From: Corey Hillard
Subject: RAID
I am still recovering from the "race" from San Francisco
to Portland.
I decided early on in the process of Joel Metz's idea that I would
do the
race and send the $20 to register. I had tons of time to save up airfare
and train to win. I think there's a phrase which begins "the best
laid
plans...."
Being the owner/dispatcher/salesman/office administrator of Vespid,
the only
all woman bike courier company in Philadelphia leaves very little time
for
much else in life so my training went out of the window. No miles of
hi
speed cutting through traffic. No miles of long slow distance in the
suburbs
of Philly. Sit and dispatch. The company has been growing, requiring
me to
do more stuff in the office and spend less time on the bike. Training
came
in spurts. When the calendar got close to the race, things began to
get very
busy and I did no training at all. I left Philly without getting any
sleep.
Needing to do all of the paper work and payroll for Vespid, I stayed
up all
of Friday night before the start. It didn't help that my buddies the
bike
shop took four hours to build and install a front wheel generator light
AFTER the shop closed. It wasn't their fault it took so long to come
in
after ordering it.
My flight left at 8am the next morning, so immediately after packing
my bike
and clothes I took a cab to the airport.
The flight was uneventful. Up in air down in Chicago, up in air down
in San
Fransisco. New thing I saw with American Airlines- rather than flight
attendants serving food, passengers were told to take a snack bag from
the
cooler before boarding the plane. Makes me want to upgrade to first
class
next time.
I arrived at the Crowbar late Saturday afternoon around the time the
alleycat finished. Proving my courier prowess, I began to drink whiskey
and
beer-I am a hard core bike messenger racer, not a Tour de France contender.
I saw R.E.Load Ellie and Justin, couriers from Philly who moved out
west.
Damn near closed the bar. Still hadn't slept properly in two or three
days.
Sunday was spent sobering up. I opened my bike box and found my rear
wheel,
the bulb for the new light that took for hours to install were broken
and my
new handlebar tape was ripped. The handlebar tape may seem like a small
thing, but I usually wait until the tape is thoroughly unravelled ripped
and
torn from overuse before getting a replacement roll. I didn't get to
ride
any miles with fresh tape! I found a little note at the bottom of the
box:
In an effort to ensure the safety of the passengers and crew, the Travel
Safety A(ssholes) will inspect all luggage items on the plane. Luckily,
my
old mountain biking buddy Frank knew Mike DeLuca the owner of DD Cycles
who
was in the shop the day before Labor Day. Otherwise I would have been
screwed. I stayed at my buddy Frank's place in SF until the RAID started.
It
was cool to hang out in a new city, explore and eat the spiciest Indian
food
ever with an old friend. If you ever come across fried spinach, get
it.
It's soooo good.
Everyone met at the Golden Gate Park on Monday morning Labor Day 2003
for
the start. There were twenty starters. We all rode off into the fog
across
the Golden Gate Bridge. The fog was intense, clouding my visions of
the
trip several times a day for the next few days.
The group mostly split up at the bottom of the bridge, with everyone
taking
their own route to Portland. I was in the lead for a while until I missed
the road for route 1, the coastal way north. I had to stop and get
directions from this woman biker in tight pants who I flirted with as
I
passed her earlier. I almost wanted to stop racing to hang out with
her. I
began riding BACK the way I had just ridden until I saw Joel and a few
other
RAIDers. I figured they knew the area and were going the same way, so
I
followed them. Back and forth on little roads near Route 101, the inland
route. I was in the lead of the inland group for a while because everyone
either stopped for food or mechanical problems. Around 4pm I stopped
at a
hotel to sleep for 8 hours. I was worried because I thought I could
ride
most of the whole 750-800 miles in one shot, but only went 80 miles
before
conking out. I failed to realize carrying food, clothes and tools for
the
trip would slow me down dramatically.
I left the hotel at midnight, leaving the complimentary bottle of wine
and
rode through the Sonoma county vineyards. Luckily, I chatted up the
woman
at the front desk and she gave me a map of the local roads. I rode until
sunrise taking care not to get lost in a strange place under strange
circumstances in the dark all alone wearing spandex....
When the sun finally came up I stopped at a mini-mart/gas station for
food,
water and coffee. When I came out I called Philly to check on Vespid.
As I
was talking I saw Eric "Sharky", the only other from Philly
coming down the
road like a mirage. I had to end my break and jump back on the bike.
We
rode together for several miles. I stopped for water and let him continue
onward.
I stopped at another hotel in the afternoon, somewhere in Humbolt County
on
the Avenue of the Giants (Redwoods). I woke up from sleep hot and
nauseauous. I thought I had eaten some bad food from a little store.
I
still had half of the sandwich in my bag, but ate it anyway. I still
needed
all of the calories I could get. Slept on floor in bathroom where it
was
cooler. Stayed for 8 hours again.
