Breaking Away

CUTLINE: AS STP'S RANKS HAVE GROWN, SO HAS ITS RIDERS' AVERAGE LEVEL OF INEXPERIENCE: HERE FIRST-TIME RIDER KELLE WILSON OF NORTH BEND TAKES A SPILL ON RAILROAD TRACKS OUTSIDE THE SMALL TOWN OF ROY.

CUTLINE: EXPERIENCED RIDERS FORM ``PACE LINES'' TO SPEED PROGRESS. THE FIRST RIDER BREAKS THE HEADWIND FOR RIDERS IN HIS OR HER DOWNDRAFT. RIDERS TAKE TURNS IN FRONT.

CUTLINE: IT'S HIGH-FIVING TIME AT THE CITY LIMITS OF PORTLAND, A WELCOME SIGHT TO FATIGUED STP CYCLISTS.

CUTLINE: AT ANY TOWN ON THE ROUTE, BYSTANDERS GATHER TO CHEER ON SEATTLE-TO-PORTLAND PARTICIPANTS. THESE PATIENT SOULS GREETED RIDERS NEAR THE FINISH LINE LAST YEAR.

CUTLINE: SOME RIDERS WILL REST ANYWHERE AFTER THE FIRST DAY OF THE SEATTLE-TO-PORTLAND BICYCLE RIDE.

CUTLINE: ED WALKER / SEATTLE TIMES: SEATTLE TO PORTLAND BICYCLE CLASSIC (MAP NOT IN ELECTRONIC VERSION)

``We have all read about fatigue that comes about with no apparent physical cause. How many times have you come home exhausted after a `hard day at the office,' where all you did was sit hour after hour at your desk? And how often do women complain to their husbands of feeling `tired all the time'?

Nothing fight fatigue after a tension-filled day in the office or around the house better than getting on a bicycle and pedaling for all you are worth.''

THE NEW COMPLETE BOOK OF BICYCLING

EUGENE A. SLOANE

``Eat like a pig, drink like a pig, ride like a pig.''

MOTTO OF SEATTEL'S

GREEN DEATH BICYCLE CLUB

IN THE LATE 1970S, A PROGRESSIVE

cabal of Seattle-area bicyclists associated with the Cascade Bicycle Club gathered in a living-room alliance aimed at placing the century-old diversion of two-wheeled sports in the forefront of Puget Sound's growing recreational consciousness.

Although subsequent events have all but obliterated the notion, at the time it seemed obvious that Americans were headed for a mellower, more leisure-filled society. Studies indicated that involvement in outdoor activities, fitness and recreational pursuits was on the rise, and that by 1990 the 30-hour work week would be commonplace. America, it seemed, was destined to fulfill Thorstein Veblen's theories of the leisure class, with a vengeance. The biggest challenge would be trying to fill up all that free time.

For the small group of bicyclists in Seattle, the issue was how to indemnify cycling's role in the coming recreational boom. Already the sport was threatening to drown in the twin Baby Boom obsessions of the nanosecond: skiing and running. Although the former, as a winter avocation, offered little room for incursion by bicyclists, the latter was particularly irksome to champions of two-wheeled culture. Running seemed like such a pedestrian exercise next to the precision and elegance of bicycling. If only those sweaty, waffle-shoed minions doing laps around Green Lake, 10Ks in Fremont and Montlake and (ugh) 26-mile-long marathons at Seward Park, could be persuaded to see the light, cycling would soon enough take its rightful place as the enlightened state of participatory athletics.

Recreation wasn't the only goal of Seattle cycling's inner circle. Cyclists still had a reputation for eccentricity, somewhere between whist devotees and lawn bowlers, yet most considered themselves to be performing a social good with a pollution-free, energy-efficient form of transportation. Obviously some major PR was called for.

What was needed was a hook - something to place bicycling in the public consciousness, a combined publicity stunt and mass rally that would take cycling into the hearts and minds of Puget Sound with an indelible impact. Something annual, something exciting, something unignorable. Something that would seem so astonishing, so outrageous, that everyone from kids to grandparents, from business executives to ex-hippies, would wonder at it and think privately, ``Hey, maybe I should check this thing out.''

