Dorothy ... Awesome ride recon report but
1. You never ever ever ever go into VC territory without aerial support or a water buffalo
2. Let's get real. Your riders didn't quit because of the hills. Your riders quit because a ride isn't a ride without a token Vietnamese
3. To all those who are going to do this ride ... for the love of god, do not try to be funny by wearing antlers on your head.
4. It will be more festive on Sunday. Lots of food support and lots of other riders will make it fun
5. Yes, those hills will sterilize you but you will get a free T-shirt so it all evens out at the end
Metric is the plan for Sunday. Andrea
I'm in for the metric, though these ride reports are scaring me. Just the hills, not the land or the people. Where I come from, men pick up women by asking whether or not the lady would like some their Skoal. Classy.
What time are the metrics clipping in and heading out? 7:00 am?
In for the metric (and possibly adding in another section to get in a few more miles...the cue sheets, which I got in the mail this weekend, are almost like choose your own adventure.)
Also in for starting at 7am.
It's true that triathletes are basically shoreline creatures, and heading up into the distant hills may lead to a second Dien Bien Phu, where Ho Chi Minh's minions wiped out an army of overextended French cyclists who'd take a wrong turn on the Alpe de Huez.
So tuck some Skoal into your back pocket and take a deep whiff of napalm in the morning. Stay close to your rest stop supply depots and, if things seem grim, remember Gen. Westmoreland's famous advice: "There's always light at the end of the tunnel."
Where is everyone meeting tomorrow morning? I plan to arrive at 6:30 am and clip in at 7:00 for the metric.
This is straight from the pen of Vietnamese Royalty:
For those of you who are coming to the Reston Century, we will clip at 7:00 AM .. perhaps even take some pics before we leave. If you registered for this ride late and did not receive
We will meet in the square where folks are picking up their packets. You will know where that is when you get there. There will be tons of bikers around.
Just look for us in the square :)
Reston Century pictures, updated regularly:
Had a great time doing the metric, even though on the second leg I dropped my chain, lost my momentum and my mojo. Next year I'll do the full century.
Today my legs feel suprisingly good - even did some squats and leg presses at the gym this morning. Either I didn't push the metric ride hard enough, or I I rode it correctly to ensure I still have legs for a run!
I had a fantastic time at this event yesterday! It was great riding with all of you, thanks for the encouragement, support, and company. :)
"Parody Vietnamese Royalty Event Report"
The day began at Reston Tuan Center in exotic Virginia with long lines at the military draft induction center, where we registered for selective service, and picked up maps of the enemy country. The cartography was impossibly complex, with a hundred of turns per cue sheet, almost guaranteeing we’d get lost and cut off in enemy country.
About 20 fighters from Delta Charlie Theta (DCT) company gathered for a squad photo, their stomachs churning from the physical ordeal ahead, or perhaps from swallowing the Gatorade ice cones. At the center was Highness Tuan, a slight but riveting figure in spandex and battle helmet. “I love the smell of napalm in the morning,” the King pronounced, “not to mention the touch of Body Glide.”
Rations more wretched-tasting than K rations were issued: goo and stale Power bars. We saw why the local vittles were named Pho, pronounced Foe. We cleaned and lubed our weapons one final time, ensuring they were in gear. Some muttered prayers (there are no atheists at pre-race time), some texted final messages to loved ones in distant foreign places like Adams Morgan.
Then we rode, club colors flying, up the densely forested Ho Chi Minh Trail, which the natives call W&OD. We came under immediate attack by hordes of hit-and-run Viet Cong from the popular front of the Viet Velo Club. Soon thousands of Viet Velo lined the route, clogging the trail, cutting us off, nearly causing collisions, and eating up precious supplies from the supply depots and food stops. The Viet Velos looked suspiciously like our King, whom some began to suspect of dual loyalties. One cyclist thought of “fragging” our leader by tossing a water bottle at the back of this helmet, then thought better.
We grunts struggled ever uphill, as in the weekly incursions on the Boulevard named MacArthur, after another American general who came to grief in an East Asian war. Our morale sunk, as we slowly escalated, escalated, ever escalating, up the hills and into the jungles of deep-country Virginia. Some of the peaceniks amongst us were spooked by the Republican agit-prop mocking them from front lawns and telephone poles. While some of the more war-like amongst us thought, ‘This is great—you’d never see this in DC!’ Some rode in pace lines, while others were “’draft’ dodgers,” riding by themselves as in a real triathlon.
Resistance was fierce from local SUV drivers eager to retain command and control of their local roads and supply routes. Cannon-like horn blasts and the deafening screech of car brakes were common. Road kill M.A.S.H.ed by the tank-like treads of Humvees lined the roads, recalling Lyndon Johnson's injunction to "bring home the coonskins and nail them to the wall." But the dead critters tasted only slightly better than flat cola at an Ironman waterstop, so we left them where they lay.
The day grew hotter than a protesting Buddhist monk. At one fiery crossroads sat a bald, sweaty, heavyset cyclist, looking remarkably like Marlon Brando, muttering, “The horror…The horror." The Apocalypse was now. This nightmare vision sent some of us, burnt by the tropical-like sun and incessant Viet Velo forays, retreating toward base, opting for a shorter metric century.
Yet intrepid King Tuan called in air support--and inflated his tires. He called in reinforcements--and a number of riders began the event as late as 10 am, and headed in his direction. To cool off, he jumped into Lake Reston, swimming vertically, head high up on the lookout for Viet Velo forbidding stroking there except on Memorial Day weekend.
Vietnamese Royalty persevered, riding a full one hundred clicks, growing a fourth testicle in the process. Thus endowed, the Monarch vowed to undertake an unusual mating ritual at Seagull Century this fall.
Meantime the remnants of his forces continued to de-escalate, and fell back in disorder down the Ho Ho Ho Chi Minh Trail, as they call it at Christmas. Littering the roads with unneeded supplies like the indecipherable cue sheets and free coupons for bakeries that none of us could find. Finally, there was Light at the End of the Tunnel. The survivors limped back into base camp Reston Tuan Center--and applied for draft deferments.
Then we luxuriated in faraway treats from home like free ice cream. A few got massages more pleasurable than a long weekend pass to Saigon. And we all relished our first real meal in hours—delicious Vietnamese noodles with chicken. Or was it canine cuisine?...
Sir ... how dare you make fun of royalty like that ? If we were back in 'nam ... you all would have been escorted to the Hotel Cambodia by now. DO NOT MAKE FUN OF THE FOURTH TESTICLE! Do not go there!
As if Tuan's postings weren't funny enough...thanks guys, for the laugh at the end of a long first day back from vacation. It is much appreciated :)