D2R2 – The
Deerfield Dirt Road Randonee (August 24, 2013)
Back in the
mid-1990s, a concept formed in the brain of a guy named Sandy Whittlesey. Sandy had ridden many of the dirt roads in a
region north of Deerfield, Massachusetts and realized that it might be possible
to design a century-length circuit using primarily dirt roads. He began his research, much of it undoubtedly
on two wheels, and was able to put together a 112-mile loop in northern Mass.
and southern Vermont that made use of over 70 miles dirt roads of varying
condition and difficulty. Most of these
roads dated back to the first settlement of the area in the 1700s, and in some
cases they were discontinued remnants now closed to vehicles. Each year Sandy would invite some of his
hard-core friends, and they’d ride the circuit.
Interest grew, and before long the riders were encouraging Sandy to open
this ride to a bigger audience. The
resulting event, which has been dubbed the D2R2, is now a cultish mega-cycling
event, drawing about a thousand riders from throughout the northeast and beyond
and serving as a major fundraiser for the Franklin Land Trust. To increase the potential pool of riders that
might be interested in such a thing, the organizers have introduced a variety
of distance options – 40 miles, 100K, 115K, 150K, and the original classic –
the 180K (112 miles).
I had heard
about this ride years ago, and the inquisitive part of my brain thought it
might be “fun” to do. If I’d used the
more analytic part of my brain, “fun” might not be the word that would have
occurred to me. I had run into Sandy
Whittlesey once before, at the Boston-Montreal-Boston 1200K randonee in 2004. Dave Burdette and I did the BMB that year,
which started at 4:00 AM in Boston and did not finish until you had traversed
750-miles of roads between Boston and Montreal and back again, with a 90-hour
time limit. Sandy rode to the front of
that event and for 70 miles across the north half of Massachusetts he pulled
about 40 of us at a brisk clip that we could not possibly maintain for the
entire event. He spent only a few
minutes at that first stop, pedaled away solo, and then proceeded to cover the
last 680 miles to complete the 750-mile route in 46 hours, a new course record. To save time, he never took a break of more
than a few minutes. He did not sleep for
two days. With this type of pedigree, I
realized that his idea of “fun” might be outside of the norm for mortal
cyclists.
Start time
for the long version of the 2013 D2R2 was 6:00 AM. I arose at 3:15 AM for the drive, and picked
up TCC member Chris Stoltze along the way.
Chris and I arrived at Deerfield at 5:30 AM in the dark, and from half a
mile away knew we were at the right spot due to an eerie glow in the morning
fog coming from an enormous party tent.
Beneath this tent were dozens of tables and an absolutely awesome hot
breakfast spread. We loaded up the
plates, and found TCC member David Jacoboski already involved in his meal. David was joined by his Expo teammate Dennis
Demaris, and both of them thought it would be fun to ride as a foursome. I immediately recognized a flaw with this
plan. The D2R2 has an advertised
vertical climb of 16,000 feet (four Mt. Washingtons), much of it on loose
dirt. The event is a hill-climber’s
dream – Dave was in top form coming off his training for the Mt. Washington
Road race (which was the week before). I
don’t know what kind of shape Dennis was in, but he was formerly a 206-pound
body builder who then slimmed down to 126 pounds so that he could race
bikes. I did the math, and realized that
the 50-pounds I had on Dennis over the 16,000 vertical feet did not suggest a
favorable outcome.
The four of
us rolled out of the parking lot just as it started to get light at about
6:10. Within the first quarter mile on
the road, I discovered two things and soon reached two conclusions regarding
these things:
Discovery
#1: I was not able to shift into my big
chain ring, but it didn’t matter
Discovery
#2: Everyone around me had lower gears than
I did, and it DID matter, a lot
During the
first few miles along the paved roads of the flat-bottomed Connecticut River Valley
we had time to look at the various forms of two-wheeled weaponry that the
participants had brought to the event. Several people had what seemed to be standard
road bikes outfitted with 25 or 28 mm tires, slightly wider than the standard
23 mm used by most road riders. On the
other extreme, I saw a guy setting out on a 35 pound dual suspension mountain
bike with 2.2 inch knobby tires and platform (non-clip in) pedals. The ride of choice seemed to be cyclocross
bikes, many of them modified with lower gearing. My cross-bike had come right from the factory
– designed for racing, which I was definitely NOT doing. Front chain-ring 36 teeth, biggest cog in the
back 26 teeth. Not very low gears.
It did not
take long for the ride to establish its character. At the 9 mile mark we turned onto Pine Hill
Road. The cue sheet read “dirt, ignore
Road Closed Sign; watch for pigs in the road”.
You can be pretty sure you have left the State highway system when you
need to start watching for pigs blocking your path. In many cases the route was on roads that
were genuine roads in their heyday, but were now closed to traffic and
decidedly unmaintained. Surfaces on the
dirt roads ranged from smooth and packed, to loose and rocky. In at least one two-mile section, the road
was not a road at all, but more of a single-track mountain bike trail through
the woods.
