A cyclist stands behind his bike on a stage in front of the sponsors' backdrop

Tour de Chiba: Wet ‘n’ Wild

Despite the forecast clearly pointing towards rain on the day of the event, we left Friday afternoon for Chiba. My one concession to the weather was to add a windbreaker to my kit.

Saturday morning I encountered some rain on the drive from the hotel to the starting point, but it lifted when I arrived. I changed clothes, assembled the bike and checked in, and then ate a convenience store hotdog and onigiri for breakfast as I waited. The rain continued to hold off during the starting ceremonies and the long, staggered departure, which was good for morale.

I’d selected the 18km group (meaning an average of 18km/h), the slowest group, and we were the last to depart. The first group left at 7:20 and we didn’t get going until 8. It makes sense from a safety point of view — less overtaking, less chance of groups hitting the aid stations en masse — but it was a long time cooling our heels.

Into the wind

Our leader didn’t introduce himself but wordlessly took his position at the front of our group and led us out. I was near the front by virtue of having been one of the first to check in, and by the time we cleared the parking lot there was just one other rider separating me from the leader.

And he was taking the 18km/h pace seriously! We were soon pushing into a stiff headwind, heading northwards along the coast of Tokyo Bay, but he wasn’t taking any prisoners. I was dropping back at times by 20-30m, and checked that I wasn’t holding anyone back, but the rest of the group seemed content to follow along. This was confirmed when we passed through a parking lot and there was plenty of room for overtaking — no one took the opportunity.

At last, as we neared the bridge of the Aqualine (the tunnel / bridge combo from Tokyo to Chiba) and the wind was at its worst, one fellow passed me, then signaled me to go ahead, then passed me again with his mate in tow. Soon after passing under the bridge, we turned inland and the worst of the wind was over.

Punctures

The event organizers had posted an update Friday evening saying the ride would be going ahead despite the rain, and they cautioned everyone to be careful of skidding and punctures. In the first 15km I counted at least four punctures, including the one guy who was separating me from the leader at the outset. At the next light, the leader broke his silence to warn us against riding right up against the edge of the road, where we’d be more likely to puncture from all the crap swept aside by motor traffic.

I also saw a rider down with blood streaming down his shin from a scrape on his knee, with a couple of other riders assisting him. He didn’t seem too bad, but I didn’t hear whether he’d continued on.

Rows of bicycles lying on the ground with some cyclists walking among them, and a small windmill in the background.
Aid Station 1

At one traffic light after we’d left the coast (and most of the punctures, it seemed) behind, I checked our progress. It was just after 9 a.m. and we’d covered just more than 18km. So our guide was keeping us to that pace despite traffic lights and the headwind — which worked out to anywhere from 20 to 30km/h while in motion. We nearly overtook a mixed group of stragglers, and our guide would have them go ahead at each traffic light. This continued until we reached Aid Station 1 at 25.65km after 1 hour 24 minutes of riding, and tucked into bananas and bread rolls.

Dropping back

Just as we were leaving the aid station, the long-dreaded rain started. It wasn’t heavy but I decided to put on my windbreaker. It was a last minute decision and the peloton started rolling past me. I was all set to go and realized I hadn’t put my gloves back on. By the time I got moving I was near the end of the group.

And that was fine. I could ease up a bit. We got into some low hills and the group broke up a bit more. Finally I came over a low rise and sped downhill towards an intersection. I could see some staffers standing around the intersection but didn’t see any sign. At last, just as I was crossing the intersection, one of them waved frantically for me to turn. My Garmin said straight ahead, but I followed the guide and that’s how I found Aid Station 2.

The rain was still just a drizzle at this point. I found the guy who’d been right behind the leader until he’d punctured, so he’d obviously caught up again. When we set out I was in the middle of the pack, but as the climbing began in earnest I dropped back. I was passed by a young couple and I noticed they’d tied together a couple of innertubes so the guy could tow his partner.

Lanterne rouge

At last I as I was maneuvering around a parked car I gestured for the rider behind me to go ahead and he said, in English, “It’s OK. I’m a staffer.” Ah, so I was the lantern rouge — tail-end Charlie.

Ken introduced himself and we chatted (as my breath allowed). He lives in Chiba and rides around this area often. We had a big climb ahead, Kanouzan, and he said he’s Everested it (meaning he’s ridden up and down it enough in one go to have climbed the equivalent of Mt Everest: 8,849m).

We passed through a tunnel at the top of the climb (not yet Kanouzan) and descended. On the flat, we saw a couple of riders off the side of the road. I asked if they were OK as I passed, and only then realized it was the couple who’d passed me earlier. They were dismantling and stowing their impromptu tow rope. Ken stopped to stay with them, and I was finished with my spell as lanterne rouge.

