The Gardens of The French Laundry

These are some of the vegetable gardens in which The French Laundry (the 4th best restaurant in the world) grows produce.

A Rainbow Beam

Friday afternoon it clouded up and I thought for sure we would get a good shower but we didn't. We did get to see a part of a rainbow in a really dark cloud.

Magic Mixte Makeover

While looking up some information on Mixte frames, I came across a before-and-after story on Cyclofiend that took my breath away. So I'd like to share it here, and I hope you will enjoy it as much as I did. All images are from cyclofiend.com and are linked to the original source.

The bicycle pictured below is a 1980s Cilo mixte, discovered by Mr. Chern outside a cafe.

Hot pink frame. Awkward-looking silver fork. Overall construction seems unremarkable. And oh, that 80's-style neon lettering! I would have walked on by and not have touched this thing with a 10 foot pole.

Thankfully, Mr. Chern knew better than that.

He bought the bicycle from the owner. And then... And then he did this to it:

Yes, I believe an "OMG" would be perfectly appropriate here. Squealing too. The transformation is unbelievable. Here are some close-ups:

Notice the lugs! The lugs! The cream and bordeaux combination is mouthwatering. And that gorgeous lever on the left is a Shimano Arabesque shifter.

Mr. Chern, that is a lovely, lovely bicycle! Thank you so much for bringing such a beautiful thing into the world!

Read more about this project here and here on Cyclofiend.

Study in Lights and Darks: My 300K DNF

I know, the title rather takes the suspense out of it. Last Saturday I attempted the New England Randonneurs 300K brevet. Having done all the major climbs and passed all the controls, I abandoned the ride on the last leg - with 45 miles to go. A week later, I am still not sure how I feel about what happened. It is as if I remember two entirely different rides - one wonderful beyond words and the other to an equal degree awful. The contrast is so great, that my mind cannot process it into a unified experience. So this will be my attempt to.



Earlier this Spring, I completed four RUSA-sanctioned events with the New England Randonneurs: two 100K Permanents, the official 100K Populaire, and the 200K brevet. Initially I had no plans to attempt the 300K. But in the weeks that followed a gradual change of heart began to take place. Largely this was because I found the route so attractive. It was a new route this year - a tour of Massachusetts via rural back roads, and it looked simply too good to miss. As time passed, something also changed in me physically and I began to feel - in a very literal sense - that I had it in me to do the distance. That I had the strength, the willingness, the potential at least. As the date of the 300K approached, this feeling solidified. It was in the car heading home from DROVES(a weekend retreat in Vermont that focused on dirt roads and climbing) that I made the firm decision.



After DROVES I felt well rested, and as well-trained as I was going to get. I did not ride much in the following days, saving my strength for the 300K. I also gave a lot of thought to the logistics of the event. Aside from the added milage, there were several new challenges to consider. One was the elevation gain. Everyone who knew the route warned me about the huge amount of climbing, describing it as even more difficult than the climbs on the 200K. With this in mind, I decided to take my Rawland instead of my lighter and racier Seven, because the former has considerably lower gears. In preparation, I did a couple of paved 100K+ rides on the Rawland and timed myself. Though a bit slower, I was still fast enough to get through a brevet on time. Conveniently, this bike was also equipped with dynamo lights.



But what had even experienced randonneurs concerned about the 300K this year, was the weather. We've had a cold spring, and the previous weekend in particular was downright wintry. On the day of the brevet, the forecast promised temperatures in the mid-90s. To ride all day in such heat is difficult enough, but to do so without having a chance to acclimatise is even more so. I do not do well in hot weather, so I tried to prepare. I stayed off alcohol and started drinking loads of water days before the ride. I procured an ultra-lightweight white mesh jersey with SPF protection and "sun sleeves." I stocked up on electrolyte mix to last the entire ride. And in the hot days before the 300K I went out for brief rides in the sun at high noon, so that the weather would not be a complete shock the day of.





Packing my bike the evening before, I felt calm and looked forward to the ride. Taking advantage of the handlebar bag on my Rawland, I packed: an extra water bottle, snack foods, a spare jersey (wool, in case the high-tech SPF mesh didn't agree with me), extra lights, sunscreen, chamois cream, pain medication, bandaids, and an external battery for topping up my GPS and phone charge. In my saddle wedge I packed tools and 2 spare tubes.