Thus were the callow origins 13 years ago of what is now known as STP - Seattle-to-Portland, the annual 200-mile early-summer bicycle ride between the Emerald and Rose cities.

``It all came about after one of the little local bicycle fairs,'' recalled Sally Boyer, who with her husband, Paul, provided the Ballard living room for STP's initial head-banging sessions in 1977 and 1978. ``Jon Jacobsen (still active in Seattle cycling circles), Josh Lehman (the city of Seattle's first bicycling director, now based in Massachusetts), Paul and I were tossing around the idea of doing something to show what you could really accomplish with a bicycle, and we thought, hey, you could ride from Seattle to Portland in one day!''

THE BOYERS, WHO HAD RIDDEN

nearly 200 miles in a 12-hour time trial on their tandem, were intent on evangelizing cycling not just as recreation but as transportation as well. ``A Seattle-to-Portland ride would clearly demonstrate the bicycle as a way of getting from Point A to Point B,'' Sally said. ``We were still in the throes of an energy crunch, and there was lots of focus on alternate means of transportation. We really believed that compared to getting around by car, cycling was such a civilized thing to do.''

In the pantheon of great bicycle rides, STP was not the first or foremost of 200-milers. That distinction belonged to the Davis Double, now in its 22nd year, which each May drew 1,000 to 2,000 cyclists from throughout the country and even overseas for a ``double century'' - cycling argot for 200 miles - of riding through rolling Northern California lake country. Several of those in on the initial STPs, in fact, were Davis Double veterans, and hard-core cyclists did both rides in back-to-back months.

Davis was also a considerably more difficult ride than STP, with more than 6,000 feet of vertical gain (STP has only a couple of minor hills). California, where mountains are foothills compared with the Cascades but much more accessible by bicycle because of numerous former logging roads now paved to give access to residential areas, had a more macho cycling lore in general, including several legendary killer rides. There were the Terrible Two (another double century), the Mount Hamilton Challenge south of San Jose (whose backside features terrifying negative-banked turns and actual cattle grates on S-curves while descending), the Grizzly Peak Challenge through the Berkeley hills. And how about the China Grade Death March (named after the Sierra Nevada's Markleeville Death March), a monstrous infliction marked by 33 percent grades and 13,000 feet of climbing over a 150-mile course in the Santa Cruz Mountains.

(For the uninitiated, a 33 percent grade is a gain of one foot up for every three feet forward; for purposes of comparison, Queen Anne Hill in Seattle has an average grade of 18.5 percent; the steepest hill in the whole city (open to traffic) is just 23.6 percent. Negative banking means that unlike race tracks or typical steep turns on a roadway, the slope of the curve is downward-out instead of upward-in. Handling on such turns is critical; a momentary lapse, and the cyclist is over the side and down the mountain. The elevation gain of Queen Anne is 456 feet; in other words, 13,000 feet would be 28 Queen Anne Hills linked together.)

But STP's astute founders were not interested in Ramboid one-upmanship. Rather, they wanted a ride that would be hard enough to establish bragging rights, challenging enough to bequeath cycling knighthood, but accessible enough to draw optimum participation. They wanted the allegiance of the cycling community, but also exposure to mainstream society. They didn't want just the hard-core, the animals and the jammers; they wanted kids and seniors, weekend and ``tourist'' cyclists. They wanted the 10K-ers, not just the marathoners, the day-hikers as well as the rock climbers.

``It had to be accessible to anyone - well, perhaps it's too broad to say anyone - but certainly to anyone doing serious riding,'' Boyer said. ``We wanted to avoid elitism - that would undermine the whole point.''

IN RETROSPECT, THE PLANNERS OF

that first STP succeeded beyond what they could have imagined. The numbers are a subject of some confusion - Boyer recalls 90 sign-ups and 60 finishers; official records list 179 registrants. In any case, they were a hardy collection. Wind, cold and rain thrashed the course the first year, guaranteeing ``charter riders'' of a few stories to tell the office denizens Monday morning.

