Denver City Century Ride

Over the winter, Sam and I were attempting to plot out a potential century on the tandem at some point over the spring/summer this year. When we had a chance to do our “looping century” ride in early April, we thought that may be the end of our longer distance rides together this year. However, we had hopes of sneaking in one more in the form of an organized century before summer’s end.

It happened that the Denver Century Ride was coming up at a time that worked conveniently for us to avoid other events taking place in the coming weeks/months. Plus, we both thought it sounded interesting to get a taste of both city and mountain riding in one swoop. The tag for the century route reads:

This is the most challenging of all of the Denver Century Ride routes as it has the distance and a significant climb. If you are going to do this route, we recommend that this is not your first ride of the season but rather you have logged some miles on your bicycle in preparation. Never done a century ride before? Don’t let that deter you! Think of the accomplishment you will feel by making the Denver Century Ride your first century ride ever!

We’ve definitely logged miles this year, and aren’t afraid to try climbing on occasion, so why not give this a try? Plus, there are other route options (an 85 miler that skips the long/steep climb, a 50 mile option and a 25 mile route), if we felt like we just couldn’t handle the distance when event day arrived. I was a little skeptical about being able to complete the 100-mile ride because it had both a (to me) significant amount of climbing and it was a longer distance, but I tried to push those thoughts out of my mind and reminded myself that we are capable of both the distance and pedaling up hill.

Leading up to the ride, it appeared as though the weather wasn’t going to be very cooperative. We were waiting for both rain and thunderstorms to arrive on the day of the ride, so that wasn’t easing my mind. But, it is also part of summertime in the Rockies — we have to expect that we will, at some point during a long day in the saddle, get rained on and perhaps endure hail and/or thunder/lightning.

When ride-day arrived, we made our way to the start, hoping for the best. We were both excited to see what the route had in store, but expected that we’d have many opportunities to ride among the tall buildings of downtown Denver and eventually make our way to the mountains for the challenging climb.

We spoke briefly with a young man who was planning to do the 100-mile ride on a single-speed. He had approached us asking if we were doing the same distance on the tandem and he and Sam chatted a bit about single-speed riding, its challenges and benefits. He was concerned about the big climb, but was sure he’d be able to get up the mountain. We wished him well and told him that we’d be struggling, too, on the climbs, so maybe we’d see him along the way.

The first wave of riders made their way to the start line while we hung back and waited for our wave.

Waiting at the start was fairly pleasant. It was interesting to watch people (both spectators and participants). We expected that it would be a friendly ride (it wasn’t a race and we weren’t being timed, other than needing to be at the finish by 4p) and that people would be chatty and enjoying whatever came our way.

There were several waves of riders and we were in the second of these. I was impressed that the organizers actually got everyone moving on time without much delay. It’s tough to be waiting to start for long periods of time, so I certainly give kudos in this regard. Bagpipers played the national anthem and then we were off!

There were approximately 300 riders in each wave, starting about 15 minutes apart to help keep the paths somewhat clear. The roads would be open to all normal traffic, so everyone would have to keep right and be aware of all of those traveling the roadways. This didn’t seem too big of a problem, but, as we would learn, would become more of an issue as the day wore on.

I was shocked as we proceeded through the start at the intensity of the riders. Everyone seemed very focused and ready to start out at top speeds. For lack of better words, it kind of freaked me out! Knowing that we weren’t being timed I had assumed no one would be taking this too seriously, but I was very wrong. Fortunately, this seemed to mellow out a bit as everyone found their spot.

Initially, I personally struggled with dealing with other riders. I am quite used to being able to pedal freely and rarely do we coast at all on the tandem (except down hills when we run out of gears), but because of the number of other cyclists, we had to have patience and flexibility with our usual pedaling cadence. I found myself frustrated when riders were coasting because it was a time when we really needed to be able to pedal to get momentum for an approaching climb — and it wasn’t always easy to get around others because of motorized traffic and lack of passing space. Even with this issue and multiple signals and stop signs, we were keeping a relatively good pace and averaging a little over 17 mph (27 kph) for the first 25 miles of the ride.

At the first aid station around mile 20, I had to stop to use the facilities. I was feeling the pressure and knew I wouldn’t make it to the next station without this stop off. Unfortunately, there were only two portables and about 50 people waiting to use them. After 20-25 minutes in line, we were back on the road.

When we hit the base of the climb at around mile 25 in Golden, Colorado, I was preparing for our slow ascent. I knew that we would only be traveling between 3-5 mph (5-8 kph) up the climb because 1) tandem – truly, I don’t know how other teams move so swiftly up some of the climbs! 2) I’m just not a good climber, even on my own, so our pace tends to be quite slow despite my best efforts.

I knew that we’d be doing straight up climbing for a solid 2-3 hours. I tried to put that thought out of my mind and focused on small gains or points in our path. Single riders would pass us — some thought we were cheating having two riders on a bike, others told us that we were their inspiration to keep climbing because they knew how difficult it is on a tandem. No one was moving particularly swiftly, so it was an opportunity to have short conversations with others, regardless of their thoughts about the tandem.

The views were beautiful as we got higher – something I forget at times, despite being surrounded by this every day. I wish that we would have taken more photos, but Sam is still perfecting his riding-while-taking-photos skills and I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle this task without stopping, so we just appreciated our view and continued to work toward the top.

Climbing up into the mountains – Sam did pretty well with this photo.

As we rode, one of the SAG wagons came by and rolled to a stop. When we glanced over, the single-speed rider we’d spoken with earlier was walking over to the car with his bike.

“You aren’t stopping, are you?” I questioned.

He looked down at the ground, smiling sheepishly, but it was easy to see that he was feeling defeated. He nodded in response.

I couldn’t help myself and replied, “Nooo… you can’t give up! The SAG-pickup option will always be there. Keep riding. You can do this!” I smiled at him as we very slowly continued our pull up the mountain.

I didn’t know if those few words would have any benefit or convince him to keep going, but I hoped that he would continue to ride. Sam and I chatted about youth and remembered a number of instances when we both attempted something, but wanted to give up (or did give up). I suppose some of the benefit of aging is realizing that even though our bodies may have a more challenging time in certain instances, we have learned that we are capable of completing more than we believe we can. It is that knowledge that often allows us to keep pushing, even when we feel defeated ourselves.

About a half mile farther up the climb, a voice came from behind us, shouting our names. We are used to this as we have a nameplate with both of our names on the rear of the tandem, so often when strangers pass, they say hello to us. However, we had removed it a few weeks ago because the rattling was getting on Sam’s nerves. We decided that until we find a good solution to eliminate the noise, we’d take it off. So, I was confused a bit and realizing this must be a person who actually knows us. A few moments later, a smiling, familiar face came in to view.

It was Len, a man we have known for several years from local rides.

“Hey, hey!” he said as he approached. “I knew I recognized that tandem. Keep climbing!”

“We’ll get there — eventually,” Sam said.

It wasn’t long before he was in front of us and out of sight, but it was nice to see a familiar face on this long climb. We watched single riders stopping along the side of the road, taking photos and/or resting on this steep climb. We, however, were determined to make it to the top without having to stop. Those stopped riders would eventually pass us, but then stop again so we’d pull ahead once more, only to be passed again as they continued on.

More climbing – this photo has a bit of a haze (Sam says it’s from the lens getting sweaty in his pocket).

As we rode, we spotted another tandem coming from below on one of the switchbacks. They seemed to be moving pretty swiftly, especially for a tandem traveling uphill. Within moments, they were beside us and seemed to pass without effort. They greeted us with a hello and a wave and continued on. They weren’t wearing race numbers, so we knew they were just out and happened to be riding here. Still, we were both amazed at their abilities!

“How are they going so fast?” I asked out loud to no one in particular.

A few moments passed and another single rider came up and asked if we’d seen another tandem come by. We responded that we had and he informed us that this duo is part of RUSA and has ridden Paris-Brest-Paris, as well as winning several races.

