The BashBish 300k
I was driving out to Westfield for another ride, with my friend, Jake, in the car. The week leading up to this had been busy for me (it seems that every week lately has been busy for me) and I hadn't had the time to do any real research on this ride. I just knew that it was a 300k that Don was hosting, which was all I needed to know. I've always found Don's ride to be rather gorgeous and rewarding, with climbs that felt a lot less punitive than what we regularly encountered in the Boston series. Jake sort of agreed and described how he did this ride, the BashBish 300, last year and found it to be rather mild.
"You know, you start out with Jacob's Ladder in the beginning, which is a bit of a long slog, but it's in the beginning, when you've still got energy so it's not so bad. Then it's pretty flat until BashBish Falls, but that's over pretty quickly, and from there it's a pretty ride back to Westfield."
I've liked driving with Jake as he's relatively good company. He's always got some bit of local lore or a nugget of New England history in the back of his mind, and it makes the miles go faster. Within due time, we had arrived in Westfield and were going through registration once more. It was five in the morning and still pretty cold; and I fumbled about to pull on my leg and arm warmers before we pulled our bikes off the car and started reassembling them. One of the drawbacks of having full sized fenders is that they have to be partially uninstalled to fit on the roof rack, and reinstalling always seems to take more time than one anticipates, especially when it's cold and dark and one is up past their bedtime.
I had barely gotten my fenders hooked up when Don came out and gave the customary pre-ride briefing, and relatively soon afterwards, the field was off, hurtling into the night once more. I tried my best to stay with folks at the outset, but it became increasingly apparent that my fenders still needed a bit of work to keep them from rubbing against my tires. I'd tweak a bit, ride, stop,tweak something, ride, stop and try one more thing, before I had things set up properly. However, by this time most of the entire field had left me behind, and I found myself alone on this dark road.
"It's better this way," I thought to myself, "you need to get used to the solitude. And at least now you can ride your own pace."
Most of this opening route was familiar to me from my 2006 400k, which follows the Westfield River west through the towns of Russell and Chester, before rising out of the Pioneer Valley on a long climb known as Jacob's Ladder. From there we would head south to the town of Great Barrington, our first control, then continue south to Kent, CT, before looping back via a westerly detour into New York State. The Jacob's Ladder climb was long but manageable, and I felt slightly gratified that I managed to catch and pass a couple of other riders on this segment. At least I was no longer last. However, headwinds that erupted as we left the valley still kept me from entertaining illusions of a speedy personal best.
At this point, the darkness of pre-dawn had given way to the tranquil light of morning, and as I rode past idyllic, sleepy storefronts and white painted fences in Lee and Stockbridge, I could see a little bit of why Norman Rockwell would make his home here. The rest of the ride was an easy cruise without any major climbs to speak of, though the headwind stayed constant as I rolled in to a Dunkin Donuts at Great Barrington. The riders that I had passed had caught up now, and a few of those ahead of me were wrapping up here. I thought to have a substantial breakfast and ordered an egg sandwich on a bagel, though the time needed to make this was longer than expected, and coupled with an extended wait for the bathroom, I wound up once again being the last of the group to leave the controle.
I would not see another rider for the rest of this event.
The next leg from Great Barrington to Kent was rather straightforward and ushered by a tailwind the entire way, which made most of it rather fast and fun. I did miss one turn and didn't realize my error until I had gone for about a half mile. Looking at my cue sheet, it looked as if the route was going to rejoin the road that I was on, and I thought that perhaps I should just keep going. I reconsidered after some thought and reminded myself that the rules dictated that I had to backtrack. On my way back, I saw a bald eagle taking off from a tree and felt like it was my reward for doing the right thing.
Kent was another picturesque New England town, with a main street that appeared dotted with cafes, antique shops, galleries and other sundry services for the latter day gentry of New England. The checkpoint was at a local bakery cafe, and I opted to take lunch here, dining on a nice turkey soup and one of the crispest chocolate croissants that I've eaten on this side of the Atlantic. I thought, briefly, that it would be nice to just have a book and while away the afternoon here, snacking on oven-fresh pastries, but I had a ride to complete. Continuing on from here, the route headed west and the headwinds had returned.