Two years later, Mount St. Helens blew and the ride had to be called off, although an alternate 200-mile course was laid out around Seattle's city limits. ``It was a very sober moment when we asked ourselves if it was responsible to offer an event which would take people through a still possibly hazardous disaster area,'' Boyer said. ``There were a lot of disappointed folks.''

But after the St. Helens hiatus, STP began to catch on. A two-day option was added in 1983, broadening the ride's popularity to the point where today's riders are nearly 6-to-1 double-dayers. Registration grew steadily by about 50 percent each year, till by the latter '80s the total approached five figures. So many riders began clogging the route, in fact, that STP was abandoned by many of the early purists, who were concerned over congestion and accidents because they ride faster than the average.

Wanting to maintain the ride's tradition of openness, STP organizers doggedly refused to limit participation. But 9,300 cyclists registered in 1989 - the same year 95-degree temperatures plagued the course and put scores of participants at risk medically - and the Cascade club decided to take action.

Last year a ceiling of 8,000 riders was adopted, and the ride went smoothly (although as many as 1,500 riders do the course without registering). This year's ceiling is 10,000. Ironically, the more riders that are allowed, the more popular the event becomes. Ride organizers believe STP will reach its sign-up capacity by April.

STP's success has made Cascade, at 3,300 members, one of the nation's biggest and wealthiest cycling clubs. This year's ride will gross the club $400,000. Expenses, including food, supplies, telephone, publicity, equipment and transportation (eight Ryder trucks were rented last year to carry cyclists' sleeping and overnight gear), are expected to approach $300,000.

Cascade has done much in the way of promoting cycling safety and goodwill with the remaining money. Last year it was the largest donor to Centralia's flood-relief effort, cementing the town's growing respect for the cycling community. Centralia merchants, who initially grumbled about STP's disruptions, now acknowledge the event as a coffers-builder for the town. The local chamber of commerce estimates the ride means $200,000 worth of business annually and additional thousands of dollars in fund-raisers for local nonprofit organizations.

Cascade also donated $1,000 each to Red Cross flood-relief efforts in Snohomish and King counties during the November washout. Its Government Action and Education committees, both of which have been active in promoting use of helmets, construction of bike trails and other issues of cycling awareness, have budgets of $20,000 each - bigger than the entire annual budget of most bike clubs or volunteer efforts of any kind.

``This is a ride run by cyclists for cyclists,'' pointed out Paul Zakar, an STP mainstay who is coordinating health and safety for this year's ride. ``But it doesn't just benefit cyclists; it benefits the community at large.''

STP also has put Seattle on the cycling map, evolving into the biggest, highest-profile, most popular bicycle ride of its kind. Last year's ride drew cyclists from 29 states, from ages 7 through 87. Other rides draw more cyclists - the biggest is Montreal's Tour de l'Ile, with about 40,000 riders - but have much shorter routes (the Tour de l'Ile is 66 kilometers, about 41 miles) and paid organizations backing them. STP remains a volunteer effort, although hundreds of volunteers are required. Other rides in STP's mileage category generally draw far fewer participants - the Davis Double reached 2,000 before sponsors decided it had to be limited to 1,500 to keep things manageable.

What Bay-to-Breakers is to the running set, what the hydro races are to Seafair, STP has become to cycling. It is not just a recreational event, or even a means of showcasing the bicycle as a transportation tool. STP has become a human celebration, a psychophysical event transcending its time and place to symbolize a sport, an era, a way of life.

Although the next STP will not take place until June 29 and 30, it is already in the forefront of every avid cyclist's consciousness. Already the tingling of capillaries, the twitches of quadriceps and headiness of quickened respiration are nurturing the cycling urge. By November the body shuts down in even the most fanatic of cyclists, but by February the awakening ritual of nature has begun, gathering energy with the bursting out of crocus heads and apple buds.