“I guess I don’t feel so bad then,” I half-shrugged to Sam. “They were quite fast though! I guess we have a lot to work towards.”

Eventually, we made it to the top and to the second aid station. Now it was Sam’s turn to make use of the portable. Once again, there was a long line and only two available, so we spent another 20 minutes waiting for his turn. The worst part of the waiting is that our legs were having time to turn to jelly.

The second aid station stop – it really was a beautiful day!

As I stood waiting, our buddy, Len, was headed back on route. I nodded in his direction and told him that we’d likely cross paths again. He smiled and rode out. And then, our single-speed fellow appeared, suddenly, in front of me.

“Hey!” I said as he walked past. “Did you keep riding? Did you make it up the climb?”

“Sort of,” he said. “I had to get a ride up the last mile to mile and a half. I just couldn’t do it.”

“But, you’re still riding,” I said. “You can do this – just keep at it.”

He smiled and walked over to pick up some food. “I’m just looking forward to the downhill,” he stated as he walked back to his bike.

Sadly, this was the last interaction we would have with him. I do hope that he made it to the end.

Sam returned and we knew we had to get moving before we both lost use of our legs, so we continued on. For some reason, I thought that the aid station was the end of our major climbing, but, as we quickly realized, we still had a bit of climbing to do. At least it was more rolling mountains and not straight up like the path we’d been riding to that point. Another four miles of rolling up and we had made our way to the downhill section.

We were both ready for this and looking forward to getting some speed. Ten miles of fairly straight, steep, down hill coasting. Could anything feel better at this point? About half way down, we caught Len and went tearing past him. All we heard was the “WOO HOO!!!” he laughed in our direction as we flew by.

It was all so beautiful! So much greenery as we headed down in to Red Rocks in Morrison, Colorado. Red Rocks, known to most as an amazing outdoor amphitheater, is also a fantastic hiking destination, and, as Sam and I have experienced, an outdoor workout experience like none other. If you ever have the opportunity to go early on a spring/summer Saturday morning, you will be greeted by hundreds, if not thousands of individuals trying to get in a good workout using the amphitheater steps and all the surrounding natural goodness. It is definitely a challenging workout!

But, we were on a different mission this day. We had to continue our pedaling adventure. I looked down at the Garmin and realized we weren’t even half way through this route. It felt as though we’d seen and ridden so much, but we still had a long way to travel.

“I hadn’t realized how much of a climb that would be,” Sam said as we continued through rolling terrain. “I didn’t anticipate how long it would take to get to that point. Initially, I thought it would be good to have the steep and long climb toward the beginning, but now I’m not sure about that.”

I just smiled and laughed a bit to myself. It’s funny how we try to get ourselves through tough situations. We debate whether it’s better to climb all the way out and have down hill for the complete return, to have all rolling hills, or a late-in-the-route, steep climb that was preceded by easier terrain. I suppose no matter what we think, we’ll always wish for what isn’t in front of us. It seems to be the nature of humans.

Without much warning, we were in more populated areas among swift moving traffic. We had popped out onto a very busy highway that lacked any shoulder or bike space. Suddenly, we were back in city life and no longer with the quiet, natural surroundings.

We wound through many neighborhoods and across and as a part of major thoroughfares. There were a lot of neighborhoods, and a lot of roads that hardly seemed appropriate for this type of course with thousands of riders. We couldn’t quite determine why we were winding through so many random housing developments either. It just seemed an odd course to take.

At one point Sam commented that this was not a ride for the faint of heart or timid cyclists, and I have to agree with him. With an open course such as this that traveled on very busy, highly traveled roads that lack shoulders and/or bike lanes, one cannot be afraid to take his/her space in the lane. For the most part, vehicles were cooperative and allowed us space, but I personally felt that there were portions that could have been better routed. I can also state with near-certainty that neither of us would ever ride some of these roads if not involved in this event.

There was also a great deal of seemingly needless climbing. It was as though we were sent through neighborhoods with large, steep hills for no reason other than to force us to climb when there were perfectly good, flat roads that could’ve been utilized. Perhaps this was just perception and/or our tiredness by the time we were three-quarters of the way through the event.

Despite the haphazard nature of some of the route, it was interesting to get a bicycle-eye view of the city and surrounding communities. I did find myself wishing for more time in the urban center of Denver, rather than out in suburbia though. After taking a better look at the routes post-ride, I think the shorter routes actually have more of this than we experienced.

The weather held surprisingly well. We had sunshine for the majority of our time out, but as the day wore on, the typical summer afternoon clouds and threatening rain came rolling in. We pedaled on, hoping to make it back before rain fell.

As we rode, I was struck by how good I felt. I have done much shorter and/or easier events and felt far worse. I was almost afraid to utter those words aloud though for fear that something would change. Plus, Sam had mentioned that he wasn’t doing all that great and I didn’t want to make him feel worse. Even though I’d been dealing with knee and hip issues the week prior, my legs felt surprisingly capable. I did say at one point that my lower back was aching, but my legs felt like they could keep going.

After our initial 25 mile stretch, most of the ride found us relatively alone on the route. We’d occasionally pass other riders or they would pull past us, but our last 15 miles or so found us smack in the midst of a fairly sizable group of riders. It was as though they had arrived out of nowhere. It could well have been that the shorter routes were now coming back together and intersecting with the two longer distance routes, but it was actually nice timing to have more company on our return to the finish.

One to two miles from the finish, the rain began to fall. It was light, but the clouds were telling a story that this would likely change – and soon.

“Well, we almost made it,” I said.

“At least it’s not coming down too hard,” Sam responded.

Indeed. I didn’t mind getting a little wet. It felt refreshing and with such a short distance to travel, we knew we’d made it to the end. The announcer yelled out to us as we crossed and volunteers attempted to hand off beers to us. It was the last thing I was looking for at that moment though, so we passed them by and rolled to a stop.

As we stood over the bike just over the finish line, we realized we were short 0.2 miles to complete the 100 mile distance.

“I didn’t come all this way to come up two-tenths of a mile short,” Sam said.

Agreed. While we had ridden a hundred miles, it just felt strange to end off with such a short amount of distance missing. So, after we pedaled through the finish, we did another lap to ensure we hit that 100-mile mark.

When I stepped off the bike, my legs instantly felt everything they had done for the last several hours. All of the pushing and climbing all came crashing into that moment. I could see that Sam was tired too. We loaded up our steed and went in search of sustenance.

At the end of it all, we both had similar thoughts on this ride. The best part of the route was the initial rambling through the city and the climbing, along with the long downhill into Red Rocks, all of which were over in the first 45 miles. We could’ve done without the portions that had us riding along side fast-moving vehicles and the seemingly never-ending trolling through suburban neighborhoods. We both also thought we weren’t sure we would do this ride again — not because it didn’t have beautiful points of interest or challenging aspects, but it just didn’t quite feel like what we’d expected.

I am slowly (very slowly) learning that my mindset is so much more important than I could ever really believe. Although it can be more challenging to travel long distances on the tandem, I prefer it. I like having the company and someone to talk to (even if Sam doesn’t always respond to my rambling). It’s fine to ride in silence as well, as we often do, but somehow knowing that someone is right there with me, on the same bike, experiencing the same moments, helps me keep a more positive outlook. I also know that I can’t give up because someone else is counting on me to get to the end and vice versa.

There was never a point during this ride in which I thought we wouldn’t make it to the finish. That in itself was a victory because the evening prior I wasn’t convinced I wanted to go to the ride at all. We didn’t average our fastest speeds by any stretch, but that wasn’t the point of this event. We completed our 100-mile climbing journey together, and who knows, maybe it won’t be the last of this year after all.

Cycling to Hudson

The morning was gloomy. Grey completely covered the skies, but it didn’t really feel like rain was coming our way. Though precipitation had fallen overnight, the typical dryness was absent in the air. I was nearly choking on the mugginess; it’s just not typical for Colorado to have a lot of humidity, so any significant amount of moisture feels foreign and heavy to my lungs.

