Tennessee 600K Ride Report - Caroline Atkins

Tennessee 600K Brevet Ride Report
June 2-3, 2007
By Caroline Atkins

First, here’s the official description, lifted straight from the ride’s website:

The Middle Tennessee 600K Brevet promises to be an epic event. Not only does it tackle the Tail of the Dragon at Deals Gap, with 318 curves in 11 miles, it also takes on the nearby Cherohala Skyway which winds up and over 5,400 foot mountains for 15 miles in North Carolina and descends another 21 miles into the deeply forested backcountry of Tennessee. The road crosses through the Cherokee and Nantahala National Forests thus the name "Chero...hala". Come out and ride on these amazing roads with us.

Ride Description: The Middle Tennessee 600K Brevet starts out in McMinnville, Tennessee and travels east for 200K to Tellico Plains, Tennessee. Fifteen miles into the Brevet, we will encounter our first significant climb up Baker Mountain to the top of the Cumberland Plateau. Along the way, we will pass thru the scenic Fall Creek Falls State Park stopping just outside the park for our first control at mile 38. Several miles farther out, we will descend down into the Sequatchie River Valley and the town of Pikeville. Leaving Pikeville, we will encounter our second significant climb up Dayton Mountain with another nice descent down to the town of Dayton, famous for the 1925 religion-vs-evolution "Scopes Monkey Trial". After Dayton, we will cross the Tennessee River and stop at the third control in Riceville at mile 97. Beyond Riceville, we will meander thru the countryside passing thru Etowah and finally making it to the fourth control in Tellico Plains at mile 128.

Just outside of Tellico Plains, we will start a 200K loop that takes us to the start of the “Tail of the Dragon”. Once on the Dragon, we will pass thru Deals Gap, altitude 1,962 feet, and enter into North Carolina briefly. Our sixth control takes us to Robbinsville, North Carolina at mile 201 for a brief rest before we tackle the Cherohala Skyway. Some riders may opt to stop here for their "sleep break", while others will continue on to get in some more miles before they sleep. Once on the Skyway, riders will reach elevations of approximately 5,400 feet before they start the decent back down to Tellico Plains, our seventh control at mile 254. Most riders will get some sleep here as overnight accommodations (see details below) will be provided, while some of the remaining riders may push on Etowah, at mile 269, for their "sleep break". Riders are encouraged to bring a Camelbak, or similar devise, on this section of the route as there will be long distances between resupply points. Once the riders get back to Tellico Plains, they will return to McMinnville along the same route they came out on.

And here are Caroline’s stats and special memories, after actually riding it:

Miles ridden: 390 (yes, that’s further than 600k—don’t ask)
Feet climbed: 26,000. Yes, TWENTY SIX THOUSAND FEET
Saddle time: 29 hours, 23 minutes
Total time: 38 hours

Jeff Sammons, the Regional Brevet Administrator for this event, is to be commended for putting together an absolutely awesome route with terrific organization, AND riding the darned thing, too! Everything from the bike inspection at check-in to the oh-so-welcome cabin accommodations in Tellico Plains were arranged with a great deal of thought and ran like clockwork, to this rider’s perception. We certainly weren’t short-changed in terms of challenges.

The group started at 4 am on a wonderfully warm Saturday morning—no arm warmers necessary. We sailed easily over rollers and experienced a magical sunrise riding through Fall Creek Falls Park. Quick stop at the first control (convenience store), buy some water, get the card signed, mix up my bottles, GO! Next was a brief trip through the land of dogs—good for a few intervals to keep the legs open. Down a steep (we would discover just HOW steep on the return trip) descent into Pikeville. The 4.5 mile Dayton Mountain climb was outstanding; legs and lungs felt good. Screaming descent into Dayton, followed by a real back-road experience through Cottonwood—almost-gravel roads, narrow, very little traffic, as close as one gets to mountain biking on the road. Gorgeous. It’s fortunate that I didn’t need to check the cue sheet often through this passage, as everything is shaking too much to read. As I climb Cottonwood, I see a lone figure ahead, and eventually catch up to the famous randonneur, John Ende. We ride together to the next control. A minivan full of well-mannered children are too polite to remark about our appearance and/or our eating and drinking habits. They just stare in amazement. John spots a bunch of beverages in the back of their van and states that he could drink all of them; the children are brave, they don’t even flinch.