FOR THE SERIOUS CYCLIST, THIS

new-found energy translates into a highly disciplined training regimen beginning with about 100 miles a week, or 20 miles a day (assuming five days of riding), and building to 200 to 250 miles a week by April or May. Typically a rider will train for 20 to 30 miles a day during the week, alternating training days with recuperation days, and 60 to 100 miles on weekends.

It's not hard to find someone to ride with. Cascade Bicycle Club offers a smorgasbord of weekday and weekend rides for casual to hard-core riders, although the latter often are found more on Elliott Bay Bicycle Shop's weekend ``Ultrabike'' rides. A generous organized-ride schedule is also available to keep the STP trainer on track, starting with the Bainbridge Island Chilly Hilly on Feb. 24, followed by the Daffodil Century near Sumas and Team Green Death Century through the Green River Valley.

Cycling is, from an empirical standpoint, quite simply the best exercise available. People are always surprised to learn this, since most assume marathon running or cross-country skiing are more aerobically demanding. But in his exhaustive study ``Sports in America,'' James Michener cited a study showing the world's most fit athletes to be Tour de France bicyclists. Second were marathon runners, then boxers.

There are at least three reasons for cycling's preeminence. First is its efficiency, largely the result of the bicycle's two major contributions to engineering: the ball bearing and the pneumatic tire. The scholar Ivan Illich has demonstrated the bicycle to be, from the scientific standpoint of energy produced per calorie burned, the most efficient machine in existence (the combustion engine is second), providing the highest and best use of human exertion. On the energy contained in a bowl of rice, a cyclist can travel 10 miles; a typical automobile can travel about 1,000 feet.

Because of the unique interface of body to machine, a human can cycle longer at peak efficiency than at any other athletic endeavor, outstripping running and even swimming. A typical STP rider will average 13 to 16 miles an hour between Seattle and Portland. Strong riders can complete the course in under 10 hours, or 20-plus miles an hour; the record (although times are no longer officially recorded) is 7 hours 32 minutes by Pete Penseyres, a Northern California marathon cyclist who set the mark in 1986, riding an aerodynamically enclosed recumbent bicycle an average of 25.5 miles an hour.

Cycling also is among the least physically

stressful of sports. (Swimming may hold an edge.) By far the largest percentage of cyclists are converted runners who had to abandon their sport because of impact injuries to feet, backs, knees and other joints. Although it is possible to injure the knees or the back while cycling, the irreversible erosion of cartilage or bone associated with running does not afflict cyclists.

Finally, cycling can be, for dedicated practitioners, as aerobically demanding as any physical pursuit. For a fit athlete, climbing a steep hill at maximum exertion places the body in quite possibly the most painful self-induced state possible, termed oxygen debt. Although it has to be experienced to be fully understood, oxygen debt is something like being held underwater to the exact moment before suffocation.

Tour de France cyclists, who typically climb 18 to 30 percent grades in 52-by-17 gearing (a gear ratio which the typical STP rider might use on a flat or downhill situation), have powerful hearts and awesome metabolic capacity to process oxygen; hence their highest rating on Michener's scale. Greg LeMond, the U.S. cyclist who has won three Tour de Frances (the only American ever to win even one), has a metabolic capacity in the 18 range; the average person's is around 15.

Yet cycling does not have to be competitive to be fun or beneficial. In most civilized environments it is as easy as walking. There are 800 million bicycles in the world, double the number of cars. Of those, more than a 10th are in the United States, but nearly half of American bicycles belong to children - the main reason cycling is consistently listed as America's most popular sport behind swimming and walking.

Like most participatory sports, cycling fills emotional as well as physical needs. A family comes along and needs a weekend activity they can all enjoy, a couple wants a sport to share, a desk potato sees the light. A personal life goes awry, a career gets sidetracked, a job is found unfulfilling, and there are hours to kill.

