DALMAC 2010
Tiffani and my one word DALMAC summary: awesome! The weather was occasionally brutal, poor enough for some of the rest of the time, and delightful on the final day. But the sheer fact of riding 325 miles over 4 days with (dwindling) like-minded people was really inspiring. Then, a day off for Labor Day, and WHAM! Back to school and my new job.
The timeline of our DALMAC:
Day 1
Thursday's route took us from the MSU Pavilion to Vestaburg, which we managed by 1 or so P.M. But, of course there was a complication: in all of the lists and preparations, I had decided to chill our four water bottles in the refrigerator, and you can sense where this narrative is going: we discovered they were left at home when we were en route with Dad and the kids to our departure spot. And Dad, of course, shoved the slight panic aside by volunteering to drop us off, then retrieve our bottles, and meet us somewhere north later that morning.
We hooked up with an ex-student and -athlete of mine, David Blandford, in the departure parking lot in the morning and, while losing him immediately, before our first leg even started, we delightfully enjoyed his banter and company on and off the bike for the remainder of the extended weekend. One piece of advice we received from a classmate at my 25th high school reunion the month prior was to not be the first folks to arrive at each day's destination, as that would get you volunteered to empty all the support trucks; David was sucked in on the offloading on the Vestaburg leg.
In the evening, for want of something to do and a Diet Coke for David, we wandered all around Vestaburg, and out of necessity found our way a mile or so north of town to the only store that sold beer. A J's Market provided us with a tall can of Molson, some generic redhots with born on dating back to 1989, and they even had construction supplies and machetes: quite the renaissance destination. Upon our return to town, we hung out in the Vestaburg High School cafeteria, charging our electronic devices and chatting about the day, then retired. Tent camping and thunderstorms during the night, not to mention raucous snoring from the next tent over, thus there wasn't much rest.
Day 2
Friday was the first 90 mile day, and I started to suffer some mechanicals almost immediately in the cool, moist morning: after only about 5 miles, I heard the telltale 'ping' of a surrendering spoke. Tiffani and I switched bikes and completed the ride in windy and rainy conditions, stealing a hotel for the night and meeting up with Mom and Dad, Sophia and Seamus for the first time. David joined us, and faced with a lengthy wait for a table at a local pub, we retreated to the hotel room to devour takeout pizza and beer and wine. A very good night's sleep, but we could hear, and saw the reports of ominous and worsening weather all night.
Day 3
Much wind and rain on Saturday morning and temperatures in the 40s, the buzz around breakfast in the Lake City High School cafeteria showed lots of people intending to drop before the event even starts. $20 lighter, I retrieve my bike from the repair guy, we draft a father and youngish son on a tandem north out of Lake City, their pace I would define as 'really humping.' Stiff winds out of the north north west and right in our face, the first rest stop is the East Boardman Church 25 miles in, we purchase a brownie and hot chocolates, and many people were grabbing their phones and looking for rides. It was difficult to throw our legs over the bikes again, but a half hour later we stopped in Kalkaska and re-kitted ourselves at a hunting outfitter: David got himself some wool long underwear to work as tights, and we all got some crazy neoprene gloves that may have been engineered for either ice fishing, or scuba expeditions under the polar ice cap: perfect. A 60 or 90 minute pull to Jack and Jenny's cabin on Torch Lake, where we enjoyed chicken noodle to re-energize, the Spartans on the television, and clothes in the dryer. For naught, it turns out we were soaked again within seconds of re-entering the ride. Two more hours of what I would define as swinging moods -- brief euphoria due to breaks in the weather, balanced by a preponderance of 'is it over yet?' -- to a grocery store break in East Jordan, the town made famous by manhole covers. We found ourselves using the restroom and chugging chocolate milk (the new energy drink) inside the entranceway, drawing much attention and conversation with the locals, and shivering uncontrollably. Another hour to our destination, but we still had to conquer the infamous 'Wall.' It was in this stretch that we were also lucky enough to be informed of our lack of right to the road by some local teens, but I'm sure I disabused them of their misbegotten perspective. Concluding the downhill roll into Boyne City, I leaned my bike against a telephone pole to inquire of hotels with a gardener I found outside puttering in the rain, and painfully listened again to a pinging spoke as I strode over to chat. Tiffani pedaled ahead into the city to see about the hotel for the night, but lack of vacancies forced us to get a ride out of town for one instead. A steaming hot shower and change of clothes, the kids enjoying Sponge Bob or something on the motel cable, we caught up with Mom, Dad, Uncle Glen, and Aunt Cyn for an unremarkable dinner at some unnamed place in Boyne Falls with indifferent service.