As we entered
the dirt section of the ride, all of the roads seemed to have “hill” in their
name for some reason. Up, down, up, down
– that’s how most of the ride went. The
Mt. Washington star (Dave) and the 126-pound phenom (Dennis) quickly left the
two aging pudgy guys (Chris and me) and we became two two-somes on the
ride. The cue sheet continued to provide
useful hints of what was to come. Things
like “Right turn at phone pole onto little jeep track – this is actually East
Road”. These notifications were quite
necessary, because being a Randonee, part of the “fun” is that the course is
not marked in any way. Using the cue
sheet and finding the route are required skills just as much as the ability to
turn the pedals over. As we headed up
the hills, I was discovering very quickly that the 35 rpm rate I was able to
maintain on the steep dirt was going to make it a long day.
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By the time
we hit the first rest stop at 36 miles, we had already climbed 6000 vertical
feet, and we had invested well over three hours in the effort. The worst was yet to come. At 46 miles, the cue sheet had a nice little
note that said “Catch your breath” followed by another note that said, “Fork
Left onto Archambo Rd. – 27% grade. I
had to read that twice – TWENTY-SEVEN Percent Grade. I did not know they made 27% grades, and this
one was dirt. It was steep enough so
that cars had been spinning their wheels trying to get traction, loosening the
surface and making it all but impossible to climb. We courageously dove into the grade, stood up
as our cadence dropped to the 30 rpm range, and then promptly spun our tires
and fell over. The rest of the hill was
a pleasant walk, and I gave no thought to getting back on the bike. As I reached the top, I could hear the
cussing of other riders at the base of the hill as they met similar fates.
I assumed
that this would be the worst of the hills on the ride – but I assumed
wrong. At 45 miles, the cue sheet
indicated “Quick Left onto Hillman Rd (some say the hardest climb on the
course)”. We looked ahead and saw what looked to be
little more than a jeep trail with a steady grade of 15% or more. We shifted to our lowest gears and ground
away, picking our way through sections of loose gravel spurred on by the knowledge
that once you fell off your bike there would be little chance of a successful
re-start on these steep slopes. For
close to a mile, this continued. We
finally emerged at the top and were able to compose ourselves for the 65 miles
still to go.
While we will
remember the uphills for their difficulty, we’ll remember the downhills for the
terror factor. Many of the dirt roads
had packed surfaces, and it was not unusual for us to be hitting speeds over 35
mph; however, the good surfaces were unpredictably punctuated by sections where
we ran into loose washboard surfaces not well-suited to cyclocross tires. We
developed a rhythm where we would let the speeds creep up on the smooth
sections and then hit the brakes hard as we hit the deteriorated sections. If we had waited too long and braked hard in
the loose stuff, a predictably bad result would have ensued. On one gnarly descent with a sharp corner on
loose gravel, and ambulance crew patiently waited for the next victim. As I passed them at a cautionary pace, I
could have sworn I saw disappointment in their faces.
At 64 miles
we reached the lunch spot, which offered a very welcome respite after nearly
six hours of hard riding. The lunch rivaled the breakfast spread for its quantity and quality and riders were
spread out in a beautiful setting along a river, complete with a Vermont
covered bridge. Through some careful
route planning, the organizers had managed to bring all the routes together at
this location and it felt like a big party.
The section
after the lunch break featured another 5000-feet of climbing in 32 miles, and
the cue sheet stated “This section has four hard climbs and then a monster, but
there are flat stretches in between.” We
hit the first hard climb right out of the lunch spot, and then another, and
then another. By the time we’d reached
the 90-mile mark we were on blissful flat roads along a river, and I was
feeling pretty good, convinced that we
had already conquered all four climbs plus the monster. I apparently was not reading the cue sheet
too carefully, because at 95 miles our route turned left and up a wall of
pavement that must have exceeded 20%. After
the initial crazy steep section the grades softened into the 10 to 15% range and
we continued to climb for nearly two additional miles. The last rest stop, perched on the top of
this hill, offered watermelon, and much was consumed.
From the last
rest stop the route hit the pavement and headed down, down, down to the
Connecticut River Valley. The organizers
had a few more dirt road tricks up their sleeves, but Chris, I, and the 20 or
so riders that were in our vicinity all missed a turn. This was a blessing in disguise, and we were
dumped into the flat river valley and were able to find our way back to the
finish on flat paved roads. I looked at the odometer and it we’d covered
the 112 miles at a blazing 12.3 mph average, an accomplishment that I was
darned proud of. The feast at the finish
line under the big tent was over-the-top, with pulled port, burritos,
cornbread, and piles of chocolate chip cookie and brownies. These guys know how to throw a bike ride.
In
anticipation of next year’s event, I have already jettisoned the factory
gearing that my bike came with and replaced the back sprocket with a low-gear
selection we often call the dinner plate (34 teeth in the biggest cog). Call it what you like, I’m going to be
getting up those hills with less misery next year.
Although not
every second of the event would meet every rider’s definition of “fun”, it
certainly feels like an accomplishment when you finish, and I have every
expectation that this event will become a staple in my annual event calendar.