As the 1970s waned into the '80s, group rides like STP became a natural evolution for a generation getting too old for rock concerts. Between 5 and 6 a.m. the morning of the ride, the starting line down by the Kingdome contains as much raw energy and anticipatory excitement as the moments before Mick Jagger or Michael Jackson appear on stage. The technological conveniences of the latter 20th century have stolen any sense of challenge from most of our everyday lives. At STP, the heart pounds with anticipation of the day ahead, the human drama about to unfold. Something about riding 200 miles under one's own power makes a statement, like ``Yeah, it wasn't such an average day after all.''

THE KEY TO A SUCCESSFUL RIDE IS

being prepared - not just physically, although the training regimen is important, but in the Boy Scout sense as well. Embrace Murphy's Law like the scripture; you did not learn everything you need to know about long-distance cycling in kindergarten. Brad O'Connor, Times outdoors editor and veteran of several STPs, recalls making the cardinal mistake of stopping a couple of times during the first cold, wet ride to get warm: His muscles tightened, subjecting him to potential cramps or strains.

``Nobody knew anything about riding that far, particularly under those conditions,'' O'Connor said. ``We were writing the book.''

STP veteran Bruce Tiebout tells the story of a cyclist with a flat beside Boeing Field, only four or five miles into the ride, offering $50 for a sew-up (a special lightweight racing tire that cannot be patched on the road). Another time a rider began offering others $10 for a water bottle - he'd left his at the starting line.

If you don't drink enough or eat enough - and do so early enough, before fatigue sets in - you will ``bonk,'' or ``hit the wall.'' This is another condition peculiar to cycling, in which the body suddenly seems as though every drop of blood has been drained from it. The saving grace about bonking is that you only have to endure it once to learn your lesson.

There was a time, early on, when helmets were sneered at as an indication of sissiness - a notion that persists in European professional cycling circles, where helmets are worn only on opening day for the benefit of TV cameras and team sponsors. But helmets are required at STP and most organized rides today, with good reason. Each year 50,000 unhelmeted cyclists suffer serious head injuries. Three-fourths of cycling-related deaths, each costing an average of $230,000, come from head injuries. A person wearing a helmet stands a 90 percent chance of survival in a severe accident. If a severely head-injured cyclist lives, he or she faces $4.5 million in lifetime health-care costs.

Wearing helmets today is much more de rigueur, partly due to the design team at Giro, which in the mid-'80s developed a featherweight Styrofoam shell protective enough to meet safety standards but stylish enough to pass grooming muster.

Cycling is, at its essence, a dangerous sport, even without the automobile to contend with. Although automobile collisions tend to be more damaging, the truth is that the largest percentage of bicycle accidents involve other cyclists. Of more than a dozen accidents I've been in over the years, all but two involved cyclists or pedestrians, the worst being the 1984 STP, in which a tandem ahead of me failed to mention it was turning. I did a 180-degree flip, landing on my head and shoulders, using my body as a shield to protect my precious bicycle from even a scratch.

Most accidents involve brushed wheels in a group-riding situation. Inexperienced riders, ignorant of the havoc a split second's lapse of concentration can cause, frequently are the cause of such mayhem, which is why veteran riders tend to avoid group-riding

in STP.

The rhythm of a 200-mile bike ride is something akin to taking all-day college boards or driving from Seattle to San Francisco. The first half of the trip, which culminates with an easy coast into Centralia, goes quickly. The initial 10 to 20 miles are for warming up and choosing a ``pack'' of equal-pace cyclists to ride with. Riding together allows ``pacing'' or ``drafting,'' similar to a truckers' convoy, where cyclists form a kite-tail, each protected from headwind by the rider preceding him or her, except for the lead cyclist, who ``pulls'' for a short distance before dropping to the back of the pack.

The initial miles are the least scenic, following major streets through Georgetown and past Boeing Field to Tukwila. Then STP breaks into pleasant valley country along the West Valley Highway, keeping on a steady southward bead to Puyallup and Spanaway before finding bucolic back roads to Centralia.

