I had not originally planned to ride the SIR 1000 km. My final original plan, for this season, was to peak at the Gold Rush, and then to taper off with RAMROD and RSVP. Alas, the Gold Rush came, for me, to an abrupt early end ­ I DNFed after about 500 kms. That left me feeling a bit restless and stymied.

Afterwards I moped for a few weeks, then noted that the SIR 1000 km began on the night of my 50th birthday (August 16, 2001). I took that to be an omen Š and decided to give the ride a shot. I was nervous that I might jinx my efforts by broadcasting my intentions, so I kept all of this pretty hush hush. Plus, I wanted to keep my options open in case something came up (like laundry, grocery shopping, whatever excuse I could find to get me out of another long, torturous ride).

The 22:00 start time made me particularly nervous because my DNF, on the GRR, was the result of not getting enough sleep (physically I had been in good shape and was left hungry for more miles when I DNFed).

I couldn't get out of work the day of the 1000 km (in fact, I even had to come in early, thereby producing even more sleep deprivation by the start of the ride). After the work day was over, some friends had a semi-surprise party for me at Golden Gardens. I got so caught up in the party that I had to be reminded that I needed to get on my bike if I was going to catch the ferry to Bainbridge. Jan Heine came along and towed me to Coleman Dock (downtown Seattle ferry terminal).

At the terminal there was a huge turn-out ­ four people -- Terry Zmrhal (the organizer), Mark Thomas (he said he didn't get enough miles on LEL), and Bill Dusler (who insisted that he HAD been riding since the 400 km). The ferry was a bit late, which meant we wouldn't have to stand around at Bainbridge for very long.

At the start (downtown Winslow, on Bainbridge Island) we were met by John Campbell, who lives in Port Orchard. John is 59 years young. He told me he had done NO brevets this season. Aha! He would be fresh! His bike was lean and mean; my bike included the kitchen sink (in the Carradice bag).

We started off in the dark, under partly clear skies, warm weather. Dick and Mark took turns at the front, setting a brisk pace. We quickly crossed the island and then the bridge at Agate Passage. After passing through the outskirts of Poulsbo it was dark in the rural area, and one could not see the camels that reside on Big Valley Road.

The Hood Canal bridge was as much fun as ever. After that we were doing some big hills and John and I fell back a ways. Center Road greeted us with it's signature chip seal. At Quilcene we had our first control, staffed by Terry. Bill and Mark departed, shortly after we arrived. John and I had a bit to eat, replenished our water bottles, and set off, north on Highway 101.

At Highway 20 we headed east to Port Townsend. At the supermarket there (a control) we arrived just as Mark and Bill were leaving. I dined on a terriyaki burrito and some tapioca pudding (the contents of which were all at least five syllables).

Then John and I headed out, retracing our route on Highway 20. There was very little traffic. When we reached Highway 101 again we headed west this time, toward Sequim.

I had to fight the desire to turn around and go home to bed. A bit before dawn John noted that I was dragging and suggested we catch a nap. He said its often a good way to trick the body ­ fall asleep just before the sun comes up, sleeping for only a few minutes, then awaking and having it be daylight.

We found a community center and went around to the back, where there was a nice, comfortable concrete pad. We slept for 25 minutes, then headed off. I had to admit I felt somewhat better.

The daylight did wonders for John. His speed increased greatly, and I was struggling to keep up with him. By Sequim he asked if I wanted to stop for breakfast, mentioning that he was indifferent. I said I could wait 'til Port Angeles.

We continued on, though John was now quite a bit faster than me and he disappeared over the next hill. At Port Angeles I found a café, downtown, and went in for breakfast. It was still early enough that the town seemed to be mostly asleep.

After breakfast I headed out of town and discovered a huge climb to get back up to Highway 101. Once back on the highway it seemed that breakfast had picked up my energy level and my pace seemed fine. Eventually I reached Crescent Lake.

The road along Lake Crescent is narrow, winding and with a shoulder that is less wide that one's handlebars ... at those places where there IS a shoulder. The lanes are grooved, as if there are plans to pave them, but apparently those grooves have been there almost as long as the lake itself. But the lake is gorgeous and my appreciation for the route continued to grow.

Half way along the lake was the secret control, staffed by Terry. We chatted a bit, I took on some water, a bit of food, and was on my way. Terry said he'd next see me at the hotel room in Aberdeen.

