Friday, September 12, 2008

MS150 -- Day 2


The bed at the Mather Lodge, which had seemed as hard as an oak floor on the first night, was blissfully soft on the second. I awoke fairly well rested and only a little worn from the previous day's effort. After an eggs and pancakes breakfast (free, like nearly all the meals during the weekend), I lined up with the other riders for the start.

Once again, a four-mile warm-up preceded the winding descent of the mountain. I had thought that I was just nervous the first time down, but this time it was clear something was wrong with my bike. The hill was steep enough so that one easily exceeded 30 mph, but it was twisty enough to make hard braking necessary well before the many sharp corners. When I tried to control my speed with my front brake, I immediately encountered a violent shimmy in the whole steering system. I had to scrub a lot of speed to avoid a high-speed crash. (Later, I discovered that my front wheel was slightly out-of-true.)

At the bottom I watched the lead group escape into the distance without regret. I was just happy to be upright instead of lying on the pavement dealing with road rash. Indeed, the second group proved to be very hospitable. It devoured the course at a steady 20 mph. We cruised past the first break area at mile 11, but stopped at the second. My new plan was to keep my breaks short, so my acquaintance Steven joined me in cruising down the road ahead of the peloton. We chatted and kept away without really trying for a few miles before the group caught us just as a locomotive also came abreast of us. We easily hooked onto the train (of the peloton) and continued on to the lunch break at mile 47.6.

I packed away several small servings of pasta and filled my bottle. While eating I heard talk of a short, terrible hill ahead, Cove Mountain. I'll always remember IT! There were predictions that many in the group would end up hiking up the hill. I listened with some skepticism, confident that it couldn't be much harder than Cemetery Hill in Hand Cove, which pitches up to a nasty 11.4% for six-tenths of a mile. Once again, I set off alone, preferring to pedal lightly until the heavy diners caught up with me. Just as I was setting off, however, I noticed two fellows cruising along in front of me so I sped up to join them. Soon, we had established a three-man pace line at a brisk pace of better than 20 mph. We cruised past one pair of riders who didn't bother latching on. Then we passed a fairly plump fellow who did hook on until we dropped him a few miles further on. Finally, we stopped at the next-to-last rest station--mile 62.

Once again, I loaded up with Accelerade and set off alone. One fellow caught up and passed me, but I kept him in sight. Finally, we turned a corner and and headed sharply up Cove Mountain. He was leading me by about 400 yards, but I thought I might catch him on the hill. (I confess I'm a bit vain about my climbing ability.) He made it up the hill without having to walk, but he had clearly struggled. That gave me added incentive as well as cause for apprehension because (after 67 miles of riding, or 143 miles if you count the prior day too) I was really suffering -- just on the verge of cramps in both legs -- thighs, hamstrings, calves, stomach -- you name it. I had no choice but to dial back on speed. My only goal now was to avoid putting a foot down on that damned hill and to somehow finish the ride. Just where the pitch reached its worst angle, some kind soul had written a series of inspirational messages in chalk on the asphalt: DIG DEEP! PUSH HARDER! COURAGE! . . . Somehow I made it.

Sweating and suffering, I pushed through another couple of miles to the base of Petit Jean Mountain. The road was empty in front of me. Behind me, one lonely rider, dressed in white, was struggling to catch me. I felt sure he would do it since my bike was barely moving as I tried to avoid the onset of cramps. But he must have been suffering just as much as I was since he gradually dropped from view behind me. The ascent of Petit Jean Mountain isn't steep or steady. Instead, it is a series of short rises separated by false flat sections. It goes on for miles. I tried to summon a bit of energy by imagining rather more cheering than I was likely to be getting when I crossed the finish line. Eventually I did cross it, and I couldn't have been happier if there really had been a crowd going wild. It was just so GOOD to have made it!

Later I learned that out of roughly 150 riders, I was the lucky 13th across the line.


ENDNOTE: I later used Topozone software to examine the pitch on Cove Mountain. In its steeper section it cants up at a grade of 13.5%! Of course, Cove Mountain is trivial by the standards of professional bike racing. Tomorrow, they'll be riding up the Angliru in Spain's Vuelta at the end of 130 miles of racing. The average grade of the Angliru is about 13.5% over 18 kilometers! Some sections of more than a kilometer are at more than 20%! So horrible is that mountain that the last time it was used in the race Scottish rider David Millar (who had crashed twice in the rain that day and nearly been run over by a team car) pedaled to the finish line and refused to cross it. Instead, he ripped off his start number and laid it on the line in protest.

Monday, September 8, 2008

Petit Jean MS 150 -- Day One


Sue and I are just back from a nice weekend at the Mather Lodge atop Petit Jean Mountain. We had gone there so that I could challenge myself a bit by participating in the MS150 charity bicycle ride. I don't do many long rides (32 miles is typical) so I truly wondered whether I could survive two back-to-back days of 75-mile rides--each of which ended with the long climb back up to the top of Petit Jean Mountain.

I knew the first day would be OK. The main challenge was to control my competitive instincts. All charity rides actually end up being informal races, and I knew that if I tried to stay with the fastest riders all day, I might jeopardize my chances of even being able to start the second day. On the other hand . . . no guts, no glory. Four miles into the ride there was a fast and very scary descent of Petit Jean Mountain. My knuckles turned white, my stomach churned, and my rims heated up from riding the brakes, but I made it down and was still only a few hundred yards behind the first group of elite-racer wannabees. I cranked my speed into my personal red zone and clawed my way to the tail of the group, where I clung like a limpet for a few good miles.