False mountain

Soon I was struggling up a steeper climb together with about a dozen other riders. It was a mountain road with trees on both sides, a lovely remote area, and one of those short, sharp bastards of a climb that grows steeper as it progresses. I stopped a couple of times to catch my breath, letting others go on ahead. A staffer (not Ken) asked in passing if I was OK, and I said yes, just taking a breather.

I mounted up for the final go. I was just thinking about another breather when I saw the tunnel open at the top of the climb just a couple of dozen meters ahead, and I powered through it.

On the descent that followed, I was having a conversation with myself that went something like, “That was the mountain, right? Did I really do it? No, that can’t have been the mountain. We’re not there yet.” The same cycle of thoughts, over and over as my wheels spun round and round and I descended to Aid Station 3.

Climbing in the rain

The rain was truly coming down as I pulled into the aid station, which was set up in what appeared to be the athletic field of an abandoned school building. I got a bentoh from the volunteer and sought out an empty spot at the rows of tables under the awnings — in the middle of a big, muddy puddle.

Rule : If you are out riding in bad weather, it means you are a badass. Period.

— Velominati, The Rules

The bentoh was very welcome, as was the bottled water, and all too soon the staffers were telling us it was time to mount up. “Next is the main event,” one told me. Yes, I did have it right — Kanouzan was after the aid station.

The climb starts out at a bear of a pace: a gradient of 13%. Ken passed us by, shouting encouragement. “It’s hardest at the beginning — and at the end!” (He might need to work a bit on his delivery.) I got over the 13% lump after taking one break, and then started zig-zagging my way up the more gradual portion that followed.

I was in good company. A number of us were zig-zagging across the pavement. (Thankfully there was not much motor traffic, and we had plenty of time to hear it coming when it did.) There was a grey-haired fellow on a classic steel racing bike in mud-spattered matching white kit who I thought would get past us all, but I encountered him again and again as he stopped to take a breather. Up ahead on the climb I could see someone pushing his bike, and after a while I could see I wasn’t actually gaining on him with my zig-zagging.

At last I succumbed and got off to push my bike. I was far from the only one. I reached a switchback to find Ken waiting, shouting encouragement to us one by one. “Just one mile to go!” he told me. (I heard him say two kilometers to some of the Japanese riders.) After the switchback I mounted up for more zig-zagging, then more pushing, then more … you get the idea.

A bicycle standing grass against a brown sign that reads Tsukumo Valley Park
Tsukumo Valley Park

I stopped at the small outlook at the top of the climb to use the restroom. A couple of staffers laughed as I peeled off my gloves and squeezed out what seemed like a full cup of water from them.

Kanouzan get!

  • Climbed the mountain in one go: No
  • Climbed the mountain by zig-zagging and frequent breaks: Nyuh-uh
  • Climbed the friggin’ mountain under my own steam and with my bicycle: F’n YAAASSSSS!!!
Chris Froome running up a mountain stage with a broken bicycle dangling from his arm as onlookers cheer
No actual running was involved

Some stats

The elevation at Tsukumo Valley Park is 338m, while Aid Station 3 was 42m, making a climb of 296m. The distance is 3.64km, for an average gradient of 8.1%. I made the climb in 52 minutes at an average pace of 4.2km/h.

We’d been repeatedly warned to go easy on the descent. I wasn’t too concerned about slipping unless there was gravel on the road. I kept that in mind, as well as the fact I had no idea what was coming around each bend. The rub strips for cars can also cause momentary lapses of traction as I go flying over them.

Nevertheless I passed a couple of riders on the way down (who seemed to me to be crawling along) and caught up with what turned out to be a staff car, which I followed down onto the flats.

The final aid station

The bottom of the descent brought us into a residential area. I was making good time but had to watch for traffic, stop signs, etc. At various points along the ride I’d seen a young rider, upper elementary school at a guess, on an appropriately sized bike together with his father. The youngster fell in behind me at this point, his father behind him, and I set the pace. I was careful to signal all my moves.

I was pressing on at a good pace now, thinking I’d have been keeping up with the leader on that first roll-out. I pulled into the aid station and started lining up for one of the crepes on offer when a new staffer, the leader for the final segment, showed me his watch and let me know we were rolling in three minutes.

I’d made the final cut by three minutes … no, eight … no, ten. Each time we got set to roll out, another group of riders would arrive and the leader would tell them they had two or three minutes to turn around and join us. I saw the young rider and his father pull in during the wait (I hadn’t realized I’d dropped them), but I didn’t notice if they’d joined up in time.

In any case, I’d avoided the broom wagon. (The organizers set a limit so that everyone would still finish in daylight — but with the rain and gloom it really begged the definition.)

The first leg of the final 21km was due west to Futtsu Park. I’d been over the course on Google Maps before riding, so I’d seen we would pass Futtsu Cape Observation Deck, but of course I’d forgotten that fact over the course of the day. We pulled up to a stop and just as I was thinking of getting out my phone for a snap, the leader waved his arm and we were off again.