The night prior, Sam and I had decided to take a ride out to a small community east of our home. Sam had casually mentioned that he’d like to ride out to Hudson, and although I didn’t understand the reasoning, I was game for pedaling the 30+ miles out to see if there was anything interesting to be found. Plus, we have a longer ride coming next weekend and we figured we needed to do a bit more distance in a single ride so the 60-ish miles would be a nice little jaunt.

It was supposed to be a fairly flat route. We are routinely told that pedaling east is easier than pedaling west from our location. It makes sense because the mountains are to the west and it is flat-looking to the east, but we both know this idea that gets repeated is not always, and is actually rarely true. Additionally, the mental state of believing it will be flatter pedaling always results in disappointment and an increase in perceived pain when not prepared to do the climbing that will inevitably come, even if it is lesser than climbing into the mountains.

We would also be traveling a large portion of the route on a highway. I rarely traverse this particular roadway as I have no need (the last time I drove on it was about 10 years ago when we were making our way to Iowa, Wisconsin and Minnesota), and I have never ridden it, so I couldn’t recall what type of shoulder exists on this road, nor did I recall the road conditions or speed for motorized traffic.

In June, I was hardly prepared to deal with layers, but it was a quite cold morning, so I donned winter tights and long sleeves, hoping that the temperatures wouldn’t change too much and have me wishing I’d worn something lighter.

Regardless of the oddly cool, nearly summer morning, I intended to enjoy this ride and to take in the open spaces. Spending most of our days in more populated areas, I was eager to spend time away from crowds, buildings, and cars. As we pedaled into a headwind, we both commented on the condition of the road. Our teeth chattered – not from the temperature, but because of the broken and fissured asphalt. Mile after mile we felt our hands becoming more and more numb, making it a bit more challenging to appreciate the greenery and open spaces.

Cars whizzed past us. Big-rigs skimmed by closer than I would have preferred. Unfortunately, the shoulder thinned out into a nearly non-existent space and for the last several miles of our outbound trip, we struggled to find a balance between being run off the road and claiming our space with motorized vehicles traveling at 65+ mph (105 kph).

A rare, clear and car-free moment on our route. The shoulder was actually workable in this spot, which was nice.

On the up side, the skies were clearing and the usual beautifully clear blue sky was once again appearing. For the most part, cars were being a bit more generous to us with space as well, which was appreciated.

When we arrived in Hudson there really wasn’t much to see. I’m not sure what Sam had expected to find, but it was like many small, interstate-accessible towns. There were a few old houses, a small, unbranded grocery store, a handful of gas stations, a couple of pubs and that was about the extent of it.

So, we turned around and headed back home. Sam had mentioned that perhaps we should find a different route back and that maybe we should take one of the county roads and head north rather than back west. I was not particularly keen on the prospect of aimlessly wandering roads we are unfamiliar with and for which we had no knowledge of their length or potential end points, so we decided to stop off to see if we could map out a better route without too much trouble on a phone.

After some fussing and fiddling it was decided that, despite the road not being the best choice to travel by bicycle, we knew what we were in for and decided to see it through. We also hoped it would be mostly downhill, as the ride out had felt remarkably climb-y.

It looks flat, and while it was flat by comparison to the mountains, it was hillier than expected.

What struck me most during this ride was how much my mind was wandering. Normally, when I’m concerned about fast-moving cars I can only focus on keeping as far right as is practical, but instead (though I was aware that I needed to hold our line), my mind was lost in thought.

Strangely, when we are on these short-long rides (my term for rides that are longer than a 30-miler, but shorter than something more epic), I find myself thinking about people who do brevets, particularly when my body is uncomfortable or having pains. I go through a slew of thoughts – everything from amazement at how people are able to cycle 300, 400, 600+ kilometer distances in one go to telling myself to “suck it up” because my little ride is nothing in the grand scheme of things. I am aware that we all have different tolerances and abilities, but because those long distances are always something I’ve thought about trying, I can beat myself up a little when riding a distance that pales in comparison, despite knowing that when we tandem, we are more capable than I often believe.

These thoughts inevitably lead to pondering mortality, reminding myself to appreciate all the little moments and to be in the present. We never know how long we have after all. This segues into thoughts of my departed father. I find myself trying to communicate with him, wanting to believe that he hears me and can somehow respond to my life-questions. The vast open spaces serve to reinforce how small and insignificant I truly am, but also cause me to believe that it’s possible he really can respond in some manner.

I find myself conflicted because I can both believe in being able to communicate with the dead and simultaneously think it’s the craziest thought in the world. Maybe it’s more that I want to believe these things are possible, but logic wants to force other realities upon me. It’s a similar dichotomy I experience when wanting to be rational about creating art — sometimes, things just aren’t logical and we have to allow ourselves the sliver (or crater, as is sometimes the case) of space to believe in things that simply don’t follow the tangible or known.

We roll past disintegrating road kill. It’s impossible to discern if it’s rabbit, prairie dog, squirrel or something else, but this sight snaps me back into the moment. I realize we have arrived into more populated areas and that the shoulder has widened once again. I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that we have some wiggle room to avoid wide cracks and bumps in our path. We’ll be home again before I know it.

“So,” I ask of Sam, “Next Saturday… are we ready?” I don’t really need a response. I know us well enough to know that we’ll power through whatever presents itself.

A Century Ride Attempt... Nearly Six Years Later

***I've debated for about a week whether or not I wanted to write about this, but ultimately decided to go ahead. In some ways, it feels unnecessary, but I think in the back of my mind, I want some sort of record of it and my brain seems to misremember details as time goes on. Unfortunately, I didn't take the time for photos during the ride, but here is the tale regardless.***

In 2013, I wrote about my first time riding a century. A few weeks after, Sam and I rode another one together (which was his first century). We both had big plans to do more of them as we rode into the future. For Sam, that was reality (he's ridden many more since then, all much more challenging than that first, and most on a mountain bike). I, however, haven't ridden that distance since then. When I think about it, it's difficult to believe that it's been so long since I've even attempted it -- especially because I really wanted to extend to do a 200k or maybe even a 300k.

Sometimes though, life has other plans. In my case, it started with a domino of bad bike decisions and then having to deal with more significant injuries and other things that seemed to keep popping up. Before I knew it, the only time I was riding was to get around town (not that there is anything wrong with that by any means) and I rarely if ever set out to do concentrated, longer-distance efforts. Over the last couple of years though, I've started to find somewhat of a groove again. It started out slowly, but with the addition of the tandems, I've found it easier to get out and ride like I used to do, even on my own. Though I beat myself up over speed sometimes, I try to remind myself that enjoying the ride is, in the end, more important.

Toward the end of 2018, Sam and I had talked about riding another century together but on the tandem rather than singles. I was somewhat reluctant. The idea seemed a bit much for me, but I also knew that part of having the tandem (for us) was to be able to do longer rides. While we've completed many 50-65 mile rides, I have felt that those distances were really my max for the time being. After all, I'm broken (at least that's what my mind continues to tell me), older, slower, and so on. Couldn't we just be happy with those distances together?

But, there was a part of me that did want to try to ride a 100-mile ride again. I tentatively agreed to do a century ride on the tandem, provided we could come up with a flat (or flat as possible) route. The thing is that living in Colorado it is quite difficult to come up with a route that is a hundred miles long and doesn't involve climbing. So, when we were chatting about possibilities, we came up with the idea of doing a loop-route. Basically, we would find a 20-25 mile route that was flat(ter) and then ride it 4-5 times consecutively.

It seemed brilliant. So, we planned to do the route before winter set in last year. The right time never presented itself, but when spring rolled in, we knew that we wanted to give it a try before all the events and other happenings in life begin to take over. The first weekend in April, we decided it was time.