While travelling along Lake Crescent, I noted a crescent wrench on the shoulder. A coincidence?

Just before the end of the lake, while I was on a section that included a slow vehicle pull-out, a car jumped behind me and slammed on the brakes, just before hitting me. This startled me quite a bit. Then I noted the reason for the driver's sudden move ­ an oncoming car was passing and had apparently either not bothered to look for on-coming traffic, or was a homicidal maniac (your choice).

Leaving Lake Crescent there was more climbing as the route headed inland toward Forks.

A bit north of forks I stopped to take an afternoon power nap. It went fairly well. This boosted my confidence and calmed some of my worries about sleep deprivation catching up with me.

A visit to Forks always leaves me feeling a bit depressed, probably because the place itself is a bit depressed. There are lots of boarded-up businesses. Apparently times have improved, however, so residents probably look at the bright side of things.

I saw John's bike, outside of a convenience store, and stopped there to get my card sign. John and I chatted a bit, before he headed out. I removed my stashed burrito, from the Carradice, and consumed it, along with a few amendments from the store. Then I was on the bike again and heading south, catching a good descent to the Hoh River valley. At that point Highway 101 follows the How, southwest, to the coast.

Along the coast stretch of 101 were great glimpses of the beaches. Shortly after Kalaloch the highway turns inland and one climbs the Massif Central of the Olympic Peninsula, bound for Lake Quinault.

This stretch went through the Quinault Indian Reservation. Most of this area had been logged off and the scenery was rather bleak. The shoulder was very narrow, the lane was covered with chip seal, and the chip seal also covered half of the shoulder. The smooth portion of the shoulder (i.e. that part NOT covered by chip seal) was too narrow to negotiate, so I had to stay on the chip seal. Occasionally a large logging truck went by, at high speed. Even though there was no oncoming traffic, some of these trucks would not move over an inch. Perhaps they were making some statement Š which was lost on me.

At this point my hands were starting to feel numb.

At Amanda Park I got some "food" from a convenience store and had my last meal before night fall. Then I put on reflective gear, turned on the lights, and headed out. It was 42 miles to Aberdeen, and it would be done in the dark.

As the sun set the sleepiness set in. I took a fair number of power naps on this stretch. The challenge was to not get caught up in blackberry bushes when I laid down on the ground. The naps became more frequent as I got closer to Hoquiam. Finally I saw the aurora of the Hoquiam ­ Aberdeen metropolitan area.

Then I reached the Hoquiam city limits and the bright lights meant I would be able to stay awake for the rest of the distance to Aberdeen.

The control, in Aberdeen, was an AM-PM convenience store. I had a bit to eat there, then went several blocks to our room (the Red Lion). It was 01:00 Saturday. I had been biking now for 27 hours (with a few breaks). Terry greeted me at the door. We whispered so as not to wake a sleeping John. Mark and Bill were getting ready to leave.

I took a shower and got 1H50 of sleep. Then John and I headed out.

We found a bridge, over the Chehalis River, and picked up Highway 105 toward Westport. There was a fair amount of traffic along the south side of Grays Harbor. Westport was a control so we got our cards signed at a convenience store. Then we headed south along Highway 105, along the coast.

John and I were trading war stories when we discovered that we had met before. Small world.

I started to feel drowsy, so said 'good-bye' to John and took a power nap behind a small building. I got back on the road and a car with three young men approached very quickly, actually moving as close to me as the could, then screaming as they went by at high speed. Good, clean fun.

The route turned inland, along Willapa Bay, toward Tokeland. I took another power nap. The bay narrowed and there were great views to the other side. Lots of birds were present in this area.

I arrived at the city of Raymond. The famous Raymond steel sculptures ., depicting the heritage of Raymond, abounded. My favorite was the herd of deer, including one REAL DEER that happened to be passing through the metallic herd just as I biked by! How did they do that?

I left the route and went downtown, hunting for breakfast. I found a pleasant restaurant and ordered lots of food. When I left the restaurant my spirits had been picked up greatly. There was something pleasant about Raymond and I made a note to come back for a more casual visit.

As I was leaving the downtown area the effects of having consumed much water and orange juice at breakfast became apparent. Just as my eyeballs were starting to swim I came upon a small park, overlooking the river. It had a facility, right by the road. I was liking this community more and more.

