600 km brevet to Tombstone, April 23-24 2005
by Bruce Chandler

After talking to Gerry Goode, about the cold morning of the 400 back in March, Gerry gave me a few invaluable riding tips that I would like to share with my fellow Randonneurs. I acted on these tips during this past 600 we all rode—and although I must report I had to abandon this particular brevet Sunday morning, Gerry’s advice as to what to do in a tight spot helped me out and got me to Tombstone in good shape.

Steve Jewell and I coasted into Sonoita exhausted and dehydrated. We both had used up all our water, food, gel, endurolites, power bars, and everything else on that 22 mile climb from about Vail to this country store we were at. I was freezing, and still wet with sweat from the climb. The wind and rain blew in coldly—and my mind was fading—everything was slowing down and becoming a blur—I was just standing there watching Steve un-pack a wind jacket and warm gear. All the stuff I needed for this sudden brutal change in the weather was in my drop bag in Tombstone. I was in trouble.

As I stood there in a stupor, I recalled my brief meeting with Mike Allen right there in Sonoita a few minutes before. Mike was getting ready to saddle up and take off, but he was happily enjoying what looked like to me a blissful ice cream sandwich. It occurred to me that in another life, I was with Mike, Rich Combs, and Steve. We were in a landing craft getting ready to hit Omaha Beach on D-Day. All out War—me sitting there scared shitless, and these guys eating ice cream sandwiches with not a care in the world—Man, what dehydration can do to a fellow!

Then I heard Gerry’s voice. “If you get cold and you don’t have your jacket—get some old newspapers and stuff ‘em in your jersey.” There was one of those plastic news stand boxes that advertised for apartments and/or property for sale. I grabbed one and opened the pages to the middle. There were girls sitting by a pool pictured in the ad. “Welcome aboard, Ladies.” The publication fit perfectly under my jersey over my chest. I put another copy on my back—hey this is working—it’s cutting out the cold.

Gerry’s voice again. “If it starts to rain and you don’t have your rain shell or a jacket, use a plastic garbage bag. Pull the full garbage bag out of the can and find where they keep the replacement when they empty the garbage out. Cut holes for your arms and head, and you got you’s a rain coat.” Instead of messing with the garbage can, I went in the store and asked the friendly guy working there if he could give me one of those big black trash bags so I could make a rain jacket. He thought it was a cool idea and got one for me.

With a Swiss Army knife from my toolkit, I cut the holes in the plastic, and slipped on the bag. It was perfect. Not only was I warm from the newspaper under my jersey, I would be dry on the 40 miles to Tombstone—40 miles of incredible tail wind that would get Steve and I to the sleep stop in just a little over two hours.

This was a great moral boost for me, and at one point, I had to shed the newsprint because I was getting too warm. I held onto the plastic rain coat as it was just right—not too hot, and not too breezy. My Camelback held it secure and kept it from flapping wildly from the tailwind. I wore it proudly through the streets of Tombstone to the Slither and Crawl controle.