The night before, I went through my usual couldn't-sleep routine, waking up more times than I could count. I don't know why I get so worked up over distances, especially because this wasn't an event, but rather the two of us simply going for a ride. Maybe it was the history of knowing that I'd been able to ride that distance before and the thought of not being able to do it today would be crushing. I really did wonder if I'd be able to complete the distance and I was concerned about how much discomfort and/or pain I'd have to endure. With the length of time and happenings that have transpired between the last century attempt and this one, it's not unrealistic to think I'd struggle with a long ride today.

The morning of our attempt, I couldn't eat (as is typical), but we had a plan for nutrition along the way. It is one area that I struggle with while doing longer distance rides... we have to eat - something - whether Gu or bananas or some sort of food, but I don't really want to eat actual food most of the time. However, I knew I'd have to have a time/distance plan to consume something in order to complete the ride.

My other struggle is always time. The longer we are out, the worse I feel (probably partially because I don't generally have a good refueling plan in place), so I knew that time was not going to be my friend. We needed to complete the ride as swiftly as we could, without it feeling like we were racing through an event. I had estimated that we'd likely end up around 8 hours of ride time, given that longer rides tend to be significantly slower for us; but I had mentioned to Sam that I would be thrilled if we could come in at around 7-ish hours. He agreed that somewhere around 7-7.5  hours would be fantastic. Obviously, we would not be averaging the speed of many tandem teams or single riders, but we were going to do our best to complete the ride.

We had decided to leave earlier than we normally would for an early spring ride to try to avoid the winds that were supposed to happen that day. The forecast had shown that up until around noon, the winds were supposed to be between 2-4mph, which would be very mild; however, after around noon, the speeds were supposed to increase to up to 16+mph (which means gusts would be much higher). While that's not the worst our winds can be, it's also not horribly fun for me to captain the tandem when it's extra windy, so we thought that if we could avoid the vast majority of the worst part of the wind for the day, that would be great.

As we set out on our first lap, the winds were pretty strong - much stronger than the 2-4mph predicted. We were also dealing with headwinds but figured when we turned around, we'd benefit from the tailwind. Sadly, that didn't happen. Instead, the wind (so famous for doing exactly this) shifted and became a headwind yet again when we turned to head back. It just didn't seem right, but what could we do about it?

This was the lap/loop we had planned for our ride... an out and back, with spots where we could stop, if needed. 

Our first lap went off pretty well, despite the wind trying to throw us off. Our speeds were lower than we had hoped, but I tend to warm up slowly, so I had kind of already figured that the first one wouldn't be our best, at least until closer to the end of it.

We were, however, having a lot of shifting issues. It seemed as though every gear we really wanted to be in was having difficulty, so I was spending a lot of time fussing with gears as we tried to plod along.

I think riding slower than we had wanted on the first lap kind of gave each of us a kick and we picked up the pace for the second lap, still being blasted by the wind which was only getting stronger.

One of the fun things about our route is that it's pretty much a mild climb out so we got a mild descent on the return (not perfectly up or down either direction, but as close as one could really expect). Although each lap only has a minimal amount of climbing, we did all of it during the first 12-13 miles and then got our break for the second half of each lap, which I personally found to be a good motivator. If we got through the mild climbing, then we could really push on the return.

At the end of our second lap, I was already concerned though. We were only about 51(ish) miles in and I was not feeling great. We had definitely traveled faster the second lap, but I was starting to think that I wouldn't be able to make it to the end.

I was pretty concerned about fatigue at the end of lap two. I was holding on to the bike and it just slipped out of my grasp and landed in this spot. Fortunately, I was able to hold it well enough that it didn't fall on any working parts or do any damage. It may be time to put that kickstand on it for just such occasions.

I shared my concern about potentially not being able to finish the ride with Sam but he didn't seem alarmed. On one hand, I appreciated his confidence in me, but on the other, I was a little miffed that he wasn't taking my words with any sort of seriousness.

"You'll be fine," he said.

As I've said, Sam is a man of few words. I hoped he was right and swallowed another Gu pack to try to get my head out of the foggy space it was entering.

One of the bad decisions with our lapping route is that each round we came back by our home. In some sense, it was great to come by the house every 25 miles. Since this wasn't a supported ride, if we needed something, it would be easy to stop and pick up (or drop off) whatever may be needed at home; but on the other hand, we hadn't considered how easy it would make it to give up before finishing. Each time we rounded the corner near our house, I tried to keep focused. If we didn't need to stop, there was no reason to do so.

We began lap three and I told Sam that I was going to try to tell myself that it was our last lap. I figured if I could somehow convince my brain that we were almost through, maybe I could make my body push a little harder. Perhaps it wasn't the wisest move given that I was already feeling lightheaded, but sometimes I just have to play games with myself to make things happen.

When we reached the end of our climbing for that third lap, I remarked to Sam, "Well, we've officially ridden the farthest we've ever ridden on a tandem!" It felt like an accomplishment, even if we still weren't through with the task at hand.

While we continued on, I realized that I actually felt better than I had at the end of the second lap. Weird, I thought, but I was happy that the fog had lifted and that my body was back to cooperating. If we kept up this pace, we would definitely be able to make our goal of 7-7.5 hours.

Our third lap wrapped up even faster than our second, much to our surprise. We've found in the past (at least during "real" events) that 4-lap routes tend to have a pattern... the second is usually faster than the first, the third is slower than the second, but faster than the first, and the fourth is just about getting through the pain and is always the slowest of the laps. It is, of course, what we expected for this unofficial ride too.

As we continued, my body was doing fine and my brain fog had lifted, but I was feeling quite queasy and couldn't figure out why. I had been eating as planned and drinking water, but I still had this weird lump in my throat and that uneasy feeling in my stomach that just wouldn't go away.  I tried drinking more water, but it didn't do much of anything.

We were on our last refuel stop and Sam made a comment about the caffeine in the Gu he was eating when all of a sudden it occurred to me that every Gu pack I'd consumed had caffeine in it. I have fairly high sensitivity to caffeine and try not to have much of it, so it suddenly became clear why I wasn't feeling all that great. Why it hadn't occurred to me prior to consuming half a dozen packets, I have no idea, but the nauseated feeling suddenly made sense (and the crash that happened afterward wasn't all the fun either).

Anyway, we were on our fourth and final lap and we joked briefly about continuing on for a fifth lap, but neither of us was quite ready to actually deal with that and instead just wanted to ensure we could get to the completion of the goal at hand. As we wrapped up our final mild climb and started back on the downhill portion, I realized that we were actually, truly going to be able to finish this ride.

I still felt better at this point than at the halfway point, which was shocking. In fact, we both felt pretty good. We were fatiguing, but neither of us was in pain or felt as though we couldn't carry on -- which was a far cry from the century we'd done a little less than six years ago. We stopped when/where we'd planned, but hadn't spent too much time stopped. We didn't make any unplanned stops either, which I considered a win because I was convinced I'd struggle to make it past the 3/4 point and would need to stop a lot more frequently. There was no whining or 'I can't possibly go on' type of sentiments being expressed (or felt for that matter). It was strange because I've not experienced a 100-mile ride that went this well.

As we closed in on the end of this ride, we realized that unlike what has been typical during lapping routes, we'd actually increased our pace every single lap. Why/how we're still not entirely certain, but the numbers don't lie and we got faster, even as we became more tired.

Sam has an app that tells him what percentages of a ride are headwinds, tailwinds or crosswinds after it's uploaded, and at the end of this 100-miler we learned that we never had a tailwind at any point -- something we knew even before the fancy application confirmed that we hadn't imagined the battle against the elements. Even though we had a pretty flat route, those winds sure made for some interesting moments.

We were still smiling (and upright) at the end of 102 miles, so I guess it wasn't so bad after all. 