The actual distance of the event would be 193.4 miles. I was able to get a ride to the start from another rider, which meant I would not need to add any extra miles riding to and from home. Barring unforeseen circumstances, it all seemed manageable.



Even at 5:30 in the morning, filling out forms in the concrete parking lot of the Hanscom Airbase, it was obvious that the day would be scorchingly hot. The sun was out already, casting dramatic shadows. I applied sunscreen and wandered around. It looked like 35 or so riders with the usual variety of bicycles - from modern road race to traditional rando, to everything in between. Unlike on previous rides, everyone had a good sized handlebar or saddle bag, or both, attached to their bike this time. I was teased a little for showing up at the 300K after having said "no more" last time. Yeah yeah yeah, I grumbled.



Setting off just after 6am, there was some shuffling around for the first mile, but soon we were all strung out a comfortable distance from one another, with me somewhere in the middle.





On the cue sheet and GPS files, the ride was separated into 6 Legs, with a control at the end of each. The first three would take us west, across northern Massachusetts. The third would bring us down south a bit. And the final two would return us home. Thinking of the ride in terms of these distinct, self-contained segments made it feel very manageable. First we ride 20 miles. Now we ride 35. Now another 30 miles. And so on.





The first leg was easy, pleasant, and immediately scenic. It made for an excellent warm-up: starting out flat and rolling, building up to a 2-mile climb at the end. Briefly I rode with another Ride Studio Cafe cyclist, Henry. He is Dutch, very strong, with beautiful pedal strokes. We wished each other good luck, and soon he was off like a slingshot. Later I was caught by some other riders I knew from previous brevets. They passed me uphill, I passed them downhill, they passed me uphill again. After that I passed two riders on the side of the road, one of whom was having a mechanical issue. At the first control, I ate a hot breakfast quickly and moved on right away.




On paper,the second legwas all climbing. But in practice I did not experience it that way. Except for a short very steep stretch toward the end where I had to walk briefly, it all felt fine. I was making good time, with plenty of cushion room. The scenery was beautiful, with lots of shade to shield riders from the intensifying sun. I was going through my water at a rate of one bottle per 10-15 miles and feeling good. Part of the way, I rode with another rider and we arrived at the second control together: a country store at mile 52. Here I refilled my 3 bottles (two in the cages, one in the handlebar bag) and tried to force myself to eat. It was getting very hot now and I had no appetite. Others at the control seemed to feel the same, hanging out in the shade until they felt cooled down enough to eat. It was very comfortable at the little country store, with its picnic benches surrounded by pine trees. I tried not to stay too long and was soon on my way again.





Leg 3 took us to the westernmost point of the route and over beautiful stretches such as Tully Lake and Mt. Grace. I was feeling so good and elated at this point, that I did not realise I was climbing over an actual mountain until I saw it on the map later. At the 65 mile point I checked my time and saw I was just over 6 hours into the ride.I passed a few riders somewhere along the way, which I took as a sign I was doing okay.If I kept going at this rate, I would finish in 18 hours - with 2 hours to spare before the 20 hour cutoff. By the time I arrived at the next control at mile 85 I lost some of that cushion on the final climb, but was still doing well. I was also feeling hungry now, which was timely as this was the food stop: a BBQ place with outdoor seating.


At the food stop, there were many other riders, and some of them did not look good - suffering from the heat. Some sat in front of their food staring at it absently. Others were lying down on the grass with their eyes closed. I heard one rider making a phone call to announce he was abandoning. And I learned that at least two others had abandoned already as well.



But the biggest surprise was seeing Emily at this control. Emily is a much, much stronger rider than me, and at timed events I would not normally see her for the entire ride. To catch up to her on a control meant something was wrong. And it was: She couldn't eat; she didn't feel well in the heat. Leaving most of her food behind, she finally left shortly before I did. Even her dill pickle remained half-eaten.



As I set off to leave, I asked where the bathroom was and learned it was out of order. The owner tried to give me directions to the bathrooms in the town center, but I did not want to waste time on a detour and continued without a pee break.





The 4th Leg should have been comparatively easy, without much climbing. But it was made difficult by the almost complete lack of shade. For a stretch we cycled along an open country highway, with nowhere to hide from the 95F heat and the blazing sun. Later it was farmlands, with an equal lack of tree shade. It was mid-afternoon by now, but the sun and temperature were not waning. Wearing all-white and guzzling water, I did not get sick from the heat as some of the others did. But I could feel it slowing me down, sapping my energy as I neared mile 100.