Day 4
Sunday, Dad graciously picked us up from the motel at 6 to take us to the start back at Boyne City High School. The school was beautiful and shiny new, and the folks volunteering rivaled Vestaburg's crew for politeness and accommodation; David was even shown to a secret room in the auditorium in which to sleep, in lieu of tent camping, and was made privy to an industrial dryer for his rain-soaked kit. Queued for breakfast, Tiffani and I chatted up a loquacious and thoughtful guy participating from Washington D.C., a UMich grad and Justice Department widower who had also participated in this year's RAGBRAI. In a roundabout way, one could tell he thoughtfully loathed reactionary news organizations. The mood in the cafeteria during breakfast for this final day seemed to be more upbeat, Sunday's weather was cool but clear. Noteworthy that you could have as much fried chicken as you wished for breakfast, demonstrating how many DALMACers chose not to participate or complete the third leg, and leaving much of the previous night's dinner as leftovers. After again retrieving my repaired bike, getting some final day departure pictures, and David and I both fixing some ladies' tires, we were off. Seemingly straight uphill. For about 15 straight minutes. Quite the wakeup and warmup. Pulled over on a hill during our ascent out of town I saw an entire family on a bike, it was a 5-seater! 15 more minutes later we passed by our motel, dropped into Walloon Lake for a quick cup of (mediocre) coffee and a restroom visit, then spread out for the trip to Petoskey. Another restroom stop at the McDonald's, more success in our eternal quest for good coffee, and a new front tube on Tiffani's LeMond, we spy my physician DALMACing too. Riding along the Little Traverse Bay and through the exclusive Wequetonsing community, the houses were stunning. Actually, the scenery was glorious the entire leg, if not Alp-like with the hills. One's outlook is made better by both the weather, though, but also the relative length of the day. M-119 is a perfect bicycle route, the turns and narrowness helps maintain low car traffic speeds and reminds me of the roads in the Scottish Highlands. The Turner clan cheers us on from the truck as they pass us in the Tunnel of Trees, a great surprise moment for us parents, we then stop for a quick meetup and snack in Cross Village, and purchase chai and yet more coffee at an impatient and impossibly haughty place. Much beneficial and enjoyed drafting in the final push to the Mackinaw City finish, a shower at the high school and reunion with a retired Grand Ledge High School Library secretary, and the truck is pointed south for the trip home. Some observations:
The DALMAC riders and volunteers were, almost without exception, remarkably helpful, conversational, and nice, as were the host communities and schools.
Therefore, I sent thank you notes to each hosting school's superintendent, explaining what a nicety it was to be provided space and resources, and heaping praise on their community's volunteers.
Spotted a guy in the first 5 miles of Day 1 without a helmet, a big no-no on these organized rides. Later in the day, he was curiously sporting a helmet, so I asked about the development. He said he was scolded by riders (see Rules Nazi reference below) and shamed into purchasing one at the DeWitt Meijer.
We nicknamed many of the folks we encountered along the way. My notes indicate:
Chi-Chi (see photos)
Significantly, the critical importance of a supportive family. The DALMAC for Tiffani and me would not exist if not for Mom and Dad. They volunteered to watch the kids so we could train, they got us to our departure and back home at the conclusion, they bought more dinners than we did, and they watched our kids while we participated in the event.
And Tiffani, a terrific riding partner, super strong and fit, always ready to inspire with a word, and she planned exceedingly well (note the photos where we're wearing ponchos).
A 60 picture show recounting our trip can be found on my website. You can get a different photo story and thin, yet real-time narrative of the DALMAC from TwitPic, which is fed by my personal Twitter. You will note our outward emotions never really reflect our internal thoughts: we're always smiling. Or do they?