Perhaps what I found most memorable about this ride is that it wasn't a big deal. It really did feel as though we were just going out on a typical ride and pedaling through. I expected things to go much worse than they did, I anticipated that we would be pretty slow (because of me), and I really didn't think I'd be able to complete the distance, but it was, as simply as I can put it, uneventful. We ended up finishing with a just slightly over 6.5 hour time, besting what we thought possible... and for an early spring ride, we didn't think that was too bad a job for the two of us on one bike.

We have talked about potentially doing another 100-mile ride later in the year, but we'll see how things play out. Sam has plans for a variety of events, so it may not quite be realistic. Knocking this out early in the season made the most sense and perhaps it will motivate us to do a longer distance at some point as well. We know now that we can get through a hundred miles on the tandem... and that was really the only goal.

Change Your Handlebars, Change Your World

When I wrote about our custom tandem bike, I mentioned that we didn't get off to the best start. The bike just felt unsteady to me as the captain and I struggled for months trying to determine whether we'd ever really be able to ride the tandem together.

Before it had even arrived, we had conversations about the possibility of needing to put different handlebars on the bike. We'd asked that it be built with drop bars, but knowing that I sometimes struggle with that type of set up on a bike (sometimes it's worked well and other times it just never quite works for me), we wanted the option to put more upright bars on the bike. The builder was aware of this and told us that the bike could be easily switched to other handlebars, perhaps needing just a change of the length of the stem.

Drop bars on the tandem the day it arrived. It didn't stay this way for long!

Immediately after the first test, I was aware that the drop bars were not going to work for me on the tandem, but we gave them a try for a few rides. Being shorter and having drop bars with bar end shifters, I was struggling both with mounting the bike without shifting the gears accidentally with my thigh and the actual feel of the bike while steering. Already feeling uneasy about piloting the unsteady bike, I didn't need any extra trouble.

My instinctual thought was to put albatross handlebars on the front of the tandem. They are always easy for me to use, and with bar end shifters I figured that would help alleviate the accidental shifting when mounting. We also discussed the possibility of using trekking/butterfly handlebars because they've been a good option on some bikes too.

The easiest switch was to use the spare albatross bars, so we mounted them up with a longer stem and set to testing. This switch definitely helped with the shifting issue, and actually allowed us to ride the bike together; however, it definitely didn't make the bike feel much steadier when riding. For months, we struggled, riding the tandem this way. We were happy that we could actually ride the tandem, but the ride was still not what we'd expected. Honestly, we assumed that this is just how it was going to be and I'd have to come to terms with the reality that the tandem, while now rideable, was never going to feel the way we'd hoped.

Albatross handlebars on the tandem. We tried flipping them both ways to see if one way worked better than the other, but upright seemed to be the best position.

We had several conversations, often as we rode the tandem, that perhaps we just needed to accept that this was a mistake and that we should have just been grateful with the too-large tandem we already had. At least that one felt steady. I myself said more than once that I wished we'd never bothered because we just weren't getting what we'd hoped to out of the custom tandem and we'd invested a lot into it. We were able to ride it, but it just never felt quite like we wanted it to.

One day over the winter, I was riding the trainer (currently set up with the VO Campeur--a strange choice for a trainer bike, I'm aware-- which is built with trekking handlebars) and thinking to myself that we never actually tried putting those bars on the tandem and that maybe we should give it a try. My thinking was that at least it would provide some additional locations to move my hands around. With the albatross bars on the tandem, I always felt too shaky to move my hands, not to mention there aren't as many options for spots to move my hands to, which was causing my already bad hands/wrists to experience even more pain.

Trekking bars on the Velo Orange Campeur

I mentioned casually to Sam that we should try the trekking bars out on the tandem, who agreed it was worth the effort if it would give me more hand positions to use. He had a spare set of 3x9 trigger shifters, so he set off to get the switch done to give my hands a bit of a break.

I wasn't really sure what to expect out of the switch and had said to Sam that it might not work at all which would mean we'd be switching back to the albatross bars; but on the first little test around the neighborhood, it seemed good, great even. Suddenly, the tandem seemed stable and "right," and I wasn't having the unsteady feeling I usually get when riding it. I thought perhaps it was because I was riding it alone, but even when Sam hopped on the back to let me test it as we'd actually ride, I realized that something had dramatically changed.

It seemed insane to me that a simple handlebar could create such a difference in the way the bike felt, but here we were, having only changed those (and the shifter levers) and it felt like a completely different ride. Except for the small amount of testing around our neighborhood, our first test ride was over 50 miles, which was a little concerning having not really gone any distance with this set up.

Fortunately, the gamble paid off and as we rode, we both noticed changes very quickly. Sam commented that he felt as though the tandem was more steady, even in the stoker position, and he noted that my body position seemed to be closer to what it usually is when I ride and not as though I was driving a school bus as it had appeared with the other handlebars.

Current setup with the trekking handlebars... a world of difference!

I was enjoying having somewhere to move my hands when I needed to give them a break, and I was at ease moving my hands without feeling as though the bike would end up on the ground if I shifted positions. Strangely, I even felt as though my legs had more power. It was as though I'd been given a penalty with the other handlebars and now I'd been released to move my legs normally.

I'd thought perhaps I was imagining that I had more power until the end of the ride when we saw that we'd averaged a significantly higher speed than we had been on this bike on prior rides of the same distance/route.  It was as though the change in handlebars completely changed everything about the bike. It now behaved like a road bike and allowed me to be in a better position to use the larger muscles to push as I would naturally on a single road bike. I wasn't afraid to remove a hand or to adjust the mirror while riding because it felt steady and as though it would track forward even with one hand on the bars.

Toward the end of the ride, without even being aware of what I was doing, I intuitively stood up to pedal through a rough spot and then suddenly realized what had just happened. I had never stood up to pedal on the tandem before the handlebar change because it felt like I would lose control of the bike (honestly, even coasting and standing always gave me a bit of fright); but this was something that just happened naturally, as it would on my single bike when it was necessary and without any forethought.

I feel like a whole new world has opened up with this set up, and even Sam said he feels the change in the rear position on the bike. I would never have guessed that a simple handlebar switch would have created such a dramatic change in the way this bike rides! I keep thinking that I am disappointed that we didn't try the change months ago rather than waiting, but I am also excited that this has given us a tandem that is more in line with what we hoped to get out of the custom experience. Not only are my hands doing better being able to move around, but it has given us both more confidence and power while riding.

Over the years, we've switched out handlebars on many of my single bikes, and it's made a difference in some instances, but never have I experienced any type of change that was so dramatic as this. It's definitely been a positive difference - and something that I hadn't expected. Have you ever made a simple change to a bike that made a huge difference in the way it handled or felt?

To Tandem, with Love

It's hard to believe, but Sam and I have been riding a tandem bicycle for just about a year and a half now. Even in that short time, we've had a whole array of experiences that have surprised, amazed and delighted. As much as I enjoy my alone time on a bicycle, I can't believe we've gone so many years not riding a tandem. In many ways, it feels as though we've been riding this way longer than we have, and I have a difficult time imagining what it would be like to not ride one now.

We have had our share of good and bad moments on the tandem, but the overarching thought is that most rides, even if they are occasionally painful, are good. We've settled into a nice rhythm of riding when we can and making plans for spring and summer riding. Even riding through the winter was fun, although cold, and it's always nice to have the road shoulders to ourselves as we don't come across too many other riders when winter sets in.

One of our friends asked us recently if we only ride together when on the tandem, and I thought it a little strange because, of course not -- we definitely ride together on separate bikes. But, I realized that in truth the majority of our together riding is done on one of the tandems because (especially having two now) not having a ton of time during which we can both ride, it seems almost a necessity to ride the tandem when we're both available.

While we certainly haven't traveled the miles of many tandem duos, we have enjoyed the miles and always look forward to the next time. Some of my favorite tandem moments/discoveries to date:

- Riding with other tandem bicycles in a group. The looks we get and the comments we hear from those passing by are priceless. While it's not completely uncommon to see a tandem team on roads or paths, seeing 10-30 in a group riding is undeniably a spectacle. I can't help but smile when people are caught off guard seeing so many of us together.