Next stop, Tellico Plains, TN (200k). The cabins are a welcome sight. This ride is the first that I have experienced that crosses time zones—more for my ever-feebling mind to deal with. Quick sandwich and replenish my drink mix supply from my drop-bag, which had been transported to the cabin via motor vehicle. I also stick my cold-weather clothes in my saddle bag for later (wise move). Then we set out to find the notorious TAIL OF THE DRAGON, 44 miles down the road.

The actual Dragon consists of an awesome 10.5-mile climb. I did not count, but I don’t doubt the presence of 311 turns. The motorcyclists were enjoying the road, as is appropriate. I had no problems sharing the road with them, and even received a few friendly toots. There were plenty of State Troopers, too. Ende stopped at a motorcycle resort and reports there was a motorcyclist holding court as he proudly displayed his ticket for 96 in a 55 zone. Through this entire stretch into Robbinsville, as I observed everyone who didn’t happen to be in the middle of a 390-mile bike ride, I couldn’t resist asking the age-old question: “Why couldn’t I take up fishing, like my brother and dad?” Our climbing effort is rewarded with a spectacular view of some dam and lake, 100s of feet below us.

I am quite wasted by the time I get to Robbinsville, and dusk is falling. My stomach has been doing really well by sticking almost solely to my drink mix (Infinit) and some super bars (EFS by 1st Endurance). In fact, the only thing I was belching was the sandwich I had at Tellico Plains. I recognized the need for an injection of high-powered energy. It was time for a real Coke and a Snickers bar. I did not feel like joining a couple guys for a sandwich at Subway; I just wanted to get going. I’ve ridden the Cherohala Skyway before, and I know what we’re in for.

Here’s where the REAL memories begin. I departed Robbinsville, solo, as night was falling. The road from Robbinsville to the start of the Cherohala Skyway is approximately 10 miles of up and down, frustratingly dropping back down to Lake Santeelah every time you think you’ve started the BIG climb. The coolest thing was being near the lake at dusk—the frogs performed a tremendous concert. It grew dark while I was on this section, and this area is REALLY dark—wooded, sparsely populated. At one point, I heard the underbrush crackling at the side of the road. I’m accustomed to this sound at night; it usually indicates a deer is close by. I turned my helmet light towards the sound, and it was a MAN!! I shrieked some obscenity and rode like a madwoman to get out of there. Thankfully, it was not in the middle of the climb. Poor guy; he was probably walking home from fishing, scared out of his pants by what appeared to be an alien spaceship with flashing lights. Next, I got paranoid that I had missed a turn and was possibly descending into the bowels of the Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest. Whew. There’s a sign for the Cherohala Skyway. I’m still on the course.

Now, for those of you have ridden Cherohala, take a moment to imagine riding the entire length of it in pitch dark, by yourself. For those of you who have not experienced the Skyway, think of the Blue Ridge Parkway, with MUCH less “development,” and MUCH less traffic and MUCH steeper, longer climbs. I encountered ONE car, other than our support vehicle at the top, during the entire 45-mile or so expanse of the Skyway. The whole shebang begins with a 9-10 mile climb averaging 9% grade. This situation gives one plenty of time for thought and pondering relevant questions. Are bears attracted to lights and heavy breathing? How about mountain lions? In reality, it was pretty cool. One’s hearing becomes incredibly acute. I could hear breezes traveling towards me through the forest for as long as a minute or two before I actually felt them. The sound of rushing streams at night is incredible. I eventually spotted the glow of our support vehicle, parked at a scenic overlook (elevation 5390). The nice man had water, and best of all, he let me sit in his car with the heat on, as I was shaking uncontrollably when I stopped; it was COLD, and I was damp with sweat. He also reported that the guys ahead of me had pulled out less than 2 minutes before I arrived. Cool, considering they left Robbinsville at least 15-20 minutes before I did.