These miles go fast - too fast for some. The burnout factor into Centralia by overeager riders who wanted too much too soon is high, but the heady mixture of adrenalin and sweat fuels most riders easily past the 100-mile mark. Few riders eat or drink enough in these early miles, which can lead to problems later.

In suffocating heat two years ago, 165 bags of IV had to be pumped into overheated STP riders who could no longer keep down liquids.

``We had a M # A # S # H setup with volunteers from Virginia Mason and Emmanuel (in Portland) hospitals,'' recalled Paul Zakar. ``The fact is, Northwest cyclists simply don't know how to ride in heat.'' Most recreational athletes know the rule about not waiting till you're thirsty or hungry to drink or eat, but most also violate it precariously.

Lunchtime - or, for two-day riders, the first-day finish line - at Centralia offers bananas, oranges, sandwiches, cookies and assorted other sugar- and carbohydrate-rich sustenance. Last year's riders consumed 40,000 cookies, 32,000 bagel bars, 24,000 muffins, 12,000 sandwiches, 45,000 bananas, 27,000 oranges, and on and on. ``When you organize a ride like this, you don't think in terms of pounds and boxes,'' Tiebout noted. ``You think in terms of tons and pallets.''

After lunch two-day riders gear up with a full head of steam for the final half, but soon things turn brutal. It isn't till the 120- or 130-mile point that the reality of the challenge starts to sink in - the equivalent of the 20-mile ``hump'' in a marathon. The concentration wanders, energy wanes, quadriceps throb, wrists and elbows ache, the neck weakens, eyes blur, the rear end feels like it's sitting on the end of a baseball bat. This is the stretch where you pay your dues, and although the temptation to stop for a rest is great, you're ill-advised to do so. Stopping only feeds the discomfort. Instead it is best to ``ride through the pain.''

By mile 170, the home stretch is in sight, and your second wind comes on. You feel suddenly alert mentally, refreshed physically and in renewed control of your destiny. Some cyclists cover this stretch as fast as any section of the ride.

The last few miles into Portland often have groups of onlookers cheering cyclists on, which feeds any remaining ounces of adrenalin straight to the heart. Crossing the finish line, where hundreds of well-wishers salute with applause and encouragement, is like having a party thrown in your honor - for that fleeting moment you are the center of the cycling universe. Half of STP cyclists do the ride only twice; I'm convinced that most return simply for this final surge, the most fun you can have without a blood test.

THE DAY AFTER A 200-MILE

ride is less traumatic than one might expect. The body is full of residual energy, leftover adrenalin. Muscles are still supple from the previous day's exertions. It isn't until Day 2 that one awakens with an abrupt inability to move without pain. Everything aches, with special attention granted the neck and shoulders, back, hindquarter, quadriceps and knees. If there is such a thing as post-ride depression, this is when it comes.

But the temporary aches and pains soon dissipate, and within a week you are back on the bike, feeling capable of taking another 200-mile spin. It is this feeling which lingers through the weeks, remains fixed in the mind, even in the waning days of fall, and sparks the enthusiasm at the start of the cycling training season about to begin.

STP is something that, even if it fades in the consciousness, does not yellow in the memory. It remains a personal prized possession, something that is easily shared but can never be taken away or misplaced. It is a trophy of the individual spirit and will, which, although it cannot be displayed on a shelf, may be periodically trotted out for friends, relatives, children and grandchildren down through the years. There is something eternally reaffirming about being able to say, ``I did the STP. I rode 200 miles on a bicycle.''

PAUL ANDREWS COVERS TECHNOLOGY FOR THE SEATTLE TIMES BUSINESS SECTION.

TORY READ WAS A TIMES PHOTO INTERN IN 1990.

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To sign up for this year's STP, to be held June 29 and 30, contact the Cascade Bicycle Club's STP hotline at 298-8222. Registration forms will be available after Feb. 26 from six local bicycle outlets. Cost is $35 for club members and $40 for others. Although 10,000 riders will be permitted to register, this total may be reached and registration may be closed as early as April 1, organizers say.