L'Eroica Dreams

It’s hard to know where to begin with this post. I set today aside for a long training ride to include enough climbing that I knew I would feel it when it was complete. Right now, with the late afternoon sun pouring in the window, heating the office area beyond comfort, my legs and knees are reminding me that today’s training ride was long, and hilly, and steep.

The ride I mapped included several climbs, one of which caught me by surprise and another that was the result of road work on the principal north-south route at the crest of the West Hills.

The Strade Bianchi on Saltzman

I mixed in a bit of gravel and also was greeted with gravel I didn’t expect. Speaking of unexpected, how about a dropped chain along with gravel in the new cleats, in so tight that it took a guard rail to exorcize them. More on that later.

Because this sort of thing is self inflicted, I don’t complain. It was a glorious morning. I took care to have a quiet evening on Friday, rising early to get the whole ride in before the 90 degree temperatures came along. Even so, I didn’t wear the new kit knowing that the weight of the wool and the strong sun would have done me in.

The first third of the ride came easily and I felt like the legs belonged to someone else, someone more fit. A cruise down the old friend, Springville Road, made the day seem effortless. I descended that one because of road work. I worked my way north, then east up Germantown Road, another old friend. The legs responded, keeping the pace with effort, but not pain. I reached Skyline Drive again and turned north.

Given the extra distance that the detour required, I considered backing off my original plan, which put the ride at almost 120K. I felt justified. I made a real L’Eroica like stop to pick blackberries, part of my day’s nutrition I figured. Then, I remembered Rule 5 and pressed on toward the end of the pavement on Skyline. But, Skyline wasn’t done with me.

Blackberries along the way.

At Cornelius Pass, I dropped my chain as I shifted for the next climb. I managed to return it safely and make my way across the busy road. I felt a bit smug, figuring it couldn’t be that far to either Logie Trail or Rocky Point Road. As I made my way up what I remembered was a steep pitch, I couldn’t get my cleats to settle into the pedals. A careful look showed gravel embedded in the cleat. If it were metal, it would have seemed like it was welded into place. Tire tools were no use. I had to use the tail end of the guard rail to finally free the stones and get on my way. That interruption killed my tempo. What was relatively straight forward ascending just a few K back was now a stand-on-the-pedals effort in the lowest gear just to get to what I hoped was the top. It wasn’t.

I soon realized that there was a good bit more climbing yet to do and much of it long and unrelenting. Not too far from the exit to Logie Trail, my bail out point, I spoke to a fellow cyclist repairing his tire. He assured me that Rocky Point Drive was just 3 miles away (5K). That buoyed me. Of course, it ended up being more like 8K away with enough climbing to make me wonder just how long that return to Portland might be.

The turnoff for Rocky Point came into view, as did the sign saying “Fresh Gravel.” That’s not to uncommon since Skyline and Dixie Mountain continue on as unpaved roads. Looking forward to a zippy descent to Route 30, I quickly learned what the sign was all about. The road was fresh with tar-and-chip repaving. Now, it was my arms and hands that felt the day’s effort because I was braking, madly, on steep terrain, some of which must have just been treated last week. I figured this was good training for L’Eroica because it became apparent that descending on the strade bianchi will be far more difficult than the climbing.

A Natian Session ale to toast a good day in the saddle

Fortunately for me and my hourly average, the road turned to asphalt about half way to the bottom and I cruised along, enjoying the breeze. It wasn’t long before Route 30 came into view, a vision of wide lanes, big shoulders and miserable traffic. There was no other alternative that made sense and a northerly wind provided the mo

tivation as I put the hammer down, averaging 30+K/hour on the return.

It was poetic that the bike meter tripped the 100K mark as I crossed over the middle of the St. John’s Bridge. I headed back on the old route by the Columbia Slough, finally getting to the Fifteenth Avenue Hophouse

in time for a couple of tasty beers.

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