The timeline of our DALMAC:
Day 1
Thursday's route took us from the MSU Pavilion to Vestaburg, which we managed by 1 or so P.M. But, of course there was a complication: in all of the lists and preparations, I had decided to chill our four water bottles in the refrigerator, and you can sense where this narrative is going: we discovered they were left at home when we were en route with Dad and the kids to our departure spot. And Dad, of course, shoved the slight panic aside by volunteering to drop us off, then retrieve our bottles, and meet us somewhere north later that morning.
We hooked up with an ex-student and -athlete of mine, David Blandford, in the departure parking lot in the morning and, while losing him immediately, before our first leg even started, we delightfully enjoyed his banter and company on and off the bike for the remainder of the extended weekend. One piece of advice we received from a classmate at my 25th high school reunion the month prior was to not be the first folks to arrive at each day's destination, as that would get you volunteered to empty all the support trucks; David was sucked in on the offloading on the Vestaburg leg.
In the evening, for want of something to do and a Diet Coke for David, we wandered all around Vestaburg, and out of necessity found our way a mile or so north of town to the only store that sold beer. A J's Market provided us with a tall can of Molson, some generic redhots with born on dating back to 1989, and they even had construction supplies and machetes: quite the renaissance destination. Upon our return to town, we hung out in the Vestaburg High School cafeteria, charging our electronic devices and chatting about the day, then retired. Tent camping and thunderstorms during the night, not to mention raucous snoring from the next tent over, thus there wasn't much rest.
Day 2
Friday was the first 90 mile day, and I started to suffer some mechanicals almost immediately in the cool, moist morning: after only about 5 miles, I heard the telltale 'ping' of a surrendering spoke. Tiffani and I switched bikes and completed the ride in windy and rainy conditions, stealing a hotel for the night and meeting up with Mom and Dad, Sophia and Seamus for the first time. David joined us, and faced with a lengthy wait for a table at a local pub, we retreated to the hotel room to devour takeout pizza and beer and wine. A very good night's sleep, but we could hear, and saw the reports of ominous and worsening weather all night.
Day 3
Much wind and rain on Saturday morning and temperatures in the 40s, the buzz around breakfast in the Lake City High School cafeteria showed lots of people intending to drop before the event even starts. $20 lighter, I retrieve my bike from the repair guy, we draft a father and youngish son on a tandem north out of Lake City, their pace I would define as 'really humping.' Stiff winds out of the north north west and right in our face, the first rest stop is the East Boardman Church 25 miles in, we purchase a brownie and hot chocolates, and many people were grabbing their phones and looking for rides. It was difficult to throw our legs over the bikes again, but a half hour later we stopped in Kalkaska and re-kitted ourselves at a hunting outfitter: David got himself some wool long underwear to work as tights, and we all got some crazy neoprene gloves that may have been engineered for either ice fishing, or scuba expeditions under the polar ice cap: perfect. A 60 or 90 minute pull to Jack and Jenny's cabin on Torch Lake, where we enjoyed chicken noodle to re-energize, the Spartans on the television, and clothes in the dryer. For naught, it turns out we were soaked again within seconds of re-entering the ride. Two more hours of what I would define as swinging moods -- brief euphoria due to breaks in the weather, balanced by a preponderance of 'is it over yet?' -- to a grocery store break in East Jordan, the town made famous by manhole covers. We found ourselves using the restroom and chugging chocolate milk (the new energy drink) inside the entranceway, drawing much attention and conversation with the locals, and shivering uncontrollably. Another hour to our destination, but we still had to conquer the infamous 'Wall.' It was in this stretch that we were also lucky enough to be informed of our lack of right to the road by some local teens, but I'm sure I disabused them of their misbegotten perspective. Concluding the downhill roll into Boyne City, I leaned my bike against a telephone pole to inquire of hotels with a gardener I found outside puttering in the rain, and painfully listened again to a pinging spoke as I strode over to chat. Tiffani pedaled ahead into the city to see about the hotel for the night, but lack of vacancies forced us to get a ride out of town for one instead. A steaming hot shower and change of clothes, the kids enjoying Sponge Bob or something on the motel cable, we caught up with Mom, Dad, Uncle Glen, and Aunt Cyn for an unremarkable dinner at some unnamed place in Boyne Falls with indifferent service.