I eventually made my way into New York state, now following a country highway past dairy farms and horse ranches while watching the Taconic Mountains rising to my left, the natural barrier between southeastern Massachusetts and New York. I realized that, at some point, I'd have to cross those mountains and I only hoped that it would be somewhere low and mild. I had already ridden 200k by this point, and my legs had lost the morning's eagerness. Eventually, the cue sheets guided me off the country highway that I was on, and sent me on a back road that bordered a public golf course, before turning off onto an old rail trail. The rail trail was a nice change of pace, and finally ended in Copeke, NY, our third controle, and a chance to rest before tackling BashBish Falls.
The checkpoint was at a general store, one of those country shops that has a small grocery with an odd inventory of neglected souvenirs and sale items that appeared desperate for redemption. The heat of the afternoon had briefly tempted me with the prospect of an ice cream sandwich from the freezer case, but I opted, instead for some bananas and root beer. I kept thinking to myself that on these far county rides, one will always find a few shops that like to hawk their own homemade root beer, and it led one to wonder if there was that much of a difference. Do New Yorkers and Vermonters have different root beer sensibilities. Was there a sense of terroir? How's root beer made, anyway? This deserves further research.
All the same, I had a ride to finish, so got back on my bike and tackled BashBish, a steep nightmare of a road that ascended the western flank of the Taconic Mountains. The road gradient felt like it was 12 or 15% in some places, and just as I thought that I might have to get off and walk, I was relieved to find the slope slackening and dared to believe that the worst was over. Then my bike and I turned a corner and were faced with a series of switchbacks that were even steeper than the road we just passed, and I believed that fate just hated me.
Still, I survived that climb and enjoyed the long, meandering descent back into Massachusetts and the return to Great Barrington. It was getting on to the late afternoon at this point, and I thought it might be a good idea to get dinner somewhere, but nothing caught my appetite and I wound up riding all the way into the last checkpoint, which was a small bike shop on the northern edge of the city. Dinner was a couple of peanut butter sandwiches and potato chips. I'll have to remember to stop earlier next time.
From the shop I set out for the final leg returning to Westfield. The sun was setting now and I tried to pay closer attention to my cue sheet just in case I would have to start navigating through darkness. I was paying so much attention to the directions, however, that I completely missed a large pothole that swallowed my tires and popped flats in both my front and rear wheels.
Cursing my luck, I stopped at the side of the road and began repairing the flats. Fortunately, I had a couple of spares and a patch kit, but it was still tedious work, and I wanted to finish before it got too dark. It was heartening, though, to get a few drivers stopping as they passed and asked me if I needed any help or a lift anywhere.
I was back on my way shortly afterwards, and had cleared Lee and arrived at the foot of Jacob's Ladder just as the sun met the horizon. By the time I had arrived at the top of the climb it was dark, and the twilight shadows were casting creepy images to my isolated, tired mind. I'd have to keep this in mind for VanIsle. Being alone in the daylight isn't so bad. Being alone at night can be ok, so long as one can stay awake. Being alone in the early evening can be a little frightening.
Still, I was in the home stretch now and revelled in the long, easy descent back into the Pioneer Valley. I pulled off briefly as the evening chill bore in and I needed to put my arm and leg warmers back on. Then, once I passed Chester, I was reminded of the shocking awful state of Rt. 20 east bound, riddled as it was with potholes and cracks the size of an entire bike. Like the 400k three years ago, I more or less rode this section standing off my seat just to save it from being pummeled by the terrible conditions of the road.
I wound up finishing the ride in 15 hours. It wasn't the fastest 300k that I had ever done, but it was fast enough to count. I still felt like I should get faster for VanIsle though, and if anything else reminded myself to make sure that my bike was all together before the ride started and try to keep mechanicals down to a minimum. I could also be better about climbing and needed to build strength there.