Funny thoughts go through one's head during these long miles on the road. Perhaps the French origins of randonneuring cause one to often be thinking about all things French. In any case, I started wondering how the French would pronounce Raymond. I came up with something that sounded like Ramone, as in "The Ramones." For the next several miles that silly line from the movie "Fast Times at Ridgemont High" kept going through my head ­ "Do your parents know you're The Ramones!?"

The route then picked up Highway 101 again and I continued west, along the Willapa River, then again along Willapa Bay. A good portion of this day was to be spent along Willapa Bay and Willapa National Wildlife Refuge. A very scenic area.

A long, narrow peninsula protects Willapa Bay from the ocean. There were great views, across the bay, to that thin stretch of land.

I crossed the Naselle River and was starting an uphill when a pickup, with camper, heading the opposite direction, nearly failed to negotiate a hard right turn, while attempting to pass on a steep downhill stretch of the highway. By the time I noticed it the vehicle seemed to be up on two wheels and headed across the oncoming lane towards me. Fortunately the driver took very firm hold of the steering wheel, at the last moment, and brought the vehicle under control..

I reached the narrow peninsula, at Seaview, and headed north toward Ocean Park. The traffic was very heavy here. The towns were filled with vacationers. Fortunately the drivers were fairly well behaved. At Ocean Park I ran into John Campbell. He was doing well. We wished each other a good ride and pressed on. I found a small restaurant, set back from the main drag, with pizza by the slice. They even had Hansen's strawberry smoothies. I got my card signed, too. I even schmoozed a bit with the proprietrice. Life was good.

Then it was back on the bike. The route headed south, to Ilwaco, at the southern end of the thin peninsula. From there it was Highway 101 again, to Chinook (a control). At the store they asked me for my control card before I could even get it out. One advantage of being a bit slower is that the other riders prep the control people!

Just south of Chinook, on Highway 101, comes the first view of the mouth of the Columbia and the Astoria bridge. This is truly a dramatic scene. I had never been here before and had no idea how wide the Columbia River is at it's mouth.

Most of the traffic stayed on 101, going south onto the bridge. The route, however, continued east, on Highway 401, along the north shore of the Columbia River. There were lots of birds in this area. A slight tail wind carried me along. Finally the highway turned north and I climbed out of the Columbia River Valley and headed toward Naselle.

Returning toward Raymond, I stopped at the Hunan Restaurant, in South Bend (Pacific County seat), which is connected to Raymond along the Willapa River. The woman who waited on me was very interested in my ride. She also was amenable to putting tofu in my Chow Mein, even asking me how I wanted the tofu prepared: cooked in with the food our sauteed lightly, by itself. Life was good, though I did come away worrying that putting tofu in one's Chow Mein just might be gauche.

She seemed amazed that I would be taking Highway 101 back to Aberdeen, saying that it was like a roller coaster. Little did I know how right she was!

It was a tough roller coaster to be hallucinating on. Fortunately I had NO drowsy periods, as finding a spot for a power nap might have been difficult. It was very dark and the drop-offs seemed very steep and endless. The first 17 miles of the 24 miles back to Aberdeen were VERY memorable.

At one point I came across an intersection with lights and stopped under one of the lights to work on my own lights (the batteries to the main light had died). A couple of cars were across the highway, under the other light.

"Hey! You wanna get high?" one of the people called out to me.

"That's tempting," I shouted back, "but I'm having a tough enough time at the moment as it is. But thanks, though," I said in a polite tone. No need to seem unappreciative to the natives.

It would be tough to say "I didn't inhale," especially with all of this steep uphill.

I adjusted my lights and headed on. Geez, if nothing else, being asked if I wanted to get high was a big change from the cars that would drive by and have occupants scream at me. Fortunately, the latter incidents were rare, however.

A few more roller coaster climbs/descents and I arrived at Cosmopolis. From here it was city lights all the way to the hotel room. I arrived at 23:40 Saturday.

Terry greeted me at the door. Again just some brief whispering, though Terry's face lit up when I told him that the day's scenery had been spectacular. A quick shower, a quick sandwich, and I was in bed, down for a three hour count. I briefly heard the other three get up to leave, about an hour before I planned to get up.

I was out the door, on the road, cruisin' for D cells. I would probably have been fine with one light, but I kind of like a bit of light on the road. I'm funny that way. I struck out at AM PM, though Safeway was just down the road and I probably saved a bundle.