Shortly after we passed Deerfield - the home of the famous D2R2 event - something uncanny happened. I remembered that Richard Sachs lived somewhere in the area. And no sooner did this thought cross my mind, that I saw a lone dark figure on a bicycle on the opposite side of the country highway. "No way," I thought. "No way." But as we neared each other, I could clearly make out the red bike and the all-black kit, and finally the face - across which a look of what seemed like surprised recognition flashed just as we crossed paths for that split second. The "was it or wasn't it?!" question plagued me for the rest of the ride. WhenMr. Sachs himselfconfirmed it later that weekend,I was immensely relieved it was not a heatstroke-induced hallucination.





All throughout this leg I tried to ride faster, but the sun and heat felt like a harness holding me back. By the time I reached the next control, my cushion time had dwindled to 45 minutes. I ran to use the bathroom, then went to fill my water bottles at the rest stop. To my surprise some riders were hanging out here - in a seemingly leisurely fashion, some with their shoes off.Maybe I was needlessly worried about the time?I had some watermelon and stretched my upper body as we chatted briefly. One of the riders - an NEBC racer - had just passed me an hour earlier. She had started late, having cracked a chainstay on her main bike and switching to another at the last moment. Emily was also there, still not feeling great. When I set off she stayed behind, telling me she'd catch up and we could ride together the rest of the way.



The rest of the way was "only" 80 miles at this point. I felt in my legs and in my gut that I could do it. I just needed to be mindful of the time and make it to the next control with some cushion. After that, it would be just the final leg home.



Leg 5 was the last one with any major climbing. To be precise: an 11-mile climb, followed by a descent and a flat stretch, followed by a 5-mile climb. I knew it would be difficult, but on paper it did not look any worse than the stretches we'd done earlier. In practice, it felt much worse. The sun was waning already, but the heat of the day had done its work and I felt "cooked." With over 100 miles in my legs, I was slow climbing. I spun and ground and pushed myself and played songs in my head with a fast rhythm, and even tried to stand (successfully), but nothing helped. No matter how I tackled the 11-mile climb, I was slow. Slow-slow-slow. Some miles in, Emily caught up. She attempted to ride with me, but I was sincerely worried about my speed and did not want to drag her down with me - so I told her to go on without. Reluctantly she agreed and disappeared around the next bend. I tried standing and pedaling in a higher gear again. The fact that I could do it was not bringing me any joy now. It didn't seem to help. I sat back down and spun/ground as fast as I could. It was endless.I could feel the time slipping away.





When the descent came,I switched into the big ring and did not touch the brakes. Any cornering problems I had in the past did not even enter my mind; I just needed to make up all the time I'd lost. It worked, and on the flat I could finally take a breath of relief.



Until the dirt road. When I first saw what awaited me, I could not believe it. First came a section where the road wasunder construction, "Caution, turn back" signs, completely dug up and unridable, and finallyblocked from traffic with tall piles of sand and debris. I had to carry my bike across this for what must have been just a short time but seemed eternal at this stage in the game. Then came the 2-mile stretch of "dirt," which was, frankly, loose sand all the way, strewn with alarmingly sharp rocks. Fishtailing slightly even with my 42mm tires, I could only imagine what this felt like on skinny road tires. It did not seem right to be on this godforsaken road, but both my GPS and cue sheet directions indicated I was riding where I was supposed to be. This was confirmed when a car passed me... a car belonging to one of the ride volunteers, with a bike hoisted upon the roof-rack and a dispirited-looking rider in the passenger's seat. Another abandon.





With the dirt finally over, I picked up the pace as much as I could, but soon came the final 5 mile climb. I gritted my teeth and pedaled with all my might, feeling no sensation what so ever. The sun was setting. The sky glowed gold, then pink over an endless stretch of creepy bog. The final control cutoff was fast approaching and my entire being filled with intense disbelief and feel of impeding tragedy. No-no-no-no-no. This can't be happening. No. Please no. I stopped checking the time and just pedaled, focusing on nothing but making the final control until the road dumped me at the grassy knoll.