Day 4
Sunday, Dad graciously picked us up from the motel at 6 to take us to the start back at Boyne City High School. The school was beautiful and shiny new, and the folks volunteering rivaled Vestaburg's crew for politeness and accommodation; David was even shown to a secret room in the auditorium in which to sleep, in lieu of tent camping, and was made privy to an industrial dryer for his rain-soaked kit. Queued for breakfast, Tiffani and I chatted up a loquacious and thoughtful guy participating from Washington D.C., a UMich grad and Justice Department widower who had also participated in this year's RAGBRAI. In a roundabout way, one could tell he thoughtfully loathed reactionary news organizations. The mood in the cafeteria during breakfast for this final day seemed to be more upbeat, Sunday's weather was cool but clear. Noteworthy that you could have as much fried chicken as you wished for breakfast, demonstrating how many DALMACers chose not to participate or complete the third leg, and leaving much of the previous night's dinner as leftovers. After again retrieving my repaired bike, getting some final day departure pictures, and David and I both fixing some ladies' tires, we were off. Seemingly straight uphill. For about 15 straight minutes. Quite the wakeup and warmup. Pulled over on a hill during our ascent out of town I saw an entire family on a bike, it was a 5-seater! 15 more minutes later we passed by our motel, dropped into Walloon Lake for a quick cup of (mediocre) coffee and a restroom visit, then spread out for the trip to Petoskey. Another restroom stop at the McDonald's, more success in our eternal quest for good coffee, and a new front tube on Tiffani's LeMond, we spy my physician DALMACing too. Riding along the Little Traverse Bay and through the exclusive Wequetonsing community, the houses were stunning. Actually, the scenery was glorious the entire leg, if not Alp-like with the hills. One's outlook is made better by both the weather, though, but also the relative length of the day. M-119 is a perfect bicycle route, the turns and narrowness helps maintain low car traffic speeds and reminds me of the roads in the Scottish Highlands. The Turner clan cheers us on from the truck as they pass us in the Tunnel of Trees, a great surprise moment for us parents, we then stop for a quick meetup and snack in Cross Village, and purchase chai and yet more coffee at an impatient and impossibly haughty place. Much beneficial and enjoyed drafting in the final push to the Mackinaw City finish, a shower at the high school and reunion with a retired Grand Ledge High School Library secretary, and the truck is pointed south for the trip home. Some observations:
Mustache
IronMan: A verbose doofus participant in the previous week's Louisville Ironman who just loved sharing whatever occurred to him with everyone in his vicinity, and confounding the lesser-fit and exhausted by conducting evening yoga in the school hallways.
David's shadow and little buddy we called Bibs.
Lurker
(She who forgot the Hippocratic Oath) Dr Braids.
Cashews/Archives: Needed her tires fixed on the morning of Day 4, and due to her new relocation to mid-Michigan, a date as well.
Miss Snots (shall go nameless to protect her identity).
Coaster (Me)
Butt Chafe (David)
Rules Nazi: Encountered at the M-115 intersection, scolding some other riders for not coming to a complete stop before proceeding across this busy intersection, she also chastised folks to not purchase anything from a store because it failed to make a restroom public for DALMACers.
Air Guitar: Passed this kid on the morning of Day 1 riding co-pilot with his father on the back of a tandem, listening to his iPod and strumming along.
Dry Cleaning: Inexplicably removed David's clothes from the dryer and stupidly argued with him over its use on Day 3 in the bowels of Boyne City High School, and even carried it on the next morning during breakfast. He's been categorized in the DALMAC unkind minority.
Margarita: A woman whose margarita-emblazoned socks attracted our attention and brightened our Day 3.
Pink Floyd: Day 4 matching jerseys rocked by father and son cyclists on Day 4.
Bad husband: Tiffani discovered this woman, who was riding her first DALMAC. It turns out she registered for the DALMAC after her husband had done the previous 25, and he purposely chose a different route than her. Hmmm...
A 60 picture show recounting our trip can be found on my website. You can get a different photo story and thin, yet real-time narrative of the DALMAC from TwitPic, which is fed by my personal Twitter. You will note our outward emotions never really reflect our internal thoughts: we're always smiling. Or do they?
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