The route went east, on Highway 12. It was dark Š but there was NO traffic. After 11 miles I arrived at Montesano, where the route heads into the heart of this county seat and then takes a quiet back road that parallels Highway 12. It was very quiet. Somewhere east of Montesano the daylight started to arrive.

I went through the interesting town of McCleary. It had the appearance of being a company town. Lots of very small houses that all look the same, one very large, fancy house, and one big mill (Simpson). The curious thing, however, is that each of the little houses, though plain and generally somewhat in need of repair, had a very interesting, very modern looking (and probably expensive) front door. No two doors were the same.

In front of the plant was a sign with the name (Simpsons) and also the name of a current collaborator, whose specialty is doors! Perhaps there is an employee discount, or bonus, or something, to explain these expensive doors in these plain houses.

Shortly after McCleary I took my final power nap of the ride.

Eventually the route connected to Highway 101 and I was headed north, with a fair bit of traffic. It was a glorious Sunday morning in summer and everyone was out. There was a control at Shelton, a Dennys, and I stopped for a big breakfast. Life started to fall into place as I dined on the various dishes before me on the table.

Once back on the road I started to worry because I could not see any highway signs. My tired mind started thinking that perhaps I was NOT on Highway 101. Eventually I saw a mile post, something in the 300 range, and realized there was only ONE highway in the state with milepost numbers this high. I settled down and got back into the groove of riding with heavy traffic and little shoulder.

Just a few miles north of Shelton, Highway 101 reaches the southern end of the Hood Canal and follows it's western shore. There were many boarded-up fireworks stands on the Skokomish Indian reservation.

It was a little after noon (12:21 p.m., to be exact) when IT happened:

There was, curiously enough, a slight lull in traffic. I was a bit north of Eldon, a bit south of Brinnon. A group of four or five motorcycles went by, working a double pace line in the northbound lane. I noticed them because one machine was a bright yellow, with lots of chrome. They weren't going particularly fast, though I suppose they were following each other a bit closely.

They passed by and I went back to watching the shoulder. Then I heard the screech of tires and the impact. It wasn't a car on car impact, so I knew that one of the motorcycles had hit something. I looked up, as soon as I heard the sound, but we were in a curve and the squadron was just far enough around the bend to be out of sight.

As I came around the curve all of the motorcycles were stopped, in the lane. No one was down, everyone looked fine. There was an SUV stopped in the southbound lane. I could see no immediately obvious sign of impact on his vehicle.

The SUV moved ahead, slowly, and off to the side of the road. Then I saw the motorcycle and driver, all tangled together, laying down in the far ditch. The person was not moving and I feared that he was dead.

Another motorcyclists ran over, scooped the body up in his arms, cradled it, and started crying out, "Oh honey, HONEY, don't leave me, DON'T LEAVE ME!"

I then realized the downed cyclist was a woman. I was somewhat overcome by the scene and did not have the stomach to go closer, nor could I figure out how I might be of help. People came running from the houses along the water (Hood Canal). Everyone trying to use a cell phone was discovering that this was a dead zone.

It dawned on me that there had, miraculously, been NO cars, in either direction, for some time now. This couldn't last forever. I yelled out that I was going a bit up the road (north) and would flag the on-coming, southbound traffic to slow it down. I was even wearing my reflective sash, which imparted a somewhat official demeanor to my otherwise unassuming randonneur personna.

Residents agreed to run back to their houses and phone 911. It was precisely 15 minutes, from time of impact, that the first two emergency vehicles arrived. Then went down to the victim and suddenly she started screaming, in a very loud voice. This lasted for about a minute. I took this to be a good sign.

A fireman arrived, got flares from some of the emergency vehicle people, and went a bit north of where I was, around the bend, to set the flares.

More emergency vehicles arrived. The southbound lane was now blocked. People were flagging, near the victim, allowing traffic to pass in only one direction at a time.

Word came up to me that the motorcyclist had somehow crossed the center line, just before the end of the curve, and had collided head-on with the SUV. She was going to be airlifted out. Sometime later a helicopter came by, flying very high overhead. Word was that the helicopter could not land here, so the victim was to be transported south, a few miles, in one of the medic vehicles, to where there was space for a landing.

I started worrying about the next control (Port Hadlock) but didn't want to abandon my post for fear that a car would come speeding around the bend and crash into the tail end of the stopped line of cars. It must be admitted that spending an hour telling car drivers to slow down held a peculiar satisfaction for me.