Volunteer staff were waiting in a wooden pavilion.When I got off the bike, I was so out of breath that I could not speak. I attempted to ask whether I made it on time, but instead started hyperventilating and making wailing sounds. People stared with undisguised concern. I tried to shut my mouth and sit down, but it only got worse, until I finally let out all the wailing that was pent up inside. What that was, I still have no idea.



And then, just like that, I was fine. I checked the time and learned I'd arrived 10 minutes before the cutoff. I drank a cup of chocolate milk and ate a hard boiled egg. I put on a reflective vest, spare lights, and helmet light, preparing to set off again.





I should mention that the final control was a sight of a mass unraveling. Quite a few riders were there, in various states of not feeling well. A handful had abandoned and were waiting for rescue rides. One man was lying down, trying to recover sufficiently to continue. The racer who had passed me earlier was resting in a recliner: done. Emily was there, telling me she would catch up again if I set off before her. I hoped so, as this way we could ride together in the dark. But I could not risk waiting any longer, in case she decided not to continue. I had calculated there were maybe 5 riders still behind me. None of them would finish atthis point.



I set off on thelast legat 8:45pm. This was a long one - 55 miles, but it would soon have us on familiar territory. I had over 5 hours to cover the remaining distance, with not much climbing to speak of except in the very beginning. It was growing cool. I was not in any pain. I was tired, but not so tired I could not crank out the miles without stopping.This was doable, very doable.I just had to keep going.




It was dark, but not pitch black yet when I set off. I started at a good pace and was looking forward to Emily catching up, then us finishing together. I would be sure to hang on to her for dear life this time. I imagined us arriving at the finish dramatically, 5 - or maybe 3 - minutes before the cutoff, collapsing from exhaustion, but making it. This image kept me going as the sky turned from gray to navy to black.



And then, I began to notice with growing alarm, that I could not see where I was going. This was so unexpected that it took some time to even sink in. I consider(ed) myself to be an experienced night rider, and, based on previous experiences, genuinely thought that I was prepared for the night stretch of the route. I had a powerful dynamo headlight on my front rack,anda battery powered headlight on my handlebars,anda helmet mounted headlight. But even all this was not sufficient for the area I found myself in, especially riding alone. The sky was black - moonless and starless; there was no illumination of any kind. There was not even a yellow lane divider or a white fog line to focus on. With my 3 headlights I could see the potholes at various distances in front of me illuminated brilliantly, but I could not see the curvature of the road further ahead. And this meant I could not safely pick up speed, especially on descents, without the risk of going off the side of the road. Several times I stopped and tried to adjust my lights to point further out. This did not help much - they were not diffuse enough to do what I wanted them to do. I kept riding at the maximum speed I felt was safe, which was pitiful considering the twists and turns of the back road. My last hope was Emily catching up with me, and us combining our light power.





The road seemed to only grow darker and more twisty. This was truly in the middle of nowhere. I could barely make out the shapes of trees, and I seemed to be riding through some dense forested area. I heard disconcerting sounds all around me - howling, rustling in the woods, and at some point what sounded like a chainsaw. I am not generally scared of the dark, but I was by now so exhausted and frustrated that my mind must have started to mess with me. Around this time, I really began to worry where Emily was, and at length became convinced that she must have been murdered - what other explanation was there for her still not catching up to me? Surely that was related to the sound of the chainsaw I'd heard. After 15 hours on the bike, this made a great deal of sense, and I started to sob. I should have waited for her. I should have waited! Shaking, I had to stop to regain my composure.Eventually I snapped out of it, ate some food and kept going.



But increasingly, I was losing time on the climbs and unable to make it up on the descents, since I could not see where I was going.With a sense of dread I checked the time: It was approaching 10pm and I had barely advanced 10 miles. With 45 miles left to go and 4 hours to do it in, I was not going to finish if I kept riding at this pace. My mind went into emergency-analytical mode, putting aside all emotion to determine the logical course of action.



Fact:I would not make the cutoff, unless I started to ride drastically faster. Fact: The pitch black road conditions were unlikely to change, which meant I was unlikely to ride faster. Fact: Since Emily has not caught up to me by now, she had most likely abandoned herself, which meant I was the last rider remaining on the course. Fact: If I continued riding anyway, I would not only be putting myself at risk in the dark for nothing, but inconveniencing the organisers - who would wait for me as long as I was still out there. The logical course of action was to abandon.