- Going places on a bike that I hadn't prior or hadn't for quite some time. I know that my long distance riding took a nose dive after some injuries about 5 years ago. It was really far more difficult to get back into those long rides than I thought it would be. I struggled to find the motivation and then struggled physically (and sometimes mentally) once I was out on the roads. Riding a tandem together gives me both motivation and a partner to ride with and has helped push me whether we are riding together or I'm off on my own.

Together, we've also been able to ride places that I've been hesitant to go on my own. For me, there's something about having a partner to ride with, and even more so when we're on the same bike, that pushes me to give my best - because we're depending on each other to make it to wherever the destination is for the day.

- Finding strength again. I commented to Sam a couple of weeks ago that I really feel like I've become a stronger rider because of the tandem. Don't get me wrong, I'm still not a powerhouse and I will never beat people to the top of a climb (especially on the tandem), but I realized one day while we were riding up a hill we'd traveled early in our tandem relationship that it wasn't nearly as rough as it had been the first time about a year ago.  Since changes don't happen all that quickly, it's easy to think that there's no improvement, but I can definitely feel that there is a difference compared to a year and a half ago. Hills aren't quite as painful, distance (at least to a certain point) is easier most days, and I love knowing that if we want to go, we have the ability to push ourselves just a bit more.

- Having difficult moments or entire rides on the tandem. It may seem odd that having a bad ride is a "good" thing, but I suppose it's actually more so that I appreciate what it tells me about our relationship and that we are capable of working through things. We've had rides during which we bicker over seemingly inane matters, but on the whole, I think we have a good riding partnership. Still, when those more challenging moments arise, I have come to realize that the ride isn't going to go all that well if we spend it fighting.

While we generally don't argue in everyday life, the spats while riding can sometimes be amusing, particularly when we realize we are saying the same thing, but going about it from different viewpoints or aren't quite communicating in sync.

For example, we have had a mildly heated exchange regarding which direction we were going to turn on a particular route. I was asking about a turn that was several miles (and turns) down the road. While I thought I'd been clear about what I was asking, Sam assumed I was talking about the next turn we'd be making and we ended up going round and round a few times before finally realizing what was happening.  Ultimately, Sam ends up thinking that I'm crazy for asking about a turn that's miles down the road, and I start getting frustrated because he's not understanding what I'm asking. These moments are few and far between, but I'm always amused that we often just think differently. Much as in everyday life, Sam is much better at living in the moment, whereas I'm generally thinking about happenings weeks, months or even years down the road. But, perhaps that is what makes a good partnership!

- Comments from people can be kind of fun too. I know that some tandem riders get annoyed with the "musings" from others, but we've been pretty fortunate that 99% of the time, comments are more curiosity-based than anything else. Things like "Is it harder to ride a tandem bike?" or "Will the bike work if one of you isn't pedaling?" have been asked pretty regularly. Most of the time, it's someone telling us how "adorable" we are as they drive, walk, or ride past.

On a recent ride, we had a woman come over while we were stopped taking some photos of the mountains who said, "You two are so cute! You even have matching tops on (for the record, we don't always match our jerseys, but we were coordinating on this particular day)." She just stood smiling for a few minutes at the bike and then said, "I want to see you take off on it!" These moments make me smile too, and it's always nice to have a conversation about a bike with an interested person.

I am also fascinated that we've yet to have anyone say to us that Sam (who rides in the stoker or back position) isn't pedaling, which is a commonly referenced complaint of female stokers. Maybe in time we'll hear this too, but part of me wonders if there's something sexist taking place since the male in our duo rides in the back position.

- Riding as the only tandem in a group of single riders can have its benefits too. Although I do enjoy riding with a group of other tandem cyclists on occasion, it is fun to be the only tandem in a group as well. While single riders don't always understand our challenges on the tandem, there is almost always a level of curiosity and patience with us as we struggle up a climb or the singles draft behind us as we barrel down a hill. In fact, I've even bargained with total strangers on singles that if they help us up a climb, we'll let them draft down an impending descent. It can be a win-win situation if everyone works together.

Although it probably wouldn't make sense to ride in a formal group of single riders who were looking to maintain some type of race-peloton, on more casual group rides, it can be fun to see what we can do on the tandem to both help the singles and assist us in our average speed too.

There are so many other little things that I appreciate about riding a tandem too, but overall, I think we've both simply enjoyed the experience of riding tandem. Although we both have off days or times when we just don't appreciate the ride as much as others, we are always left with a memory of some kind. Plus, we can fill each other in on happenings from the week because we are attached to each other for a stretch of time. I am so thankful that we've had the opportunity to experience this joy and look forward to continuing to ride together.

Custom Tandem: Dream or Nightmare?

**For the squeamish, I thought I should preface with a warning that there is a mildly graphic (depending on your tolerance level for "graphic") photo included about half way through this post. It's not obscene, but I felt it only fair to forewarn those who are sensitive to such things.


"Eeeeek!!" I screamed aloud, despite the fact that, as is typical during the week, I was alone in my work space. I had just received word that our new tandem had been shipped and would be arriving soon. My excitement was plentiful so off went a quick message to Sam to let him know that we'd be in possession of our new double-steed in the next few days. I sat smiling ear-to-ear, clapping my hands like a giddy school girl.

If you are unfamiliar with our tandem history, I was a person who swore up and down that Sam and I would never, ever, ever ride a tandem bike. I was convinced that we would end up killing each other. He would want to travel too far or too fast and I wouldn't be able to keep up. At least, that's what I'd convinced myself was the truth and was our general reason for not trying it out. Even after my mom and step-dad had offered to let us ride their single speed cruiser tandem as a test, I was insistent that it would not go well and I was in no way going to put us through that sort of pain. I really believed that our pedaling styles would be too different - not to mention all of the other potential pitfalls that ran through my mind.

Still, for years I had -- mostly silently -- dreamed that it could be a possibility for us. I often idealized tandem riding, but I'd quickly return my mental state to one of what I believed to be reality: Sam and I were not meant to ride a tandem.

Then, as you may recall, I started what some might term a mild obsession with Rivendell's Hubbuhubbuh tandem. I had been on the reading list from the time it was announced as a possibility and the more I read, the more I found myself wanting to try it out. Just when we thought we'd missed out on our opportunity, one appeared somewhat magically and before we knew it, we were riding a tandem.

We had our down points with it, but overall we really enjoyed riding together. The biggest problem, however, was the fit. The captain position is set up at its most compact and is still truthfully too large to be effectively piloted by either of us. Still, we powered on, riding like little fiends over hilly and flat terrain, through dirt and gravel -- we just couldn't seem to stop.

Over a very short span of time, we realized we were going to have to find a tandem that fit us better, particularly if we wanted to ride more than about 50 miles (80km). Neither of us wanted to go a custom route (both for the time involved and the cost), but after an attempt to rent the smallest tandem we could find locally, we realized that unless we were willing to wait indefinitely for a mythical x-small tandem to show up secondhand somewhere, we'd have to go the custom route.

We decided on Rodriguez Bikes to do the build after a fair amount of reading and chatting with our (relatively local) tandem dealer. The biggest reason for selecting Rodriguez over the local dealer was that I'd had a custom bike made with Rodriguez in the past and there was a level of familiarity.  I have not had good luck with custom bikes in the past, but this was a situation that was requiring a custom, as far as we were able to determine. With both riders being under 5'4", finding something out in the open market that might work would take nothing short of a miracle.

And so it came to the moment described above during which my insides felt ready to burst with excitement. We both had some trepidation in regard to this entire process. It's a similar feeling, I'd estimate, to someone who's only ridden a cruiser turning around and ordering a custom road bike. Perhaps it's not quite that extreme since we do have a fair amount of experience riding singles of all different sort, but knowing that we'd only experienced riding one tandem, we had moments of wondering (or at least I did) whether or not this new two-wheeled friend would be what we hoped for.  It meant putting a lot of trust in the builder to make something that made sense for us.

