bags almost all the way into the final stop for the day. We got started in on random stupid topics and made crappy jokes well in to the night.

When we finally rolled in to the overnight (3am exactly, as predicted), I sucked down a bowl of soup and pretty much crashed right out in my sweaty clothes. I almost feel bad for the people that have to clean up after our group rolls through.

We woke up at 6am to a steady rain. I knew it was going to rain on Sunday, but I had kind of hoped that we could get over the next 2 mountain passes before it happened. Bummer.

The overnight crew was cooking up pancakes and coffee for everyone still hanging around. Most of the overnighters had a 5am wake up, but we needed our beauty sleep if we are ever going to become catalog models (I’m still waiting for your call, Rapha). The early hot meal was just what I needed to get back on my ass and in to the saddle.

We finished the slow but steady White Pass climb (from our overnight location midway up it) in about an hour. Once again, it only took about 20 minutes to descend it at breakneck speeds. It was still raining steady and our brakes were feeling a little sketchy, but that downhill has very few turns and no switchbacks to speak of. I was able to not touch my brakes once until the very end where Cory, Ian and some others were waiting at the bottom with a space heater and some cold press coffee (the best of the weekend so far). It was a magical little spot for warming up and attempting to dry out already soaking gloves. My lack of shoe covers was already causing me trouble. I knew the only relief that I would get is on warming up with another pass. Thankfully, there was Cayuse ahead of us.

Cayuse is my favorite pass in the northwest. It is a grueling motherf… well… It is tough, but a feast for the eyes. From top to bottom, there is always something to look at. A waterfall to the right, moss covered trees to the left, mist rising in to the mountain line ahead, it almost makes you forget that burning in your legs. Oh god, did they burn. The final 6 or 7 miles are a non stop sufferfest (especially with 3 passes already underneath your belt). The top (4,700 feet) was covered in snow that had been cleared off of the road. It created walls of ice 8 or 9 feet high at points.

We suited up again for the descent. The speed limit starts off at 35 and picks up to 45mph as the turns open up a bit more. We were bombing down at least that fast. Still, drivers were on our asses until we could safely pull over enough to let them by. When it wasn’t safe, we took the lane as needed (as the law allows here). Most of the descent has no shoulder at all. One particular lady pulled up along side and started screaming obscenities at us. A minute later, a forest ranger whipped by us and hit his lights. Would this be sweet justice for that lady being a bitch? No, he was pulling us over. I did my best impression of a person that wasn’t totally bitter and angry about the entire situation. We got a stern talking to. That guy can kiss my ass though, seriously.

After Smokey the Douchebag let us off, we finished our ride in to Greenwater. I had another sandwich on my mind (among other things). I got an amazing bagel with cream cheese, melted cheddar and ham. Something about the cheese on cheese violence really did it for me.

The slog on Highway 410 finally got us back into Enumclaw (the ‘Claw) and we managed to get some rest on the sidewalk in while fixing another flat. I called Jane again while laying out flat and staring into the cloud filled sky. I probably could have easily fell asleep right there. 80K left to go.

I landed our last flat on the run up to Issaquah. My hands are still dirty from fixing that flat. My bike looks like it took a swim in the Gulf.

We made it in to Redmond and joined up with Jennifer Chang and Dan Jensen. We formed a mega group and destroyed the final 16K in to the finish. I added an hour or so to my previous finish time (and got a lot less sleep), but it was a hell of a lot more fun this time around. We seemed to leap frog a number of awesome people that kept the whole weekend interesting.

The Tilden’s and everyone helping were all awesome in putting this ride on. They had a fire going in the backyard with beer and spaghetti (you can’t go wrong with that combo) on hand to soothe the stomach.

Thanks especially to Dylan and Chris for holding my hand the entire ride. They both have baby soft skin. I don’t think they’ve worked a hard day in their lives. My generation (and Chris apparently) doesn’t like to work hard.

First a thank you to Joe who snapped these amazing photos while I kept my “camera” tucked away. I wasn’t about to let my phone to drown in this weather. Second, thanks to Dr. Codfish, for the title of this post that I stole from an email. He has a real way with words, that man.

Chris and I drove out to the start in Issaquah around 8am after grabbing some needed coffee. We were early enough to chat with our fellow randonneurs and everyone had plenty of nice comments for my new Boxer bicycle. The group was noticeably smaller than most populaires thanks to the threat of major rains throughout the area.

By the time we got rolling, I was glad that I had packed every single stitch of clothing that I did. It wasn’t as especially cold day, but the rain never really let up. It seemed to be either a light sprinkle or a torrential downpour, often leaning towards the latter.

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