According to the map, I would soon pass a gas station. I could end my ride there and arrange for a pick-up. After weighing my options, I made the decision. Makingthe call felt like tearing off a bandaid - if I was going to do it, I needed to do it quickly.



At the gas station parking lot ten minutes later, I saw two sets of headlights. It was Emily, along with another rider - the one who'd been lying down at the last control. I expected them to keep going, but they pulled in to the gas station. Emily wanted to buy a coke, and there was something off, I thought, about how important this seemed to her, with so little time left. The clerk who was closing up got her one and she sat down with it on the pavement. The other rider lied down on the porch. They seemed quite settled in. I tell them they need to keep going immediately, if they want to make the cutoff. I am not sure they understand or even hear me. I offer my bananas, water, Shot Blocks. "Look, you shouldn't sit here, you need to get going. I am only here because I'm done." Emily looks at her coke long and hard. "Well... maybe I'm done too." She looks at her watch. "Yeah..."



I know that Emily has been randonneuring for over 10 years and she has never DNFed an event.Damn it, I think. She was not planning to quit until she saw me sitting here. I contemplate continuing with them, but it makes no sense. I try to encourage them, waving my banana and extra water fetchingly. But they really are done now, sprawled on the porch, talking politics and sci-fi books. Now that more time has passed and the decision is irreversible, they relax and become more animated. Each has made the call and they are waiting for a ride.



I feel too numb to joint the conversation. I put myself on autopilot and start disassembling my bike. My husband arrives in a tiny ZipCar and we wrangle the pieces inside. He will never trust me to be "okay on my own" again, is all I can think of as wedrive home. Well, maybe he never did.



At home, I went straight to sleep and didn't dream about anything. The next day I felt strange, weepy. After that I thought I was fine, but I ran into Emily in town two days later and had an almost PTSD-type experience when we started talking about the ride. She did not seem too happy either.





Many riders abandoned this particular brevet. It was a tough one. But somehow that fails to console me. It wasn't the miles or the climbing or the heat that broke me in the end, but inadequate preparation for the dark. An overconfidence in myself over a factor that turned out to be critical. A mistake.



All through the following week I would recall fragments of the brevet, sending my emotions into wild extremes of highs and lows. I would remember pedaling over Mt. Grace, elated, hot breeze in my face, smelling pine trees in the sun and looking down at miles of farmlands. What ecstasy, to have made it out this far on my own, and to feel as if I could keep on going forever.



Then later I would recall riding through that damned forest in the dark, alone, nearly going off the side of the road, ominous rustlings behind the trees. That feeling of doom seeping in, like a cold thick liquid against my skin. The decision to abandon after nearly 150 miles, after all that climbing, after having ridden clear across the state and back...



Well, what else is there to say. So much drama about a little brevet. Better luck next time and all that. It is good for the character to fail on occasion. I will try to learn what I can from it. And I will always remember the many beautiful moments of this ride, the kindness of the volunteers, the support of the other riders. Thank you to all who were there, and congratulations to the finishers. Happy trails to all for future brevets and other adventures.

Parson Jones

Parson Jones, originally uploaded by ParsecTraveller.

Redwoods are tall trees. Really tall trees. Sometimes so incredibly tall that they dwarf anything nearby...including other redwoods.

This tree is named Parson Jones, and is found in Armstrong Redwoods State Park. At 310 feet tall, it's one of the biggest trees in the area...truly an amazing sight!

Nene Way 10 - Ferry Meadows - Peterborough - Whittlesey

With Marta. 11 miles. Brilliant sunshine. Very warm.





We set off from Ferry Meadows, and I couldn't resist one more mirror-lake-shot to start the day.



We were diverted from the river, as the path was closed, and walked around Thorpe Golf Course. Part of the route followed this 'covered walkway'











The shade was already welcome at 11 am.



We rejoined the original Nene Way at Orton Lock.



This is a sculpture "Festival Boat, 1988, Sculptor: Sokari Douglas Camp".







As we walked into Peterborough, we saw several bridges













I'm surprised Peterborough doesn't make more of its waterfront, though it does have the Green Wheel network. When we found our way blocked we turned into the Rivergate shopping centre and sought out coffee in the town centre. Pavement cafes in this weather - it could almost have been Sevilla.







Children were running and splashing in the fountains.



A colourful flower display



an odd view of the cathedral.







A pleasant tree-lined path by the Nene on the way out of Peterborough. The river has become noticeably straight by this point.