When I left the hotel at 10pm the woman at the front desk told me it
would
be dark when I left. Damn if it wasn't dark as pitch. Good thing my
newly
repaired light worked well. The giant trees blocked out the moon, stars
and
any other sources of light for miles around. Riding at night is great
because the roads are clear of traffic and the temperature is cooler.
The
drawback was the "noises" coming from the bushes on the side
of the road as
I passed. I will never know what they were, nor did I stop to investigate
what they were. At one point I passed a slaughter house and heard the
most
haunting cows mooing. Later that same night, I heard the barking of
the
seals as Route 101 moved toward the ocean. I rode until 8 am. This time
I
was tired and miles from a town, so I had to sit on the side of the
road in
the redwood forest national park for half an hour. I walked for two
miles
because my butt, back and legs hurt.
I rode slowly hoping to find a town with a hotel soon only finding
a diner
after coming over a mountain. I stopped at Sis' Kitchen for the hungry
man
breakfast. "Sis" was an old woman with big glasses and a deep
frown on her
face. She was sweet as pie and wished me well on trip, but I've never
seen
anyone with a frown so deep set. A few customers even put up a cartoon
picture of her as a cat with big glasses- a sour puss.
I dreaded leaving the diner because the waitress told me about the
"hill"
before Crescent City. There would be no motels or places to stay until
I
hit this little town. I felt bad all over. I also overheard from another
customer that there was the possibility of getting caught in a thunderstorm.
(I knew there would be some tough roads on this trip, but I was not
mentally
prepared for all of the mountains I crossed. Each and every one of them
were difficult or painful to ride.)
Shortly after getting on the road, just by chance I turned around to
see TWO
racers right behind me. The Eric from the day before and Ira, whose
house
was the finish line in Portland. The pain went away because I remembered
I
was in a race and beating those two. Joking around I knocked a lens
out of
my glasses. When I got back in the saddle and caught up to Eric, Ira
had
taken off. I decided to up the tempo, try to catch Ira and sit on his
wheel. At the base of the mountain, I caught and passed Lyndsey, another
racer from Canada. I remember telling him we had to catch Ira and the
surprise on his face that we were attacking each other as if we were
in a
major stage race. (Lyndsey, I later learned, broke his collarbone in
the
first 50 miles and still finished 3rd!) Midway up the mountain Mother
Nature
called. Bib shorts suck for longer rest stops! Afterward I rode for
another
40 painful miles thinking I would catch up to those three. I stopped
near
the CA/OR border. Upon reflection, I should have stopped in Crescent
City.
I stayed at The Ship Ashore motel/ RV park right on the beach. If I
had
more time it would have been a great place to explore. There was a
restaurant and bar across the parking lot. I felt a little weird going
into
the restaurant with a sweat shirt and spandex shorts, but I at least
I
looked normal after I sat down. From my table I could see the RV people
and
a few locals in another room line dancing. I guess it's fun. Looks kind
of
silly to me.
At 10pm when it was time for my 8 hour check out, I looked out the
window to
see the wind picking up and decided to stay the night so I get more
rest.
Race be damned. I was literally getting sick of this shit.
I left the hotel at 7am still sore all over, but probably much better
than
if I'd left the night before. Not too long after crossing into Oregon,
I
got to a bridge where there was some road work being done and found
out from
the crew that there were two guys five minutes up the road and a guy
and a
girl 15 minutes ahead of them. It felt great, the extra sleep allowed
me to
be fresher and still in good shape with the other competitors. I rode
a
little harder knowing it would give me a mental boost to catch someone.
Turned out the 2 guys were not the ones from the day before. Ering
and Mike
were sitting in front of a mini-mart looking just as bad as I felt.
I
wanted to stop, but the sooner I got to Portland the better. 10 miles
up
the road they caught up to me so we rode together for a couple of hours.
They were a team from Chicago.
They stopped in near Bandon for lunch. I continued. If I stopped, it
would
only hurt more to get started again. I rode and rode for what seemed
an
eternity to get to Florence, in central coastal OR. Those damn curvy
mountains were becoming an annoyingly painful inconvenience. I told
myself
I would be in a hot bath by 8pm for inspiration to continue.
I arrived in Florence crossing the metal bridge at sunset. Checked
into a
hotel across the street from first hotel in town. The name Lighthouse
was
more appealing than Money Saver. Was sitting in full hot tub at 7:55.
Nice.
Later found out Team Chicago stayed in the Money Saver.
After cleaning up, I put on the spandex and sweatshirt and limped the
two
blocks to the restaurant. There were lots of cute flirty waitresses.
Could
barely walk to my table I was in so much pain. Ate lots of fresh crabmeat,
scallops, shrimp and salmon.
Last day. Left hotel at 7:30. Threw away everything except for tools
and
rain jacket. The really nice stuff I mailed home. If it wasn't absolutely
necessary, I wasn't going to carry it. Socks, blinky light, duct tape,
writing paper, carabiners, dragon doll, ripped spandex shorts, jerseys,
helmet, shoe covers, three inner tubes and some other stuff I can't
remember
didn't make the trip. Vitals only.