Since we were going custom, we also had the opportunity to choose the paint color. There are endless possibilities when it comes to paint and I don't have a great history of being decisive with these sorts of things. From single colors to fades to fancy specialized paint jobs, the choices quickly became overwhelming. I love having the opportunity to choose our own color, but it's easy to go from one extreme to another trying to figure out what we really want. Plus, we both had to agree on something and we tend to have very different ideas of what looks good. In reality, I know Sam would let me choose whatever I wanted, but because it is something we both ride, I really wanted us to both have input into the color choice.

After some discussion, we had narrowed the paint possibilities down to two. Sam decided that he wanted to be surprised and that I should choose between them, so after some back and forth (one option was bright and fun and involved some paint fading, but I feared we might grow tired of it over time; the other was simple, single color, and more subdued) I chose one and kept it secret (which was definitely not easy for me!!) so that when the box was opened, Sam would have a bit of that surprise moment he wanted.

The box arrived on a Tuesday and as the delivery company was bringing the box to the door, I could see a large indentation, as well as several smaller holes and impressions in the box. My stomach sank. Great, I thought, just what we need to deal with. The driver was kind enough to assist me with opening the top of the box to check on the contents and surprisingly, there didn't appear to be any damage to the bike. I breathed a small sigh of relief, but knew we'd have to inspect it further when it was completely removed.

The bike had been sent almost completely built with only the need to attach the handlebars to the stoker position, rotate the front handlebars, and attach our choice of pedals and saddles. Sam had protested the full build somewhat because he believed it would be better for us to choose our own parts, but ultimately we made the decision to go with a full build, knowing that we could upgrade parts down the road. We were told it should be just a mater of minutes before we would be riding our new tandem once it arrived. This sounded ideal.

When Sam arrived home, we pulled the bike from the box and the remaining items were attached. I was amused at the comically small size of the bike. "It looks like a tandem for kids," I said, laughing at the absurdity of its size, particularly in comparison to our current tandem. "No problem with stand over now." I'm not sure if we're both used to riding too large a bike or if it really is that small, but the tiny size had thrown me completely for a loop.

If I may take a brief detour from our present path in this tale, the two of us were holding on to a (misguided) belief that when this tandem arrived, it would be perfectly wonderful and all of our tandem woes would be solved. Having gone through two custom single bike builds in the past, I should have known better, but I was living in my dream land in which (apparently) all prior experiences disappear into another plane of existence, logic completely abandons my body, and utter bliss is all that exists.

We had shared some email conversations with MG of Chasing Mailboxes regarding tandems (we figured who better to offer some advice than a duo who ride long distances regularly on a tandem - and we must thank both of them again for sharing their thoughts with us) and MG had cautioned us with a bit of wisdom. One of her last statements read:  "As you know, it takes time to really dial in a bike, ESPECIALLY a tandem. They're like cats, each with their own distinct personality."

Ah, cats. They're so soft, fluffy and cute. Perhaps it was the wrong part of those words to focus on (okay, it was definitely the wrong part to focus on!), but when one is lost in the depths of excitement, it's super easy to ignore such sage words. Perhaps it wasn't so much ignoring this thought, but rather glossing over it a bit, believing that we would be okay because, you know, it's built for us - it can't be that bad to get 'er moving down the road, right?

And so, we return to our story as Sam and I prepared our newly unpacked tandem for our first test. At least we weren't being completely foolish and realized that I should take the tandem out for a quick spin around the block alone first, just to make sure everything was feeling good.

The Rodriguez built as it came to us with pedals/saddles added

Before even riding the tandem, we noticed that the color appeared more of a yellow-green than the darker, olive green we'd expected. With the dim lighting in the photo above, I'd say it looks a bit more green than in real life (though with time together the color doesn't seem quite as yellowed as it did initially). Still, we didn't find it unattractive... and, paint is fairly easily changed, if desired, especially on a steel frame, so we weren't particularly concerned with this bit.

The next issue we faced (and the more important one) was fit and feel. After a short run down the block with the tandem, nearly everything felt wrong. I tried again around a couple of blocks and things just continued down the same path. I felt as though I had absolutely no control of the bike -- and this was without another person on the back. I felt crammed into the cockpit when I stood between the saddle and the stem, something I'd worried about all along with the sizing. The bike seemed to wiggle all over the road whether at slow or higher speed. The only way I could explain it to Sam was that it just felt "wrong."

He rode the tandem alone too just to see if he could understand what I was trying to express. He came back unsure of how to help me feel more at ease.

"Maybe we just need to ride it together," I suggested.

So we set out on a short path around the neighborhood to see how it went. This was a complete disaster. Everything felt even more wrong with someone on the back. I felt as though the tandem's steering was under none of my control and it kind of just went wherever it wanted to go. Every little bump seemed to cause the bike to veer off on its own in an unintended direction.

The bruising (which was truly quite painful) that had developed on my abdomen from hitting the steerer tube each time I dismounted. If nothing else, it illustrates my determination to try to get this tandem to work (and maybe explains a few of the tears too).

I'll save the retelling of each round of this, but there were several, each time ending with me in tears and Sam silently angry. He wasn't mad at me necessarily (though I'm sure there was some of that too), but my frustrations tend to come out in tears while his turns to silent mulling.

Then, I thought perhaps asking the manufacturer for some suggestions to help us get through this initial stage would be helpful. Unfortunately, nothing beneficial came from that conversation. So, we went back to trying to figure things out for ourselves.

There were several weeks of trying to "figure things out" but not actually riding the new tandem. It was suggested by another tandem rider/builder that I try putting weight on the back of the tandem with panniers or something else loaded up so that I could do tests without feeling the pressure of another rider. This seemed like a good idea, so I gave that a whirl too. It was probably the best suggestion I received in regard to getting used to the new ride without putting two people in jeopardy.

We'd also made some changes, putting the handlebars lower and changing the bars themselves to another style, as well as trying different tires. Although the intention with this tandem was to be able to travel longer distances which was the original intention of the drop bars, if I couldn't use them effectively, then it was all for nothing, and I wasn't loving the way the first tires felt either, so both changes seemed like a move in the right direction.

Riding without another person went okay. I felt ridiculous pedaling around on a tandem without another body, but I also wasn't ready to brave it with Sam on the back quite yet. I just needed to feel at least somewhat competent with this new bike -- that at this point wasn't so new anymore. Riding around several miles with the back loaded and with the new set up actually went reasonably well, but the biggest problem was clearing my mind of the initial shock (and fear) of how different the two tandems are from each other.

We continued to make plans for a ride, but would always end up on the Rivendell tandem instead. Summer was slipping away, but every time I thought about riding the new one, I'd become physically ill just at the thought of it. We really were not off to the best start and I wasn't sure how to remedy the situation.

We were even riding occasionally with a tandem group and several of the riders continued to question why we were still riding the "old" tandem instead of the new, lighter one. I'm not sure we ever truly provided a coherent explanation, so I always felt the need to push extra hard to prove that we could stay with the group, even on our heavy (though a joy to ride) Rivendell tandem. I have no doubt that it seemed crazy that we continued to talk about this newer, lighter tandem, and yet never rode it.

One day, a couple of months after having received the new tandem, Sam was exasperated with our lack of riding the new steed. "Let's just sell it. If we're not going to ride the tandem, what's the point in having it?"

He had a valid point. Having money tied up in this custom tandem that just hung from our bike storage wasn't exactly ideal. Somewhere in the back of my mind though, I truly believed that we were going to make this new tandem work for us -- we just needed to ride it and I needed to conquer my trepidation with handling this bike.

Then, one day in August, while Sam had a weekday at home, I suggested that we take the tandem out for a test. I think it shocked Sam just as much as it did me. As soon as the words were out in the universe I began to regret the suggestion. My insides started to turn and I instantly felt ill. However, I knew that if we didn't get some rides in, it was unlikely we ever would.