The bridge carries the cycle-path over the Nene to Whittlesey. We used the map, which showed the Nene Way following the road.







A friendly (hopeful?) pig in an enclosure near the path. Pity about the barbed wire shadows!







The erstwhile Dog-in-a-Doublet pub, fondly remembered from days ice-skating on Whittlesey Mere.











Dog-in-a-Doublet Lock.





At the road junction we turned right across the bridge towards Whittlesey, where we had lunch in an Italian cafe, then explored a while.








old town hall and museum



market place and butter cross



St Mary's church






Distinctive street lamps








The statue of the Whittlesey Straw Bear - donated, improbably, by Councillor Ursula Cuffe.





I think we'll give the Nene Way a rest for the moment. It's a long way to drive for a day's walk; the Nene has several courses - the old course is covered in parts by the Hereward Way out towards March; the new Nene is very straight and confined as it heads through the Fens to the sea.

Power Grips: Foot Retention That Even I Can Use!

[edited to add:Power Gripswas a sponsor of this website September-October . This review was written before that time.]



I do not like the idea of foot retention and generally feel no need for it - whether cycling for transportation or going on long rides. Perhaps it is more accurate to saythat the very thought of having my feet connected to the pedals fills me with terror.The problem is, that I will soon be riding a fixed gear roadbike (Marianne's conversionwas practice), for which it is advisable to use foot retention: When cycling over bumps or potholes, your feet can fly off the pedals on a fixed gear bike and the pedals can then "chew up your ankles" before you have a chance to brake. So yes, foot retention is recommended.



Some have suggested I try Power Grips if I am too nervous to use toe clips or clipless pedals. I have finally gotten up the nerve to give them a try... and so far they have been more or less a success. We installed these first on my Rivendell Sam Hillborne, so that I could get comfortable with them before putting them on the fixed gear. Here are my impressions so far.



Power Grips are basically straps made of a thick, stiff woven fabric, that mount diagonally on the pedals. It is easy to slide your foot in and out, but the diagonal position grips the foot firmly in place once it is all the way in. Note that we mounted these with the logo on the inside. There is also a beige version with an argyle pattern accompanying the logo.



Even as I write this, it sounds implausible that something can both "grip the foot firmly" and "be easy to slide in and out of," but that is the feeling. Because the band is diagonal, there is a large escape area as soon as you move your foot back a bit. You can also feel the grip getting tighter/looser as you shift your foot forward or backward on the pedal, so there is a natural bodily awareness of the system that works in your favour. When approaching a stop, I simply slide one foot off the pedal and step down on the ground. Initially I would remove the second foot at stops as well, but eventually I discovered that it was easier to just keep it inside the grip.



I am not qualified to say how effective the Power Grips are in terms of pedaling efficiency; I simply would not know. It feels as if with the grips I can pedal with more power, but it may very well be an illusion. However, none of that is important to me, and what really matters is safety. The Power Grips keep my feet firmly in place when going over bumps, yet are easy to get out of whenever I need to.



I should mention also that the straps come in several sizes, and are adjustable to fit over different types of footwear. They do not squeeze or rub the top of the foot, so I am pretty sure you could wear them even with sandals.

Another nice thing about the Power Grips, is that if you want to pedal without them, you can easily use the other side of the pedal. I do not feel comfortable yet wearing the grips in stop-and-go traffic, so when the traffic gets dense I simply cycle with them upside down and my feet are free.The straps do not hang low enough to scrape against the ground. And even if there is an occasional scrape, it is soft and silent (whereas toe clips make screeching, clunking noises).



Some complain that Power Grips don't look attractive on a bike, but I think they are fine: it is just a strap attached to the pedal. They will soon be moved from my Rivendell to my fixed gear bicycle - though I must say it is tempting to keep them here, too. Unless riding in traffic, it actually feels nice to have my feet in the straps, especially when pedaling fast or going over bumps.



I cannot overstate how scared I am of foot retention: I have tried clips and half clips, and was unable to use them. Power Gripsseem easier and safer to me than either of these systems. They are also by far more effective than half-clips or loose toe clips.