We doubled back at this point to follow the cape at first east and then north, and we were once again riding into the teeth of the wind. I was struggling to keep up and wondering if I’d be overtaken by the broom wagon at some point.

And then I got left behind at a traffic light, and was free to continue on at my own pace. I had a group of followers, including the gent on the classic steel frame I remembered from the mountain climb. And at my own pace, I felt a lot better about making the final go. One or two riders came by me but for the most part those in my little group followed my lead. I took care with my hand signals. As we approached the final few kilometers, I resisted the urge to count them out with my fingers in the air.

At last Garmie told me we’d arrived. I was at a light next to an entrance to the parking lot we’d departed from, but I wasn’t sure this was the expected entrance (one of many). I turned around and shouted to the entourage, “Is this it?” “This is it!” the steel gent affirmed.

I turned into the drive and then, following the baton-wavers’ instruction, right into the parking lot. I heard a shout and then baton wavers were waving frantically at a van right behind me that had tried to go straight and overtake me. A close call, but no harm, no foul. Seconds later I was rolling into the parking lot and there was Nana, phone at the ready to take a snap.

A cyclist stands behind his bike on a stage in front of the sponsors' backdrop
Definitely holding it in here

The ride was a lot of work, a lot of rain, and a lot of fun. Nana and her mother had been waiting at the finish line since 3 p.m. (although I’d messaged her to let her know I wouldn’t be there before 4:30) and had heard a lot of chatter among the earlier arrivals. Many of them come out for the event every year (it’s been running since 2006). Nana’s mother wanted to know if I was going to ride again next year. “No, I’ve done it.”

Ken, who followed me up some of the earlier climbs and was there to shout encouragement on the mountain, congratulated me with a hug and a promise to meet again.

In the changing room, a couple of guys of similar age and build as me took one look and said, “Oh, you’re the guy with the gravel bike!” Everyone else was on a gorgeous lightweight bike, mostly carbon fibre. (Of course, they may as well have said, “Oh, you’re the gaijin!”)

GPS record of cycle ride
Tour de Chiba: Wet ‘n’ Wild

According to Strava, Kanouzan is the third-highest mountain I’ve ever climbed. (I have no idea how to find what it thinks the higher two climbs are.)

On a moving time of 6:56:49, I averaged 17.8km/h. My max speed was 50km/h, definitely on the Kanouzan descent, which shows I was keeping the pace down. (I’ve done more than 60 on other descents.) Strava said I averaged 29.6km/h over a 5-mile segment, and I thought the first leader really had busted our guts, and then I realized this was also for the Kanouzan descent.

Mechanicals

Blessedly little to report on this score. The bike behaved flawlessly. Early on I discovered that the Di2 system wasn’t paired to the Garmin. The shifting was working a treat, so I didn’t want to jinx it by trying to sort that out mid-ride. All I could have accomplished is to get a read-out of battery level (I knew it was good) and current gear (just my curiosity — it doesn’t help me ride faster or longer).

The new fork and headset were great, nary a wobble. The front brake was fine, neither too soft nor dragging. I’ve had an issue since Biwaichi with the brake pads dragging during normal riding, making more of a nuisance noise than anything, and it happened just once on this ride, for about two seconds. (The brakes did set up a howling once they got wet, but that’s to be expected with discs.)

At each stop we laid our bikes down on their sides, sometimes in puddles. I soon discovered the Apidura saddle bag was not waterproof! It’s advertised as waterproof, and I’ve found forums where the majority say they’ve never had a problem and a vocal minority say yes, there is an issue. I haven’t yet decided if I’ll keep the saddlebag after I finish retaping the handlebars and adding the front bag, so no decision yet on what to do about this.

Wrapping the tools in socks before putting them in the saddlebag did help with the rattling I’d noticed on my last ride, but didn’t completely eliminate it (and the socks, along with everything else, got wet during the ride). Any decision about this awaits the decision over keeping the saddlebag.

Close-up of Brooks leather saddle that's discolored in spots with mildew
I don’t think that’s the original color

Finally, and quite unexpectedly, when I got home on Sunday and pulled Kuroko out of the rental van, I discovered the saddle had mildewed! Suggestions on the forums range from just giving it a good going-over with the supplied Proofide to throwing it away. The saddle was still quite damp all the way through, so I’m going to give it another 24 hours to dry out before attacking it with a brush, cleaning cloth and lots of Proofide.


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3 responses to “Tour de Chiba: Wet ‘n’ Wild”

  1. […] last weekend’s very wet but ultimately enjoyable Tour de Chiba, Kuroko was overdue for a washing. And I needed to deal with the mildew on the saddle, which […]

  2. […] home on an Ohio highway in pouring rain (attached to the back of a van), and last weekend’s Tour de Chiba drenching didn’t improve […]

  3. […] then, about halfway through the Tour de Chiba, I heard a kind of pop and suddenly the saddle was silent. Also, it felt a bit slacker. Well, I […]

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