Getting harder to get back onto bike. Decided to go inland where the
roads
were flat. NO MORE HILLS PLEASE! I was beginning to doubt my ability
to
make it to Portland. 169 more miles according to the sign at the hotel.
That's a long way to go when I feel great. Pure Hell in my condition
that
morning.
I stopped in Low Mountain Pass, a small blip in the middle of nowhere
for an
hour talking to an Indian/Pakistani man at his gas station/ grocery
and his
burned-out old white guy buddy selling Native American stuff on a table.
I
sat in the shade of the trees on some homemade benches with them resting
while eating and drinking all I could cram down. They told me that the
people in that town were either avoiding the "Government",
hated Bush and
would talk my ear off about both or just free spirits with a few rednecks
thrown in. Mostly nice place, but "ten houses makes a town in those
parts".
His grocery/gas station and the coffee shop next door was "downtown".
They
gave me perfect directions to make it from the mountain valleys to the
flat
farmland roads to Portland.
In Corvallis, home of Oregon State Univ. a biker pulled up to me at
a red
light asking if I was going to Portland. I was surprised he knew where
I was
going. He was too cheery to be one of the other racers. Turns out he
was
the only bike messener in the town. He was all excited because he'd
heard
about it on the messenger website and recognized my name. I felt special
for a brief moment until he said "You're doing great, only 80 more
miles to
go". OUCH! Thanks for the reminder.
The roads in the Willamete Valley are flat as a pancake, but the farmlands
had no shade and were about 25F/3C degrees hotter than the coast. I
stopped
twice to sit on the side of the road when I did find shade; eating,
drinking
and wondering why I was out there in the middle of nowhere monumentally
suffering voluntarily.
Made it to outskirts of Portland at sunset thinking about stopping
at
another hotel, but realized I was to close to quit. I stopped at a mini
mart, went inside, got a MountainDewCaffineSodaPopDrink. I felt like
stir
fried shit, but needed a little boost to get me to town. Did I forget
to
mention that I was wearing the same shorts from two days before? The
jersey
and socks were a day ripe when I left that morning as well. Anyway,
by this
point in the ride I no longer cared what other people thought. I was
in too
much pain, yet so focused on getting to Portland. I was in another world
until I saw the look on the woman's face when I came in all kinds of
funky
and paid for my drink with exact change. I had a moment of realizing
that
oh yeah, I stink, I look weird as hell with the tired crazed look in
my eyes
and the loud spandex.
Portland, I found is surrounded by lots of little hills. Yes, they
may be
considered beautiful by some, but I wanted the ride to be over. At the
24
miles to go sign hill. At the 23 miles to go sign another hill. Twenty
fucking two miles to miles to go and yet another hill. My manners were
fading. I was becoming increasingly angry and impatient about my eventual
arrival to the finish.
The hills came and went. Then a thought occured to me while on the
road
into town- what if the finish is on a hill? Sure enough Ira's house
(guy
from day 3) was on top of a hill. Arrived at 10 pm happy to have finished
the ride from hell. Drank a beer (Gatorade? Hell no brew please!), pinched
some chewing tobacco and ate lots of food. I rambled on with some of
the
other finishers and then slept on the floor of our host's house/ finish
line. I was the 8th finisher out of 13. Everyone finished on Friday
feeling just as bad if not worse than me.
I spent the next day in a dream like state, hanging out with the other
zombies. We ate breakfast at Ira's and then a diner nearby. Our
metabolisms were roaring and food was all we could think about. We went
to
a biker party in the park, getting congratulated by the rest of the
gang for
doing something so hard as to be crazy. Jon, a racer from Ireland, Eric
and
I played bike polo. I got to score a dramatic diving goal in my first
game
of bike polo ever. Team RAIDers lost both games. Good times. Rough riding.
I wished I had arrranged for my flight to leave later so I could enjoy
the
city and party, but I didn't expect to take 5 days to get to Portland.
They
have a nice transit system there. Probably one of the best I've seen
in the
country. Took a trolley/train to the airport that night. Ate some sushi
while waiting for my midnight flight. My body almost broke down while
going
to the connecting flight in Dallas. Walking was extremely painful and
the
gate was on the other side of the airport. I've always been strong and
vigorous, but just then I was looking for the wheelchairs. I arrived
in
Philly at 11 am Sunday morning. The overnight flight was pretty cool
to do.
There are lots of pictures in my head from this trip. The camera didn't
come
out too often and many of the pictures were fuzzy or underexposed. I
will
never forget how terrible I felt during the rough parts, yet a sense
of
comraderie and accomplishment at the end. Poloroids of a beach or a
sky or
any place along the way could never do justice to the emotions or sensations
I would feel seeing those places. If I ever went back, I would take
a month
to do the trip. I would have a chance to savor all of the spectacular
sights, people and places along the way.