Altra Lone Peak trail running shoes (600+ mile review)

Altra - Lone Peak trail running shoes after 600+ miles

In past blog posts I've touched on gear that I find extraordinary. I was surprised how many people read my write-up on the Lowa Mountain Expert ice boots. I'd like to highlight my favorite " 3-season" shoes, The Altra Lone Peak. Since purchasing these about a year ago, many of my trail runs have been done wearing the Altra Lone Peak Zero Drops. What's zero drop? Zero drop means that there is no height differential between the front and rear of the shoe. Note that most traditional shoes have a higher heel than toe. Primarily the higher heel is designed to cushion the hard impact of heel striking runners (those who's heel is the first part to impact the ground during running). Zero drops are intended to promote forefoot or mid-foot striking by not having a thick heel to get in the way, helping the runner to land mid or fore foot. Instead of me trying to get all tech-savy on you, simply check out Altra's website for a lot of information about running form, and how their shoes can help make you a stronger, healthier runner. For the record, I'm not affiliated with Altra in any way. Nor is this a paid review or did I get free shoes like some reviewers. This is simply a write-up on a pair of shoes that I think are top-notch and that fellow runners might benefit from. I've read other reviews, but most seemed like blah,blah "out of the box" reviews. I figured I'd share my thoughts after some lengthy trail use. For those who don't know me, I'm your average trail runner/climber who happens to spend a great deal of time on the trails and rocks in the beautiful Laurel Highlands of Southwestern Pennsylvania. I usually run 5 or 6 days a week (not always in the Lone Peak). I'm 6' tall, weigh about 155lbs, size 12 and normally cover between 50-100 miles per week. I've primarily used these shoes for trail running on technical single track, but they've also been worn as climbing approach shoes and general hikers on many occasions. The 600+ mile estimate is most likely very low, but we'll just call it 600. I decided to take a brush to my shoes, clear away all the trail debris, and show how great they've fared thus far...

Zero drop = no raised heel

My Lone Peaks are the first generation model. Designed for running many miles, over rough terrain. I originally read about them shortly before their release. I was excited by the wide toe box design, lighter weight, some rock protection and zero drop platform. I guess I liked most everything about them. Very close to what I would want if I designed my own shoe. Around that time I was happily running a lot of road miles in the first edition NB Road Minimus. Pleased with the lower heel and wide toe box on that model, I was in the market for a new pair of trail shoes of similar design. I purchased the Lone Peaks shortly after their availability. Fast forward over last season and some months off due to ski injuries. They've covered a few miles and are holding up very well. I will admit to being pessimistic about their durability since this was their first release of the Lone Peak model. So far they're holding up better than any other trail shoes I've used in the past and I expect that they'll continue. Here's a photo review with some comments on the current state of my Lone Peaks.

The toe cap material ripped or split, Barge cement holds it in place...Usually

The toe cap failure doesn't seem to impede performance, but requires maintenance every couple of runs ;)

Stitching and the upper are holding great. The Wasatch Range is cool

The heel lining doesn't look so good, but still very comfortable

Not the sticky, climbing rubber of LaSportiva's trail models, but better thanothers I've tried. The center forefoot lugs and midsole are wearing down as expected

I really like the traction of the simplistic lugs, great for the trails of Western PA

Factory insoles, still intact with no comlaints

The trail rudder is awesome for "skiing" down steep, slippery slopes. I also like the minimal heel structure. somewhat changed in the newer Lone Peak ver 1.5

Overall, these will see many more miles and I look forward to wearing them

Personal Experience:



I'm always excited to put these shoes on and hit the trails. I will admit that they took some time to get used to. There is much less cushioning than what is found in most traditional trail running shoes, but a lot more than in a model like a NB Trail Minimus, etc. This means that if you do strike your heel on rocks and other trail obstacles, you will feel it. Most runners do experience some growing pains converting to this type of shoe. Worry not... In a short time, your feet and legs will transition into the shock absorbing machines they were designed to be. In past years, I've always had some type of leg pain that slowed my training. Since switching my running form and going to flatter shoes (especially Altras) I've been able to keep training without interruption. Its great to feel sore after a run, not injured. I'll be looking to get a pair of the new Lone Peaks(when these get a little closer to death). I'm curious to see how Altra made improvements on a damn fine, trail running shoe! In a nutshell, I'd HIGHLY recommend giving the Altra Lone Peak's a try. I'd be surprised if you don't fall in love with them like so many others. If you have any questions regarding me, my shoes or whatever... feel free to drop me a message or email. Climb High, Run Far!