I was truly amazed at how often a car would come around the blind curve, after having seen the flares, being on a double yellow line, and trying to look for a chance to pass the car in front. Most drivers were very well behaved, but it was disconcerting to see just how many true idiots were on the road.

After about an hour the victim was taken away and most of the emergency vehicles departed soon after. The southbound lane was still blocked however, as several police officers were spray-painting marks on the pavement and taking measurements.

I walked back to the scene, chatted a bit with three of the motorcyclists (who were filling out accident forms), got my bike, and got back on the road. I was tired enough to be mostly confused by this whole incident, though eventually, as the shock of it all set in, I became a bit gun shy, very much aware of how much traffic was on the highway and of how narrow the shoulder was.

I climbed Walker Pass and then did a fast descent into Quilcene. At Quilcene Highway 101 and I kissed and said 'good-bye.' It had been a great weekend fling, for both of us, but now things had to come to an end. This highway wasn't the type I could see myself in a long term situation with ­ rough in too many places, narrow in too many places, prone to up and down mood swings, and the real kicker was the in-your-face, head-on attitude. Still, I left Š knowing I'd be back again some day.

The route continued north on Center Road (resplendent in its display of chip seal). There was a big climb, out of Quilcene, and then the road settled down to gentle rollers. Just before going under Highway 104 I passed by the site of the Olympic Music Festival, where a concert of classical music was taking place. I listened carefully but the sounds did NOT carry out to Center Road. Then again, its tough to hear anything above the constant drone of cycling on chip seal. It was probably best that the concert-goers were insulated from the sounds of the highway ­ the noise of cars could be disCONCERTing.

Among the many concert-goers' cars parked along the side of the road, I noted one with a tandem bicycle and a tandem kayak on top of the rack.

As I passed under Highway 104 a terrible sight greeted me ­ fresh chip seal. "My God," I exclaimed, "just how much chip seal do these people need!?" Here they were putting chip seal on top of chip seal. For a brief moment I thought this was all some sinister practical joke played out by members of the Redmond Cycling club (all of whom, I am SURE, share my loathing of Center Road) and that the fresh chip seal would end in a few hundred feet. Alas, no such luck. Fortunately it was well enough compacted that very little came loose to hum through my fenders.

Eventually the fresh chip seal ended and I settled down into cycling on the older, more mature chip seal.

Somewhere along this stretch my front water bottle, space bar, lights assembly started to deconstruct. This entire contraption was the very epitome of a Rube Goldberg-esque experiment that had somehow escaped from the laboratory. I stopped and stuffed the various parts into the Carradice. Probably best that the season was over. I could re-work this set-up next year. And, hopefully I would finish this ride in daylight.

At Port Hadlock the control was a QFC supermarket. I had a bagel with cream cheese and pesto, and some orange juice. I would have lingered longer but figured I had gotten my "break" at the accident, so I hit the road again, bound for Port Ludlow. There was lots more chip seal, and lots of ups and downs, before finally reaching the Hood Canal bridge.

On the bridge there was a car tire taking up the entire shoulder. I stopped and set it aside. There was lots of traffic so when I reached the infamous metal joint, I stopped and walked the bike over it. This joint has no doubt downed many an absent-minded cyclist.

The route turned south on Highway 3. Traffic was bumper to bumper and moving very fast. It was a relief to get off this race track and onto Big Valley Road. This time it was day light and I was able to see the camels.

Going through Poulsbo I checked the clock and realized that if I pushed it I could still break 70 hours. So Š I did! I found an ample reserve of power and pushed hard on the hills, sprinting up hill, on two occasions, to make orange lights.

About a mile before the finish a car in the on-coming lane tooted its horn ­ it was John, being driven back to Port Orchard by his wife. I waved a wave of happiness Š and relief!

Finally I arrived in Winslow. Terry greeted me at the room (Island Country Inn). He chatted briefly, then said he was headed home, after his long ordeal of supporting the entire 1000 km, and that the room was all mine. I said I'd probably depart soon, bound for the ferry. After munching a bit I checked out and headed for the ferry terminal, ahead of most of the cars. That always feels good.

I probably got on an earlier ferry than Terry because there was a huge line of ferry traffic sitting on Highway 305. The ferry arrived within minutes; timing is everything.

After the short crossing I headed out into the night life along 1st Avenue in downtown Seattle. I had been dreading what I expected to be a long ride home, from the ferry terminal. But the ride went very fast as I found that I had loads of extra energy!