And I should know by, never to think of Don's rides as 'easy' or 'not so bad'. They don't feel as painful as the Boston rides, but only because one is typically to distracted by scenery to suffer through any of the pain.
"You know, you start out with Jacob's Ladder in the beginning, which is a bit of a long slog, but it's in the beginning, when you've still got energy so it's not so bad. Then it's pretty flat until BashBish Falls, but that's over pretty quickly, and from there it's a pretty ride back to Westfield."
I've liked driving with Jake as he's relatively good company. He's always got some bit of local lore or a nugget of New England history in the back of his mind, and it makes the miles go faster. Within due time, we had arrived in Westfield and were going through registration once more. It was five in the morning and still pretty cold; and I fumbled about to pull on my leg and arm warmers before we pulled our bikes off the car and started reassembling them. One of the drawbacks of having full sized fenders is that they have to be partially uninstalled to fit on the roof rack, and reinstalling always seems to take more time than one anticipates, especially when it's cold and dark and one is up past their bedtime.
I had barely gotten my fenders hooked up when Don came out and gave the customary pre-ride briefing, and relatively soon afterwards, the field was off, hurtling into the night once more. I tried my best to stay with folks at the outset, but it became increasingly apparent that my fenders still needed a bit of work to keep them from rubbing against my tires. I'd tweak a bit, ride, stop,tweak something, ride, stop and try one more thing, before I had things set up properly. However, by this time most of the entire field had left me behind, and I found myself alone on this dark road.
"It's better this way," I thought to myself, "you need to get used to the solitude. And at least now you can ride your own pace."
Most of this opening route was familiar to me from my 2006 400k, which follows the Westfield River west through the towns of Russell and Chester, before rising out of the Pioneer Valley on a long climb known as Jacob's Ladder. From there we would head south to the town of Great Barrington, our first control, then continue south to Kent, CT, before looping back via a westerly detour into New York State. The Jacob's Ladder climb was long but manageable, and I felt slightly gratified that I managed to catch and pass a couple of other riders on this segment. At least I was no longer last. However, headwinds that erupted as we left the valley still kept me from entertaining illusions of a speedy personal best.
At this point, the darkness of pre-dawn had given way to the tranquil light of morning, and as I rode past idyllic, sleepy storefronts and white painted fences in Lee and Stockbridge, I could see a little bit of why Norman Rockwell would make his home here. The rest of the ride was an easy cruise without any major climbs to speak of, though the headwind stayed constant as I rolled in to a Dunkin Donuts at Great Barrington. The riders that I had passed had caught up now, and a few of those ahead of me were wrapping up here. I thought to have a substantial breakfast and ordered an egg sandwich on a bagel, though the time needed to make this was longer than expected, and coupled with an extended wait for the bathroom, I wound up once again being the last of the group to leave the controle.
I would not see another rider for the rest of this event.
The next leg from Great Barrington to Kent was rather straightforward and ushered by a tailwind the entire way, which made most of it rather fast and fun. I did miss one turn and didn't realize my error until I had gone for about a half mile. Looking at my cue sheet, it looked as if the route was going to rejoin the road that I was on, and I thought that perhaps I should just keep going. I reconsidered after some thought and reminded myself that the rules dictated that I had to backtrack. On my way back, I saw a bald eagle taking off from a tree and felt like it was my reward for doing the right thing.
Kent was another picturesque New England town, with a main street that appeared dotted with cafes, antique shops, galleries and other sundry services for the latter day gentry of New England. The checkpoint was at a local bakery cafe, and I opted to take lunch here, dining on a nice turkey soup and one of the crispest chocolate croissants that I've eaten on this side of the Atlantic. I thought, briefly, that it would be nice to just have a book and while away the afternoon here, snacking on oven-fresh pastries, but I had a ride to complete. Continuing on from here, the route headed west and the headwinds had returned.