Then that group of about thirty riders split with about fifteen riders going off the front. I sprinted around the slower bunch in front of me and tried once again to struggle up to the leaders. I gained some ground for awhile, but then my thighs started to burn up. I had just about resolved to give up and ride at my own pace when I saw two solid riders (a man and a woman) creeping up behind me. As they went around me, I sneaked into their slipstream and allowed them to pull me back up to the lead group. Shameful, I know, but that's bike racing. At least I thanked the guy who had pulled his two -- possibly unwelcome -- followers back into the race.

I stayed with the lead group for the first 40 miles, blazing along at over 20 mph the whole way. Some zipped straight past the lunch stop; the rest of us decided to pig out. When we got back on our bikes, there were about ten of us, and I found myself in the first real pace line of my "racing career." A pace line is a single-file group of riders. The lead rider breaks the wind and has to do about 20% more work than everyone else. Thus, if the lead rider goes at 23 mph (as was the case in this group), everyone else gets to rest up -- to some degree. While I was able to hang onto this group and did so until after I took my first "pull" at the front, I thought that I was burning through too much of my energy, even in the shelter of the group.

I dropped off the back and was immediately happy that I had done so. The problem with a pace line is that, to achieve the full aerodynamic benefit, your front tire needs to stay within a foot or so of the next person's rear tire. If your attention drifts for a moment and those two tires touch, the rear rider is going to hit the deck hard and probably bring down everyone behind. It's a nervous business and, on reflection, more than a little unsafe, but it's hard to pass up the benefits of riding in the group and it's nearly impossible to keep someone from drafting behind you anyway.

When in a pace line, all one does is watch the wheel in front. Once I was off by myself, I got to enjoy the view, which was really quite lovely. For about two miles the road passed along the shore of Nimrod Lake; elsewhere there were ever-changing views of the surrounding mountains. The whole route was rural, with very few cars. Just my kind of riding.

Eventually, I met up with a fellow named Steven and we cruised along, chatting pleasantly, for much of the rest of the ride. The final climb up Petit Jean Mountain was -- by Ozarks standards -- pretty easy, but it was long, and it came at the end of a 75-mile ride so I was very pleased to see the finish line. People cheered and clapped. I waved to the photographers. (Yes, the MS society has such an abundance of volunteers that there were even volunteer photographers.) I got off my bike and began to scarf down the free food and free beer. I took a pass on the free wine and cigar, but (with Sue's encouragement) I did avail myself of a free massage.

Then I began worrying about Day Two.

Lake Norfork


Below is some basic information taken from the web. There is also a good article on the lake in Wikipedia:

"About Norfork Lake

Norfork Lake, a popular tourist attraction in North Central Arkansas, is also one of the major recreation centers for this area. Norfork is home to one of the largest Federal trout hatcheries east of the Rockies, and is renowned for its rainbow trout. Over 550 miles of shoreline surround the lake along with 20 developed parks, which make Norfork popular for boating, hiking, hunting, sight seeing, skin diving, swimming, and water skiing.

Norfork Lake was formed with the construction of the dam which was initiated in 1941 and completed in 1944. Norfork Dam lies on North Fork River, at river mile 4.8, which is 4 miles northeast of Norfork, Arkansas. Completion of the powerhouse and switchyard came in October 1949, while in 1944, commercial generation first began. Estimated cost of the complete Norfork construction project was $28,600,000.


Norfork Lake is one of four multiple-purpose projects constructed in the upper White River Basin for the control of floods and the generation of hydro electric power. As with the other three projects, Norfork also provides excellent recreational opportunities for people of all ages.

Norfork Lake consumes anywhere from 22,000 to 30,700 acres depending on water height, and has a maximum depth of 177 feet above the dam. Tributaries include Norfork River, South Brushy Creek, Big Creek, Pigeon Creek, East Pigeon Creek, and Bennets Creek. Water exiting the dam into the North Fork River, which then flows into the White River. Average elevation at the dam is 590 feet, while fluctuations vary from 6 feet low to 30 feet high.


The 550 miles of shoreline consists of limestone bedrock and gravel. Wildlife abounds in the surrounding area making hunting very popular. The lake provides fishing opportunities for almost all species of game fish, with especially good fishing for black bass and a renowned reputation for largemouth bass. The lake does not have a closed season and never freezes over in the winter.

Length of dam - 2,624 feet
max height above streambed - 216 feet
Cubic yards of concrete in dam - 1,500,000
length of spillway - 568 feet
spillway crest gates (12) - 40x28 feet
Outlet conduits (11) - 4x6 feet
Elevation of top of dam - 590 feet
Elevation of spillway crest - 552
Elevation of top of flood control pool - 580
Elevation of top of conservation pool (Sept. to April) - 550
Elevation of top of conservation pool (April to Sept.) - 554
Surface area acreage at top of flood-control pool - 30,700
Surface area acreage at top of conservation pool - 22,000
Storage capacity at flood conrol - 732,000 acre feet
Storage capacity at power drawdown and dead - 1,251,000
Storage capacity of total lake - 1,983,000
Shoreline at flood-control pool - 510 miles
Shoreline at conservation pool - 380 miles

2 generators installed, each generating a max of 35,000 kilowatts
Room for 2 more generators

Construction of dam started in spring of 1941 and was completed 3 years later. Construction of the powerhouse and switchyard was completed in October 1949. Commercial generation began in 1944. Total cost - $28,600,000."