On an approximately 30-mile ride during our testing period -- The steerer tube still hadn't been cut (and may not get cut) because I always have a fear of wanting to raise the bars higher (or change them entirely). I've managed to "unbruise" though, so I must've figured out how to avoid hitting the steerer upon dismount. :)

The ride was short, but it went surprisingly well. I was still a little shaky and reminded Sam not to push too hard off the starts, but I actually felt somewhat in control. Then, we followed it up with a slightly longer ride, and that one went okay too. We had little hiccups along the way and brief moments of panic from me, but overall, it was performing as we'd hoped. Small bites at a time, this tandem was starting to feel like something I could handle.

Our next outing took us on a little over 50 mile ride with some extra climbing. I was frankly surprised at how I felt, especially given our very rough start with this tandem. We arrived home with me feeling far more confident and Sam grateful that things were heading in a more positive direction.

What was interesting to both of us was after our 50-miler on the Rodriguez tandem, we decided to take a 20-mile, fun tandem ride on the Rivendell, just to have a little time together the following day. We both commented on how much a difference having a lighter tandem made because our bodies could feel the difference in effort needed to move the Rivendell at the same or similar speed.

So, here we are now, several months into having the new tandem in our hands and I would say that the decision to purchase an appropriately sized tandem was a good one. I had my doubts initially because I truly didn't believe another tandem could feel so completely different, but despite the extreme delay in getting the bike moving on the roads, I think we made the right choice. Things that initially felt foreign and "strange" have started to feel normal and in some sense even good.

One thing we never anticipated with the lighter weight of the tandem was how much flex the frame would have. This was one bit that took both of us by surprise in the beginning. It took some time to adjust to, but I don't notice it nearly like I had in the beginning (or perhaps I've simply adapted). Although I initially felt cramped when standing over the bike, that seems to have disappeared too.

We still don't have the mileage on the Rodriguez that we do on the Rivendell at this point, but I think it's fair to say that things are looking up. Despite our very rough start with this new tandem, it has actually turned around and I am happy to say that we can ride the no-longer-new-tandem together without feeling as though everything is wrong. I still don't entirely understand why it threw me off so much initially, but it definitely got in my head and I needed time to accept that it just wasn't going to feel like the Rivendell.

Frankly, I didn't believe that we'd ever get to this point, so I'm grateful and thrilled that we've shed a few pounds (about 15+/-), which has helped ease the workload for our legs (especially when pedaling uphill). I don't think it's made us any faster, but having less weight to roll is certainly a welcomed relief (and a properly sized tandem is certainly beneficial as well). Hopefully, we'll continue to enjoy the "new" tandem and have many more opportunities to ride together (or two-gether, as the tandem couples sometimes say).

Riding with saddle sores - What's the solution?

Over the just past Labor Day weekend, Sam and I had an extra long set of days together because he had a couple of days off at the end of the week leading up to the holiday. This allowed for a lovely five-day weekend -- a luxury we rarely experience. But what to do with this time? There are always projects around the house that need to be done, but instead we decided to try for a ride-every-day-together extended weekend.

On Wednesday, the day just prior to the start of our intended riding festivities, I ventured out alone on my newer road bike to give it another test (looking forward to writing about this soon after having a few decent tests now completed). All went well on that ride and I ran into a friend near the end, which made for a fun cycling finish. I'm breaking in a new saddle on this bike, however, and that's always a bit of a concern as I tend to end up with saddle sores during the initial couple hundred miles on new leather.

Thursday, we decided to ride the tandem -- the new one, that isn't really so new any longer (again, there's a post in the works to discuss this bike that we've had in our possession for several months now), so we didn't take it too far. Still, it was great to be out together at the start of our long weekend of riding together.

Unfortunately for me, there is also a new leather saddle on this bike that needs to be broke in, so once again, the saddle sores were becoming quite apparent, despite keeping the mileage on the low side.

Undeterred, I was personally determined to keep riding through our long weekend. When Friday morning rolled around, Sam suggested that we take our mountain bikes out and give them a shake out ride. Sam had bought me a frame and we'd recently finished building it up so I was anxious to do more than a couple of miles around the neighborhood. I assumed that a mountain bike ride would be shorter (silly me!), so I wasn't particularly concerned about the fact that this new-to-me bike has yet another new leather saddle on it that needs break-in miles.

What I had guessed would be a 10 to-no-more-than-15 mile ride turned into about 30 (which is a long mtb ride for me personally!), and the saddle sores that had started to develop were now in full-force. I winced every time I was on the saddle for the last 10 or so miles of that ride. Although I enjoyed the ride, being together, and the bike, my soft parts were not at all pleased with me.

On Saturday, I was not looking forward to getting on any bike and having to sit on a saddle, but I really wanted to keep riding. We ended up on a tandem that day and I did my best to enjoy the ride, despite being in pain throughout our time riding.

Sunday morning, we both got dressed and intended to do a longer-mileage ride on the tandem. After getting out to the bike though, I knew that I was in trouble. Not only were the saddle sores completely inflamed, but my hip and pelvis issues had started up (I presume due to constantly shifting my body while riding to keep from rubbing the saddle) and I knew deep down that there was no way I was going to make it through a long ride.

We debated completing a short ride, but I feared that if I didn't give my body the rest it was asking for, I wouldn't be able to do a longer ride the day following, so Sam ended up going for a ride on his own and we planned to do a longer mileage day on Monday.

My regular routine when riding anything other than short distances or around town is to use some kind of cream or glide on my chamois to prevent the saddle sores from ever starting. However, in this particular scenario, there was no escaping the reality that I need to break in a few new saddles and I know that is quite often a trigger for me to develop saddle sores (thankfully, it's a rarity for me to have need to break in a new saddle - I just happen to be in the midst of breaking in three at once right now). Usually, I'd just stick to short distances until the saddle has conformed a bit, but because of our goal to keep riding, it just didn't work well in this instance. Since the glide did nothing to prevent the problem, it then became a situation of dealing with and healing what had developed.

On Monday when we headed out, I went through my usual application to the chamois, but also added A+D directly to the affected areas (I've read that Bag Balm works well and had ordered some, but it wouldn't arrive in time to work for this situation). I think having the day off in between was definitely beneficial, but obviously the sores were still present and easily-agitated.

I was shocked that after completing a 50+ mile ride with a fair amount of climbing, I had actually been able to survive and was in very little pain. Granted, it wasn't the longest ride by any means, but it was significant enough that I was surprised that the sore spots were relatively okay.

In reality, I know the best means of dealing with saddle sores is prevention. If I never have to find a solution in the first place, that would be ideal, but saddle sores are going to happen from time to time and it got me thinking about what the best methods are for dealing with the issue once those little buggers are present.

It seems as though (for me) the best method to get them to heal up is to obsessively bathe and to stay off the bike, but since that isn't always possible, I started wondering what others do, particularly those who have to be on a bike for long distance rides -- whether brevet, touring, or endurance racing?

I've read a variety of solutions such as using Vaseline on the affected area, Bag Balm, wearing double sets of padded cycling shorts (layer closest to the skin worn inside out to prevent additional chaffing issues), bandaging the area (again to keep the sores from rubbing/creating friction - though I'm still not sure this is entirely practical, particularly for females), and obviously, keeping the area clean (including the shorts being worn) is important.

The A+D combined with chamois glide seemed to do pretty well for me, but I'm curious if there are other methods that work well. What solutions have you used to help speed up the process of healing saddle sores and/or have you found a solution that allows you to keep riding with these spots when staying off the bike isn't an option?

Ultimately, Sam and I enjoyed a fun, long weekend of riding together, but in the event we're ever blessed with this amount of time to ride together again, or if I'm riding alone and develop problems, I'd love to be prepared if saddle sores make their way into riding plans.  So, please do share if you've had success with a product or method for keeping the pain out of saddle sores.