I eventually made my way into New York state, now following a country highway past dairy farms and horse ranches while watching the Taconic Mountains rising to my left, the natural barrier between southeastern Massachusetts and New York. I realized that, at some point, I'd have to cross those mountains and I only hoped that it would be somewhere low and mild. I had already ridden 200k by this point, and my legs had lost the morning's eagerness. Eventually, the cue sheets guided me off the country highway that I was on, and sent me on a back road that bordered a public golf course, before turning off onto an old rail trail. The rail trail was a nice change of pace, and finally ended in Copeke, NY, our third controle, and a chance to rest before tackling BashBish Falls.
The checkpoint was at a general store, one of those country shops that has a small grocery with an odd inventory of neglected souvenirs and sale items that appeared desperate for redemption. The heat of the afternoon had briefly tempted me with the prospect of an ice cream sandwich from the freezer case, but I opted, instead for some bananas and root beer. I kept thinking to myself that on these far county rides, one will always find a few shops that like to hawk their own homemade root beer, and it led one to wonder if there was that much of a difference. Do New Yorkers and Vermonters have different root beer sensibilities. Was there a sense of terroir? How's root beer made, anyway? This deserves further research.
All the same, I had a ride to finish, so got back on my bike and tackled BashBish, a steep nightmare of a road that ascended the western flank of the Taconic Mountains. The road gradient felt like it was 12 or 15% in some places, and just as I thought that I might have to get off and walk, I was relieved to find the slope slackening and dared to believe that the worst was over. Then my bike and I turned a corner and were faced with a series of switchbacks that were even steeper than the road we just passed, and I believed that fate just hated me.
Still, I survived that climb and enjoyed the long, meandering descent back into Massachusetts and the return to Great Barrington. It was getting on to the late afternoon at this point, and I thought it might be a good idea to get dinner somewhere, but nothing caught my appetite and I wound up riding all the way into the last checkpoint, which was a small bike shop on the northern edge of the city. Dinner was a couple of peanut butter sandwiches and potato chips. I'll have to remember to stop earlier next time.
From the shop I set out for the final leg returning to Westfield. The sun was setting now and I tried to pay closer attention to my cue sheet just in case I would have to start navigating through darkness. I was paying so much attention to the directions, however, that I completely missed a large pothole that swallowed my tires and popped flats in both my front and rear wheels.
Cursing my luck, I stopped at the side of the road and began repairing the flats. Fortunately, I had a couple of spares and a patch kit, but it was still tedious work, and I wanted to finish before it got too dark. It was heartening, though, to get a few drivers stopping as they passed and asked me if I needed any help or a lift anywhere.
I was back on my way shortly afterwards, and had cleared Lee and arrived at the foot of Jacob's Ladder just as the sun met the horizon. By the time I had arrived at the top of the climb it was dark, and the twilight shadows were casting creepy images to my isolated, tired mind. I'd have to keep this in mind for VanIsle. Being alone in the daylight isn't so bad. Being alone at night can be ok, so long as one can stay awake. Being alone in the early evening can be a little frightening.
Still, I was in the home stretch now and revelled in the long, easy descent back into the Pioneer Valley. I pulled off briefly as the evening chill bore in and I needed to put my arm and leg warmers back on. Then, once I passed Chester, I was reminded of the shocking awful state of Rt. 20 east bound, riddled as it was with potholes and cracks the size of an entire bike. Like the 400k three years ago, I more or less rode this section standing off my seat just to save it from being pummeled by the terrible conditions of the road.
I wound up finishing the ride in 15 hours. It wasn't the fastest 300k that I had ever done, but it was fast enough to count. I still felt like I should get faster for VanIsle though, and if anything else reminded myself to make sure that my bike was all together before the ride started and try to keep mechanicals down to a minimum. I could also be better about climbing and needed to build strength there.
And I should know by, never to think of Don's rides as 'easy' or 'not so bad'. They don't feel as painful as the Boston rides, but only because one is typically to distracted by scenery to suffer through any of the pain.