I pulled on my extra clothes and bravely faced the next stretch. What is usually a thrilling, screaming descent (50+mph, easily) became a terror-filled (well, maybe not THAT bad) ride down the mountain. I don’t feel comfortable letting it rip beyond a speed with which my headlights will keep up. I am now VERY thankful for yellow-line reflectors. I determined that I would keep it to a speed at which I could keep 3 reflectors in sight at any given time. Not a whole lot of stopping-distance, had it been necessary. The other challenge of the descent was that I was shivering so violently that my handlebars and therefore lights were shaking back and forth madly across the road. Kinda surreal. Thankfully, another climb followed; time to regain some warmth. Then there was another descent. On the one hand, I loved clicking off those miles QUICKLY on the descents. On the other hand, I could feel the tension compounding in my neck and shoulders. However, for better or worse, I became more comfortable with the whole situation and let go, making it much easier.

Then came the next climb. My bike’s shifting had been fussy all day, much to my frustration. I do keep my bikes well-maintenanced, but today it was rebelling. I made some adjustments to lessen the hippy-skippy stuff going on with the cassette (cable stretch). However, shifting from the big ring to the little ring became an art that I had to learn to perform with the utmost finesse. Get it in the proper cog on the cassette, NO pressure on the pedals, and then ever so gently with my left middle finger, EASE it over onto the small ring. I had to get off the bike a couple times earlier in the day to put the darned chain back on after dropping it, but thought I had made my peace with it. Not true. As I started this next climb, I went through the afore-mentioned ritual, and heard the clunk of a dropped chain. I tried to save it, as I can usually do, by shifting back to the big ring. Nope. Not this time. In fact, the chain got STUCK, and my cranks/pedals would no longer turn. My weight was to the right, trying to drive the pedal down, and the bike started going. No time to unclip. I SCREAMED, and BAM!! I was down. In the middle of the road, in the middle of the night, by myself. My helmet hit the pavement, hard, and I remember thinking, “oh. That sounded kinda bad.” But then, I was so spittin’ mad, that I knew I was probably OK. However, I was on my back, shoes still clipped into my pedals, like a beetle stuck on its back with its legs flailing in the air. What’s the name of that play by Kafka about the cockroach stuck on its back? You get the picture. Add the soundtrack of every expletive you can think of; I won’t elaborate, as your obscenity filters probably won’t allow passage. I managed to separate myself from my bike and get to a standing position. Assessed my trunk and limbs and determined all were functioning as well as could be expected given the circumstances; we’ll address the head later (cracked the rear right quadrant of the helmet, almost clean off). Next, the bike. Remember, my headlights don’t shine unless I’m going 7 mph or faster. My auxiliary light on my handlebars had run out of juice, and I didn’t feel like rummaging in my saddlebag for extra batteries and the screwdriver necessary to replace them (blasted German “technology”). My helmet light WAS still functioning, though. And my 3 taillights were flashing away. Got the chain back on, and had to make a few adjustments to my saddlebag, which was rubbing on my back tire—just what I need—more resistance! Then, I realized I was in the middle of a climb, w/o the aid of headlights, yet. I did not trust the condition of my legs to get back on the bike, get clipped in and rolling on a grade, without repeating this down-on-the-pavement process all over again. I walked my bike up the road a bit, until the grade lessened, and then bravely mounted my steed, and I was OFF! Oh—I forgot to mention that it began to rain as I lay on the pavement, earlier. Can you imagine what the woodland creatures thought? What the heck is this LOUD, awkward being, covered in flashing lights? Wisely, they kept their distance. I knew if I could keep it together for 10-15 more miles, I would be at the cabins where I could regroup and rest. I rode out of the rain and then back into it. Big drops, and at the moment the rain became hard, the yellow-line reflectors ceased to be. Keep your eyes on the yellow line, Caroline, relax, and keep it together. The rain ceased, and the cabins came into sight. Alleluia.

Quick call to Tony to let him know I was fine, vent a little (OK, maybe a LOT) about the condition of my bike, and assure him that I would rest. Recovery drink, shower, PB&J and milk. About this time, John Ende pulled in. We decided to rest about 4 hours and get going once it was light (it was about 2 am). A-ha! An empty space in one of the beds; hope that other person doesn’t snore. I crawled under the covers and passed out. When my eyes opened, I saw a vision in a Mt. Mitchell jersey. Oh, it was just John Ende. What the heck is he doing up and dressed for the bike? Yikes! I’ll be ready in 5 minutes! And I was. Breakfast—who needs it? As John was impatiently tapping his cleats on the pavement, I swung my leg over the bike with half a magic bar in my mouth, and we were off: John Ende, Jimmy Williams, Peter from Nashville, and myself. Only 200k to go. A frisky pace was set, which concerned me a bit. Turned out it concerned the other guys, too. It eventually eased, and then we got stopped by a train (praise be). When we got to the next control, those guys opted to down several sausage biscuits each. None for me, thanks, I’m attempting to remain functional for the remainder of this adventure. A Rice Krispy Treat will do nicely. Shortly after pulling out of this control, my bike started making a god-AWFUL sound. Something akin to carbon fiber being twisted and torqued by a giant gorilla. We discerned that it might be the freewheel; I should be able to make it, so long as I could keep the chain on the cassette. Comforting. The sound was only sporadic—completely unpredictable, serving as an intermittent jolt to keep me alert.

Now it was getting HOT. Don’t get me wrong—I LOVE to ride in hot weather, but even with these reptilian tendencies, I started to wonder if steam was coming out the vents of my helmet. Climbed Dayton Mountain (3.5 miles, again) in the direct sun. Still an awesome climb. Phenomenal descent—8% grade, sweeping turns, and a stellar view of the Cumberland Plateau. Speaking of which, we needed to climb back up on that tabletop. Remember that steep descent I mentioned earlier? Time to pay up. It started as an 8-9% grade—enough to get your attention. And THEN. . . in plain view, there appeared 3 vertical walls, each separated by a switchback. Estimated at 20%. Ende confirms that it was comparable to Coxes Creek, for those of you familiar with that bone-crusher. This occurred with 332 miles in our legs. I took Jimmy’s lead and started using the full width of the road, weaving back and forth. Peter was right there in the mix, too. John was behind us, and, displaying the only ounce of common sense in the bunch, got off his bike to walk. He lost no time on us—in other words, he could walk as fast as we were “riding.” Made it to the top without tipping over, and then collapsed under some farmer’s tree. After a brief respite, we hobbled to the last control before the end! We met up with Jeff from Nashville, who kindly waited for us to finish eating, etc.

Our little pod set off for the final 38 miles of our journey, immediately following a brief cloudburst at the store. Wet pavement, hot temps, bright sun. Hey—much better than riding in the monsoon that we heard our buddies in Raleigh were subjected to! Back through Fall Creek Falls Park again. It had been established long ago that this route was either going UP or going DOWN. At this point, Ende proclaimed the overriding commandment of the ride: “THOU SHALT NOT RIDE ON A FLAT ROAD!!” This definitely stuck, at least in my mind. It was at this point that every climb around every corner got on my last nerve and jumped up and down on it, repeatedly. Approximately 14 miles from the end, I found myself on a 10-mile STRAIGHT stretch of road that undulated UP and DOWN for as far as the eye could see, like a ribbon, rippling into the distance. Direct sun. But I knew I could make it, and I did. Next stop, Paris!